The Dementors, now under the control of the Aurors, lived in a state of constant fear. Auror Ozzy Heard, tasked with their oversight, couldn't help but rub the bruises on her forehead as she listened to the eerie howls of ghosts and wolves. "What on earth are they wailing about?" she wondered aloud.
Lippi Kerber, standing beside her, shared her perplexed expression. Their goal was clear: to return all the Dementors to the ghastly confines of Azkaban. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Ozzy reflected on her role. As a seasoned Auror with years of experience, she was more than qualified to lead this operation.
"These Dementors are starving, and with Sirius Black lurking nearby, we can't risk sending them back to Azkaban just yet," Ozzy explained, her voice steady despite the tension.
At the mention of Sirius, Lippi's face contorted with frustration. The Ministry of Magic had labeled Sirius as extremely dangerous, a threat even to an experienced Auror. The fact that such a dangerous individual had managed to hide within Hogwarts for over half a year was a source of great annoyance to Lippi, especially considering the recent resignation of Fudge.
Seizing the moment, Lippi turned to Ozzy with a probing look. "Do you have any plans?"
"Plans?" Ozzy returned his gaze, puzzled.
With a sly chuckle, Lippi pulled out a cigarette, offering one to Ozzy before lighting his own. As veterans and habitual smokers, they both exhaled clouds of smoke, enveloping themselves in a brief moment of camaraderie.
"The Ministry is in the midst of a power shift. Don't you think it's the perfect time to advance?" Lippi suggested, his tone laden with implication.
Ozzy, well-known to Lippi as a capable and dedicated Auror with a decade of service, had the skills and experience to be at the forefront. However, a past mistake involving a werewolf had tarnished her record, and the Ministry's previous efforts to undermine the Auror office had hindered her career progression, leaving her stuck in a role far beneath her capabilities.
"If Tang Mi were still here, you'd surely be rising through the ranks alongside him," Lippi mused, though he quickly shifted the topic upon noticing Ozzy's pained expression. "We can't set our hopes too high with the current Auror Office director. Let's just aim for a position that keeps us away from the fringes."
Lippi was acutely aware of their slim chances for the vacant director position, given their lack of influential connections. He aspired for a more central role within the Auror Office, away from the marginal tasks they were currently assigned.
Ozzy, her lips curling around the cigarette, crushed it under her shoe with a sense of finality. "You know as well as I do, we don't have the pedigree. Those positions are reserved for purebloods."
Both of mixed heritage, Ozzy and Lippi had become Aurors in the aftermath of Voldemort's fall, yet the ingrained prejudice towards pureblood supremacy within the Ministry still affected their career trajectories.
Lippi, undeterred and with a glint of mischief in his eyes, hinted at a possibility. "That might not be entirely true. Tang Mi was under his wing, and it's rumored he was the one who ousted Fudge..."
Before he could finish, Ozzy's glare silenced him. Raising his hands in surrender, he quickly changed the subject.
Meanwhile, the Dementors, sensing their vulnerability, clustered together, retreating like a receding tide. Among them, a figure moved with purpose, selecting his targets as if choosing livestock. Suddenly, a Dementor, slower to retreat, found itself ensnared by a black silk thread, its screams echoing as it was dragged away by the tentacle-like filament. The remaining Dementors, in a frenzy of fear, scrambled to escape, unnoticed by the Aurors who never imagined someone would dare to confront a Dementor head-on.
"What are you running from? I'm not going to kill you all," John remarked, having just captured a Dementor. Observing their panic, he couldn't help but scoff at their cowardice. "How about we return to Azkaban?" John clicked his tongue twice in disdain and left a chilling sentence promising his return tomorrow, sending the remaining dementors into a frenzy, their decaying cloaks fluttering as if trying to escape. With the dementors subdued, John returned to the Slytherin Chamber of Secrets. Utilizing the Soul-eating Curse, he stripped the dementors of their essence, retracting the dark tendrils into his ring, leaving a mass of pure, silver-white souls in his grasp. He meticulously tore the souls into strips, blending them into the cauldron along with unicorn horn to brew a potent soul-strengthening potion.
Consuming the potion, John felt a tremor run through his body. The man he had encountered several times flashed before his eyes, and it took a strenuous half-hour for the vision to fade. He slumped over the table, drenched in sweat, feeling a slight rejuvenation within his soul. "The soul has recovered a bit," he murmured, noticing a slight restoration in his right hand's soul and a sense of temperance each time he endured torture.
Opening his right hand, he observed the dark, malevolent threads transforming. A deep sense of foreboding filled John's gaze. He had only wielded this power against dementors, but the thought of using it on other beings sent a shiver down his spine. Shaking off the terrifying thought, John examined the ring, noting its darker hue, a sign it was beginning to influence him. "To wear a crown, one must bear its weight," he reminded himself, fully aware of the power's horror and vowing not to cross certain lines.
In another section of the chamber, a furnace radiated intense heat, slowly melting a large piece of mithril. "At this rate, it will take some time to fully melt," John noted, turning his attention to a mold unlike any he had used before. This mold was shaped like a hand, not a sword, meticulously crafted to embody the title of Johnny Silverhand. "If one is to be called Silver Hand, then a silver hand is essential," he mused, refining each line of the mold with a pocket knife.
He envisioned a glove with six slots for gems, reminiscent of the Infinity Gauntlet from a certain saga. As the mithril liquefied, John poured it into the mold, infusing it with magic to hasten the solidification and cooling process. When he opened the mold, a delicate silver arm lay before him. Inserting magic crystals and gemstones into the six slots, he grasped the silver hand with his right, and it shattered, only to reassemble along his arm, transforming his hand into a silver marvel adorned with fine patterns and noble gems.
Testing its mobility, John found no hindrance in movement. Clenching and unclenching his fist, he then fearlessly plunged his hand into the blazing furnace. The flames, capable of melting steel, felt surprisingly cool and comfortable against his silver skin. "The body is weak, but with this, it transcends," he remarked, a hint of pride in his voice. With a snap of his fingers, objects around him began to levitate, demonstrating the basic yet practical spells he had imbued in the glove.
Conjuring a white orb of light in his palm, John directed it at a table, instantly shattering it. Nodding in approval at the glove's capabilities, he watched as the silver receded to his fingertips, finally condensing into a compact form. John's right hand was adorned with two rings, one silver and the other black, both of which stood out conspicuously. He slipped the silver ring into his pocket, musing about its potential transformation into a magical artifact akin to the Infinity Gauntlet once the Philosopher's Stone was completed. Exiting the Chamber of Secrets, John encountered Heinrich, who immediately inquired about his well-being.
"All good," John replied, his attire consisting of a casual vest with sleeves rolled up, a stark contrast to the traditional wizard robes.
Noticing Heinrich's lingering gaze on the Firebolt broomstick stored within the secret chamber, John's lips curled into a smirk. "Fancy it, do you? Consider it a parting gift," he teased.
Heinrich, however, demurred, his gaze dropping. "There's no need," he muttered, aware that Edgar's wealth could easily procure such a luxury.
John, feeling a headache coming on, donned his wizard robe and gestured for Heinrich to follow. "Come with me," he said, leading the way to the Room of Requirement. As they approached, a door materialized from the seemingly solid wall, and John ushered Heinrich inside.
The room transformed to reveal a dueling platform, catching Heinrich's attention. John ascended the platform first, with Heinrich following closely behind.
"Since you have no need for the Firebolt, let's focus on strengthening you instead," John proposed, his smile polite yet challenging. Heinrich's golden eyes ignited with a fervent gleam, a clear indication of his eagerness. It was evident that combat was what truly brought joy to Edgar.
John's smile widened slightly, recognizing the irony in their situation. Despite Heinrich's enthusiasm for battle, John himself was far from lacking in strength.
_________
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https://www.youtube.com/@NovelAudioForge/featured
Direct Link to playlist
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f_Hg-qsW4rM&list=PLKskshYG-OcPTR4-Nw7IWFEBZm07D8pBV&ab_channel=NovelAudioForge