In LOTR with Harry Potter system

[Hogwarts Sign-in System: Location identified – Dol Guldur. Would you like to sign in?]

Even before Sauron revealed himself, the magical system stirred within Sylas's mind.

"Sign in," he responded silently, eyes focused.

[Sign-in successful. Congratulations! You have obtained: Advanced Dark Arts!]

A heavy, ancient tome materialized before him, its blackened leather cover etched with sinister runes. As soon as his fingers brushed its surface, knowledge surged into his mind, and Sylas staggered slightly under the weight of it.

He hadn't expected this.

Even amidst a looming confrontation with a Dark Lord, part of him couldn't help but open the book, letting a sliver of his consciousness flip through its forbidden pages.

"Imperius. Cruciatus. Avada Kedavra. Fiendfyre. Horcrux creation…"

Each entry came with chilling clarity, complete with incantations, gestures, theory, and intent.

The deeper he read, the more stunned he became.

This was no ordinary spellbook, it was a compendium of the darkest, most dangerous branches of magical power in the wizarding world. If he could master these... it would transform him completely.

But for now, only one spell mattered: Avada Kedavra.

The Killing Curse. The most feared of the Unforgivable Curses.

Sylas had long known of it, but now, for the first time, he held the full truth: Avada Kedavra required no complex magic circle or wand movement. Only hatred, conviction... and enough power to end a life in a single breath.

Its deadliness came not from ritual, but from emotion. From the caster's malice, will, and raw magical force.

Sylas barely had time to digest this.

Suddenly, an overwhelming surge of dark energy erupted around them, like a tidal wave of despair crashing down from every side.

The air trembled. The stones underfoot groaned. The fortress itself seemed to awaken, pulsing with evil.

"Stand firm!" Gandalf cried.

He slammed his staff into the ground, releasing a radiant shield of Holy Light that enveloped the group. The golden barrier flared, repelling the first wave of darkness, but it quivered under the next, like a soap bubble caught in a storm.

"I'll help you," Radagast called out.

For the first time, the Brown Wizard displayed the full force of his power. He lifted his gnarled staff, and another dome of pure light layered itself atop Gandalf's, two concentric shields holding back the tide of shadow.

Glorfindel raised his hand, channeling his inner radiance. Light born of the Two Trees of Valinor erupted from him, bursting through the gloom. A tear opened in the clouds above, and a ray of sunlight, true, untouched, golden light, poured down upon them.

It washed over the ground, purging corruption where it touched, and held the creeping darkness at bay.

Elrond, calm and composed, stepped forward and began chanting in ancient Quenya. His voice was steady, flowing like wind over water. The air around him stirred, then twisted into a powerful hurricane that ripped through the ruined halls of Dol Guldur.

Dust, webs, and lingering shadows were torn from their hiding places.

Then, Elrond's eyes narrowed.

"He's there," he said coldly, pointing toward the tallest, broken tower, its stone cracked and leaning like a claw scraping the sky.

The hurricane turned sharply, racing towards the tower.

"Confringo!"

Sylas didn't hesitate. He aimed his wand toward the towering ruin and unleashed a powerful Blasting Curse.

The explosion, fueled by both spell and storm, rocked the fortress. The top of the tower shattered in a violent burst of fire and stone, the hurricane pulling the rubble into the wind. For a brief second, the world was filled with thunder and flame.

And then—

From the ruin, a wave of unnatural heat surged forth.

A massive red flame erupted skyward, twisting into a towering vertical eye, impossibly large, glowing like molten steel, and filled with malice. It radiated a scorching heat and a suffocating evil. 

Then came the voice.

"You cannot defeat me. Darkness rises again. Your faint light is but a flicker, lost and alone in endless shadow."

The words weren't spoken in any tongue the living used. They were whispered in Black Speech, yet every soul heard them clearly, in their minds, in their bones. Each word slithered like venom.

From the fiery eye, black shadows spilled forth.

The Nazgûl returned, all nine, reborn in darkness, rising once more around the group. They emerged from the flame as if from death itself, surrounding the companions in a ring of despair.

And then, something worse emerged.

From the vertical pupil of the great eye, a towering figure stepped forth.

He descended, as though willed into form by darkness itself.

The very air recoiled.

The being was immense, draped in jagged armor of shadow and flame, his helm twisted into a cruel crown of black iron. His body was indistinct, shrouded in smoke and hate, yet his presence was overwhelming, like standing before a mountain that despised you.

Sauron.

The power that burst from him slammed into Gandalf and Radagast's Holy Light barrier like a tidal wave. The shield groaned under the weight. Cracks formed in the golden light, and flickers of shadow leaked through like rot in glass.

Above them, the sky blackened completely. Even the tear Glorfindel had opened with his light was sealed shut, swallowed by choking clouds.

Sylas staggered.

A crushing weight pressed against his mind, voices, dozens, hundreds of them, whispering lies, fears, doubts. Promises. They coiled around his thoughts, trying to slip past his will and root themselves in his soul.

"Give in. You cannot win. Join us."

He fell to one knee, gasping.

Then...light.

His owl Patronus shimmered into being beside him, wings spread, feathers glowing silver. Its light pushed the darkness back, clearing a space around him like a breath of fresh air to a drowning man.

Sylas coughed, clutching his chest, and felt something warm.

He reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a folded handkerchief. As he opened it, five strands of hair shimmered softly within, each glowing with silver and gold.

Galadriel's gift.

The hairs of the Lady of Lórien, who once gazed into the light of the Two Trees.

He drew out two strands and, with a wave of his wand, wove them into a bracelet, securing it around his wrist.

The effect was immediate.

A warmth bloomed in his mind, calm, radiant, and firm. The whispers fled. The darkness shrank away. With Galadriel's light upon him, no shadow could cling to his spirit.

He stood tall again, breath steady.

Around him, Gandalf and Radagast stood shoulder to shoulder, reinforcing the barrier. Glorfindel shone like the sun behind them, and Elrond continued his chant, wind roaring through the halls, keeping the Nazgûl at bay.

Sylas's heart steadied.

Had he come alone, or even just with Gandalf, this place would've become their tomb. But with the strength of Elrond, Glorfindel, and Radagast beside them, they had a fighting chance.

And then the voice came again.

"The age of Elves is over. The age of Orcs begins. You are fading... and I will be the victor."

The fiery eye blazed hotter, erupting into flames that scorched the skies. From its center, the monstrous form of Sauron stepped fully into the world of the living.

His form twisted and expanded, smoke and fire wrapped around obsidian armor. Dark tendrils of magic spiraled from him, and the very earth beneath Dol Guldur trembled at his presence.

The moment Sauron stepped forth in his towering, shadow-wreathed form, an icy wave of shock rippled through the group.

"He has a body...he's taken a physical form!" Radagast cried, horror etched across his face. "Is this his true resurrection?"

Elrond shook his head, unwilling to accept what he was seeing. "That should be impossible. Without the One Ring... he cannot return like this."

But Gandalf's voice cut through the confusion, low and grim. "Steady yourselves. He is not fully reborn...not yet. If he were, we would already be dead."

He turned toward the others, "I suspect this power is drawn from another source... Decades ago, Thráin II, last bearer of the Seven Rings of the Dwarves, vanished. He was captured by Orcs and imprisoned here, in Dol Guldur." Gandalf's voice grew tight. "If Sauron stole the Dwarven Rings, he may have tapped their power, just enough to regain this partial form."

The revelation hit like a thunderclap. It wasn't resurrection, it was corruption, siphoning remnants of the Rings of Power to twist himself into existence once more.

Still, the reality before them could not be denied.

The air trembled with his presence. Every step Sauron took through the air darkened the sky further, and his sheer force of will caused the light barrier to contract, flickering with strain.

With a blast like the crashing of a mountain, Sauron raised one hand cloaked in flame and darkness. The light barrier cracked... then shattered.

Gandalf and Radagast were hurled backward, their magic drained, their strength spent.

Sauron hovered in the air, wreathed in fire and shadow.

But from below, a bright light rose to meet him.

"Sauron, servant of Morgoth, your battle is with me!" Glorfindel roared, his voice shining like a trumpet blast over a storm.

Power surged around the reborn Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. His radiant form pushed upward through the darkness, his body enveloped in golden flame, his sword blazing with the light of Valinor.

As one of the few Elves to be sent back from the Halls of Mandos, Glorfindel was no ordinary warrior. He shone with power, pure, ancient, divine. A match for any shadow.

He did not flinch.

He faced Sauron head-on.

Sauron's laughter echoed, slow and cruel, in that dreadful tongue of Mordor.

"Glorfindel... the reborn elf. I wonder, if I destroy you again, will Mandos open his doors once more? Or shall you stay dead this time?"

Without warning, a massive wave of darkness surged from Sauron's form and struck Glorfindel with the force of a thunderstorm.

Glorfindel's body flared with holy light, his sword rising to shield him, but even so, he was driven back. His feet scraped the ground, and the brilliance around him flickered, dimming under the pressure.

Nearby, Elrond fought desperately. The nine Nazgûl, risen again from Sauron's power, pressed in from all sides. He parried and countered with graceful precision, but their number and relentless assault left him unable to break free.

...

Stones PLZzzz

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