Arthur was momentarily stunned by Hermione’s question.

For a second, he genuinely couldn’t remember what he had forgotten.

He asked, puzzled, "What did I forget?"

Hermione reminded him softly, "You still haven’t given me my reward."

Arthur slapped his forehead. "Ah—that."

He took out a sapphire-inlaid necklace and handed it to her.

"Here. The Infinite Origin Stone Necklace I promised you."

The Infinite Origin Stone Necklace—modified from a magic scepter—possessed an inexhaustible energy supply.

Arthur had promised Hermione that if she performed outstandingly in the Triwizard Tournament, he would let her use it.

In truth, regardless of how she performed, Arthur would have given it to her anyway.

After all, whenever he wished, he could reclaim it with a single thought.

But objectively speaking—Hermione’s performance in the tournament, and especially her battle against Voldemort, more than qualified as outstanding.

Hermione leaned closer and said coquettishly,

"I want you to help me put it on."

Arthur lifted the necklace with both hands, gently brushed aside the soft hair cascading over Hermione’s shoulders, looped it around her smooth, slender neck, and fastened it for her.

The moment he finished, Hermione suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Cousin," she murmured, her eyes hazy and affectionate, "I suddenly feel like this reward isn’t enough."

"I want more."

Looking into Hermione’s gaze—so full of desire and devotion—Arthur would have had to be an idiot not to understand what she meant.

Without another word, he swept her up in his arms and carried her straight into the Zen Garden.

As for the letter he hadn’t finished writing?

To hell with it. He’d write it tomorrow.

Once inside the Zen Garden, Arthur willed a separate space into existence.

This space was completely isolated from the rest of the garden—no one could enter without his permission.

Within it bloomed a magnificent sea of flowers, lush and radiant.

Seeing this, Hermione was so moved that she leaned up and pressed a kiss to his lips.

After a long while, she whispered softly:

"A late breeze brings rain together,

washing away the blazing heat.

After setting aside the pipes and strings,

before the mirror I lightly dress.

Silk gauze thin, ice-smooth skin gleams,

snow-soft, sweet with scent.

Laughing with my beloved—

tonight the gauze bed and bamboo mat are cool."

It was a poem Li Qingzhao wrote on her wedding night, teasing her husband.

Hermione’s meaning was unmistakable.

...

In a dim and desolate realm, a towering figure with wings upon its back paced back and forth in rage.

Its name was Thanatos, the god of death from ancient Greek myth, ruler of the underworld.

Thanatos was furious.

A portion of its divine authority had been stolen.

This was something that had never happened before in all its existence as Death itself.

Bound by the rules of reality, Thanatos could not freely descend into the mortal world.

Worse still, the sole passage connecting the underworld to the living realm seemed to have been blocked.

Unable to leave, unable to act, Thanatos could only seethe in helpless fury within the underworld.

The one who had taken a fragment of its authority was none other than Arthur—who, at that very moment, was lost in bliss with Hermione.

Strictly speaking, however, "stolen" was not the right word.

That fragment of authority had naturally flowed to Arthur.

As Arthur’s mastery over the power of death deepened, a portion of death’s authority gravitated toward him on its own.

This was the will of the world’s laws.

As for why Arthur’s other powers did not trigger a similar phenomenon—

Perhaps because this world simply had no corresponding divine offices for them.

At that moment, within the vast star-sea formed of countless souls, a dark and fractured soul streaked across the sky, drawing Thanatos’s attention.

Thanatos seized the soul and examined it closely.

The soul radiated intense evil, yet was astonishingly weak.

Thanatos paid little heed to that.

What truly caught its interest was the overwhelming concentration of death power clinging to the soul.

Ordinarily, when a soul died, a trace of death’s power would guide it into the underworld.

If a soul were strong enough and resisted the pull, it could linger in the mortal realm as a ghost.

Most of Hogwarts’ ghosts fell into this category—excluding Peeves.

(As for why Peeves hasn’t appeared in this story yet... we’ll talk about that later.)

But the soul in Thanatos’s grasp was different.

It was saturated with death power—utterly incapable of resisting the pull toward the underworld.

Worse still, that death power continued to erode it.

If allowed to continue, the soul would be annihilated completely—true obliteration.

This soul belonged to none other than the recently deceased Voldemort.

Its weakness and fragmentation were the result of his own actions—splitting his soul into seven parts.

The death power clinging to it came from the magical grenade Hermione had thrown—one imbued with death itself.

Thanatos stripped the death power from Voldemort’s soul.

Upon inspection, it found that this death power was fundamentally different from its own.

It carried a sacred quality—its purity surpassing even Thanatos’s authority.

This discovery felt like a thread—a lead.

Instinct told Thanatos that following it would lead directly to the one who had taken its authority.

The instinct was correct.

The source of that sacred death power was Arthur, the bearer of a fragment of death’s authority.

As for why that power carried sanctity—

It was because Arthur’s death power had once eroded the Erdtree.

Thanatos plucked a handful of pure soul essence from the stellar sea and infused it into Voldemort’s soul, repairing its fractured and fragile state.

Then, it awakened him.

Voldemort opened his eyes to see a towering, winged being with a horrific visage looming before him.

In Thanatos’s grasp, he was no more than an ant.

Voldemort quickly realized where he was.

The underworld.

But why was he being held by the god of death himself?

Before he could think further, Thanatos spoke:

"Mortal. Tell me why your soul carries such intense death power."

Voldemort was confused. "What... death power?"

"This," Thanatos said, presenting the extracted energy before him.

Voldemort recognized it immediately.

It was the power contained within the crystal the cursed little witch had thrown.

So it really was death power.

No wonder his entire arm had lost all vitality when he was struck.

"This," Voldemort replied, "is something I was contaminated with while fighting a witch before my death."

He left out the details.

The Dark Lord being defeated by a Hogwarts student was not something he cared to advertise.

Thanatos was not inclined to indulge him.

"Explain everything. From beginning to end."

Voldemort’s face twisted in humiliation.

But what choice did he have?

Strength ruled all.

Fortunately—or unfortunately—Thanatos had repaired Voldemort’s soul, effectively curing his madness.

Otherwise, an unstable Voldemort might have dared to mock the god of death himself.

Had that happened, annihilation would have been the least of his worries.

Voldemort recounted everything—from his resurrection onward.

From his account, Thanatos noticed a recurring name.

Arthur.

Though Arthur never directly acted, his shadow loomed over every event.

The witch who fought Voldemort centered her actions around Arthur.

The destruction of multiple Horcruxes—all Arthur’s doing.

Thanatos concluded that the source of that sacred death power was undoubtedly connected to Arthur.

It turned back to Voldemort.

"You mentioned you still have one Horcrux in the mortal world."

Voldemort nodded, bitterness flooding his expression.

The final Horcrux lay buried deep within the Albanian forest.

At the time, he hadn’t given it much thought—he merely wanted it hidden.

Who could have known it would become his last anchor?

Now, even with a Horcrux remaining, resurrection was impossible.

Buried beneath the earth, isolated from all contact, it could neither tempt mortals nor prepare the conditions for his return.

He couldn’t even emerge from it to possess another being.

Voldemort seriously doubted whether he would ever revive again.

And then—

A gift fell from the sky.

Thanatos spoke:

"I can help you return to the mortal world."

"I can even grant you a portion of death’s power."

Voldemort did not let the sudden hope cloud his judgment.

Nothing came without a price.

He asked carefully, "What do you want me to do?"

Thanatos regarded him with approval.

"Good. You are intelligent."

"Your task is simple. Investigate whether the source of that death power is connected to Arthur."

"And if it is..."

Thanatos’s voice turned cold.

"Kill him."

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