Lestrange is the surname of an ancient pure-blood wizarding family.

This family originated in France but also has branches in England, tracing back centuries.

Naturally, they were included in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, a directory of the purest wizarding families in Britain.

Just as the family flourished around the world, the Lestrange family's branch in the British wizarding world was equally old and wealthy.

They possessed a vault filled with treasure in Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and like the Black family, many members of the Lestrange family were fond of Dark Arts, and also staunch believers in pure-blood supremacy, detesting Muggles, Muggle-borns, and pure-blood wizard "traitors."

For centuries, the Lestrange family had been active in every era of the British wizarding world, until ten years ago—

"Tsk, who would have thought that the Lestrange family, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, would fall so low..."

"What's so surprising about that? If you ask me, the Sacred Twenty-Eight is outdated. Didn't the Gaunt family die out too?"

"Are all the Lestranges gone?" a young voice asked curiously.

"You could say that—the Lestrange couple were imprisoned in Azkaban ten years ago, and even if they're not dead, they're probably close to it."

Outside London, the Lestrange family manor.

Several Aurors monitored the long-abandoned house in the distance, chatting with sighs.

In the Lestrange family's prime, the appearance of the "Raven" family crest represented nobility and the upper class, but since the Lestrange couple were imprisoned in Azkaban ten years ago, the wizarding world had not heard the name "Lestrange" for a long time.

The most recent time "Lestrange" appeared before the public was during that shocking conspiracy to defraud that almost overturned the British wizarding world.

The story ended with Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic exposing the Dark Lord's plot and recovering the "swindled" loot from the Lestrange family vault.

Although many pure-blood families inevitably felt a sense of sympathy, no one dared to risk public anger by preventing the confiscation, especially after everyone's gold was returned to their hands. No one would mention the "justice" or the scope of sentencing—the Lestrange family's centuries-old wealth went to the Ministry of Magic's treasury overnight, and various magical families "recovered" some "lost" treasures.

After that, the Lestrange family's properties and lands were gradually divided among various forces.

Now, only this unkempt family mansion remains.

This has been a long-standing unspoken agreement in the magical society.

No matter how fallen a pure-blood family becomes, wizards mostly won't target their family home.

This is not just tradition, but also stems from countless legends and ancient magic:

Any pure-blood wizarding family mansion with centuries of history is never a simple house.

All kinds of magic accumulated over time linger in every corner of the house, protecting the family's last bloodline and preparing to unleash all its brilliance to bury enemies with evil intentions. In the face of desperation, magic has no upper limit.

For this reason, when the last member of a magical family dies, the Ministry of Magic temporarily marks their location as a dangerous area.

Unless the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes deals with the aftermath, the danger level will remain for nearly a century. Aurors will expel and arrest anyone who recklessly tries to enter or damage the area to prevent unnecessary sacrifices or even large-scale natural disasters.

In the magical society, people prefer to use another, more mysterious and eerie name: "Cursed Manor."

Of course, the current Lestrange family manor has not yet become a "Cursed Manor."

The reason the Aurors are gathered here is...

"Uh, do you think the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters are still inside?"

"Unless they flushed themselves down the toilet, they can't go anywhere—"

Perkins frowned, staring at the living room window in the old house, which faintly glowed with firelight.

"The Apparition blockade should be in place, the skies, Portkeys, and Floo Network are all sealed off. Now we just wait for news from Professor Dumbledore and the others—how long until the all-out attack? Check your pocket watches, if those guys inside notice anything wrong, immediately notify Professor Dumbledore..."

"Oh, don't worry, gentlemen. We've arrived."

Just then, a gentle voice suddenly came from behind them.

Several old wizards appeared behind them. Cornelius Fudge did not appear; he was "overseeing everything" at the Ministry of Magic.

As Dumbledore spoke, he took out his complicated silver pocket watch and quickly opened it for a glance.

"It's 3:00 PM London time, half an hour until the all-out attack—let's help reinforce the surrounding protective measures first. After we go in, ignore any orders to open or release magical seals. If anyone attempts to breach the 'Lestrange Family Manor' blockade, immediately send us an alarm and subdue them unconditionally—this is a joint containment document signed by the International Confederation of Wizards, the British Ministry of Magic, the French Ministry of Magic... and a dozen other magical organizations. As for the Auror reinforcements from other magical countries..."

The old wizard gently drew his wand and waved it leisurely behind the observation point, as if conducting a magnificent concerto.

Seven giant fireplaces made of granite burst out of the ground, like seven ancient magical relics that had existed since time immemorial.

"Kenaz—(Fire!)"

At the same time, an old wizard in gray robes standing behind Dumbledore whispered, flicking his fingers.

Bright flames surged from the void, instantly lighting all the fireplaces.

"Madam, you know how to connect the fireplaces, right? You can start building the network..."

The gray-robed wizard turned to look at the middle-aged witch standing behind the crowd, then at the apprehensive young ones around him.

"Oh? You've never seen Rune Magic? You don't think a wizard without a wand becomes a monkey who can only scream and run, do you?"

"G-Grindelwald, our agreement was..."

An Auror from the French Ministry of Magic swallowed, his wand almost crushed in his hand.

Broult regretted that he had drawn the "Annihilation" escort in the lottery—he had originally thought it was a lucky draw.

In many people's initial understanding, participating in the Dark Lord's annihilation operation alongside Dumbledore and other top wizards was undoubtedly the safest and most honorable job.

However, he never expected that the so-called "escort" was not to assist in combat, but to act as a "safety lock," constantly watching Gellert Grindelwald.

Perhaps the Aurors from other countries' Ministries of Magic were better off, but one of the French Ministry of Magic Aurors' induction trainings was the tragedy from decades ago:

More than fifty elite Aurors were burned to ashes by Grindelwald in the Lestrange family cemetery.

What made Broult even more afraid was that although this was not a cemetery, in terms of importance, it seemed to be no less than the Lestrange family cemetery.

"Agreement? Oh—you mean that? I almost forgot..."

Grindelwald glanced at the young Auror who was so frightened that he could barely speak, shrugged indifferently, and turned to look at Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore, when will I get my wand? You don't expect me to fight the 'most dangerous' Dark Lord of this century with my bare hands, do you?"

"...I'm very sorry, Gellert, the International Confederation of Wizards does not intend to let 'Grindelwald' have a wand again."

Dumbledore said gently, taking out a small box from his pocket and handing it to Grindelwald.

"For this operation only, you can use this wand—"

"Hmm, I was planning to cast the Killing Curse. Is that okay, Albus—"

Grindelwald opened the wooden box, raising his eyebrows in surprise, his slender fingers gently stroking and tapping the wand in front of him.

"Personally, I would suggest changing to another wand? I heard that the older the wand, the more stubborn it is... especially a wand that's almost a hundred years old..."

"The International Confederation of Wizards will check the spell usage records after the operation. Only this one is registered."

Dumbledore replied calmly, his gaze from his half-moon spectacles cast on the old friend with the rune "d" engraved on its base.

"Your magic is too powerful, Grindelwald. If you use someone else's wand, even I can't guarantee that I can trace all the records."

"Alright, esteemed Chief Warlock of the International Confederation of Wizards."

Grindelwald gave Dumbledore a meaningful look, a smile on his lips, and took the wand from the box.

"Then let me think..."

The old Dark Lord looked around at the advance escort Aurors from various countries, who were on high alert, and grinned.

"If you rely on this shallow magic alone, you might not be able to stop a top wizard—we need a little... help."

"Fire... Guardian—"

Grindelwald raised the wand in his hand towards the sky, and endless magical flames surged from the tip of his wand, shooting towards the sky like a whale's spout.

The fire rose to a very high point, touching the barrier set up by the Ministry of Magic Aurors, silently infiltrating it, spreading rapidly in all directions like blood dripping on rice paper.

Pale blue flames swirled in the sky above the Lestrange family mansion, and further above, countless dark black magical ribbons extended and fluttered towards the sky.

An overwhelming magical power erupted from Grindelwald.

Almost all the wizards drew their wands at the same time, taking a small step back, struggling to resist the sudden terrible pressure.

"Grindelwald, you—"

Broult looked at the gray-robed old Dark Lord in a mixture of shock and anger.

Only now did he realize how ridiculous those "countermeasure" plans were. He even found it difficult to raise his wand and cast a spell.

"This wasn't our previous plan, Gellert—the gentlemen from the Ministry of Magic haven't even arrived yet..."

Dumbledore looked calmly at the energetic old Dark Lord beside him, seemingly unaware of the powerful magical surge that was erupting from him.

"The Ministry of Magic's plan? Hmph... they only want the result."

Grindelwald shook his head dismissively, glancing at the young ones in the back who were not qualified to stand alongside them.

"Notify the Ministry of Magic, the all-out attack is ahead of schedule—they can come clean up the mess. As for any battle plans? Albus, your students are not worthy..."

…………

At the same time, the Lestrange family manor not far away.

A skeletal, gaunt man sat in the main seat in the living room.

About half a meter in front of his chair, an old foreigner with graying temples lay unconscious.

However, he ignored the old guy he had never seen before and stared intently at the grandfather clock alcove on the side of the living room.

The space originally used to house the clock had been emptied out, and a corpse immersed in a yellow-green liquid was placed inside:

The dead body's face was paler than a skeleton, and its unseeing eyes were wide open, as if it had seen something terrible before it died. Its nose was flat like a snake's, without a normal bridge, and only two thin slits remained where the nostrils should be...

A bone-chilling chill welled up from within the skeletal, gaunt man's heart—it was his own corpse, Tom Riddle, the corpse of the great Voldemort.

And in his mind, that childlike, demonic whisper still echoed.

"Let's play a game, Tom..."

"The rules are—"

"...Struggle, do your best, struggle to survive... but never beg for death—"

On the table to his right, a black walnut wand lay silently.

Outside the window, pale blue magical flames covered the sky.

Two old men were slowly walking towards him, like two suns constantly radiating energy.

And further away, seven huge fireplaces burned with bright green magical flames, and wizards emerged from the flames one after another like a tide.

"Albus Dumbledore—"

…………

Scottish Highlands.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Petunia Dursley looked up at the ancient, towering castle in front of her, silent.

Not far from her, a middle-aged man with light yellow hair was curiously flipping through a booklet in his hand.

"Oh my god, Dad?! How could you—"

Just then, a joyful voice suddenly came from the main gate of the castle.

The middle-aged man looked up and saw a little witch with messy brown hair running quickly, holding up her robe skirt.

Behind the little witch, an adult wizard with a hooked nose, black hair, and sallow skin frowned and strode up to Petunia Dursley.

"Hello, Mrs. Dursley, I'm from Hogwarts..."

"Severus?"

Petunia Dursley came back to her senses, looked at the sallow-faced wizard, and forced a smile.

"Long time no see—"