Chapter 430

The seaside was serene.

A gentle breeze rustled across the golden beach, carrying the salty scent of the ocean. Waves lapped against the shore, and seagulls soared freely in the blue sky. The scene was idyllic, tranquil—if not for the conspicuous absence of people.

Save for two figures, the beach was empty.

Suddenly—

Buzz!

The space around the two figures began to shimmer and distort, as though reality itself were unravelling. The distortion radiated outward in waves, warping their surroundings. The horizon blurred, the figures trembled, and everything seemed to dissolve into a mosaic of fragmented colors.

At the center of this spatial disturbance was a glowing blue orb—its pulsating light almost hypnotic.

Snape, standing nearby, stared at the orb in astonishment, the reflection of its azure glow dancing in his dark eyes. "Lockhart," he began, his voice laced with awe, "what exactly is the origin of this… Cosmic Cube?"

He recalled the stories of the Battle of New York. "I heard Rogers mention that the Cube opened a space portal spanning countless light-years. And it didn't even show signs of weakening afterward."

Lockhart's expression remained serene as he gazed at the Cube. "The new world holds wonders far beyond your imagination, Severus," he replied in an almost wistful tone.

"The Cosmic Cube is the embodiment of spatial power in that world. To control it is to wield the very fabric of space itself."

Snape's mind raced. The tales of the Deathly Hallows came to him unbidden—artifacts said to grant mastery over death itself. Could the Cosmic Cube truly be as powerful as the legends claimed?

Before he could respond, Lockhart continued. "The Sorcerer Supreme wields the Time Stone, a treasure on the same level as the Cube. With it, she crushes dimensional demons as though they are mere flies."

Lockhart's tone sharpened. "The Cosmic Cube and the Time Stone are of equal magnitude. If one could truly master the Cube's Space Stone, creating another Kamar-Taj would not just be a possibility—it would be inevitable."

Snape involuntarily swallowed, his gaze fixed on the orb. The thought of recreating Kamar-Taj, a place revered for its endless resources and mystical knowledge, sent shivers through him.

For a moment, a pang of regret flickered in his chest. The Cube had once been within reach… if only…

Lockhart's chuckle pulled Snape from his reverie. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Severus," he said with a smirk. "True mastery over the Cube is far beyond us. Even S.H.I.E.L.D., in their hubris, tried to use it as a mere power source—and nearly destroyed themselves in the process."

He paused, his expression growing more serious. "The last person to truly master the Cosmic Cube was Odin, the God King of Asgard. The Rainbow Bridge is a testament to that mastery."

Lockhart's voice dropped. "Only when you reach Odin's level can you hope to control the Cube. Until then, it's just an unattainable dream."

With a sigh, Lockhart turned his attention back to the glowing orb. "Such treasures are both a gift and a curse. Without strength to protect them, they invite destruction."

He hesitated, a flicker of something darker passing over his face. "The Space Stone and the Mind Stone have both passed through my hands. Yet I let them go."

Snape's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Why?"

"Because wielding them would have invited the wrath of Odin and Thanos," Lockhart said simply. "Surviving such hostility would have left me with no choice but to rely on the Sorcerer Supreme—a position I refuse to be in."

Lockhart's eyes gleamed with determination as he tapped the glowing orb lightly with his wand. A crisp ding echoed through the air, and an immense surge of spatial energy radiated outward.

Silver threads of light materialized in the air, dancing like streams of mercury. With precise wand movements, Lockhart guided the threads, weaving them into intricate patterns that shimmered with raw power.

Snape watched, transfixed. The threads pulsed with life, their shimmering forms evoking visions of mountains, oceans, and forests. The air itself seemed to hum with creation.

Gradually, colors began to seep into the patterns. Gold, blue, green, and brown swirled together, representing the sun, sea, forest, and earth. The entire pattern vibrated with an energy that felt primordial, alive.

Snape's mouth fell open slightly as he took it all in. The sheer magnitude of what he was witnessing defied his understanding of magic. For a moment, he felt as though he were watching the birth of a world.

Lockhart remained focused, his wand moving with meticulous precision as he adjusted the threads. Each movement seemed to shape the space around them, drawing from the natural elements to breathe life into the burgeoning construct.

"This is…" Snape whispered, his voice trailing off.

Lockhart didn't respond. His concentration was unyielding as he added the finishing touches to the spatial weave. The threads pulsed one final time, radiating a sense of completion.

At last, he raised his wand, and Hufflepuff's golden cup floated upward, glowing with radiant light.

"A secret realm needs a core," Lockhart murmured. "For the Sorcerer Supreme, it was a dimension demon. For me, it will be this."

The golden cup hovered at the center of the rune pattern, its brilliance intensifying as it aligned with the spatial threads.

Boom!

A deafening roar echoed as the cup settled into place. The surrounding space trembled violently, cracks appearing in the fabric of reality itself.

Then—

Buzz!

The beach, the sea, and even the air seemed to fold inward, vanishing into the void. In their place was a massive crater, its jagged edges littered with fragments of rock and soil.

The seawater, disturbed by the sudden displacement, surged forward to fill the void, reshaping the coastline in the process.

Lockhart stood still, his eyes closed, attuned to the fledgling secret realm. He nodded slightly, a faint smile gracing his lips. The framework of the secret realm was complete, a skeletal foundation ready for refinement.

Forests, fertile lands, and oceans couldn't simply be conjured from nothing—that would demand an unsustainable amount of power. Instead, these elements would need to be drawn from the outside world. The current realm was like a body with bones and a beating heart; it now required flesh and blood to come alive.

Lockhart's mind wandered to the next steps: how to enrich this secret realm, how to arrange its core, and, most importantly, how to ensure it could sustain wizards and magical beings.

After a moment of reflection, a confident smile curved his lips. The solution was already forming in his mind.

Lockhart raised his wand once more, summoning the Hufflepuff Gold Cup—the artifact that served as the heart of the realm. Its golden glow radiated as it hovered before him.

"Snape," Lockhart said, his tone calm yet firm. "I need your assistance now."

Snape, who had been silently observing, snapped to attention. Lockhart rarely spoke without purpose, and this time was no exception.

"What do you require of me?" Snape asked, stepping closer.

"I need the Death Eater mark on your arm," Lockhart replied, his gaze fixed on the glowing golden cup.

Snape stiffened slightly, his expression shifting to one of guarded curiosity.

The Hufflepuff Gold Cup, he knew, had once been corrupted as one of Voldemort's Horcruxes, housing a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul. Lockhart had left it intact, and now its corruption had a role to play.

Lockhart elaborated, "The Death Eater mark on your arm is intimately tied to Voldemort's soul. Of all the Death Eaters, your connection to him is among the strongest. It's a natural conduit for the curse I intend to cast."

Snape's sharp mind churned with questions, but he nodded without protest. He understood the magnitude of Lockhart's plans, and he would follow them through.

Rolling up his sleeve, Snape revealed the dark green mark etched into his skin: the infamous skull entwined with a serpent.

Lockhart moved closer, his wand extended toward the mark. Magic surged from the tip, and as it touched the Death Eater mark, the symbol began to writhe and twist, as though alive.

The skull's jaw opened and closed, and the serpent coiled and uncoiled, writhing in silent agony.

Whoosh!

A chilling, malevolent aura filled the air, making the surrounding space feel colder and darker. Lines of dark green energy began to spread across the surface of the Hufflepuff Gold Cup, pulsating with an eerie light.

Lockhart's voice was low and commanding as he uttered the curse:

"Dark Lord Voldemort, I curse you.

Let your soul erode. Let your magic fade.

Let the weight of your sins pull you into the abyss…"

Little Hangleton, Gaunt's Old House

Voldemort sat cross-legged on a faded futon, his crimson eyes closed in meditation. He focused on Lockhart's widely meditation technique.

Since its introduction, the meditation method had become a phenomenon in the wizarding world, sparking debates and igniting curiosity. Voldemort, ever calculating, saw both its potential and its dangers. He approached it cautiously, studying it for every advantage it could offer.

The Dark Lord was also intrigued by its creator. Lockhart's invention of such a transformative method spoke volumes of his intellect and ambition.

If it were me, I would have suppressed such a creation, Voldemort mused. To think that someone unleashed this chaos voluntarily…

Suddenly—

Whoosh!

A cold shiver ran through his body, and his connection to the fragments of his soul was disrupted. Voldemort's eyes snapped open, and his pale face darkened. A moment later, he doubled over, coughing violently as blood dripped from his lips.

"What… is this?" Voldemort rasped. His magic faltered, and his once-powerful aura wavered, as though something was clawing at his essence.

"A curse…" he muttered, his expression hardening. "Someone is targeting me through the Death Eater mark."

Rising to his feet, Voldemort waved his wand. One protective spell after another erupted around him, creating a shimmering barrier meant to isolate and contain the malicious energy.

Yet, the curse was relentless. Black tendrils of mist slithered through the barriers, reaching toward their target like sentient predators.

"Damn it," Voldemort hissed, his mind racing. "Who is behind this?"

The curse was potent, far stronger than anything Voldemort had encountered in years. It could only have been drawn from an artifact of immense power—and one closely connected to him.

The Horcruxes…

The realization struck him like a thunderbolt.

"Someone has weaponized one of my Horcruxes against me!" Voldemort's face twisted with rage and desperation as he poured more magic into his defenses, searching his fragmented soul for answers.

And then he saw it—brief but undeniable.

"Gilderoy Lockhart!" Voldemort roared, his voice echoing through the decrepit halls of the Gaunt house.

His crimson eyes burned with fury as he screamed, "I will make your life worse than death!"

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