I'm in a crossover anime world, and I've been transported to Hogwarts twice.

The screeching sound of the track car braking attracted everyone's attention!

Bognock tumbled off the car, collapsing to the ground, gasping for breath like a fish out of water, unable to move.

Immediately afterwards, a tall figure wrapped in a soaking wet and tattered black robe, like the Grim Reaper returning from the abyss of hell, slowly and calmly stepped off the cart!

He ignored the mess on the ground, ignored the dozens of elite Aurors who were on high alert, and even ignored Rufus Scrimgeour's gaze that suddenly became extremely serious!

He slowly raised his head!

The hood slipped down!

That pale, bone-white face, without a nose, with only two serpentine slits and a pair of scarlet snake eyes, like a nightmare materialized, was clearly and unmasked under the pale magical lights of Gringotts Hall!

Exposed to dozens of Aurors and hundreds of terrified wizards and goblins!

Time seemed to have been paused at that moment!

All movement, all sound, froze instantly!

The hall, which was filled with commands, crying and footsteps just a moment ago, fell into a deathly, suffocating silence!

The expressions on the faces of all the Aurors, including Scrimgeour, who was known for his iron fist, froze instantly!

They were instantly frozen as if by an invisible cold current!

His pupils contracted violently to their limit, reflecting the terrifying figure that should never have been there!

A collective fear originating from the deepest recesses of their souls, buried by history, known as the Mysterious Man, erupted like a dormant volcano, instantly shattering all their fighting spirit!

"God, God, God, God, Mystery, Mysterious Man!"

A young Auror standing at the very front dropped his wand with a clatter to the cold ground. His teeth chattered wildly, his body trembled like a leaf in the wind, and a few incoherent syllables filled with extreme terror escaped his throat.

This faint, trembling, yet thunderous address instantly ignited the fuse of fear in everyone's hearts!

"A mysterious person!!!"

"It's the mysterious man! He's back!"

"By Merlin! He...he's not dead!"

Terrified screams, desperate wails, and incredulous shouts erupted like a tsunami!

The little bit of order that had just been established collapsed instantly!

The wizards descended into an even more frenzied chaos, scrambling to hide behind the Aurors as if that would allow them to escape the gaze of that crimson stare!

The Aurors, the most elite enforcers of the magical world, now seemed to have had their spines removed!

Their faces were deathly pale, their hands gripping their wands trembled violently, and some even instinctively took a half step back!

Faced with this legendary figure, this terrifying being who once plunged the entire British magical world into a decade of darkness, their well-trained combat skills proved utterly inadequate in the face of absolute psychological pressure!

Voldemort's crimson snake eyes coldly swept over the group of Aurors before him, who were like frightened quails, over Scrimgeour's resolute face, which was trying to remain calm but could not hide his horror, and over the entire Gringotts Hall, which was in complete panic and chaos.

The corner of his mouth twitched upwards very slowly.

That was not a smile, but a chilling mockery, more piercing than the deepest ice, a mixture of utter contempt and absolute control.

There were no words, no spells.

He simply raised the black magic wand casually, as if brushing away a speck of dust.

This single action sent all the Aurors into a panic! Scrimgeour abruptly raised his wand, roaring hoarsely, "Defense!!!"

His voice trembled slightly, though barely perceptible!

However, the terrifying magic that was expected did not occur.

Voldemort's wand simply pointed casually at the huge, empty window on one side of the hall, which had been melted by Fiendfire.

Then, under the gaze of countless terrified eyes, his figure, like ink thrown into water, instantly twisted and blurred, turning into a swirling, thick black mist that seemed capable of swallowing all light!

The black mist silently passed through the broken window and merged into the gray afternoon sky of Diagon Alley outside, disappearing without a trace in the blink of an eye, leaving only the deathly silence in Gringotts Hall and the cold entrance to the vault, which had been looted and symbolized the complete collapse of the fortress of wealth.

In the center of the hall, only a limp, nearly terrified Bognock remained, along with a goblin accountant huddled behind an overturned counter, trembling like a leaf, yet still clutching a charred brass abacus, frantically and unconsciously hammering away at it, recording the incalculable losses—the clattering, despairing rhythm of the abacus became the most absurd and chilling epilogue to this earth-shattering heist.

200 Village Bully Voldemort

Morning light streamed through the high window, scattering fine golden dust onto the tablecloth covered in dark velvet.

Genichi Hanyu leaned back in his comfortable armchair, the brand-new copy of the Daily Prophet in his hand emitting the slightly astringent smell of ink.

The front page headline was a shockingly large headline and a blurry yet chilling photograph—Gringotts' bronze doors melted by fire, rubble scattered everywhere, a scene of utter devastation.

The headline seared the reader's eyes like a branding iron: "The Dark Lord Returns! Gringotts was robbed by a mysterious figure last night, plunging the wizarding world into panic!"

Cassandra Wore didn't sit in her own chair; instead, she nestled into Genichi Hanyu's broad, warm embrace like a lazy, elegant cat, her back pressed against his chest, a few strands of her golden hair playfully brushing against his chin.

Her gaze also fell on the same newspaper, but what was reflected in her beautiful eyes was not fear, but rather an almost overflowing contempt.

"Humph."

A clear, cold snort escaped from her small nose, breaking the morning's tranquility.

"One Voldemort has scared them like this; he's utterly disgraced wizards!"

Genichi Hanyu didn't respond immediately, but instinctively tightened his arms around her slender waist, making her snuggle closer to him. 28

He could feel the warmth emanating from her body and the faint, unique, cool fragrance that belonged to her.

His gaze swept over the panic-filled words and pessimistic commentary in the newspaper again, and an inexplicable sense of absurdity arose within him.

The name Voldemort caused a huge uproar in the wizarding world, but in the eyes of someone with an otherworldly soul, it did seem somewhat unworthy of respect.

It's not that he's not dangerous enough, but rather that the danger he poses is disproportionately large compared to the collective hysteria he triggers.

Cassandra.

Genichi Hanyu's voice was low and tinged with confusion, as if he were sorting out his long-standing doubts.

"There's one thing I just can't understand."

He pointed his long, slender fingers at the grotesque snake-face mark on the newspaper.

"According to all publicly available, non-exaggerated records, the number of confirmed deaths caused by this so-called most dangerous Dark Lord in history, including those personally and by his core Death Eaters, is probably only a few hundred, maybe a thousand, and that's after more than a decade of so-called reign of terror."

He paused, feeling the steady breathing of the person in his arms, and continued, "And what happened? Look, just the news that he might be coming back has thrown the entire wizarding world into an ice cellar. From the thugs of Knockturn Alley to the high-ranking officials of the Ministry of Magic, everyone is silent and trembling with fear. Even the theft of the goblins' gold from Gringotts is seen as a sign of the end of the world."

Don't you think this reaction is a bit too ridiculous, even laughable?

He ultimately chose this word, his tone devoid of sarcasm, only pure bewilderment.

Upon hearing this, Cassandra turned her head slightly and gave him a very vivid eye roll.

That look in his eyes seemed to say, "Has your common sense been trampled on by a troll again?"

She adjusted her posture to make herself more comfortable before speaking: "Are you again using the standards of your world to measure this tiny place?"

Her voice was clear and sharp as ever.

"You're not new to this. The wizarding world's population is pitifully small. In the entire British magical world, excluding Squibs and hermits, how many truly active wizards are there? Ten thousand? Twenty thousand? That's a maximum!"

She emphasized her words, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the edge of the newspaper.

"And don't you know what the birth rate is like in the wizarding world? Pure-blood families are practically turning themselves into idiots by inbreeding in order to maintain their pitiful bloodlines. A family might only produce one decent heir in several generations!"

Cassandra's eyes sharpened, revealing a hint of insight into the darker past: "During the decade or so that Voldemort ravaged the land, he targeted not only Muggles and half-bloods, but also countless ancient pure-blood families. They were wiped out and slaughtered simply because they chose the wrong side, were not obedient enough, or even just because a Mudblood sympathizer appeared in their family!"

"Overnight, a family name that had been passed down for centuries disappeared from the Pureblood Register. The manor was burned down, the family property was divided up, and all related memories, knowledge, and magical heritage were severed. The fear was not something that could be measured by the death toll alone. It was the panic of the entire social structure being shaken up, and the despair of whether my family would be next!"

She slightly raised her chin, her eyes carrying a cold, insightful gaze: "So, you think those wizards who personally experienced that era, or grew up listening to those terrifying stories from their parents, are already quite courageous to merely tremble upon hearing that he has returned, rather than immediately packing their belongings and fleeing abroad or finding a hole to bury themselves in, aren't they?"

Genichi Hanyu listened quietly to Cassandra's analysis; her perspective was undoubtedly closer to the cruel reality of this magical world.

He understood that she was right. The large population base, the difficulties in childbirth, and the fragility of family inheritance were all objective factors that allowed Voldemort to inflict such a huge psychological shadow.

However, the knowledge he had gained from a larger and more cruel world, which was deeply rooted in his soul, still made this fear seem somewhat restrictive in his eyes.

He pondered for a moment, a playful and slightly sarcastic smile curving his lips, and uttered the metaphor that had been lingering in his mind for a long time: "You're right, I understand the source of their fear, but understanding is one thing, I still think that Voldemort's actions are essentially more like a particularly powerful and ruthless bully suddenly appearing in a remote village."

He lowered his head and gently rubbed his chin against the top of her soft hair.

Cassandra's body visibly paused for a moment.

Genichi Hanyu's voice carried a strange calm as he continued to describe the scene in his mind: "This bully, relying on his few kung fu skills, gathered a group of equally idle and cowardly thugs, and then he became the king of this small village with only a few hundred households."

“If he doesn’t like this family today, he kills a few people to establish his authority; if he thinks that family is rich tomorrow, he robs them of some things; the day after tomorrow, he forces the whole village to bow down to him and call him Lord Black Demon King. His methods are ruthless enough, and the damage he has caused to this small village is indeed terrible.”

He paused, looked at Cassandra's slightly widened eyes, and clearly stated his conclusion: "But in the end, his stage, his great achievements, and his reign of terror were confined to this small, closed magic village."

"They're 850 meters away from the village, who knows who they are? This kind of mentality, tsk."

That soft click of the tongue contained endless contempt.

"Pfft-cough cough cough."

Cassandra couldn't help but burst out laughing, then choked on her own saliva and coughed violently, instantly shattering her elegant and aloof image.

She coughed and laughed, her whole body trembling and shaking violently. Tears were almost in her eyes, and she was shaking like a leaf in the wind in Genichi Hanyu's arms.

"Ouch, you, Genichi Hanyu!"

She finally caught her breath, wiping away the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes, and lightly punched his chest with her fist, her voice still full of laughter.

"The Dark Lord, who has struck fear into the hearts of the entire British magical world for over a decade, the second Dark Lord, is reduced to a village bully in your mouth? My Merlin, hahaha, you've really got some nerve! If those guys who wet their pants at the mere mention of his name heard this, they'd probably faint from rage!"

She tilted her head back, her eyes crinkling with laughter, her grey-blue eyes brimming with mischief and a helpless fondness for his peculiar perspective.

The tense atmosphere of the heavy discussion was completely shattered by Genichi Hanyu's precise yet absurd metaphor, leaving only a relaxed atmosphere filled with suppressed laughter.

Genichi Hanyu was also infected by her reaction, and he chuckled softly, tightening his arms around her as he felt her body rise and fall slightly from her laughter.

Looking at the smiling girl in his arms, his contempt for Voldemort and his mockery of the wizarding world hadn't disappeared, but at this moment, they were all washed away by Cassandra's radiant smile.

201 Dumbledore's powerlessness, beyond control

The air in the Hogwarts Headmaster's office was like frozen Honeydukes candy—thick, heavy, and with a suffocatingly sweet taste.

Dumbledore was not sitting behind his large desk piled high with silverware.

He stood in front of the huge floor-to-ceiling window with his back to the office door. Outside the window was the familiar scenery of lakes and mountains of Hogwarts, but it could not alleviate the stagnation in the room at this moment.

The golden glow of the setting sun outlined his tall, thin profile, and his long, silvery-white beard was almost transparent in the light, yet it could not bring any gentle aura.

When Genichi Hanyu pushed open the door, he felt this kind of invisible pressure.

The gazes of the portraits of past principals on the wall seemed sharper than usual, carrying scrutiny and a hint of worry.

The phoenix Fox perched on a gilded branch, its beautiful head buried under its wings, appearing unusually quiet, without even a soft cry.

The entire space seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for something.

Dumbledore slowly turned around.

His blue eyes, seen through his crescent-shaped glasses, no longer held the gentle sparkle of wisdom they usually possessed. Instead, they were like searchlights piercing through millennia-old glaciers—sharp, cold, and undeniably penetrating, fixed firmly on Genichi Hanyu's face.

The power contained in that gaze was enough to shake even the most stubborn Death Eaters.

"Mr. Genichi Hanyu".

Dumbledore's voice was deep and resonant, devoid of pleasantries or beating around the bush. Each syllable seemed to have been tempered by ice water, striking the silent air with clarity and weight.

"Does Tom Riddle's affair have anything to do with you?"

Get straight to the point and get to the heart of the matter.

Intense doubt surged over him like a tangible wave towards Genichi Hanyu.

Dumbledore was almost certain that the unfathomable, eccentric boy before him had already reached some dangerous understanding, or even colluded, with the resurgent, terrifying shadow in some unknown corner of the world.

Genichi Hanyu stood in the center of the office, his relaxed posture almost languid, which seemed out of place with the somber atmosphere.

He even glanced with interest at a portrait on the wall that seemed to be dozing before meeting Dumbledore's all-knowing eyes.

Faced with a question that would have made even the Minister of Magic sweat, he merely raised the corners of his lips into a calm, even slightly amused smile.

"So, esteemed Professor Dumbledore, are you questioning a student as the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or are you interrogating a potential suspect as the leader of the white wizards?"

The question was tossed back lightly, like a feather landing on a taut string.

Dumbledore remained silent.

A complex emotion flickered in the depths of his blue eyes, which seemed to see right through people—a mixture of scrutiny, weariness, and even a hint of helplessness.

At the beginning of the school year, or even a few months earlier, Dumbledore had enough confidence and power to believe that he could control the situation, guide, restrain, and even suppress this mysterious young man with an enigmatic background and strange powers when necessary.

Now, that confidence has been blown away like a sandcastle by the wind.