Chapter 425

Evil. Decay. Fall.

Dark green light crackled through the air, filling the space with an oppressive aura of death. The sinister energy emanating from Yaxley's cursed form sent shivers through everyone present.

Sirius Black stood at the forefront, his wand clenched tightly in his hand as he eyed the grotesque transformation before him. The Death Eater Mark on Yaxley's arm seemed alive, slithering across his flesh like a malevolent serpent. It climbed toward his forehead, where it burned itself into a vivid, glowing skull.

"Protego!"

"Magicis Protego!"

Aurors and wizards alike shouted defensive incantations, their voices trembling as they cast shields around themselves. Sirius himself braced for the worst, his heart pounding as he focused on Lockhart at the center of their formation.

"Thunderbolt!" Sirius called out, aiming a streak of red lightning at Yaxley.

But the spell veered midair, twisting unnaturally as if pulled by an unseen force. It struck the wooden floor, leaving a scorched mark but causing no harm.

"I curse you!" Yaxley's voice boomed, dark and guttural. The Death Eater Mark glowed fiercely as he channeled his master's power, aiming it squarely at Lockhart.

A sudden wind, cold and unnatural, swept through the room. The windows rattled violently as the dark energy surged, casting the house into an eerie, flickering twilight.

Slughorn, standing directly behind Lockhart, could feel the palpable malice in the air. His instincts screamed at him to flee, but his legs felt rooted to the spot. He could only watch as the curse raced toward Lockhart.

Yet, as the dark energy collided with Lockhart, his body emitted a thin, golden light. The aura was faint but unwavering, radiating purity and an unyielding strength that seemed to repel the darkness. The curse fizzled as it met this light, dissolving harmlessly into the air.

Slughorn's breath hitched as he stared, equal parts amazed and relieved. The golden glow inspired confidence, breaking through the despair that had been creeping into his heart.

Meanwhile, Yaxley's transformation reached its peak. The dark green runes on his body pulsed with malevolence, his flesh twisting and contorting grotesquely. Finally, his features shifted entirely, taking on a new, more familiar visage.

"Tom…" Slughorn gasped in horror, his voice trembling.

The room fell silent as Voldemort's image emerged from the corrupted form of Yaxley. His slit-like nostrils flared slightly as his cold, red eyes scanned the room with detached curiosity.

"Has the curse failed?" Voldemort mused, tilting his head as if evaluating his own borrowed form. "Interesting…"

Then his gaze fell on Slughorn. "Professor Horace," he said softly, his voice almost mocking, "what a disappointment."

Slughorn instinctively took a step back, his wand trembling in his grip.

"You were my most esteemed Potions Professor," Voldemort continued, his tone deceptively cordial. "I expected you to stand with me in reclaiming the glory of wizards. And yet… here you are."

Without warning, Voldemort's expression turned cold.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green jet of light sped toward Slughorn, exuding death. Slughorn barely had time to react before the curse struck—but instead of meeting its mark, he felt a powerful force yank him sideways.

Lockhart had pulled him out of harm's way, the Death Curse obliterating the floor where he had been standing moments before.

The Aurors, paralyzed by fear at Voldemort's presence, hesitated. Even the experienced among them faltered under the weight of his infamous reputation. Their trembling hands betrayed their terror, and some instinctively stepped back.

Only Sirius stood firm, his jaw clenched in defiance. His hatred for Voldemort burned brighter than his fear.

You killed James and Lily, Sirius thought bitterly. You destroyed their lives. You will pay.

"Avada Kedavra!" Sirius roared, channeling his rage into the deadly curse.

But Voldemort barely spared him a glance. With a flick of his wand, he redirected Sirius's spell effortlessly, the green light spiraling harmlessly away.

"Pathetic," Voldemort muttered, turning his full attention to Lockhart.

"So," he said, his tone curious, "you're Lockhart."

Lockhart gave a small nod. "Indeed. And you, I presume, are Voldemort."

Voldemort's lip curled slightly. "Do you think you can protect Horace from me?"

Lockhart's gaze remained steady. "I know I can." His voice was calm, but his words carried an unshakable confidence.

Voldemort chuckled, though the sound was devoid of humor. "I am not Grindelwald, Lockhart. Whatever you may have accomplished against him means nothing to me. I will crush you."

Lockhart smiled faintly. "Words are cheap, Voldemort. Shall we see who stands at the end of this?"

Without warning, Voldemort raised his wand. "Avada Kedavra!"

Lockhart reacted instantly, his wand moving in a blur. The golden light around him flared brightly as he countered the Death Curse with a powerful spell of his own.

The two spells collided midair, green and red beams locking in a fierce struggle. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the room, kicking up clouds of dust and debris.

The duel between Lockhart and Voldemort's puppet had reached its climax, a display of raw magical power that left even the most battle-hardened Aurors in awe. As spells clashed in dazzling flashes of light, Slughorn couldn't help but notice how composed Lockhart appeared. Despite Voldemort's dark magic, Lockhart seemed to face him without strain, as though he had anticipated every move.

Slughorn's eyes lit up as a thought struck him—a spark of realization that mingled with a sense of awe and concern.

Across the room, Voldemort's puppet staggered, its once-commanding presence now faltering. A network of cracks spread across its surface, and its dark green magic began to waver.

"Damn it!" Voldemort's voice hissed through the crumbling vessel. "This body is fragile—unsuitable for a proper battle."

With one final surge of energy, Voldemort infused the puppet with his remaining power. "Next time, Lockhart," he spat, his tone dripping with malice, "you will know the true strength of a top dark wizard."

Before Lockhart could respond, Voldemort turned his gaze toward Slughorn. His cold, detached expression sent a chill through the former Slytherin Head.

"Professor Horace," Voldemort said softly, his voice carrying an unmistakable threat, "do not forget the promise you made to me."

As the last syllable echoed, the puppet collapsed into ashes, its remnants scattering into the air. The oppressive dark aura lifted, leaving behind an unsettling silence.

Lockhart lowered his wand, allowing the residual magic in the room to dissipate. The remaining Death Eaters, who had moments ago fought with unrelenting ferocity, now looked visibly shaken.

The Aurors, emboldened by Lockhart's display of strength, regained their confidence. Their wands snapped upward, and a flurry of incantations filled the air.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Stupefy!"

The remaining Death Eaters fell one by one, immobilized and disarmed. Sirius, his expression dark with determination, stepped over the fallen bodies and approached Lockhart and Slughorn.

"Professor Lockhart, Professor Horace," Sirius said, his voice calm but edged with urgency, "Voldemort's return is a matter of grave importance. I need to report this to the Ministry immediately."

His eyes flicked briefly to the petrified Death Eaters. Despite their capture, his thoughts lingered on one name: Peter Pettigrew. That rat.

Sirius's jaw tightened. If Pettigrew had indeed returned to Voldemort, he needed to uncover his whereabouts. These Death Eaters might hold the key.

Hogwarts, School Hospital

Later that evening, Horace Slughorn found himself lying on a pristine white hospital bed in the Hogwarts infirmary. His plump figure looked comically out of place among the neatly folded sheets and orderly rows of medical supplies.

On either side of his bed sat Dumbledore and Lockhart, both wearing expressions of polite concern.

"This is absurd!" Slughorn grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "I am a Potions Master. I know my own body, and there's nothing wrong with it!"

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "Horace, you're not as young as you once were. A little caution won't hurt." His tone was light, but his eyes held a twinkle of mischief.

Lockhart smiled faintly. "Professor, the headmaster's advice is sound. It wouldn't hurt to stay here for observation—just in case."

Slughorn puffed up indignantly, but he knew better than to argue. Both Dumbledore and Lockhart clearly intended to keep him within Hogwarts, likely to ensure his safety.

"Fine," Slughorn muttered, his voice heavy with resignation. "But don't think I don't know what you're doing. You're trying to keep me from running off!"

"Perish the thought," Dumbledore said lightly, though his amused expression betrayed him.

Slughorn sighed and leaned back against the pillows. After a moment, his eyes brightened as he addressed Lockhart. "To be honest, I regret not recruiting you for the Slug Club when you were a student. That may have been one of my greatest oversights."

Lockhart chuckled. "You flatter me, Professor. But perhaps it's not too late to remedy that mistake."

Dumbledore joined in the laughter. "Indeed, Horace. I believe you can still induct him—if you're persuasive enough."

The mood lightened, and for a brief moment, the tension of Voldemort's return seemed to fade. But as the conversation continued, Slughorn's demeanor grew more serious.

"Dumbledore," he said cautiously, "Lockhart has told you about Tom's return. What exactly is your plan to deal with him?"

Dumbledore's gaze softened, but his answer was enigmatic. "Do not worry, Horace. We are prepared."

Slughorn's face flushed with frustration. Prepared? He needed details, assurances that he could rely on, especially if he intended to slip away from the chaos.

Turning to Lockhart, Slughorn said, "Lockhart, your strength has grown immensely in recent years. Even the Dark Lord's puppet couldn't match you tonight."

Lockhart inclined his head in thanks.

"But," Slughorn continued, his voice tinged with caution, "that wasn't Voldemort in his full strength. That was a puppet—a fragment of his power. The next time you face him, he won't hold back. You must prepare yourself."

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