Ch: 31-40
Chapter 31: The Struggle for the Philosopher's Stone
Then, Caesar reached out his hand. Instead of touching the mirror's surface directly, he pressed several specific runes on the frame in sequence.
His movements were slow, his fingertips infused with magic. With every press, the corresponding rune briefly flared with a ghastly white light.
It then dimmed again, as if forcibly awakened for a moment before quickly falling back into a deeper slumber.
An extremely faint moan, seemingly from deep underground, echoed within the stone chamber, and the air temperature seemed to drop by several degrees.
Quirrell held his breath, watching Caesar perform this series of operations that he completely failed to understand.
He only felt the surrounding magic field become exceptionally turbulent, as the mist on the mirror's surface began to churn violently, like a boulder thrown into a calm lake.
Finally, Caesar's index finger hovered over an inconspicuous rune at the top of the frame, shaped like an Ouroboros.
He paused for about three seconds, and then, he tapped it lightly.
There was no brilliant flash of light, nor any earth-shaking sound.
The churning mist inside the mirror suddenly settled, becoming as clear as the finest obsidian.
Immediately following that, at the center of the mirror, a speck of red light, like a drop of blood falling into water, slowly diffused, gradually condensing and taking shape.
A pebble-sized gemstone, deep red as if burning, "floated" out from the depths of the mirror.
As if passing through an invisible surface of water, it suspended quietly in the air a foot in front of the mirror.
Liquid flames seemed to flow slowly within it, emitting an ancient, vast, and simultaneously heart-throbbing pulse of magic.
The Philosopher's Stone.
Quirrell's breathing suddenly became heavy, his eyes bulging as if they were about to pop out of their sockets, his face a mixture of ecstasy and disbelief.
He instinctively took a step forward, reaching out a trembling hand.
However, another hand was faster than his.
With a casual snatch, Caesar grasped the floating gemstone, which contained incredible power, in his palm.
The ruby's light shone through the gaps between his fingers, reflecting the skin on his hand like transparent red jade, making those faint blue cracks look even more eerie under the red light.
He didn't check it immediately, nor did he even give it a second look; he just casually weighed it, feeling that heavy magic texture that almost seemed to sear the soul.
There was no excitement or greed on his face for having obtained something so coveted.
There was only a near-indifferent calm, as if he weren't holding the Philosopher's Stone, but just a slightly warmer ordinary stone.
It's just a simulation; he truly didn't care much.
The real goal was elsewhere.
Quirrell's hand froze in mid-air, the ecstasy on his face instantly hardening into astonishment, followed by rising anger and a hint of humiliated resentment at being fooled.
He whipped his head around, his neck making an unnatural creaking sound, as the flat face on the back of his head protruded completely, twisting in rage.
The nostrils were two black holes for inhaling, and the gaze was deadlocked on the ruby in Caesar's hand.
"Give... give it to me!" Quirrell's voice changed pitch, mixed with Lord Voldemort's signature snake-like hiss, "Give it... to the Master!"
Caesar finally shifted his gaze from his fist holding the stone and slowly raised his head.
He first looked at Quirrell, whose facial muscles were twitching as his gaze was gradually being completely taken over by another will.
Then, his vision shifted, as if penetrating Quirrell's skull to stare directly into that evil soul parasitizing the back of the head.
His eyebrows arched slightly, and the corners of his mouth curled into a very faint, almost playful arc.
It was not the anger or panic one should have when betrayed by a collaborator.
It was more like an "as expected" realization, even carrying a bit of mockery for the other party finally showing their true colors.
Quirrell—or rather, Quirrell under Lord Voldemort's dominance—was clearly incensed by this reaction.
Or perhaps the temptation of the Philosopher's Stone being so close at hand had completely shattered the last shred of their hypocritical alliance.
"Caesar Habus..." A raspy voice echoed from Quirrell's throat and the back of his head simultaneously, overlapping in a hair-raising way, "Your task is complete.
Now... give it to me. In consideration of you opening the way for me, I might consider giving you a quick death."
The atmosphere in the stone chamber suddenly dropped to the freezing point, as killing intent spread from Quirrell like a physical tide.
Caesar let out a soft "Heh," his voice devoid of any emotion.
His right hand, holding the Philosopher's Stone, hung naturally at his side, but his left hand had been raised at some unknown point, with a wisp of mist deeper than darkness swirling around his fingertips.
"How very... calculating, Tom," he said, shaking his head in a tone as flat as if he were commenting on the weather.
In his eyes, beneath that usual deep calm,
Something cold, sharp, and originating from the same source as those faint blue cracks on his body finally emerged without reservation.
It wasn't some righteous fury, nor was it sorrowful despair.
It was a pure "blackness" that also originated from the dark, yet was even deeper and more inscrutable, as if coming from the end of time or the bottom of the abyss.
"How arrogant,"
Caesar's voice remained steady, yet carried a metallic, grating quality. "To think you can deal with me using just a possessed servant. At the very least, you should have come yourself."
Quirrell—or rather, the dark magic solidified into substance released by Lord Voldemort through Quirrell's body—was the first to break the stalemate.
Without an incantation or even a clear gesture, dozens of pitch-black tentacles composed of pure negative energy suddenly condensed in the air.
Like leeches scenting blood, they snatched toward Caesar silently and swiftly. Wherever they passed, they left charred corrosion marks on the stone walls, and even the light seemed to be swallowed.
Caesar didn't even take half a step back.
His right hand holding the Philosopher's Stone still hung at his side, as if that heavy temptation or burden had nothing to do with him.
The five fingers of his raised left hand, however, brushed lightly in front of him, as if plucking invisible harp strings.
There was no dazzling spell-light, nor any loud explosion.
From the crevices between the ancient bricks on the floor, walls, and even the ceiling of the stone chamber, countless fine, silver-blue lines of light suddenly burst forth.
These lines were not straight, but wound and twisted like living things, or like cold and sharp vines and thorns that had grown in an instant.
They intertwined precisely in front of Caesar, forming a wide net that let nothing through.
The dark tentacles crashed into the light net. Instead of the expected violent confrontation and annihilation, there was a series of grating sizzling sounds, as if a hot knife were cutting into congealed grease.
The tentacles were easily cut, decomposed, and absorbed by those silver-blue lines of light, dissipating into wisps of black smoke.
The light net itself brightened slightly, its color deepening as if it had just had a full meal.
"This is..." Lord Voldemort's suspicious and uncertain hiss rolled out of Quirrell's throat, "An ancient Protection Spell? No... that's not right!"
"Good eyes, but it's too late," Caesar's voice remained steady, even carrying a hint of instructional patience. "This isn't protection; it's 'Siphon'."
His left fingers suddenly clenched!
The large net composed of silver-blue light lines instantly contracted. No longer defensive, it transformed into dozens of nimble light snakes and pounced back at Quirrell.
The speed of the light snakes was beyond imagination, and their trajectories were even more tricky and eerie, as if they could predict the gaps in Quirrell's magic flow.
Chapter 32: You Dare Side with Lord Voldemort
The air inside the cold stone chamber felt like congealed asphalt, thick with the fishy sweetness of lingering Dark Arts and the scorched scent of colliding magic.
Although Caesar had initially been able to suppress Quirrell with ease, as time passed, the power Lord Voldemort channeled through Quirrell's body gradually gained the absolute upper hand.
Caesar's situation was precarious.
Those eerie Silver-blue light vines originating from Grindelwald were still stubbornly burrowing out of the void, entangling and cutting into the incoming black Fiendfyre and curses.
However, their growth rate had slowed significantly, and their light had dimmed considerably, as if their vitality were being continuously drained by some invisible force.
Caesar himself was as pale as paper; every wave of his wand seemed exceptionally heavy, his breathing was short, and his forehead hair was soaked with cold sweat, clinging to his skin.
The ghostly blue cracks beneath his skin were no longer just faintly appearing; they were like living things, snaking and pulsing across his cheeks, the side of his neck, and even the back of his hand holding the wand, emitting an ominous glimmer.
In his right hand, the red light of the Philosopher's Stone he gripped was no longer flowing steadily.
Instead, it flickered and dimmed in sync with the trembling of his body and the fluctuations of his magic, like an unstable, beating heart.
"Your power is betraying you, Caesar Habus!" A raspy, excited voice rolled from Quirrell's throat, carrying the cruelty of a cat playing with a mouse.
"Has that ancient Stealing Spell finally begun to backfire on its master? Or is it... that the 'Catalyst' you so carefully selected is igniting you from within?"
An exceptionally sinister black arrow, carrying a soul-piercing shriek, took advantage of the gap while Caesar was parrying another wave of Fiendfyre and shot cunningly toward his ribs.
Caesar struggled to twist his body; the arrow grazed past his robes, instantly turning the hem to ash and leaving a charred burn mark on his skin.
He let out a muffled groan and stumbled back, his back slamming hard against the cold stone wall, a trail of dark red blood seeping from the corner of his mouth.
Just as Quirrell, laughing maniacally, gathered an even larger and more heart-stopping amount of dark magic to deliver the final blow to the seemingly exhausted Caesar—
"Reducto! Incarcerous!"
The two spells did not come from Caesar, nor were they aimed at Quirrell; instead, they accurately struck the archstone above the chamber entrance and a weak point on one side of the wall.
The sound of explosions and falling rubble rang out simultaneously, and a large amount of dust filled the air. Though it didn't cause much damage, it successfully created chaos and a brief shroud.
A slender figure, like a nimble swift, dashed in through the swirling dust, shielding Caesar from Quirrellwithout a moment's pause.
Hermione Granger was slightly out of breath, her school robes stained with dust, but her eyes were as sharp as quenched steel needles, instantly taking in the situation.
Caesar's wretched state of being heavily injured and in peril, the hideous, triumphant look on Quirrell/Lord Voldemort's face, and the sickening malice in the air that had almost solidified.
Her gaze finally landed on the flickering Philosopher's Stone in Caesar's hand, her pupils shrinking slightly as her worst suspicions were confirmed.
Yet, there was no look of surprise on her face, as if all of this was within some deep expectation of hers.
"Another meddlesome little bug?" Quirrell's hiss was full of the fury of being interrupted. "Get out of the way, mudblood, or turn into nourishment along with him!"
Hermione ignored him; she didn't even look at Caesar. Her wand was pointed steadily at Quirrell as she rapidly chanted, the tip of her wand bursting with several magical chains entwined with faint electrical arcs.
They weren't meant for attack but acted like flexible tripwires, attempting to entangle Quirrell's ankles, wrists, and wand to interfere with his casting and balance.
Simultaneously, her left hand quickly scattered a handful of glittering powder from a small pouch at her waist.
Upon touching the air, the powder turned into a shimmering, pale gold mist with a slight sensory-confusing effect, drifting between her and Quirrell.
Her tactic was clear: she wasn't seeking to harm the enemy, but only to interfere and delay.
To buy Caesar even a few seconds of breathing room and to gain time for her own observation and judgment.
Her movements were crisp and efficient, her coordination so seamless it was as if they had practiced it countless times, demonstrating a level of combat proficiency and a cool head far beyond classroom standards.
Backed against the stone wall, Caesar breathed raggedly, watching Hermione's back as she stood unhesitatingly in front of him.
He watched her execute tactics that clearly bore the marks of his teaching yet were fused with her own style.
A flicker of extremely complex light passed through his unfathomable eyes—bitterness, approval, and perhaps a hint of a sigh.
Just as Hermione's interference began to show results and Quirrell grew irritated, his offensive slowing slightly—
"Petrificus Totalus!"
A cold, majestic voice, filled with overwhelming rage and disappointment, exploded at the entrance of the stone chamber like a clap of thunder.
The milky-white beam of the Full Body-Bind Curse wasn't aimed at Quirrell; instead, with a sharp whistling sound, it went straight for Caesar leaning against the wall!
Professor McGonagall's figure appeared almost simultaneously with the spell.
She had clearly arrived in a great hurry; her usually meticulous bun was somewhat loose, and she had only hastily thrown a travel cloak over her emerald green nightgown.
But her posture was as straight as a pine, and the eyes behind her spectacles burned with a fire Hermione had never seen before—a mixture of shock, the pain of being betrayed, and cold resolve.
Between her fingertips, she still held a corner of a crumpled envelope; it was the note Caesar had left in her office before coming here, which recorded the causes and consequences of this matter.
But clearly, at this moment, it was being treated as some kind of "evidence" by Professor McGonagall.
Caesar seemed to lack even the strength to raise his hand, merely tilting his head slightly.
The Petrificus Totalus grazed past his ear and struck the stone wall behind him, leaving a pale, stony mark.
"Minerva,"
Caesar's voice was raspy and broken, yet it still carried that irritating, nonchalant indifference. "Good evening. But stealing the letter I gave to little Hermione... doesn't seem like the behavior a teacher should have?"
"Caesar Habus!"
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled with suppressed rage. She first shot a stern glance at Hermione, who was blocking the way, her eyes full of confusion and warning.
Then she fixed her gaze on Caesar. "Or should I call you something else? It doesn't matter! What matters is this letter..."
She brandished the letter in her hand; although it wasn't a true suicide note, the fragments written on it were enough for her to piece together a terrifying association.
"...and your current actions! You have betrayed Hogwarts, and more importantly, you have betrayed everyone's trust in you! You dare side with Lord Voldemort to plot for the Philosopher's Stone?!"
"Betray Hogwarts?"
Caesar curled his lip, his smile weak yet full of detachment. "I never belonged here, Minerva.
To me, this place is just a temporary stop. As for bowing to Lord Voldemort..."
He coughed twice, dark red blood foaming at the corners of his mouth. "That statement truly makes me a bit sad.
You can question my motives, but don't insult my taste by comparing me to such a mutilated soul fragment."}],
Chapter 33: This Farce Should End Now, Tom
Professor McGonagall rebuked, "Sophistry! Hand over the Philosopher's Stone! Immediately!"
Almost simultaneously, Quirrell also hissed, "Give me the stone! My master needs it!"
The gazes of both McGonagall and Quirrell instantly focused on Caesar's tightly clenched right hand.
That crimson gemstone had become the eye of the storm.
Hermione's heart pounded wildly as she stood slightly in front of Caesar's side.
She could feel Caesar's increasingly unstable aura behind her, as well as Professor McGonagall's resolute will and Quirrell's greedy killing intent in front of her.
Reason told her she should assist Professor McGonagall in reclaiming the Philosopher's Stone; it was a supreme treasure of Hogwarts and something Dumbledore had entrusted them to guard.
But... out of the corner of her eye, she could see Caesar's deathly pale face and feel his life force draining away rapidly, like sand in an hourglass.
The Biyi Bird pendant pressed against her chest, which had been cold and lifeless, now sent out waves of faint but sharp, stabbing pain.
It was as if the connection at the other end was snapping, transmitting the echoes of despair and farewell.
Caesar... Just as Professor McGonagall decided to deal with the primary threat first, her wand lit up again, preparing to forcibly seize the Philosopher's Stone from Caesar's hand.
And at the very moment Quirrell sneered while gathering Dark Arts magic, intending to snatch it in the chaos...
Hermione moved.
It wasn't an attack, nor was it a defensive spell.
The tip of her wand suddenly erupted with a brilliant silver light, as if the galaxy itself had been torn apart!
The light was not a linear attack but transformed into countless silver threads, fine as hair yet incredibly tough, exploding and spreading outward in a spherical shape with her at the center!
These silver threads were not physical matter but the manifestation of highly condensed magic and a certain protective will.
They did not directly attack McGonagall or Quirrell, but instead accurately and densely wove themselves around Caesar's body, forming a constantly flowing and rotating silver cocoon-like barrier.
At the same time, more silver threads, as if possessed of life, nimbly entwined themselves around the Expelliarmus and Binding Curses McGonagall fired at Caesar, as well as the several Dark Arts arrows Quirrell used for a sneak attack.
When the silver threads contacted the spells, there was no violent explosion, but rather a strange'sizzling' sound, like melting snow or grinding metal.
McGonagall's spells were weakened and deflected layer by layer, eventually vanishing into nothingness.
Quirrell's Dark Arts were entangled, decomposed, and absorbed by the silver threads, as if they had met their natural nemesis.
"Is this... a variant of an Ancient Guardian Spirit? Such a powerful externalization of mental magic..." Professor McGonagall stopped her follow-up attacks in shock, looking at Hermione in disbelief.
She recognized part of the essence of this magic.
But the scale, precision, and power with which Hermione cast it completely exceeded the limits of a student, and even most adult Wizards!
Hermione did not respond; she maintained this massive spell, her face turning pale at a visible rate and the veins on her temples bulging slightly, clearly under immense strain.
But she stood her ground, her brown eyes staring fixedly at McGonagall and Quirrell, silently declaring through her actions: no one would get past her to touch Caesar or the Philosopher's Stone easily.
After a few brief, tentative attacks, Professor McGonagall was shocked to find...
...that she was actually unable to break through this strange silver defense in a short time without truly hurting Hermione!
Hermione's control over magic was incredibly exquisite, and the defense even possessed properties of reflection and absorption, giving her a troublesome sense of having nowhere to strike.
"Hermione Granger!" Professor McGonagall's voice was filled with grief and distress.
"Do you know what you are doing? You are protecting a traitor, someone who might drag Hogwarts into the abyss!
Give the Philosopher's Stone to me; there is still time to turn back! I don't want to see you fall because of this!"
"Fall..."
Hermione chewed on the word, a faint, almost tragic smile appearing on her pale face.
"Professor... if holding onto a trust and protecting someone... even if he might be wrong, might be walking toward the darkness, but means everything to me... counts as falling..."
She didn't finish her sentence, but that determination caused Professor McGonagall's heart to sink to the bottom.
On the other side, unable to obtain the Philosopher's Stone for so long, the face of Lord Voldemort on the back of Quirrell's head twisted to the extreme, his raspy roar nearly rupturing Quirrell's throat:
"Useless! You are all useless! Since you cannot get it... then I shall take it myself!"
Quirrell's body suddenly convulsed violently, letting out a wretched howl that didn't sound human.
The skin on the back of his head suddenly split open, and a thick, inseparable black mist—as if the condensation of all the malice and coldness in the world—gushed out!
The black mist quickly coalesced, no longer relying on Quirrell's body, forming a vague, twisted, formless shadow in the air.
Only two points of crimson light, like eyes from hell, remained fixed on Caesar behind the silver barrier and the Philosopher's Stone in his hand!
Quirrell slumped down like a pile of mud, his fate unknown.
Lord Voldemort, at the cost of great risk, had forcibly projected more of his original will and power!
A terrifying pressure instantly enveloped the entire stone chamber, the air seeming to freeze; Hermione's silver barrier fluctuated violently, emitting an overburdened hum.
At this desperate moment...
"I think it's time for this farce to end, Tom."
A calm, aged voice, yet one carrying unquestionable power, rang out.
The air at the entrance of the stone chamber rippled like water, and the figure of Albus Dumbledorequietly appeared.
He wore deep blue robes patterned like the starry sky, his gaze behind half-moon spectacles sharp as an eagle's, and the Elder Wand in his hand was held seemingly casually, yet it seemed to contain the power to calm a storm.
Severus Snape followed closely behind like a silent shadow, his black robes billowing, his face its usual sallow and gloomy self.
But his black eyes quickly swept across the room, his pupils contracting almost imperceptibly when he saw the black shadow of Lord Voldemort and the collapsed Quirrell.
"Albus..." Seeing the Principal appear, Professor McGonagall's tense nerves relaxed slightly, but seeing Snape immediately after, a flicker of doubt flashed in her eyes.
Lord Voldemort's shadow let out a piercing hiss: "Dumbledore! You've finally come! Unfortunately, it's too late! The Philosopher's Stone shall be mine!"
"I'm afraid not, Tom."
Dumbledore stepped forward slowly, his gaze sweeping over Hermione and Caesar behind the barrier. A flash of deep understanding and a faint regret appeared in his eyes before finally settling on Lord Voldemort's shadow.
"Severus?"
Snape stepped forward expressionlessly, raising his wand—not at Lord Voldemort, nor at Caesar, but at the black shadow in the air.
In a cold, clear, and emotionless voice, he quickly recited an extremely complex and obscure incantation.
Amidst the incantation, the surrounding magic began to resonate at a specific frequency; the ancient runes on the stone chamber's walls and floor seemed to be awakened, emitting a faint light and vaguely forming a field of binding and purification.
Clearly, this was no spur-of-the-moment action, but a long-prepared arrangement!
Lord Voldemort's shadow let out a roar of shock and fury: "Snape?! How dare you!"
"I was never loyal to you, Tom," Snape's voice remained icy. "I am only loyal to... a promise, and to preventing a worse outcome."
Hermione watched this scene in shock, a flash of insight striking her mind.
Dumbledore knew all along!
He knew about Caesar's potential issues and Lord Voldemort's coveting of the Philosopher's Stone.
He might have even used all of this to set a trap here, using the Philosopher's Stone as bait to lure more of Lord Voldemort's original power into appearing so he could strike it!
And Snape had always been a double agent, finally revealing his stance completely now!
Chapter 34: I'm Back
At this moment, a subtle and dangerous three-way confrontation had formed within the stone chamber:
One side consisted of Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape.
Another was Lord Voldemort's true form—a dark shadow—and the collapsed Quirrell.
The third side was the heavily injured and endangered Caesar, holding the Philosopher's Stone, and Hermione, who stood before him, her magic severely depleted yet still stubbornly maintaining a defense.
They were the weakest, yet the Philosopher's Stone was in their hands.
Taking advantage of Dumbledore's appearance drawing most of Voldemort's attention and attacks, Snape's spells also began to pin down the dark shadow.
A flash of determination crossed Hermione's eyes.
She couldn't stay here as a target, nor could she hand the Philosopher's Stone over to either side—at least not now, or at least not before saving his life.
She turned her head quickly and whispered to Caesar at a rapid pace: "Follow me, stay quiet, and don't use magic."
Caesar looked at her, his expression still complex and difficult to read; he suddenly felt as if he had shifted from being an older brother and teacher to a student and younger brother, but he nodded.
Or rather, he barely had the strength left even to nod.
Hermione's left hand continued to maintain the reduced silver barrier, guarding against potential stray spells and the aftershocks of Voldemort's power.
Her wand in her right hand quickly traced several symbols in the air before her, while her foot lightly tapped the ground.
During the day, under the pretext of "practicing Ancient Rune diagrams" and "preparing advanced materials for Potion Class,"
she had secretly set up small concealment arrays, confusion-inducing Potion evaporation points, and short-range directional teleportation trigger runes along key paths in the Castle and near this area.
They were all activated simultaneously at this moment!
A faint, almost invisible mist began to spread from beneath her feet and several points around them.
It carried a scent unique to Potions, capable of interfering with magical tracking and visual perception.
Under the cover of this mist and silver light, she and Caesar's figures began to blur and distort, as if merging into the background.
At the same time, a small magic circle glowed beneath her feet, just large enough for two people—a short-distance teleportation to a secret evacuation point outside the Castle she had calculated long ago.
Although the distance wasn't far and it required time to stabilize, it was enough for them to escape this immediate battlefield.
Watching Hermione methodically activate these preparations, the complex glint in Caesar's eyes finally revealed a trace of genuine, almost gratified amusement.
This was exactly the feeling he wanted!
A partner clever enough, strong enough, capable of independent planning, decisive execution, and even carving out a path to survival in a desperate situation.
It hadn't been in vain, all those years he spent guiding and nurturing her with every resource at his disposal. She really had grown up, even beyond his expectations.
However... just as the teleportation light grew brighter and it seemed they might actually escape this multi-party quagmire for a while,
Caesar's gaze moved past Hermione's shoulder, looking at the dark shadow of Voldemort, who was currently fighting against Dumbledore's non-verbal spells.
He also saw Voldemort, enraged by Snape's repeated interference with Binding Curses, and McGonagall, who looked furious but had to prioritize cooperating with Dumbledore against the greatest threat.
Finally, his gaze seemed to penetrate the stone walls, looking toward this ancient, sleeping Castle.
He couldn't just leave like this.
If they left now, he and Hermione would forever be branded as traitors, thieves, and accomplices of a Dark Wizard, hunted by the entire wizarding world.
More importantly, his goal had not yet been fully achieved.
The actors for this play had only just taken their places.
Hogwarts had not yet been "destroyed."
Just a moment before the teleportation array's light stabilized, Caesar's body seemed to sway slightly due to his heavy injuries.
His right hand, which had been tightly clutching the Philosopher's Stone, imperceptibly loosened its grip.
The deep red gemstone emitted a light that flickered with an extremely subtle, unnatural fluctuation.
This fluctuation was incredibly weak, but everyone present was a top-tier Wizard—especially Voldemort, whose desire for the power of the Philosopher's Stone was absolute!
"An opportunity!" The dark shadow let out a jubilant hiss.
Ignoring a sharp silver spell from Dumbledore that tore away part of the black mist, and temporarily enduring the pull of Snape's Binding Curse,
it suddenly split off a bolt of dark energy as solid as an arrow. As if possessed by a life of its own, it bypassed the weakest corner of Hermione's silver barrier.
That was precisely the flaw Caesar had "accidentally" exposed just now.
Without a doubt, the dark shadow struck Caesar's right wrist—the one holding the Philosopher's Stone—like a bolt of lightning!
"Ugh—!" Caesar let out a genuine groan of pain. A soft crack of bone came from his wrist, and his fingers involuntarily splayed open.
The radiant, legendary Philosopher's Stone flew from his hand, tracing an alluring red arc through the air.
Voldemort's dark shadow erupted with all its power, whipping up a foul wind as it instantly lunged toward the falling gem!
Several of Dumbledore's intercepting spells and Snape's Binding Curses fell together.
But they only tore away a larger portion of the shadow, failing to stop its core from seizing the Philosopher's Stone with greed and ecstasy!
The deep red light vanished into the roiling darkness, and in the next second, an incredibly vast, ancient, and chaotic magic exploded!
The black mist churned violently, expanding and contracting as if undergoing some terrible reshaping and evolution.
Quirrell's collapsed body was completely drained, turning to ash.
A clearer, taller silhouette of a body—forged from the vast life force of the Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort's dark will—gradually emerged within the churning magic, radiating a suffocating aura of evil!
Though far from perfect, compared to his previous weakened state as a lingering soul, it was like night and day.
"It worked... I'm back! Hahahaha!" The newborn body, with a stony luster and a raw, fleshy feel, let out a raspy and arrogant laugh.
His crimson eyes immediately locked onto Caesar, who had collapsed on the ground, dying as the backlash intensified after the stone was snatched.
"The first sacrifice shall be you!"
The newborn Voldemort raised his hand, and a highly concentrated Killing Curse of emerald green, amplified by the Philosopher's Stone, shot mercilessly toward the nearly motionless Caesar!
"No—!"
Hermione's scream tore through the air.
The teleportation was interrupted. She watched helplessly as the Philosopher's Stone was stolen, as Caesar fell heavily to the ground, and as that lethal green light shot toward the last trace of him in this world.
Everything happened too fast. Dumbledore's rescue spell was half a beat too slow, and Professor McGonagall's cry of alarm was drowned out.
Just as the green light was about to touch Caesar's body,
no one expected that Snape, who had been silently cooperating with Dumbledore and whose face was terrifyingly grim,
would suddenly take a step forward—whether out of a misjudgment or some unspeakable impulse—seemingly intending to block it with his body or cast a spell.
Psh.
The faint sound of flesh being pierced.
The Killing Curse didn't hit Caesar; instead, by some twist of fate—or perhaps due to Voldemort's casual adjustment of its trajectory—it plunged directly into Snape's chest.
Snape's body stiffened abruptly, the expression on his face frozen in a state of extreme shock and a deeper, more complex look, as if he had finally found release yet also felt endless regret.
He staggered, his black robes hitting the ground, the spark of life extinguished instantly like a candle in the wind.
"Severus!" Dumbledore's voice fluctuated violently for the first time, his aged face filled with shock and pain.
Voldemort's new body glanced at the fallen Snape as if he had merely stepped on a bothersome bug.
His crimson eyes turned back to Caesar: "This time, there's no one left to block for you."
Chapter 35: What Does Powerful magic Require?
However, he didn't have the chance to cast a second Killing Curse.
Because Hermione Granger had already rushed to Caesar's side.
She knelt on the cold ground, her trembling hands supporting Caesar's nearly broken body.
Caesar's body heat was rapidly fading away.
Blood gushed from the wounds on his wrists, the corners of his mouth, and even the eerie blue cracks splitting beneath his skin, soaking her sleeves. The blood was as scalding as lava, searing her skin and her soul.
Pain.
An indescribable pain. More intense than Crucio, more despairing than losing everything.
Images from the past five years flashed frantically through her mind.
His calm eyes when they first met at the station.
His faint smile during late-night tutoring in the office.
His silent encouragement from the Quidditch stands.
And the warmth that had permeated the years from that one sentence: "We are family."
And now, in his gradually dilating pupils, her own face was reflected—tear-streaked and filled with terror.
"Caesar... Caesar! Look at me! Don't sleep! You promised... you promised you wouldn't leave me..."
Hermione's voice was broken and tuneless as she tried in vain to cover his bleeding wounds with her hands, but the blood continued to gurgle out from between her fingers.
Caesar's lips twitched slightly as if he wanted to say something, but he could only spit out more bloody froth.
He struggled to focus his gaze on Hermione's face; there was no fear of death in his eyes, only a deep, almost tender guilt and a hint of relief.
Love!
This word exploded like a thunderclap in her completely chaotic and collapsing world.
What does powerful magic require most?
Talent? Will? Or was it that oldest and most powerful force, the one Dumbledore had once vaguely mentioned, the one always ridiculed in fairy tales?
It was love.
Her feelings for Caesar had long since surpassed admiration, dependence, or even innocent affection.
It was a habit ingrained in her bones and blood, a pull of soulful resonance, a determination to protect him even if it meant making the world her enemy, and a shared agony where seeing him suffer hurt more than her own death.
At this moment, these feelings—wrapped in layers of deception, betrayal, despair, and the fear of impending death...
...yet never extinguished, and instead burning even more fiercely because of it, erupted like a dormant volcano!
The bi-winged bird necklace on her chest, that long-dulled and withered grey-white jade pendant like a dead leaf in late autumn, suddenly became scalding hot in this instant!
No, it wasn't just heat.
It was as if a heart of lava had been reinjected; a thousand-year-old covenant was being savagely and completely awakened by the most primitive and majestic emotional power!
Cracks burst from within the grey jade.
It wasn't shattering, but a blooming like a rebirth!
From every crack, a gold-red light gushed out, so intense it was impossible to look at directly.
That light was not the cold glow of a magical creation, but carried the temperature of Hermione's blood, the rhythm of her heartbeat, and the cry of her soul!
"Ah—!!!"
The scream pierced the stone chamber, yet seemed to resonate in another dimension simultaneously. With Hermione and Caesar at the center, space itself began to tremble and warp.
It wasn't the rhythmic compression and jumping of Apparition, but something closer to... the veil of reality being forcibly torn apart by a pure torrent of emotion!
Blazing white flames erupted from every pore of Hermione's body and from the gold-red light trails of the exploding necklace.
They were no longer just light; they were more like liquid fire, solid conviction, and gaseous protective obsession!
The flames gently enveloped Caesar's cooling, breaking body like the toughest silk, or like a mother's arms cradling an infant.
Wherever the flames passed, the gruesome bleeding from Caesar's wrists miraculously stopped, and the shattered wrist bones were temporarily "welded" and fixed by the light.
The eerie blue cracks pulsing and spreading beneath his skin seemed to encounter a natural enemy, emitting a faint "sizzling" sound.
They were forced back, suppressed, and firmly frozen beneath the surface by the blazing white flames, no longer eroding his internal organs or magic core.
At the core of this blazing white cocoon woven from destruction and rebirth, Caesar's dilating pupils were illuminated with a clear gold-red.
Reflected within them was Hermione's face, drenched in tears yet burning with a fire of determination.
His remaining consciousness seemed to be pulled back for a moment by this overly dazzling, overly warm light.
So warm.
Warmer than the brightest fire in a Hogwarts fireplace.
Warmer than the marrow-penetrating relief of a Cascading Bath medicinal soak.
Warmer than anything in his memory.
This warmth originated from the girl holding him tightly, from her clever and stubborn heart that was burning recklessly for him.
His lips moved again; this time, an extremely faint breath emerged along with bloody froth.
But it managed to form a few broken syllables, light as a sigh, yet clearly branded into Hermione's soul:
"...I'm... sorry..."
The moment the last syllable faded, he exhausted his final ounce of strength to raise his still-intact left hand with great difficulty and trembling.
His fingertips, stained with his blood and her tears, lightly touched Hermione's violently trembling, bloodless lower lip.
It wasn't a kiss.
Yet it was more like a brand than any kiss, more like a farewell, as if carving unsaid words, unfulfilled promises, and unfinished destiny—along with all his remaining warmth and guilt—into her life.
Then, his fingertips slid down weakly, his arm fell, and the last bit of strength keeping him conscious vanished completely.
His heavy head rested on her thin shoulder, his breathing so faint it was almost undetectable; the candle of his life flickered to its smallest point in the gale.
Yet, strangely and stubbornly, it did not go out, kept alive by that blazing white light and that surging love, hanging onto the last thread of life.
"No—! You're not allowed to go! I won't allow it!"
Hermione's cry was heart-wrenching as she hugged him even tighter, as if she wanted to merge him into her own flesh and blood.
The necklace on her chest glowed even brighter; the gold-red patterns and the blazing white flames merged completely, erupting with an even greater, blinding power!
This power was no longer just about protection and healing.
It began to actively "repel"! With the light cocoon as the boundary, the spatial rules of the entire stone chamber seemed to be crudely rewritten.
Lord Voldemort's dark magic, imbued with the power of the Philosopher's Stone and about to strike, crashed against the exterior of the light cocoon.
Like snow meeting a branding iron, it made a shrill "hissing" sound and instantly melted away a large section.
Forcing that newly formed, hideous body to retreat in terror, his crimson eyes filled with shock and greedy madness.
The silver spell network Dumbledore had cast in an attempt to stabilize the space and investigate the situation...
...when it touched the domain of the fused flames, it was also silently "absorbed" or "repelled" like mud entering the sea, unable to penetrate even an inch.
In the old Wizard's blue eyes, the shock finally turned into a deep, almost reverent realization.
He stopped his pointless spellcasting and simply gripped his wand, watching this miracle that far surpassed his understanding of magic.
Professor McGonagall was speechless, her hand pressed tightly over her mouth, tears blurring her glasses.
She watched her best student, holding the one she had deemed a traitor, erupting with a power strong enough to shake the darkness and leave even Dumbledore helpless.
The figure within that light was so despairing, yet so... divine.
"Go, let's go together!"
Hermione whispered hoarsely; it was no longer a question but a command, to herself and to the dying Caesar in her arms.
And it was a directive to this power she had awakened, which originated from the deepest depths of her soul and the covenant!
The light cocoon suddenly contracted inward to the extreme, like a star about to go supernova, reaching its peak brightness.
It completely swallowed the figures of Hermione and Caesar.
Chapter 36: She Never Had a Choice
Immediately afterward.
There was no sound, yet a soul-shaking hum seemed to explode in the depths of everyone's hearts.
The cocoon of light, along with the two people inside, vanished into thin air.
It wasn't the crack of Apparition, nor the spinning tug of a Portkey; it wasn't even any known form of magical space-jumping.
Just like that, they were driven by a force of blended brilliant white and golden-red, fueled by the purest will of "love" and "protection."
They were completely "erased" from their current spatial coordinates, or rather, "transferred" to some unknown dimension or corner that even Dumbledore's magic could not temporarily trace.
Inside the stone chamber, the afterglow of the brilliant white light slowly dissipated, leaving behind a lingering sense of warmth and purification that made the soul tremble.
And on the ground, a large, shocking pool of uncoagulated blood, interwoven with dark red and silver-blue—left behind by Caesar.
In the center of the bloodstain lay a small pile of grayish-white powder.
It was the final remains of the bi-winged bird necklace, left after its power was completely exhausted in one last resonance and protection.
Deathly silence.
Then came Lord Voldemort's roar of extreme rage, mixed with the pain of unhealed burns from the light and a thirst for that mysterious power, followed by Dumbledore's sigh, heavy as a mountain.
But none of this mattered to Hermione and Caesar anymore.
They had been carried away by that ancient and powerful magic, born of love, into the unknown torrent of fate.
The only certainty was that the ashes of the necklace, which had served as a bond and finally burned out in the heat of love, proved the end of a certain connection.
Perhaps it was also the beginning of another deeper, more inseparable bond... Cold air, carrying the scent of gunpowder and the sickly-sweet smell of dark magic, rushed into the abandoned corridor.
Hermione could barely feel her legs moving; all her senses were focused on the body on her back, growing heavier as its life force rapidly ebbed away.
Caesar's head hung limply against her neck, his faint breath brushing her skin, each time lighter and cooler than the last.
The front of her robes was already soaked with his blood; the scalding stickiness was now turning cold, as if it were freezing her heart along with it.
Behind her, from the direction of the Castle's main battlefield, came deafening explosions, the thunderous crash of collapsing buildings, and a mixture of students' terrified screams and the arrogant whistles of Dark Wizards.
Lord Voldemort's magic-infused roar after his escape seemed to still echo in the corridor: "Crush them! Let Hogwarts become history!"
Immediately following were more explosions, eerie howls, and the dull sound of wings flapping against the air from all directions of the Castle.
The main force of the Death Eaters, along with dangerous creatures summoned or tamed by darkness, were launching a full-scale assault on the ancient fortress.
Hermione rushed into an abandoned Potion Class classroom, locked the door behind her with her wand, and cast the most complex protective and Confundo charms she could think of.
She carefully lowered Caesar from her back, leaning him against a dust-covered workbench.
Caesar's face was as ashen as a ghost's, and those deep blue cracks beneath his skin, temporarily frozen by the brilliant white flames, began to throb and spread restlessly, their edges tinged with an ominous purple-black.
His body twitched uncontrollably, each spasm draining the last bit of color from his face.
"Caesar! Hang on, look at me!" Hermione knelt beside him, trying in vain to wipe away the bloody foam bubbling from the corners of his mouth, her fingers trembling violently.
The surging, powerful magic within her, which had erupted from extreme emotion, still roared through her veins like a bursting flood.
It made her feel more powerful than ever, yet it also brought a sense of out-of-control panic.
She could clearly "sense" the intense magical collisions, the loss of life, and the growth of darkness throughout the Castle.
Caesar struggled to open his eyelids; those once deep and sharp eyes were now cloudy and unfocused, yet they still accurately captured her face.
His gaze slid across Hermione's cheeks, covered in tear tracks and soot, and over her chest, which rose and fell with her heavy breathing.
Finally, he seemed to "see" the uncontrolled, dazzling torrent of magic within her.
A faint, almost imperceptible look of complexity crossed his eyes.
The "Ancient Magic of Love" rune that the System had originally gifted him had been engraved by him into Hermione's necklace.
However, even he hadn't expected the effect to be so intense; Hermione's current magical strength far exceeded the limits in the original work.
Was this the so-called potential of a "protagonist"?
But this wouldn't do; it was too clean.
It erupted so purely, originating from protection and ending in salvation.
She still had a way out, still harboring an attachment to and illusions of the light order in her heart.
Caesar had to make her stained with indelible blood, to make her protection, her power, and her "love"...
...completely bound to the ruins of Hogwarts and unavoidable sins. She must have no path of retreat.
"Her... mione..." Caesar's voice was hoarse and broken, like the echo of a broken bellows, yet it carried a strange, unquestionable clarity.
Hermione hurriedly leaned closer: "I'm here! I'm right here! You'll be fine, we'll go find Madam Pomfrey, or... or beg Dumbledore, he must have a way..."
Caesar shook his head extremely slowly and slightly, a movement that seemed to drain his remaining strength.
Struggling, he raised his relatively intact left hand, his index finger trembling as it pointed toward Hermione's forehead.
His fingertips were ice-cold and stained with his own blood, tracing an infinitesimal path in the air that instantly made Hermione's soul throb.
"It's... useless..." With every word he spoke, more bloody foam emerged. "Without the Philosopher's Stone, I... won't last much longer..."
His fingertip lightly touched the center of Hermione's brow.
There was no light, no ripple of a spell.
But a bone-chilling "stream of thought," containing infinite information and a resolute will, pierced into Hermione's mind like a poisoned icicle!
It wasn't language, but directly imprinted visions and realizations:
—The Philosopher's Stone pulsed within Lord Voldemort's deformed body, like the core of a dark heart.
—The originally pure power of life and transmutation within the stone was being frantically polluted, distorted, and annihilated by Voldemort's evil will and Dark Arts.
—Seize it! Not for Voldemort, nor for Dumbledore or Hogwarts, but to save him!
Only that object could possibly reverse the collapsing magical structure within him, counteract that ancient backlash, and pull him back from the brink of total annihilation!
—How to approach? How to identify that bit of "essence"? How to seize it from the enraged Voldemort and the chaotic battlefield?
A series of rapidly flashing, extremely risky yet logically sound tactical fragments, carrying Caesar's characteristic cold calculation and precise style.
The moment the information transfer ended, Caesar seemed completely drained. His arm fell limp, his eyes half-closed, his breath so faint it seemed it would stop at any second.
"No... don't..." Hermione's tears poured out, mixed with fear and a rage born of being pushed to a dead end.
She knew this might be a trap, further manipulation, a shackle binding his own survival to deeper sins upon her.
But... she looked at Caesar's face as his life force rapidly ebbed away, feeling the cold plan in her mind that clearly pointed to the only "way out."
She had no choice.
Never, in matters concerning Caesar.
Had she ever truly had a choice.
Chapter 37: The Disaster of Hogwarts
"...Wait for me."
Hermione heard herself speak in a dry voice that didn't sound like her own.
She tore off the relatively clean lining of her school robes and quickly and clumsily tried to bandage his still-bleeding wrist and several obvious wounds.
Her movements were very light, but her fingertips turned white from the exertion.
Finally, she forced several bottles of her strongest Essence of Dittany and Blood-Replenishing Potions down Caesar's throat, regardless of whether he could swallow.
She gave him a deep look, as if to etch his current fragile yet still deeply calculating appearance into her soul.
Then, she turned away resolutely, wand gripped tight, the last trace of hesitation in her eyes burned away by cold flames.
Like a silent shadow, Hermione walked out of the classroom and rushed toward the center of the Castle, where the fighting was fiercest and the dark magic most concentrated.
Dead silence returned to the abandoned classroom, with only the distant sounds of slaughter from outside the window and Caesar's breathing, so faint it was almost inaudible.
A few seconds later, Caesar's half-closed eyes slowly and completely opened.
Although the wretched state of his body and his injuries were still real, the aura of weakness receded like a tide, replaced by a heart-palpitating sense of focus and control.
He moved his body with difficulty to make himself more comfortable.
His left hand moved extremely slowly but with exceptional stability into the innermost pocket of his tattered robes, hidden by an Undetectable Extension Charm and layers of protective magic.
His fingertips touched a cold, hard object.
It wasn't a wand, but a Crystal Disk carved with layers of dizzyingly complex spatial coordinates and summoning runes.
In the center of the runes was embedded a small piece of color-shifting Dragon scale, a tuft of metallic-glinting Venomous Leopard hair, and a piece of rubble unique to the Giant's homeland, carrying a primitive and wild aura.
This was a "byproduct" of his years of "academic research."
Utilizing some of the lost spatial secret arts of the Shenshan People, combined with the Summoning Contracts he had exchanged from the System and researched himself.
In various hidden corners and dangerous areas around the world, he had established "one-way forced summoning links" with those powerful, ferocious, and often human-hostile magical creatures.
He had spent countless resources and experienced several life-and-death crises to collect these "beacons" and secretly perfect this ultra-large-scale mass summoning magic circle.
They were not allies; they were bound, enraged weapons of destruction, precisely deployed here.
"It's time," Caesar murmured to himself, his voice devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
He injected his remaining meager magic, along with a strange command originating from a soul contract, into the Crystal Disk.
The Crystal Disk vibrated silently, the central runes lighting up one by one, emitting an eerie purple-black glow.
The scales, hair, and rubble seemed to be activated, releasing the violent aura unique to their respective races.
On the surface of the disk, a miniature map representing Hogwarts and its surroundings emerged.
Seven points of light flashed frantically at different locations on the map; those were the positions he had pre-calculated where the Hogwarts defense System was relatively weak or critical.
Caesar didn't summon the monsters directly to his side or the center of the battlefield; that would have been too obvious.
He deployed them "evenly" and lethally behind or on the flanks of the students and Professors across the Castle who were resisting the Death Eater assault!
All across the Castle, at almost the same moment.
At the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, the air tore open.
An adult Hungarian Horntail Dragon descended with a roar, its scorching Dragon breath forcing Professor Flitwick, who was organizing the evacuation of younger students, to retreat repeatedly, as several students were sent flying by the air currents, screaming.
In the open space near the North Tower.
Three lightning-fast Venomous Leopards, surrounded by a paralyzing purple mist, appeared silently.
Their targets weren't the Dark Wizards, but several Hufflepuff students who were using magic to reinforce the walls; their screams were instantly drowned out by the greater chaos.
On the west side of the Castle, near the Forbidden Forest.
The ground swelled, and two fifteen-foot-tall Hill Giants wielding massive wooden clubs smashed through the walls, roaring as they charged into the crowd, beginning a frantic destruction regardless of friend or foe... The chaos instantly escalated into a slaughterhouse purgatory.
The defensive lines, which had barely been held together under the Professors' organization, collapsed in an instant under the surprise attacks from these violent, top-tier magical creatures.
The number of student casualties soared at a terrifying rate.
Having done all this, Caesar seemed to have exhausted his last bit of strength; the Crystal Disk slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor.
He closed his eyes again, his breathing becoming weak and faint once more, as if that brief moment of "lucidity" just now had been but a final spark of life.
Just then, the classroom door was slammed open!
Professor McGonagall rushed in, her emerald-green dressing gown covered in dust and blood, her hair completely disheveled, her face bearing the grime of intense combat and extreme exhaustion.
But her gaze remained as sharp as a blade, her wand pointing straight at Caesar, who was leaning against the lab bench.
Behind her were two scarred, terrified Ravenclaw students; seeing Caesar's wretched state, they both gasped.
"Caesar Habus!" Professor McGonagall's voice was hoarse yet carried an unquestionable authority. "Are those magical creatures that suddenly appeared outside your doing?!"
When she received the emergency message from Flitwick, she could hardly believe it.
The timing and location of these creatures' appearances were too strange, certainly not something the Death Eaters could control with such precision.
Recalling Caesar's previous actions and his mysterious "research," a terrifying conjecture took shape in her mind.
Caesar seemed to struggle to lift his eyelids again to look at McGonagall.
His gaze was terrifyingly calm, in stark contrast to the tragic scene around them and McGonagall's fury.
"Minerva..." He gasped softly, his voice still weak. "You are as sharp as ever."
"Why?!" Professor McGonagall's voice trembled with anger and heartache. She stepped forward, the tip of her wand almost touching Caesar's nose,
"Those students! They might be dying! Stop it! Make those monsters stop right now!"
Caesar shook his head slowly, extremely slowly, even pulling his lips into a faint, almost cruel arc:
"I can't stop it. Once the magic is activated, the Summoning Contracts and Spatial Anchors are locked. They will continue to slaughter until there is nothing left alive in Hogwarts, or..."
He paused, his bottomless dark eyes staring directly into McGonagall's eyes, which were burning with rage.
"...Or, I die."
The air froze instantly.
The two students behind Professor McGonagall covered their mouths in horror.
"You..."
Professor McGonagall's hand holding the wand shook violently, not from fear, but from extreme anger and a coldness born of being pushed into a corner. "Are you threatening me with the lives of the entire school's staff and students?"
"Threatening?" Caesar seemed to find the word amusing. He coughed lightly, bringing up more blood foam,
"No, it's a statement of fact. The Magic Core is linked to my life. If I die, the contract is forcibly terminated, the Spatial Channels collapse, and they will be pulled back to where they came from."
Chapter 38: Caesar's Confession
He began to "confess" calmly, even in great detail:
"Professor McGonagall, you should have guessed where my hatred for Hogwarts and Dumbledorecomes from, but let me tell you an even deeper secret.
From the moment I approached Hermione, it was a plan. Her talent, her background, her easily controlled yet emotional nature—the perfect pawn. That chance encounter at the station? I engineered it.
I guided her interest in magic, deepened her dependence, and gave her that necklace; it contains more than just a protection charm.
There are also subtle influences on her emotional leanings. Teaching her that dangerous knowledge was to make her grow faster, to become a more useful tool.
I used her feelings for me so that at the critical moment, she would stand on my side, against you, against Dumbledore..."
Case by case, piece by piece, Caesar used the most flat and cruel tone to strip away the calculations hidden beneath the veil of warmth.
The cold intentions behind the memories Hermione cherished like treasures were laid bare and exposed before McGonagall.
Every word was like a poisoned blade stabbing into the listener's heart, completely tainting the affection Hermione had given everything for.
Professor McGonagall's face went from an angry flush to a sickly green, finally turning into a deathly, silent pale. Her body swayed slightly, as if she might collapse at any moment.
She looked at the young man before her—someone she had once admired, even lowering her guard because of his "care" for Hermione—and now felt he was utterly strange, utterly... evil.
"As for Hogwarts..." Caesar said finally, his gaze sweeping across the Castle outside where flames soared into the sky,
"I never cared. This place is just a stage. Now, the performance should come to an end.
Kill me, Minerva. It's the only way to stop more deaths.
Oh, right, you can also avenge your disciple Snape. Although Lord Voldemort was the one who killed him, still..."
He closed his eyes, looking like he was offering his neck for slaughter, yet the curve of his lips held a trace of mockery, as if to say: I have already succeeded.
"Professor! Don't!" a Ravenclaw student cried out. "He might be lying to you..."
"Every second," Caesar interrupted him, his voice as soft as a sigh, "students could be dying under the claws of those monsters. Perhaps the Weasley twins?
Perhaps that girl who always follows Longbottom? Perhaps some Hufflepuff whose name you can't recall, but who greets you shyly every morning?"
His words accurately pierced the softest, most untouchable part of Professor McGonagall's heart.
Hogwarts.
The students here. Every single child here.
Nothing was more important to her than Hogwarts. Protecting this Castle and the students within was an oath engraved in her soul.
More important than her life, her principles, even her adherence to justice.
Caesar completely extinguished the last flicker of fantasy in her heart that "perhaps he could be subdued and forced to lift the magic," making the option of a "trial" seem pale and ridiculous.
In the face of continuous death, a trial was meaningless.
On Professor McGonagall's face, all anger, pain, struggle, and even the personal emotions belonging to "Minerva McGonagall" vanished.
In their place was a total, cold resolve belonging to the "Hogwarts deputy headmistress."
Her wand rose, steady as a rock.
The tip of the wand pointed directly at Caesar's heart.
There was no incantation, only magical light condensed to the extreme, flickering at the wand's tip.
It was the culmination of her life's cultivation and her current will to protect, enough to pierce metal and stone, and shatter a soul.
She looked at Caesar's face as he calmly awaited death, and the last spark of "humanity" in her eyes went out.
"For Hogwarts."
The cold words fell.
A brilliant, unreserved beam of magic, like the thunderbolt of judgment, shot toward the man who had destroyed the precious things in her heart and was currently slaughtering the land she had sworn to protect with her life.
In the moment before the beam hit his body, a faint, incomprehensible ripple seemed to flash through the deepest part of Caesar's calm, bottomless eyes.
Finally... it's stained.
Hermione... you will... hate me, won't you?
That's fine too.
The beam swallowed him.
On the other side, the Castle courtyard had already turned into a scorched purgatory.
Lingering Fiendfyre and traces of Dark Arts swirled among the rubble, and the air was thick with the pungent smell of blood, ozone, and dust.
The remnants of the Death Eaters were either subdued or scattered into the night, but greater chaos and wailing were coming from all parts of the Castle.
The angry roar of the Dragon, the thunderous trampling of the Giant, and the terrified screams of students intertwined into a symphony of destruction.
However, all this noise turned into blurred background static in Hermione Granger's ears.
Her world had narrowed down to the figure ahead, radiating a sickening mixture of the Philosopher's Stone's brilliance and ultimate darkness.
Lord Voldemort's newborn, yet unstable body was already covered in cracks and char under Hermione's violent and precise magical bombardment.
The spells she used had long since exceeded the scope of Hogwarts textbooks, and even surpassed the dangerous and efficient ancient spells Caesar had taught her.
It was her own surging magic, fully awakened by extreme emotion, fused with five years of painstakingly accumulated knowledge and a near-instinctive combat intuition.
Every flick of her wand carried a whistle that tore through the air. Every incantation triggered a resonance and boiling of the surrounding magic.
She did not hold back or test him; she went for the kill with everything she had from the start.
A variation of the Patronus Charm's silver light wound around like a ribbon, weakening the opponent's dark defenses.
Magical blades formed from Ancient Runes cut cunningly at the shell forcibly held together by the Philosopher's Stone.
She even mobilized all the remaining positive emotions and protective will in the surrounding environment.
Turning them into invisible heavy hammers, she bombarded Lord Voldemort's already chaotic and evil soul core again and again.
Lord Voldemort was both shocked and enraged. He had just obtained part of the Philosopher's Stone's power and was about to show his strength.
Instead, he ran head-on into this Witch who seemed to have returned from hell and looked nothing like a student.
The nature of her magic was so pure and powerful that it made the depths of his soul sting, and her fighting style was as ruthless and precise as a seasoned Auror who had experienced countless life-and-death battles.
What alarmed him even more was the coldly burning flame in her eyes; it wasn't hatred for darkness.
It was a more pure, more unquestionable resolve that "you must be cleared away," as if he were merely an annoying stone blocking the path to some goal.
"mudblood... how dare you...!" Lord Voldemort hissed, releasing even more massive Dark Arts in an attempt to crush her with power.
However, Hermione's figure was like a phantom, always managing to evade the most lethal attacks by a hair's breadth and leaving wounds on him with even sharper counterattacks.
The power of the Philosopher's Stone was being rapidly consumed to repair this temporary body and counter Hermione's storm-like offensive.
Finally, in a head-to-head collision of core magic, Lord Voldemort's not-yet-fully-stabilized body made an overburdened cracking sound.
A silver-red beam, condensed from all of Hermione's magic and mixed with a burning obsession like her heart's blood, shot out like a spear of judgment, piercing through the layers of defense he had hastily constructed and plunging deep into his chest.
It wasn't a physical heart, but the core where that mass of dark soul and the power of the Philosopher's Stone merged!
"Argh—!!!"
With a shrill, inhuman scream, Lord Voldemort's deformed body was thrown backward like smashed porcelain, heavily crashing into and collapsing half a ruined wall, buried under the rubble.
Crimson light spilled uncontrollably from the "wound" where his chest had been pierced; it was the power of the Philosopher's Stone leaking out.
His scarlet eyes stared deathly at the approaching Hermione, filled with rage and disbelief.
And a hint of humiliation at being defeated by someone more lowly.
Just as Hermione raised her wand again, ready to deliver the final blow.
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
A gentle but irresistible Levitation Charm shot in from the side, not attacking Hermione.
Instead, it acted precisely on the deep red gem that had rolled out of Lord Voldemort's damaged chest—its light slightly dimmed but still magnificent.
The Philosopher's Stone was lifted as if by an invisible hand, tracing an arc and landing steadily in the hand of Albus Dumbledore, who had appeared at the edge of the battlefield at some unknown time.
Chapter 39: He Used Your Feelings
The old Principal also bore some marks of battle, but his expression remained steady.
Behind half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes gazed complexly at Hermione, then flicked warily toward Lord Voldemort struggling in the rubble.
Hermione's movements came to an abrupt halt.
She slowly turned her head to look at Dumbledore, focusing on the stone in his hand that held the key to Caesar's life and death.
The blood on her face was still wet, mixed with sweat and soot; under the flickering firelight, she possessed a breathtaking, wild, and cruel beauty.
Her eyes—those brown eyes that always sparkled with the light of wisdom and curiosity.
They were now like two bottomless pools of icy water, reflecting Dumbledore's figure but devoid of any warmth.
"Give it to me, Principal."
Hermione's voice was terrifyingly calm; there was no pleading, no explanation, just a simple, unquestionable demand.
Dumbledore didn't answer immediately. His gaze swept over the ravaged battlefield and the intensifying chaos and screams from afar caused by the Magical Creatures' attacks, before finally returning to Hermione.
"Hermione, child..." His voice carried a deep exhaustion and grief. "Look around. Stop and think. Caesar Habus, he..."
"Miss Granger."
A voice even raspier and more exhausted, yet carrying heavy weight, interrupted Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall stepped out from the shadows on the other side.
Her steps were somewhat unsteady, her robes stained and torn, her face pale from the fierce battle.
And a deeper sense of exhaustion and gloom, as if she had aged ten years in an instant.
In her hand, she gripped her wand tightly, though its tip was lowered.
Her gaze met Hermione's; there was no anger, no condemnation, only a cold, near-desperate sorrow.
"He's dead." Professor McGonagall's voice was soft, yet it struck Hermione's heart like a heavy hammer. "Caesar Habus. I killed him."
Hermione's body swayed imperceptibly, like a slender bamboo in a gale.
But the expression on her face didn't change at all; even the ice in her eyes didn't melt one bit.
She just stared at McGonagall quietly, as if waiting for her to continue.
"He said a lot before he died."
Professor McGonagall held out the letter she had found in Caesar's office addressed to Hermione, and with difficulty, word by word, recounted Caesar's "confession" in the abandoned classroom.
About how he had planned to approach Hermione from the very beginning, exploiting her talent and feelings, using her as a tool to achieve his goals.
And finally, how he used the lives of every teacher and student in the school as leverage to force her hand.
She recounted it in the simplest, coldest language possible.
She added no personal judgment, only stating facts. Each word was like an ice pick, attempting to shatter the seemingly solid ice in Hermione's eyes.
"...He used your feelings, Miss Granger. From start to finish, it was all a scam."
Professor McGonagall said finally, her voice carrying a tremor that was almost imperceptible,
"You defeated Lord Voldemort and saved Hogwarts from immediate dark rule.
Stop now, and... perhaps there is still room for redemption.
Headmaster Dumbledore and I can testify for you; you were deceived and exploited.
But if you strike at Headmaster Dumbledore now for the sake of a lie, for the sake of a person who used you..."
She took a deep breath and said with pity, "You will never be able to turn back. You will truly fall into the abyss, beyond redemption."
Silence.
Only the clamor of the distant battle and the whimpering of the wind blowing through the ruins remained.
Hermione stood there, face stained with the blood of her enemies and her own, listening quietly and looking quietly at the letter in her hand.
Her gaze moved from Professor McGonagall's sorrowful face to the shimmering Philosopher's Stone in Dumbledore's hand, then back to Professor McGonagall.
It felt as though a long time had passed, yet it was only an instant.
Then, she suddenly tilted her head slightly, like a studious pupil pondering a complex logical problem.
A very faint, almost innocent look of confusion even appeared on her face.
"Professor McGonagall," Hermione's voice remained calm, even taking on a slightly polite, inquiring tone,
"All these things you've said about how Caesar used me, about his plans and deceptions..."
"Aside from you, are there any other witnesses?"
This question was asked so abruptly, so... inappropriately.
On such a tragic battlefield, at a moment concerning life, death, and the choice between good and evil, she was asking for "witnesses"?
Professor McGonagall froze; a sharp glint flashed in Dumbledore's eyes.
In the rubble, Lord Voldemort, gasping for breath but not yet completely unconscious, heard those words.
A strange, wheezing laugh like a broken bellows suddenly erupted from his throat, filled with irony and madness.
"Witnesses... haha... cough, cough..."
While coughing up black blood, he laughed intermittently, his scarlet eyes sweeping mockingly over Dumbledore and McGonagall before finally settling on Hermione.
"Hogwarts... truly produces talented people... besides me, there is... an 'excellent' student like you... such a pity I didn't... meet you sooner..."
He seemed to want to say more, perhaps about Caesar's earlier secret collusion with the Grindelwald's remnants, or deeper conspiracies.
But his severe injuries and magical backlash left him producing only a series of meaningless wheezing sounds.
Yet a malice that was almost "gratifying" sparkled in his eyes.
Look, another "fine prospect" who would stop at nothing to achieve their goals. Hogwarts' "education" was truly a success!
Dumbledore slowly closed his eyes, and when he opened them a moment later, only deep sorrow remained.
"Child,"
He looked at Hermione, his voice old and weary. "When you asked that question, you already knew the answer, didn't you?
And you know what you are thinking in your heart as you ask it."
Between intelligent people, things need not be spelled out.
When Hermione asked "Are there any witnesses?", the subtext was as clear as a torch in the night:
If Professor McGonagall was the only one who knew Caesar's "truth," then as long as this "witness" disappeared...
...the "truth" would cease to exist.
Hermione's intelligence—the intellect carefully nurtured by Hogwarts and Caesar himself, adept at logical reasoning, finding loopholes, and solving problems.
At this moment, it was not being used to save or defend, but coldly and efficiently.
It began to serve the proposition: "How to preserve the hope of Caesar's survival while erasing the evidence of his 'betrayal'."
Kill the informant, cover up the truth.
Hermione did not deny Dumbledore's words. She even nodded slightly, as if agreeing with his assessment.
Then, her gaze fell upon Professor McGonagall once more.
In that gaze, the hint of feigned confusion from before was gone, replaced by pure, cold killing intent.
Chapter 40: For Hogwarts
Professor McGonagall staggered back half a step, the last trace of color fading from her face.
She looked at the student she had once been most proud of, looked at the unfamiliar dark flame burning in her eyes only for one person, and suddenly understood the meaning of Caesar's final mocking smile.
Caesar had not only schemed against her, but also against Hermione's reaction, and even more so against her, Minerva McGonagall.
This deputy headmistress, who held Hogwarts and its students above all else, would inevitably come to tell Hermione after learning the "truth," attempting to "save" her.
And he had used exactly this point to push Hermione completely over that line.
"For Hogwarts..." Professor McGonagall murmured the words she had spoken before acting, but at this moment, she felt an endless sense of absurdity and coldness.
Hermione's wand rose steadily, pointing directly at Professor McGonagall.
magic began to gather around her, far more condensed than before, and far more... dark.
Those silver lights that once represented protection and wisdom were now faintly tinged with an ominous blood-red.
Dumbledore sighed and tightened his grip on the elder wand. He knew that dissuasion was already useless.
The Hermione Granger before him had already made her choice.
Professor McGonagall's murmur was like a final death knell, shattering the last trace of hesitation and uncertainty belonging to "the student Hermione Granger" in Hermione's heart.
For Hogwarts?
For those ethereal "principles" and "responsibilities"?
No.
Her Hogwarts, starting from that chaotic station five years ago, had already shrunk into a specific figure, a name.
For him.
She could betray the entire world, so naturally, she could destroy any obstacle.
The wand was as steady as a rock, aimed at Professor McGonagall; the magic gathering at the tip was no longer pure silver-white, nor was it a fiery gold-red.
Instead, it turned into a viscous, heavy, dark-red vortex that seemed to swallow light, with pitch-black electric arcs faintly dancing at the edges.
That was the core obsession of the Patronus Charm, a form completely twisted by despair, anger, and a near-sacrificial madness.
It no longer protected; it existed only to destroy anything standing before the "target," even if it was a former teacher, even if it was the Principal who symbolized order.
Just as Dumbledore's aged sigh fell, Hermione's attack was launched.
No incantation, no warning.
That dark-red magic vortex erupted from the wand tip like a living thing.
It split and swirled in mid-air, turning into countless dark-red rays as thin as hair but carrying ear-piercing shrieks, raining down upon Professor McGonagall like a storm!
Each ray contained a soul-cutting chill and a violence that could shatter all things.
Professor McGonagall's pupils constricted, and she waved her wand almost instinctively, her Transfiguration spell causing the stone slabs on the ground to rise layer by layer.
They formed a thick stone shield in front of her, while the light of the Shield Charm lit up around her.
However, those dark-red rays seemed to ignore physical and conventional magical defenses.
They easily pierced through the stone shield, like red-hot wires through butter, leaving behind countless scorched holes.
The light of the Shield Charm fluctuated violently and dimmed under the impact of the rays, shattering with a bang after lasting less than two seconds!
"Puff, puff, puff, puff—!"
Several rays pierced through Professor McGonagall's defenses, sinking deep into her shoulder, arm, and ribs.
There was no blood splatter; the struck areas instantly became grey and withered, as if all life force had been drained away, and even pain seemed to be stripped away.
Only a cold numbness and a rapidly spreading sense of weakness remained.
Professor McGonagall groaned and staggered back, her wand nearly slipping from her hand, her face completely drained of color, her eyes filled with unbelievable horror.
"Hermione! Stop!" Dumbledore finally moved.
He no longer tried to persuade her with words; the elder wand drew a magnificent silver arc.
Like the break of dawn, it tried to disperse and purify that evil dark-red magic, while a gentle yet resilient binding force field swept toward Hermione, attempting to restrain her.
Hermione didn't even turn her head.
She waved her left hand backward, and a similarly dark-red but even more violent surge of magicsurged upward, slamming hard into Dumbledore's silver arc.
There was no earth-shattering explosion, only a tooth-aching "sizzling" sound, as if two completely opposite rules were annihilating and grinding against each other.
The silver light and the dark-red eroded and neutralized each other, unexpectedly reaching a stalemate!
And the binding force field released by Dumbledore was silently swallowed and dissolved by the automatically circulating dark-red magic field when it came within three feet of Hermione.
For the first time, a truly solemn expression appeared on Dumbledore's aged face.
He could feel that the "quality" of the magic Hermione was channeling at this moment had reached an incredible level; it was not a simple accumulation of Dark Arts.
Rather, it was an embryonic form of power at the level of a "rule," forged by forcibly melting some extreme emotion of her own with a massive source of magic.
Overbearing, pure, existing only to achieve a single purpose, even briefly overriding many conventional principles of magic.
Seizing the moment Dumbledore was held back, Hermione's figure closed in on the heavily injured and weakened Professor McGonagall like a ghost.
There was no ripple in her eyes, only a cold indifference focused on "eliminating the obstacle."
The wand was like a viper's tongue, so fast it left only an afterimage, stabbing directly at Professor McGonagall's heart.
This time, it was no longer about weakening or controlling; it was a slaughter aimed straight for her life!
Professor McGonagall barely raised her wand to parry, but the disparity in strength was vast, and her wand was easily knocked aside.
Just as the wand tip was about to touch Professor McGonagall's chest.
"Soul Pierce!"
An aged, weary, yet resolute shout rang out from the side!
Dumbledore, while simultaneously facing the erosion of the dark-red magic and maintaining other protections, forcibly diverted his attention to cast an offensive spell at Hermione!
A white light bit toward the back of Hermione's heart like a venomous snake!
This was the most helpless yet effective choice. Facing the current Hermione, conventional spells were no longer effective.
Only the most extreme killing curse might interrupt her attack and force her to protect herself.
However, Hermione's reaction exceeded everyone's expectations.
She did not dodge, nor did she defend.
Her left hand, with a speed so fast it left an afterimage, suddenly reached out—not to block the Piercing Curse.
But to grab Professor McGonagall's right wrist, which was wide open because her wand had been knocked aside!
Simultaneously, her body used the forward momentum to slightly pivot less than ten degrees.
Pfft!
The white light of the Piercing Curse grazed past Hermione's left shoulder blade, tearing away a large chunk of flesh and leaving a deep, scorched mark that revealed the bone.
One could even see the slightly twitching bone underneath.
The intense pain caused Hermione's body to shudder violently, her face instantly turning as pale as paper.
But she gritted her teeth, not even letting out a groan, and her forward momentum and grabbing motion did not stop for a second!
And her right-hand wand finally jabbed hard into Professor McGonagall's chest. It wasn't the Piercing Curse, nor was it the dark-red rays from before.
But a highly concentrated magic impact with sharp, high-frequency vibrations, like the sharpest awl, instantly piercing through Professor McGonagall's final life force field and reaching her heart!