Chapter 115: The Shattered Man
The fact that Ryan couldn't target Voldemort's black mist didn't mean Dumbledore, Nicolas Flamel, Gellert, and Flitwick couldn't.
Blue flames surged.
Shattered stones on the floor transfigured into beasts.
A shimmering alchemical matrix materialized in the air.
And a massive, composite spell—woven from who-knows-how-many different charms—crashed down on Voldemort from above.
The kaleidoscope of magical energy lit up the entire room in a brilliant, dreamlike display. Unfortunately for Voldemort, he didn't feel flattered by the spectacle; he just felt like he'd drawn the worst luck of his entire existence.
Under the relentless barrage, the black mist shrank from three meters in diameter to one, then to barely half a meter.
The aftershocks from the spells slammed into the walls, blasting deep craters into the stone. It was a shocking sight; Hogwarts Castle's construction was legendary, its walls famously resistant to the most powerful spells of ordinary wizards. Yet now, the mere overflow from the clash of magic was enough to reshape the ancient stones.
A perfectly good wall had been turned into a hornet's nest. Every single one of them is guilty of destroying a historical artifact, Ryan thought, his attention momentarily diverted from the higher truths of magic to the unfolding destruction.
Material losses are one thing, but injuries and public opinion are what really matter.
Fortunately, capturing Voldemort would be a massive PR victory in itself. The wizarding world and the students of Hogwarts would likely be so overjoyed they would readily accept any collateral damage. Capturing Voldemort was as significant as the capture of Grindelwald had been decades ago. As long as there were no casualties, any minor "friendly fire" incidents during the operation would only generate positive press, further cementing Hogwarts' prestigious reputation.
Therefore, this mission could only end in success.
Since he couldn't contribute to the direct assault, Ryan retreated to a corner and channeled his magic into the matrix Flamel had just modified.
Aided by the master's array, Ryan's mind touched upon a magical source as vast and radiant as the sun. It was the heart of Hogwarts Castle, an ocean of power that had been accumulating for a thousand years, far surpassing that of any single wizard in the world. He could sense the energy surging between different nodes scattered throughout the castle—the four common rooms, the kitchens, the Headmaster's office—all pulsing with power. Compared to this, a normal wizard's magic was like a roadside puddle next to the Amazon River.
The castle's magic is dense, refined... compared to mine, it's like solid steel to silk. But it doesn't have that untargetable quality Voldemort's does...
Having discovered this difference, he channeled a portion of the castle's power, causing it to erupt from the walls and slam into the black mist. Under the force of this highly refined magic, the untargetable fog suddenly became targetable, and Voldemort was momentarily stunned.
Seeing him caught off guard by the unexpected magical assault, Dumbledore and the others seized the opportunity to unleash another devastating volley.
Flitwick's wand danced, weaving a complex sphere of intersecting light from what seemed like a dozen different spells, which he launched at the black mist.
Dumbledore waved his own wand, summoning a horde of transfigured creatures—snakes, tigers, eagles, bears, wolves, lions, and dogs. Each beast crackled with potent magic as they dove into the fog like suicide bombers, detonating in a series of concussive blasts.
The explosions clearly had an effect, making the dark mist shudder violently. After enduring that punishing assault, Voldemort's form was driven directly into the roaring blue flames.
"Fiendfyre!" It was only upon feeling the searing heat that Voldemort understood. The flames that could burn both soul and body were actually Fiendfyre!
But wasn't Fiendfyre supposed to be nearly impossible to control? The slightest misstep would cause the caster to be consumed by their own spell! Yet the flames dancing in the air before him, shifting form with fluid grace, showed no signs of being untamed.
Voldemort suddenly remembered that there was only one person in history capable of such a feat, and that person was supposed to be locked away!
He was utterly enraged. He had discovered Dumbledore's hypocrisy! It only confirmed his opinion of the man: a sanctimonious fraud, rotten to the core. Looking from Dumbledore to the not-so-imprisoned Grindelwald to Nicolas Flamel, Voldemort decided that sneaking into Hogwarts as Quirrell was the single greatest mistake of his entire life.
Not even heeding Snape's words and going to kill Harry based on the prophecy had been this foolish.
Suddenly, Voldemort felt Quirrell's body develop a mind of its own, moving against his will. The rogue movements slowed his escape, even pulling him backward. Through his dispersed consciousness in the mist, he saw ancient runes and miniature alchemical matrices floating before Nicolas Flamel. The old master had alchemically animated Quirrell's robes!
No, it wasn't just inanimate objects!
Voldemort could feel a faint, autonomous life stirring in Quirrell's very skin, even in parts of his skeleton.
Impossible... Having repeated that word in his mind countless times, Voldemort had no energy left to protest. After a brief calculation, he abandoned his control over Quirrell's body, letting his own fragmented soul surge forward to escape.
Ryan, still connected to the local magic of the castle, instinctively used the matrix to catch Quirrell's falling body.
Seeing this, Flitwick broke off his pursuit and hurried over. "Quirinus! How is he?" he asked.
Ryan shook his head. Whether through his own magical senses or the detailed scan he performed using Hogwarts' own magic, the results were the same. The body was like a rag doll that had been horrifically mangled. He might be kept alive, but that was the absolute limit.
Worse, due to Voldemort's reckless abuse, Quirrell's insides—including his magical core—had a distinct sense of being shattered.
"Professor, Professor Quirrell's condition is... not optimistic," Ryan said grimly. "We can only be grateful that he's still alive."
Flitwick rushed to Quirrell's side, waving his wand. Cascades of diagnostic light washed over the body. After a moment, he sighed heavily. "As long as he lives, there is hope. Magic is a mysterious and wonderful thing. Perhaps a way can be found."
While the two of them spoke, the three masters who had just overwhelmed Voldemort shot out of the room in pursuit.
Voldemort was still fleeing in a panic, crashing blindly forward in his spectral form. Faster, just a little faster, and I'm out. They must be busy with Quirrell; they won't have time to catch me, he thought. Having broken through the encirclement as a remnant soul, he passed by the sleeping three-headed dog, Fluffy. The hope of a new beginning was right before his eyes.
"Sectumsempra!"
~~~
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