Chapter 531: Chapter 531: Give a Name to the Forbidden Spell (Edited)
This move had a disproportionate effect, as if four kilograms were moving a thousand kilograms. The enormous fire whirlwind was redirected in another direction by a slight touch from Tom, floating towards the marsh. At the same time, the color of the fire gradually changed from blue to yellow.
Tom stopped his spell in time. The fire summoned by "Protego Diabolica" was cursed fire. Essentially, this spell was the Fiendfyre Curse, only Grindelwald had slightly modified it to make it more controllable.
Although it was more controllable, it was still the most dangerous fire in the magical world: hellfire. If allowed to burn, it would become increasingly powerful, and it would become increasingly difficult to use a spell to extinguish it. When hellfire could take on the form of some creatures, there probably wouldn't be any wizard capable of extinguishing it on their own.
If Tom didn't stop his spell now, fire beasts would begin to emerge from the flames he was releasing. At that point, it couldn't be said who would receive a more severe punishment, him or the remaining Death Eater followers...
It can only be said that he controlled the level of danger with precision.
Tom sat atop the tent, panting. The range of the two previous spells was too wide, which also depleted a large amount of his magical power, almost leaving him empty.
Now he needed to take a breather and rest a little.
Tom was calm, but Dawlish couldn't keep his cool, because they were both in the midst of a sea of flames at this moment!
Tom ceased the supply of magical energy to "Super Protego Diabolica," causing the hellfire to revert to regular fire. However, the fire they had conjured in collaboration with the remaining Death Eater followers was still burning. And unfortunately, Tom and Dawlish were in the exact center of that sea of flames.
Dawlish was sweating profusely due to the heat; he had removed his cloak and lay sprawled on the ground. His undershirt was also soaked with sweat. Even the tips of his hair had curled due to the high temperatures.
"Come, I'll get you out of here," Dawlish said, planning to use the Disapparition Charm to take Tom away. But Tom shook his head once again.
"It's not necessary. The fire will go out soon."
Dawlish: ???
He looked at the sea of flames that extended for several kilometers and didn't seem like it would suddenly extinguish, unless it started raining...
But that would be too much of a coincidence, right?
Seeing Dawlish's completely bewildered expression, Tom patiently gave his battle companion a simple explanation.
"Water turns into water vapor at high temperatures, the water vapor rises into the air and condenses into small liquid droplets, forming clouds. These small droplets combine with dust in the air and form larger water droplets. Under the influence of gravity, the water droplets fall from the sky as rain."
Dawlish: [?_?]
"Sorry, high temperatures... and then what?" At that moment, Dawlish felt as if he were back in a History of Magic class at Hogwarts.
Tom sighed and realized that talking about science with a wizard was like talking to a wall. Just at that moment, he felt his magical power recovering a bit, so he decided to back up his words with actions.
He stood up and drew his wand from the staff. Tom took a look at his "masterpiece." At this point, the entire camp was already engulfed in raging fire. If it weren't for a strip of land that had become a barrier against the fire, it was likely that the forest would have caught fire as well. As for the fire whirlwind that Tom had sent to the marsh, its fate was already sealed.
The marsh ground contained a large amount of water. When the water met the fire, a significant amount of water vapor was generated, and the resulting smoke combined with that water vapor. Even without magical assistance, it was very likely that precipitation would occur.
Tom was only hastening that process.
"Rain (Atmospheric-pluvia)!"
Tom's spell was lost in the night sky, but it didn't seem to cause any change.
Dawlish sighed; he was about to say something when a raindrop fell on his forehead and slid down his neck, leaving a white trail on his face. It also blocked the words he was about to say.
How was this possible? Dawlish looked in amazement at the dark clouds that had suddenly appeared in the sky. He knew that wizards could change the weather through weather spells, but they were often small, the size of an office, and this was the first time he had seen a weather spell that changed the weather in an entire area.
Dawlish even came to think that maybe he was hallucinating, but the raindrops falling one after another on his face confirmed to him that it was really raining.
"How did you do that?" he asked in astonishment, turning his head to look at Tom.
"It was a natural response to the circumstances," Tom replied in that manner.
Sometimes, even wizards have their limits. Changing the weather in a specific area using a wizard's own magical power alone is unrealistic; you need to take advantage of circumstances.
When the clouds are thick, it's easy for it to rain; when there's a sudden temperature change, it's easy for there to be wind. "Responding naturally to the circumstances" means leveraging natural phenomena, like using four kilograms to move a thousand kilograms. In the sky of this area, a large amount of water vapor had accumulated, just one step away from turning into rain. It was like a vending machine full of coins on the brink of overflowing: Tom only needed to insert a coin and gently push it for the rain to fall naturally.
The strength of a single coin is small, but it becomes the final chip to knock down the mountain of coins. Tom's spell wasn't powerful, but it had the effect of the final chip.
Dawlish couldn't understand the meteorological principles involved in this. To his eyes, Tom had simply used a simple weather spell to summon a heavy storm.
Suddenly, Dawlish became much more docile.
The rain hit the flames and instantly evaporated, but every time one drop evaporated, two more raindrops took its place. Under the continuous rain, the flames retreated and were finally completely extinguished.
Tom and Dawlish had never moved from the high roof of the tent. They waited until the sea of flames was extinguished and ended up soaked like wet chickens.
"What do you think would be a good name for the spell I just performed?". Tom wiped water and dust from his face, realizing that his spell still didn't have a name.
"Hmm? Is it a spell you created?" Dawlish was surprised by Tom's words. It was already impressive to be able to use a spell of that size, and now he was saying it was his own original magic creation?
Was he joking?
However, upon seeing Tom's serious expression as he thought, Dawlish felt that he wasn't lying.
He was speechless.
What was he doing at that age? Discussing Quidditch match results with his friends, quarreling with students he didn't like, being in an empty classroom with his girlfriend... Well, that was a bit of a digression, but in short, he didn't have any original spells of his own!
Dawlish now clearly understood one thing: there will always be someone better than oneself. Comparing himself to Tom Yodel was like living the life of a dog.
"How about the name 'Flame Storm'?" Tom hesitated a bit because the previous fire didn't really have any connection to hellfire. Forcing the connection would be boring. So why not call it 'Flame Storm'?
The spell I just used was a combination of flames and whirlwinds...
Let's call it "Flame Storm."
Chapter 532: Chapter 532: The Blood of the Enemy (Edited)
After parting ways with Tom, Hermione hurried to catch up with the Weasley family's retreat team and entered the forest with them. Once inside the forest, everyone involuntarily stopped and looked back. From their perspective, the situation was still worsening, and there was no sign of hope.
A layer of sadness covered Hermione's heart.
It was the first time her parents had attended a major event in the wizarding world, and they had just encountered this anti-Muggle demonstration. What could be said about it? She feared that after tonight, her parents' impression of the wizarding world would be extremely negative. Hermione felt pessimistic.
How would Tom be right now? Her thoughts couldn't help but fly to her boyfriend. He must be fighting the protesters, right? Hermione admired Tom's bravery. She knew he was a hero, but she wished he were by her side at that moment.
She wished her Patronus could watch over him. Hermione prayed to all the entities she could remember, begging for Tom to return safely.
The little lamps on the path to the stadium had gone out. The whole forest was dark, filled with people running around like headless flies. Children's cries and adult screams echoed in the night sky, generating great anxiety.
Hermione felt herself being pushed and shoved, slowly moving her away from Harry, Ron, and the others. Fortunately, she was still close to her parents.
She dared not imagine what would happen if her Muggle parents were separated at this critical moment.
George, who was behind Hermione, suddenly stamped his foot hard, followed by a familiar cry of pain.
"Draco, if you put your foot in the way, don't blame others for stepping on it," George said coldly.
Seeing that something had happened, Hermione and the Granger couple stopped.
"Lumos," Hermione cast a lighting spell, illuminating the narrow path, and then she saw a familiar face.
It was Draco Malfoy.
He was leaning against a tree, his face twisted in pain. It was clear that George's foot had come down hard.
After gasping several times, Malfoy recovered and stared at George and Hermione for a while, but in the end, he didn't ask more about the stepped-on foot.
"If I were you, I'd run as fast as possible. If they find you, there will be a mess," Malfoy muttered to Hermione, then pointed toward the chaotic camp. "They're looking for Muggles, and there are three here. Granger, don't you like showing your underwear in public?"
"Hermione is a witch!" George said angrily.
Malfoy shrugged. "May Merlin bless you for wearing shorts."
"I'll pass on that message to Yodel," George growled in a cold tone, making it clear that Malfoy still had much to fear.
George's words were so intimidating that Malfoy instantly fell silent.
"I was just trying to warn you, but you didn't care. By the way, why don't I see Yodel?"
"Tom is much stronger than you," Hermione suddenly spoke, rapidly firing her words like a burst of shots. "He's at the camp right now, along with the Department of Magical Security, capturing those hooded figures and ripping off their masks. I'm sure the faces under those masks are very interesting!"
Just as the three of them were having a heated debate, a sudden red light interrupted their words. Although it was a dark night, half of the sky suddenly turned red, and in the distance, a dazzling red streak appeared, as if a fire-breathing dragon were flying on the horizon.
"I mean, the camp seems to be quite 'hot' now. Do you like your meat medium rare or well done? If it's well done, it'll be too tough," Malfoy said with a mocking smile.
Just as Hermione and the others were gazing at the fire-lit sky, Harry was facing the biggest crisis of his life.
He and his good friend Ron were running at full speed, when suddenly Ron slipped and fell to the ground.
"Ron, are you okay?" Harry helped his friend, but it was as if Ron had been hit by something and was unconscious.
At that moment, a black rope flew out from among the nearby bushes and wrapped around Harry's ankle, violently pulling him into the bushes.
"Help—" Harry tried to attract the attention of people nearby, but just as he opened his mouth, the black rope covered his mouth, silencing his cry for help.
Everything around him was dark, and amid the chaos and noise, who would notice that he had been kidnapped?
The person tying up Harry clearly didn't pay much attention to his condition. They allowed his body to be dragged through the mud, with stones, branches, and grass hitting his face, leaving him in a sorry state. Harry felt at least two cuts on his face, with dirt in his hair, and he didn't know where his glasses were.
Harry felt himself being dragged by the black rope for a good distance, away from the path and into the forest. The sounds of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they became barely audible, plunging him into complete silence.
At that moment, Harry began to calm down. He began to ponder who might have kidnapped him and for what purpose. Firstly, he ruled out the option of a ransom, as he had not displayed wealth on his way and his spending had been normal. If it were a money-related kidnapping, then Tom would have been kidnapped instead.
After ruling out that option, the answer was obvious. He had been kidnapped by Voldemort's followers, the same ones who were in the march. First, they had created a big fuss with the march to attract the attention of the Ministry of Magic and the Weasley family, and then they had followed him to find the opportunity to kidnap him. And their goal... surely, it was to exact revenge on Voldemort.
Just as Harry believed he had figured out the truth, the person holding him with the rope stopped. Harry raised his head and looked around, realizing he had been taken to a tree.
The rope suddenly tightened, binding Harry to the tree. Unfortunately, due to the darkness of the night, Harry couldn't clearly see the face of his kidnapper.
At that moment, the distant sky suddenly turned red, allowing Harry to clearly see the appearance of the person who had kidnapped him: light blond hair and some freckles on the face.
Harry tried to imprint the kidnapper's appearance in his mind.
At that moment, the person pulled out a long, thin, and gleaming knife from their cloak, approached Harry, and muttered, "The blood of an enemy, taken by force, can revive your enemies..."
Upon hearing those words, Harry suddenly realized something. He struggled desperately, but the rope was too tight, and he couldn't move. He felt the knife piercing his forearm, blood welling up and flowing into a glass jar.
Once the jar was filled with blood, the freckled-faced man showed a sinister smile and vanished with a snap.
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