Chapter 70: Dark Charms
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(This Chapter is dedicated to Ezio Auditore, best assassin's creed protagonist by a wide margin.)
Fleur had been busy preparing for her Newts and trying to crack the clue to the second trial.
He considered telling her about it if only so they could spend more time together as had become the norm, he really did, but then he took one look at how focused and eager to win she was and decided it was better to wait and let her have this victory.
That meant there was no Fleur to keep him grounded on the more pleasant aspects of life, so he did the one thing a transmigrator with a paranoid streak and a couple Horcruxes sealed somewhere at home could do when given free time.
Resume the grind.
'I'll never understand why Voldemort is considered the most dangerous dark lord of all time.' Magnus thought, lying down on a comfy black sofa, courtesy of the RoR. (Room of Requirements.)
In his hands was a fairly modern book, only made in the middle of the last century. Yes, nearly a century old is modern when you see the kind of literature he delved into, hell he didn't even have to try and translate this one.
The Dark Lord's Attack on Paris: Treatise from a Witness.
The other was unknown, but he claimed to have been there when the real most dangerous dark lord, in Magnus's not so humble opinion, attacked the French capital and almost burned it all down with spells never seen before.
It spoke of his charisma, the way he snuffed out the spies and traitors in mere minutes and more importantly, the part that did interest Magnus beyond the whole serial killer documentary aspect, the magic Grindelwald used that day.
A dark charm that corrupted the very essence of protection, twisting it with magic so evil that only one truly loyal to his dreadful cause might be spared.
People had debated just what it was for years, something with the properties of both shield and curse. In the end people simply labeled it as a dark charm, and the trauma the dark lord inflicted made it forgotten by all.
Magnus had his own judgment on that, one brought upon by weeks spent perfecting Fiendfyre, the only known spell truly related to this powerful magic.
'It was much too fierce to be called a shield, deadly and far too wild. Indeed it was more like a breath of raw power.' He thought, smiling.
The unholy offspring of Fiendfyre and the shielding charm.
Protego Diabolica.
'Even the incantation is so interesting, does it protect you from the devil? Or is he the one protecting you?' He grunted, closing the book before opening another one, a study on shielding charms and their numerous variations.
There was still much he didn't know about this spell, and he wasn't even certain it would help in creating a perfect counter to the killing curse that didn't involve summoning Harry to take the hit (Dumbledore style.), but Magnus at least knew one thing.
'I want it.'
This meant he had to put in more work, a lot more work.
. . .
Go east.
It was the feeling his mark had given him, it started off as a slight whisper, insidious and wicked in ways only the dark lord could be, and that mere thought was enough to make Barty feel all light and giddy.
So he attuned himself to it, learned to hear it more clearly, more loudly. Going east was simply too broad, too vague, he had to know more.
And it paid off.
The dark magic took him to eastern europe, brought him deep in Albania where whispers of a powerful dark wizard reached his ears and guided him further into the arms of his dear lord.
The voyage was hard, and he lost a lot of strength in the attempt, but all would be worth it if he could only reunite with his long lost master.
Barty had to avoid the vampires who called this forest their home, them and all sorts of troublesome creatures attracted by the powerful dark magic that dwelled in it. He knew not whether it was his master who reeked of such potent magicks, or if he was merely another dark soul enticed by its lure.
Frankly, he did not care.
The British wizard heard distant howls, and the scuffle of a battle between things too large and too fast to involve any wizard, it made him remember the rumors of a werewolf pack seeking vendetta against someone hiding in this land.
Barty had dismissed it as mere gossip, but it seemed all rumors were grounded in reality. He repressed a shudder, one werewolf was troublesome but a whole pack? He pitied the poor soul who'll have to deal with them.
Suddenly, his invisibility charm failed as a wave of foreign magic disturbed his control, almost immediately he knelt down on the ground hissing in pain.
"My mark…" he whimpered, before smiling wildly "…It burns."
And it was painful, but suffering he could deal with easily enough, it did not matter after all…only one thing mattered. One thing that would strike fear into the hearts of british wizards, save those who stayed true and loyal until the end, one dark truth that made him revel in this misery he was feeling.
'Lord Voldemort.'
The Dark Lord was here, and he was calling to him.
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This Chapter has been brought to you by ManasCiel, happy birthday buddy. (Even if it's a couple days late.)
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