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Chapter 355: Final Orders, Final Punishment
🕑 Added 2025-05-01 17:25:12 +0000 UTCThe fierce battle in the sky raged on.
But whether it was Professor McGonagall or Mad-Eye Moody on the ground, neither knew how to intervene, even with their wands in hand.
It was a moment of helplessness—one that carried a deep, sorrowful weight.
Then, suddenly, a series of soft cracks echoed around Moody as figures began appearing out of thin air all around him.
His call for reinforcements had finally borne fruit.
Amelia Bones, the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had arrived. She led over a dozen Aurors and an equal number of Hit Wizards, all ready for action.
Amelia Bones—iron-willed successor to the late Bartemius Crouch Sr.—had wasted no time when she received Moody's urgent message. She immediately rallied the Auror Office and members of the Ministry's true strike force: the Hit Wizard Unit.
Even though this could have turned out to be a misunderstanding, she had chosen to trust the judgment of the retired Auror.
And before departing, she had even steeled herself for the worst—prepared to face death if it meant avenging her parents and younger brother.
But upon arriving in Hogsmeade, Amelia quickly realized how naive that expectation had been.
Blizzards raged overhead. Endless swarms of white insects clouded the sky. Explosions rocked the air, and an oppressive black storm loomed above—a darkness that instilled fear just by looking at it.
This wasn't a fight they could join.
Amelia felt a pang of despair, but she regained her composure swiftly. She ordered her people to deploy alchemical devices—Anti-Apparition enchantments were quickly activated across the area.
This time, she wasn't going to let the Dark Lord escape.
In the skies above…
Even after completing the closed loop of his icy magic, Ino did not relent. He continued casting Sectumsempra in rapid succession. Any seasoned observer could tell—he had no intention of giving Voldemort a single moment to breathe.
It was a bold, relentless tactic—a psychological assault.
He was using sheer pressure to force Voldemort's hand.
It was a calculated move, betting on Voldemort's pride. Unless the Dark Lord chose to utterly forsake his reputation and flee in front of everyone, he would have no choice but to endure the onslaught.
Amidst the white sea of insects, Voldemort felt… a hint of helplessness.
But only a hint.
Despite appearances, he was far from panicked. The icy arrows, undead mountain spirits, and swarms of magical insects—none had actually harmed him.
His Protego Maxima, cast a foot in front of him, remained utterly intact, absorbing every blow without so much as a shimmer.
Only the repeated Sectumsempra strikes gave him pause—each casting produced a shrill, metallic screech as it clashed against his magical shield.
Still, Voldemort was growing irritated.
He didn't know when Dumbledore would arrive, but he was no longer willing to wait.
And for the first time, a sliver of regret crept in—perhaps using the Killing Curse to make a statement had been a mistake.
Floating in the air, Voldemort surveyed the landscape—nothing but vast, pale whiteness.
Then, facing this frozen wasteland, he raised his wand and murmured,
"Fiendfyre."
The spell was spoken softly, but the tone carried absolute authority.
Voldemort had unleashed Fiendfyre.
In the quiet, snowy world, a flicker of searing flame emerged—brilliant and vicious, like a mandrake flower blooming in a field of untouched snow.
At first, it seemed too small to matter—barely noticeable.
But anyone who looked directly at it could feel its insatiable hunger.
Floating mid-air, that flicker of fire stirred like an ancient beast rousing from slumber.
Slowly and deliberately, it spread. Each pulse of flame warped the air, radiating a choking heat.
When the white swarm of insects touched it, the fire responded with unholy greed.
The blizzard of Billywig insects, the piercing ice arrows, even the invisible slashes of Sectumsempra—none of it stood a chance. The fire consumed it all with ease, not merely burning it away, but devouring it entirely.
Within seconds, that flicker of flame, once no larger than two inches, had transformed into a twenty-foot inferno—shaped like a three-headed rune serpent.
It was no longer just a fire; it was a living monster.
The two-story-high flame serpent, burning bright like magma from the depths of hell, opened its jaws wide and spewed fire across the insect sea.
And wherever its flames landed, new rune serpents spawned—like a virulent plague spreading through the sky.
In an instant, the once-still world split in two:
On one side, a raging blizzard. On the other, a sea of fire.
High above Hogsmeade…
As the Fiendfyre reached full form, Ino called back the Billywig swarm and ceased all attacks.
The two figures floated in silence, staring each other down.
Voldemort seemed to be choosing his words carefully.
Ino, on the other hand, was gathering power.
His once-amber eyes and dark hair gradually shifted into shades of vibrant blue.
"Run! Now! Everyone—RUN!"
Moody's voice, raw and panicked, cut through the chaos on the ground.
But then he froze.
His gaze landed on Amelia Bones, filled with a strange mix of shock and sorrow.
Apparition had been sealed across Hogsmeade.
"No choice," Moody growled. "Run on foot—go as far as you can. Now!"
Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, the grizzled retired Auror, glanced down at his prosthetic leg, then gripped his wand and began limping toward the rising flames.
Alone, he trudged through the snow—each step a silent farewell.
A moment later, Amelia Bones stirred.
She understood. Her mistake had sealed this fate.
The alchemical devices couldn't be undone so quickly.
"Follow Moody's orders! Get out of here! Take as many as you can—especially the children!"
Closing her eyes in anguish, Amelia gave her final command—then marched into the storm herself.
Some obeyed. They fled in all directions.
But others—many others—stood firm.
They were members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
And their mission was to protect the magical world.
Silently, with wands raised, they advanced toward Voldemort.
On the road to Hogwarts, Professors Flitwick and Madame Maxime sensed something terrible.
Perhaps ordinary wizards couldn't perceive it, but they felt it keenly—the ominous pressure of magic so destructive it seemed to devour life itself. Even from afar, it chilled their souls.
Neither of them could guarantee their own safety, let alone that of the young students.
Without hesitation, Professor Flitwick leapt from his broomstick.
He handed it to two first-year Ravenclaw girls who had snuck out of the castle.
Two students, one broom. Risky.
But in moments like this, there was no time for caution.
"Remember what I said!" Flitwick called out sternly. "No more sneaking out of bounds! And one more thing—your Charms homework over Christmas break? Add three inches to the essay!"
As he watched the broom slowly rise into the sky, carrying the frightened students to safety, Professor Flitwick offered his final instruction—
—and his final punishment.
