Unexpected Visitor

There were still several days left before Harry had to go to the Forbidden Forest when Professor Lupin returned.

He returned silently, and no one knew exactly when he had arrived. Once back, he locked himself in his bedroom, drew the curtains, and refused to see anyone.

Only Snape would bring food to his door, taking the opportunity to urge him to drink his potions.

Dumbledore was another person who refused to see anyone.

After chatting with Harry for an afternoon, he had made a new discovery. Once he stepped out for a while, he locked himself in his office and casually instructed the stone gargoyle at the entrance not to disturb him unless it was a major event.

What constituted a major event?

"A Dementor attack on Hogwarts."

Dumbledore had said.

The stone gargoyle at the entrance to the Headmaster's Office was very diligent.

It firmly remembered Dumbledore's words, impartial and incorruptible.

No matter who came, it said the same thing.

"Headmaster Dumbledore is seeing no one. If you have any business, you may ask Ms. Minerva McGonagall. She is the Deputy Headmistress and will handle such matters; she is in full charge of all daily operations at Hogwarts."

The essence of humanity is to be a broken record, and the stone gargoyle was no different.

It was always like this, repeating itself unhurriedly in a very bland manner, making one wish they could blast this stubborn stone beast to pieces with a spell.

Meanwhile, inside the Hit Wizard tent stationed outside Hogwarts, green light flashed incessantly.

Dewey looked somewhat travel-worn. He wore a khaki hat and a khaki trench coat, holding his wand in his hand.

As he lowered his head and walked into the tent, he even politely took off his hat, pressed it against his chest, and bowed slightly.

"Voldemort sends his regards!"

In that instant, Walker felt his blood run cold—not because this man had spoken the name of You-Know-Who, but because he was seeing Dewey Jones here!

This was something they had never imagined; they never thought this person would appear outside Hogwarts at such a time.

Was he not afraid of Dumbledore coming out of seclusion?

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Seeing Dewey, Walker screamed as he drew his wand, attempting to cast a spell on him. The other Hit Wizards were no better; they shrieked as they pulled out their wands, fear gripping their hearts and making it difficult for them to breathe.

They moved quickly, but Dewey was faster.

He kept his head down, speaking as he moved, but his wand was already dancing.

He did not need to shout the incantation to cast "Expelliarmus."

In an instant, as Dewey waved his hand, the Hit Wizards felt their wands bite them like vipers, forcing them to let go.

The wands flew through the air—six of them, landing neatly in Dewey's hand.

Dewey grabbed the wands and pulled his hat down over his head.

He lifted his head, revealing a smiling face—a terrifying, grinning face.

His teeth were bared, his muscles pulled, lifting the corners of his mouth like a marionette in a smile; he also looked like a withered mummy, his skin shriveled and wrinkled, forming a similar expression.

He smiled, yet tears streamed down his face.

Choking back sobs, Dewey wept as he said, "Now, please allow me, with Voldemort's elegance, to bestow upon you a sweet death."

Looking at the disarmed Hit Wizards, Dewey revealed a sweet smile.

The repressed emotions of the past exploded in this moment!

He pointed his wand at a Hit Wizard, looked at the man's desperate face, and shouted the spell that chilled the soul.

"Avada Kedavra!"

A flash of desperate green light appeared, striking a lucky Hit Wizard.

The Hit Wizard stared blankly at Dewey before collapsing with a thud.

"No!"

Those present roared in despair. Some pulled out communication devices, others fell to their knees in hopelessness, and Walker charged at Dewey with his bare hands.

This tent had been enchanted; while it looked like a single-person tent from the outside, it was actually the size of half a football field inside.

The Hit Wizards usually stayed in here and never went out.

Hogwarts did not welcome these people either. Ever since they had stationed themselves on the paths leading in and out of Hogwarts with Dementors, no one from the school came out unless necessary.

The Dementors were currently prowling outside Hogwarts. They were already very dissatisfied; having not fed for a long time, they were irritable.

Yet, inside this tent, there was still no scent of joy.

There was only fear.

The Dementors did not approach this place.

Dewey looked at these desperate Hit Wizards and let out a deafening laugh.

He laughed wildly as he waved his wand, easily knocking the Hit Wizards to the ground. He watched their desperate expressions, told them to run, and then, just as they were about to escape the tent, he would strike them with an Avada Kedavra. He gave everyone hope, only to extinguish it at the very end, plunging them back into despair.

"You won't have a good end."

Walker retreated again and again, watching the madman closing in on him. A chill radiated from his head to his toes as he watched this lunatic toss a wand right in front of him, watched him laugh through tears, and watched him double over with laughter.

"So what?"

The madman said.

Walker watched as the lunatic rolled up his sleeves, intending to fight hand-to-hand. He saw blood still staining the man's teeth—the same blood from the ear he had bitten off a colleague just moments ago. Walker gritted his teeth, knowing this was his chance.

This was his last chance.

Get the wand.

As long as he got the wand, he could subdue this outlaw. As long as he got the wand, he could turn the tide. As long as he got the wand, he could finish off this madman and survive.

There was no other way!

Walker steeled himself, roaring internally. Watching Dewey, who was still laughing wildly, he lunged forward, throwing himself onto the ground in a desperate, clumsy scramble!

He succeeded.

His fingers touched the wand.

He grabbed the wand.

Joy appeared on his face.

He raised the wand.

He looked at Dewey.

Confusion filled his eyes.

Because Dewey was pointing a finger at him.

Dewey was faster than Walker; it was as if he had known all of this would happen and had been waiting for him right there.

"Stupefy."

Dewey said, aiming at Walker, who held the wand.

Walker realized with despair that the man before him was like the devil from the legends, a master of bewitching hearts. He had given him a glimmer of hope, only to strip it all away just when Walker thought he was about to win.

He couldn't win; he never could have won from the very beginning!

"No!"

He screamed the most heart-wrenching word of his life, feeling blood spray from his hoarse throat.

The violent emotional rollercoaster left him numb.

After that roar, he didn't even have the energy to feel the anger of being toyed with.

Just like that.

He lay on the ground and passed out.

Perhaps this was a form of relief.

He thought to himself that he was tired; he wanted to die.

The spell struck him, and Walker lost consciousness.

Unfortunately, Dewey would not kill. Killing was not the ultimate torture; in Azkaban, he had wanted to die countless times.

"It would be better to be dead."

"Death would bring peace."

"Death would mean no more suffering."

"How wonderful death is, a clean end to everything."

He had told himself this countless times, and many times, he had almost succeeded.

But he hadn't died. And since he hadn't died, he had to make others feel the torture he had once endured.

There was no right or wrong.

I just want revenge.

Dewey said to himself.

After the battle, there were no enemies left standing.

Only then did Dewey begin to take his time.

He wiped away the tears falling down his face with his thumb and crouched down.

He laboriously stripped off their clothes, exposing their broad backs.

In this battle, no one had died.

The Killing Curse was still only at level one and couldn't kill; they had merely fainted.

Dewey struggled to pull a utility knife from his pocket, pushed out the blade, and began to "tattoo" the backs of every unconscious Hit Wizard.

Blood trickled down, revealing the words.

He did not use magic for these tasks, so he had to resort to the most primitive of methods for the engraving.

"Darkness is coming, and all things shall wither. My master, Voldemort, will visit traitors and enemies one by one."

It was not a short passage.

Dewey meticulously engraved these words onto the back of every single person.

Blood dripped freely.

And with this blood came true terror—the terror of the Dark Lord.

Dewey wore a look of earnest concentration.

Only Walker was the lucky one; after wiping away the blood, Dewey carefully carved a different message onto his back.

[A gift for the Ministry of Magic -- Dewey Jones]

"My dear," he said affectionately to Walker, who had woken up several times only to be knocked unconscious by Dewey's magic again, "you will always be the most special one."

Shaking the blood from the blade, Dewey tucked the utility knife back into his clothes. He snapped every confiscated wand in two and tossed them onto the ground. Looking at the carnage, his emotions suddenly spiraled out of control once more.

He lunged forward, kicking and punching the Hit Wizards on the ground, his frantic roaring even more intense than before.

A few minutes later, still screaming wildly, Dewey grabbed the suitcase he had left outside the tent and Apparated away.

"I will be back! Remember, I will be back! No matter where you run, I will find you! I will definitely find you!"

He shouted at the tent before vanishing in an instant.

Only the tent remained, silent.

A deathly stillness.

Like a graveyard.