Russia, a magical street in Moscow.

A large pit in the middle of the street was so deep that it had broken through the sewers below. Nearby shops were mostly in ruins, with broken flagstones and walls everywhere. Streetlights and roadside trees lay crookedly on the ground, as if the end of the world had just arrived.

The tardy Ministry of Magic officials were repairing the street in small groups, while others took out paper and pens to inquire about the specific situation from the wizards who had witnessed the event.

As for the majority of wizards, they stood solemnly around the three-headed dog Fluffy, each holding their wands high, examining the black gemstone ring pressed under the dog's paws while anxiously surveying their surroundings, as if vicious dark wizards might appear at any moment.

Wisps of black smoke occasionally emerged from the ring's surface.

However, most of them were dispersed by the three-headed dog's hot breath before they could take shape.

On the other side, the questioning of Gilderoy Lockhart by Russian Ministry of Magic officials was also nearing completion. The surrounding reporters finally found an opportunity to approach Lockhart.

"Sir, you don't seem to be a Russian wizard. May I ask what brings you here? Do you know something and came specifically to investigate?"

"Your performance just now was amazing. Are you an elite Auror from the Ministry of Magic?"

"Sir, if you don't mind, could you tell us your name—"

"Oh, don't rush... don't rush... I'll answer one by one."

Facing the swarm of reporters, Lockhart calmly adjusted the pointed wizard hat on his head, skillfully raised his hands and pressed down slightly, saying with ease.

"Gilderoy Lockhart, as for my profession..."

Lockhart winked playfully, grinned, and happened to meet the wizard holding a camera to take a photo on the right front, his smile perfectly revealing his bright teeth.

"Just as I introduced myself earlier, I'm just a writer with some achievements and driven by interest. I came here this time mainly to find inspiration for my next book."

"...So, you're not clear on the specific situation either?"

"Yes, in fact, I was just passing by."

Lockhart blinked his blue eyes, saying modestly and appropriately.

"As for what you call an amazing thing, it's really nothing. Any wizard with conscience and ability would make the same choice as me—there are so many Aurors here, they would handle it better than me, but I just happened to..."

"Oh, the Ministry of Magic doesn't have that many Order of Merlin, Third Class Aurors."

Before Lockhart could finish speaking, the Russian Minister of Magic waved the information he had just received in his hand, shrugged with a hint of emotion, and walked over.

"It seems... you might have another opportunity to receive an Order of Merlin award... I have to admit, if it weren't for you and Mr. Scamander today, then the Russian magical world—no, or rather—the magical world would be in big trouble..."

The Russian Minister of Magic frowned, looking at the ring emitting an ominous aura.

"Good heavens—here—in Moscow! It's unbelievable, what exactly is this—why would that guy appear here—wasn't he long ago—"

"Undoubtedly, as Professor Dumbledore said, Voldemort did not die."

"Newt Scamander" said calmly, "I have some vague guesses about the reasons, but the specifics may need to be inquired from Professor Dumbledore."

After casually looking at the pathetic ring, the old wizard raised an eyebrow, a trace of pity and mockery flashing in his eyes, and said softly with a complex tone.

"But one thing is certain, it is neither a ghost nor a living person... It seems to be a fragment of a soul residing in an object—the soul is not my area of expertise, I suggest temporarily blocking and cordoning off this area until it is dealt with."

"Can you destroy it?" the International Confederation of Wizards' delegate asked in a deep voice.

"Maybe... maybe... but it's difficult..."

"Newt Scamander" stared at the ring, saying thoughtfully.

"The scorching flames of the hellhound and the soul-trembling magical talent cannot completely collapse it. Voldemort's attainments in the soul are indeed terrifying... I suspect it may even possess a certain ability to bewilder people, and even drill into the souls of others."

Bewilder people?! Drill into souls?!

Along with the old wizard's voice, the Ministry of Magic officials around who were listening pricked up their ears and subconsciously took a half step back, their eyes looking at the ring becoming more serious.

"Okay, Mr. Scamander, thank you very much for your reminder."

The International Confederation of Wizards' delegate nodded solemnly.

As an official who experienced the "Dark Magic Forces" period, he knew very well the horror of the second-generation Dark Lord who ravaged and swirled in the British magical world for more than ten years.

If Gellert Grindelwald was a clearly motivated ambitious person, then Voldemort was completely a willful madman. While he preached pure-blood theory, he promoted a chaotic and disordered atmosphere of terror in the magical world...

"Just..."

The middle-aged wizard looked around at the devastated magical street, his cheeks twitching violently, took a deep breath, and said viciously.

"It's a pity that we couldn't catch the tails of those 'Death Eaters'. Even if there is a little clue, I will follow it to dig them all out and send them all to Azkaban to feed the Dementors."

The trials of the 'Death Eaters' had all ended ten years ago.

Neither the Ministry of Magic nor the International Confederation of Wizards could now open the old files and question and offend so many long-standing wizarding families.

Unless...

"Speaking of clues, this gentleman..."

At this moment, Gilderoy Lockhart, who was standing not far from the middle-aged wizard, suddenly blinked, gently tapped his lips, frowned and said softly with some uncertainty.

"I seem to have vaguely heard their voices when they were talking to each other... However, only a few words, I guess it should be the name of one of them—"

"What name?!"

"Who?!"

"Wait, this is not a joke!"

"Why didn't you say it just now?"

The Russian Minister of Magic, the Ukrainian Minister of Magic, the delegate of the International Confederation of Wizards, and a group of Ministry of Magic officials suddenly turned their heads and looked at the handsome novelist.

"Uh... because it was just some fragmented information..."

Gilderoy Lockhart touched his nose a little uncomfortably, hesitated for a few seconds, then took out his wand and held it against his temple, paused for a few seconds, and then took it away.

A wisp of long, silver thread-like memory came out from the tip of the wand.

It stretched longer and longer, finally broke, and floated shimmering on the tip of the wand. Gilderoy Lockhart gritted his teeth, waved his wand, and the wisp of silver memory instantly swirled and unfolded like gas, turning into a blurry light and shadow.

Amidst the screams of the crowd and the explosions of spells, a fragmented voice came out.

"...Forget about that ring! Let's go... Lotnikov..."

"Lotnikov? This name..."

The Ukrainian Minister of Magic frowned, repeating it thoughtfully.

Immediately afterwards, the faces of the several ministers present and the delegate of the International Confederation of Wizards changed, and they exchanged a solemn look with each other—if it really was that person, then...

"I see, thank you for the information... this is very useful..."

The Ukrainian Minister of Magic coughed lightly and said quickly with a calm face.

"However, for confidentiality reasons, I suggest that Mr. Lockhart not give this memory to others for the time being. We will find other wizards present to verify it. Sorry, I may have to excuse myself for a while. We need to have a meeting to discuss it..."

In the Russian magical world, Lotnikov is not a common surname.

Logically speaking, this surname had already disappeared completely from this land with the end of that verdict five years ago and appeared on the other side of the ocean.

Unless... some goblins were not lying...