Eve of the Final Battle

Night hung low, like ink-soaked darkness congealed into a heavy curtain over the rolling rooftops and narrow lanes of Hogsmeade Village. Dark clouds churned slowly overhead, admitting not a trace of starlight or moonlight. All that remained was a suffocating leaden gray that swallowed the world inch by inch.

When Walpurgis's army reached the edge of the village, they were greeted not by panicked screams or fleeing figures, but by an unsettling emptiness so silent it felt wrong.

The streets were desolate, the shop windows shuttered, the fireplaces cold. Even the owls that usually circled the rooftops year-round had vanished. Snow covered the cobblestones, yet there was not a single fresh footprint, as though the entire world had long since forgotten this place.

Hogsmeade Village had already been completely evacuated. Before Walpurgis arrived, every resident had been moved out ahead of time under the Ministry of Magic's efficient command. Now, not a soul remained in the streets. Only the wind swept fallen leaves and dust across the ground, making faint, mournful rustling sounds, as if the whole village were holding its breath before the coming catastrophe.

Vile Herpo walked at the very front. His pale face, seemingly unchanged since ancient times, stared from deep-set eyes at the silent village ahead.

He tilted his head slightly, as if listening to the lingering echoes in the wind. Then a dry, smooth voice without the slightest emotional fluctuation sounded, like a stone rolling across ice. "More efficient than expected. The Ministry of Magic, this time... has shown a rare moment of clarity."

He paused. It was impossible to tell whether his tone held approval or regret. "What a pity. I had hoped the residents here would provide some... lively... groundwork for our assault on the castle."

Voldemort stood slightly behind him, his scarlet