Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

Harry’s information was indeed very valuable. It looked as though Voldemort was absolutely determined to use that magic to transform himself into an evil god!

Once successful, he would no longer be a human wizard, and naturally would have no need for a wand as a weapon. The monster’s very body would be the weapon, not a fragment of the evil god’s corpse disassembled by Salazar Slytherin, nor a projection of the evil god under seal, but a complete evil god, a powerful monster incarnated by Voldemort himself.

If Voldemort’s magic could not be stopped, then this would be the enemy Evan and the others would have to face.

As for the Elder Wand’s secret, Evan wasn’t all that worried. The wand was indeed powerful, but Voldemort was not its master.

Only the true master could wield this most powerful wand.

Voldemort had no idea of this; he could not draw out the Elder Wand’s true power. Forcing its use could even backfire on him.

“We have to do something,” said Harry finally. “We have to stop Voldemort.”

“From what we’ve seen tonight, we can’t fight him head-on,” said Evan. “We have to stick to our previous plan.”

“So when do we start? We can’t wait any longer. I think first we could —”

“First, you need to cut off your connection with him, Harry!” Hermione insisted, glaring at him fiercely. “Otherwise, you can’t go anywhere. You’ll have to stay here under the protection of the Order. We don’t want Voldemort to detect you just after leaving the Burrow because of that scar.”

“I’ll try to close my mind, Hermione. It won’t happen again!” Harry avoided meeting her eyes.

Gabrielle suddenly jumped out of bed and screamed. She pointed out the window and shouted, “Look, my sister’s back!”

Following her finger, everyone saw a Thestral suddenly appear in the sky and land in the yard.

Bill and Fleur slid from the Thestral’s back, windswept but unhurt.

Finally, everyone involved in tonight’s operation had returned, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

…………………………………………………………………….

In the darkness, Ron was standing alone, unable to move.

“Harry! Mad-Eye! Sirius! Evan!” Ron shouted, but no reply came even after a long while. He cursed under his breath.

He had no idea where he was, nor why he had ended up here.

He clearly remembered participating in Harry’s transfer, and escaping the Death Eaters’ encirclement with Moody.

But before he could rejoice, Voldemort appeared out of nowhere behind him, drawing closer and closer.

The thought of Voldemort’s terrifying face made Ron shudder.

He remembered being enveloped by the black smoke controlled by Voldemort, then losing consciousness. And now he woke, only to find himself here alone.

Ron called out everyone’s name again, but still no response.

“Damn it! Where’s my wand!”

He groped around inside his robes, and to his delight found that his wand was still on him. He yanked it out quickly and shouted, “Lumos!”

A faint light dispersed the darkness, and Ron finally saw the space he was in.

He was standing in a stone chamber. It looked a little familiar — this seemed to be … the Centaurs’ temple!

Yes, without a doubt, it was the Temple of the Moon.

He had been there in his third year with Sirius, Evan, Harry, and Hermione.

Ron remembered it vividly: they had climbed to the top of the temple to undergo the test Godric Gryffindor had left behind.

In that illusion, thousands of Acromantulas had swarmed toward him. It was a nightmare he would never forget for as long as he lived.

Even knowing it was only an illusion, Ron had broken down completely. He had failed the test and missed the chance to obtain Gryffindor’s Philosopher’s Stone.

The Stone held immense magical power, and it was with it that Evan had gradually distanced himself from them.

Ron couldn’t count how many times he’d dreamed of that night over the past few years. He dreamed of returning to the Temple of the Moon, of passing Gryffindor’s test of courage and obtaining the Philosopher’s Stone. That was why he was so familiar with the place. The moment he saw the carvings on the surrounding walls, he remembered the Temple of the Moon.

“Could this be a dream?” Ron muttered.

It had to be a dream; otherwise, there was no explanation for his sudden presence in this place.

But this dream seemed different from his usual ones. In his previous dreams, Ron didn’t need to use his wand to cast Lumos.

In those dreams, he could clearly see his surroundings without effort.

Following the path he remembered, Ron stepped out of the chamber — then stopped dead. The floor ahead was smeared with a dark red liquid.

Blood!

No, it couldn’t be; it might just be some kind of paint.

Trembling, Ron moved forward. Tonight, the Centaurs’ temple in his dream seemed particularly eerie and dark.

He made his way to the top, the suffocating silence around him making the atmosphere all the heavier.

The worst part was the walls and the floor. At first only speckled with stains, soon the blood was spreading in broad patches.

Continuing forward, the sticky stains nearly covered the entire structure, seeping through the cracks of the temple and dripping down from above.

A pungent smell assaulted Ron’s nose, and no matter how hard he tried to fool himself, it was useless.

He wanted to go back, but the path behind him had vanished; the corridor’s fathomless darkness gaped like a monster’s mouth, ready to devour him.

Ron was on the verge of breaking down. His instincts told him that if he went back, he would die. His only choice was to keep going.

He ran on, heedless of the sticky blood beneath his feet.

“It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream, this is all fake,” Ron kept muttering.

At last, he reached the top of the dark temple.

He had expected to see a vast plaza, a towering Centaur statue, and a sky filled with stars — just as in his previous dreams. But this time, he saw only corpses, piled high into a mountain, towering into the sky, all those pale-skinned dead staring at him with hollow, vacant eyes.

These corpses were the source of the blood he had seen flowing moments ago.

In the sky above, a massive Dark Mark had replaced the stars, and the green skull emitted a faint green light.

The sight hit Ron like a blow; his strength gave way and he collapsed onto the ground.

He felt that he might faint, but his consciousness was exceptionally clear.

“At last you’ve come!” said a cold voice. “The Chosen One!”

“Who — who’s talking to me?” Ron shouted with all his strength.

“It is I, the great Lord Voldemort!” A figure emerged from the pile of corpses in the darkness and walked toward Ron. “You may know me, or you may not, but it does not matter. One day, you will remember this name, the name that makes all wizards tremble.”

In the eerie green glow, Ron saw clearly who was approaching him: Voldemort — Tom Riddle in his youth!

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