During the Christmas holidays, Hogsmeade was usually calm and peaceful.
But today felt... different.
Sure, snow was a common sight this time of year, but it rarely fell so heavily—and continuously—as it had since noon.
…
Outside, a blizzard howled, blanketing everything in white. Inside the cottage, all was silent and still.
Perhaps it was due to the recent vanishing act, or perhaps something else—but even after being refused a second time, Voldemort didn't immediately lash out in anger.
Instead, he studied the gem and the dice on the table with an analytical gaze, then let out a subtle sigh of disappointment.
"You won't go? Can you at least tell me why?" he asked, seated on the sofa. He reached up and rubbed his brow lightly with a finger.
"Going means death. Honestly... it's just not worth it," Ino said calmly, his eyes never leaving Voldemort's.
The two of them sat in silence, locked in a calm but intense stare.
Several moments passed.
"I believe you," Voldemort finally said. "But that also troubles me. You're saying there's no other way? No solution except death?"
"I don't know," Ino replied with a slight shake of his head. "At the moment, it's a dead end. If it weren't for your... uniqueness, I would've dragged you there myself just now."
Voldemort chuckled.
"You truly are a textbook Slytherin," he said. Then his tone shifted. "You say you don't know—so that means there might be a solution?"
"There might be. Or not. But I genuinely don't know." Ino's reply was blunt but honest.
Even after all these years, the nature of the Sanctuary still eluded him. The Acromantula under his control, the valley that had appeared from nowhere, the phoenix Fide he had bonded with—none of it followed predictable rules. And who knew what else would emerge from that place in the future?
Besides, for people like Voldemort or Dumbledore, lying served no purpose. It wasn't about Legilimency—because even if he did manage to deceive them once, they'd always come back and find out the truth.
Unless the Sanctuary allowed him to leave this world altogether, lying wasn't just childish—it was dangerously foolish.
…
Voldemort leaned back against the sofa, arms resting at his sides.
He gave a small nod after hearing Ino's answer. "I trust my instincts," he murmured. "And they tell me you're telling the truth. So I choose to believe you."
He sat upright, paused, and continued with a cool, measured voice:
"But… you must be worthy of that trust."
As his final words fell, an invisible pressure erupted from his body. Even the fire in the hearth trembled, flickering as though on the verge of going out.
On the other side of the room, Ino felt the weight of that pressure, and a single word flashed through his mind—ocean.
Calm on the surface, yet capable of unleashing a storm at any moment.
Still, he didn't hesitate.
At once, the shadow beneath his feet surged like boiling ink, spreading like a black river through the room.
From the misty darkness, countless shadowy figures rose—wraiths clad in battered medieval armor, wielding spears, swords, and shortbows. Their skeletal forms marched as one toward Voldemort.
For the first time, the cursed and forsaken mountain tribes of Middle-earth appeared in the wizarding world.
"Avada Kedavra!"
Voldemort raised his wand, unleashing the Killing Curse without hesitation.
A flash of blinding green shot out, piercing through several shadow soldiers. Though it failed to destroy them outright, the curse was also not impeded.
Ino, seeing the green light streaking toward him, vanished from his spot just in time, flawlessly dodging the deadly spell.
…
When Ino disappeared, Voldemort actually let out a faint sigh of relief.
He had regretted casting the Killing Curse the moment it left his wand. This wasn't supposed to be a confrontation—it was a negotiation. His interest lay in the rules behind the dice, not in unnecessary bloodshed.
The attack had been an instinctive show of force, much like Ino's earlier vanish-and-return move—demonstrating power through action rather than words.
But when the dark mist thickened, an unplaceable irritation had crept up on him, and his hand had moved before his mind could catch up.
Now that the strike had missed, he decided to let it go. No point in escalating things further.
…
Unfortunately, the world rarely bends to one person's will.
Voldemort may have wanted to back down, but Ino—Ino had been genuinely infuriated.
To be struck at with the Killing Curse, the most unforgivable of the Unforgivable Curses… even if he had dodged it by a hair's breadth, the sensation of death brushing past him lingered.
For the first time, he had come so close to dying—and without the safety of the dice in his hand.
That thought made him tighten his grip around the dice, the one tool that had always protected him.
Then, without a word, he left the Sanctuary.
And reappeared in the cottage.
…
As mentioned before, Hogsmeade was usually peaceful during Christmas.
But this afternoon, that peace shattered.
A vicious, icy wind roared through the streets, carrying dense snowfall that fell like a curtain of white feathers. The world turned visibly pale.
And then… it got darker.
Though it was still technically daytime, a vast cloud of dense black smoke rolled across the sky, plunging the village into early twilight.
From within the darkness, hundreds—no, thousands—of skeleton warriors emerged. Clad in ancient armor, faces twisted in eternal agony, they bore blades, bows, and broken shields as they marched upon Hogsmeade.
…
No one had ever calculated Hogsmeade's exact size.
But one thing was certain—it was home to more than sixty percent of all wizards in England.
Now, with a storm like a plague bearing down upon them, every witch and wizard looked up.
There, suspended in the sky about a hundred feet—thirty meters—above ground, two figures hovered midair. No broomsticks. No Thestrals. Just floating.
At that height, even without magical aids, everyone could clearly see who they were.
"Ino…"
"He's back…"
"Swinburne…"
"The Dark Lord…"
The whispers rippled through Hogsmeade. Hogwarts students recognized Ino. Older witches and wizards recognized the one who had once plunged England into terror and chaos.
There was a difference—but also a shared understanding.
One by one, those who carried magical mirrors turned them toward the sky.
…
Unlike the stunned onlookers, Mad-Eye Moody reacted instantly.
He forgot all about reprimanding students or enforcing rules. Pulling out his wand, he bellowed:
"All students—NOW! Get back to Hogwarts! Tell McGonagall to raise the castle's defenses!"
As he shouted, Moody retrieved a peculiar coin—crudely shaped like a Galleon but clearly a poor imitation. The letters "MLE"—Magical Law Enforcement—were etched across its face.
His words snapped the students out of their daze. Most of them, especially the Ravenclaws, turned and sprinted back toward the castle.
But not all.
Some stood rooted, eyes burning with excitement, especially the Slytherins.
…
At the same time—
Professor McGonagall was already flying along the path toward Hogsmeade.
Flanking her were two other figures: Professor Flitwick, former International Dueling Champion and Head of Ravenclaw, and Madam Maxime, headmistress of Beauxbatons, riding her enchanted Abraxan.
"Filius!" McGonagall called. "Go down and escort the students back!"
From her vantage point, she could already see the distant figures suspended midair—and the panicked students below.