Fireflies

The Mutual Aid Society became an instant hit, just as expected!

The name Klein Grindelwald was like a golden signboard, attracting almost every first-year student.

Even the second- and third-years were eager to join.

After all—

That was Grindelwald, the youngest recipient of the Order of Merlin in history!

Who wouldn't want to be friends with someone like him?

Hogwarts, the Headmaster's Office.

"If outsiders found out about your decision, they'd think you'd lost your mind in your old age."

Severus Snape spoke in a low voice from the sofa, as gloomy as ever.

But unlike before, his black robes were immaculate, and even his greasy hair had become much smoother.

At first glance,

he almost seemed

a little handsome?

"Heh."

Dumbledore merely smiled without replying.

Since when did he need to explain himself to anyone?

He was an old man. What was wrong with indulging himself a little?

"I only thought he was too busy, and worried he'd get distracted from Potions."

He'd meant to express concern, but by the time the words left his mouth, they'd turned cold and aloof.

Snape kept a straight face as he recalled Klein's recent performance, and sighed without letting it show.

"What I mean is, Potions and charms already give him enough to deal with. Why make him busy with some 'Mutual Aid Society' too?"

That was what he understood least.

A genius like Klein ought to pursue excellence and forge himself into someone extraordinary. That was the right path.

Why should mediocre wizards be given extra instruction?

If those fools held Klein back from reaching the summit, it would be a loss for the entire Magical World!

"It'll be fine. I trust that boy to handle things."

Dumbledore looked at Snape with an amused smile, his expression still cheerful.

The old man knew perfectly well that, in Snape's heart, the students from the other three houses combined couldn't measure up to Slytherin.

And all of Slytherin together couldn't measure up to Klein!

Favoring someone to that extent was truly one of a kind.

"I'm not convinced."

Seeing that he couldn't change Dumbledore's mind, Snape gave a cold snort and let the subject drop for now. After a few seconds, he moved on to business.

"Your informants outside have reported traces of 'that person' recently."

Dumbledore knew perfectly well who "that person" was.

At the mention of Voldemort, the old man's expression grew serious. "Where?"

"Baljiria. They say the Dark Mark was spotted there."

As Snape spoke of the Dark Mark, he unconsciously pressed a hand to his arm.

The Dark Lord's Mark was permanent. Once it was branded on you, you could never get rid of it.

It was his shame, and the one thing he least wanted anyone to see.

"Then you..."

Dumbledore glanced at Snape.

"No. I haven't been summoned."

Snape answered firmly.

"Strange."

Since he knew nothing about the Magic Ring, Dumbledore couldn't help but feel puzzled.

Voldemort had abandoned the Philosopher's Stone, which surely meant he'd found something better. And the Dark Mark being activated meant he'd grown stronger.

So why hadn't Snape felt anything?

Surely Voldemort hadn't set off fireworks just because he was bored.

Baljiria, at the edge of the Black Forest.

"Crackle, crackle!"

Sparks flickered from fingers as thin as twigs. Voldemort's round eyes held both delight and dissatisfaction.

At last, he could cast magic on his own.

But...

Its power was nowhere near what he'd expected.

"Patience. I need patience."

Voldemort took a deep breath and clenched his fist, muttering as though in a daze.

Quirrell had offered up everything, in exchange for this ugly body.

But this wasn't the rebirth he wanted!

What was more, he'd discovered that his new body, like Quirrell's, was weakening at a visible rate.

He'd shrunk from half a man's height at the moment of his rebirth to barely the height of an ordinary person's calf!

The Magic Ring's protection and its side effects were equally obvious.

Voldemort estimated that this body would only last long enough to get him back to Britain.

After that, he'd have to rethink his plans for resurrection.

"Rustle."

As he considered how to obtain a true body, the brambles behind him suddenly shuddered.

Voldemort turned around warily. A tall, pale man in black robes emerged slowly, seemingly oblivious even as the poisonous thorns pierced his skin.

"A vampire!"

Voldemort's heart lurched. This was trouble.

At the height of his power, he could have killed dozens of vampires like this with a single spell.

But his glory days were over. Now he was a broken soul, barely clinging to life inside a false body.

He didn't even have a wand.

"That's my precious... It's mine..."

The vampire who'd appeared looked down at Voldemort, baring his fangs as he murmured.

No—more precisely, he wasn't looking at Voldemort.

He was looking at the shining ring on Voldemort's bony finger.

It was Klein's twisted sense of humor: any unclean being who saw the ring would be seized by an irresistible greed.

And vampires, who lived on blood, were certainly unclean.

So the ring had called to him, and he reached out with a clawed hand for the golden treasure.

"Get away!"

Voldemort could see perfectly well that this scum had his eye on his treasure.

His scream mingled with his roar, the fury in his heart burning even hotter than when his body had been destroyed all those years ago.

No one could take what was his.

It was his treasure.

His alone!

Could he cast the Instant Death Curse without a wand?

The answer was yes!

A blinding green light struck the vampire head-on, hurling his towering body five or six meters backward!

For a moment, Voldemort seemed to have become the Dark Lord again, the master of life and death.

Unfortunately, an illusion was still an illusion.

The all-destroying Avada Kedavra failed to kill the vampire.

"Roar!"

A distinctly inhuman growl rose from his throat. The nameless vampire sprang to his feet, a pair of black bat wings suddenly unfurling from his back.

Voldemort's eyes reddened too. Even at his lowest, he wouldn't allow an inferior creature to behave so brazenly before him.

Spells, beating, biting!

At that moment, Voldemort seemed even more like a beast than the vampire.

Perhaps the Magic Ring admired his resolve. As he snarled, the fiery inscription on its face suddenly began to glow, granting him more magical power.

And that was his chance to turn defeat into victory!

"Ah!"

The long-awaited victory seemed to elevate Voldemort's very soul.

But he had no idea that, just as he stood atop the vampire's corpse and roared at the sky,

several pairs of greedy eyes had opened in the darkness.

Baljiria, Dark Forest.

It had always been a gathering place for dark wizards and all kinds of Dark Creatures.

With the Magic Ring, Voldemort was like a firefly in the night, radiating an irresistibly alluring light.