Chapter 431

Night, Hogsmeade, Hog's Head Bar.

The lively clatter of conversation mixed with the clinking of glasses, creating a vibrant atmosphere. Wizards and witches sat at the worn wooden tables, their laughter and chatter blending with the occasional scrape of chairs across the floor.

Behind the counter, Aberforth Dumbledore wiped glasses with a practiced hand, his weathered face betraying no emotion as he listened to the snippets of conversation floating through the air.

"Have you heard?" a gruff voice said from a nearby table. "The Death Eaters are cozying up to those damned purebloods again. Should've tossed the lot of them into Azkaban."

"Shh!" his companion hissed, glancing around nervously. "Watch your mouth. You never know who's listening."

Aberforth's hands paused briefly before resuming their rhythmic polishing. His brother, Albus, had already informed him of Voldemort's reappearance, even asking him to gather information from the bar's patrons. Yet Aberforth approached the task with his characteristic indifference. If he overheard anything useful, fine. If not, so be it.

The conversations around him continued unabated.

"Word is Sirius Black's been rounding up werewolves left and right," a younger wizard said conspiratorially. "I hear they're working with the Death Eaters now."

Another voice chimed in, tinged with skepticism. "Some say the werewolves are tied to the Dark Lord himself."

"What? Isn't he dead?"

"Who knows? That's just what I've heard."

Aberforth's frown deepened as he pondered the implications. The thought of Voldemort allying with the werewolves sent a chill through him. His brother's machinations often seemed too far-reaching, but in this case, Aberforth felt the weight of an impending storm.

And what about Ian? he wondered suddenly. Ian, one of the young wizards Lockhart had recruited, had vanished from the public eye along with many others. Studying in secret somewhere, no doubt.

A burst of laughter from the corner brought his attention back.

"Do you know the name of Lockhart's new school?" someone asked loudly. "The Daily Prophet keeps praising it, but they've been so tight-lipped about the details."

"Don't call him 'Professor' anymore—he's a 'Principal' now," another quipped, prompting laughter around the table.

"Who would've thought we'd have another principal in Britain before Dumbledore stepped down?" an older wizard remarked. "For centuries, it was just Hogwarts. I thought it'd stay that way forever."

The conversation turned speculative, with guesses about Dumbledore's opinion of the new school. Aberforth suppressed a snort. He could almost hear his brother's thoughts: Let Lockhart handle Voldemort, Grindelwald, and whatever else comes next.

For Albus, Lockhart's emergence as a power player was a stroke of fortune, another chess piece to manipulate.

Aberforth poured himself a drink, his mind heavy with foreboding. Chaos was brewing. The simultaneous reappearances of Grindelwald and Voldemort heralded a storm unlike anything the wizarding world had faced. If the two dark lords joined forces, the consequences would be catastrophic.

The chatter continued, but a new voice caught Aberforth's attention.

"Something strange happened recently," a young wizard declared, his tone smug.

"What now?" his companion asked, feigning patience.

"Magical creatures swallowing land," the young wizard replied, lowering his voice dramatically. "They say entire areas vanish—forests, fields—completely gone."

"Come off it," the other wizard scoffed. "That's just a rumor."

"I saw it with my own eyes!" the young wizard insisted. "A forest disappeared right in front of me. They say there were elves living there, and they're all gone now."

Aberforth's frown deepened. Magical creatures devouring land? He made a mental note to write to Newt Scamander. If this was true, it couldn't bode well—especially if it tied back to Voldemort.

The Forbidden Forest

Lockhart hovered mid-air, surveying the dense greenery below. Beside him, Sunny, his loyal, spherical magical companion, perched on his shoulder, its tiny eyes gleaming with excitement.

"Gu! Gu!" it chirped, pointing eagerly at a patch of lush green grass.

Lockhart chuckled, gently stroking the creature's furry head. "Green velvet grass again? You really can't resist, can you?"

Sunny nodded enthusiastically, recalling fond memories of its favorite treat.

Lockhart closed his eyes momentarily, extending his mental awareness to the secret realm. The Hufflepuff Gold Cup, nestled at its core, allowed the realm to move with him, a remarkable advantage. Though the realm's location would eventually be fixed, the golden cup would make creating portals from anywhere in the world effortless—a feature even Hogwarts lacked.

The thought brought a small smile to his lips.

He reopened his eyes, his gaze sweeping the forest below. He hadn't come here for leisure. The Forbidden Forest's rich biodiversity was vital for populating the fledgling secret realm. His goal was to replicate a miniature version of the forest, complete with its magical ecosystem, for the students of his school.

Lockhart extended his wand, channeling his magic to probe the area. Rich veins of magical energy and vibrant life forms shimmered in his mind's eye. Perfect, he thought.

"This place will do nicely," he murmured, his voice carrying a tone of satisfaction.

Sunny chirped in agreement, its small body practically vibrating with excitement.

Lockhart's eyes glinted with determination. The Forbidden Forest would serve as the blueprint for his secret realm's own magical reserve—a place for students to explore, learn, and grow. With the tools at his disposal, the possibilities were limitless.

Hogwarts owed much of its success in teaching potions to the abundant resources of the Forbidden Forest. Even the simplest potion ingredients, though individually inexpensive, would cost a fortune when scaled to hundreds of students. Without the forest's bounty, the Potions class might have become an elective—or disappeared entirely.

Lockhart intended to replicate this model for his own school. His vision was clear: every wizard, regardless of their background, would have the opportunity to learn and practice potion-making. However, unlike Hogwarts, Lockhart had no intention of wasting resources indiscriminately.

As his school matured, resources would be allocated strategically, prioritizing those with exceptional talent. His ambition wasn't limited to creating competent potion-makers. He dreamed of training the next Snape, another Horace Slughorn, or perhaps even a second Newt Scamander or Nicolas Flamel.

The thought made Lockhart smile. The idea of nurturing a new generation of extraordinary wizards and witches filled him with satisfaction.

Unlike others who sought dominance through singular power, Lockhart believed in collaboration. He saw the collective wisdom and innovation of many as the key to achieving his goals.

For instance, he planned to refine the meditation method further, adapting it specifically for wizards. He envisioned new spells, magical theories, and large-scale enchantments born from shared effort.

While Kamar-Taj's magic was remarkable, much of it depended on the power of the Vishanti—a reliance Lockhart found unsettling. Transforming such magic into something universally accessible required collaborative research. He refused to become dependent on external forces, vowing instead to build something lasting and self-sufficient.

As the breeze rustled the leaves around him, Lockhart's focus sharpened.

Buzz!

The space within a several-kilometer radius began to ripple and distort. Trees, soil, and countless animals vanished into the distortion. Moments later, a deep crater replaced the vibrant forest.

Far away, within the secret realm, a new forest appeared. Its trees swayed gently, and the animals within chirped and rustled, startled by their sudden relocation. Everything about their new environment—the magic in the air, the light, even the ground—was different.

Lockhart paid little attention to the scene. By now, he was accustomed to it. Over the past few days, he had traversed Britain and beyond, gathering magical resources and creatures for his secret realm.

The realm was his future base of operations, and perfection was non-negotiable.

Standing at the edge of the fresh crater, Lockhart raised his wand. With a series of precise movements, the surrounding soil began to shift, filling in the void. Slowly but surely, the land returned to its natural state.

To ensure it blended seamlessly, Lockhart scattered seeds across the area and cast a series of growth-accelerating spells. Grass, shrubs, and even young trees sprouted rapidly, covering the ground. Soon, the area looked almost untouched—save for the eerie silence.

Lockhart nodded in satisfaction. Leaving such an obvious mark would have been reckless.

His work was far from done. The Forbidden Forest held countless treasures, and he intended to use as many as possible to complete his secret realm. The opening of his school was fast approaching, and time was of the essence.

Malfoy Manor, Study

The night was quiet, and Tom Riddle stood by the window, gazing out at the darkened grounds of Malfoy Manor.

The manor, a testament to Lucius Malfoy's wealth and status, was well-maintained and imposing. It served as their current base of operations, though Tom found its grandeur suffocating at times.

Yew wand in hand, he turned to face the open space in the center of the study.

"I didn't expect you to show yourself so soon," Tom said, his voice calm yet pointed. "Aren't you afraid I'll devour you?"

From the shadows, a pale figure emerged. Its smooth, hairless skin and slitted, nostril-less face were unmistakable—it was Voldemort.

The two stared at one another, their contrasting appearances a study in duality.

Tom, dressed in an elegant dark green robe, looked youthful and composed. His calm demeanor hinted at restrained power and quiet confidence.

Voldemort, on the other hand, exuded menace. Clad in a black robe, his twisted features and restless energy conveyed danger and madness.

"You must have sensed it," Voldemort hissed, his tone laced with anger. "Someone is using a Horcrux to curse us."

Tom's expression didn't falter. "So?" he asked coolly. "What do you intend to do about it?"

Voldemort's gaze flicked over Tom, noting the layers of protective magic surrounding him—similar to his own. A sneer curled his lips.

"It's not just my problem," Voldemort said sharply. "It's ours. Lockhart has the Horcrux, and he's clearly skilled with curses. If we don't act, he'll use it to expose our traces—or worse, claim the other Horcruxes."

The admission clearly cost Voldemort, his face twisting with suppressed rage.

"I don't know how you severed your soul," he spat, "but it's clear you're not immune to this curse."

Tom remained unfazed. "And what do you propose?"

Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile. "Lockhart's opening ceremony is approaching. We will strike there. He, his students, his allies—they will all perish."

Tom's expression didn't change, but his eyes glinted with interest.

"We'll gather our forces," Voldemort continued. "With the two of us united, the British wizarding world will crumble. Once Dumbledore and Lockhart are dead, we can settle things between ourselves."

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