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HP/LOTM: Visionary - 416
🕑 Added 2025-12-04 18:11:14 +0000 UTCChapter 416: The Changing Master of Hell
"So, Ethan Beckett, let me ask you this. Do you want to help your roommate? Do you want to pull millions of your fellow witches and wizards out of the fire?" Grindelwald asked, eyes on Ethan.
Ethan’s parents tried to speak, but Grindelwald had already silenced them with a charm.
"Of course, if you agree, this decrepit old man can call on what remains of his forces to keep your parents safe. After all, those who gather firewood for the many should not be left to freeze in the wind," Grindelwald said, temptation woven through his tone.
Dumbledore wanted to stop him from leading his former student astray, but in his current, diminished state, he was no match for Grindelwald. All he could do was send his old lover a few murderous looks, which were blithely ignored.
"All right. I will," Ethan said, lifting his head, eyes steady.
It was not only for the Muggle-borns who had just died in front of him. He wanted to catch up with the two friends who had gone on ahead. Ethan Beckett refused to be left behind.
"A wise choice," Grindelwald said with a flick of his hand, ending the Silencing Charm without a sound.
"Ethan, what are you going to do? I forbid it!" Renee rushed forward and wrapped her arms around him. She could feel it: the son she had raised and cherished was about to leave home and go far away.
Bowen said nothing. He knew the time had come for his son to grow up and go. All he could do was treasure every second left to them.
Ethan stepped forward and hugged them both. "I love you."
Then he pulled free and walked straight toward Grindelwald without looking back.
"No time like the present," Grindelwald said, producing a roll of parchment that was clearly some kind of contract. "Sign this."
Ethan took the parchment, sliced his finger, and pressed it down without even glancing at the text.
"You did not need blood. A touch of magic would have done," Grindelwald muttered. Young people these days are in far too much of a hurry.
"You could have said so," Ethan said, tapping his wand to heal the cut.
Grindelwald set his hand on Ethan’s shoulder. The world around them drained of colour. Everything turned a uniform white.
"Now, face Him properly. Do not fear. Remember, you are retribution."
He reached into his own chest, pulled out a handful of burning black flame, and thrust it into Ethan’s heart.
Deprived of Hell’s support, Grindelwald grew older in an instant. Wrinkles carved deeper lines into his face. The light in his eyes dimmed. His back bowed.
Beside him, Ethan was wrapped in the power of Hell, the Deep Realm’s King. Black fire scorched his skin, charring it to a crisp shell.
"You had better make it, boy," Grindelwald said, clenching his fists.
In Ethan’s eyes, the cries of countless dead wrapped around him. Resentment, helplessness, pain, all merging into a single question: When will retribution fall?
Endless darkness smothered him, dragging him down through dreams. Charred hands reached out, clutching at Ethan, ready to make him one of them.
In touching the Deep Realm King’s power, Ethan faced not only its inherent corruption, but the unwillingness and defiance left behind by every witch and wizard who had tried to lay hands on that power over the centuries.
He felt as though he were being torn in half, yanked back and forth between hatred and refusal to submit.
On the other side of the Hazy Realm, in Avalon, the taint Ethan endured flowed along the Second Project into the body of a sleeping dragon.
The dragon frowned. A virtual persona peeled itself away from his form, slid along the channels of the mental firewall, and descended into the patch of Hazy Realm where Grindelwald and the others stood.
"Did not expect you to actually pass this treasure on," the avatar said, appearing behind Grindelwald.
"Hmph. Was this not all calculated by you and your bizarre abilities?" Grindelwald snorted, glancing at the man with the book at his back.
"Then will you at least admit he is a good fit?" Aiden asked, smiling faintly, amusement glinting in his eyes.
"If I were not running out of time and in need of someone to speak for wizards’ interests, do you think he would have stumbled into such a bargain?" Grindelwald grumbled, which was as good as admitting Aiden was right.
"Yes, yes. It is all because the wizards of Europe cannot pull their weight," Aiden said, well aware that a stubborn old mule had to be stroked the right way.
Out on Ethan’s island of consciousness, more and more witches and wizards who had once shared this ideal unconsciously passed him their magic. Their power, carrying their hopes for the future, gathered into a great river that poured over the flames in Ethan’s heart and smothered them.
"Seems you are a romantic too," Aiden said, tilting his head and teasing Grindelwald.
"Hmph," the old man sniffed, going full tsundere as he turned away and faded from the Hazy Realm.
Ghostly blue fire sprang up over Ethan’s body. The skin blackened by Hell’s flames healed swiftly under the blue blaze.
Ethan crashed to the floor. Aiden strolled over, a wicked little smile on his refined face. "Congratulations. The operation was a success."
Every hair on Ethan’s body stood on end. He snapped up a hand and flung a sheet of Fiendfyre at Aiden’s face.
Aiden exhaled. The chill from his lips froze the flames in mid-air. Fresh from gaining Hell’s power or not, Ethan could not hope to overpower a Writer on the battlefield of the mind.
"Aiden. I knew it was you," Ethan said, getting to his feet and punching him in the chest.
"Ahem. Mind the collateral," Aiden said, pointing down.
When Hell’s power had flared, every scrap of Ethan’s clothing had burned to ash. Only Aiden’s icy breath kept him from feeling the breeze in the most sensitive of places.
"Merlin’s beard!" Ethan yelped, glancing wildly around. But the empty Hazy Realm offered no handy wardrobe.
In the end, Aiden could not stand it. He spun threads of dream together and wove the boy a robe.
"Heh. Thanks," Ethan said, grinning so wide he nearly snorted. He had been coveting those white-and-gold robes Aiden always wore for ages.
"But seriously, what is going on? Oliver, you, and that old man just now—who was he?" Ethan asked, full of questions.
"That was Gellert Grindelwald."
"The last Dark Lord to ravage Europe! Wait, he asked me to inherit his cause. Does that mean he wants me to fight Voldemort for the Dark Lord’s throne? Did I just get handed the protagonist script?" Ethan’s eyes went hazy, his daydream practically poking Aiden in the nose.
"Stop dreaming, boy. Without this big brother from the Prewett family hacking the rules for you, do you really think something this good would fall into your lap?" the Writer said, yanking back Ethan’s protagonist script and tearing it up in his face.
"I thought it was a big sister," Ethan shot back, successfully making a vein throb on the dragon’s forehead.
"Hmph. Someone is asking for a history lesson," Aiden said.
He stretched out a hand. Silver threads unspooled, weaving into a great net that he brought down over Ethan’s head with vindictive satisfaction.
