The circus tent was sealed by a shimmering field of magical energy—Wyzett and his companions were trapped, unable to escape.
Once the reindeer had been herded onto the stage, the sharks tried desperately to shift back into human form. But something held them fast. They collapsed, writhing in agony across the boards.
"No! You must change back!" the ringmaster bellowed, slamming his staff into the ground.
He coughed up a mouthful of blood. In that instant, the sharks snapped back into the shapes of clowns.
The three clowns moved like puppets, stringless and hollow. They shuffled behind the ringmaster, propping him up, their faces twisted into forced masks of worry.
Wyzett, Luna, and Xenophilius all frowned in unison. It was obvious now—the sharks, these clowns, were nothing but puppets, controlled by another's will.
The ringmaster looked up at his clowns, nostalgia and longing flickering in his eyes. "Don't worry! They'll all pay for what they've done! Don't worry!"
As his words fell, the reindeer began to convulse, faint threads of blood-red light seeping from their bodies. There were so many reindeer on the stage that, though each light was weak, together they coalesced into a swirling, crimson orb.
Wyzett's mind raced. These wizards, transformed into reindeer, were having their life force siphoned away—collected into that blood-red sphere.
The orb spun faster and faster, pulling at their vitality like a whirlpool. The reindeer's coats dulled, their bodies shriveled, and their spasms grew more violent.
The ringmaster, coughing and trembling, wore a look of feverish excitement as he spat curses at the writhing herd. "You killed them! Now you'll pay! This place will pay! This whole country will pay! You're all sinners—scum! You all deserve to die!"
Xenophilius blinked in confusion. "Why is he saying this? Could he be that boy... Sigurd? But that can't be—wasn't he already...?"
Before he could finish, the ringmaster's body shuddered. He fixed Xenophilius with a wild stare. "How do you know my name?"
At the same moment, Wyzett and Luna both shook their heads. "No," they said together, "he absolutely cannot be Sigurd!"
The ringmaster's face twisted. He spat more blood, this time streaked with black smoke. "What gives you the right to say I'm not? You don't know what I've been through!"
"The cowards on this island! They let us die while we brought them joy! If not for them, how would I have ended up like this?"
"We were a family once! We brought happiness to so many wizards! Do you even know that? You know nothing!"
"You don't understand—my family was everything to me! They destroyed my treasures! They took everything I had!"
Luna's voice was suddenly sharp, edged with anger. "I don't know who you are, but you're not Sigurd! Your family is suffering, but you can't even see it. You just make them pretend to care for you—make them act concerned. Real family doesn't behave that way!"
Wyzett stepped forward, standing at Luna's side. "I see no love in you for them. You only order them around, and everything else is just empty words. Even your revenge is hollow. I can't believe the real Sigurd would ever do this."
Their words struck the ringmaster like physical blows. He coughed again and again, each time spitting up more blood, the black vapor within it growing thicker.
Wyzett couldn't help but wonder—if he and Luna kept talking, might the ringmaster just cough himself to death?
The ringmaster gasped for breath, clutching his staff. "I know them! Look—I cherish them!"
"You're a liar!" the three clowns chorused, nodding mechanically. "He's the one who cares most about us—he's Sigurd!"
"See?" the ringmaster said with a twisted smile. "You're just denying this island's guilt—you're accomplices! You're just as vile!"
He swept his staff forward. The clowns shifted back into sharks, tails thrashing as they surged through the air, jaws gaping, racing toward Wyzett and the others.
The sharks' blind obedience, the black smoke mingling with the ringmaster's blood... It all added up.
Obscurus, Wyzett realized. All the signs were there.
Without hesitation, he raised his wand. Power surged through him—Ancient Magic blazing to life.
Ancient Magic: Purification Curse
He traced a smooth S-shape through the air and shouted, "Mundus Totalus!"
A cyclone erupted beneath one of the sharks, sweeping up all three in a rush of wind and magic, drawing out a dense cloud of black vapor.
As the darkness was torn free, the sharks tumbled to the ground, unable to fly, writhing in pain.
"Just as I thought—an Obscurus!" Wyzett declared, flicking his wand to scatter the lingering black smoke. "Headmaster Dumbledore told me—this is the other extreme of its power, its dangerous malleability. You're the one who attacked the Swedish Ministry of Magic. You might be this circus's ringmaster, but you're not Sigurd."
"I am him!" the ringmaster screamed, clinging to his delusion.
"You know everything about his past?" Wyzett pressed. "Then when you asked for tips after a show, what did you say?"
The ringmaster hesitated. "What else? Of course I thanked them!"
Wyzett's voice was cool. "Wouldn't you say, 'Thank you, sir—may you be happy and healthy'?"
"Isn't that the same as thanking them?" the ringmaster snapped, growing more agitated.
"I just made that up," Wyzett said quietly. "Maybe all your stories are just lies—nothing but borrowed memories."
"Wasn't Sigurd already dead?" Xenophilius added quietly. "I spoke with other wizards last night. They told me the circus members were all buried long ago. They'll always regret what happened."
The words hit the ringmaster like a hammer. He howled, "You're lying! Don't think a few words can save them!"
He slammed his staff into the ground. The crimson orb spun violently, the reindeer shriveling even further—like lizards dried up in the desert, barely clinging to life.
Draining life force—a classic curse.
Luckily, Wyzett had studied such dark magic under Professor Quirrell. He knew how to break it.
He raised his wand again, tracing that same S-shaped arc. "Mundus Totalus!"
A cyclone shot up beneath the crimson orb, shattering it in a single blow.
Life force rushed back into the reindeer. Their bodies swelled, color returned to their coats—they were restored at last...
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