— — — — — —
"Get up! Ron, Harry! Hurry!"
The urgent shouting jolted Harry awake. He hadn't been sleeping deeply to begin with, and he shot upright at once. "W-what's going on?"
Faint screams and the sound of frantic footsteps drifted in through the open tent flap, along with the sharp smell of something burning.
"No time to explain. Get dressed, now. It's complete chaos outside."
Arthur Weasley pulled a pair of jeans over his pajama bottoms in a rush, not even noticing he'd put them on backwards. Spotting Ron still sprawled out, he gave his youngest son a sharp smack. Ron yelped and leapt to his feet.
They hurriedly threw on coats and stumbled out of the tent. The disorder was already plain to see. Fires burned everywhere, dark figures surged through the night, and cries echoed from all directions.
"Arthur! Perfect timing!" An Auror swooped down on a broomstick. "It's bad, absolutely out of control! Several nearby camps are full of drunk troublemakers. They're setting fire to anything they see. We're short on people. We need your help!"
"I'm coming right away!" Arthur shouted back. He rolled up his sleeves and drew his wand, then rattled off a few quick instructions to the underage kids before heading off with Charlie and others toward the nearest riot.
Charlie was a dragon handler, used to dealing with fire-breathing monsters and real danger. Bill was a curse-breaker with solid magical skill. With those two along, Arthur felt a bit more at ease.
Harry and the others were herded along with the crowd into the woods, panic gnawing at them as they kept glancing back toward the campsite and even farther beyond.
The sky glowed red.
Just how many people were involved?
No one knew.
Maybe it had started with just a few idiots acting out, but with alcohol and the frenzy of a major sporting event, more and more people let loose the urge to destroy.
A spark can start a wildfire. That can be a good thing, or a very bad one.
"..."
From the highest point of the stadium, Ikaros surveyed the chaos below. Her small, usually expressionless face was now cold with killing intent.
She didn't care if tourists were hurt. She didn't even care if they died.
All she knew was this: because of these people, she had ruined her master's mission.
Orders flowed out through her internal communication network. Ikaros jumped down from her perch. One by one, wizards apparated behind her.
They were elite spellcasters who often worked with Astra Abyssum. Some were there for money, others for rare potions or alchemical tools. It was a simple exchange of needs.
This time, Ikaros had paid dearly. The reward was so generous that it was impossible to refuse.
Even knowing the danger ahead, they had come without hesitation.
After waiting about five minutes and confirming no one else was coming, Ikaros stepped forward without a sound.
"Follow me."
The group moved after her, their discipline tighter than even the Ministry's Aurors.
The Astra Abyssum Guild had few rules. The biggest one was simple: never come into conflict with your employer, especially on a mission issued by the Guild itself. Some people had once thought they could ignore that rule.
They paid for it in blood.
Ikaros hadn't been in the world for long, and many of them didn't recognize her. Still, from the sheer size of the reward, they knew this was someone important.
...
The group quickly reached the nearest camp.
Several burly men stood together, laughing loudly as flames sprayed from their wands. Tents and facilities burned all around them. When they noticed approaching wizards, they casually turned their fire toward them.
Even with supernatural power at their fingertips, many people had no real sense of how strong they were. Once panic set in, all they could do was run. That fear only fed the attackers' arrogance.
The wizards behind Ikaros were just about to step in when the girl had already rushed forward.
The big men noticed her too. One of them bared his teeth in a grin.
"Another one who's not afraid of dying? And just a little girl," he said in a Slavic tongue. He immediately began chanting, red light bursting from his wand toward her chest.
The next instant, Ikaros vanished.
With a wet, sickening sound, her small arm punched straight through the man's heart.
His companions stared in horror as she pulled her hand back, still clutching a beating heart. She squeezed lightly. It burst in her grip, warm blood splattering across their faces.
They were frozen in shock. Only when the corpse collapsed to the ground with a heavy thud did they snap out of it. Their first instinct wasn't revenge.
It was to run.
Thugs who lived by cruelty rarely had strong nerves. That brutal scene shattered what little composure they had left.
Ikaros chose her next target and gave chase. The methods were just as savage. She crushed one man's throat, then moved on to the next, and the next.
In barely a dozen seconds, the men who had been so smug moments earlier were all lying dead, their bodies twisted and gruesome.
The wizards who had followed her were stunned into silence.
What the hell! This was not a girl.
This was a demon... a demon queen.
Ikaros drew back her blood-soaked arm, a faint look of satisfaction curving her lips.
She possessed Tom's most advanced runic technology. Half of a Philosopher's Stone served as the energy core within her body. She commanded more than a hundred spells.
But Tom had once told her that when emotions surged, she shouldn't suppress them. She should let them out, fully and honestly, and remember that feeling. Only by doing that could she move closer to thinking like a normal human being.
Ikaros remembered those words.
She followed her instincts and tore her enemies apart in the cruelest ways possible.
And sure enough, the satisfaction was overwhelming.
"What are you still standing around for?" The girl turned back, staring coldly at the mercenaries frozen in place. "I paid you to work. Not to gawk."
"Y-yes!" The group jolted and sprang into action at once.
Her icy voice followed them. "Confiscate every wand from the rioters. If anyone resists, kill them."
"Astra Abyssum will judge them."
No one dared object. With Ikaros's words backing them, their confidence surged.
The camp was huge, and it was already a mess. Her brutal display hadn't really scared anyone, simply because almost no one was paying attention in the first place.
She moved on toward the next pocket of chaos, the stench of blood clinging to her more heavily with every step.
...
Outside the hillside villa, Tom had also roused the girls.
Panic was written all over their faces. Many of their families were still in the camp.
"Tom, what do we do now?"
"Deal with the people causing trouble." Tom rolled his wrist. With a sharp snap, his wand appeared in his hand, and his card case expanded and unfolded flat on the ground. "You go into the small world first. I'll handle the rest."
The girls didn't hesitate. One by one, they stepped inside. They knew staying outside would only get in his way.
After stowing the small world, Tom turned into a streak of light and shot toward the nearest camp entrance. He landed lightly, then strolled in as if he were taking a walk after dinner.
Whenever he ran into rioters smashing things, he casually flicked off a spell.
The effects of "Hakuna Matata" were already active. It was a gamble with fate itself. If you were lucky, you didn't trigger anything too twisted and might survive. If you were unlucky…
Twshh!
A cloud of blood burst into the air. Tom waved his hand in distaste, and a gale swept through, blowing it away in an instant.
Many people were fleeing in their pajamas. Some had gotten separated from their families and were shouting names in desperation.
Tom found a little girl crying alone. He returned her to her parents, earning a loud kiss on the cheek as thanks.
By the time he left the first camp, he had no idea how many people he'd killed. The bundle of confiscated wands in his hand already numbered over thirty.
At the second camp, before he even stepped inside, he heard a familiar voice.
"All Beauxbatons students! Have your parents bring you to me, now!"
Madame Maxime stood tall, her wand glowing with white light. Her deep, steady voice carried far. More and more people gathered around her, copying her gesture by lighting their wands and raising them high to draw others in.
"Madame, you truly live up to being Beauxbatons' headmistress," Tom said as he landed nearby, offering praise without reserve.
This alone earned Beauxbatons a lot of respect. This was what real composure and class looked like.
"Mr. Riddle?" Maxime looked both surprised and pleased.
A man and a woman rushed out of the crowd. Fleur's father, Monsieur Delacour, asked anxiously, "Tom, where's Fleur and Gabrielle?"
Tom simply released the girls again, letting them gather around Madame Maxime. It was a rare experience like this, and missing it would be a shame.
Suddenly, a shrill scream rang out from the northern end of the camp.
From the sound alone, Tom immediately recognized the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. He took off at once, flying ahead. Madame Maxime hurried after him with the others, but their speed couldn't compare to his.
At the edge of the camp, a massive crowd of wizards had gathered. A rough count put them at over five hundred.
Several wizards lay scattered on the ground, unconscious and twisted at odd angles, clearly struck by spells. The screams were coming from a few Ministry employees suspended in midair. The entire area was bathed in red light.
"Tom Riddle!"
Someone shouted his name. "It's Tom Riddle from Astra Abyssum! Grab him! He's rich!"
"That's right." Tom smiled and nodded. "I am rich. I've got a hundred thousand Galleons on me right now, plus plenty of unregistered bank cards. Want them?"
He could clearly hear the heavy breathing rippling through the crowd. A hundred thousand Galleons was more than enough to drive people mad.
"Survive," he said gently, like he was coaxing children, "and you can have it."
Tom slowly extended his hand, palm facing upward.
A phantom-blue spellbook shimmered into existence in his grasp. Rivers of radiant light poured into his palm as the book swelled, growing larger by the second.
"Do it! So what if he's a genius? There are more of us!"
The voice came from deep within the crowd. Tom glanced that way. Even the night couldn't hide anything from his sharp eyes. He memorized the speaker's face.
When a mob is steered by someone with intent, it can unleash terrifying power.
Driven by the lure of a hundred thousand Galleons, drunks, Quidditch hooligans, and outright Dark Wizards all lost their minds. Someone apparated, crossing more than five hundred feet in an instant to appear near Tom.
The boy merely flicked him a glance, meeting eyes filled with naked greed.
The next moment, life winked out. Consciousness sank into endless darkness.
Thud!
Tom looked away. The rioters were shaken. They had no idea what spell he'd just used.
Some, however, were whipped into even greater frenzy and fired off curses without hesitation.
Dozens of multicolored streaks tore through the night like meteors, all rushing toward the boy.
Tom's face remained calm. The enormous spectral book began to flip its pages with a loud rustling sound. Each page turn sent several streaks of light shooting out. The faster the pages flipped, the denser the barrage became, until it formed a roaring wall of spellfire.
The curses aimed at Tom were swallowed in an instant.
The torrent didn't stop. It surged straight toward the rioters.
This kind of attack left people completely at a loss. They had no idea what it even was. Instinctively, they threw up Shield Charms.
Others weren't quick enough, or simply lacked the skill. In a moment's daze, they were smashed by countless spells.
Even those with shields fared badly. They watched in horror as cracks spread across their protective barriers before shattering completely.
"Spread out! Everyone spread out!" a vicious-looking witch shrieked. "Standing together just makes us targets for Riddle!"
The crowd scattered like startled birds. Countless spells slammed into empty ground.
The witch had barely managed a smug smile when dozens of blue lightning bolts crashed down on her. Her Shield Charm collapsed like wet paper. Electricity tore through her body, hair standing on end as smoke poured from her mouth before she crumpled to the ground.
Kill them all?
Tom wouldn't show mercy to the drunkards and loudmouth troublemakers. But that woman, and the wizard who'd deliberately incited the crowd earlier, were clearly targeting him. They were worth keeping alive for questioning.
Tom didn't believe that today's events were random. The chaos had come too fast, too precise. Someone had clearly orchestrated it.
A whirlwind swept through, flinging the unconscious bodies aside. Tom rose back into the air, claiming the high ground to better control the battlefield.
He held the spellbook in one hand and pointed skyward with the other.
A piercing cry rang out.
A clear phoenix call split the night as a golden-red phantom burst into existence behind him, soaring straight into the sky. It became a blazing sun in the darkness, illuminating every face below.
"Damn it, that brat can fly!" a drunk roared in fury. "If you've got guts, come down here!"
Green light fell from the sky and sank into his body. The shockwave blasted him high into the air. He was dead before he hit the ground.
In this situation, one death meant almost nothing.
The rioters launched themselves into a frenzy of attacks. They were a disorganized mob, with no coordination or rhythm. Many spells even collided with each other midair. But when there were enough of them, sheer numbers could still create pressure.
Tom still didn't bother raising a defensive charm.
After a brief pause, the spellbook accelerated again, pages flipping faster and faster as endless spells poured out.
"Kill them all! Burn them! Burn every last one! Tom, set them on fire—now! Hurry! If only I were there myself… hahahaha!"
Inside the study space, Jalter (Jeanne Alter) was jumping up and down, screaming at the top of her lungs. Excitement and savage delight twisted her beautiful face. She wished she could rush out herself and unleash the judgment flames that had once burned her alive, wiping out everyone who dared stand against her.
"Quiet!"
Jeanne appeared, suppressing Jalter's consciousness. She was afraid the noise would disrupt Tom's focus.
Andros and Ravenclaw were also watching from the space. They saw the boy withstand every attack head-on, trading spellfire without retreat. The magic pouring from that book seemed endless, never running dry.
"Tom has completely mastered your magic," Andros said in awe. "How many spells has he used? Fifty? A hundred? More? I can't even keep count."
Ravenclaw shook her head. "It's not the same. Tom only borrowed my concept. The actual effect is entirely different."
Those captivating eyes of hers gleamed with strange light. She had turned her wand into a book, or rather, used a book as a wand. But Tom had gone much further. This phantom spellbook was the crystallization of his current understanding of magic.
"Want to learn it?" the boy's teasing voice echoed in their ears. "If you do, I can teach you this move. The Magical Library."
Andros was the first to shake his head. He wasn't a scholarly wizard. He preferred depth over breadth.
This style simply wasn't his path.
Ravenclaw, on the other hand, was intrigued.
---
Tom looked up and smirked.
The phantom phoenix in the sky spread its wings and soared. One man stood head-on against several hundred others, and the clash was completely one-sided.
The one being crushed was the crowd.
The boy strode through the air as though it were solid ground, unhurried and at ease. Spells spilled from the pages of the book and hunted their targets on their own—Petrification Charms, Knockback Jinxes, and Body-Bind Curses.
Stupefying Charms. Smashing spells. Blasting curses. Confundus charms.
And the deadliest of all, the Killing Curse.
The rioters wailed and sobbed in despair. They couldn't understand how someone could rain down spells like a storm, outnumbering them, overpowering them, all while calmly controlling the entire battlefield like some unfeeling god.
Some tried to Apparate away, only to be lashed out of the air by whip-like spells. Their screams were cut short as their lower bodies vanished, their insides spilling out in a horrifying mess.
Madame Maxime and the wizards gathered around her stared upward, utterly shaken by the sight.
The boy in midair looked like he was playing a game of whack-a-mole, and not even a careful one. Whether the "moles" covered their heads or begged made no difference. They were smashed all the same.
Lives were vanishing in seconds. None of them had ever witnessed death on this scale among wizards.
Was he a devil? Or a savior?
Clap, clap, clap!
Gabrielle, cradled in Fleur's arms, suddenly started clapping happily, breaking the eerie silence.
"G-Gabrielle, what are you doing?" Fleur whispered urgently.
"Tom is amazing!" the little girl declared proudly. "He beat all the bad guys. He's a big hero!"
The innocent words hit the crowd like a shock.
She was right.
If Tom Riddle hadn't been there, and those hundreds of rioters had charged in, the ones lying broken on the ground right now would have been them.
"That's right!" Madame Maxime said loudly. "Mr. Riddle is fighting to protect what's right. If he hesitated, the ones in danger would be him. It would be all of us!"
"Everyone stay calm. Don't interfere with Mr. Riddle's actions. Don't cast spells recklessly, or you might hurt allies."
Her words carried weight. The crowd quickly steadied themselves. Fleur smiled and kissed Gabrielle on the cheek, smearing saliva all over her chubby, pink face.
"Good job, Gabrielle. Tom really didn't spoil you for nothing."
She had been worried that Tom's ruthless methods might backfire, that people would start seeing him as a monster. But with Gabrielle's pure, unfiltered praise, the mood shifted instantly.
The little girl looked confused, having no idea why her sister was praising her, but she still puffed out her chest proudly.
"That's right! Tom likes me the most!"
Her adorable confidence drew warm smiles from those nearby.
Tom had no idea how the mood below was changing. Even if he did, he wouldn't care.
Things were different now.
In the past, he had been constrained at every turn. Even dealing with the Graves family had required staying within the rules. In the end, it was all because he wasn't strong enough. He didn't yet have the power to stand against the entire world.
But now?
What was there to fear?
Dumbledore and Voldemort together still wouldn't be his match. Grindelwald, leading his followers, was more than enough to sweep the world clean. So why should he keep holding himself back?
Sensing the surge of murderous intent from its master, the spellbook swelled in size once more. The spells flying from its pages grew sharper, more vicious.
The rioters scattered in panic. Aside from those who risked tearing themselves apart by Apparating, everyone else was trapped in this sealed killing field.
"Fire, clear the way!"
Tom clenched his hand. Four towering walls of flame erupted around the perimeter, slowly closing in toward the center.
The spellbook's pages slowed, then finally closed. It dissolved into specks of starlight and vanished. When the flames died down, hundreds of bodies were revealed.
There might have been a few survivors, but for the most part, they were thoroughly cooked.
The few wizards he had singled out earlier were nowhere to be seen. They had been deliberately removed.
A sudden clarity rose in Tom's mind.
Trelawney's prophecy had been accurate, and yet not quite.
He would face danger?
No.
He was the danger.
.
.
.