The Auror didn't understand what the young Wizard was talking about.
"Your question?"
He initiated the inquiry.
Ian didn't answer. He turned and continued walking out of the ruins.
Shacklebolt followed. "At least tell us, who are you?"
Ian didn't stop or turn around. His voice came from ahead, calm and clear. " Ian Prince, a student of Hogwarts."
Shacklebolt froze. A Hogwarts student? A twelve or thirteen-year-old Hogwarts student, single-handedly turning that stitched-together monster that had baffled the entire Azkaban into ashes? He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found himself speechless. Flitwick walked over and stood beside Shacklebolt, also watching the boy's back. He was short, but his back was ramrod straight, and his large eyes churned with complex emotions.
"He is indeed a student of Hogwarts," Flitwick said in a hoarse but calm voice. "At least, that's what he says."
Shacklebolt turned to look at him. "You know him?"
Flitwick shook his head. "I don't know him. But I've seen him—once in Dumbledore's office. It was a rush. Dumbledore didn't introduce him, only saying he was a 'special' student."
Shacklebolt was silent for a few seconds. The word "special" coming from Dumbledore's mouth carried so much meaning. "Special" could mean anything—exceptionally intelligent, exceptionally talented, exceptionally dangerous, exceptionally important. "Special" could also mean someone who is not an ordinary person.
"He just said he came to solve his own problems," Shacklebolt said in a low voice. "What do you think his problems are?" Flitwick didn't answer. He didn't know, and he didn't want to know. Some things are better left unseen.
In the distance, Ian stopped. He stood at the edge of the ruins, facing the sea, his back to everyone. The sea breeze ruffled his robes and tousled his black hair. He stood there, motionless, like a statue.
Shacklebolt and Flitwick exchanged a glance, but neither spoke.
"Clean up the mess," Ian's voice came from ahead, calm and clear. "Save those who need saving, arrest those who need arresting. Don't stand there." Shacklebolt paused for a moment, then turned and walked towards the Auror were still in a daze. "Did you all hear that? Get moving! Treat the wounded, assess the damage, and hunt down the fugitives! Don't stand there!"
The Auror, as if waking from a dream, began to busy themselves. Some cast Healing Charm to stop the bleeding of the wounded; others carried stretchers to transport the seriously injured to the makeshift medical station; still others formed small teams to search the ruins for any Death Eater and prisoners who might be hiding. The professors also joined in —Sprout helped his injured colleague toward the tower, Slughorn was taking a headcount, Flitwick directed several young Auror to repair the collapsed passageway. Everything proceeded in an orderly manner.
Ian stood at the edge of the ruins, looking at the sea, at the undulating waves, at the bubbles shimmering in the morning light. His expression was calm, but complex emotions surged in his deep eyes.
He knew it wasn't over yet.
The stitched-together monster was just an appetizer. The real main course was yet to come.
He looked up at the sky. The clouds were moving slowly, and sunlight peeked through the gaps in them. In the distance, on the sea, a small black dot was approaching them.
It wasn't a boat, nor a bird, but a person.
A figure dressed in a long black robe and wearing a hood emerged from the sea. He trod on the waves, each step seemingly on solid ground, the water splashing beneath his feet only to freeze instantly, turning into ice crystals that shimmered eerily in the morning light. His pace was slow and unhurried, like an old man strolling in his backyard. But no one perceived his composure, for as he drew nearer, the air grew heavy, the sea breeze turned icy, and the busy Auror all stopped what they were doing and looked in his direction.
Shacklebolt turned deathly pale. He sensed it—that presence, that cold, chaotic, abyssal presence. It was Voldemort. Not the Voldemort who had been repelled by Dumbledore and fled in disarray, but a new, more powerful, more dangerous Voldemort. "Warning!" he shouted, "Everyone, on alert!"
The Auror raised their wands, but their hands trembled. The professors were equally tense; Flitwick's wand was already in his hand, but his face was grim. They had just escaped the clutches of the stitched monster, and now they were facing Voldemort —and Voldemort who seemed even more powerful than before. Ian didn't move. He simply stood there, watching the approaching figure, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips.
"It's finally here."
Ian said softly.
Voldemort's footsteps halted on the sea, less than fifty meters from the reefs of Azkaban. He raised his head, revealing a twisted, inhuman face beneath his hood. Three scarlet eyes gleamed coldly in the morning light, and tiny tentacles protruded from the sides of his neck, swaying gently in the air. He saw Ian. The black-haired boy standing at the edge of the ruins, the one who had unsettled him since their first encounter in Azkaban, the raven that kept his true self Raven at night.
His lips curled up slightly, revealing a sinister smile.
" Raven." His voice was soft and husky, carried on the sea breeze, "We've finally met."
Ian looked at him, his deep eyes devoid of any emotion. "You're more cautious than I thought," he said calmly and composedly. "Since the main body doesn't dare come, you've sent an avatar to its death."
Voldemort's smile froze for a moment, but he quickly recovered. "Committing suicide?" His voice was soft yet dangerous. "You think I'm here to die?"
He raised his hand and took something out from under his black robe. It was a Mirror —not large, only the size of a washbasin, with a frame made of some kind of dark gold metal that gleamed with an eerie luster, covered with fine runes. The mirror surface was not glass, but some kind of flowing, mercury-like liquid, slowly rotating in the morning light.
Ian stared at the Mirror, a barely perceptible glint in his eyes. The Mirror of Banishment —he recognized it, of course. It was a forgery he'd made himself, pieced together from fragments of the Philosopher's Stone he'd gotten from Nicolas Flamel and a few ancient crystals he'd unearthed from Grindelwald's vault. He'd spent a whole week carving the runes, three days fine-tuning the flow of the liquids, and a whole day ensuring every detail was perfect enough to fool anyone.
He did it. Voldemort really treasured the fake Mirror and used it against himself.
"Do you know what this is?" Voldemort held up the Mirror, its surface facing Ian. The flowing liquid swirled in the morning light, reflecting Ian's image as a blurry, distorted figure, like a crumpled piece of paper.
Ian looked at him without saying a word.
" The Mirror of Banishment." Voldemort's voice was soft yet dangerous, tinged with an barely suppressed excitement.
"A treasure left behind by the ancient Titan. It can strip any existence from reality and cast it into eternal nothingness. Raven, you can't escape." He took a step forward and stepped onto the reef. Tiny tentacles emerged from the sides of his neck, dancing wildly in the air like celebratory flags. Victory burned in his three scarlet eyes, and a ferocious, triumphant smile spread across his lips.
Ian looked at him, his deep eyes still devoid of any emotion.
Do you think I'd stand there and let you take my picture?
Ian remained silent.
Voldemort's smile froze for a moment.
"What?"
He clearly hadn't expected this.
Ian raised his hand, and the wand slid from his sleeve into his palm. A silvery-white light shot out from the tip of the wand, as thin as a hair, yet carrying an indescribable, irresistible power, heading straight for the Mirror in Voldemort's hand!
Voldemort reacted quickly. His body instantly transformed into a cloud of black smoke, narrowly dodging the silvery-white light. The light struck the sea behind him, exploding into a huge column of water, splashing everywhere and turning into countless tiny, shimmering ice crystals in the morning light.
"You..." Voldemort's voice carried a hint of annoyance.
"Did you think I'd obediently let you take my picture?" Ian's voice was calm and composed as he pointed his wand at Voldemort, and another beam of silver light shot out.
This time, Voldemort didn't dodge. He raised the Mirror, its surface facing the silvery-white light. The light struck the mirror, but instead of exploding or impacting, it was absorbed by the mirror. The flowing liquid briefly brightened, then returned to normal, as if nothing had happened. Ian frowned slightly. The real thing or a fake? No—he made the fake himself, so of course he knew it was fake. But Voldemort had just absorbed the light with the mirror; that wasn't a fake's function. That Mirror— his fake—definitely didn't have that ability. Unless...
Voldemort's hands trembled slightly, and his face grew even paler. The Mirror shuddered violently the moment it absorbed the light, almost slipping from his grasp. He held on tightly, the tentacles wrapping around the frame and holding it in place.
"Useless." His voice was a little hoarse, but still smug. " The Mirror of Banishment can absorb any magic and make it its own. Your attacks are just charging it up."
Ian looked at him, paused for a second, and then smiled.
The smile was faint, subtle, carrying an indescribable, complex emotion. It wasn't fear, nor tension, but rather a sense of relief. "Recharge?" His voice was calm and composed. "That's perfect."
He raised his wand, and this time, a thicker and more intense silver-white light shot from its tip, aiming straight for the Mirror in Voldemort's hand! Voldemort didn't dodge; he raised the Mirror and absorbed the light again. The mirror surface suddenly brightened, and the flowing liquid spun wildly, emitting a low, buzzing sound.
Voldemort's hands trembled even more violently, but his smile deepened. "Continue! Continue! The more you attack, the stronger it becomes! Once it has absorbed enough energy, your end will be near!"
Ian looked at him, a barely perceptible glint in his deep eyes. He knew the Mirror was fake, but he also knew— Voldemort didn't. In Voldemort's eyes, the Mirror was the true Mirror of Banishment, capable of absorbing magic, sealing enemies, and eliminating his greatest threat. But in Ian's eyes, it was just an ordinary Mirror, enchanted with Colour-Change Charm and Absorption Charm, a fake he had made himself. But he didn't expose it. He continued his attack—beams of silvery light shot towards Voldemort, towards the Mirror. Each beam was absorbed by the Mirror, each absorption making the surface brighter, more intense. Voldemort's smile deepened, his smugness growing stronger. "Don't you understand?" Voldemort's voice was soft yet dangerous, "You're leading yourself to your own destruction."
Ian did not answer. His wand continued to emit light, but a barely perceptible smile flickered in his deep eyes.
Finally, the Mirror trembled to its limit. The runes lit up simultaneously, emitting blinding light, and the flowing liquid spun wildly, emitting a deafening roar. Voldemort raised the Mirror, its surface facing Ian.
"Enough." His voice was soft yet dangerous. " Raven, your time is over."
A blinding beam of light shot out from the mirror, heading straight for Ian!
The light was neither silvery-white nor dark red, but a strange, aurora-like, ever-changing color. It shot towards Ian with astonishing speed, distorting the air and trembling the space in its path, leaving a deep, smoking trench in the ground. Ian did not dodge.
The beam of light struck his chest.
In that instant, his body stiffened abruptly. His eyes widened, his mouth opened as if to say something, but no sound came out. His body began to become transparent—not gradually disappearing, but being swallowed by the light, slowly pulled into the mirror.
Voldemort watched this scene, his three scarlet eyes burning with barely suppressed excitement. "Yes! That's it! Go in! Go in!" Ian looked at Voldemort, his deep eyes showing no fear, no anger, only a faint, almost calm understanding. His lips moved, silently uttering a few words, and then his entire body transformed into a streak of silver-white light, absorbed into the mirror. The mirror surface flashed brightly, then returned to normal.
The flowing liquid swirls slowly, reflecting the empty sky and ocean.
Voldemort held up the Mirror, staring at its surface for a long time. There was nothing in the mirror—no Ian, no Raven, no boy who kept him awake at night. Only an empty, flowing liquid.
Then he smiled.
The laughter rose from a low murmur to a high crescendo, from hoarse to shrill, echoing through the ruins, drifting across the sea, and exploding in the sky. Three scarlet eyes burned with a mad, triumphant, and satisfied light; tentacles protruded from his neck, dancing wildly in the air like celebratory banners. "Success..." his voice was hoarse and trembling, "I succeeded... Raven... I... sealed it away..."
He put down the Mirror, looking at the ruins, at the terrified Auror and professors, at the still-smoking craters and scorch marks. " Dumbledore wounded, Grindelwald has fled, and the Raven has been sealed away." His voice was soft yet dangerous, carrying a morbid, almost manic pleasure. "This world—is finally mine."
He burst into laughter.
The laughter drifted in the sea breeze, echoed through the ruins, and exploded in everyone's ears. No one dared to move, no one dared to speak, no one dared to make a sound.
They simply stood there, watching the mad Dark Lord, the Mirror in his hand, and the direction in which the boy who had once saved their lives had disappeared.