Yes, the ball of light stopped.
It hovered in mid-air, spinning wildly and struggling frantically, but could not move forward an inch.
The tentacles emerged from the sphere of light, attempting to entwine themselves around the silvery-white thread, but the moment they made contact, they vanished into nothingness. Then, in the next instant...
Ian flicked his finger lightly.
The silvery-white thread tightened abruptly, slicing the enormous sphere of light in two! The sphere exploded with a deafening roar, scattering dark red light in all directions. It transformed into countless tiny specks of light, like shattered dreams, slowly drifting down.
Voldemort staggered back a few steps, his face deathly pale. He stared intently at Ian, his three crimson eyes swirling with disbelief and shock. "You—how could you—"
Ian looked at him, his deep eyes devoid of any emotion.
"I told you," his voice was calm and composed, "Come and try."
Voldemort's body trembled slightly. His tentacles danced wildly behind him, their dark red light flickering. He knew he was no match for this boy. Even though this was just one of his Horcrux Clone, and its loss wouldn't affect his main body, the feeling of being crushed still filled him with an unbearable humiliation.
"Okay... okay..." His voice was hoarse and trembling, "You're strong... but I won't give up so easily."
He turned to look at the still trembling, stitched-together monster, at its blinking, dark red, pupil-less eyes. "You one by one, hold off Grindelwald!"
The stitched-together monster's body shuddered violently, and all its eyes turned to Grindelwald. It let out a low, beast-like roar, and then pounced on Grindelwald!
Grindelwald was ready. With a wave of his wand, a golden beam shot out, forcing the stitched monster back a few steps. But he looked strained, his face pale and his breathing rapid, as if each spell he cast exhausted all his strength.
" Ian!" he shouted, his voice hoarse and urgent, "I'll hold it off—you deal with him—"
Ian glanced at him, a barely perceptible smile flashing in his deep eyes.
The script is unfolding smoothly.
Grindelwald appeared to be struggling to fend off the stitched-together monster's attacks, each swing of his wand carrying a strained, Follow One's Heart effort. He was forced back step by step, more tears appearing in his robes, his breathing becoming increasingly rapid, and his face growing paler.
But only he knew—it was all an act.
He was controlling the rhythm, the intensity, and the appropriate performance for a "severely injured" state. He couldn't be too strong, lest Voldemort see through his defenses; nor could he be too weak, lest the stitched-together monster actually hurt him. It was a skill, and he was a master of it.
The stitched-together monster attacked frantically, its six arms flailing simultaneously, their claws slicing through the air with a chilling light. Its eyes blinked in unison, their dark red light flickering erratically. Bellatrix's voice emanated from the fused face, carrying a morbid, almost manic ecstasy.
"Old man... you can't escape now..."
Grindelwald did not answer. He simply continued to defend, continued to retreat, and continued to fight "hard."
On the other side of the hill, the standoff between Ian and Voldemort continued.
Voldemort abandoned his wide-range beams of light, opting instead for more precise and deadly attacks. The crimson light transformed into countless tiny, needle-like spikes, piercing Ian from all directions! Each spike carried the chaotic properties of Deep Space, enough to pierce any defense!
Ian's wand spun rapidly in his hand, a swirling, whirlwind-like barrier of silvery light forming around him. The spikes that struck the barrier shattered and vanished into nothingness. Not a single one could penetrate it.
Voldemort's expression grew increasingly grim. He changed tactics; tentacles emerged from his body and began to coil around Ian! They were not physical entities, but rather something between matter and energy, capable of penetrating any physical defense!
Ian stared at the tentacles, his smile unchanged. He raised his left hand and gently clenched it. The tentacles stopped a foot away from his body, as if choked by an invisible hand. They struggled and twisted frantically, but could not advance an inch further. Ian flicked his finger, and the tentacles shattered instantly, turning into countless tiny specks of light that dissipated into the air.
Voldemort's body shuddered violently, the tentacles retracted from his body, and the dark red light dimmed considerably. He gasped for breath, his three scarlet eyes churning with anger, resentment, and a hint of barely concealed fear.
Ian looked at him, not pressing his advantage. He simply stood there, wand hanging at his side, waiting.
"You..." Voldemort's voice was hoarse and trembling, "Who exactly are you?"
Ian looked at him, his deep eyes devoid of any emotion.
"I am Raven," his voice calm and composed, "The bird you've been searching for."
Voldemort's lips twitched. He knew that victory was impossible today. Even if it was just one of his Horcrux Clone, he couldn't afford to waste it here. He needed to retreat, he needed to go back, he needed to plan again.
He turned around, transformed into a wisp of black smoke, and flew into the sky!
Ian didn't chase after it. He just stood there, watching the plume of black smoke disappear into the horizon, and gently shook his head.
Grindelwald walked over from the other side of the hill, his robes torn, his hair disheveled, and his face pale. He still held his wand in his hand, wisps of smoke rising from its tip. He walked to Ian's side, also looking in the direction where the black smoke had disappeared, his heterochromatic eyes swirling with complex emotions. "Gone," he said, his voice hoarse but calm.
Ian nodded. "Let's go."
Grindelwald glanced at him. "You did this on purpose?"
Ian's lips curled into a slight smile. "He's just an avatar; killing him is pointless. Letting him go back will only make his true self more terrified." Grindelwald was silent for a few seconds, then sighed softly.
"The script is going well," he said.
Ian nodded. "It went smoothly."
The two stood atop the hill, watching the sky gradually regain its light. In the distance, the church bells rang again, deep and resonant. The stitched monster was gone. The moment Voldemort fled, it too had vanished into a puff of black smoke on the hill. Its eyes, its tentacles, its twisted limbs—all had disappeared, leaving only the craters blasted open and the scorch marks still emitting smoke on the ground. Grindelwald sheathed his wand and looked at Ian.
"What's next?"
Ian turned around, looking in the direction of the town, at the gray stone house, at the rooftops illuminated by the morning light.
"Next," his voice was calm and composed, "Wait."
"Wait for Voldemort to come in person."
Grindelwald was silent for a few seconds, then nodded slightly.
Will he come?
Ian looked at him, a slight smile playing on his lips, revealing a faint, confident expression.
"He will."
He definitely will.
On the hill, two figures stood side by side, gazing into the distance. Sunlight bathed them, casting long shadows. The morning light finally pierced through the clouds, bathing the town's stone rooftops in a warm gold. The church bells stopped ringing, a few distant barks rang out, followed by an unnatural silence. The Muggle remained hidden in their houses, behind curtains, behind any cover they could find, too afraid to come out.
They didn't know what was happening outside, what those eerie lights were, or what the twisted, repulsive monster that had descended from the hill was. All they knew was fear.
Ian stood on the main street of the town, his hands in his pockets, looking around. Behind the windows of the stone houses, he could vaguely see some blurry figures peeking out through the gaps in the curtains.
He could sense their fear, their confusion, their unease. It was an instinctive, primal fear, unrelated to reason or understanding.
I'm simply afraid of things that can't be explained.
The Muggle were greatly frightened.
Grindelwald descended the hill, his robes tattered, his hair disheveled, and his face still pale. He held his wand in his hand, wisps of smoke rising from its tip. He walked to Ian's side, glancing around as well, his heterochromatic eyes swirling with complex emotions.
"We need to get started on the cleanup. Let's begin." Grindelwald's voice was hoarse but calm. It wasn't about killing anyone, just routine procedures that the Ministry of Magic would perform.
"No problem."
Ian nodded. He raised his hand, and the wand slid from his sleeve into his palm. It was a very thin and light wand, made of light-colored wood, without any decoration, only some fine, almost invisible patterns. He held the wand and gently swung it.
A silvery-white light spread out from the tip of the staff, like ripples, like waves, silently sweeping across every Street, every house, and every window of the town.
That wasn't offensive magic, nor Defensive Magic, but a more sophisticated and delicate kind of magic—the Confundus Charm. It wouldn't harm anyone, wouldn't change anything, it would simply gently and tenderly blur those images that shouldn't be remembered, making them blurry, distant, and unreal like a dream in one's memory.
"Your understanding of magic is growing deeper." Grindelwald also raised his wand. His wand was made of dark wood, with fine scratches on its surface, marks left by time.
With a gentle wave, a golden light shot out from the tip of his staff, intertwining with Ian's silver-white light to form a thin, almost invisible curtain of light above the town.
That's the Memory Charm, more direct and more thorough. It erases memories that shouldn't be remembered from the mind—not blurring them, not fading them, but completely deleting them, as if they never existed.
The two people's magic intertwined, slowly swirling above the town like a giant, invisible vortex.
"What happened!?" The Muggle hiding behind the windows began to look blank, their fear fading. They no longer remembered the eerie lights, the twisted monster, or the terrifying images that had kept them awake all night. They only remembered going to bed early last night and having a long dream filled with light, sound, and something moving in the darkness. But upon waking, they remembered nothing.
Ian put away his wand and looked around the town. The figures behind the curtains began to move; some opened windows, some stepped out of doors, and some stretched and yawned in doorways, their faces showing sleepy confusion. Everything returned to normal, as if nothing had happened. Grindelwald also put away his wand and sighed softly. "Almost done."
Ian nodded without saying anything.
He turned and walked out of the town.
Grindelwald followed behind him, the two of them walking one after the other past the stone houses, past the church, past the cemetery, past the gray house with half of its wall destroyed.
No one noticed them, no one saw them. The Muggle continued with their daily lives as if nothing had happened. On the hill, the morning wind howled, rustling the withered grass. Ian stood at the highest point of the hill, gazing into the distance. Grindelwald stood beside him, also gazing into the distance.
"And then?" Grindelwald asked.
Ian was silent for a few seconds, then said, "Go back. Wait."
He didn't say what he was waiting for, and Grindelwald didn't ask.
The two figures entered the town at the same time.
All that remained on the hill were the craters from the explosion and the scorch marks still emitting smoke.
When they reappeared, they were already standing on the town's main stone street. The morning light had completely dispelled the darkness, bathing the gray stone houses in a warm, soft gold.
The church bells rang several more times, this time not as a sharp alarm, but as a normal, drawn-out chime that echoed through the valley, mingling with the distant birdsong.
The Muggle had already begun their day. An old man pushed his bicycle out of the alley, a few baguettes in the basket, their aroma wafting in the morning breeze.
A young woman walked along the stone path with a brown dog on a leash. The dog wagged its tail, Niffler around with curiosity. Several children chased and played in the open space in front of the church, their clear and loud laughter standing out in the quiet morning.
Nobody remembers what happened last night.
No one remembers those eerie lights, no one remembers that twisted monster, no one remembers the terrifying images that kept them awake all night.
" Muggle, life is so wonderful." Grindelwald stood on the side of the main street, watching the Muggle coming and going, his heterochromatic eyes swirling with complex emotions.
His robes had been changed—no longer the torn, dusty, and bloodstained old robe, but a dark gray, seemingly ordinary coat and a pair of black trousers.
Now, the former Dark Lord has neatly combed his silver hair and looks like an ordinary old man on vacation.
Ian stood beside him, also dressed in a dark hoodie, jeans, and sneakers. He looked no different from any other ordinary twelve-year-old boy.
"Actually, being a Muggle isn't so bad." He put his hands in his pockets, tilted his head, and looked at the Muggle with a faint smile on his lips.
"Perhaps."
Grindelwald's statement was ambiguous.