Rewound Memories

The commander of the Wild Hunt had fulfilled his role as bait.

He had successfully held Harry's attention.

Of course, bait is never something meant to be used twice.

His large bald head rolled across the ground, helmet clattering away, leaving only a lifeless, wide-eyed expression frozen in death.

"Fiendfyre!"

With a sweep of his wand, a roaring golden flame surged forward, incinerating the corpse completely.

The steel chains that had bound Imlerith twisted and reverted to their original form. Harry paused, then tucked them into the Sorting Hat—perhaps they would come in handy later.

Once everything was packed up, he turned and headed toward the other battlefield.

That fight was nearly over as well.

Ciri, with her wealth of real-world combat experience, had the upper hand. Hermione was less seasoned, but her meticulous planning, array of spells, herbs, potions, and even prank items from the Weasley twins—though individually weak—worked in tandem to devastating effect under her guidance.

It was Hermione who had taken down the two navigators.

By the time Harry arrived, Hermione was using Devil's Snare to trap the last two Wild Hunt riders. Ciri raised her sword and efficiently beheaded them both.

Ciri looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps. "Imlerith's dead?"

Harry nodded. "He's dead."

"But there's a problem. Imlerith was sent by Eredin to stall me."

Ciri blinked, confused. Hermione tilted her head, realization dawning.

"Eredin needed to know for sure that I'd stay in this world," Harry said quietly, "so they could act during that window."

That word—know—was key.

Perhaps they had guessed Harry wasn't in Hogwarts, and might be in this world.

But would they risk a move based on a guess?

Maybe Eredin would. But Voldemort? Never.

Only certainty would push them to act.

It's like playing cards. You might have four eights in your hand, but if you don't know what your opponent holds, you hesitate. But once all the bigger cards are revealed as singles or pairs, and you're certain your eights are the best hand—you play boldly.

"Voldemort?" Hermione uttered.

Harry confirmed, "I believe it's him."

Ciri didn't follow every word, but understood enough: "So now we need to go to your world?"

Harry nodded.

Ciri sheathed her sword and opened her arms. "Of course. But wait a second."

"I'm not great at handling Elder Blood powers yet. I need to recalibrate the timeline first."

A glowing blue portal shimmered open.

She stepped in and out several times, adjusting the spell. Finally satisfied, she gestured. "All right, let's go."

They stepped through.

A bustling city street greeted them.

"This is somewhere in Germany," Hermione said, glancing at a billboard. The language gave it away quickly.

"Wrong location?" Ciri asked.

Harry grasped Hermione's hand and Ciri's arm. "Doesn't matter."

Apparition!

Pop!

They landed just outside Hogsmeade.

Though spring, the village was coated in glistening snow, as if Christmas had just passed.

The air hung heavy with white frost.

"They acted already," Harry muttered, frowning as he led them toward the castle.

Ciri and Hermione followed close behind.

—

In the palace of the Aen Elle elves—

The navigator who had been stationed with Voldemort returned.

He stood before Eredin, respectful and proper, observing Aen Elle court etiquette.

Eredin made small talk.

Sometimes about himself, sometimes about elven history, sometimes obscure details from the Wild Hunt only true insiders would know.

The navigator responded fluently.

Only a true Aen Elle could do this.

He wasn't Voldemort in disguise.

"What did that Voldemort fellow do?" Eredin asked.

The navigator replied obediently: "He broke into Hogwarts, rescued his son, and used the castle's magic to resurrect himself."

"Did he bring back any findings about the White Frost?"

The navigator nodded and placed three books on the table.

"Now that he has a physical body, his research advanced further," the navigator said. "He claims to have discovered magic that can perfectly control the White Frost."

"Perfectly control it?" Eredin arched a brow.

"Yes."

Eredin's mood brightened. He leaned forward and picked up the top book.

He had never been a patient man. Yet, he had always tolerated Voldemort—his arrogance, his provocations—because Voldemort showed promise. Real, tangible results.

If Voldemort could solve the White Frost crisis, Eredin could overlook anything.

He had even once considered mating with Ciri—the Elder Blood—despite their racial incompatibility. It had failed, naturally. His body wouldn't respond. But he'd been willing.

If even his pride and chastity could be sacrificed, what else mattered?

Now, at last—an answer.

That foolish young man had handed him everything.

He flipped open the first page.

But—

It was blank.

Every page was blank.

No. This was wrong. Very wrong.

He tried to throw the book away—but it stuck fast to his hand.

A curse activated.

His tongue sealed shut. His hands began to turn to stone.

Bit by bit, his body froze in place, locked in his throne.

His soul remained free. His mind raced. His eyes moved.

He strained to look up at the navigator.

But the man's face was blank. He silently opened a portal.

From within, Voldemort stepped out.

"Honored King of the Aen Elle, Lord of the Wild Hunt, the great Eredin—greetings," he said with mock civility. "We meet at last. I am Voldemort, once a supplicant before you."

Eredin's eyes filled with disbelief as he stared at the navigator.

Betrayal!

He had been betrayed.

And so quickly—only one day of contact!

Voldemort caught his look and smiled faintly, snapping his fingers.

The navigator broke into a grotesque, jerking dance.

"Oh, forgive me. I forgot to introduce him," Voldemort said softly. "That's the effect of a spell—one of the Unforgivable Curses."

"Imperius."

----------

Powerstones?

For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates