Harry Potter and the Great Old Ones

Chapter 545 The Great Leader
"Father!" Tommy Romney cried out in despair. He reached out, trying to pull his father down from the sky, but his hand seemed to pass through a phantom, grasping only air.

"Father!" Tommy cried out in despair, watching helplessly as he passed through the roof and floated toward the eerie moon in the sky.

"Father!" Tommy cried out in despair, staring at the rooftop, at the spot where his father had disappeared—

He dared not look out the window. Tommy Romney's mind was still reeling from the shock, but his instincts told him that the source of all this danger was something outside the window.

Tommy Romney sat blankly in the corner of the office, his thin body trembling uncontrollably from overwhelming fear and immense grief.

"No Father" Tommy Romney trembled, staring blankly at the ceiling.

"What's in the sky every day?" Tommy Romney muttered to himself, trembling.

Suddenly, Tommy Romney, still reeling from shock and fear, seemed to remember something. He took a deep breath, mustered his courage, and practically scrambled to his father's desk. With his back to the moonlight, he picked up the microphone on his father's desk—the one that broadcast magical messages throughout the entire building—and roared—

"Everyone! Stay inside!"

Tommy Romney shouted, as if he had exhausted all his strength:

"Red Alert Level A! Everyone, stay inside the building! And absolutely do not look up at the moon!"

Tommy Romney's voice echoed throughout the headquarters of the Magical Association of America.

"Lola! Lola!"

"Daughter! Daughter! What's wrong, daughter!"

"William! No! William!"

"No! Come back! You!"

"The moonlight is beautiful, look up and see!"

"Moo-"

Similar scenes occur in every corner of the world.

All adult wizards and spiritual beings exposed to the moonlight, whether intentionally or unintentionally gazing up at the moon in the night sky, were instantly captivated, staring intently at the sky, and slowly ascending upwards, little by little.

The family and friends standing beside them either cried out in grief or reached out to grab them. Of course, a small number of them, either with no shelter overhead or acting impulsively, looked up at the moon.

Instantly, a look of fascination appeared on their faces, gradually giving way to a strange smile. Like puppets being pulled by thin strings, they slowly flew towards the moon in the boundless night sky.

The bodies of all the wizards or spiritual beings that flew into the sky became illusory, drifting majestically into the night sky.

"Today, I have gathered you all here to proclaim the will of our great leader!"

In Berlin, Germany, a city with a troubled history, countless people also rose up and slowly flew into the night sky.

However, inside a wizard's tavern hidden underground, a group of people seemed to have foreseen this and had already hidden in this dark and sunless tavern before nightfall.

A witch with a full head of silver-white hair, a high nose, thin lips, and well-dressed but wrinkled and haggard face stood on the table in the center of the tavern, looking down at everyone in the tavern with great excitement, and said:

"The Great Leader has asked me to announce his return to everyone on his behalf!"

The tavern was packed with people, men and women. Some were well-dressed, but most appeared frail and elderly, many in their eighties or nearing ninety. Even the youngest was at least sixty. However, aside from a few extremely old, almost bald wizards, most either stared indifferently at the silver-haired woman standing at the table, or wore calm expressions but with hidden sarcasm in their eyes, or wore perfunctory expressions, as if they were merely going through the motions, completing some tedious task. The aged witch—

Or rather, after finishing her opening remarks, Wenda Rosie coldly surveyed the audience, taking in everyone's expressions and demeanor.

"Hmph." Wenda Rosie didn't reprimand anyone, but instead gave a cold, indifferent laugh, seemingly having anticipated the current situation.

No matter how great Gellert Grindelwald was, or how skillful his manipulative methods were, more than fifty years have passed, and even the most ingenious methods and the most loyal subordinates cannot withstand the erosion of time.

"I know that many people are having doubts right now," Wenda Rosie said in a cool and arrogant voice. "They doubt the power of the Great Leader, they doubt whether the fourth dimension truly exists, and they doubt whether the path to godhood is even feasible?"

“Now, you need not doubt!” Wenda Rosie didn’t say much, but just chuckled softly. A light flashed above her head, and a thorn crown shining with an inexplicable light slowly emerged and began to rotate.

In an instant, a cold, indifferent, and shadowy atmosphere filled the entire tavern.

The figure of Wenda Rosie became illusory, tall, sharp, and seemed to be the ruler of death.

Wenda Rosie's face also began to change. Her wrinkles faded, her back became straight, and her silvery-white, dry hair became soft and beautiful again, gradually turning black from the roots. In front of everyone, youth returned to her.

"This is a gift from the great leader!" Venda Rosie, who had regained her youthful appearance, smiled gently, then touched her face and her fair, flawless, smooth, and slender hands with a look of fascination.

“This is a gift from the great leader.” Venda Rosie jumped off the table with ease, landing heavily on the ground. She was pleased to see the shock and disbelief in the eyes of the men in the tavern who were as old as herself.

"What kind of magic is this? What kind of magic is this? What kind of magic is this?!" Artef Harold, a burly German old man in his sixties with not a single hair on his head, stood up in shock. He knocked over his chair, and even the wine glass next to him was knocked over by his huge movement, slowly sliding to the ground and making a crisp shattering sound.

The others weren't much better off. Apart from a few old wizards in their nineties who had long followed Grindelwald and had seen and eaten with him, the reactions of the others in the tavern were no better than those of Atef Harold.

Wenda Rosie was quite satisfied with their reaction. A mysterious smile played on her lips. She stepped forward, cleared her throat, and prepared to speak:

"This isn't magic, this..."

"This is not magic." A sudden, deep, and somewhat aloof male voice rang out from behind the iron.

Wenda Rosie turned her head in surprise and excitement to look at the huge mirror behind her that took up an entire wall—

The mirror no longer reflected the dim, decaying tavern, but a cold, shabby, drafty prison high above a snow-capped peak.

Through the broken walls of the prison cell, one can see the bright moon hanging high in the sky.

On the old and simple stone bed in the prison cell, a withered old man with almost all his hair gone was curled up.

The old man slowly sat up, facing the mirror and the gazes of everyone in the tavern, his heterochromatic eyes shining with a resolute and cold light.

"This is a blessing!"

The old man stood up and walked towards everyone—

Step by step, the old man, like a broken clay figure, gradually shed decay and rot. His figure grew taller, his face became younger, his hair grew thicker, and his clothes became more appropriate.

He walked step by step to the edge of the mirror, then lifted his leg and stepped out of the mirror, out of the desolate and lonely ancient place, and into the dimly lit interior of the tavern.

“My people,” he said, “your leader has returned!”

(End of this chapter)