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It was a massacre, a one-sided slaughter with only one protagonist.
This enormous black market had an anti-Apparition spell cast over the area to ensure transactions went smoothly, severely limiting the wizards' mobility and cutting their combat strength in half. Though some immediately drew their wands to fight back the moment the attack started, they couldn't even touch the attacker's robes.
The assailant, unfazed by the anti-Apparition spell, blinked, shifted, and rolled with agile movements, like a graceful leopard. The fleeting green flashes of death radiated from his hand continuously. With almost every breath, a dozen or even dozens of wizards fell to the fierce chain of green lightning.
The few remaining survivors, driven to the corner of the market, were on the brink of collapse. They had no idea what they could have done to provoke such a terrifying madman—a man who wielded the Unforgivable Curses as casually as if he were making simple attacks! Even the most wicked dark wizards wouldn't dare behave this way. What shocked them even more was how the Killing Curse, a single-target instant-death spell, had become a mass-destruction chain lightning curse.
The sheer efficiency of the slaughter crushed their will to resist. If it were just the regular Killing Curse, they wouldn't have been this afraid. After all, there were several hundred people here—enough that even killing them all would leave the attacker exhausted. But now, with the deathly green light spreading across the area, wiping them all out would only take a few more flashes.
Some of the poachers, broken in spirit, threw their wands away, crying as they knelt on the ground, begging the death-dealing demon before them with the most pitiful pleas.
Anyone daring to fight back was already dead, leaving the remaining group without even the faintest desire to resist.
Perhaps their pitiful appearance stirred what little conscience the Grim Reaper had left? Or maybe there was no thrill in killing those who had given up?
The figure, who had been flashing and darting around, suddenly stopped. He stood atop a two-story building, coldly looking down.
Harry quickly approached, intrigued by the person behind this deadly slaughter! He saw something in this person that felt familiar. The black and silver magic surrounding the man was a clear trace of his power. The secret to turning the Killing Curse into a mass-attack spell lay in this very magic.
Before the green flash of the Killing Curse spread, a subtle ripple would appear on the bodies of the wizards caught in the light—a hidden, black-and-silver ripple. It acted like a target marker, guiding the curse's power to spread and accurately hit every marked victim.
Although Harry didn't know how these marks were made, the mystery behind the area-of-effect Killing Curse was no longer elusive.
After the Grim Reaper appeared, the crowd was momentarily stunned, then began begging even harder. Harry couldn't hear their voices. This strange historical fragment was different from memories read through a Pensieve. The world here was like an old black-and-white silent film—dull and soundless. The only vibrant color in this monochrome world belonged to the slaughtering protagonist.
It was a young face, unusually young. The person people called a madman wore Hogwarts robes, and on his chest was the Hufflepuff house badge. The little golden badger proudly held its head high, as if looking down on everything before it with disdain and contempt.
"Hogwarts is my domain."
The young Hogwarts student spoke calmly, his tone indifferent.
"The Forbidden Forest belongs to Hogwarts, and therefore it belongs to me."
"You lowlifes dared trespass without the master's permission, and worse, you poached my wealth!"
He glanced at the magical creatures locked in cages, a cold smile curling at the corner of his lips.
"I have already used the gentlest methods to drive you away, yet you still dare to shamelessly beg for forgiveness!"
"You wretched scum! Rotten filth! After committing such unforgivable crimes, you still expect me to let you go?"
"If you don't appreciate my gentle methods, then—"
Before he could finish, dozens of spells were fired at him. But the moment the magic erupted, he had already Apparated above the crowd.
"Die!"
"Strun-bah-qo!"
The incomprehensible roar seemed to be chanting some mysterious incantation. The bewildered wizards below could only watch as the sky suddenly darkened. Violent winds swept through the area, and terrifying thunder brewed within the leaden clouds.
Unlike the confused crowd, Harry seemed to understand the meaning of this obscure language: "A furious storm brewing thunder!" When the strange incantation was spoken, Harry also saw a surge of black-and-silver magic erupting from the man, like a tidal wave of ancient power rushing into the sky. In an instant, the weather changed. The thunderous clouds weren't an illusion caused by magic but a real storm, forcefully shaped by magic, twisting reality itself.
Compared to this, perhaps the Killing Curse truly was a 'gentle' method.
"Evenaar!"
When that cold word, meaning "annihilation," was uttered, the thunder transformed into a downpour of lightning that crashed to the ground. Millions of bolts of lightning poured down like a waterfall. In the face of this calamity, the magical barriers hastily raised by the poachers below melted like snow under the sun.
However, the expected explosion didn't come. The lightning remained confined within a controlled range. When the blinding light finally faded, a deep pit filled with glowing red magma was left behind, releasing thick steam into the air.
As the thunderclouds dispersed, a few scattered raindrops fell, barely managing to cool the boiling lava, turning it into a rough, obsidian-like surface.
"Accio."
The man, descending from the sky, casually pulled the trigger of his weapon. It was then that Harry noticed he was holding a finely crafted Browning M1935 pistol. Although it was only adorned with engraved patterns, it represented the first step toward something different. If he really was a Hogwarts student, he had achieved something that most adult wizards never could. Harry had only ever seen such refined modifications in the hands of professors—those capable of such magical alterations were extremely rare.
The bodies of the wizards he had killed were magically thrown into the steaming pit without care. Hundreds of corpses filled the hole to the brim. If someone covered them with dirt, it would have become a massive grave. But it was clear that the one responsible had no intention of giving them a proper burial.
The cages holding the magical creatures were opened one by one, and the freed creatures quickly fled. At that moment, the black-and-white world began to collapse. In the blink of an eye, Harry found himself back where he had just been.
Harry glanced down at the scattered human bones at his feet. After a moment of silence, he took a few steps back.
"Accio."
The decayed bones, exposed to the wilderness for who knows how many years, were pulled from the earth. They were buried in a smooth-edged pit—the same one carved out by the thunder strike all those years ago.
(End of chapter)