Just how powerful are the world's most formidable wizards?
Lockhart was now getting a proper demonstration.
Mind you, this impromptu duel wasn't Lockhart facing Grindelwald alone; it was an ambush.
Lockhart, with a host of Dark magical creatures, a Snallygaster that had once delivered Grindelwald to his cell, and an apprentice whose contributions were, shall we say, more spiritual than practical, were all ganging up on the old wizard.
He had always thought Dark magical creatures were virtually unbeatable if their weaknesses weren't known, but clearly, that wasn't the case.
As it turns out...
The threat of Dark magical creatures has its limits. Beyond the 'mechanism' type of opponents, there exist even more terrifying 'numerical' ones.
Dumbledore's decision not to imprison Grindelwald in Azkaban, where Dementors serve as primary guards for Dark wizards, made perfect sense; that place simply couldn't hold this powerful wizard.
This was a battle of vastly different echelons.
And Lockhart was clearly still far from reaching the pinnacle of wizarding power. Even employing his most favoured and versatile Memory Charms could barely faze Grindelwald.
A small gap, still a small gap, he could feel it!
Even the Memory Charm, while excellent in specific situations, fell short in the heat of a magical duel. It was like the difference between a score of ninety-nine and one hundred and one – seemingly just two points, but representing two entirely different levels.
And it wasn't just a simple ambush; Grindelwald had a significant disadvantage – he had no wand!
The importance of a wand to a wizard is beyond doubt, much like how Voldemort would immediately seize a subordinate's wand if he lost his own. Not to mention Grindelwald, Dumbledore, and Voldemort all clung to the Elder Wand.
The master wizard, unarmed and facing an onslaught, was not overwhelmed by the flurry of attacks. Instead, he maintained a firm upper hand.
Lockhart quickly found himself in dire straits.
Streams of joyful, benevolent silver light were forcefully wrenched from the depths of his spirit. These strange, living, almost viscous substances filled the entire cell, emitting terrifying magical power that affected both Grindelwald and Lockhart, causing peculiar, blissful smiles to involuntarily spread across their faces.
"Young man!" Grindelwald suddenly burst into hearty laughter. "This is my first piece of advice regarding magic: it's called the Beauty of Magic, and you cannot resist it. I know you are perfectly suited for it!"
He could feel Lockhart's magic tugging back, preventing him from completely extracting this positive force, akin to an Obscurus's power, from Lockhart's being. This was certainly more than he had anticipated.
But it didn't matter; it was enough for him to work with.
He had raised his arm in a grasping motion, but suddenly, he relaxed it, spreading his palm, changing the movement to a push.
With that pull and push, a significant portion of Tom's Patronus separated from Lockhart's spirit, pressing directly into Lockhart's body.
Transfiguration!
This was Transfiguration!
And it was completely different from Dumbledore's!
Alarm bells shrieked in Lockhart's mind. He had deeply studied Dumbledore's and Grindelwald's magical notes, Controlling Lightning, and understood the differences in their magical paths.
Dumbledore's Transfiguration was outward-facing, expressing his self-will to the world.
Grindelwald's Transfiguration was inward-facing, pursuing ultimate control.
This mastery of Transfiguration even surpassed the effects of a natural Metamorphmagus or the use of Polyjuice Potion in Potions. Grindelwald could permanently transform into another person, disguising himself so thoroughly that no one would ever detect it.
Lockhart had always wondered how Grindelwald guided his young nephew Credence in using the Obscurus's power. He never expected it to be through Transfiguration.
He felt terribly unwell at that moment, as if a terrifying force was constantly corroding his body. And precisely because his magical path had always been primarily focused on the spirit, his resistance in this area was somewhat lacking.
Soon, he felt parts of his body begin to unravel.
His left hand, his left shoulder, even beginning to penetrate his internal organs, Tom Riddle's Patronus was resonating with his own body in a state of disintegration, restructuring, and ultimate merging.
That part of his body floated in mid-air like a viscous liquid, continuously churning and twisting, erupting with bursts of mental lightning, making him feel light and joyous, as if breaking free from the constraints of his physical form.
Blast it all!
Lockhart was furious.
He stared coldly at Grindelwald. "Kindly cease your spell-casting upon me. This is an egregious offence!"
"In such a state, you can still speak?" Grindelwald looked at him with some surprise, then smiled mysteriously. "Young man, resist no longer. You will find that my arrangement for you is the best. You..."
Right, right, right.
He won't listen, will he?
Lockhart narrowed his eyes, gently waving his wand, no longer speaking, allowing his mind to quickly enter the necessary state.
Indeed, one simply couldn't harbour unconscious good feelings towards these characters from the original stories. Everyone had their own agenda, especially powerful wizards who had reached the pinnacle; each was so self-centred and domineering. How could they truly care for the goodwill of others?
Then...
His wand movements weren't swift, but powerful magic began to surge, as if a great wind had risen around them, roaring and causing the very stones of the room to vibrate.
He was attempting an incredibly perilous spell, a spell he had no idea if he even had the power to control.
Compound magic, deconstructing and reassembling the magical abilities he possessed. This was a magical path that had become increasingly clear to him since his research into Weather-Modifying Charms.
Boom!
Boom, boom, boom!
Lightning bolts struck every crack and window of the prison castle, as if madly trying to force their way into the cell. Tiny currents began to permeate the surrounding air, creating an unsettling prickling sensation.
This prickling brought with it an extremely eerie sense of fear, as if transcending the normal bounds of human comprehension, attempting to dismantle one's mental defences in an ineffable state, making one terrified to move, even terrified enough for one's body to shatter into fragments and scatter across the floor.
Stone walls, ceiling, and floor; blood gushed forth everywhere, and the air was filled with a scorching heat and piercing wails, wails so horrific one felt as though they wished to tear open more mouths on their body to scream.
Lockhart's eye sockets became nothing but swirling black smoke, as if his entire body were merely a husk, a thin shell containing only an unidentifiable, shapeless mist.
But swiftly, Lockhart's form vanished from before Grindelwald, and no further transformations could be seen.
Only intuition, conveyed through spiritual connection, frantically bombarded Grindelwald with a torrent of chaotic information, telling him that Lockhart was right there, right in front of him, performing terrifying magic.
"Legilimency!"
Grindelwald's mouth twitched, his eyes filled with disbelief. "That frivolous little magical trick can be used like this?"
Truly, in their youth, Dumbledore had casually devised this spell. They had studied it for only a short while before abandoning deeper exploration, as it didn't seem to offer much for research.
But...
This young man before him had actually pushed this spell to such a degree?
No, it wasn't just Legilimency.
He felt the terrifying aura surging around him, subtly sensing countless formidable magical powers within it – Bloodline Magic, Patronus Charm, Weather-Modifying Charms, Imperius Curse, Killing Curse, Memory Charm, Dark Arts, Horcrux power, Life force, Soul power...
Merlin's beard, this young man!
Albus, wouldn't you care to come and see? This young man you praise, he's clearly on the path of a Dark wizard!
Oh, in modern magical parlance, it sounds a bit better: Defence Against the Dark Arts.
But is Defence Against the Dark Arts not Dark magic?
Nonsense! That stuff is Dark magic!
Boom!
Another violent tremor, and Grindelwald felt the entire world begin to rapidly distort.
He knew this wasn't a distortion in the literal sense; it was a mental illusion caused by the magic having infiltrated his mind.
No, it seemed reality was also being distorted. Too much lightning and fire, imbued with terrifying will, seemed intent on tearing everything apart.
This was...
Ha! There was Dumbledore's Transfiguration, and his own Transfiguration philosophy too!
Grindelwald laughed, a peculiar kind of joy, as if celebrating the emergence of another powerful wizard in the world, the happiness of another figure joining him on the solitary path of magic.
"Good..."
Come and try it!
Let's see just how far you, young man, have come!
Grindelwald suddenly rose, stretching out his palm and pushing forward with force, as if propelling something.
This was the power of a Seer, propelling things in the direction they were meant to go.
Of course, he knew this wasn't an inevitable direction of development. 'Future' itself had no true inevitability; it held countless 'inevitable' possibilities.
His magical power was merely nudging one of these 'inevitable' possibilities, making it a reality.
But that was enough.
He had grasped a potential path Lockhart might take in the future, realized this path would benefit him, and so he pushed it forward.
He could feel it: the power he had seized from the young man's soul, akin to an Obscurus but opposite in nature, was slowly dissolving into the young man's body, merging into his very bloodline.
Magical bloodlines are rooted in the spirit – this was his own profound realization.
No matter how powerful or wondrous the individual Transfiguration effects he had achieved in the past, Dumbledore could always precisely locate him. This was because no matter how much he transformed, the magical bloodline rooted in his spirit still existed, and his Seer's magical bloodline was exceptionally unique.
He couldn't simply force a magical bloodline onto anyone. To achieve this much without a wand relied on going with the flow, merely facilitating the outcome of some future 'inevitability'.
Almost.
Just a little bit more.
But that tiny bit was resisted by a powerful force – the resistance of 'present' against 'future,' a self-correction of time and the world.
This was also the tragedy of a Seer: seemingly propelling development, yet by forcing it, inadvertently creating an opposing force that resisted their push.
Much like the 'fairy-tale adventure' that young man Dumbledore had spoken of.
The role of a 'Seer' is often that of a supporting character in fairy tales, their sole purpose to aid the 'protagonist' on their journey.
But he was unwilling!
He, too, wanted to be the protagonist. He didn't want to be a mere supporting character. A Seer in a fairy-tale adventure could only ever be a backdrop, and how could one be content with that?
Grindelwald keenly sensed Lockhart's spell-casting influencing his own mind at that moment. Too many thoughts erupted within his brain, too many weaknesses, once encased by a hard mental shield, now bursting forth.
He grew furious, enraged that his self-will, his self-ambition, his self-desire could not be fully expressed.
It was the pain of long, arduous years.
A pain that left a deep imprint.
The more his inner weakness burst forth, the angrier he became. Anger made his magic more powerful, but he also felt the opposing force grow equally strong.
His push, his spell-casting, was making this opposing force even stronger.
He lifted his head with a touch of sorrow, finally feeling a complete and utter tear.
It was a rift in the spirit, and a rift in reality.
The centre of power he had built, now his prison, Nurmengard Castle, was tearing apart.
He saw the twisted stone walls splitting open. He saw the grim, storm-laden sky. He saw streaks of lightning flowing like an ocean. He saw a terrifying, colossal werewolf figure, wielding claws infused with dreadful light, reaching for him through the chasm.
It was like someone digging out an ant's nest.
Just then, a figure suddenly lunged forward, shielding him, powerfully raising the Elder Wand, and a voice, ancient yet still brimming with authority, rang out: "Reparo!"
The world twisted and flipped again, attempting to restore everything to its original state.
And so, distortion collided with distortion, and the entire Nurmengard Castle swayed, on the verge of collapse.
In the upper, fractured half of Nurmengard Castle, the werewolf's claw in the gloomy, lightning-streaked sky seemed to draw closer, yet also to recede, the visual distortion sickening.
But...
What an opportunity!
Grindelwald's eyes gleamed, and he forcefully pushed that joyful power to merge with Lockhart once more.
Dumbledore clearly noticed his subtle manoeuvre and sharply turned, his gaze piercing. "Stop!"
Grindelwald did not stop; instead, he laughed heartily, his messy white hair swirling with the surging magic, his wizard's robes, looking all the more voluminous on his gaunt frame, flapping and snapping.
He looked at Dumbledore and simply said, "Let him kill me, or help me!"
"You!" Dumbledore felt that he shouldn't have rushed in. Truly, why was he always faced with such agonizing dilemmas?
Helping Grindelwald would only harm young Lockhart, making it seem as though he and Gellert were ganging up on the young man.
Yet, helping Lockhart would hurt Gellert, and in Gellert's current weakened state, he might truly be killed.
A dilemma...
It seemed to perpetually plague him.
"No!" Fortunately, fate always favoured Dumbledore. In every dilemma, some unforeseen circumstance always allowed him to escape. His expression changed, and he roared, "All of you, stop! Nurmengard is about to collapse!"