Boom! The Shield Shatters
Boom!
The defensive shield collapsed in a brilliant eruption of gray light, scattering particles into the air. Fireballs crashed onto the square, leaving massive craters in their wake. Heat waves and swirling dust expanded outward, consuming the battlefield.
The Death Eaters, who had quietly regrouped into strategic formations, began to execute their plan. For Ian and his fellow students, the sudden assault and counter-strategies of the Death Eaters proved challenging to manage.
This wasn't mere luck or chaos—these were seasoned dark wizards, many with decades of experience. Their calculated actions reflected a tactical knowledge of powerful magic. They understood that once large-scale magic reached its peak casting stage, only a master wizard could alter or control it mid-process.
As fireballs rained down, scorching the square, the dark wizards strengthened their defensive spells. Their shields turned from shimmering gray to a near-black hue, pulsating with magical energy as they braced for impact.
Boom!
A fireball exploded on contact, unleashing a torrent of flames. The sheer force made veins bulge on the faces of the defending wizards, and some began bleeding from their eyes, ears, and mouths under the strain. Even with their robust defenses, the joint spell's power was overwhelming.
Dust and heat waves spread toward the edges of the square, threatening the audience. Tom Riddle's frown deepened as he raised his wand. The dark green barrier around the square flickered, and a gentle breeze swept through the air, dispersing the dust and neutralizing the heat wave. The battlefield became eerily still.
From the sidelines, Grindelwald's amused voice drifted to Dumbledore's ears.
"Albus, I must say, Lockhart's talent for training students is quite remarkable. Who would have thought squibs could become wizards of this caliber?" His tone was laced with mockery.
Dumbledore ignored the provocation, keeping his focus on the battlefield.
But Grindelwald pressed on. "Have you noticed, Albus? These students' magic resonates with one another, amplifying its power tenfold. I suspect meditation plays a significant role."
Dumbledore's brow furrowed slightly as Grindelwald continued, his tone shifting to one of curious analysis.
"Their magic is synchronized—almost of the same nature. Meditation seems to have not only benefited squibs but has also brought profound changes to fully trained wizards."
Then, with a sly grin, Grindelwald added, "Imagine how the pure-blood families will react when they learn of this. And what about Hogwarts? Will you promote this meditation universally, Albus?"
Dumbledore's expression hardened. Grindelwald's words carried a dangerous truth. The ability to amplify magic through collective casting was revolutionary, far beyond what even veteran Aurors could achieve. For pure-blood families, who prided themselves on their magical superiority, this technique would undoubtedly become an obsession.
Shaking off the distraction, Dumbledore refocused on Ian and his fellow students.
On the square, the aftermath of the firestorm was evident. Scorched craters dotted the surface, flames flickering within and around them. Though the dark wizards had successfully resisted the worst of the attack, their pale faces and bloodied mouths betrayed the toll it had taken.
Several dark wizards cast spells, clearing the lingering dust and restoring visibility.
Woo! Woo!
A collective howl rang out as the werewolves, led by Fenrir Greyback, lunged toward Ian and the students. The dark wizards followed suit, ready to exploit the chaos.
Fenrir's lips curled into a vicious grin. Wizards were formidable at a distance, but in close combat, few could rival the raw power and agility of werewolves.
Ian's voice rang out, calm and commanding.
"Top fifteen fighters, step forward. Engage the werewolves directly. Do not let them bite you."
Without hesitation, fifteen young wizards moved forward, their expressions steely. Behind them, Vera, Wanda, and the other students retreated, preparing to cast their next coordinated spell.
Ian and Remy led the charge. With swift movements, they clasped their hands together, conjuring long black staves etched with glowing red flame runes. These were special melee staves, designed specifically for Kamar-Taj-trained wizards.
The students' wands vanished as they gripped the enchanted staves tightly. Their pace quickened, and they rushed toward the oncoming werewolves.
Fenrir's eyes widened momentarily in surprise. Wizards engaging werewolves in close combat? Madness.
But his astonishment quickly turned to a cruel grin. If these students were foolish enough to step into his domain, he would gladly send them to their deaths.
Woo!
With a deafening howl, Fenrir led his pack, charging toward the students with lethal intent.
Ian met Fenrir head-on, his staff crashing down onto the werewolf leader's shoulder.
Boom!
A burst of red light erupted from the impact, accompanied by a sickening crack. Fenrir staggered back, blood seeping from his shoulder as his bones fractured under the weight of the blow.
"Damn it!" Fenrir snarled, his golden eyes blazing with fury.
Ignoring the pain, Fenrir swung his claws at Ian's face. The razor-sharp talons gleamed with wolf venom, a deadly toxin capable of turning a human into a werewolf with even the smallest scratch.
From the sidelines, McGonagall and the other professors gasped. Fenrir Greyback's reputation was infamous, and Ian was just a young wizard barely out of his teens.
The tension on the battlefield thickened as the professors watched with bated breath, knowing the danger Ian faced.
Danger. Extreme danger.
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