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HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them - 258
🕑 Added 2025-11-09 18:16:02 +0000 UTCChapter 258: You Are Not Him
"Am I right, Merlin?"
The woman's voice wasn't loud, but the words crashed in Evans's ears like thunder, and for an instant his mind went completely blank.
Merlin. In any lifetime, that name rang louder than any other. The greatest wizard in recorded history. King Arthur’s closest confidant. Founder of the Order of Merlin. Countless titles clung to that name, and even half the wizarding world’s oaths and exclamations traced back to it.
Still, hearing that name solved more than a few of his questions.
The woman before him was clearly no ordinary figure. Any ancient witch capable of leaving behind a pyramid like this, crowned with the title of Dark Wizard King, was not to be taken lightly.
If someone like her mistook him for Merlin, then his… peculiarity must be very close to Merlin’s in some crucial way—perhaps even identical.
And since entering this pyramid the first time, he’d only done one thing that might be called unusual: he had fully triggered the fairy’s danger sense in that earlier corridor.
So Merlin possessed a similar ability?
Or did she sense not his gift, but his soul?
Evans frowned slightly and glanced at the crimson sphere on the platform.
The name Merlin had long sparked debate in the magical world. Historically, the name appeared in two separate periods and with equal renown in each.
Professor Binns had said before that the two Merlins were likely unrelated. Yet Evans now felt the exact opposite—those two might well have been the same person.
Call it instinct, but whenever he looked at that crimson sphere, something felt oddly familiar.
While Evans turned this over in his mind, the spectral woman floating above the platform kept her eyes closed and continued in that imperious voice.
"I know that even if I did everything I could, I still might not be able to defeat you. After all, what I leave behind is only a phantom. You, I imagine, have already stopped my teacher and grown even stronger."
"If even my teacher could not stand against you, then what little I leave here cannot possibly prevail."
"Even so, I will try."
"This is my home. It is our only hope. And I am their queen."
As her words faded, she slowly opened her eyes and looked ahead. Her gaze carried the majesty of a sovereign, yet there was a shade of loneliness and disappointment within it.
Perhaps, in her imagining, events were never meant to unfold like this.
Or perhaps she still held onto a faint thread of hope, wishing for some kind of turn.
But the instant her stare truly settled on the person before her, Evans saw it change—her eyes went momentarily blank.
The sovereign’s majesty vanished. The loneliness and disappointment sank from sight. She stared at Evans in a daze. Even her voice lost its footing, almost endearingly uncertain.
"Who are you?"
Honestly, that was what Evans wanted to ask, too. An odd glint passed through his eyes, but he tightened his grip on his wand and spoke warily.
"I don’t know why you think I’m Merlin. As far as I know, I’ve never had any connection with him. To me, he’s simply a very powerful ancient wizard."
But the certainty in your tone just now almost made me wonder if I’m Merlin reborn. Evans thought it but didn’t say it. The woman, however, seemed to consider the same thing. She watched him for a long time, and then a faint disappointment stirred in her gaze.
"No. You are not him." Her tone regained its authority, her voice cleared of that sorrow. "Your soul is different. Your power is different. I should have realized it sooner. Even in reincarnation, Merlin’s nature magic would not be this rigid, nor would it need to ride upon the abilities of magical creatures as its vessel."
Her voice dipped slightly at the end. Evans, though, felt a quiet rush of relief.
Not reincarnation—good. Being Merlin reborn wouldn’t exactly be a tragedy, but it left a peculiar taste in his mouth.
Relief settled, and then his expression turned a shade wry.
What did she mean, Merlin’s nature magic wouldn’t be this rigid? If he wasn’t Merlin, he wasn’t Merlin—no need to compare and condescend in the same sentence.
Then again, even with his abilities, tricking Dumbledore into handing over Fawkes would be hard enough. He was still a long way from impersonating a wizard of Merlin’s class.
When Evans had his thoughts in order, the woman’s voice shed the last of its feeling. She looked at the young wizard before her with a chill that cut to the bone.
"Where is he?"
The words were frost-cold. It felt like this was her true nature; all her earlier turbulence had been for someone who was not here.
He? Merlin?
A curious flicker crossed Evans’s eyes again. If he could, he’d quite like to find this so-called Merlin himself and ask some pointed questions about his own life.
But the truth was, he’d never met Merlin—not in this life, anyway. No connection. No contact.
No—maybe there had been, once? If so, he didn’t know it.
"You don’t know?"
The woman laughed, low and cold, her eyes boring into him. She swept a hand outward, and a mass of rolling black mist flooded across the wide chamber.
The mist spread, enveloping everything. Evans felt the prying gazes he’d sensed earlier thicken all at once. At the same time, figures began to surface within the eerie green firelight around him.
Bandage-wrapped monsters, one after another. Unlike before, their eyes were not hollow. Green fire burned in their sockets.
As the woman spoke again, the monsters stepped forward in unison. A crushing pressure rolled toward Evans.
"Affinity with nature—only he has ever had it. Even if you are not him, you must be closely tied to him."
This time, the woman’s voice held nothing but cold indifference. The bandaged monsters began to move again, closing in slowly on Evans at the center.
"I will ask you one last time. Where is he?"
"I truly don’t know. Why won’t you believe me?" Evans sighed, loosening the other hand that held his suitcase as the ring of monsters narrowed and the hatred in the woman’s eyes sharpened.
Honestly, at this point, he regretted leaving most of his heavy-hitters outside.
The suitcase hit the floor. With two soft clicks, the latches sprang open, and the case unfolded fully.
"Anyone who can still fight, out here now. This time, it’s a real war."
