RYANTHEGHOST

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 307 - Those Deemed Worthy (IV)

“There are no restrictions regarding age, and I invite all students who have confidence in their magic, and the courage to face what lies ahead, to take their chance. But do so wisely.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled faintly as he let the words linger, sweeping over the sea of students before him. He could already sense the excitement bubbling beneath the surface, ready to spill over the moment he mentioned the lack of age restrictions.

Not one student appeared troubled by caution, as if his last remark had gone completely unheard. That, however, was to be expected, he mused inwardly. After all, what child did not crave glory, and being a champion was a first-class ticket to it.

So he brushed the thoughts aside and went on, not once letting his kind, steady expression waver.

“You will have twenty-four hours to put your names forward. Tomorrow night, on Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the students it deems worthy to represent their schools.”

Finally, with a small nod, he concluded, “The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall this evening and will remain freely accessible to ALL... who wish to compete.”

The moment he returned to his seat, the Great Hall erupted in a shower of excited voices, like sparks leaping from a bonfire, with conversations overlapping as speculation and bold declarations flew freely across the tables.

Some even wanted to put their names forward at once, held back only by the thought of standing alone before the entire hall.

The noise soon swelled toward chaos until Professor McGonagall rose and put an end to it by dismissing the students and instructing the prefects to guide them.

No matter which school they came from, her stern authority proved effective. Even the so-called barbaric bunch from Durmstrang hushed at once at her signal.

Even the most rebellious few could do no more than nod reluctantly and pout, then disperse in twos and threes after their prefects toward their respective house common rooms.

With such a weighty decision hanging over them, the students would need clear minds, and rest seemed the sensible course. That was certainly McGonagall’s thinking. In reality, precisely because of the weight of the decision, there was very little chance anyone would be getting decent sleep that night.

“I’m putting my name in first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Same here. Can you imagine it... both of us getting picked. Two Weasleys as Hogwarts champions. That’d be absolutely brilliant.”

As they crossed the Hall toward the doors leading into the entrance hall, Ron glanced sideways at his brothers, catching the eager glint in their eyes. His mouth twisted as he cut in with contempt. “You don't seriously think the two of you can best the seventh years in magical energy, do you?”

Fred slowed just enough to exchange a look with George, both of them wearing identical expressions of thoughtful consideration.

“You know,” Fred said mildly, “I think our little brother might be asking for something.”

George nodded solemnly. “You’re right. We should probably walk him to his room and give him exactly what he’s asking for.”

They did not look at Ron when they said it, but the gleam in their eyes was enough to make Ron shiver all the same.

“There’s no harm in trying though,” Hermione added, falling into step beside them. “Whether we’re selected or not is entirely up to the enchanted cup.”

Ron opened his mouth again, but Fred leaned closer, grinning. “Did you hear that, Ronny? Even Granger reckons we have a chance.”

Ron snorted, then glanced ahead. “What about you, Harry?”

Harry had slowed without realizing it, his attention clearly elsewhere. Ron nudged him lightly. “Mate... Harry.”

Harry blinked and looked up, pulling himself back into the moment as the group continued on. Around them, Gryffindor students buzzed with the same restless energy, and it was much the same in the other house lines as well.

The castle seemed to hum with anticipation as the delegations from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons also discussed entering their names, while Dumbledore and McGonagall escorted them to the quarters prepared for their stay.

Unlike in the original story, they would not be staying in an enchanted carriage or a magic ship for the duration of their visit, instead resting and sleeping within Hogwarts Castle. Even so, the excitement among their students mirrored that of Hogwarts.

McGonagall might have hoped for a quiet night when she dismissed everyone to bed, but it was clear that sleep would be hard won for most.

Meanwhile, Mavrick returned to his chambers and went straight to bed as well. He lay there staring at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting toward the semester ahead and the subtle arrangements already set in motion behind the scenes.

He had no doubt that Harry would put his name forward. He had suggested it himself, as Harry met every requirement and the goblet would have no trouble acknowledging his magical energy.

In fact, ever since that lingering parasite had been lifted, Harry’s magic had grown stronger, not dramatically so, but enough to place him comfortably on par with most seventh years. Mavrick suspected the boy might even advance from mage apprentice to magus before he graduated, if things continued as they were.

The real question was who else would step forward. In the original course of events, Cedric Diggory had been the clear choice, and his magical energy certainly met the requirements.

Still, there were a handful of other seventh years whose reserves scraped past the bare minimum as well. As for Granger and Weasley, they were skilled, even exceptionally so, but unfortunately skill alone did not bridge the gap. Their magical energy fell just short of the standard.

Then Mavrick’s eyes opened slightly as another name surfaced in his thoughts.

Jean.

Her magical energy surpassed that of any student in the castle, and in another year or so, she would undoubtedly reach the rank of magus officially.

Would she submit her name? Should I advise her against it?

The thoughts lingered for a moment before he dismissed them, realizing he was worrying over nothing. In any case, even if she did, it would simply introduce a small change to the broader plan and would make no real difference.

He turned onto his side and closed his eyes once more. The castle would be lively tonight, of that he was certain. Some students would surely sneak out to place their names in the goblet before morning, and fortunately for them, Dumbledore had already instructed Filch to ignore any movement for the night.

Maverick chuckled softly at the thought, and with that, he allowed sleep to claim him. When sleep came, nothing weighed on his mind.

As the next day was Saturday, most students would normally have slept in and taken breakfast late. Today, however, was anything but normal.

By early morning, students were already gathered in an excited hubbub, clustering around the center of the Great Hall. There, a circle of fine golden threads shimmered on the stone floor, and at its heart stood the Goblet of Fire, perched atop its pedestal.

When Maverick sat down for breakfast, he saw that a dozen or so students were already milling around the circle, some examining the enchanted cup with open fascination, while others ate toast as they did so, unwilling to leave even for a proper meal.

“So how many have put their names forward so far?” he asked quietly, filling his plate with bread and cut fruit.

“Let me see… Adrian was the first. The Slytherin boy,” Flitwick said thoughtfully. “A few more older witches. Angelina, Katie.” He paused and glanced sideways. “Your boy put his name in too, Amos.”

“Well, I’d be surprised if he didn’t,” Amos Diggory said with a proud smile.

As the morning wore on, the small crowd quickly grew into a long queue. One by one, students stepped forward to submit their names, including many first-years who, judging by their expressions, looked remarkably confident as they did so.

Each time a name was cast in, the goblet’s blue-white flames licked at the parchment and flared brighter, briefly turning red as tiny sparks burst outward. The process continued steadily throughout the day, the line never truly thinning.

What Maverick had pondered the night before soon came to pass as well when he spotted the little redhead, along with another identical redhead, stepping forward to take their chance — Jean and Ginny.

The trio followed not long after, all three of them submitting their names. By the end of the day, it seemed that at least half of Hogwarts had tried their luck, which said a great deal about the tournament’s appeal.

Among the visiting schools, every student from both delegations submitted their names as well, apparently having discussed it beforehand.

Regardless, only two would ultimately be chosen from each school, but the more names the goblet spat out, the greater the headache it promised for those tasked with the final decision. Even thinking about it left Maverick with a dull ache behind his eyes.

Time dragged on until evening arrived.

At the Halloween feast, the students displayed unusually hearty appetites, eating with nervous energy as anticipation hung thick in the air.

At the professors’ table, Maverick finished the last spoonful of seafood soup in his bowl and paused. His gaze drifted across the Great Hall, taking in the hundreds of glowing pumpkin lanterns lining the corners and the bats fluttering beneath the enchanted ceiling, occasionally swooping low over the restless young witches and wizards below.

When most of the plates had been cleared and excitement gleamed openly in the students’ eyes, Dumbledore finally rose to his feet.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 306 - Those Deemed Worthy (III)

The Great Hall seemed somehow far more crowded than usual, even though there were only just thirty or so additional students present. Or perhaps it was because their differently colored uniforms that stood out so sharply against the sea of black Hogwarts robes.

The students of Durmstrang also drew attention once they had shed their heavy furs, revealing robes of a deep, blood red that contrasted starkly with the rest of the hall.

The staff table still had a couple of empty seats when the feast began, though it was not long before they were filled. Two representatives from the British Ministry of Magic arrived first, and Hagrid followed a full half hour into the feast, the last of the Hogwarts staff to take his place.

He entered through a door behind the staff table rather than the tall oak doors at the front and, instead of sitting at once, went cheerfully toward the center of the table, clearly having been occupied with other tasks and arriving with something to report.

“All sorted,” he said in a low, excited voice as he came to a stop behind Dumbledore and Maxime, his eyes darting between the two while he puffed out his chest and straightened his coat.

“Thank you, Mr. Hagrid,” Maxime said, offering him a gracious nod. “Albus has spoken very highly of your remarkable way with magical creatures. I trust there were no… difficulties?”

“Oh, none at all, yer ladyness,” the big man’s cheeks flushed visibly. “They was right calm, really. Didn’ give me a spot o’ trouble. Took care o’ the fellas meself. Settled in proper, they are. Got loads o’ space and a right good feed. Beautiful creatures, truly.”

“Olympe, please, Mr. Hagrid,” she corrected him lightly.

Hagrid fidgeted visibly, as if he was fascinated by the floor. “Er… yes. Olympe. I, er… beg yer pardon.”

A brief, awkward pause followed, lingering until Dumbledore cleared his throat, his eyes twinkling with an unreadable expression. That, however, could wait. He smiled and glanced over his shoulder.

“Thank you, Hagrid. Please, take your seat and join us for this occasion.”

The half giant nodded vigorously, beaming like a child and made his way to the far end of the table and slipped into his seat.

Watching the small exchange from the corner of his eye, Maverick could have sworn starlight flickered in Hagrid’s eyes just then, as though the big guy had just laid eyes on something more precious than anything else in the world.

Could it be that… just like in the original story? He mused, taking a few slow bites and glancing briefly sideways at the woman beside him. I mean, who could blame him? Those majestic… cough, cough.

“Hmm, little raven, is the food not to your liking?”

“No… and could you please stop calling me that?” he sighed.

Anyway, should I be a wingman? Give the guy a hand?

Another half hour later, as the golden plates were gradually wiped clean and students leaned back in their chairs, Dumbledore rose once more and moved to the podium.

A pleasant tension settled over the Hall, and a ripple of excitement passed through the students, their eyes fixed on the headmaster, eager for what was to come next.

“The moment has come.”

Dumbledore’s voice carried effortlessly through the Great Hall, warm and resonant, reaching even the farthest corners as he smiled at the sea of upturned faces before him.

“I suspect you have all been waiting for this with no small amount of impatience,” he continued mildly. “If it offers any comfort, I can assure you that I share your anticipation.”

A ripple of quiet amusement moved through the students. Dumbledore allowed it to settle before lifting a hand toward the staff table behind him.

“However, before we address the main purpose of this evening, I must first draw your attention to two very important guests who, without their tireless efforts over the past several months, would have made this momentous tournament considerably more difficult to organize.”

At his gesture, heads turned toward the two wizards seated together, their matching attire setting them apart.

“Allow me to introduce Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour,” Dumbledore said, his tone respectful. “Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the British Ministry of Magic, and also serving as Acting Foreign Secretary for International Magical Cooperation.”

Scrimgeour was not a man for theatrics. He simply rose, inclined his head briefly toward the students once, lifted his hand in a precise, almost military gesture, and sat down again without ceremony.

“And beside him,” Dumbledore went on, his expression lightening just a touch, “is Mr. Amos Diggory, recently appointed Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

He turned slightly as he spoke, one eyebrow lifting. “It is thanks to Mr. Diggory and the collective efforts of his department that the competitive structure of this tournament has been finalized, with an emphasis on both fairness and, I trust, a suitable level of excitement.”

Diggory reacted very differently. He sprang to his feet with an audible rush of robes, grinning broadly as he waved with such enthusiasm that his arm described a wide arc through the air. A few students laughed outright.

Dumbledore was the first to applaud, his hands coming together in a gentle, unhurried rhythm. Then a moment later, a round of applause spread through the Hall, uneven at first before gathering strength.

“Diggory?” a voice muttered from the Slytherin table. “Isn’t he that pretty boy’s father?”

And over at the Hufflepuff table, the pretty boy in question found himself shoved lightly in the shoulder by grinning friends.

“Oi,” one of them said. “Since when did your dad nick Bagman’s job?”

“About time, if you ask me,” another added. “Everyone knows Bagman was crooked from the inside out.”

A third leaned in, lowering his voice theatrically. “So… does that mean your dad knows all the secrets of the tournament?”

Cedric shook his head, his smile fading as all eyes turned to him. “He doesn’t tell me anything,” he said quietly. Then, with a small sigh, he added, “I’m just as much in the dark as the rest of you.”

The badgers all groaned in disappointment, though a few laughed and clapped him on the back all the same.

The applause faded just as quickly, and the crowd’s interest turned once again from the introductions to what was yet to come. Several students leaned forward in their seats. Others adjusted their robes or held their breath without even realizing it.

When the noise had completely subsided, Dumbledore spoke again. “As for judging the performance of the candidates, Mr. Scrimgeour of the Ministry of Magic will serve in a neutral capacity. Alongside him, I will act as Hogwarts’ representative, together with Headmistress Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff, forming the judging panel for this year’s tournament.”

His gaze passed slowly along the staff table as he lowered his hands. “Each task will be evaluated jointly by us, and every performance by the champions will be carefully judged.”

At the word champions, the Hall seemed to grow even quieter, and a small smile touched the old wizard’s lips.

“The casket, if you please, Mr. Filch.”

Filch, who had been sitting unnoticed at the far end of the staff table, rose with surprising eagerness and hurried forward. He crossed to the inner corner of the platform before approaching Dumbledore, clutching a large wooden chest encrusted with jewels.

The chest looked ancient and mysterious at first glance, and a murmur of excitement spread through the students. A few of the smaller first years stood on their chairs to get a better look, though they gained very little height for their efforts.

“The tasks the champions will face this year,” Dumbledore said as Filch set the chest carefully on the table, “have been decided by the three school heads in consultation with representatives of the Ministry of Magic.”

He rested his hands lightly on the lid.

“There will be three tasks, spread across the school year. They will test the champions in a variety of ways. Their magical ability. Their courage. Their powers of reasoning. And, naturally, their capacity to face danger.”

The silence that followed was so complete that it felt deliberate.
“Those of you familiar with the history of the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “will know that in previous years, a single champion was selected from each school. This year, that tradition will not be followed.”

He paused, allowing the words to settle. “After much discussion and careful consideration, we have agreed upon several changes to the rules. Chief among them is this. Each school will put forward not one, but two champions.”

A wave of humming excitement rippled through the Hall at the announcement, then settled when Dumbledore raised his hand.

“These champions will be assessed on their performance in each task,” Dumbledore said calmly. “Their scores will be combined, and the school with the highest total after the third task will be awarded the Triwizard Cup.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though anticipating a question. “You may be wondering whether victory, in that case, belongs to the individual or the school...”

The Hall remained silent, though from their expressions it was clear the students were barely holding back their questions. Dumbledore did not let the tension linger for long.

“In fact,” he said pleasantly, “both will be recognized. Two titles will be awarded. To keep matters as uncomplicated as possible, there will be a Champion School, determined by the combined score, and a Champion Individual, awarded to the student who achieves the highest total overall.”

He turned back to the chest. “The champions,” Dumbledore said thoughtfully, “will be selected by an impartial judge.”

He let the words linger. Then, with deliberate care, he drew the Elder Wand and tapped the lid of the casket three times. The wood groaned softly as it opened, and Dumbledore reached inside to lift out a roughly carved wooden goblet, about a handspan tall and wide enough to be held easily in both hands.

It was plain in form, almost crude, yet filled to the brim with dancing blue white flames that cast shifting light across the Hall.

“I present to you,” he said quietly, holding it aloft, “the Goblet... of Fire.”

He lowered it again, closed the chest, and placed the goblet carefully on top, where it stood clearly visible from every seat in the Hall.

“This year,” the old wizard continued, his hands resting lightly on the edges of the podium, “it is not only the tournament’s structure and rules that have been adjusted. The goblet itself has also undergone certain... refinements.”

A hint of satisfaction touched his expression. “It was already a remarkable magical artifact, designed to recognize and select the most worthy candidates. And now, with the assistance of the esteemed alchemist Nicolas Flamel, we have enhanced its capabilities even further. I dare say it is rather more discerning than before and considerably more resistant to…”

He narrowed his eyes briefly before adding, “interference.”

Students exchanged excited looks, and a similar reaction played out at the staff table, though only a few understood the hidden meaning behind those words.

“The goblet has one primary purpose,” Dumbledore went on, his gaze sweeping the Hall. “It will assess magical energy and intent. Should it select more than two candidates from any one school, the responsibility of choosing which students will compete will fall to that school’s leadership.”

He inclined his head slightly toward the staff table. “In the case of Hogwarts, that decision will rest with Professor McGonagall and Professor Caesar, should such a situation arise.”

At the sound of his name, several students turned at once. Maverick glanced back as well, offering a small smile and a brief nod. This much had already been discussed privately, and more besides, a lot more, though that was a matter for another time.

Dumbledore returned his attention to the Hall. “Any student wishing to put themselves forward as a champion must write their name and their school upon a slip of parchment and place it into the goblet,” he said evenly. “After which, I ask that you wait a brief moment for its response. Allow me to demonstrate.”

As he spoke, Dumbledore reached into his robes and withdrew a small piece of parchment. Under the watchful gaze of the Hall, he dropped it lightly into the mouth of the goblet.

A breath later, a narrow tongue of blue flame leapt upward, flaring for the briefest instant before settling once more into its steady, enchanted glow.

“The purpose of this reaction,” Dumbledore continued, “is simply for the goblet to assess your magical energy. If one does not wait for this response, the name will not be accepted.”

He glanced out over the students, eyes twinkling.

“And before you ask, the goblet’s reaction will be the same for everyone, just as you have seen. I therefore advise you not to take it as an indication that you have been selected as a champion.”

“There are no restrictions regarding age, and I invite all students who have confidence in their magic, and the courage to face what lies ahead, to take their chance.”

His eyes twinkled faintly as he added, “But do so wisely.”

He looked out over the students, his expression kind but steady. “You will have twenty four hours to do so. Tomorrow night, on Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the students it judges most worthy to represent their schools.”

With a small nod, he concluded, “The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall this evening and will remain freely accessible to all... who wish to compete.”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 305 - Those Deemed Worthy (II)

Outside Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, night was steadily falling, and a chilly wind swept across the grounds. The sky still held the last traces of sunset, with crimson clouds drifting lazily beneath a full moon that glowed high above the Forbidden Forest.

Beneath the fading sky, the occupants of the castle gathered on the broad field before it, waiting to welcome the delegations. At the very front stood Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster, with his staff flanking him on both sides to form a composed front line, while the students gathered behind.

The prefects of each house paced the rows of gathered students, quietly urging the witches and wizards of their respective houses into orderly lines, though the constant hum of chatter and restless movement suggested otherwise.

The enthusiasm filling the air was simply too much to contain, and at some point, even the stern Deputy Headmistress appeared to concede defeat, leaving the students behind to stand with her colleagues instead.

The wait wasn’t long, and just minutes after the assembly had settled, everyone’s attention was drawn toward the horizon. Those most sensitive to magic lifted their heads first, as if reacting to an unseen signal in the air. The professors followed suit soon after, and moments later the assembled students caught on and did the same. Before long, the gaze of the entire assembly had turned skyward, where they finally glimpsed the source of their shared focus.

High above the ancient Forbidden Forest, where towering pines swayed gently in the autumn breeze, a mysterious black speck had appeared against the vast sky.

The gathered students watched in shared astonishment as the object moved with astonishing speed, its size doubling and redoubling with each passing moment. What began as a distant dot became a blur, then a growing shadow that cut through the air with surprising grace despite its increasing mass.

“What in Merlin’s name is that?” voices cried out from the crowd, excitement coloring every word as students speculated wildly with wide eyes and flushed faces.

“I think it’s a flying carpet...”

Imaginations ran rampant, with some agreeing eagerly while others argued just as passionately. Hermione, standing among the Gryffindors, struggled to restrain herself as several particularly outrageous guesses were voiced right beside her.

Under normal circumstances, she would have launched into a thorough explanation of the illegality of flying carpets in British magical airspace, complete with precise Ministry regulations. The sheer spectacle of the moment, however, suppressed even her usual impulses, leaving her uncharacteristically silent.

All eyes tracked the enormous object as it carved through the deepening blue sky, its approach marked by an increasingly audible whistle. Low murmurs spread through the crowd as the mysterious shape gradually revealed itself while soaring over Hagrid’s hut, and a wave of astonishment rippled through the onlookers.

Suspended high in the air drifted a massive powder blue carriage, drawn by a dozen magnificent winged horses. Each was a pure Abraxan, pale-coated like palominos, though each stood almost as large as an elephant.

The landing was no less spectacular. To counter the tremendous momentum built up during its flight, the colossal carriage struck the ground with a thunderous impact that sent tremors rippling through the earth beneath their feet.

Moments after it settled, the carriage door swung open and a boy dressed in light blue robes leapt down. Soon after, a spiral staircase unfolded from the carriage’s side in a precise sequence of enchanted movements, drawing another wave of awe from the assembled crowd.

With deliberate steps, the next figure to emerge was an exaggeratedly tall woman whose elegance carried quiet authority. She wore a modern, tailored pale blue dress with a long matching coat draped over her shoulders. A dozen witches and wizards followed in matching light blue uniforms, descending in disciplined order and forming up behind her.

Their grace immediately drew another chorus of astonished murmurs, filling the air around them. There was not a single soul in the magical world who would not recognize the tall woman, and still it was perhaps her height, or her striking appearance, undeniably a feast for the eyes, that managed to capture everyone’s attention.

“I’d give it five… out of ten... our entrance back then was a lot cooler, don’t you think, Professor?”

“This is not a competition over who has the most flamboyant entrance, Maverick,” McGonagall whispered back to him, inclining her head slightly toward him, although the faint smirk forming on her lips suggested otherwise. Indeed, when Hogwarts had made their presence known in front of the French school, it had been, as Maverick said, cooler.

Meanwhile, Albus Dumbledore stepped forward to greet his counterpart, the dean of Beauxbatons School of Magic, offering a slight bow before pressing a courteous kiss to her hand and drawing her into a brief hug. To the onlookers, the gesture appeared faintly comical, as he did not even reach her shoulders and looked almost like a child embracing an adult.

Polite but enthusiastic applause then followed from the Hogwarts side, led by the professors. The tall woman’s expression softened into a gracious smile, and she stepped forward to greet the rest of the professors, then briefly introduced her students to the Hogwarts side.

A number of Beauxbatons students clearly recognized faces among the Hogwarts crowd and quickly fell into conversation, smiles and quiet exchanges spreading between the two groups as the adults spoke among themselves.

“You are the first school to arrive. Would you care to wait here for Karkaroff, or would you prefer to step inside the castle and warm yourselves first?” Dumbledore asked Maxime once the formalities had concluded.

“No rush,” she said with a smile, then glanced toward the large lake as a faint smile played on her lips. “They’re already here.”

Following her gaze, Dumbledore and Maverick also looked toward the lake, though they had yet to detect anything. Goes to show that, at least in magical sense, she outpaced them, even among equals. But the wait wasn’t long, and just a few heartbeats later, they also caught the disturbance she was referring to.

---

The arrival of the Durmstrang delegation was just as spectacular as that of Beauxbatons, though in an entirely different way.

“How in Merlin’s name did it survive underwater?” students exclaimed in open amazement as an enormous, magnificent ship rose from the depths of the Black Lake. Bathed in moonlight, it looked almost ethereal, like a ghost ship pulled straight from old maritime legends. Its polished wooden hull gleamed with moisture, while dozens of portholes cast a warm, golden glow across the rippling surface of the lake.

The ship drifted slowly toward the shore before coming to a halt. With a low, solid thud, a wide wooden plank extended from the deck to the lakeside. Unlike Beauxbatons, whose arrival had been marked by grace and elegance, the Durmstrang students disembarked with a rigid, almost military precision.

Leading them was Igor Karkaroff, the headmaster of Durmstrang. He was thin, with short white hair, a stern face, a small curly goatee on his lean chin, and cold eyes that carried a sharp glint.

Behind him stood the students of his school, some of them old acquaintances of Hogwarts, like Viktor Krum, who stood at the center leading the group. Each Durmstrang student was wrapped in thick, heavy cloaks made from rough, matted fur, garments that looked both warm and faintly wild in nature.

“Albus, Olympe…” the man called out with exaggerated warmth, his voice carrying clearly across the grounds as he approached the steps where Dumbledore and Maxime waited.

“I hope I didn’t make you wait long…”

“You’re just on time, Headmaster Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied with warmth, his bright blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles as he offered a welcoming smile. Though the man was magically a full rank below him, he was still the headmaster of one of the most prestigious magical schools in the world, and proper formalities had to be observed, especially with students watching.

Just like the French school before them, the students of Durmstrang were not strangers to the Hogwarts side either, and it did not take long before familiar faces were spotted and quiet exchanges began to pass between the groups. Old acquaintances resurfaced easily, brief nods turning into murmured greetings as the tension of arrival gradually gave way to a more relaxed curiosity.

Soon enough, the migration into the Great Hall began, unfolding in a state of controlled chaos as the heads of house moved among the students, guiding them inside while keeping some semblance of order.

The two visiting delegations followed closely, and once within the hall, it quickly became clear that the seating arrangements had not been divided by school. Instead, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students filtered naturally into the four long House tables, conversations pausing and resuming as chairs were shifted and places adjusted, until at last everyone settled.

The two deans also settled in at the teachers’ table, each taking a place beside the Hogwarts headmaster. Maverick found himself seated next to Olympe Maxime, while McGonagall took the seat beside Igor Karkaroff on the other side, the remaining professors spreading themselves evenly along the length of the table.

As the final benches scraped into place, the Great Hall filled with a low, constant buzz, voices overlapping in excited murmurs that echoed softly off the enchanted ceiling above.

“I heard you caused quite a stir at the World Cup finals, little raven.” Olympe Maxime did not look at Maverick as she spoke, her gaze resting instead on the sea of students ahead of her. A faint smile touched her lips as she leaned back slightly in her chair. “I paid a visit to the woman a few days later. You left quite the impression on her, I must say.”

Maverick’s fingers paused against the stem of his goblet before he glanced sideways at her. “You mean Vinda Rosier?”

The tall woman hummed softly in confirmation, her head dipping a fraction. After a moment, she tilted it again, studying him from the corner of her eye. “What method did you use to break her so thoroughly?” she asked, her tone curious rather than accusatory.

“Don’t talk nonsense. I did not torture her,” Maverick replied quietly. “She broke simply because she realized, like anyone would, that her little plan was doomed to fail.”

“Hmm, speaking of…” the tall woman said lightly. “Care to share with me what you found out? You know, Rosier is known for her calculating nature… and is certainly not the sort to turn into a mindless fanatic terrorising people without reason.”

“Is it possible your assessment of her is wrong?” Maverick asked in return, but the woman answered only with a raised brow and a faint smirk, clearly unconvinced.

Maverick exhaled in resignation. “Fine,” he said quietly. “It’s a long story though…”

Sooner or later, he would have to share everything with her as well. Leaving her out of the loop would only turn her into a variable, and she was not just some random mage he could ignore and assume it would make no difference. Anyways, if there was one thing he was confident about with this woman, it was that she would not oppose his plan.

“I’ll explain everything later,” he continued, lowering his voice. “With the Headmaster present. There is more tied to this than you might think. But first, let’s get through the ceremony.”

“Oh?” Maxime’s smile sharpened as she finally turned her head to look at him fully. “So mysterious,” she added teasingly.


Meanwhile, amid the noise of the Great Hall, Dumbledore stepped to the front of the professors’ table where a podium awaited him, and his voice soon carried to every corner despite its gentle tone. Maverick and Maxime also let their conversation drop and turned their attention to the old wizard.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and most particularly our distinguished guests,” he announced, his face alight with genuine pleasure as his gaze swept across the hall, lingering warmly on the visiting students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

He paused briefly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Please, eat and drink to your heart’s content, just as you would in your own home.”

With that, Dumbledore declared the dinner officially begun, and at once the long tables of the four Houses filled with an astonishing spread of food. Hogwarts’ house elves had clearly spared no effort, preparing a lavish assortment of dishes drawn from across the magical world to welcome witches and wizards from two very different communities.

French onion soup and rich fish stews, unmistakably Beauxbatons in character, eased the expressions of the French students as familiar scents reached them. Across the tables, pickled herring, Finnish meatballs, and creamy potatoes from the north brought a welcome taste of home to the Durmstrang delegation, who regarded the dishes with quiet approval.

As plates were filled and conversations resumed, the warmth of the hall and the abundance of food slowly worked their magic. The lingering tension that had clung to the newly arrived students melted away seamlessly, replaced by laughter, shared glances, and the simple pleasure of a meal enjoyed together.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 304 - Those Deemed Worthy (I)

The ancient stone corridors of Hogwarts Castle, silent and still throughout the summer months, burst back into life with excited chatter and hurried footsteps as students returned in droves.

After indulging in the comforts of the summer vacation, young witches and wizards were eager to reconnect with friends and exchange tales of their adventures, but many also found themselves struggling to readjust to early mornings and the return of rigid schedules.

As such, the first few weeks, as in every other year, quickly became notorious for a sudden surge in lateness. Panicked faces, flushed with exertion and anxiety, became a familiar sight as students burst into classrooms, gasping out breathless apologies to stern-faced professors who had seen the same scene play out countless times before.

For wide-eyed first-year students newly arrived at Hogwarts, the challenge was even greater. The enormous castle transformed into a labyrinth of confusion and wonder, and lost amid shifting staircases and endless hallways, they wandered in small, uncertain groups. Their young faces reflected equal parts awe and dismay as they tried to navigate their way to classrooms hidden somewhere within the chaos.

For the older students, however, the familiar routine of classroom to classroom, then to the Great Hall for meals, and finally back to their common rooms quickly settled in within just a few days.

The only notable difference was perhaps Defence Against the Dark Arts, though then again, that subject was almost always a new experience every year. This time, however, it proved particularly interesting, as their new professor turned out to be far more no-nonsense than anyone had expected.

Unlike most previous years, excluding perhaps the immediate last one, the students were actually learning something of substance. Instead of memorizing hollow theories, they were taught real defensive magic and practical combat skills.

Professor Alastor Moody had discarded the textbooks from the very first day and chose to teach directly from his own experiences as a veteran Auror, rather than following a rigid syllabus.

Of course, he did not completely neglect academic foundations. Having once been a student at Hogwarts himself, and remembering what was typically expected at each year level, Moody constructed his lessons with care.

Even in the original story, the counterfeit Moody’s lessons were notably unique, and here it was much the same. Although he did not begin by introducing the students directly to the three Unforgivable Curses, the material was still gripping in its own right. Suffice to say, the students became invested very quickly.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes of the everyday routines unfolding throughout the school, the castle itself was undergoing a great change during that time as well. Long-neglected corners were quietly restored as suits of armor were polished to a dull gleam, tapestries were mended thread by thread, and enchanted brooms glided through empty corridors at odd hours, sweeping away months of settled dust.

House-elves worked tirelessly in places rarely seen by students, scrubbing stone floors until they shone and coaxing life back into aging wood with careful magic. Staircases were realigned, torches burned brighter, and classrooms were subtly refreshed, all without ever disrupting the steady rhythm of lessons, meals, and common room gatherings.

To the students, Hogwarts felt much the same at first, though gradually they also began to notice that the ancient castle was quietly renewing itself.

It doesn't take a genius to guess why, after all, the school would soon be welcoming and hosting guests for the remainder of the year. And although they were long accustomed to the usual dusty corners scattered throughout the castle, the sight of a cleaner Hogwarts was certainly a welcome change.

The transformations caused no real disturbance, aside from a few occasional murmurs. Days passed, at least on the surface, without much fanfare, and life at the school continued on as it always had.

---

Time, like a wandering meteor slipping unnoticed through space, had passed without warning, and before anyone truly realized it, two months had vanished in the blink of an eye.

As the sun rose on yet another day, Mavrick slept on until he woke naturally. Soft morning light filtered through the enchanted windows of his quarters, easing him from slumber rather than tearing him from it.

There was no mad rush to dress, no frantic scramble to reach breakfast on time, and instead he stretched languidly, savoring the rare calm of what had so far been a peaceful new year.

So far, at least.

The crisp autumn air of late October had settled over Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, bringing with it an electric sense of anticipation that had not been felt within the castle walls for a while now. The mood was reminiscent of the first interschool Quidditch competition when Hogwarts had hosted and welcomed delegations from foreign schools, and this time it felt even more exciting.

Perhaps it was because this was not purely a sports event. After all, while Quidditch was the most popular sport in the wizarding world, not everyone would be head over heels for just flying brooms and goalposts.

The Triwizard Tournament, on the other hand, was something far beyond a simple sport. It was a legendary event steeped in danger and prestige, where magic itself was pushed to its limits and champions were tested in ways no ordinary sport could ever hope to match.

And so, from devoted Quidditch fans to those who rarely spared the sport a glance, nearly all the students buzzed with excitement for the day. Even the professors, many of whom had spent decades teaching at Hogwarts, found themselves swept up in the growing anticipation.

With the coming occasion drawing near, aside from the castle as a whole feeling noticeably cleaner, subtle yet unmistakable changes began to manifest among the students as well.

The most apparent transformation could be seen in the demeanor and appearance of their female classmates, though it was by no means limited to them. Even the male students, particularly those in the upper years, were not immune to the change.

Where once simple hair ties and practical styles had been sufficient, now elaborate braids, enchanted hair accessories, and meticulously crafted hairstyles adorned many of the upper-year witches throughout the school.

Likewise, the older wizards could be spotted paying far more attention to their appearance than usual, with neatly styled hair, freshly pressed robes, and an unspoken effort to appear more confident and composed than they truly felt.

The professors, too, seemed to have undergone a transformation of their own, delivering their lessons with renewed vigor and passion, as though wary of the scrutiny that might come from visiting students, a prospect that would have been deeply embarrassing indeed.

After a pleasant shower and an unhurried breakfast, Maverick made his way to his first class of the day. Throughout the lesson, the mounting excitement was evident among the students, with nearly all of them, including those usually focused, struggling to keep their attention on the material.

He could hardly blame them. Letting out a wry exhale, he chose not to press the lesson too hard that day and instead allowed the students some breathing room. And much like his own class, attention was lacking elsewhere as well, with thoughts drifting endlessly toward the arrival of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students that evening.

Even the normally dreaded Potions class felt less oppressive than usual, as though the anticipation of the coming celebrations had softened even Snape’s brooding demeanor.

And when the final bell of the afternoon classes finally rang, its sound triggered an immediate flurry of activity throughout the castle. Students were seen practically sprinting as they hastily dropped off their bags and books in their dormitories, donned their cloaks against the evening chill, and then hurried back down the staircases to join the growing crowd in the entrance hall.

There, the students lined up in neat rows before leaving the hall under the guidance of their respective heads of house, making their way toward the open grounds in front of the castle.

The cold wind of late October did nothing to dampen their enthusiasm. Excited chatter rippled through the crowd, blending talk of handsome boys and beautiful witches from other schools with wild guesses about how the visiting delegations might arrive.

Speculation, laughter, and hurried whispers overlapped in every direction, and even the sharp reprimands of the prefects proved useless in quieting the restless excitement.

Hearing McGonagall reprimand one of her house’s students for what felt like the nth time, Maverick, who stood with Dumbledore a short distance away, could not help but let out a quiet chuckle.

“She really is thorough to the core,” he murmured. “An out-and-out professor, through and through.”

Dumbledore nodded, a soft chuckle escaping him as well, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. “Indeed. Were the school ever left in her capable hands, I would have not a single worry to trouble my mind.”

At those words, Maverick turned slightly, one brow lifting in mild surprise. Before he could comment, however, the old wizard continued.

“Ah, do not misunderstand me, Maverick,” Dumbledore said gently. “I have no intention of retiring anytime soon. I am merely speaking from the heart. Hogwarts is my home, and knowing it could be entrusted to someone like Minerva brings me great comfor—”

He paused then, his gaze drifting toward the Great Lake, then lifting to the sky, half filled with the crimson clouds of sunset, as his eyes gleamed faintly and a knowing smile curved his lips.

“It seems,” he added softly, “our guests have arrived.”

By now, the entire staff had assembled in an impressive line behind the students, their formal robes and solemn expressions lending the occasion a sense of gravity.

Even the old caretaker Filch had dressed for the event, sporting a trimmed beard, polished boots, and what could almost be called a properly ironed outfit. Presentable, at least by Filch’s standards.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 303 - Another Year in Motion (IV)

“I always had a feeling you monster of a kid must have had some grand conspiracy cooking,” Moody growled, his prosthetic eye wandering as though it had a mind of its own, sliding between the two seated across from him and the pair flanking him on either side, fixing them in turn like nails driven through flesh, “but never did I think you were this much of a madman.”

Atop the heavy oak desk, five cups of steaming hot tea sat carefully arranged, their faint spirals of steam lifting into the tension that filled the room. The Headmaster’s office felt unusually confined, crowded not by bodies but by intent, and the council assembled there kept their voices low despite wards laid thick enough to suffocate any secret long before it reached the walls.

“You are not the first to call me mad, Mad Eye,” Mavrick replied, lifting one shoulder in a careless shrug as he reached for his cup, “but here we are all the same, and every person in this room stands in agreement with my goal.”

“I do not recall ever calling you mad, Professor Caesar,” Flitwick said lightly, his feet dangling as he leaned back, a small chuckle escaping him as his eyes gleamed with amusement.

“Please, we all thought it at first,” McGonagall cut in, removing her spectacles and cleaning them with deliberate care, her lips curving into a smile that did not quite reach her eyes, “and I still do, by the way.”

Dumbledore joined them with a soft laugh as well, fingers steepled atop the desk, his serenity strikingly out of place given the subject at hand.

Their casual demeanor set Moody’s brow twitching, then twitching again, his grip tightening on the arm of his chair as he looked from one to the next, all four of them speaking with the ease of staffroom chatter instead of conspirators standing on the edge of turning the wizarding world upside down.

“You know what,” he said finally, his voice rough and worn, “let me rephrase that. You are all mad.” He paused, exhaling through his nose as his hand rose in a tired, dismissive gesture. “Whatever. Now that you have laid all of this out, I suppose falling in line is my only real option.”

“Oh,” Mavrick said, raising his cup and taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving the veteran Auror, “so easily decided?”

“Do I have a choice?” Moody leaned back. “At the very least, I know I am not walking out of this office without you lot doing something to my memories.”

“That depends,” Mavrick replied smoothly, setting his cup down. “Do you want us to?”

“Stop that,” McGonagall snapped, her eyes rolling. “For Merlin’s sake, you are making it sound like we are some dark band of evil wizards.”

Easy for you to say, woman. I am the one pinned here by the most powerful wizard alive and an equally monstrous kid, with the pair of you hemming me in from both sides. Naturally, he didn’t say it aloud, striving to keep his expression impassive while the corner of his mouth twitched despite his efforts.

“Fine,” he said after a moment, straightening. “Let’s say I side with you. I have more than a few points about this whole operation that I want clarified.”

“Please,” Dumbledore said, gesturing with one hand. “I would be far more worried if you did not, Alastor.”

“For starters,” Moody said, turning his gaze toward Mavrick, “this double agent of yours. Lucius Malfoy. How much trust do you actually place in him, enough to be certain he will not betray you?”

“None at all,” Mavrick answered without hesitation. “But I trust my magic, and I trust that he will not believe Riddle will emerge victorious against it.”

“So you have him blackmailed.”

“I have made him realize that his survival, and that of his family, depends entirely on siding with me.”

Moody’s brows furrowed for a moment, after which he let the matter drop with a short grunt. “And the other spy,” he continued, turning to Dumbledore. “Should he not be joining this particular discussion?”

“He has his own arrangements,” Dumbledore replied calmly. “Severus... he knows nothing of the grander plan.”

“And he will not,” Mavrick added. “I have no intention of involving him in any of my operations.”

“Why,” Moody asked, eye narrowing, “if you do not mind me asking?”

“For no reason other than the fact that he is incapable of rational thinking.”

“You really do not like Professor Snape, do you, Mavrick,” Flitwick said with a chuckle.

“Severus has his flaws,” Dumbledore began, as though ready to defend the man, though Mavrick cut in without hesitation.

“The man has the emotional control of a teenager, Headmaster. You cannot convince me otherwise.”

“Enough,” McGonagall said sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose before looking back at Moody. “Please, Alastor, are there any other matters you wish to clarify?”

“There is one last thing,” Moody replied, glancing briefly at McGonagall before fixing his gaze once more on Mavrick and Dumbledore. “The bait. How certain are you that that lunatic will fall for it?”

Mavrick nodded, unsurprised, leaning back as a slow smile tugged at his lips. “Let’s just say he has no other choice. We have cut off every alternative, even planted an insider he will be forced to trust, and monitor his every move. There's really little he can do except dance on the strings we provide.”

“What Professor Caesar means,” Dumbledore added gently, “is that if Lord Voldemort wishes to return, and there is nothing he desires more, then he must take that bait.”

Paired with everything he had heard earlier about the web of arrangements woven into place, and if even a fraction of it proved true, Moody had no doubt it would unfold exactly as described. He let out a weary sigh. “Merlin... I almost feel sorry for that fellow...”

Rubbing a hand over his face, he added, “You know, I never thought I would see the day when you, of all people, orchestrated something like this, Dumbledore.”

“It is for the great... for the future of the wizarding world, Alastor,” Dumbledore said quietly. “The plan is solid, it will succeed, and above all else, it will be done without harming innocent lives.”

Mavrick barely held back a chuckle, his lips twitching as he leaned forward. “Decide, Mr. Moody. The wizarding world has spent long enough hiding like birds in cages. It is time we learned how to fly.”

“How eloquent,” Moody muttered dryly. “One would think you are about to liberate an enslaved people rather than turn the world upside down.”

“I beg to differ, Alastor,” Flitwick said, stroking his beard thoughtfully. “Why can it not be both?”

“Madmen,” Moody said, though a laugh followed, genuine this time and for the first time, before he straightened as if settling his mind at last. “Very well. I will board your pirate ship. Besides, when this ends, it will be you two the ICW comes after.”

“Hardly a problem,” Mavrick replied with a smirk. “There are more of us involved, though at their insistence I will not mention names. Just know that we have the numbers to say otherwise.”

“So what now,” Moody asked. “Do I swear an Unbreakable Vow or something equally dramatic?”

“I do not think it is necessary to go that far, right?” McGonagall said unsurely, glancing between Mavrick and Dumbledore.

“On the contrary,” Mavrick said, leaning forward as he drew his wand. “I say we all take one... to carry out the plan and never hinder it in any way.”

The room sank into a heavy silence, brief yet weighted with meaning. An Unbreakable Vow might sound easy when spoken aloud, but it was nothing to dismiss lightly, no matter how powerful one’s magic, and they all knew it. At the same time, what was at stake was no simple matter either, and that truth carried equal weight in their minds.

Dumbledore moved next, setting the Elder Wand upon the table, and then, one by one, the others followed, reaching for their wands as their resolve hardened. Unseen by any beyond that room, a decision that would change the fate of the entire world was made that evening, not even the portraits upon the walls bearing witness, as their entire discussion lay buried beneath dense wards and powerful enchantments, despite the venue being one of the most guarded sanctuaries in the world.

---

Morning sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows of the Hogwarts corridors, scattering fragmented pools of color across the cold flagstone floor as the castle slowly stirred to life.

Hermione emerged from the library with a stack of books hugged tightly against her chest, already deep in thought, only to nearly collide with Harry and Ron rounding the corner at an unhurried pace.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Ron muttered, eyeing the pile of books she carried with open disbelief, “it’s only the first day of school.”

“Don’t, Ronald,” Hermione said immediately, rolling her eyes as she fell into step beside them. “Just don’t.”

Harry could not help but chuckle as the three of them moved forward together. “We’re heading to Professor Caesar’s sixth-year Muggle Science class,” he said, glancing ahead, “and I don’t think it’s just us.”

Hermione, ever attentive, lifted her gaze and scanned the corridor. Sure enough, far more students than usual were funneling in the same direction, their chatter far more enthusiastic and far earlier than one would expect for a morning class.

It did not surprise her in the least, however, since the last two years had unfolded in much the same way. Anyway, she could hardly complain, as she had the very same thought in mind and was already heading that way herself.

By now, the entire school knew what the first Muggle Science class of sixth year meant. It was not merely a lesson, but an experience, one that carried students across the star-strewn depths of space in adventures so vivid they bordered on reality. Even professors had been known to attend when their schedules allowed.

“So what are we going to do about Professor Trelawney’s Divination class an hour later?” she asked hesitantly.

“Please,” Ron scoffed, “who’d want to sit in that stuffy classroom learning absolutely nothing?”

Harry raised an eyebrow at him, his eyelids half-lowered as though he had heard something amusing. “Are you saying you learn a lot in the other classes?”

Ron’s eye twitched at that, and from the side, Hermione could not suppress a quiet laugh at the jab.

They soon reached the classroom door, though calling it a classroom felt generous at best. When Harry pushed it open, they were immediately met with a wall of noise and movement.

There were a lot of students inside. No, that was an understatement. Nearly half the school seemed to be packed into the room.

“Merlin’s majestic beard,” Ron breathed, staring wide-eyed. “It’s even crazier than last year.”

“It feels bigger than I remember,” Hermione remarked, looking around as she took it all in.

“How else do you expect to fit half the school inside?” Harry replied easily.

Hermione spotted a familiar head in the crowd and nodded in that direction. “There’s Jean. Come on, let’s sit over there.”

Meanwhile, at the front of the room, perched casually on the edge of his desk with one leg dangling, the man of the hour surveyed the sea of students with a mix of resignation and faint disbelief, his gaze sweeping across the packed hall.

And toward the very back, he spotted something even more absurd, almost half of the professors were present as well.

If I remember the teaching schedule correctly, Flitwick should be teaching Charms to the third years right now. The corner of his lips twitched. What the hell is he doing here?

Time passed amid buzzing conversation and barely restrained excitement, and when the bell finally rang to announce the start of class, Mavrick let out a quiet, resigned sigh. He pushed himself upright and walked toward the center of the room, the long hem of his robes fluttering softly behind him.

“Right then,” he said, magic ensuring that every word reached its mark.

Despite everything, his voice softened naturally, carrying the calm authority and practiced ease of a seasoned teacher as he stepped fully into view.

“I am sure many of you have heard my name,” he began, starting with the usual self-introduction. “I am Mavrick Caesar, a master alchemist, professional educator, businessman, among other things.”

A ripple of amusement passed through the room.

“Normally, I would have each of you introduce yourselves,” he continued, pausing as his gaze swept across the crowd, a smile tugging at his lips, “but I suspect that might be better saved for a later date, preferably one where half the school is not present.”

The room, or rather the hall it had effectively become, erupted into a low chorus of chuckles.

“Muggle Science,” Mavrick said, his eyes gleaming faintly, “so let us begin with a short journey.”

And with that, the first class of the year began for him once again, unfolding with all the drama and enthusiasm one could possibly expect.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 302 - Another Year in Motion (III)

When Dumbledore announced the news of the Triwizard Tournament, the long tables of the four Houses immediately broke into different reactions.

Some, mostly pure-bloods and perhaps a few who had actually taken history classes from the old ghost professor, cheered, obviously having heard of the event, while the majority of the students showed puzzled expressions.

It was understandable, and Professor Dumbledore clearly noticed the difference among the students, so he smiled gently, letting the moment stretch a bit, then continued to explain, “I imagine many of you have not heard of the Triwizard Tournament, so I will give a brief introduction. I also ask those who are already familiar with the situation to bear with us and allow your minds to wander for a moment.”

He paused, letting the Hall quiet fully before going on. “The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang...”

“A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities, until the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.”

“Death toll?” At the Gryffindor table, Hermione Granger whispered sharply, her eyes widening as she leaned toward her friends.

Her alarm, however, did not seem to be shared by most of the Hall. Instead of concern, excited murmurs swelled, and students leaned toward one another with eager expressions. Even her best friends seemed far more interested in hearing about the tournament than in worrying about actual deaths that had happened hundreds of years ago.

“There have, over the centuries, been several earnest attempts to revive the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore’s voice continued, “though I must admit that none met with quite the success their organizers had hoped for. Still, progress is seldom made without perseverance, and I am pleased to tell you that both the Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Games and Sports believe the moment is once again upon us.”

“Throughout the summer, we have conferred at great length, exchanged ideas, and introduced new regulations, all with one guiding purpose in mind, which is to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.”

“And should the tournament conclude as successfully as I am confident it will, then it shall henceforth be held every five years, with each school taking its turn as host, so that cooperation and friendly rivalry may continue to flourish among our young witches and wizards…”

“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will arrive at Hogwarts in October, accompanied by a short list of their most promising candidates, and the selection of the champions will take place on Halloween. An impartial panel of judges will determine which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, for the honour of their schools, and for a personal prize of twenty thousand Galleons.”

“Merlin’s thick beard… twenty thousand Galleons?”

As Dumbledore’s words fell, a collective gasp swept through the Great Hall, and every student’s breath seemed to hitch at once. Even those from pure blood noble families were taken aback by the extremely generous reward. For these teenagers still bound to school life, regardless of whether they were nobles or not, it was an absolutely irresistible and immense temptation.

“I’m going for it!” Fred Weasley hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the promise of not only glory but riches. And he wasn’t the only person who seemed to be imagining themselves as the Hogwarts champion.

Watching from the stage, Maverick took in the sea of students, each House table alive with rapt attention or hushed whispers, and without meaning to, his mind subconsciously recalled this very moment from the memories of his previous life. The general direction in which everything was unfolding was still correct, though the contrasts were just as many. All the same, it promised to be a most interesting year, and the thought drew a faint smile to his lips.

“I can already tell we are going to have our hands full,” Flitwick murmured beside him, wearing a smile of his own.

“Not us. Professor McGonagall and her team are the ones responsible for the tournament as a whole, so they are the ones who need to keep a closer watch. I have a feeling the twins might even break the record this year when it comes to losing their House points,” Maverick replied, taking an unhurried sip. “Anyways, all we have to concern ourselves with is whatever trouble might decide to wander in from outside.”

Flitwick and Maverick chuckled and cast a sideways glance toward the witch in question, seated on the other side of Dumbledore. They were not speaking loudly, but Professor McGonagall’s hearing was no joke, and she caught every word her jinx mouthed fellow professors uttered, her lips twitching almost imperceptibly in response.

Meanwhile, Headmaster Dumbledore allowed the Great Hall a moment to fully absorb the news of the prize money before continuing. “Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, together with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose several restrictions upon the contenders this year.”

As the Hall hushed and listened intently, the Headmaster explained, “I will not go into details tonight, for all shall be explained properly when our guests arrive. Nevertheless, I can share a few points of particular importance.” He paused briefly before continuing, “Only those students whose magical energy meets a certain standard will be considered, and yes, they will first be shortlisted. From there, each will be invited to undergo a more personal assessment of their other abilities, for raw power alone has never been a reliable measure of true worth. Only after this process will candidates be formally selected.”

“And, of course,” he added gently, “all of you are free to put your names forward for consideration, a notion to which I have no objection at all.”

“This,” he said, raising his voice slightly as several students had already begun to murmur, “is a measure we believe to be necessary given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous.”

He went on, “The Grandmaster of Alchemy, Nicolas Flamel himself, has been personally involved in the creation of the magical mechanisms that will oversee this process, ensuring that those ultimately selected are chosen fairly and truly meet the standards we have set.” His light blue eyes twinkled as they drifted slowly across the four long tables…

Meanwhile, at the mention of “magical energy,” the long tables began to buzz once more. It was fundamental knowledge in wizarding education, and aside from a handful of Muggle born first years, every student present was well acquainted with the concept.

“But we are all only Mage Apprentices, so what is the Headmaster talking about when he says candidates will be shortlisted based on magical energy?”

“There are levels even within the major ranks, you know. It is like both of us earning a passing grade, except mine is fifty nine marks while yours is only forty one. We both pass, since anything between forty and sixty counts, but there is still a difference.”

“Why do I have to be the one with forty one points and not you?”

“That’s not the poin… … … just keep listening to the Headmaster!”

Though some students were still not entirely clear on the matter, the majority had grasped that the criteria for being shortlisted depended first and foremost on raw magic. It was logical and easy enough to accept, and so there were few protests in the Hall. The only lingering concern was that no one had ever heard of a precise method for measuring magical energy, but that worried only a few students also, especially since Dumbledore had said Nicolas Flamel himself was involved.

Ron quietly leaned toward Harry, lowering his voice, his tone full of anticipation. “Harry, just imagine, if we could become Hogwarts Champions and get that twenty thousand Galleons…”

“You will first have to be shortlisted, Ronald.” From the other side of the table, before Harry could answer, Hermione rolled her eyes.

“You think the three of us aren’t good enough to make that list?”

“Not exactly, Ron,” Harry added.

“I don’t mean we aren’t good enough,” Hermione went on, lowering her voice just enough for the two of them to hear. “Honestly, I’d say we could even hold our own against seventh years in a duel by now. But magical energy is magical energy, and how well we can actually use our magic, be it Charms, Transfiguration, or anything else, is a different matter altogether.”

She sighed, straightened up, and continued softly as she looked toward the stage. “Unfortunately, we are still too young. It’s likely that the Hogwarts champion will be chosen from the sixth or seventh years.”

Professor Dumbledore looked at the varied expressions of the students below and, after a long pause, proceeded with the talk.

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and will remain with us for the greater part of the year,” he continued, his tone softening slightly. “I trust that each of you will extend every courtesy to our guests while they are with us, and that you will give your wholehearted support to the Hogwarts champions once they have been selected.”

“For now… it is late,” he said, glancing up at the enchanted clock at the top of the Great Hall, a smile touching his lips. “It is far more important than anything else that you come to class tomorrow morning feeling refreshed and clear headed. So, off to bed. Chop chop!”

In those final words, Maverick detected the unmistakable trace of subtle magic woven into Dumbledore’s voice, just enough that the students who heard it felt an instinctive urge to comply without ever realizing why.

This old geezer really was not afraid of anything, Maverick clicked his tongue inwardly as he watched the man stroll over and sit down, already speaking to Moody as though nothing of note had happened. Shaking his head faintly, he rose from his chair and decided to call it a night as well. Following his lead, the others slowly stood up as well.

Below, there was a great scraping and banging as students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors leading into the entrance hall.

“Professor Caesar, might I trouble you to stop by my office for a moment?”

Unfortunately, Maverick had not even taken two steps before the old goat stopped him in his tracks, and his plans for a quiet evening promptly vanished.

“You as well, Minerva, Filius…”

Dumbledore rose as well, with Moody following close behind, and it seemed the veteran Auror would be joining them for the meeting too.

Oh? Was it time already? Maverick’s brows lifted slightly as the thought crossed his mind, and he cast a brief glance toward Moody. Well then, it was bound to be an interesting night.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 301 - Another Year in Motion (II)

The Great Hall rested beneath the steady glow of floating candles, their light reflecting softly off polished stone and long stretches of empty floor where students would soon crowd once more.

The school remained in recess, and without its usual noise and motion, the space felt held in check, not empty but waiting. An important gathering was underway. At the far end of the hall, the familiar long staff table was gone, replaced by an oval arrangement that drew everyone inward.

Nearly the entire Hogwarts staff occupied the seats, while cutlery clicked softly against porcelain as plates were nudged aside and goblets lifted, then set down again.

“...I still don’t understand the need to cancel the Quidditch House Cup, Headmaster,” Rolanda Hooch leaned back in her chair, studying Dumbledore from across the table. “We managed perfectly well last year did we not? Even with the interschool tournament running alongside it.”

Dumbledore lifted his cup, took a thoughtful sip, and set it down again. His eyes twinkled mildly as he looked her way.

“It is only for this one year, Rolanda,” he replied, tone gentle but final.

McGonagall, seated beside him, adjusted her spectacles and leaned forward a fraction, “and the Triwizard Tournament is an entirely different event,” she added. “The scope, the risks, and the preparations involved simply do not compare...”

The school’s Quidditch instructor exhaled through her nose, gave a short nod, and reached for her goblet. “Very well, then,” she said, setting the matter aside.

The shuffle of plates and cutlery continued, and all eyes gradually returned to the Headmaster. Tonight’s meeting had a single purpose: with Hogwarts chosen to host the Triwizard Tournament, Dumbledore wished to brief everyone on their additional roles and responsibilities before the school year officially began.

He folded his hands atop the table and let his gaze move slowly from face to face.

“Back to the matter at hand,” he said calmly. “Rolanda, you will be working alongside Pomona, Aurora, Hagrid, and Argus as one team. You will be assisting Minerva, who will oversee the tournament in its entirety, from preparations through to the final task.”

His attention moved on without pause.

“Severus, you and Pomfrey will be responsible for the champions’ well-being before, during, and after each event. Ensure they are physically and mentally fit for the challenges...”

Snape’s dark eyes flicked toward Pomfrey for a moment before settling back on the Headmaster, and Pomfrey responded with a crisp, affirming nod.

No one interrupted.

“That leaves Filius,” he said, turning slightly, “and Maverick. I entrust the two of you with the overall security of the tournament, both externally and within the grounds...”

“Will the Ministry Aurors be working with us as well?” the short, lively professor asked, leaning forward slightly.

“Yes,” Dumbledore replied. “My old friend Alastor will be stationed at the castle throughout the year. Speaking of which, he will also take up the Defence Against the Dark Arts post this year. Since he will be here most of the time, I thought it sensible to combine the roles.”

“And he agreed?” Maverick asked, brow raised. “Just like that?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled as he leaned back slightly. “We had a productive discussion beforehand,” he said, smiling.

McGonagall glanced sideways at her mentor. “If I’m not mistaken, this is the first time a wizard of Greatmagi rank has taken the post?”

“Indeed,” Dumbledore nodded.

Her eyes lit up, and she added thoughtfully, “Perhaps, then, the so-called curse will find itself outmatched this year.”

“I wonder how Alestor will feel hearing the two of you discuss him so casually, as if he’s an experimental subject...”

A soft chuckle rippled around the table, even Snape’s mouth twitching briefly at Maverick’s remark.

Dumbledore and his deputy shared a small smile. “I did warn him, of course,” the Headmaster said. “But Alastor did not seem particularly afraid.”

“When have you ever seen that man afraid of anything to do with Dark Magic?”

“Indeed, Poppy. Even during his student days, he was fearless,” Dumbledore said, rubbing his chin, eyes twinkling. He hummed thoughtfully. “He reminds me of another friend of mine, Garling—that reckless fellow.” He cast a quick glance at Maverick.

“I’ll be sure to tell Teacher you called him an idiot, Headmaster,” Maverick replied, lips twitching.

Another chorus of chuckles rippled around the table. Dumbledore waved a hand, smiling. “Ah, when have I ever called him foolish, my dear professor?”

Maverick gave a faint shrug, then returned to the matter at hand. “When will the delegations arrive, and will their staff be involved in oversight as well?”

Dumbledore set his cup aside and smiled. With a casual wave of his hand, several neat stacks of parchment rose from the shimmer of his storage ring, drifting gracefully across the table toward each staff member.

“Please,” he said as the papers settled, “this is the proposed timeline, along with the challenges for the champions, agreed upon by the other headmasters. And to answer your last question—no. As the host school, Hogwarts will bear full responsibility for the tournament in its entirety.”

Maverick lowered his gaze to the parchment, scanning the details, while around him pages were turned and murmurs rose and fell. Dumbledore’s eyes lingered on him a moment longer.

“And lastly,” he added, “regarding the matter of broadcasting. Professor, have you spoken to your fiancée?”

The meeting continued well past the point where the food had grown cold, the meeting stretching late into the evening as details were refined and contingencies discussed.

Eventually, chairs scraped softly against stone as some of the staff departed the castle altogether, after all, a full week of summer still remained. A few, however, stayed behind, and Maverick was among them.

The next day, Isabella and her team arrived at Hogwarts for a more focused meeting with Dumbledore and the school’s board of governors. Fees, logistics, profit divisions, and magical transmission methods were discussed at length. After all, this tournament, aside from its tradition and significance, promised to generate a substantial sum of galleons.

On the brighter side, Maverick found himself quietly pleased by one simple truth. This year, Isabella would be spending a great deal of time at Hogwarts with him.

Time passed as it always did, swiftly and without ceremony.
Soon enough, the day arrived.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, bathing the hills in amber light, the Hogwarts Express finally rolled to a halt at Hogsmeade Station, steam billowing into the evening air as it carried with it the voices, laughter, and restless energy of a new school year beginning.

---

The freshmen, like every year, were escorted by the school’s gatekeeper, ah, former gatekeeper, now the Professor of Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid still seemed to love what he had been doing all these years.

The older students, meanwhile, climbed onto the Thestral carriages, and soon the massive silhouette of Hogwarts Castle loomed ahead. Inside the Great Hall, the teachers were already seated on the elevated platform before the long tables, waiting for the hall to fill.

Snape, in his signature black robes, wore a face so gloomy it seemed ready to drip water, his brow furrowed tightly, presumably in a foul mood for no reason at all.

The older students mused, probably the Defense Against the Dark Arts post the old bat had coveted for years had been taken once again, and he still hadn’t gotten his wish.

And speaking of which, the chair for that position appeared empty this year. Could the school have finally run out of luck and failed to hire anyone?

“No, wait, is that Mad-Eye?”

“Merlin’s beard… will it really be Mad-Eye Moody filling in for Professor Lupin who resigned last year?”

The hall buzzed with murmurs, for he was no stranger to any of them, not even the Muggle-borns. The man was famous, albeit mostly for negative reasons, despite being one of the most powerful weapons against Dark wizards in all of Britain.

The man in question indeed wasn’t sitting in any chair. Instead, he stood on the stage, his cane pressed to the floor, both hands clasped over it, sweeping the students as they entered, scanning the hall as if hunting a criminal. Not even the second- and third-year students hiding in the back rows escaped his gaze.

His face was marred with crisscrossing scars, one running from forehead to chin, looking particularly vicious. A few timid second-years shrank behind their companions, while others exchanged glances, angling for seats farther from the podium.

After all, no one wanted to meet that eerie magical eye for long. Moody noticed the small movements clearly but ignored them entirely.

Some time later, the freshmen entered the hall in a line behind Hagrid, while Professor McGonagall stepped forward, placing a three-legged stool in the open space before them.

She then pulled out the iconic Wizard’s Hat from who knows where and placed it on the stool.

For the older students, nothing was new. The hat was tattered, its brim worn, its surface coated in dust, patched with pieces of fabric of different colors. It looked discarded, out of place in the magnificent Great Hall.

The freshmen, however, stared at the strange object, confusion written across their faces. Customarily, every year the seniors spread impromptu sorting theories during the train ride, some outrageous even, claiming the sorting ceremony might involve dueling creatures of untold power.

And now, seeing only an ordinary old hat, the new students sighed in relief, though their eyes flicked with resentment at the snickering older students.

With everyone ready, and as the Great Hall fell silent, a small crack appeared near the brim of the hat, like a tiny mouth, and then a melodious song began:

Oh, welcome back, young witches and wizards,

Gryffindor, where daring hearts will rise,
Yet heed, for reckless flame can scorch the wise.
Hufflepuff, steadfast, true, and just,
Beware that patience falters into dust.

Ravenclaw, with minds sharp and keen,
Yet brilliance alone can blind what’s unseen.
Slytherin, whose ambition knows no bound,
Yet hunger unchecked may bring you down.

This year is heavy with tasks of fate…

As the song ended, warm applause filled the hall. Even Moody, uncharacteristically, clapped softly, perhaps remembering his own student days.

The Sorting Hat’s song was never truly melodious—its tune sometimes off-key, sometimes drawn out—but no one cared. Everyone respected it. In a magical world generally lacking musical talent, this antique could compose a new song each year, perfectly aligned with Hogwarts’ history and current situation.

The applause subsided, and Professor McGonagall unfolded a thick roll of parchment, yellowed at the edges and covered in tightly written names.

She cleared her throat. “When I call your name, step forward, place the Sorting Hat on your head, and sit on the stool. Once the hat announces your House, proceed to the corresponding table.”

“Ackerley, Stewart!”

A tall, thin boy stepped forward, legs trembling, hands tightly clenched, ears pink. He carefully lifted the Sorting Hat and placed it on his head, then sat, eyes shut, waiting.

“Ravenclaw!” the Sorting Hat’s voice rang.

Cheers erupted from the Ravenclaw table as the boy opened his eyes, startled, and hurried to his seat.

The Sorting continued in order: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin. Cheers erupted from the tables until the last student was sorted into Hufflepuff, after which Professor McGonagall carefully rolled up the parchment and put it away.

At that moment, flashes of golden light swept across the tables, instantly laying out a sumptuous feast that had the students reaching eagerly for their knives and forks.

Dumbledore’s pre-dinner speech was brief, and once dessert was finished and the plates cleared, he rose again, bringing the Great Hall to instant silence.

“So!” he said, smiling. “Now that we are fed and watered, I must ask your attention again for a few notices.”

He recited familiar rules: students were forbidden from leaving dormitories after curfew, forbidden to enter the Forbidden Forest, forbidden to use dangerous magic in the corridors—there was a lot of forbidden.

He then introduced the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, pointing to Moody, who was now seated with the rest of the staff. “This is Alastor Moody, an experienced senior Auror. Starting today, he will be your Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor.”

Usually, new staff members would be greeted witha loud applause, but this year, for obvious reasons, only the staff clapped, and the students—even the freshmen—remained completely silent.

The staff’s mouths twitched, all of them feeling awkward as the sound echoed dismally through the hall, and they quickly stopped clapping so Dumbledore could move on.

Fortunately, Moody wasn’t the type to care about such things. Ignoring the awkward atmosphere entirely, he stood, gave the students a slight nod, and then sat back down.

Dumbledore cleared his throat before continuing.

“…On another matter, I must regretfully inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup, as well as the inter-school Quidditch tournament, will not take place this year.”

At the mention, the Great Hall rippled with astonished murmurs, spreading through the room like a stone thrown into a calm lake. Students whispered to each other, disbelief written across their faces, especially the players who had been preparing for the Quidditch matches, their disappointment clear.

The reaction was expected, and Dumbledore even allowed the murmuring to linger for a moment before continuing.

“The reason the Quidditch matches are canceled is that a major event will begin in October and continue throughout the school year, demanding much of the teachers’ time and energy. However, I believe the enjoyment this event will bring you will be no less than that of the Quidditch match.”

He paused, letting the suspense hang in the air, his eyes sparkling with excitement, and then his voice rang out, carrying across the Great Hall, warm, strong, and full of energy: “It is my great pleasure to announce that this year, Hogwarts will host... the TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 300 - Another Year in Motion (I)

Some time earlier, Little Hangleton village.

Darkness pressed over the small community, heavy rain and gusting winds rattling shutters and bending the trees along the narrow lanes. In the distance, thunder growled, and lightning tore through the clouds, briefly revealing the lone mansion perched on the hill, its crooked silhouette flashing in and out of existence before the night swallowed it again.

It was otherwise a typical night in the area for this time of year. And just as another flash of lightning faded, before the rumble of thunder could follow, an intense red light suddenly erupted from an upper window of the abandoned mansion, followed by a wailing scream that echoed through the storm.

Clearly, the supposedly abandoned lone mansion was not empty after all. Inside, in the room from which the red light had erupted, firelight flickered across the walls, the flames shuddering as if afraid. A man could be seen lying sprawled on the floor, his body jerking uncontrollably, his fingers clawing at the stone as if trying to escape his own skin.

“Crucio!”

The word was followed by another flash of crimson and a shriek louder and more desperate than before, finally collapsing into helpless sobbing.

Near the hearth, cradled in the arms of a short, heavyset man, was something scarcely human. Voldemort’s current state was perhaps even more pitiful than it had been when he had been parasitizing Quirrell, needing assistance even to move from one place to another.

Even so, his cruelty was no lesser than before, and the act of performing dark magic did not trouble him in the slightest.

He wriggled slightly in Wormtail’s arms, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling, “Worthless,” the high, cold voice cut through the crackle of the fire. He thrashed just enough to make the wand in his hand tremble. “Worthless. You let them capture my most loyal servant and fled like frightened animals.”

The room no longer held the confidence it once had. Gone were the ranks of hooded figures, and gone was the presence that had once been thick with arrogance. Now, aside from Voldemort and Wormtail, only three remained—well, four, if the writhing figure sprawled on the floor, convulsing like a fish, was counted.

Another broken grunt escaped him, his limbs trembling from the torture his “benevolent” master was inflicting. “My lord… mercy,” he gasped, jaw straining as the words forced their way out. “It was an ambush. The Aurors… they were waiting for us.”

Voldemort’s eyes flared. “Are you suggesting I am a fool?”

“I dare not… I would never.”

He did not dare voice what truly burned in his mind, that the Dark Lord’s decision had been reckless, even stupid, to strike so openly at an international wizarding event simply to make a point.

Rosier, back then, had warned against acting so brazenly more than once, but Voldemort’s arrogance had drowned out all caution, convinced that he could do whatever he wished.

“My lord,” and just then another voice cut in, one of those who were kneeling.

Voldemort turned his gaze slowly, “Barty,” he murmured, “my faithful servant. Perhaps you would care to explain.”

“It is the new Minister, my lord,” Barty Crouch Jr said, lifting his head slowly. “This has his hand all over it. He is nothing like that greedy coward Fudge.”

His gaze sharpened, words spilling faster. “I believe he anticipated an attack and deployed Aurors in advance, already positioned and waiting.... Therefore, i think our priorities must change.” His lips twisted into a strained, almost unhinged smile. “He should be dealt with before we act any further.”

None of the escapees present knew that Maverick had intervened as well. They had fled the moment the attack began to collapse, and the newspapers never mentioned his involvement. As far as they knew, the Ministry had earned the credit, their swift response turning terror into failure.

“Indeed,” Voldemort said at last, his fury cooling into something sharper and more calculating. “Put me down, Wormtail.”

Pettigrew obeyed instantly. He lowered Voldemort onto the worn sofa beside the fireplace with exaggerated care, as though placing down something sacred and fragile. His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back, eyes never leaving his master.

“It seems this hypocritical country has finally been graced with a Minister who possesses some measure of competence,” Voldemort said thoughtfully, his gaze drifting across the room. “Still, there are whispers that he is no more than a puppet, placed where he is by others...”

A memory surfaced, and his eyes flashed red as he recalled that brief encounter inside Hogwarts two years earlier. “Caesar…” The name slipped from him thick with loathing. He had not forgotten the humiliation, how a the boy had overwhelmed him, how close he had come to being consumed by cursed fire.

Even so, he did not entirely dismiss the boy’s genius. It was undeniable, perhaps even uncomfortably close to his own. Still, Lord Voldemort stood above all others, as he always had and always would. How could a mudblood with no lineage ever hope to measure himself against him, the descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself?

After indulging his own thoughts, he turned his attention back to his servants. “Does any of you possess a means of penetrating this new Minister’s inner circle?”

But only silence answered him. Even Crouch Jr. kept his gaze lowered, saying nothing.

“Worthless,” he spat.

And just then, a thin, reedy voice broke the silence. “My lord…”

Voldemort turned to see Wormtail crouching low, sinking until he was nearly at eye level with his master.

“Surely you do not suggest, Wormtail, that you possess inside knowledge of the Ministry…” The contempt in his voice was not without reason; after all, he was Wormtail.

Even the kneeling men let out a few breathless chuckles at the rat’s audacity, but the laughter died instantly when Voldemort snapped a sharp command for silence.

“Lucius, my lord,” Pettigrew said quickly. “Lucius Malfoy. If anyone can spy on the Ministry, it is him.”

“Lucius,” Voldemort repeated, tasting the name as memory stirred.

“A coward,” Barty Crouch Junior cut in. “When you fell, my lord, he was the first to publicly deny you…”

Voldemort laughed, though whether it was amusement or disbelief was unclear. “Do you think I am unaware of something so obvious?”

“I dare not think, my lord...” Barty said immediately.

“But Lucius did answer my call last night, did he not?” Voldemort asked.

A pause followed, and Barty Jr. muttered a reluctant, “Yes.”

“And what of his fate?” Voldemort continued softly. “Was he among those who died for my cause?”

“It was chaos, my lord,” one of the men said. “We do not know. He may be dead. He may have escaped.”

“Then bring him to me,” Voldemort decreed. “And not only him. I want every coward who abandoned me brought before my eyes. It is time they stood once more in the presence of their lord.”

“But my lord… surely they cannot be trusted to meet you,” Wormtail interjected again, bowing so low his face nearly kissed the dusty floor. While the rat appeared to speak out of concern for his master, in truth, the cowardly fool was only worried that if their whereabouts were discovered, he would be the first to be caught.

“What if one of them leaks our whereabouts—”

“Silence!”

Voldemort’s eyes burned with a dangerous red glint, filling the room with silent menace. Of course, had he any choice, he would not resort to this, but there was none.

Since his supposed death, Voldemort had divided his followers into two kinds: those who feared him absolutely, never daring to betray him even after hearing of his demise, and those fools who denied him, convinced that his absence freed them from all duty.

And yes, it was fear, not trust, for Lord Voldemort trusted no one—not even his most perfect creation, Bellatrix, who had now been removed from the equation.

The original plan had depended on the first group, the Azkaban escapees, whom he believed were completely loyal to him, but they were gone now. Only the cowards remained, and now he had no choice but to place them at the heart of his schemes.

Still, their fear of him remained, of that he had no doubt. Otherwise, they would never have dared to answer his summons for the attack.

“Worthless fools,” Voldemort spat. “Dozens of you, even with two Great Magi, could not capture a single cripple. And you expect just the four of you could carry out my plan?”

No one answered. Indeed, if the Dark Lord still intended to carry out the plan to capture the Potter boy, he would need more hands. More importantly, with no way to infiltrate Hogwarts directly, only one path remained: someone with ties to the Ministry, someone capable of opening doors and finding another way forward.

“Plans change,” Voldemort said, turning his gaze toward the fire, watching the flames writhe and twist. “Direct infiltration must be abandoned. But with an insider...”

The loss of Bellatrix and Rosier weighed heavily on him, especially Bellatrix. Whether by fear or otherwise, her devotion had always gratified him more than he cared to admit.

And now, their absence had forced him to reconsider everything. What remained were cowards, doubters, and one trembling servant who clung to him like a lifeline. If only he had heeded caution, allowed the opportunity to present itself, and acted only then to seize that boy—

No. Lord Voldemort does not regret, and he would not yield like a mere mortal. Yes, he was immortal, unkillable. His serpentine eyes glimmered in the firelight. He would have what he desired, and none could stand in his way... not the Minister of Magic, not that old fool Dumbledore, and certainly not a mudblood boy who imagined he could best the Dark Lord simply because he possessed a fraction of power.

---

Back to the present.

Summer still held Hogwarts in its grasp, the lingering warmth softening into a gentle evening breeze as the sun sank toward the horizon, painting the grounds in gold and deepening green.

In that familiar scene, Maverick descended slowly from the sky, his robes fluttering lightly in the breeze until he came to a stop before one of the towers, the large windows opening directly into his office.

A low hum slipped from him, absentmindedly thoughtful, his lips curving faintly as he tilted his head toward the tallest tower. “Normally, the old man would have summoned me the moment I crossed the wards…” he murmured, then, just as quickly, brushed the thought aside with a small, careless shrug.

He glanced once at the setting sun, its glow spilling across the castle rooftops, then turned back to the window, letting the fading light wash over him.

With a lazy wave, the glass panes parted, and he glided inside with unhurried grace. His office greeted him exactly as he had left it, neat and orderly, and the lights flickered to life at his approach. He shrugged off his coat and, with a casual flick of his wrist, sent it sailing to the stand by the door.

A quick look at the time reminded him of Dumbledore’s message. Dinner tonight, an important meeting, and attendance declared mandatory.

There were still a couple of hours to spare, so he moved to his desk and sank into the soft leather of the high-backed chair. Maybe… get some work done in the meantime?

After all, he was still a professor, and lesson plans for the new year did not arrange themselves out of courtesy alone. Besides, he wasn’t the sort to procrastinate… much.

Hmm. I should probably hire an assistant… no, wait… wasn’t that the plan from the very beginning? Or had it slipped my mind? Well… I’ll bring it up with McGonagall at tonight’s meeting… anyways.

With a resigned sigh, books and parchment appeared neatly before him, pages opening as pens rose to hover expectantly above them.

He leaned back in his chair, expression calm, and allowed his thoughts to flow. At least it wasn’t as tedious as it would have been for a regular teacher.

Mother magic had its perks. In this case, he could work on several tasks at once while doing little more than thinking, so he leaned back, relaxed, and let the work begin.

—————————

Author’s Note:

Sorry if it feels a little “meh”… I literally edited this on my phone, sneaking in moments whenever I could to write.

School starts next chapter, book four of the original story. This year's going to be epic, and I can’t wait to share it with you all.

On another note... 300 chapters, over 600k words in exactly one year. Holy shit 😁

Anyways, I hope you’re all enjoying the New Year as much as I am, because I’m having a blast 😁 Wherever you’re from, enjoy the holidays!

Happy New Year to everyone 🎉❤️

Author's Note:

I’m taking a few days off over the New Year to spend some time with my family, so there’ll be a short break in updates... Not long, at most, only a week 🙏

That said, I do have a few drafts that are nearly ready, so if I manage to steal some time on my phone and away from my kids and my wife, I'll still try to get a few updates out. 😅

Anyway, I just want to say thank you, truly, for all the support you’ve shown me. It means more than I can properly put into words. I hope all of you have a happy, peaceful, and wonderful New Year, and I’ll see you again very soon.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 299 - Summer Holidays Grind

Back at the camp site, when Maverick arrived, the sky was already tinged with a faint golden hue, the pre-dawn light stretching across the horizon in soft gradients of amber and rose.

It was quiet. The fires were out, and not even a trace of smoke lingered in the air. The tens of thousands who had once been here had been reduced to just a few thousand.

Groups of people could be seen apparating away from the site where uniformed personnel were stationed, more than a dozen clusters scattered across the grounds. What was happening was presumably a controlled departure, after headcounts were completed and permission to leave had been given.

Without stopping, Maverick quickly located Alastor Moody near a group of Aurors and sent him a brief mental message to separate himself for a moment. When he did, Maverick apparated near the man and, without a word, unceremoniously tossed the bound woman directly toward him.

“How’d you get a bead on her?”

"Trace..." Mavrick didn’t elaborate on the details and made a few gestures with his hand, and her bindings were removed.

Moody didn’t waste any time either and promptly retrieved two pairs of cuffs, presumably enchanted to suppress her magic, securing them tightly around her hands and feet.

It wouldn’t still be enough to keep a great magus confined permanently, but heavily enchanted cells would provide additional security and more suppressive magic, and that was her next destination.

In any case, even if she managed to escape, he would still be able to find her, though it shouldn’t come to that. Unless a third party intervenes, she would likely spend the rest of her very long life locked up.

“Did you find out why the two lunatics wanted to capture me?” Moody asked quietly, his gaze fixed on the dejected woman. She wasn’t unconscious, but with her hollow eyes, empty of life or hope, she might as well have been.

But at least hers were not completely white, rolled back like the other woman’s, whose condition still left Moody uncertain if she was even truly alive. With this one, the Aurors could at least attempt some interrogation later.

“No…” Maverick replied. “She’s a tough nut to crack. I’m guessing they wanted to impersonate you. But for what exactly, I have no idea.”

Actually, before coming, he had thoroughly probed her mind, uncovering everything she knew of Voldemort’s plans. It pretty much matched her earlier account and also confirmed some of his suspicions.

Basically, as in the original story, Voldemort’s plan involved Moody being impersonated and then applying to become the DADA professor at Hogwarts. Here, however, it would be Rosier stepping into his role instead of Crouch Jr.

How Voldemort planned to make it seamless enough to fool everyone into believing it was truly Alastor, Maverick had no idea. From her memories, however, Voldemort had been supremely confident in his magic—so confident that he believed not even an archmagi could tell the difference.

As for why Maverick didn’t let it play out like in the original story, well… he had his own plans.

“I’m not surprised that even your methods couldn’t crack her. She is that man’s second-in-command, after all.” Moody gave a light nod, implying an ambiguous remark.

“Don’t talk nonsense. Who told you I tortured her? Don’t slander people’s innocence, old man.”

Moody gave only a knowing glance in return then shrugged. Although, he wasn’t wrong to assume as such, after all, she did look like she had been thoroughly tested.

On to another matter, “Where’s Jameson?” Maverick inquired.

“Back at the Ministry. The arsehole dumped all the hard work on me and went off to smile for the cameras,” Moody scoffed. Then, with a touch more seriousness, he added, “This will leave a mark on his reputation. An international incident like this spiraling out of control right under his nose… how'd you plan to save your little puppet’s face?”

This bastard really didn’t care who he was speaking to. But Maverick wasn’t petty and didn’t mind the rudeness; in fact, he liked the man for being straightforward.

“Or,” Maverick countered, “it could actually boost his reputation. No lives were lost, aside from the terrorists. Most were captured, including two great magi. I trust Jameson can spin this entire incident in his favor.”

Moody let out another scoff but offered no rebuttal.

“I’ll be leaving then. Don’t forget to lock her up in maximum security...”

“Wait!” he called, stopping Maverick before he apparated away.

“Tell me honestly, Caesar,” he said, locking his gaze onto Maverick. “Did you truly have no prior knowledge that something like this was going to happen?”

Maverick also held his gaze for a moment, then a small smirk curved his lips. “Does it matter?” He shrugged slightly and added, “…it was only a coincidence that I came here with my fiancée to watch the game and all of this happened. Fortunately, especially for you…”

“Right. Get out of here,” the old Auror waved, cutting him off with a sigh. Whether he believed it or not… no, he very likely didn’t buy a word of that, but Maverick didn’t care. And with that, he didn’t linger a moment longer and disappeared from the site.

The reason he was still keeping certain things from the man was simple: Moody wasn’t part of the plan yet, not for what was to come in the next school year. At first, Maverick had intended to keep the man in the dark until the very end, but after getting to know him personally for a while, he changed his mind.

Soon, therefore, he decided to bring him aboard as well, preferably in the presence of a few others to make the persuasion easier.

Apart from the man’s gruff and abrasive nature, he was, for lack of a better word, a solid unit. Especially when it came to drawing clear lines between black and white, then choosing which side would lead to the best possible outcome. The only problem was that, precisely because of his stubborn nature, getting him to fall in line would take a bit more effort. In any case, that was a worry for later.

There was still a little over a month before school started, the summer holidays not even halfway over, but Maverick’s schedule left him no time for sightseeing.

---

The next day unfolded exactly as expected, with wizarding newspapers across the world plastering their front pages with headlines about the terrorist attack, many of them calling it the single largest international magical incident in recent history. As the host nation, Britain’s magical administration found itself under a lot of scrutiny, accused by some of gross negligence for allowing such a disaster to occur in the first place.

At the same time though, there was no shortage of praise either, especially for how swiftly the situation had been brought under control and for the fact that, against all odds, there had been no innocent casualties. That balance between condemnation and reluctant admiration dominated public discourse for days.

As for the perpetrators, there was a noticeable lack of concrete information. No official names were released, and apart from the British Daily Prophet and a handful of European outlets tentatively pointing out the appearance of the Dark Mark associated with the recent Dark Lord, nothing was formally confirmed.

Reports did mention that two great magi had been apprehended, but once again no identities were revealed, largely because the British magical administration had yet to issue a proper press statement.

Minister Jameson Greengrass did appear before the cameras, but he did not name any names, only assuring the public that a thorough investigation was underway. He further added that a press conference would be held as soon as the preliminary findings reached a presentable stage.

Meanwhile, Maverick went straight home after the World Cup episode. Busy as his schedule already was, and demanding as the coming months promised to be, he still wanted at least a day or two with his family, time enough to simply breathe and take in the quiet that came from being close to the people who mattered most to him.

His father took a few days off as well, and together with Sarah they decided on a short family vacation, escaping to the lush greens and endless blue skies of Bali, where the weight of their individual responsibilities slowly loosened its grip on all of them.

And speaking of his sister, once they returned from Bali feeling mentally refreshed, Maverick finally took her to America to meet the X Men. Michael and Ariel came along as well, since it was an important moment for Sarah, adopted or not, she was their daughter, and they wanted to be there together as a family for her.

Xavier welcomed the Caesars with impeccable courtesy, and while Maverick’s presence alone would have warranted respect, his father was no ordinary man either, so a proper and formal welcome was extended without hesitation.

Jean could barely contain her excitement when she discovered that Maverick’s sister was a mutant like her, but more than that, she was practically flustered that they were the same age and the same gender. They connected almost instantly, in a way that felt completely natural and effortless from the very start.

Meanwhile, Professor Xavier personally gave Mother and Father Caesar a tour of the mansion, or rather, the school, starting with why he had founded such an institution, how he educated the children there, and the key differences and similarities between his school and regular ones.

To put it simply, the Xavier Mansion was more of a safe sanctuary for mutantkind that Xavier had established than a conventional school, and to call it a proper school would be a stretch.

Of course, Xavier didn’t hide that fact and explained everything to them plainly, including details that Maverick himself was hearing for the first time, such as the fact that, despite living at the mansion, not all mutant children completed their entire education within its walls.

Many, apparently, still attended regular schools alongside normal children, and only those whose mutations drastically altered their physical appearance or whose abilities were difficult to control found the mansion fully serving as a full-time place of learning and sanctuary.

Xavier expressed a genuine desire for Sarah to attend at least some classes at the mansion, believing she would benefit from the environment. Maverick and his family, however, were firm in their decision that she would complete her education at a regular school.

After all, she had no trouble controlling her powers, so there was no real reason to remove her from a regular setting, at least not yet. That said, the point Professor Xavier made was not wrong either, and Sarah would undoubtedly benefit from learning alongside other mutant children.

Therefore, after weighing both perspectives, it was decided that during the holidays, Sarah would visit the mansion, spend time with other mutant children like her, and participate in some of the training sessions they held. As for being continents away, that was hardly a problem with an overpowered wizard-slash-alchemist-slash-sorcerer brother behind her.

The Caesars spent two days at the Xavier Mansion before returning to London, though only Maverick and his parents came back, while Sarah stayed behind to be picked up once the summer holidays ended and school resumed. In any case, it would be a healthy experience for her, allowing her to enjoy the freedom of using her abilities among others like her.

After that brief but much-needed time with his family, Maverick turned his attention back to business once again, and for the first task on his list, he headed to the Mars Project control center to check on its progress.

The facility was quieter than before, with only a handful of personnel stationed there, since most of the scientists now preferred working directly on Mars. Here on Earth, the work was largely limited to constructing sections of the base before they were transferred to Mars for assembly, so only engineers remained planetside, while the researchers chose to work on the red planet itself.

Still, Maverick took some time to get a general understanding of what was happening here, and after exchanging a few pleasantries with the managers, he opened a portal and stepped straight onto the red planet as well.

The preliminary base had expanded considerably, even though only a few months had passed. A dome structure housing simulated living quarters and a breathable atmosphere was already complete, and several laboratories dedicated to different research fields were already semi operational, with many more still under construction.

At a glance, it felt like a colossal enterprise in full motion, hundreds of heavy duty vehicles crawling across the terrain in coordinated chaos while personnel in safety gear moved with practiced urgency. Dust plumed into the thin Martian air, metal giants roared and rumbled, and the entire landscape unfolded like a living tableau pulled straight from an epic science fiction spectacle.

And at the heart of the site was, of course, the giant glass reinforced and enchanted dome. It was not that large yet, only about half the size of a football stadium, but that was more than enough to house all the researchers and let them call it a home on this alien world. Moreover, it was designed to expand far beyond its current scale, and the work underway was still largely preliminary, focused on laying the foundation before any truly serious project could begin.

Howard and Norex, Maverick’s two science guys, were deeply engrossed in their work on the Kree Imperial cruiser, so he limited himself to a brief update on their progress before turning his attention back to the on base construction again.

For nearly half a month, he assisted wherever he could to accelerate the build, whether that meant acting as space uber or simply relocating massive structures from one section to another, helping fit together the sprawling metal puzzle and push the megaproject further along.

In fact, more than being a professor, more than anything else really, the thrill and satisfaction he drew from watching everything come together brick by brick gave him a deeper sense of fulfillment than anything else. After all, this project was his creation, his pride, his baby.

Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, that was not the only baby he had. Time moved on, and by mid-July, his attention turned once more, this time to projects back on Earth, particularly Caesar Technologies, where more mundane, or less magical, endeavors were underway.

There, he reviewed the prototype of the phone, Caesar Two, scheduled for release in November. It was largely complete, incorporating his suggestions like infrared data transfer capabilities and a few additional add-ons, but it still wasn’t entirely to his liking.

The overall design, for one, still didn’t satisfy him—the thickness was off, and the battery capacity left much to be desired. So he suggested several refinements and adjustments, absolutely not sounding like a villainous boss at all.

Anyway, they weren’t working for free. In fact, he was paying them generously, much more than other companies in similar fields, so it was only natural for them to deliver what was asked. Besides, what he was asking wasn’t outrageous, and with a few months still remaining before launch, there was ample time to fully implement his vision and perfect the final product.

The next task on his list took him across the Atlantic. At Saint Matthew Island, he met his teacher to discuss the operation planned for early next year in more depth, filling in any remaining gaps and clarifying exactly how Edward’s people would be utilized once everything commenced.

The hundreds of witches and wizards working under the man would play a vital role, and to ensure events unfolded exactly as he envisioned, a discussion between just the two of them was not enough. Everyone involved would need to be thoroughly briefed, and beyond that, practical drills would also be necessary as insurance against unforeseen variables.

Things, of course, would be far simpler if Maverick chose to ignore the possibility of innocent people getting caught in the aftermath when everything unfolded, but that was never an option he was willing to entertain.

That was precisely why he had plans layered within plans, and why he involved so many different parties in the operation. Thus, over a week was spent with his teacher and the assembled teams going through every detail, but on the bright side, when he returned home he was satisfied and still had over a week left before the school term began.

Go on a short getaway somewhere or just dive headfirst into Isabella’s arms, he mused, but apparently the universe had other ideas. Or maybe a certain white-bearded old menace had simply felt his nose twitch, because suddenly he was summoned with all the subtlety of a cannon, and informed, rather insistently, that his presence at the school was absolutely mandatory.

From that moment, Maverick knew that his holidays, if they could even be called that, were officially over. At least all the tasks on his list had been taken care of, and so, both satisfied and somewhat annoyed, he returned once more to the legendary castle—off to another thrilling year.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 298 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (VIII)

“I suggest you abandon that idea entirely, lady. There is nowhere on this planet you could flee that I cannot find you.”

Vinda Rosier, after hearing those despair laced words, finally let go of the inner voices screaming inside her head to flee again, although she wasn't even certain that her first attempt could truly be called an attempt at all.

In any case, the facts sat stark and undeniable right in front of her, and she wasn’t an ignorant fool. Just now, she had been profoundly enlightened to a single, brutal truth, that decisiveness alone meant nothing when faced with absolute power. And with that understanding, she took a hesitant step forward and slowly settled into the chair opposite him, her, “enlightener.”

Even now, her hands were trembling uncontrollably as she struggled to comprehend what she had just experienced. Whether it had been real or some form of magic, she hadn’t the faintest clue.

All she knew was that her Occlumency was not something just anyone could infiltrate or meddle with, and even if it had been a mage an entire rank above her, she was confident she would at least sense the intrusion. At least, until today, she had firmly believed that. How this young man had done it, if he had done it at all, or when, terrified her enough that she did not even dare to ask.

She forced herself to steady, drawing a few measured breaths, and at last, for the first time, she truly took in his face. Still indifferent, his eyes half-lidded as he observed her, she felt completely laid bare under his gaze.

And speaking of being exposed, “My lord… would it be acceptable if I conjure something to cover myself first?” She asked, doing her best to sound as calm as possible.

“I have not confiscated your wand, have I?”

She exhaled in relief at those words. Thank Merlin, she thought, this unfathomable boy was not a lecher. Her current situation was already dire enough, and if he had been, Azkaban would have been the least of her worries.

Slowly, she glanced down and saw that her hands were still trembling, but regardless, she made a tentative motion with her wand and managed to conjure a simple robe, finally covering herself.

Watching her struggle with a basic transfiguration, Maverick couldn’t help but wonder if he had gone too far. She was a greatmagi, after all, and even if her mind was frayed from shock, executing something this simple should have been effortless for someone of her rank. Or was she putting on an act? And if so… what could she possibly hope to gain?

"Thank you, lord, for letting me—" she said between ragged breaths, but Maverick cut her off. Who was she trying to fool?

"I will ask again… what reason do you have for following that lunatic?" His voice was still as calm as ever, and this time she knew she had no choice but to answer.

"I…"

Her expression betrayed a mind tangled with conflicting thoughts, but just as Maverick suspected, she was not being entirely sincere. True, she was still shaken by the earlier inexplicable episode, yet not to the point where she could not speak coherently.

In reality, she knew that Azkaban—or some other magical prison—might well be waiting for her next. Yet deep down, she had not lost all hope.

In her mind, there was still a chance—a slim chance—that she could turn things around, and that chance depended entirely on making a deal with him. The leverage she could use was still unclear, but it had to be something, likely some piece of information.

After all, if Maverick intended to hand her over, why had he bothered to dialog with her first?

"My lord… I made a deal with him," she said finally, forcing herself to be honest after weighing the few options left to her. "I am not… not his devoted follower. He gets my help with his plan to… resurrect, and in return, once he recovers his magic, he will help me free my master from his prison."

"Hmm."

She saw only a mild change in his expression, a single brow arching slightly.

"My lord, I..."

"Cut the ‘lord’ nonsense, for Merlin’s sake. I am no lord," Maverick interrupted again, irritation seeping into his tone. "So let me get this straight. You help him resurrect, and in return, he helps you break Grindelwald out of prison?" He tilted his head, genuinely perplexed.

It was not that the plan was entirely implausible, just that the chance of her plan succeeding—even if Riddle were to regain his full power—was exceedingly slim. First of all, as far as he knew, the prison had been personally enchanted by Dumbledore himself, alongside Nicolas Flamel and several other archmagi.

It was nothing like the original story, where the man had simply been locked in a tower that anyone could stroll into. Furthermore, from what he had read, coupled with his teacher's recollections of the world war half a century ago, Grindelwald certainly did not accept defeat or simply give up in the end.

From what Maverick could recall of the original story, that old man Grindelwald had remained locked up willingly after losing to Dumbledore. Later, Voldemort had indeed visited Nurmengard to inquire about the Elder Wand, as if he were merely paying a casual visit through the front door.

In contrast, the past in this reality was far more complex, and likewise, in the future, when Voldemort regained his prime power, infiltrating the prison in such a manner would be impossible.

For starters, the layers of defensive enchantments alone would make such a feat utterly impossible. Most importantly, the prison itself was said to be protected by a Fidelius, and no one, at least on record, knew the identity of the Secret Keeper.

This was not a secret, so why would a woman known for her cunning believe this plan could succeed?

"You do realize that your plan, if it can even be called one, has more than a few problems."

“I know who the Secret Keeper is,” Vinda Rosier said firmly, lifting her gaze to meet his.

"Oh? Is it not Dumbledore?" Maverick asked. While the records claimed the identity was unknown, he had always assumed it was Dumbledore. Who else could it be?

"It is not that old monster," Rosier shook her head.

"Go on..."

"It is Anton Vogel."

“The Marquis from Germany?” Maverick asked, a little taken aback. After a brief pause, he added thoughtfully, “Yes, he was the Minister of Magic of Germany back then. But as far as I recall, he was only a magus at the time, and already quite old to be entrusted with such a responsibility... the Secret Keeper of a man that dangerous.” He paused, then asked, “Is he even still alive?”

“More than just alive. First, it was precisely because he was only a magus that he was chosen, since no one would ever suspect a mere magus to be the Secret Keeper,” Rosier said, nodding. “The original plan was to change it before he grew too old, but not long after the war, he broke into the marquis ranks, and that advancement was kept secret. And since the secret of the Secret Keeper himself remained secure, it was decided he would retain the role indefinitely.”

“Interesting…” Maverick’s curiosity was genuine now. “Pray tell, then, how did you come by information so… closely guarded?” His fingers twitched slightly while asking.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Rosier, the more she spoke, the more her nerves eased, to the point that she even leaned back a little more comfortably. A sarcastic smirk tugged at her lips as she spoke with open disdain, though Maverick neither knew nor cared whom it was directed at.

“In fact, it has a great deal to do with you. My lor… I mean, Mr Speaker.”

“Me?”

“Yes.” She chuckled softly. “Since the war against those extraterrestrials six months ago, the one you ensured the entire wizarding world witnessed without exception, many people have had their perspectives forcibly widened. Especially those of us who lived through the war fifty years ago. Those who once heard my master speak of what was to come.”

Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Grindelwald warned us about this future. About technology. At the time, his words were mocked and dismissed. Today, you proved them true in real time. After witnessing that power firsthand, denial is no longer possible. If nothing changes, the magical world will face disaster because of technology. That outcome is... inevitable.”

Her expression grew increasingly fanatical as she leaned forward, locking eyes with Maverick.

“And only he, Gellert Grindelwald, my great master, possesses the vision to stop what is coming. With his gift of foresight, he can guide us through the disaster ahead. You must understand, child. Only he can save us. Only he—”

“Right, right. He is your messiah,” Maverick interrupted flatly.

Vinda Rosier let out a small scoff and crossed one leg over the other. “You know I am not wrong. How about this then. If you help me instead, I can take you directly to that moron’s hideout and hand him over on a silver platter to you. I will even tell you his detailed plan—”

“Stop...” Maverick raised a hand and cut her off mid rant.

Had that subtle compulsion worked a little too well on her? In any case, most of what he needed to know had already been extracted. Now, there was just one last thing left.

“You just said many among you have been enlightened... so tell me, are there others like you, working with Riddle on this scheme?”

“I’m the only one in direct contact,” she replied. Her expression then began changing ever so subtly, as if she were struggling to recall something, but she continued nonetheless. “Because only I, with my great-magi-level magic, have the capital to pursue that idiot and… and… compel him into an unbreakable vow… After… after he regains his power… he won’t have any choice but... but to honor it… … … what… what did you do to me… again?”

A sigh finally escaped Maverick as he straightened and rose to his feet.

Meanwhile, Rosier’s eyes went wide open, her pupils trembling as she stared down at her shaking hands, the realization finally slamming her like a train.

All this time, every thought she had, her plan to bargain with him, even that faint hope of turning the situation in her favor, it had been influenced by him all along. She had been deceived. Again. But when had it happened? How had she not noticed it? Again?

“I don’t blame you... after all, Muggle psychology, or anything Muggle for that matter, isn’t exactly something you lot would bother to guard against.”

No… how is he reading my mind? I can’t even sense an intrusion!

Her thoughts raced, colliding and spiraling, only to snap back to square one again. That decisive, act-first, talk-later witch. Panic surged, drowning out reason, and instinct took over. Then, with a sudden, sharp motion, she thrust her wand forward and cried out, “Avada—”

Unfortunately for her, she didn’t get to finish. She never had, not from the very beginning.

Before she even realized what had happened, her hand was empty, her wand was gone, already resting calmly in the other party’s grasp.

Thud.

All strength left her body and she slumped back into the chair.

“I do agree with you, lady,” Maverick said as he stepped forward, vanishing her wand into his storage ring before sliding both hands into his coat pockets.

He looked down at her with utter indifference. “If the world does not change, what your master envisions is indeed inevitable.”

At those words, she snapped her head back up again and met his gaze. All she saw were half-lidded, cold, and detached eyes, and even that last fragile spark of hope that had surfaced moments ago vanished instantly.

“... this world, it does not need a second savior.”

He lifted one arm and lazily flicked his index and middle finger upward, and—

Spark... Swish!

Out of nowhere, thick orange strands, like molten metal, materialized from both sides and coiled tightly around her arms and legs. With a groan, she was yanked backward, her limbs bound and forced into a crouched position. Maverick showed not the slightest trace of mercy.

To her credit, in that moment, her eyes never left him once. Was it pride, arrogance, or unwillingness, he didn’t really care which. Down on her knees, hands and feet bound backward, only her head tilted upward, she watched him with burning red eyes.

“And you,” she heard him say, “are nothing more than a ‘variable’ that needs to be removed before that day arrives.”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 297 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (VII)

“Vinda Rosier…”

The voice made it unmistakably clear that the intruder knew exactly who she was, but what sent the true shiver down her spine was not that knowledge, nor even the fact that her magical senses had completely failed to detect someone sitting only a few footsteps away. No, it was the sudden and horrifying realization that she was now unceremoniously and utterly frozen in place, her body inexplicably locked tight under the intruder’s mercy.

Her pupils trembled as she stared into the corner, where moonlight leaking through the window brushed the lower half of the intruder’s body while their upper form remained swallowed by shadow, one leg crossed over the other, their posture loose and infuriatingly at ease.

“Since when did the champions of the greater good reach the point where even a madman seemed like an acceptable master?”

As the words reached her ears, the candles scattered across the room, perched on side tables and mounted along the walls, flared to life, casting harsh light that finally revealed the figure’s face. But that revelation hardly mattered, for her pupils contracted to pinpoints as recognition struck with sickening certainty—she had seen that face not long ago, earlier that very night, and it was the last person she ever wanted to see.

But how? She had taken every detour possible before arriving here, and she was certain she hadn’t told anyone about this random safe house.

“Take a seat...” As her thoughts scrambled in every direction, she heard the kid speak again, and yes, to her, this, "intruder," was indeed just a child.

“My apologies...” Mavrick waved his hand, releasing his hold on her, and at the same time, a chair materialized before him. He gestured again, calmly but firmly, for her to sit.

But—Woosh!

The moment he withdrew the magic that had held her in place, without a word or gesture, she vanished from the spot—out of the room, out of the house, clearly making a run for it.

Maverick chuckled at her audacity, but he didn’t move to give chase, only the corner of his lips curling in amusement. Am I being underestimated, or is she overestimating herself? he wondered, leaning back a little more comfortably.

Indeed, Vinda Rosier believed she still had a chance. Maverick was young, after all, even if he was an archmage. She, on the other hand, was a veteran greatmagi, and even if her magic did not run as deep or as vast as his, her experience more than made up for it.

Escaping, surviving, and vanishing without a trace were skills she had honed relentlessly during the world war half a century ago, experience carved through years of blood and fire, and in that regard at least, she was certain she stood leagues ahead of him.

In the blink of an eye, she was already hundreds of miles away, soaring high through the sky, racing atop her broom in erratic paths as fast as she could push it.

From time to time, she glanced behind her, and even when she saw nothing, she did not slow down, pressing onward with a resolute expression, shattering the sound barrier even and, when that wasn't enough, apparating between breaths as far as her magic would carry her.

She didn't stop even once. Beyond the European borders she tore south, past the Middle East, and in a matter of seconds she was already over Africa.

To her credit, if it had been anyone else, she might have truly escaped through sheer decisiveness, even if her pursuer had been another archmage. As the saying goes, victory belongs to those who strike before the speech, and she clearly understood that all too well.

Passing the hot deserts of Africa, she soon found herself crossing the equatorial line, and only then did she finally slow down, hovering above a dense forest before vanishing once more as she dove between the trees below.

Glancing once more over her shoulder and seeing nothing, she allowed herself a fleeting sense of relief, though she did not dare fully relax even then.

Settling beneath the shade of a large tree, with her back pressed firmly against the rough bark, she first extended her magical senses and stretched them as far as they could reach to sweep the dense forest around her. After all, she was fleeing from an archmage, and she wasn’t willing to leave anything to chance.

Only when she was certain the area was clear did she allow her shoulders to slump, and at last, a long, shuddering exhale escaped her lips. She then leaned fully against the trunk, chest heaving and lungs burning from the brief but exhilarating ordeal of her escape.

The forest was calm, and all she could hear was the gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional distant chirp of birds. She took a moment to steady herself, then glanced down—and only then realized she was still clad in nothing but her undergarments. But she was no child to concern herself with something so insignificant, and didn’t flush even once at the thought that someone had seen her in such an embarrassing state.

A sharp huff escaped her nose, and with a decisive flick of her wand, she conjured a robe over herself, finally giving serious thought to the question that burned in her mind: how had she been discovered? She was certain no one knew about this hidden refuge, a place she visited from time to time to rest, and before arriving, she had made sure not a single trail remained behind her.

Rustle...

“That was extremely rude of you, lady—”

Her skin prickled when that sound suddenly reached her ears, and she didn’t even need to guess—she already knew the voice. Instinctively, she snapped her head toward it, and there he was. Not behind her, not above her, but standing directly in front of her, only a few steps away, as casual as ever, regarding her as if she were nothing more than a clown.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Without thinking, she unleashed the Killing Curse at point-blank range. Maybe, just maybe… but her hope was extinguished almost immediately. To her astonishment and terror, the kid simply swatted the spell aside as effortlessly as one would flick a fly.

Impossible! she screamed inwardly. Even if he were an archmage, the Killing Curse was still the Killing Curse. And while that thought screamed inside her mind, her actions did not falter for even a moment.

Boom—boom—boom—boom!

Spell after spell—red, green, orange, blue—erupted from her wand like a relentless gatling, yet each one was deflected just as easily as the first, mere inches from the kid, as if her magic were weightless, insignificant, utterly powerless against him.

But the aftermath proved otherwise, for the quiet forest suddenly erupted into chaos as the very spells she had unleashed, though deflected with apparent ease, tore through trees, sent splintered debris and clouds of dust billowing all around her.

“That is quite enough…”

Boom—boom—boom—boom!

Amid her relentless barrage of spells, his voice cut through the chaos, ringing sharply in her ears, and before she could react, an unseen force slammed into her chest with brutal precision.

She didn’t even know which direction the spell had come from, only that her wand had been ripped from her grasp and that it had to be the disarming hex, before she was hurled backward, crashing against the tree behind her with a breath-crushing impact that left her gasping and reeling.

Pain, a heart-wrenching pain detonated through her ribs, and she spluttered a mouthful of blood and saliva, her body trembling from the force of the impact.

Cough. Cough.

She slid down the trunk, her bare feet scraping futilely against the dirt as a low groan escaped her lips, her chest burning while she struggled to draw breath back into her lungs.

When she forced her head up, vision swimming, she saw him standing a few steps away, casually twirling her wand between his fingers as though it were nothing more than a toy.

“Now, lady,” he said mildly, “are you ready to talk?”

Was this it for her? Her pupils trembled, unwilling, as thoughts of resignation scrambled through her mind. Was her master’s fate truly to be forever locked in that accursed prison?

All her experience, all the years she had lived, survived, and learned—the decades that dwarfed his age—did it really mean nothing in the face of such absolute power? Was there truly nothing she could do?

Magic—yes, she was defeated, completely and utterly outmatched by his power. But…

“What…” she coughed again, tasting copper, “…do you want, boy?”
Her eyes gleamed as she pushed herself up slowly, every movement deliberate, her posture slackening just enough to look resigned, as though she had accepted the inevitable.

She watched him observe the change, and indeed, seeing no resistance from her, she noticed him relax as well, even going so far as to feign a careless shrug.

“I am simply curious,” she heard him say, “why would you, of all people, choose to follow Tom Riddle? Weren’t you once the most devoted of Grindelwald’s followers—”

Now—BANG!

The air exploded in a deafening echo.

This time, magic was not the cause. It was a true detonation, igniting directly in front of his face. She had timed it perfectly. The instant she sensed his guard ease, her storage ring flashed, and a KS‑23 metal‑punching shotgun materialized in her hands, and in the same breath she pulled the trigger without a shred of hesitation, instinct and intent aligning in a single, violent moment.

Of course, she never expected the blast to strike him directly, and just as she anticipated, a shield flared into existence in front of him a single breath before impact, yet the sheer force behind the shot was overwhelming, powerful enough to hurl him backward and slam him violently into the trees behind. But that alone was more than enough for what she needed.

Without pausing, she surged forward, dropping the shotgun as it vanished and instantly replacing it with a semi automatic that barked fire and metal in brutal succession.

Boom boom boom boom boom boom.

Bark and splintered wood exploded outward with every impact, and she did not grant him even a heartbeat to regain his bearings, pouring the relentless barrage into him before he could so much as draw breath.

Boom boom boom boom boom boom.

She emptied round after round into him, relentless and merciless, until at last what she had been waiting and anticipating for unfolded before her eyes—the defensive spell began to buckle and then shattered completely.

The first bullet tore through just beneath his chest, and she clearly heard a raw, guttural groan escape from his throat. Her eyes immediately lit up with a mixture of exhilaration and triumph.

Boom boom boom boom boom boom.

Another round pierced his gut, followed quickly by another, and then another. Bullets ripped through arms, legs, and chest, turning him into a bloody, brutal mess.

“Haaaaaah!” she screamed, exhilaration flooding her veins as she fired until at last the weapon clicked uselessly in her hands, the magazine emptied completely.

Click. Click.

She stood there, breathing hard, chest rising and falling violently as adrenaline roared through her system. A wicked, involuntary smile spread across her face as she stepped closer, savoring the sight before her.

Cough... Splatter.

The tables had turned, and this time the sound did not come from her. Blood gushed from his mouth as he sagged, riddled with wounds, his throat torn open in three places, crimson flowing freely down his chest.

“You, boy,” she said softly, taking another step closer, her voice rich with relish. “It seems you are not as clever as people claimed you were.”

She drew another magazine from her ring, snapped it into place with a sharp click, and raised the weapon again, aiming carefully.

“A pity,” she continued. “The magical world will be losing such a young prodigy. But then again, who asked you to poke your nose into places where you did not belong.”

Coughing and groaning, she watched him struggle, summoning every ounce of strength to raise a hand toward her as if it were a final plea. Even his fingers trembled, two of them weakly stretching in her direction.

She felt no fear of any final desperate action he might take, for her magical senses had already assured her that he was barely clinging to life.

Still, for some inexplicable reason, she decided to humor him.

His hand was outstretched toward her, yet the two extended fingers were aimed precisely to her right.

Annoyed but curious, she snorted and turned her head, fully expecting some desperate trick.

Impossible!

Her pupils dilated, and before she could even register what was happening, she was back on her feet, the gun slipping from her fingers and clattering uselessly to the ground.

What she saw was not a jungle, nor shattered trees, nor even the scattered debris of earth and wood that should have marked the aftermath of their earlier clash.

It was... her room.

Her room was exactly as it had been before she fled—dimly lit, bathed in the same nighttime shadows. The same walls. The same furnishings. Even that same… sofa.

And sitting there, so relaxed and untouched, was that boy. One arm draped over the armrest, his head supported lazily by his knuckles, he regarded her with a raised brow, his expression calm, amused, and unmistakably patronizing, as if she were truly nothing more than a clown.

Her heart slammed violently in her chest, and she whipped her head back toward where the broken body—the body she had so violently decorated just moments ago—should have been. But there was nothing.

Even more alarming was... the forest had vanished as well. Or rather, she was no longer where she thought she was, and she had not the faintest idea when or how she had returned.

Her room surrounded her completely.

She staggered backward, her legs giving way, and her body slammed into the dressing table behind her. Slowly, she looked down, and even more horror crept up her spine as she realized she was once again clad in nothing but her undergarments, her skin completely bare and exposed.

Her mind couldn’t catch up, couldn’t process whatever the hell was happening.

“What did…” she whispered, voice shaking uncontrollably. “What did you do to me…”

Her heart raced wildly as her entire body trembled, despair crashing down on her in full as the truth finally began to dawn. Had she been… completely deceived?

“Take a seat…” As her thoughts scattered in every direction, she heard the kid speak again... no, she realized she was hearing that line for the second time now.

And just like before, she saw a chair materialize out of nowhere, then the boy beckoning her to sit.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 296 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (VI)

Bellatrix Lestrange. There was no question that she was the most devoted servant to ever serve under Lord Voldemort, infamous for her ruthlessness and the cruelty with which she carried out carnage in his name.

She was also formidable in her own right. Young, a genius among geniuses, she achieved the rank of a great mage at a very young age, standing among the highest tiers of power in the wizarding world. With a résumé like that, one would expect her to be held in the highest regard by anyone seeking her allegiance, but unfortunately, she found herself under the command of a master who was both a lunatic and deeply paranoid.

Out of all the fools who chose to follow the Dark Lord, she was perhaps the most miserable as well, the one who had it the hardest. The daughter of Cygnus Black was not always the madwoman people now remembered her as. Racist, absolutely. Arrogant, without a doubt. But she was not insane in the beginning, not a woman who could not even recognize her own kin.

Before she fell into fanatical worship of Tom Riddle, it was her upbringing first and foremost, her family’s pureblood ideology, that led her to follow the Dark Lord. Tom Riddle, like her, was young, an archmage at that, a so called visionary whose beliefs mirrored her own. Whether it was love, sincerity, or fanatic devotion, no one could truly say, but with all her heart she believed that following that man would bring nothing but glory.

Meanwhile, Voldemort also recognized the young witch’s brilliance at a glance, but being the paranoid maniac that he was, he refused to leave any variable unchecked. Who was to say that one day this brilliant witch might reach his level and decide to dethrone him? He, Lord Voldemort, would follow no one. Hence, he made certain she would bend to his absolute will no matter the cost, right from the very beginning.

Torture followed. The most agonizing magic imaginable was inflicted upon her again and again from a young age, until at last Voldemort achieved what he desired. Her mind was broken, reshaped into a perfect puppet who would die for him without hesitation. In the process, she lost her sanity entirely.

Like her cruel master, she developed an obsession with suffering. Over time, during Voldemort’s frequent outbursts when he would torment her, that obsession twisted into something far darker. Pain, or more precisely, whenever her most beloved lord chose to torture her, became a warped form of euphoria. Cruelty turned into comfort.

With all that, one would think no amount of agony could ever faze her.

Yet in this very moment, Bellatrix Lestrange was screaming.
Pure, unfiltered agony tore through her as if her very soul were being peeled away piece by piece from its anchor. Her wails echoed across the night sky like a tolling bell, raw and unbearable, carrying a terror she had never known before.

There was physical pain, there was mental torture, and then there was torture inflicted upon one’s very will. It took no more than a quarter of a minute for Maverick to break her completely. Simply put, he overwhelmed her spirit like a mountain crushing a stone, reducing it to nothing. By the time he was done, she was like a machine without an operating system, a hollow shell that only breathed.

Her eyes had turned completely white, rolled all the way back, or maybe not, he did not know. Her jaw hung open, not from shock but because her muscles had forgotten the act entirely. Like a carcass, she hung limp while Maverick held her by the head.

“What a miserable woman,” he murmured under his breath.
Her will had been so fragile that it took him barely ten seconds to burn through completely.

Of course, if it had been physical pain alone, it would never have broken her so quickly, and might not have shaken her at all, of that he had no doubt. After all, this lunatic had been trained personally under the “gentle” care of her “benevolent” lord.

But his ambush was never aimed at her physically. It targeted the very foundation of her existence. Why, or what, is the greatest reason people commit suicide? Because at some point, they simply lose the will to keep living.

Will is the backbone of a person, like the hull of a ship. As long as it holds, even the wildest storm cannot sink it. Once it shatters, the rest of the structure cannot withstand the weight. The collapse is inevitable.

Anyways, with the woman now out of the equation, he turned his head just in time to see Moody hurtling toward him, but Rosier was nowhere to be seen. Moments after Maverick had revealed himself, he had already noticed Rosier making a run for it, but he did not act, noting as Moody pursued her just as quickly.

“The woman’s slipperier than I thought and managed to escape.” Moody came to a stop, grunting begrudgingly as he met the single inquiring eyebrow raised at him.

“In other words, you let her apparate right under your nose…” Mavrick said without changing his expression, releasing the now out-cold Bellatrix and letting her hang limply in midair. He turned back to the grumpy man and added, “Bit embarrassing, isn’t it, Mr. Greatest Auror in Britain’s history…”

“That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t been taking your sweet time,” Moody shot back with a scoff, clearly in no mood for any sarcasm. “Besides, she used a Portkey. Otherwise, I would have made sure she left behind at least a limb or two.”

Maverick didn’t bother to argue, offering only a faint shrug. Regardless of whether Rosier had escaped or not, it didn’t truly matter to him as she had long been marked with tracking magic.

His gaze then drifted downward to the campsite below. It was quieter now, with only a few lingering fires sending smoke into the night sky, though even those were being dealt with by the Ministry Aurors.

The scattered crowd had also been corralled, gathering under the Aurors’ directions. In one particular spot, surrounded by a small group, Isabella had begun her work as well. She had been portaled down before he made his appearance, taking the initiative to report the night’s chaos as breaking news to the wizarding world.

---

“Is it over?”

“What a terrifying feeling…”

“No kidding... What in Merlin’s name do you reckon that even was?”

“I felt like I was going to pass out… it was so heavy, like a cow sitting on my head…”

“Since when,” huff, huff… “do you know what it feels like to have a fat cow sitting on your head, little Ronny?”

“Is this... really the right time for you both to make jokes?” Hermione groaned, doing her best not to roll her eyes as she pushed herself back to her feet. Her face was also slick with sweat, pale and trembling, as if she had just surfaced from drowning and was finally allowed to breathe.

Not only Hermione, but nearly everyone in the group was either on one knee, both knees, or all fours, only now managing to rise like she did. The sensation had struck so suddenly, yet thankfully, it faded just as quickly, leaving them only shaken but unharmed.

Everyone except Ali and Lupin had felt it, though no one thought to ask why, or perhaps they simply hadn’t noticed. While the rest struggled to pull themselves together, Ali and Lupin’s eyes never left the sky above, as if they could see and hear everything happening hundreds of meters overhead.

When the oppressive pressure finally lifted, their eyes gleamed with understanding, as if they had received new instructions, and only then did they turn their attention back to the group around them.

“We will return to the campsite,” Ali said, or rather, announced.

“To the campsite again? Why?” Arthur stepped forward, sweat beading on his face, his expression tight with concern. “Can’t we just get out of here now?” These were his children, after all, and he wasn’t willing to risk a thing.

More voices rose from the small crowd as well, as they too failed to understand why they needed to go back. What if those dark wizards ambushed them again?

Beside Ali, Lupin could only let out a helpless sigh. Indeed, his new comrade was the kind of person who never minced words, leaving him to step in, especially in situations like this.

“Things are under control now, everyone,” he explained as gently and convincingly as possible. “The Ministry has apprehended every single terrorist, and they are also gathering everyone who came to the camp to compile an overall casualty report. It is better if we go and show our faces as well—”

BOOOM!

And just as he finished speaking, everyone ducked again, startled by the thunderous boom from overhead. When they raised their heads a moment later, they saw the ominous green skull blasted apart from its center, dispersing into nothing as moonlight bathed the field once more.

“See, the scary symbol has been removed as well,” Lupin added amid the silence, though the corner of his eye could not help but twitch. Why did everything his new boss do have to be so flashy?

Their group soon strolled back the way they had come, moving through the carnage of what had once been a brilliant campsite and was now little more than ruin.

Above them, luminescent spheres of magic hovered in scattered clusters, casting enough light that navigating the wreckage was no longer difficult. Before long, they reached the area where Ministry personnel were already hard at work, organizing and taking what looked like a careful headcount.

“What’s that?”

“Up there, look!” a few people exclaimed, pointing skyward.

Heads tilted up one by one as the crowd followed their fingers, eyes squinting when they spotted two, no, three, figures descending from above.

One rode a broom. The other descended as if it were the most casual thing in the world, his long coat fluttering in the breeze, hands tucked into his pockets, while beside him was...

“Is that a witch?”

“Who’s that?”

They saw that the third figure hung limply, arms and legs dangling as if completely unconscious.

“I’m heading to the Minister’s side," Moody said, tilting his broom slightly, but his eyes stayed fixed on the limp body and his concern goes without saying.

“Right, take it…” Maverick waved his hand, and the body floated toward Moody, who caught control. “Stay with Jameson until the matters here are resolved. I’ll be leaving…” he added, and before Moody could respond, he veered off, his eyes locking on Ali and Lupin in the distance.

“Professor…”

“Professor…”

The children exclaimed the moment they recognized him and came running where he landed.

“Good job,” Maverick said, a faint smile curling his lips as he glanced at the four students. He was genuinely impressed by how they handled everything, even Ron, and little Jean too, who, despite being the youngest, didn’t fall behind the trio.

Meanwhile, Sirius walked up to him, a complicated expression etched across his face. It was clear what he wanted to know.

“I didn’t kill her, if that’s what’s bothering you,” Maverick told him straightforwardly. Of course, not killing her and her brain being fried were two very different things, and Maverick had no intention of explaining all that to him.

“I didn’t…”

“Right, of course. Anyways, she’s in Alastor’s custody and will be sent back to where she belongs. If you want to know more, you’ll have to speak with him…”

“What you reckon they’re arguing about?”

“Beats me… a woman. You don't think—”

“Shut it…” Arthur interjected, yanking the collars of his two little troublemakers, who thought they were whispering but were actually speaking rather loudly, and leaned down to murmur sharply into their ears.

Sirius, meanwhile, stepped back after hearing Maverick’s remark. Knowing she was alive seemed to satisfy him. Even if a faint trace of familial affection remained, it did not mean he wished to spare her from what she deserved.

“Whatever,” he muttered, trying to keep his voice flat. “Let her rot in that place for the rest of her life.”

Maverick didn’t linger long, taking only Jean with him when he left. No doubt she would tell Xavier everything when she got back, and it was better the professor hear the explanation directly from him than some exaggerated tales from her.

Regardless, tonight’s chaos would dominate the headlines across the magical world tomorrow, and not just in the Daily Prophet. After all, the Quidditch World Cup was one of the largest, if not the single biggest, international magical events. His own name, too, Mavrick had no doubt, would be plastered across the headlines.

---

Somewhere in Europe, the sun had yet to rise. In front of a nondescript two-story house, amid the still darkness, the air carried a muffled sound as a hooded figure materialized. She paused for a moment, then stepped forward and opened the house door.

When the door closed behind her, she made a lazy wave of her hand, and her robes flew on their own, hanging neatly on the hanger, revealing a woman whose dress was half-tattered but whose face remained fair, although her expression was anything but pleasant.

Without pausing, she walked forward, climbed the stairs, and entered the first dimly lit room that came into view, her footsteps echoing softly against the floor. She continued straight to the dressing table, where she finally stopped and stared at her reflection. Her eyes narrowed, lingering over her own image as if searching for something hidden, and then, suddenly, as if consumed by a burst of uncontrollable rage, she hammered her fist against the mirror, the sound shattering the silence.

“Damn the crazy bitch. Damn the annoying Aurors. And damn the kid. Damn it!”

Boom—boom—boom!

With each expletive, her fist smashed deeper into the glass, shattering it completely, even cracking the wood and splintering the concrete of the wall.

She exhaled sharply, muttering another “Damn it,” but this time, she slammed her hand on the table, and in an instant, the wall and the innocent dressing table snapped back to their original form, as if time itself had been rewound.

Letting out two long exhales, she straightened up, as if finished venting her fury. Slowly, she unstrapped the buttons of her tattered dress, letting it fall to the floor and leaving only her undergarments, never once taking her eyes off her reflection, her gaze still burning with anger. This woman was none other than Rosier, the same witch who had escaped Alastor Moody using a Portkey not long ago.

Crackle! Thunder.

Suddenly, a sharp crackle of thunder followed by a blinding flash of light tore through the window, and her eyes snapped toward it, puzzled—she was certain there hadn’t been a single cloud in the sky when she arrived.

Instinctively, she moved to investigate, her eyes flicking briefly to the mirror one last time before stepping forward, but the moment she did, they widened in shock. Her heartbeat spiked, and she spun around abruptly, wand already raised, aimed at the sofa against the wall.

In the shadow, someone sat on the very same sofa. The face wasn’t clear, but that wasn’t the point. How could she, a dignified greatmage, have failed to notice someone in her own room?

“Vinda, Rosier…” The voice was unnervingly calm, too calm for her comfort, sending a chill down her spine. “Since when…” She remained frozen in place as the voice continued, each syllable dripping with scorn, sinking deeper into her bones with every word. “…did the so-called champion of the greater good decide to sell their soul to a madman?”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 295 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (V)

What was supposed to be a wonderful day, bursting with epic fun, thunderous cheers, and heated Quidditch debates, how has it shattered into complete chaos in the blink of an eye...

Harry ran, moving with everything he had, his boots tearing through trampled grass while spells burst and flared around him, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of what had gone wrong and what was happening, yet the surge of adrenaline and the roar of bangs and screams kept any clear thought just out of reach as chaos erupted all around him.

Not only him—everyone around him was caught in the same frenzy. The children, Sirius, and Mr. Weasley pushed through the panic, their wands flashing constantly, sending hexes at anyone who even hinted at danger.

“Keep moving, don’t stop, eyes up...”

Colorful spells jolted like a storm from their tight circle, and shimmering shields flared briefly before collapsing into sparks, yet their momentum never faltered, pressing forward like a single unit.

Behind them, Sirius pivoted, unleashing a stunning spell at a masked figure struggling to rise from the ground. Ahead of the group, Arthur was just as relentless, calm amid the chaos, shouting quick warnings and directions, deflecting curses with precise flicks of his wand while guiding children and terrified spectators toward the dark outline of the woods.

The children, likewise, weren’t just running either. At least Harry’s wand flashed constantly, as did Ron’s, Hermione’s, and Jean’s, hexing enemies with deadly precision.

Their strikes weren’t frantic panic but controlled. Today, they truly felt the difference—or rather, finally got to measure the training of the past three years. Their spells landed harder and faster, their shields held longer than they should. They moved with frightening composure, firing precise hexes without breaking stride. Even Jean felt it. Having joined them for only half a year, her magic, coupled with her mutant abilities humming beneath her skin like a second heartbeat, kept her from falling a single measure behind.

Percy, Fred, and George fired a hex or two as well, but their eyes couldn’t help darting to the four flanking them on the left and right, despite all the chaos around them. Especially their little brother—their seemingly very, very ordinary little brother, Ronald Weasley.

How, or when, in Merlin’s name, had their little Ronald gotten this good? Had they been missing something? Little Ginny, too, stared at her brother with sparkling eyes, clutching his arm as he was pulled forward. Perhaps it was the first time she truly saw him as… cool. She had half a mind to praise him aloud but swallowed the urge, knowing it was neither the time nor the place for such admiration.

Meanwhile, the redhead in question had no idea his standing in the eyes of his family had just risen several levels, far too busy dropping enemies left and right.

“Who are these masked freaks?” he shouted between breaths, blasting a hex into the ground that sent two masked figures sprawling at once, his face flushed with effort while his eyes remained sharp and fiercely focused.

“Bad guys, terrorists, what else,” Hermione answered from his right while deflecting a curse that would have caught Percy in the shoulder.

“But why here?” Harry’s breath burned in his chest as he, too, hurled a stunner backward without even looking, rewarded by the thud of a body hitting the grass. “What good will terrorizing civilians do?”

“Blimey, who cares…”
“Bad guys, blast them…”

George and Fred ranted in quick succession while Arthur subtly adjusted their course, guiding them as the woods loomed ever closer.

Hexing and shielding, they ran, and were almost there when, all of a sudden, a cluster of masked figures spilled out from between the trees and behind overturned tents, trapping them along with dozens of other fleeing spectators as taunts rang out and cruel laughter echoed through the smoke-filled air.

“Well, look at this,” one of them called, his voice distorted behind the mask, wand already raised. “Some fish trying to escape the net, eh—”

“Expelliarmus!”
“Bombarda!”

Too bad for the grunts—before they could even relish their taunts, spells erupted from the group they had just labeled as “fish.” They had no choice but to raise their shields as Sirius and Arthur advanced together, curses slamming into them hard enough to stagger. The trio dove in just as quickly, and the clearing instantly erupted into a riot of color and sound.

It was messy and tight, yet somehow briefly evenly matched despite the ratio of adults, all thanks to the golden trio, until a single, vicious curse from a grunt broke through the shields and hurtled straight toward a terrified Ginny.

Arthur turned his head, wide-eyed and horrified, and the one closest to her, her brother, felt it before he even saw it. A cold twist ran through his gut as the spell bore down on her far too fast for him to assist and for her to dodge.

Ginny!

Her family screamed while the grunts laughed maniacally, but then suddenly everyone’s eyes widened as out of nowhere a shimmering barrier, far more solid than any they had seen before, snapped into existence around Ginny with a sound like crystal ringing.

The expected bang didn’t even snap, as if the hex had been swallowed whole, only rippling the surface. At the same time, the air thickened and a heavy pressure descended over the clearing, so intense it forced nearly everyone to their knees for a heartbeat.

Before that feeling even registered, a crack of thunder split the air, followed by a blinding flash overhead. Bolts of magic then rained down in a furious storm, each one striking a masked figure with deadly precision, flattening them to the ground and turning them to charred husks before they even had a chance to react.

Silence followed in stunned waves.

Not a single masked terrorist was spared then everyone instinctively looked up just in time to see two figures descending slowly on faintly shimmering magical constructs, their robes snapping in the heat rising from the scorched ground.

“Professor Lupin…”

“Mr. Ali…”

Two youthful voices broke out, relief cutting through the fear as they clearly registered the identities of the two figures.

Lupin landed lightly, eyes already sweeping the crowd with sharp precision as he asked, his voice calm but carrying, if anyone was hurt, while Ali moved like a shadow around them, checking the fallen attackers with quick, efficient motions.

“I’m glad you’re all alright,” the werewolf said, ushering them toward the trees as distant screams and explosions echoed from every direction, the fire painting the sky in shades of orange and red. “We will move into the woods and transfer you to a safer location.” His gaze landed on the unfamiliar dozen or so civilians, and he gave them a reassuring smile.

“How bad is it?” Sirius asked quietly as they moved, also glancing briefly at the introverted man he knew very well.

“Not as bad as you think, Padfoot,” Lupin answered with a wry smile. He didn’t go into detail, giving only a brief overview. “The screams you’re hearing are mostly from the dark wizards… Jameson is personally leading the hunt—oh…” He paused, then added with a teasing smirk, “Bonsey is there as well. The Aurors will have everything under control soon...”

“What about body count?”

“None!” Ali answered without looking at Arthur’s question, his gaze fixed firmly ahead.

“Like I said, it’s not as bad as you all think,” Lupin added, shrugging his shoulders.

They had barely gone a dozen steps and came to a sudden stop again when a loud, thunderous crack tore through the air. Instinctively, everyone looked up to see a sickly green mist burst high above, spreading outward like ink in water before twisting and coiling into a form that made some of the adults go deathly pale in recognition.

“Merlin’s beard… is that a skull?” Ron’s mouth was half agape as he stared at the obviously ominous sight. After all, it was a human skull, and that couldn’t possibly be a good sign.

Hermione also swallowed hard, eyes wide, but unlike her half-brained friend, she recognized it instantly from all the books she had read. “That’s the Dark Mark, right?”

Arthur nodded grimly at the name, one he hadn’t heard in a long time. “Indeed. We need to leave. Now. I have a very bad feeling about this.”

But then he felt a hand gently on his shoulder, turned, and saw Lupin shaking his head. “There’s no need to panic. With us here, no one will be in danger. The camp is largely under control.”

Arthur blinked, then realization struck. He cast another glance toward the duo that had descended, and his eyes widened as it sank in. That’s right, he thought. Pure magical construct. That could only mean one of them was a great mage, and his gaze fixed on the most likely person.

He wasn’t unfamiliar with Ali—in a way, he was his boss, the general manager of all Caesar’s businesses—but this was perhaps the first time they were meeting face to face.

Lupin met his gaze, smiled, and nodded once. “Yes. Mr. Ali is an ascended mage. Moreover, we’ve been moving everywhere, taking out those Death Eaters and assisting the Aurors before coming here. That’s why I can confidently say the situation is under control.”

And just then, before Arthur could respond again, another deafening boom echoed from the sky, and every head snapped upward once more to see what was happening.

Two silhouettes streaked high across the sky like comets on brooms, the deafening sound coming from their spells colliding in blinding flashes. Clearly, it wasn’t just two random witches or wizards dueling—both were at least above magus rank, otherwise it couldn’t be this fierce.

The intensity was overwhelming, as if lightning were striking overhead, shockwaves rippling through the air and forcing even them all the way down to shield their faces.

“What kind of duel is that?” someone gasped, a hand over their face, barely audible over the roar. Given the few numbers, most of the wizarding population never experiences the true magical might of a great mage in their entire lives, and the sight before them left most of them gaping in awe and fear.

Even the children, including the trio, were wide-eyed as they watched the thick bolts of magic light up the sky like fireworks. Although they were students of Hogwarts, a school that had two archmages and two great magi, they had never truly witnessed any of them in real action up close.

Arthur, likewise, stared in awe, muttering under his breath, “That is a duel between two great magi.”

Only Ali and Sirius showed no outward reaction, having witnessed far greater power exchanged up close during the alien war just half a year ago. However, Sirius’s brows were furrowed at this moment, his gaze fixed on one of the silhouettes as he pieced together their identities.

“That’s Mad Eye, right?” Arthur said slowly, then hesitated.

“And the other is Bellatrix Lestrange,” Sirius finished, the name hissing from his mouth like a curse.

Hermione’s breath caught at the name. As a walking encyclopedia in the making, she knew the story behind the name as well. “I read… she’s You-Know-Who’s most formidable lieutenant… an infamous dark witch known for her… cruelty.”

Arthur tore his attention away, shaking himself, then glanced at the quiet, Middle Eastern-looking man calmly watching the sky. “That, Mr…” He hesitated, but went on. “Mr. Ali, don’t you plan to go and help?” Out of everyone in their group, he could think of only one person qualified enough to intervene in a duel of that scale.

In return, Ali gave him only a brief glance, then, without saying a word, continued to watch, sending a wave of awkwardness over Arthur.

The duel didn’t last long, at least seemingly, and before long the sky above them fell silent again. The ominous Mark of the Dark Lord still hung in the sky, bathing it in a brilliant green, but everyone’s attention had long been captured by the brief yet epic duel that had just unfolded.

“Who won?” someone finally asked amidst the silence, but no one answered. The figures were too high, silhouetted against the green light, impossible to make out.

“Right,” Sirius said at last. “Shouldn’t we be leaving… what’s the point of staying any longer?” In fact, his heart was in turmoil—confusion, anger, and… a twinge, just a twinge of worry he wanted to push aside as quickly as possible. After all, no matter how ruthless or mad a bitch Balatrix was, she was still his sister.

The chaos around them had dulled to distant echoes by now, just as Lupin had said it would, and for a brief moment, it seemed like things had finally turned alright.

However, just as everyone had finally let out a sigh of relief, they felt a sudden change in the atmosphere again, quite literally this time.

A suffocating, overwhelming pressure descended over them without warning, heavy as if a tsunami hovered above, stealing their breaths and freezing their blood. Every person present felt it at once, eyes widening in shared dread as something vast and terrible made itself known.

It was a stark contrast to when Ali and Lupin had descended, feeling the weight of a great mage’s magic. In fact, this felt nothing like that. This was more primal, as if reckoning itself had descended upon them. Before they knew it, everyone in the area fell to their knees, unable even to lift their heads. No one was spared—not children, not adults—and every breath seemed to catch in their throats.

---

A little while earlier, high above the devastated campsite.

“You cannot win against the two of us, Alastor,” Rosier said coolly, his gaze fixed on the one-eyed, fierce-looking man, trying to convince him to give up willingly in exchange for their promise to stop the carnage unfolding below.

But Moody gave her only a verbal middle finger, as if laughing at her audacity. “Heh… I know I can’t take on the two of you, you stupid cunt...” His growl then cut off, laughter fading into a wide, dangerous grin. “But… what about him?”

As he spoke, his gaze fixed just behind the maddest of the two, to which Balatrix only tilted her head, as if silently asking what madness he was spouting. Still, she turned, not even bothered if she would be attacked as she did, and while doing so, she chuckled, saying, “Who–”

Only to be met with a hand covering her face before it gripped her forehead.

“Me…” was all she heard.

In the next instant, a gut-wrenching, agonizing wail tore from her lungs as a monstrous force of absolute power enveloped her, shocking her body to the core as if she were being electrocuted, making her tremble violently as though seized by a convulsion.

With his current mastery, Maverick could focus his dominant spirit on a single target, but when unleashing his ocean of magic all at once, some of it was bound to leak. He wanted to obliterate the lunatic completely, body and soul, so he held nothing back, but a small fraction of his momentum still radiated outward from him at the center.

Apart from the crazy woman, the two closest to him—Rosier and Alastor—felt it most, nearly losing their grip on their brooms. But great magi were still great magi, and they held on, albeit barely, their faces etched with horrified expressions as they looked at him. And down below, well, for now, he had no idea.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 294 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (IV)

“Kekekek… just look at them, running for their mommies…”

Under the moonlight, above the tall trees lining the forest’s edge, two silhouettes hovered on magical brooms, watching the chaotic campsite spread out beneath them.

One remained perfectly still, a silent shadow against the sky. The other swayed and rocked as though their broom were a horse out of control, yet instead of panic, shrill, maniacal laughter spilled from their mouth and rang freely through the night.

“How long must we wait?” The seemingly crazy individual was none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, second only in madness to Voldemort himself.

A breathless, feverish laugh escaped her, sharp and trembling with anticipation. She twisted toward the figure beside her, eyes glittering with frantic delight. “Do you have any idea what this feels like? To watch them scatter and scream and not be allowed to touch. Ahhhh... It is agony. All those lovely little toys, and I am forced to keep my hands to myself.”

The other silhouette, when the moonlight fell across her face beneath the hood, revealed a luminous, fair complexion, soft rosy lips, and perfectly arched brows. Strands of black hair framed her delicate features, highlighting high cheekbones and a serene elegance that made her beauty striking, composed, and subtly commanding, a woman seemingly in her early thirties.

The corner of her eyebrow twitched as she fought to suppress the urge to hex the crazed woman-child beside her. “A little longer…” she murmured, her voice barely audible, reluctant, yet still answering.

Below her, she saw the campsite had now descended into utter madness. People ran blindly in every direction, their terrified screams tangled with jeers, shrill laughter, and the occasional staggering shout of those chasing them, while flames licked the tents and sparks danced across the night sky.

The first objective, according to that twisted madman, was to give the people a taste of absolute fear, she thought inwardly as time seemed to crawl. Up next was to raise his flag gloriously, she scoffed, and finally to capture a certain “chess piece” convenient for the final plan.

What she was waiting for was that individual, yet the chess piece seemed to have vanished the moment the ruckus began.

Anyways, watching the bodies collide and stumble over one another, panic rippling through the crowd, she thought this should count as the first objective complete, right?

And just then—

“Aaah…”

A sharp cry suddenly cut through the chaos, loud enough to rise above the screams of the panicked crowd. She tilted her head, tracing the sound, and saw it wasn’t coming from the terrified masses, but from someone on their own side.

Her eyes narrowed, settling on a single figure in her line of sight. Finally, she thought, the next objective had finally arrived.

“Kekekek…”

Beside her, Bellatrix giggled, the sound bubbling from her throat with delighted malice as she cast a brief sideways look, recognizing the subtle change in her demeanor. For all her madness, she was still a great magi, her awareness just as sharp as anyone in her rank.

“You can start,” Rosier intoned, her gaze locking with hers, while she braced herself, knuckles white on the broom’s handle. “Do nothing unnecessary… your target is Alester, and nothing else.”

Bellatrix’s tongue flicked across her lips and her grin widened as the thrill of what was about to unfold coursed through her veins. She offered no retort, too consumed by exhilaration to bother with words, her mind already dancing ahead to the chaos she would unleash.

“Kekekeke…”

Cackling like a lunatic, she surged into the sky, wand raised high, eyes burning with anticipation while every nerve in her body trembled. It was the moment she had been waiting for, the moment to let her lord’s mark rise in all its terrifying glory for the entire world to see.

With a decisive clockwise flick, she unleashed her magic, shouting the spell aloud, “MORSMORDRE!” A thick bolt of green tore into the night sky, accompanied by a deafening crack of thunder. It had been so long, well over a decade since she had last cast it, and yet it launched with effortless ferocity, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

Lowering her wand, her lips curled into a fanatic grin as she waited. A heartbeat later, the spell detonated high above, scattering even the clouds overhead in a violent bloom of eerie green light.

Everyone below, the panicked crowd, the attacking Death Eaters, and the pursuing Aurors all turned their heads upward, drawn by the deafening crack and the ominous green spreading across the sky.

“What is that?”

“Some kind of signal?”

“Are reinforcements coming?”

Speculation rippled through the chaotic crowd as the noise collapsed into a tense, collective silence. Fearful gazes followed the spreading green above, watching as the mist roiled and folded in on itself, slowly shaping into a skull of sickly light, its bony jaws parting as if to announce its presence.

“That… that does not look like a signal for reinforcements,” one onlooker muttered.

Gasps spread like a wave, and in stark contrast, those who had been waiting for this moment answered with shrill, fanatical laughter that rang across the field.

From the skull’s gaping jaws, they watched as a massive serpent emerge, coiling slowly as if waking from slumber. Some, especially those from Britain who remembered the dark days a decade ago, felt recognition strike them immediately.

“That’s… isn’t that the symbol of the Dark Lord?” A terrified woman, past middle age, lifted her trembling hand toward the sky, clutching her equally frightened husband tightly.

The sea of people below was bathed in the eerie green light, their faces pale with dread, while high above, the instigator cackled even more maniacally at the sight. Yes, yes. This was exactly what her most beloved lord had wanted. A declaration, a most glorious announcement.

However, she didn’t get to savor the moment, for in the next instant her magical sense flared at an imminent threat. Instinctively, she jerked her broom to the side just as a thick bolt of red streaked past, vanishing into the night sky.

“Kekekekek!” Her laughter rang fanatically through the brief silence, sharp and wild, as she steadied herself effortlessly and unleashed a counter hex toward a second surge of terrifying magic hurtling in her direction.

Booooom!

Below, every eye was drawn to the spectacle above. Two thick bolts of magic collided in the air, sparks and arcs of power crackling between them. Two figures on magical brooms circled slowly, high above the chaos, their surges of magic locked in a tense, frozen stalemate.

Boom! Boom!

Strands of lightning arced from the clashing spells, tearing through the air, sending dust and debris flying, and obliterating anything in their path.

Screams erupted again as the dark wizards resumed their hunt. Above and below, the campsite had fallen into complete chaos, magic tearing through the sky while terrified figures scattered across the ground.

“Kekekeke!” Bellatrix’s face lit up in the wake of her own magic, her hair whipping wildly as she laughed and poured more power into her spell. On the other side, Alastor Moody gripped his wand tightly, his one eye gleaming with lethal focus at the madwoman trying to overwhelm him.

“What’s the matter, cripple? Cat got your tongue, hmm? Kekekekeke… and here I was thinking that mudblood-licking bitch would stick around to join the fun…”

“Damn it!” Moody muttered under his breath. He didn’t respond to her taunt, only an idiot would, and focused entirely on the duel. This crazy woman, mad as she was, was no easy opponent.

And indeed, if only Minerva had been here, he thought, but she had departed right after the game, long before the chaos even began, leaving him to face this treacherous situation alone.

Reinforcements had, of course, been requested, but with it being the middle of the night and the Patronuses still en route to their recipients, he feared it might be too late by the time they arrived. If it were only the lunatics below, he was certain he could have handled the situation swiftly, but facing a mage of equal rank on the other side made that impossible.

Booom! Booom! Booom! Booom! Booom! Booom!

Spell after spell, unleashed from their immense reserves of magic, collided in a frenzied storm, explosive bursts meeting concussive detonations. Each strike cut through the darkness, trailing searing green, fiery red, and shimmering white, while shockwaves hurled sparks and debris toward the panicked crowd below.

The two great magi twisted and spiraled on their brooms, locked in a relentless, deadly dance. Such was the clash of magi at their rank that, if left unrestrained, it could obliterate everything nearby in its aftermath.

Moody, unfortunately, found himself in a precarious position, unable to unleash his full power even if he wanted to. The woman was far from an easy opponent, and to make matters worse, she kept lowering their altitude, dragging the clash of their magic closer to the ground and forcing him to divide his attention between their deadly duel and the panicked crowd below.

“You know you won’t get away with this. Terrorizing an international event will put the ICW straight on your trail.”

Moody tried to reason with her, then realized he was wasting his breath. After all, what good was trying talking to a madwoman?

“Kekeke…”

Sure enough, her cackles grew even wilder after his warning, as if none of it mattered. “I’d worry about yourself first if I were you, you stupid dog,” she shouted back, intensifying her barrage of spells hurling toward him.

The hell does that mean? he wondered, and almost immediately the answer came as a surge of warning jolted through his magical sense.

Instinctively, he twisted his broom as a powerful burst of magic hurtled past him, but the maneuver left him exposed, and Bellatrix showed no mercy, unleashing a blasting hex squarely at him.

“Damn! Protego maxima!”

Unfortunately, it was just a hair’s breadth too late. The spell tore through his semi-formed shield, slamming into him and send him, along with his broom, hurtling across the sky.

Excruciating pain seared through his chest leaving him nearly breathless, but fortunately the semi-formed magical barrier had atleast managed to absorb most of the impact.

That said, Alastor Moody was no stranger to pain, nor to life-and-death situations like this. Mid-flight, blasted through the air, he twisted with precision, clenching his chest against the searing ache, and shot upward again, his magical senses ablaze with warning that danger was far from over.

Booom! Booom!

More spells were hurled at him, thick bolts of red and blue streaking toward him from two different directions, leaving him with no choice but to evade. He twisted left and right, dodging each by mere hair’s breadth, and surged higher into the sky. At the very least, he needed to draw the clash away from the crowded campsite, and there was nowhere else to go but upward.

The sky soon erupted in a blaze of color, lightning-like jolts streaking through the air like a furious storm, until at last the crackling ceased. Moody turned, sensing the onslaught had stopped, only to find the culprits hovering motionless, their eyes fixed on him.

He froze as well, knowing he could not let them retreat. At least until reinforcements arrived, he had the confidence to keep them occupied, even if it meant drawing them through the sky in pursuit. Besides, the Aurors with him, now trying to stop the chaos below, were no nobodies either, and with some luck, even before reinforcements arrived, they might even manage to bring the situation under control.

“Kekekeke. Let me guess…” Bellatrix cackled mockingly at him. “...planning to make us chase you until sunrise?”

Damn. Isn’t this woman supposed to be a brainless, stupid maniac? Moody thought inwardly, clutching the handle of his broom.

Ignoring her briefly, he then glanced at the other figure, only to be taken aback. It was indeed the same woman he had glimpsed during the prison break. Back then, he hadn’t seen her face clearly, but now there was no mistaking her identity.

“Didn’t think you, of all people, would change masters,” he said coldly, his brow furrowing. “You know this won’t end well for you… or are you ready to say goodbye to that pardon you received?”

“What does it matter to you, Alester Moody?”

The three of them hovered in a tense triangular formation, each figure locked in place under the vibrant, eerie glow of the green, ominous mark above.

“You’re right,” Moody said, feigning a casual shrug. Despite the pain still burning through his chest, he forced himself to appear calm, drawing out the conversation. Every second he bought mattered.

“Why do this?” he continued, his voice steady as his gaze briefly flicked upward before settling back on the two of them. “Terrorizing helpless people… no matter how flashy that mark is, it doesn’t change the fact that Riddle is dead—”

“Avada Kedavra!”

The instant that name left his lips, Bellatrix snapped. In a fit of absolute rage, she lunged forward and slashed her wand through the air, unleashing the deadliest spell in her arsenal.

But something as instinctive as dodging was etched into his very bones by now, a lifetime hunting dark wizards having sharpened every reflex to perfection. He slipped sideways just in time, the sickly green curse tearing through the space where his head had been a heartbeat ago.

“How dare you, you stupid dog, utter that cursed name!” she shrieked, already flicking her wand again.

“Enough!” Rosier shouted, seeing her crazy partner lose control again and quickly stepped in. “Did you forget? We need him alive, you idiot! Your master needs him alive.”

Merlin have mercy. Working with a tantrum-throwing child would be easier, she thought bitterly.

Meanwhile, Moody’s eyebrows lifted as a cold, ominous feeling coursed through his spine the moment those words reached him. That's right. Why had they suddenly stopped pressing him so relentlessly, and more importantly, why hadn’t that blasted curse appeared amid the relentless stream of hexes earlier?

“What twisted conspiracy are you lunatics plotting now?” he growled, brows knitting together as his grip tightened around his wand, every muscle coiled and ready.

Beside Rosier, Bellatrix trembled, barely restraining her fury, her fingers twitching as if aching to strike again. Rosier, however, turned back to him calmly and slowly curled her lips into a thin, knowing smile.

“I suppose there is no point in hiding it any longer,” she said coolly. “Tell you what. If you surrender honestly, I swear the chaos below ends immediately. No more innocent people will be harmed.” Her eyes gleamed faintly as she tilted her head. “How does that sound?”

“Hahahahaha!”

Moody let out a loud, booming laugh that rang through the night before he forced himself to rein it in, fixing them with a hard, unyielding stare. For a brief moment, just a brief moment, his gaze flicked past them toward the distance, then snapped back to the two witches before him.

“You think I’m some righteous fool like Albus Dumbledore?” he snarled. “No matter what you do, you freaks won’t get away with this. This half-baked conspiracy of yours will never succeed. Reinforcements will arrive sooner or later, and I’d rather drag myself to death than let the likes of you take me with you.”

“Why the fuck are we still talking!”

“You cannot win against the two of us, Alastor,” Rosier replied coolly, ignoring both the fool beside her and Moody’s outburst.

“Heh… I know, you stupid cunt!” Moody growled back, then his laughter faded, replaced by a wide, dangerous grin. “But…”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 293 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (III)

Cheers and applause detonated through the stands, a white hot surge of sound that tore across the stadium in endless waves, sealing the night in thunder and fire. The roar became a living thing, swelling and crashing back upon itself as fireworks split the sky above, scattering gold and emerald light across tens of thousands of upturned faces.

At the stadium’s highest level, within the VIP stands, the celebration was erupting in perfect harmony with the chaos below.

Fred and George were on their feet, leaping and screaming at the top of their lungs, arms flailing as if they might take flight themselves. George nearly tripped over the bench, laughing wildly as Fred grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him in triumph.

Ron seized Harry by the collar, hauling him halfway out of his seat as his face burned red with excitement. “Did you see that, Harry? Did you see that?”

Harry nodded helplessly, his glasses slightly askew from the shaking. “I saw it, Ron, I saw it.”

“That was a Skycorkscrew,” Ron shouted, jabbing a finger toward the pitch as the cheers surged again. “Merlin, a Skycorkscrew!”

“I know,” Harry said, raising his voice just to be heard. “I saw it.”

Ron barely listened. “Did you know that guy Krum’s almost our age?” he went on breathlessly. “How in Merlin’s name is that even possible?”

Harry rolled his eyes, though a faint smile tugged at his mouth. Honestly, it did not feel quite as unbelievable as everyone made it sound to him. After everything he had been put through during training with his alchemy professor, the months of relentless drills, he was fairly certain he could pull off something similar if given the chance. Especially on a broom, he had far more confidence.

And while the group were celebrating along with the rest, not far away an Asian couple sat within the same VIP section, joining the festivities as well, though with polite applause rather than shouting.

Isabella clapped absently, her gaze still fixed on the pitch, while Maverick mirrored her, slowly bringing his hands together in an unhurried rhythm. Without turning her head, she muttered, “Thank Merlin it did not drag on. I was starting to get bored already.”

Maverick chuckled softly, also without looking at her. “That’s Quidditch, honey. You never really know…” In truth, he was a little surprised, because in the original story he remembered the match ending quickly as well. Was there really some invisible hand making sure things unfolded along a set, fated line of trajectory?

After all, this universe was an entirely different setting from the original story, and yet, some events still seemed to unfold the same way.

Isabella finally glanced sideways at him. “So... what’s next?”

He hummed softly at her words, considering. According to Lucius, Voldy’s thugs would move only after the closing ceremony, meaning tonight it was only a matter of time. He let a slow smile form as he watched the vibrant fireworks erupt before him. “Now... we simply wait,” he said quietly, eyes fixed on the spectacle.

The closing ceremony followed soon after. Champions were crowned, medals awarded, and standout players recognized as the crowd roared approval once more.

Amid the celebration, from the corner of his eye, Maverick noticed a man several seats to his right rise quietly. He leaned down, murmured something to the woman and child beside him, and slipped away without drawing attention. His expression was solemn, sharply at odds with the electric atmosphere, and he made his way toward Maverick, stopping just behind him as if waiting for instructions.

“Is it time?” Maverick asked calmly, without turning.

“Yes, leader,” Lucius replied in a low voice. Though controlled, his tone carried an undercurrent of anxiety that Maverick could sense without looking. “I’ve been summoned… we’ll be marching from the northeast side of the camp.”

Maverick waved his hand, nodding. “Good. I take it you have the portkey with you?”

A brief look of relief crossed Lucius’s face as he nodded, slipping his hand inside his coat pocket. “I have it…”

“…Very well. Be careful. And don’t worry about your wife or little Draco, I’ll keep an eye on them. Signal me when it’s about to begin.”

Lucius exhaled slowly, as if a heavy weight had been lifted, nodded once more, and then turned toward the elevators. His face was calm, resolute, the two things that had haunted him most—his family’s safety and his own—finally accounted for.

He knew the mission given by the Dark Lord was essentially a suicide assignment, yet inaction would be far more dangerous. Voldemort would not tolerate hesitation. At the same time, his position as a double agent left him with no real choice. At least now, his new leader had given him a chance to survive—for himself and for his family.

Minutes later, Maverick and Isabella also rose, making their way toward the elevators. The stands still buzzed with energy, but no one paid them any attention, and even if someone had glanced their way, they would not have noticed. Already, they were geared up, invisible to sight and senses, and soon, they vanished from the stadium entirely.

Time dragged on as fireworks thundered overhead, each explosion followed by waves of cheers that rolled through the stadium again and again. At last, the World Cup finals drew to a close. By the final announcement, it was already past one in the morning. Streams of spectators made their way toward tents, though most remained on the grounds, planning to sleep under the stars and depart at sunrise.

“Do not tell your mother you have been gambling,” Mr. Weasley implored quietly as they shuffled down the stairs with the crowd.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” Fred said gleefully. “We’ve got big plans for this money. We wouldn’t want it confiscated.”

Mr. Weasley hesitated, clearly tempted to ask what those plans were, then thought better of it. Soon they were swept along the lantern lit path back toward the campsite. Raucous singing drifted through the night air, and leprechauns zipped overhead, cackling as they waved glowing lanterns.

By the time they reached the tents, sleep felt impossible, and with the surrounding noise still rising, Mr. Weasley decided they deserved one last cup of cocoa before turning in. They laughed and debated over the match until Ginny dozed off at the tiny table, sending hot chocolate pooling across the floor, and at last, everyone decided it was time to call it a night.

Hermione, Jean, and Ginny retreated to the ladies’ area, while Harry, Ron, Sirius, Mr. Weasley, and the others changed into pajamas and climbed into their bunks. Even then, singing and the occasional distant bang echoed across the campsite.

“Bet telling the Irish lot to quiet down would be a bit… hopeless, eh?” Ron said from the top bunk, staring at the canvas ceiling as a leprechaun lantern zipped past. He couldn’t stop thinking about Krum’s spectacular moves, especially that last-minute catch.

He imagined himself on a Firebolt, robes bearing his name, the roar of a hundred thousand voices filling the stadium as the commentator’s voice boomed, “I give you... Ronaaaald Weeeeeasley.”

He never knew when the fantasy slipped into sleep. All he knew was that his father’s voice suddenly cut through the darkness.

“Get up. Ron, Harry, come on, get up. This is urgent.”

“What’s happening?” Harry shot upright, narrowly avoiding a bang with the bunk above, while Ron groaned from his own bunk, rolled over, and squinted sleepily at his father.

The campsite sounded different now, or at least it seemed that way at first. The singing had stopped, replaced by screams that pierced the night, accompanied by the heavy thud of running feet.

“No time,” Mr. Weasley said hurriedly, tugging jeans over his pajamas.

Sirius was no different, hopping on one foot as he wrestled into his own pants. “Grab a jacket and get outside. Quickly.”

They obeyed, and soon everyone stumbled out of the tent, where they were met with complete chaos. Fires flickered across the field, and people scattered, fleeing toward the woods as if running for their lives.

“Girls, with me! Stay close,” Sirius called, beckoning the three witches to follow.

“What’s going on?!” Miss Know-It-All rushed over, Jean and Ginny close behind, panic written on all three faces. All around them, screams tore through the night, the thunder of running feet echoing across the field as terrified faces darted in every direction.

“Don’t know… just hold hands and stay with me,” Sirius replied, then glanced at Arthur. “We get to a clearing and Apparate out, immediately!”

Branches snapped underfoot, and the roar of the crowd’s fear pressed in from all sides.

“I know… come on, let's go!”

They saw, at some distance, a group moving through the campsite—masked faces advancing, spells flashing from their wands like gunfire. Jeering laughter and drunken shouts rolled toward them from that direction, and worst of all, bursts of vivid green light made it clear exactly what it was.

There was no time to think. Led by Arthur and Sirius, the group rushed in the opposite direction toward the woods, hoping to find a clearing away from the avalanche of fleeing people. Only then could they Apparate safely, with all the children together.

Meanwhile, high above the chaos, Maverick and Isabella stood on a shimmering magical construct, watching the turmoil unfold below. Neither looked surprised, as if everything happening was exactly as they had anticipated.

Reflected in their pupils were flames dancing everywhere, while cries and shouts echoed upward, striking their ears. Maverick’s expression hardened as he raised one hand, pushing his magic outward in invisible waves that swept through every corner of the campsite.

Then he brought his other hand to his ear. “Get moving,” he said calmly. “Start clearing the crowd.”

“I really hope you know what you’re doing, Ricky,” Isabella murmured, staring down at the chaos below, her face serious and her hand clenched firmly around her wand.

“Ali and Lupin are leading the team,” he replied evenly. “I trust them. Besides, my magic is watching everything.”

His eyes flicked toward the Weasley group as the two adults led them toward the woods, joined by a stream of others, some screaming, some crying, and some stumbling as they struggled to run steadily.

Elsewhere, he saw Ministry Aurors locked in battle with the masked assailants, spells flashing wildly. Bodies were strewn across the field, cursed or stunned, the ground marked by the chaotic aftermath of magic.

From the start, Maverick had counted two or three dozen masked attackers emerging from the woods, fanning out into separate groups. Voldemort’s plan was simple, apparently. Sow chaos, shed blood, and raise his flag for all to witness.

Beyond that, Maverick couldn’t see any benefit this act of terrorism would bring the madman. Moreover, it would draw the authorities straight to him, not just the British but the ICW as well, since the World Cup was an international event.

Or was it all purely for his twisted ego, a way to announce he would soon be back in such a sick, albeit flashy, manner?

He shook his head. Anyways, trying to make sense of that madman would be pointless. Slowly, he then turned his head, narrowing his eyes on the distance where tall trees rose under the pale glow of the moon.

According to Lucius, for tonight’s operation Voldemort had thirty to forty Death Eaters of Magus rank on the ground, and two Greatmagi leading from the skies. For now, though, those two hadn’t taken action.

Rustling on the breeze even from where he stood, the maniacal laughter reached him, and he didn’t need to second-guess the identity of one of those lunatics. The other was no stranger either; he recognized the magical signature from the prison break months ago.

If no other party of equal power intervenes when they take action, Maverick will have to step in. That said, within the reach of his magical senses, he also spots two familiar figures, equally matched in magic, seemingly waiting as well.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 292 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (II)

Little Hangleton, a small village on the southwest side of England, was a quiet, rural place, naturally isolated from its neighbors by surrounding fields and rising hills.

Throughout the year, it experiences a temperate maritime climate, with generally mild weather that is damp and often overcast rather than extreme. Summers are mild rather than hot, marked by longer days, though rain still appears regularly, sometimes as sudden downpours followed by humid air.

It was one such evening, and the village was caught in a heavy downpour, with thunder rolling overhead and lightning flashing often enough to make even the streetlights barely visible from afar.

Over the dim, flickering lights of the village below, blurred and trembling in the sheets of rain, a four-story mansion also rose atop one of the surrounding hills.

It was indeed a mansion, but a glance revealed that it had long been abandoned. Tall, broken windows stared blindly into the darkness, streaked with age and damp, while ivy crept along the façade like grasping fingers and sections of the roof sagged clearly under years of neglect.

Boom! Crackle!

Each roll of thunder caused the structure to shudder in silhouette, and with every burst of lightning the mansion briefly revealed its true shape, sharp and oppressive, before sinking once more into shadow.

And inside, the darkness was so thick it seemed to press against every wall, heavy enough to suffocate.

The kitchen, or at least what appeared to be a kitchen, lay buried in shadow, its edges barely visible as lightning forced its way through a grimy window. In the flickering light, a short, fat man could be seen hunched over a wooden table, his shoulders drawn tight, thinning hair damp and clinging to his scalp, and sweat glistening on his pale, rat-like face.

He appeared to be stirring a murky, pale mixture in a ceramic bowl, his hand trembling so violently that the spoon clinked faintly against the sides with each motion. He was so absorbed in his task that he did not notice the door creak open behind him, and only when a cold, rasping voice, heavy with command and cruelty, came from the shadows did he freeze, his breath catching in his throat.

“Wormtail!” Every syllable crawled across his nerves, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. “The Master grows impatient… he requires his supplements. Now!”

The short, fat man with a rat-like face was indeed the heinous fugitive Peter Pettigrew, who had escaped prison months ago, and upon hearing the cold words, he nearly dropped the bowl as he spun around, eyes wide with panic, as if caught committing some unforgivable crime.

“Yes. Yes, of course,” he stammered, nodding rapidly. “They are ready… ready right away. I was just—”

“Spare me your pathetic whining, rat. It is humiliating enough that I was the one tasked to fetch your useless self.” The man cast one final glance of disdain at the shivering creature and, without another word, closed the door, leaving Wormtail alone inside once more.

At the same time, deeper within the mansion, a large chamber lay steeped in damp, choking gloom. The air was cold and heavy, carrying the scent of decay and dust left to fester. Cloaked figures were scattered across the room, their faces hidden in shadow, forming a loose half-circle around a sagging couch positioned at the center, facing the fireplace. At first glance, it appeared empty, though the way the others avoided looking directly at it suggested otherwise.

Thunder rolled overhead, rattling the walls.

A high, thin voice rose from the couch, sharp and piercing, slicing through the silence with unnatural clarity.

“How proceeds the preparation, my loyal servants?”

The sound of it made several of the figures stiffen.

“Exactly as you commanded, my Lord,” came a voice, eager and unhinged, as a man stepped forward with jerky, devoted movements and lowered himself onto one knee beside the couch. “The instructions have been delivered according to your will, and they, along with the rest of us, shall act as soon as the closing ceremony concludes…”

The storm outside answered with another violent crack of thunder, briefly illuminating the faces within the room.

“And how many of those greedy, feeble-minded insects have pledged themselves to this task?” the piercing voice continued, its tone tightening with contempt.

“Thirteen, my Lord, including Goyle, Crabbe, Malfoy, Nott, Avery, and a few others,” the man replied quickly, then faltered. “Though they have asked, rather insistently, to be granted the honor of seeing you...”

A hiss of fury filled the room, sharp and venomous upon hearing the reply.

“Honor,” the screeching voice echoed, dripping with mockery. “They mistake their usefulness for worth. They are not loyal, only fearful. Traitors, nothing more.”

“I could not agree more, my Lord,” another voice chimed from the shadows, thick with reverence. “They should count themselves fortunate that you even permit them to serve...”

“I still think this is a reckless idea, Mr. Voldemort.” Another voice, feminine this time, cut in. Unlike the others, hers carried little reverence, speaking instead almost as if to an equal.

“How dare you defy my Lord’s brilliance!” another feminine voice shrieked, hysterical and burning with fury as it interrupted her. “I should rip your filthy tongue from your mouth and let the snakes feast—”

“Enough, Bellatrix.”

“My Lord?” The hysterical voice changed completely the instant her name was spoken. Instead of fear, her expression twisted into something even more fanatical, as though merely hearing her name uttered by the figure on the couch filled her with ecstasy.

“Do not delude yourself, Rosier. It is you who needs me, not the other way around,” the piercing voice continued coldly, ignoring the fanatic woman and addressing the one who had raised the objection.

“We agreed to cooperate,” the woman, now identified as Rosier replied without budging, her gaze fixed squarely on the couch. “I offer my service to help you return to life, and in exchange, once you regain your full strength, you will aid me in freeing my master from prison.”

“And your cooperation falls under aiding me in this operation,” the cold voice replied evenly. “Either you agree, or our arrangement ends here.”

From the side, Bellatrix cackled, her laughter sharp and mocking as it cut through the chamber, while Rosier clenched her fists beneath her robes, breaths ragged, yet she held her tongue and did not argue further.

Already, she was having second thoughts about this so-called cooperative arrangement. The person, or rather, the thing before her was a complete madman, and the rest scattered across the room were no better.

“What if there truly is a king hiding somewhere in disguise?” she pressed, attempting logic this time. “What if all of this amounts to nothing, and you lose two of your best assets?”

“There will not be any,” a man’s voice interjected calmly as lightning flashed, briefly illuminating his face. “I have scrutinized the attendance records repeatedly. Only Alastor Moody presents any conceivable threat, and perhaps Minerva McGonagall among the guests, should she even decide to intervene. “The rest are magus rank Aurors and ordinary witches and wizards, along with a handful of Muggles. No other archmage is recorded to attend—”

“Kekeke! What’s the matter, old hag?” Bellatrix sneered, turning her wild eyes toward Rosier. “Scared of a crippled man and some mudblood-licking teacher?” She cackled madly as she spoke.

Of course I am, you dumb cunt. Crazy—every last one of them was mad to the core. Rosier’s thoughts raced as she clenched her wand tightly, anger and disbelief warring within her.

Yet what choice did she have if she wanted her master freed? Moreover, this was a cooperative arrangement, and she had been the one to seek out these freaks in the first place. Shaking her head, she forcefully brushed the thoughts aside, logic or not, and finally nodded in reluctant surrender.

“Then I want command of the operation,” she said firmly, ignoring the hysterical woman and looking toward the couch.

“That can be arranged,” the hoarse voice replied.

But Rosier was not finished, as more thoughts churned in her mind, she pressed on. “Does it truly have to be that boy? You know how heavily guarded he is.”

“I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained,” the piercing voice replied, sharper now. “I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years, and a few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is required is a little courage from my servants, and from you.”

Listen to yourself, you lunatic. Of course, Rosier did not say it aloud. Instead, she nodded, again, reluctantly. This was not the first time she had questioned it as well, and she had received a similar answer each time. As for this so-called plan the madman referred to, it was risky and fraught with uncertainty, but… still possible.

The real problem lay with these lunatics and their tendency to change terms without warning. Like now, she thought, why was it necessary to cause such a ruckus?

She released another resigned sigh. At least she would command these crazed lunatics, and with the hysterical woman working alongside her, even if Alastor and Minerva both intervened, she was confident the plan could still succeed.

That was, of course, assuming no other monsters lurked among the audience.

And just as the thought settled, the slow creak of a door echoed through the room, and all eyes turned toward its direction.

Wormtail crept into the chamber, gripping the ceramic bowl as if it were a lifeline, his feet faltering and his breath shallow, uneven, and quick. Slowly, he approached the couch and attempted to lower himself in a show of respect, but his foot slipped, sending him lurching forward, face-first, nearly spilling the bowl across the floor.

“Wormtail!” the voice from the couch shrieked at the pathetic moron, fury reverberating through the chamber.

“I— I... beg your forgiveness, my Lord,” Wormtail cried, bowing so deeply his forehead nearly struck the ground. His arms shook violently as he lifted the bowl with both hands, holding it out in a trembling offering. “It is milk, freshly drawn from your familiar, combined precisely with the remedy you prescribed. If I may be permitted, my Lord, I would be honored to feed you—”

Booom!

He did not get to finish before the air suddenly cracked with magic, and his fat body was ripped from the floor and hurled aside, smashing against the wall with a dull, painful thud before collapsing in a heap.

Bellatrix lowered her wand, breathing heavily, her presence sharp and electrifying. Dark hair tumbled wildly around her face, framing eyes that burned with feverish devotion. Before sending the piece of flesh hurtling across the room, she had, of course, snatched the bowl from him. The sheer audacity of this wretched creature even daring to think of being intimate with her most beloved master infuriated her.

“Disgusting creature,” she spat, her voice high and trembling with fervor. “How dare you presume to place your filthy hands anywhere near my Lord.”

She then lowered herself gracefully, her movements reverent, almost worshipful. Scooping a portion of the mixture from the bowl, she held it up eagerly.

A few chuckles of disdain crackled through the chamber, mingling with the rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning that revealed Peter Pettigrew sprawled like a lifeless ghost, half-collapsed against the wall, the object of everyone’s silent scorn. Only Rosier remained composed, her mind already racing ahead to the task she would have to lead these mindless fools through.

More lightning tore through the sky outside, its pale glow spilling into the chamber, revealing who, or what, lay upon the couch.

It was a small, twisted form that lay there, swathed in dark cloth. Hairless and pale, its skin stretched taut and glistening, the shape was disturbingly infantile—somewhere between human and goblin at a mere glance.

Its limbs were thin and weak, its head grotesquely large, the flattened face marked by slitted nostrils and a thin, lipless mouth. Red eyes burned within deep sockets, alive with cold, merciless intelligence.

Those eyes fixed upon Bellatrix, and the room seemed to bow beneath the weight of that gaze, as thunder roared overhead and the storm raged on...

---

Hundreds of miles away, many hours later.

Boom! Booom! Roaaaar!

The titanic stadium exploded in a deafening roar. Fireworks tore into the night sky, streaking gold, crimson, and sapphire across the darkness. The crowd surged as one, voices raw from cheering, clapping, and whistling, waves of jubilation rolling over the stands.

Spectators leapt to their feet, arms raised, faces alight with pure exhilaration. Flags and banners snapped in the wind, catching the brilliance of the fireworks, as if the sky itself had ignited in celebration.

Candles, flares, and magical sparks danced through the air, illuminating faces turned heavenward, laughter and shouts mingling with the crackle and boom of the pyrotechnics.

Then, cutting through the chaos, the announcer’s voice thundered across the arena, sharp and electrifying, sending a ripple of confirmation through the throng:

“And the winner of this year’s Quidditch World Cup is… Ireland!”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 291 - Brooms, Cheers, and a Dash of Chaos (I)

“…Okay. Tell me the truth. Who is she really?”

Sunlight filtered through a faint layer of clouds above a vast, misty field in the Scottish Highlands, spreading gently over the grass with a warmth that touched without burning.

Two figures, a man and a woman, walked together with their arms linked as a soft breeze swept past them, tugging lightly at their clothes. From a distance, laughter and excitement drifted through the air in the direction they were heading, clearly signaling a festive atmosphere, yet as if it had all been expected, their expressions remained unchanged as they continued their leisurely stroll.

“Nobody,” the man said with a weary shrug, glancing helplessly at the woman. “I swear, honey… it’s just a random face.”

He glanced for a moment at the arm linked with his, then returned his gaze forward, a faint smile forming as he surveyed the bustling activity ahead.

He “saw” countless tents spread across the field, creating a sprawling temporary city of simple camping shelters. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children moved among them in clusters, their voices colliding in a vibrant chorus that made the place hum with life.

“You honestly expect me to believe that?” she asked, lifting one brow as she tilted her head to look at him. “That you just randomly came up with a face this gorgeous?”

“Ah,” he replied lightly, amusement creeping into his voice. “So you do like it.”

“I never said I didn’t,” she said. “I’m just curious about who she is.”

Though their words could be taken as a light argument, there was nothing sharp about them; the effortless ease between the two made it clearly far from a real disagreement.

In truth, they were Maverick and Isabella, though neither of them resembled their real selves. Isabella wore the appearance of an Asian woman with fair skin and straight black hair that fell neatly down her back. She was dressed in a clean, casual white outfit, a fitted blouse paired with a flowing skirt that swayed gently with each step.

Maverick’s disguise complemented hers perfectly. Tall and sharp-featured, with short, neatly styled black hair, he wore a crisp white top under a light jacket, brown loose pants, and white shoes, polished yet casual, elegant without formality.

Early July sun shone over the moors as they moved toward the crowds assembled for the Quidditch World Cup. The vast campground was dotted with tents of every imaginable shape and enchantment, flags rippling above, enchanted trinkets humming and spinning, the air charged with a tangible sense of excitement.

Woosh, woosh...

Witches and wizards aboard brooms darted through the sky, some alone, others in groups, laughing as they weaved between tents or set off harmless magical fireworks that bloomed brightly before fading into sparks.

The air buzzed with noise, yet beneath the chaos ran an unmistakable festive energy. Cheers rose and fell without warning, mingling with shouted greetings and the crackle of spellwork. Vendors called out to passing crowds, while enchanted banners fluttered wildly overhead, swaying as if alive with the excitement of the gathering.

All around, excitement spilled freely. Wizards from every corner of the world displayed their country’s fashions, strangers debated predictions as though lifelong companions, children tugged eagerly at parents’ sleeves, and even the oldest, most experienced fans couldn’t hide their childlike anticipation.

For a brief moment, it felt as though the entire wizarding world had decided to set aside its grudges and secrets, choosing instead to celebrate together under an open sky.

They soon reached the heart of the bustling site. Behind them, uniformed personnel kept the entering crowd in line, yet Maverick and Isabella slipped through effortlessly, their presence seemingly unnoticed by anyone.

“When does the game start anyway?” Isabella asked. The noisy atmosphere didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest, her attention fixed entirely on the man whose arm was linked with hers.

“Late afternoon, I think,” Maverick replied thoughtfully. “There’s still a few hours. Why don’t we grab something to eat over there?” He nodded toward a live cooking station nearby, where a Middle Eastern-looking couple worked over a sizzling grill, the aroma of spices floating toward them.

And they were far from the only ones. Food stalls and live cooking stations dotted the grounds in every direction, each offering something unique. Some served steaming meat pies and roasted corn, while others displayed sweet pastries glistening with honey, self-refilling chilled drinks, and exotic dishes representing magical communities from across the globe.

“Mmm… this is so good!” Isabella exclaimed, one hand holding half a shawarma while the other wiped the corner of her lips. Maverick chuckled at her delight, balancing two cups of a rich, frothy drink in his hands, what he assumed was a Turkish take on butterbeer, but every bit as good.

“Try it…” she said, bringing the other half closer to his mouth. He took a bite, and the taste was undeniably good, rich, flavorful, saucy, and spicy... in other words, a perfect shawarma.

“Don’t fill your belly all at once, honey… there are food stalls everywhere from all over the world,” Maverick reminded her as she turned back toward the stall. There were still a few hours before the game would start, and with nothing else pressing to do, they might as well enjoy the feast laid out before them.

“But it’s so good,” Isabella let out a dramatic exhale upon hearing him, then reluctantly turned away from the food stall. Indeed, the grounds were packed with food vendors of every kind, and she wanted to try them all, but alas, a human belly had its limits.

And just as the thoughts crossed her mind, her peripheral vision snagged on a familiar figure not far away. She murmured without thinking, “Is that Mr. Black…?” and gestured toward a nearby camping tent surrounded by mostly children and a few adults.

Hearing her, Maverick glanced in the same direction and saw that it was indeed the Mutt, but then his one brow lifted when he spotted someone he definitely had not expected to see here.

Sirius, the Weasley couple, and another man whom Maverick recognized as Amos Diggory stood among the adults. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Hogwarts’ pretty boy, Cedric Diggory, were there as well, along with, of course, an entire pack of redheads. What gave Maverick pause, however, was spotting Jean of all people among them. He was fairly certain the little witch-slash-mutant did not care for Quidditch in the slightest.

Did she bring the X-Men along as well? He entertained the thought briefly, then extended his magical sense, only to find nothing unusual.

Strange...

He didn’t recall her asking him to bring her, which meant she must have asked either Ron or Harry to have one of their adults pick her up. Most likely, it was Sirius.

Well, it didn’t really matter, and he shrugged the thought away. At least she was blending into the magical world and its culture, and he preferred it this way, since he did not want to always act as a middleman whenever she decided to stroll over to the magical side.

“Leave them be. We’re just a random Asian magical couple here for the game, remember?” Maverick said, gently tugging her arm and pulling her along toward another stall.

Because they were in disguise, no one paid them any real attention. On top of that, he had layered a subtle notice-me-not charm over them, masking their presence so that only the people they chose to interact with would truly register them.

And so, meandering from food stall to food stall and merchant to merchant, the couple savored the leisurely pace of the afternoon, until nearly two hours later, their bellies pleasantly full, Maverick paused near a modest tent on the northern fringe of the vast campsite, the stadium looming just beyond the slope ahead.

There was still some time before the match began, and until then, it was time for a brief rest, perhaps even a cool shower together. He had set up a tent beforehand, of course, and inside, like most of the camps, it was enchanted with subtle magic.

It was nothing outrageous like the setups of some wealthier families, just a comfortably spacious area for the two of them, with a small kitchenette, a bed in case the game dragged on, and, naturally, a bathroom.

"Ah… never thought I’d be this exhausted from just strolling around and eating…" Isabella collapsed onto the sofa, stretching out on her back, and Maverick settled beside her, resting his head gently in her lap.

At the same time, he snapped his fingers, undoing their disguises, and closed his eyes, content with the idea of taking a quick break. Even an archmage could grow weary after being dragged around for hours by a woman. Anyway, a short rest was the plan... so he thought.

"So… what’s her name?"

Merlin…

---

The stadium set up for the final game was massive, and from a glance, no one would have guessed it had been built in under a year. At first sight, it resembled a typical modern sports arena, but what set it apart were the spectator stands, rising impossibly high into the sky.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow across the ground. Noticing Isabella’s astonished expression, Maverick began to explain as they walked. “The former minister kicked off the project, and the current one saw it through to completion, adding a few of his own touches… expanding the capacity from 100,000 to 150,000, installing extra viewing screens at the VIP stands, and even setting up proper betting stations…”

“Are you sure it’s just him… and not you, Ricky, feeding him all those ideas?” Isabella asked, a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

Chuckling, Maverick shrugged thoughtfully. Yes, he had given Greengrass a few tips here and there, mostly to help him squeeze a bit of extra gold out of the project.

As they strolled closer, the sounds of cheers, booming music, and the distant crackle of fireworks reached them, growing louder with each step toward the entrance.

It was Maverick’s first time also witnessing a Quidditch match on such a grand scale. He had attended major sporting events before, of course—inter-school Quidditch finals, his own competitions, and even, in his previous life, big football matches—but the thrill here, the sheer scale and energy of it all, was far greater, charged with an electricity that none of those could match.

And this year, the match would be witnessed not only by those present in person, but across the globe, thanks to him and the magic vision. His people were already spread throughout the grounds, covering the grand event, and fortunately, his reach had grown enough that he no longer needed to meddle with every single detail.

“I really hope it doesn’t drag on for days…” Isabella muttered.

“Hm… I have a feeling it won’t,” Maverick replied, stroking his chin as they reached the entrance, where a guard was checking tickets. Holding VVIP passes meant a separate entrance and almost no queue, and arriving at the last minute while most spectators had already gone inside made the process even faster.

And this time, he didn’t intend to slip by unnoticed. He handed over the documents, and the guard, after a quick glance from the tickets to their faces, offered a polite smile and waved them through. “Mr. Kim Jon Un and Mrs. Ri Sol Ju… welcome. Your tickets are approved.”

“Where are we seated?” Isabella asked as they made their way toward the rows of VVIP elevators. Inside, it was just as quiet as outside, and the couple had the elevator to themselves.

“At the very top,” Maverick replied.

“Will there be anyone else sitting with us?”

“Ah… should be a fair number. The entire top section is first-class, like a ring, but since we’re in disguise, hopefully no one will bother us.”

Isabella nodded happily, letting out a soft exhale, then tilted her head toward him and asked again, "And when exactly do things start getting interesting?"

Ding.

The door slid open, revealing a spacious lounge that stretched endlessly to the left and right. Seats were arranged with generous spacing, clustered mostly at the front near a sleek glass panel offering an unobstructed view of the stadium below.

A long buffet ran along the back, laden with delicacies from across the wizarding world, while soft, ambient lighting faded gently from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the room. Wizards and witches in an array of robes and attire from every corner of the globe moved about, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filling the air.

Hearing her question, Maverick glanced at her briefly, a small smile curling his lips before he walked ahead again. "After the game, so I’ve been told. And we might even get to watch a full-on duel between two greatmagi…"

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 290 - Slip, Snag, Skedaddle (II)

According to history books, long before Diagon Alley ever became the crowded hub it is today, the goblins had already carved their mark into the heart of magical Britain, which over time grew into the colossal organisation famously known today as Gringotts, the wizarding bank.

It was a symbol of security for the vast majority of the magical community, a place where fortunes slept and secrets rested deeper than bedrock. Even now, as the wizarding world developed with each passing year, the goblins guarded their halls with the same unwavering diligence they had maintained for centuries, and no other party in all of wizarding Britain had even dared to challenge them.

But was that truly the case? Yes, in the sense that no other party, not even the ancient noble families, had contested the goblins’ grip on public wealth. Yet the cause was hardly remarkable. Quite simply, the witches and wizards of England cared too little, or perhaps never even considered the idea of running a bank-like organisation themselves.

Not surprising, since they have always fallen behind the developing world, and truly, it is the only magical community where the general public recognises another magical species as the leading authority for protecting their valuables.

This so-called understanding had lasted for so long that many in the public now even believe it is the only wizarding bank in the world. Especially newly awakened non-magical-borns discovering their magical heritage, assume that goblins are the only ones who manage the wizarding world’s wealth.

It’s laughable. No wonder many magical communities label the English magical comunity as the most backward in the world. In reality, Russia, India, China, America, and many others already have their own banking systems, run directly by their respective magical governments to safeguard the public’s money. They may not have the over-glorified history of Gringotts, but what they do have is the fact that they are run and organised entirely by humans, and not by another species.

The main headquarters of this goblin-run monopoly stands in the heart of Diagon Alley. It might sound like a large international organisation, but it certainly is not. While they do have branches across borders, none come close to the scale of the structure in England, and most of the others were little more than agents stationed for appearances.

In fact, many countries had outright banned the greedy creatures from running their business within their territories, and only in Britain could they act with such arrogance, as if without them, the entire financial system would collapse. Sadly, most people believe that notion.

---

It was another quiet day at Gringotts. The main hall stretched high and wide, marble floors shining under the glow of chandeliers suspended in midair. Behind the counters, goblins worked swiftly and silently, their eyes sharp, their hands never idle as they attended to the endless flow of coins and ledgers.

The general interior layout was already in Maverick’s head, so he knew exactly where to go upon entering. He paid no mind to the clients, nor to the arrogant little creatures counting coins. Under true concealment, he made his way deeper inside, masking every movement with illusion magic, slipping through door after door until he finally reached the underground structure.

Under ordinary circumstances, one would have to endure a ridiculously uncomfortable cart to reach the vault they sought, but he gave it only a cursory glance and plunged headfirst toward the depths of the underground structure.

While plummeting, he cast a casual glance around, letting his gaze drift lazily over the structure’s so-called impenetrable defenses. They could be described as only passable at best, enough to stop witches and wizards of magus rank or lower. For anyone of greatmage rank or above, breaking in would be trivial if they wanted, but would a dignified greatmage, let alone an archmage, rob a bank for gold?

Any country holds its greatmagi in the highest regard; money and business are placed at their disposal on a silver platter, so the last thing they needed to worry about was wealth.

To the goblins’ credit, though, the place was massive indeed. Even if it had grown gradually over who knows how long, the depth to which the structure extended was truly remarkable. There was no sense of aesthetics or design, yes, but still, remarkable.

It didn’t take him long, and within a couple of minutes he was already in front of the so-called most secure section of the entire structure. But really, it was just the deepest depths and nothing more, and he found not a single ward or magical formation designed to detect unauthorized entry.

Of course, for any ordinary person, reaching this point the way he did would be impossible, and that was the only reason he rated the security as passable. That said, it did not mean there were no security measures in place to prevent intruders.

The cart, first of all, he could tell at a glance was laden with enchantments, and along its path, as he fell, he also spotted several magical formations designed to detect disguises.

There was also the enormous Ukrainian Ironbelly, one of the largest and most dangerous dragon breeds in the wizarding world, stationed in the depths to deter any daring soul who might try to sneak in. Although “guarding” might not be the right word, it was more like being held captive there to intimidate intruders.

The most important thing was that if one didn’t know exactly what they were looking for, it would take a despairingly long time to locate a particular vault. Fortunately, Maverick did not have to worry about any of those problems.

The Lestrange vault was located in the deepest section of the underground structure. There weren’t any names labeling the vault doors, just numbers, but from Griphook’s memories, Maverick was certain the door in front of him was his target.

Although there weren’t any magical wards around the area, the door was certainly packed with enchantments to prevent forced entry. And not just simple enchantments, for even his magical sense struggled to pierce the layers upon layers of magic embedded in the entrance.

But… a smile curled his lips as his eyes fixed on the wall near the vault door, where he detected far fewer enchantments on the rocky barrier separating the inside from the outside.

Regardless, he wasn’t planning on breaking any doors or walls today. His eyes focused, and with deliberate motion, he wove a spell from the sorcery system, and before long, the section of the wall under his focus became transparent, revealing what lay beyond.

That was all he needed. Then, with another motion of his hand, a portal materialized before him, and a moment later, he finally found himself inside the Lestrange family magical vault.

Well, I’ll be damned…

There was… a lot of gold. Bricks upon bricks were stacked into hills, and from a rough estimate, if it were regulated into the Muggle world, Maverick was certain the wealth inside could amount to billions at the very least. And it wasn’t just gold—rubies, diamonds, and jewels of every kind sparkled among the piles. Ancient-looking artifacts, ceremonial swords and shields, and delicate ceramics lay scattered as if tossed aside. A few shelves were heaped with books, their spines worn from age. Basically everything here spoke of centuries of accumulation, a hoard both priceless and perilous.

But Maverick had no interest in the gold, nor did he plan to take any of it. To an archmage, money was just numbers. The art pieces, however, were slightly more tempting. Still, not now, as he could feel trigger enchantments scattered throughout the vault, and he had far more important matters to attend to than disarming them and pocketing trinkets.

Perhaps, once Voldy was dealt with, he would make another stop here, and next time, he don't have to endure the cumbersome journey, as he could portal directly.

With that thought, he spread his magical sense, scanning every corner of the vault for his objective: the Hufflepuff cup. And speaking of cups, there were countless golden ones scattered everywhere, so without his ability to sense the dark magical signature of the Horcrux, locating it would have been a nightmare.

In the original story, Harry was able to find it so easily only because he himself was a Horcrux, acting like a trigger radar to pinpoint a Horcrux like himself.

What Maverick was doing was much the same, as he had already come in contact with other Horcruxes and knew exactly how the dark magic felt to his magical sense.

Soon, while disregarding the other shady objects that also gave off dark magic and appeared on his radar, his eyes darted to an inconspicuous corner where a small, ornate cup rested alone. This one, in particular, reeked of pure malice and evil.

From a distance, it seemed unremarkable—a simple golden chalice adorned with faint, intricate engravings—but the aura emanating from it was unmistakable. This was the vessel sealing the final fragment of Tom Riddle’s soul.

Without a second thought, he floated toward the corner, and the closer he got, the more certain he became. Already, the disgusting thing’s whispers were trying to probe him mentally, tempting him to take it.

Don’t mind if I do, Tommy.

Fortunately, there were no other enchantments that would trigger if it was moved, so he acted immediately. After giving one last glance around the space, a portal materialized behind him, and in the same breath, with a nudge of his magic, the cup floated toward him, and they both disappeared from the spot.

A few minutes later, inside the Chamber of Secrets, the familiar ear-piercing scream once again reverberated through the stone walls before the blob of darkness curled in on itself and burned to ash. The sixth piece of Voldy’s soul fragment was now destroyed and only his wraith remained.

Clasping his hands, he let out a long breath. From the moment he had entered the bank to this very moment, barely half an hour had passed, and the entire operation had unfolded cleanly without a single alarm.

Next, he needed to stop by the Malfoys and ask whether Voldy had any plans involving the World Cup finals like in the original story. If so, he would prepare countermeasures and send a heads-up to Minister Jameson in the meantime.

And speaking of, he wondered if Alaster would suffer the same tragic fate he did in the original story next year. He shouldn't, right? After all, the man was a dignified great mage while Barty Jr. was only a magus. On top of that, Barty’s situation was drastically different from the original story here, where his father, in a mix of guilt and desperation, secretly rescued him from Azkaban using influence and authority.

In this world, the madman had only recently escaped during the prison break, so Maverick could not be sure if events would continue to follow the old script. Thankfully, among the many lunatics who fled that day, Barty was one of the individuals he had tagged with a tracking spell.

In any case, none of it mattered. Even if the timeline twisted here and there, the general plot would still align because he had placed every necessary card to make sure old Voldy finally received the resurrection he had been chasing for so long.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 289 - Slip, Snag, Skedaddle (I)

🎵🎶 Walking down the street...
And distant memories...
Are buried in the past, forever...
I follow the Moskva...
And down to Gorky Park...
Listening to the wind... of change... 🎵🎶

Summer holidays piled an extra layer of bustle onto the already lively lanes of London’s magical heart. Even with the sun blazing overhead, it made little difference. Like restless currents in a crowded stream, countless witches and wizards could be seen pressing through the shopfronts, weaving past one another and jostling for space while merchants called out their wares trying to catch their attention.

With the noise, motion, and sheer number of people filling the area, trying to locate a single person in that swirling mess would feel no different from searching for a needle in a haystack.

For an ordinary person, anyways. As Maverick stood atop the roof of his own building, a flicker at the edge of his vision drew his attention, and he caught sight of two familiar figures slipping into his shop while laughing and chatting.

It seems his advice had gone completely ignored by the pair, he thought with a dry amusement. The two in question were Harry and Sirius, and Harry, despite having survived the removal of a deadly magical parasite just the previous day, looked nothing like someone who had brushed so close to death.

Both Maverick and Dumbledore had strictly advised Sirius to make sure the kid got plenty of rest before he was taken home. After all, potions and remedies could only do so much for one’s recovery, and there was still the crucial need to let nature take its course as well.

Anyway, he had no intention of reminding them a second time, so he ignored the momentary distraction and returned his focus to the matter at hand.

Gringotts. More precisely, he was waiting for one particular goblin to emerge from the bank, and he had been waiting patiently for longer than he cared to admit.

The scorching sun was now directly overhead, and surely even magical creatures needed to step out for a lunch break, right? He had already spotted quite a few of the short creatures moving in and out, some alone, others cloaked under disillusionment and accompanied by guards, but none of them was the one he had in mind.

Time crawled. Nobody paid any attention to the lone figure standing at the edge of the rooftop, and even if someone happened to glance that way, they would only see an empty corner of the building.

Naturally, he was under invisibility; otherwise, people might assume a crazy person was standing like a statue on the corner, or something equally dramatic, causing unnecessary noise.

Luckily, he had come prepared. A pair of headphones rested over his hood, playing a classic from his previous life and keeping him occupied while he waited. Though there were many differences between this world and the Earth he had once known, there were also countless points of similarities. And the band Scorpions, fortunately, was one of the latter.

Finally, he murmured, taking off the earcaps and letting them hang around his neck. It was past two o’clock, and the “fish” had emerged. The goblin in question was Griphook, a senior staff member at Gringotts, in plain terms.

Of course, this wasn’t a random choice simply because the character had more screen time than most goblins in the original story. Maverick had done his research beforehand, asked around, and knew that this was the goblin—or at least a goblin—trusted with handling many important vaults and valuables.

Interestingly, though, it appeared to be alone, for a goblin of such… significance. Appeared, yes, for Maverick could make out two invisible figures flanking the small creature’s left and right as it slipped through the crowd and headed straight toward a narrow alley, one whose name was familiar to anyone acquainted with Diagon Alley.

And one other thing Maverick had discovered from today’s… call it surveillance, was that goblins seems to have plenty of dealings on the shadier side of Diagon Alley. Or was it simply that the goblin cafeteria was located in Nocturne Alley? he mused.

In any case, it mattered little to him where the goblin was heading, whether it was for lunch or some shady business, whether there were two or two hundred guarding it, and whether they were visible or not.

So with that thought, his boots lifted slowly off the rooftop, carrying him above the bustling street before settling over the creature, and without pause, he followed its pace as it slipped into the narrow alley, winding toward the far end.

Unlike Diagon Alley, this narrow passage was completely empty, unnaturally dark for reasons Maverick didn’t care to question, and all of it worked perfectly in his favor.

The timing was perfect. His hand then moved in a deliberate gesture, while directly below, Griphook and his two human guards had no idea they were already in his grasp.

That said, Maverick’s intention was never to engage them directly, nor to take them out for good. All he needed were a few memories from the goblin, and he could do that without raising any ruckus.

First, the mirror dimension enveloped the area, while his illusion spell masked everything; to the three below, nothing seemed amiss. He first targeted the two humans under disillusionment, rendering them unconscious, then his magic coiled around the goblin, forcing it to stop abruptly in its tracks.

In the same breath, he sent a measured shock of dominant spirit before it could even register that something was wrong, plunging it into a semi-conscious state, and then began his work.

To any outside observer, it would appear as if the goblin had simply walked into the narrow alley, moved a short distance, and then vanished into thin air.

Maverick worked fast. His Legilimency was at a level now at which even seasoned Aclumency would be helpless. Of course, that applied only to magi of Magus rank and lower, as well as ordinary people, while the minds of great magi or archmagi could still sense a forced intrusion. Sense it, yes, but defending against it was an entirely different matter.

Fortunately for him, his target was far from that league, and Maverick slid into the goblin’s thoughts without so much as a stumble.

What he wanted was very specific: the exact location of the Lestrange vault and the general layout of Gringotts’ underground system. He skimmed past the clutter of useless memories while muttering, “Lestrange vault… directions…” and similar cues for the goblin to latch onto.

The reason he kept the goblin in a semi-conscious state was precisely for that. Like prompts fed into a program, the words slipped into its awareness, guiding its mind toward the information he needed with little resistance.

It didn’t take long, and within a couple of minutes, he had everything he came for. His magic moved with careful subtlety, nothing like a forceful intrusion against a wall of Occlumency, which meant the goblin would not even feel a faint ache once he was done.

Even so, its consciousness would still register, however vaguely, that something unusual had happened. Mother Magic, fortunately, had a solution for that as well.

From the moment the goblin stepped into the alley to the moment it fell neatly into Maverick’s arrangement, only a few minutes had passed. No one else had come through during that stretch, and even if someone had, they would have seen nothing but an empty passage because everything was unfolding inside the mirror dimension.

Next came the final touch. Carefully, Maverick cast the Obliviate spell and wiped away any trace that its mind had ever been accessed, even the sensation of being suddenly frozen in place was scrubbed clean.

What remained would be nothing more than a hazy lapse in awareness — like a brief flicker of light, one moment it had been walking, and the next, an inexplicable blankness before coming to again.

Anyways, not even ten minutes had passed, and Maverick was certain neither the goblin nor its guards had been keeping track of time.

After that, he gathered the creature and its two unconscious guards, returned them to reality, and brought them back to awareness.

He did not leave immediately though, and chose instead to wait, observing everything from above. And sure enough, the moment they regained consciousness, they sprang into motion, turning left and right, back and forth, wearing expressions that screamed What just happened??

But no matter how many times they spun like a boomerang, the alley remained empty, and nothing seemed out of place. Their expressions grew increasingly puzzled with each passing second. They had no idea what they were even looking for. To them, it was as if something inexplicable had occurred, yet no matter how hard they wracked their brains, they couldn’t uncover the cause.

Only the goblin betrayed any change after a moment. A sudden flash of terror crossed its face, as if it feared something terrible, and it instinctively glanced down at the ring on its hand. Then, after a tense pause, it let out a shaky sigh of relief, even, seemingly unconcerned with the earlier strange sensation of blankness.

It then muttered something to the guards beside it, and the three eventually resumed their walk, their bewildered expressions following them like shadows as they vanished toward Knockturn Alley.

From above, watching their retreating backs, Maverick’s lips curled into a smile. The goblin’s fear had likely come from the thought that someone had robbed the treasures stored in its spatial ring. True to its kind, whose devotion to material wealth outweighed almost everything else, its main concern had never been the strange sensations it felt, but whether its valuables were safe. And once it realized nothing had been taken, the rest barely mattered.

Maverick didn’t linger any longer. He glanced up, squinting at the sun with a thoughtful expression, then decided to act then and there.

Why wait?

He already knew the bank’s underground layout like the back of his hand, and he knew exactly where his target lay. If nothing went wrong, the Hufflepuff Cup would be in his hands just as swiftly.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 288 - The Boy Who Shall Live (IV)

Shards of crystal-like fragments shimmered in the air, and as if a veil of magic were being pulled away, Maverick emerged in the Chamber of Secrets, returning from the mirror dimension into reality.

It took a little longer than he expected though, since he had to do some work at the beginning. After all, one could not exactly use Legilimency on a soul, much less on a fragmented piece of one.

That said, Legilimency was not his only option, and he had the system of sorcery lined up and ready for a challenge like this.

To start with, it had a wider arsenal of psychic and mystical techniques for accessing and reading memories, most of which he had more or less mastered with the help of his cheat.

The Sands of Nisanti, for instance, was perhaps the most direct and non-invasive method for extracting and reviewing memories, however, it could only be used when a consciousness was anchored to a physical body, which was not the case here.

There was also Mystical Hypnosis, a simpler and more subtle approach that placed the target in a suggestible state so they could verbally recount their memories. Yet again, a physical body was required for the magic to take hold.

Actually, almost every spell, psychic, or psionic approach he knew required some kind of physical anchor, in other words, a body, before anything could even begin. Legilimency was therefore out of the question, as were the general spells of the mystic arc system.

Maverick had no choice but to improvise therefore, to carry out a small experiment of sorts. His choice of technique was something called Astral Projection Intrusion. It wasn’t something he created himself, but a legitimate practice within the mystic arts. However, because of its peculiar nature, it was not a method commonly known or widely used.

As the name implies, it was a direct probe in which sorcerers projected their astral form into the mind or psychic space of an enemy’s astral form. But this kind of forceful intrusion was extremely dangerous, especially when used on someone with extraordinary mental ability.

If the caster’s psychic awareness was weaker, there was a very real chance of the caster’s mind suffering a severe backlash. That was one of the main reasons it was not widely practiced.

Moreover, this method also required a physical anchor in order to pull the target’s astral form free, which leads to why Maverick had to improvise.

His first gamble turned out to be a success. He tested whether he could force an astral form out of the shadowy mass, and to his satisfaction, it moved into place without any resistance.

After all, technically the Horcrux was neither a pure soul nor a cleanly cut fragment of one, so he had always suspected this would work. It was not fully tangible and not fully intangible, existing in a strange middle ground, yet that narrow gap was all he needed.

And through that opening, Maverick managed to pull the astral form of Riddle, or rather the piece of his soul, out of the mass of darkness.

Surprisingly, the astral projection, even if it was only a piece of a soul, still looked human. Hideous, yes, with skin stretched tight over sharp bones, slitted red eyes that burned like embers, and nostrils flattened like a snake’s. Yet despite that monstrous distortion, it was still unmistakably human.

Maverick paid it no mind, not even giving it the slightest chance to speak. The moment the fragment tore itself free from the mass of darkness, he locked it in place and immediately pushed into its psychic space to probe its memories.

As for any danger, he felt none. His mental realm stood firm as a mountain, and even if Riddle were whole, Maverick would not have been concerned. Let alone a mere fragment like this, it was nothing to him.

Anyways, his objective was very specific, and he got what he needed very quickly. Turns out Nagini had not yet been created as a Horcrux, and Riddle, at the time before he died, was still contemplating what to use as his final vessel to store the last piece of his soul.

Heck, he hadn’t even considered the Maledictus at that point, and Maverick figured that idea only came to Voldemort after he resurrected himself. Well, it didn’t matter now.

He heaved a sigh of relief at the thought, then traced the last memory he needed and discovered that, as in the original work, Voldemort had indeed given Bellatrix the Hufflepuff Cup to safeguard it, very specifically instructing her to store it in Gringotts.

And with that, everything he wanted was taken care of. He had no intention of rummaging through the twisted mind any further, left the wicked thing’s psychic space, pulled its astral form back into the mass of darkness, and burned it to nothingness on the spot.

“Were you able to discern the whereabouts of the serpent?”

Not a breath after his feet touched the damp floor, he heard Dumbledore’s question and glanced at the old man with a raised brow. How long had it been... half an hour?

“Did you not move from that spot all this time?”

Dumbledore did not answer, his gaze remained fixed on Maverick expectantly, clearly not in the mood to be humored. Brushing off his shoulders, he also chose not to ask again and spared the man any further suspense.

“Tom hadn’t created the final Horcrux when he died and was still searching for the perfect vessel. From his memories, I’ve confirmed that the only remaining Horcrux now is the Hufflepuff Cup... not counting the wraith of course.”

Saying this, he glanced to the side and saw Sirius still attending to Harry, who remained unconscious.

“That makes five Horcruxes destroyed then?” asked Dumbledore as they began walking in Sirius and Harry’s direction.

“Yes.” Maverick nodded, then cast a sideways look at the old man as a thought occurred to him. “Do you think Riddle’s wraith could sense his Horcruxes?”

Dumbledore made a thoughtful expression, then shook his head slowly. “I have spent many years studying that most vile of magics, especially recently, drawing much from the chambers of the ancestors. Over time, I have come to understand its workings far more than most would dare to imagine… even Tom, dare I say.”

He paused halfway, likely not wanting Sirius to overhear, then continued. “Perhaps Tom was unaware of this, but when he split his soul, he was not merely hiding fragments… he was creating independent consciousnesses. Each fragment was not just a piece of him, but a fully self-contained entity, carrying a portion of his awareness and memories frozen at the moment of creation. His main soul and each split part became entirely separate, meaning each experiences the world on its own terms, completely blind to the fate of the others. Destroy a Horcrux, and the fragment dies in isolation... its loss is invisible to the main soul, incapable of registering its own destruction.”

“In other words, the main soul cannot sense its split parts at all, even if they are completely destroyed?”

“If they were nearby, perhaps a faint ripple might be felt. But in theory, no. Consider them like twins: no matter how alike they may be, each remains distinct. One cannot fully know the other’s pain or experiences.”

“And what if the main soul and a Horcrux were to achieve a physical body at the same time? Would they be the same?”

“No…” Dumbledore shook his head. “Take the diary, for instance, his first vessel. Even if the Dark Lord’s main soul were completely destroyed, and the shard within the diary were to resurrect, he would return only with the consciousness he possessed at the moment the Horcrux was created. In other words, it would be a sixteen-year-old boy, no more, no less. The fragment cannot inherit knowledge or awareness from the main soul that is created later.”

“Likewise with the rest,” he continued. “They could even resurrect themselves all at once, but since they would be separate consciousnesses, each would remain entirely independent.” The old wizard shook his head, pausing, a faint amusement in his eyes. “Hypothetically, if it were me, I would find it most fascinating to communicate with a consciousness identical to my own. But Tom… I very much doubt he would share the sentiment.”

Maverick chuckled. “Just imagine, seven egotistic morons all at once. I bet the first thing they would do is fight over who gets to be the main body.”

“True.” Dumbledore nodded with a faint smile. “I would not be surprised, knowing his nature, if they tried to devour one another. But that would not be possible either, because once the soul was split, there was no recovering from it. Even devouring was not an option.”

“I really cannot understand what made him do it, Headmaster. It’s not like we wizards have short lifespans for him to resort to such a foolish method for immortality.”

“Perhaps lifespan was not his concern,” Dumbledore answered thoughtfully. “What he feared most, I believe, was death. Splitting his soul and preserving it relieved him of that fear.”

“Hey! Are you both done?”

The two of them turned their heads, chuckled, brushed the discussion aside, and resumed walking.

“Anyways, Headmaster, there’s no need for us to worry about the serpent anymore. Tomorrow, I’ll try infiltrating Gringotts and take care of the final piece.”

“Would you require any assistance?”

Maverick chuckled aloud this time. “I’ll spare you decades of moral torment… besides, I already have a foolproof plan in mind.”

Coupled with the extraordinary stealth trait he gained from the legit invisibility cloak and the many sorcery spells and tricks in his arsenal, he wasn’t worried about getting caught in the slightest.

“Right then.” Stopping beside Sirius and the sleeping kid, Maverick let out a sigh and opened a portal that led directly to his office. “Let’s get him to a proper bed. He should wake up in a couple of hours.”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 287 - The Boy Who Shall Live (III)

Hogwarts, Chamber of Secrets.

Woosh! Crackle! Crackle! Woosh!

A violent surge of wind spiraled through the ancient chamber, twisting the stale air into a raging vortex, tearing cold droplets and drifting dust from the stone and sending them spinning into the air.

At the center of the chaos, a young boy floated half a meter above the damp floor, his limbs and head hanging limp as if sleep had claimed him completely. Beneath him, a pentagram star burned with a vivid blue glow while arcs of lightning cracked and curled around his suspended form.

Around the circle, two figures stood with their arms raised toward the floating boy. Their voices rose in an ancient chant that merged with the storm of magic around them while their robes snapped and twisted against the raging current.

What was happening at this time was a magical ritual. The boy, unconscious, was Harry Potter, the target of the magical formation, and the two figures were obviously Dumbledore and Maverick, guiding the flow of magic and the ritual itself.

Under normal circumstances, a magical ritual functioned like a carefully conducted orchestra, with the ritual’s magic following the will of its target.

But Harry knew nothing about channeling magic in such a structured form. He had no understanding of magical currents, spell resonance, or the intricate demands of magic this complex. Therefore, Dumbledore and Maverick put the boy to sleep before beginning, having no intention of letting him take charge from the very start.

Meanwhile, a lone figure remained at the far wall, half shadowed by the dim blue flashes bursting through the chamber. The stone pressed against his back felt cold and slick, yet sweat traced down his face in slow trails that soaked his collar.

Each burst of wild magic rolled across the room and struck him with a thud that stole part of his breath. Even so, he kept his eyes fixed on the scene before him, unwilling to blink, unwilling to miss a single moment.

The weight on his expression had little to do with fear of the magic swirling through the air and instead came from the terrible knot tightening in his chest as he watched the boy at the center of it all, still and pale and helpless in the rising storm.

His godson. Harry Potter.

Half an hour had crawled by since the ritual began.

At first, Sirius had been amazed by the legendary Chamber of Secrets, but the purpose of their arrival quickly sobered him.

He followed like a background character, saw Maverick and Dumbledore explaining the small amount Harry needed to know, and guiding him to the center of the intricately drawn diagram. Meanwhile, he was asked to step back to avoid any unforeseen complications.

He didn’t protest, moving to the edge of the chamber and watching as Harry lay down, trusting them completely. And once Harry was settled, Maverick and Dumbledore put him to sleep, and the ritual began without a moment’s delay.

Presently, the energy in the air thickened and vibrated, as if it had reached its peak. The glowing star beneath the boy pulsed brighter than ever, its light spilling across the stone like a rising tide.

Minutes stretched on, each one dragging like an eternity for Sirius. He wanted to step forward, to ask if everything was all right, but he held himself back, knowing that any interference might do more harm than satisfy his curiosity.

At least the expressions on the faces of the two archmagi had not changed. They looked focused, unchanged from the very beginning.

He forced himself to calm down, raising his arm to shield his face from the gushing waves of magic, when suddenly a shrill, inhuman screech ripped through the chamber, making his eardrums ache.

He moved his hand, and his eyes widened at the sight. Thick trails of dark smoke burst from his godson’s unconscious mouth like hoses let loose, while his body convulsed violently, as if struck by a sudden seizure.

Has something gone wrong? Worry and fear for his godson hit his chest like a train, and instinctively he took a step forward, only to be slammed back the next second as a gust of something invisible struck him, throwing him against the damp wall.

Groaning, he got to his feet, pressing one arm against his ear as the screech ahead felt like it was clawing at his brain from within. He lifted his head and saw that the situation had not changed. That eerie, dark substance was still pouring from Harry—not just his mouth, but his nose and even his eyes—while his body convulsed uncontrollably.

Meanwhile, the two archmagi continued chanting in that unknown tongue, their posture and expressions unchanged. If something were going wrong, surely at least their faces would betray it, wouldn’t they?

He had been warned from the very start not to get close, and his earlier movement had been purely instinct. Still, the sight of his godson like that strained him to the limit, barely keeping him in check. Only reason held his racing heart in place, forcing him to stay where he was and trust the two of them to handle the process.

And so he waited, each second stretching into what felt like hours. He clenched his fist and lifted his eyes toward the disturbing thing above.

The eerie dark substance pouring from Harry was gathering into a dark, jelly-like blob that hovered right over him and the ritual circle. The sight felt... wrong. Faces seemed to push through its surface for a brief moment, like drowning people breaking through the water before sinking again.

Then, suddenly, his head snapped back to Harry when the screeching that had been ringing through the chamber came to an abrupt stop. His thumping heart finally eased a little as he saw the dark smoke pouring from his godson begin to subside as well.

Was it over?

He wanted to step forward again, but this time he managed to control his instincts. The chanting had stopped as well, and he soon saw the kid across from Dumbledore make a series of gestures in the air, his head raised. Whatever he was doing, the target was obviously the blob of darkness.

And sure enough, in the next moment he saw a sparkling ribbon of orange form around the blob of darkness like a net, swiftly wrapping around it like a cage. Then it convulsed inward, shrinking and shrinking until it was no bigger than a small Quaffle.

---

"It's done."

Lowering his arms, Maverick spoke in a low, steady voice, his eyes fixed on the thing now sealed tightly in its glowing cage.

"I had assumed we would destroy it. What is the purpose of sealing it instead?" Dumbledore’s brows furrowed. At the same time, almost absentmindedly, he conjured a small bed with a sweep of his hand and laid Harry’s unconscious body onto it with gentle care.

"I need to confirm something first." Maverick’s gaze settled on Harry as he spoke, a faint gleam rising in his eyes, having thought of something. "Let’s do a diagnosis first. I’ll elaborate on the matter later."

"Black! You can come over now..."

---

Some time later, Headmaster Dumbledore let the Elder Wand drop, while Maverick withdrew the spells of sorcery enveloping Harry, and both exhaled in unison, relaxing their shoulders.

"Is Harry okay? Did the ritual work? Why is he still unconscious?"

Sirius couldn’t hold his tongue and fired a barrage of questions in a single breath, his eyes darting between the two and his godson lying prone on the conjured mattress.

"The boy is fine, Sirius. Not a trace of the Dark Lord remains now..." Dumbledore’s lips curved into a faint smile as he turned his gaze to Maverick. "Isn’t that right, Professor?"

Humming, Maverick nodded. "Aside from being drained of all magic, the kid should live…" He paused and chuckled, making Dumbledore raise an eyebrow and Sirius release a long sigh. "The boy who lived… well, the boy who shall live fits more accurately, doesn’t it?"

"Ah… indeed." Dumbledore glanced down at Harry, a melancholy expression settling over his face. "Today, it feels as though a great burden has been lifted from this old man’s shoulders. Thirteen years… and now, at least, I have the courage to face James and Lily and apologize."

Sirius crouched down and caressed Harry’s head. "How I wish James and Lily were here…"

"Alright, let’s move on to the next matter at hand," Maverick interjected, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand their feelings or lacked sympathy, but... it was time to move on.

"Here," he said, drawing three bottles from his storage ring and handing them to Sirius, who looked at him in puzzlement. "Start with the red, follow with the blue, and finish with the green. Feed him at five-minute intervals."

"What are they?"

"Magic, internal injuries, and stamina." Without pausing, he added, "Take him back… no, keep him here, just move, backup to the side until we’re done dealing with the Dark Lord’s soul fragment."

If Sirius happened to be carrying Harry’s unconscious body through the corridors and crossed paths with another professor, and God forbid if that professor was Snape, it would definitely end in a homicide.

Moments later, as soon as Sirius backed up with Harry, Maverick waved his hand and the sealed piece of Voldemort’s soul became visible again, and his expression fixed solemnly on it.

"Perhaps you would care to elaborate now, Professor? What, precisely, is it you intend to do?"

Without sparing the old man a glance, Maverick rose from the ground, folding his legs into a cross legged posture midair. His hands then began moving in deliberate stances, and gradually, sparks of orange started materializing at points around the sealed soul until it was fully surrounded, connected by solid strings of energy.

The only difference now was that the space inside had grown larger. Rather than the simple seal he had cast on Riddle’s soul fragment before, it now functioned as both a seal and a cage, allowing the fragment to move but not escape. Once the new barrier was in place, Maverick dissolved the old seal, and as expected, the soul shard lunged forward immediately, only to slam against the invisible walls of its new cage.

Bam!

Bam!

Again and again it slammed, but the radiant cage of sorcery held firm, no matter which angle it tried to escape from.

"Harry is the last Horcrux Riddle created, intentionally or not..." Nodding in satisfaction, Maverick finally began explaining his purpose to Dumbledore, all the while his hands never stopped moving, clearly channeling more spells. "Until now, we have destroyed the soul fragments held inside Riddle's Diary, Marvolo Gaunt's Ring, Slytherin's Locket, and Ravenclaw's Diadem. That makes four, and this," he gestured with his head to the mass of darkness, "the fifth."

"There’s also Hufflepuff’s Cup, which I will take care of soon, so if you count that along with the wraith, which is the main soul of Riddle still at large, that makes seven, right?"

Dumbledore hummed, hand resting on his chin. "Seven, exactly. It aligns with our expectations, considering Tom’s fixation on the number, and also the divination you received," he added, casting a faintly skeptical glance toward Maverick.

Maverick’s brows twitched slightly. He did dump the “how” of a lot of things as “divination,” after all, he can’t exactly say he has knowledge beyond the fourth wall.

Whatever. He shrugged internally and with a straight face continued to bullshit his way forward.

"Yes, but since Harry was an unintentional Horcrux, there should be one more, right? I am fairly certain his goal was to keep one piece in his own body and place six pieces in Horcruxes. However, because of that unintended mistake, the actual number of soul fragments might be eight, including the loose piece of his soul that is still wandering as a wraith."

At those words, Dumbledore’s brows lifted, and a torrent of thoughts rushed through his mind. Indeed, the old wizard thought, the possibility of that is very high. No, almost certain.

With that thought, he fixed his gaze on Maverick, who was still focused on… whatever he was doing, dancing his hands and fingers.

"In the divination you mentioned back then, I recall you mentioned a serpent…"

"That is what I am about to find out, Headmaster." His hands spread, and in the same breath he pulled them back and pushed them forward again, his thumb and index fingers touching to form a triangle. "Until now, I have not been able to locate this so-called serpent. In the divination I received, I only saw a brief vision of a snake that resembled a venomous viper crawling through the woods, which was not helpful at all..."

"I gather then, that whatever you plan to do is meant to reveal the serpent’s whereabouts?"

"Sort of…" Maverick replied. "There’s a particular spell in the system of sorcery that I practiced a bit more than usual, thinking it might come in handy… It’s similar to Legilimency, which lets you access someone’s mind, but the difference is that Legilimency works on souls still bound to their bodies, whereas the spell I’m about to use is specifically designed for astral bodies."

"Astral body?" Dumbledore inquired, his eyes twinkling with curiosity.

"Basically, one's astral form is their mind’s vehicle in non‑physical realms, while the soul is the fundamental spiritual self. There’s a difference, but at the same time, a similarity too." Maverick didn’t go into detail and continued, "I’m hoping the spell works in this case since, well, this is a soul and not really a physical body."

He paused, then added, "I’ll be entering the mirror dimension now. If it works, I should find the memory quickly since I know exactly what I’m looking for. If it doesn’t, well, I’ll destroy the soul fragment and be back just as quickly."

Dumbledore nodded, though his expression showed he had a bucketload of questions to ask. Maverick did not linger, having said enough, and with a wave of his hand, he enveloped himself along with Riddle’s soul fragment, disappearing from the visible reality.

His purpose was simple. All this time he had been acting on knowledge from the memories of his previous life, and he wanted to know for sure if they matched what he knew here.

Nagini, for example, he wasn’t sure if it was a Horcrux Riddle created before or after his resurrection. Even though Maverick had watched all the movies of Harry Potter in his previous life, he didn’t remember every single detail, but Riddle’s memories could answer the lingering doubts for him.

Moreover, if Nagini was a Horcrux created after Riddle’s resurrection, things would be much simpler for Maverick, since Riddle would not live long enough in this reality to create it. That would leave only the Hufflepuff Cup, which he plans to deal with as soon as this matter is resolved.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 286 - The Boy Who Shall Live (II)

"Sirius? Since when did you arrive?"

When Harry stepped into the old headmaster’s office, his eyes immediately found the black-haired figure sitting opposite Dumbledore, and he recognized him in an instant even from behind.

The man in question turned, a brilliant smile lighting his face as he stood up just as Harry rushed forward and threw his arms around him.

"I’ve actually been here since yesterday. How are you holding up, kiddo?"

Ruffling the boy’s hair, Sirius gestured for Harry to sit on his right, and from behind, Maverick walked over and took the seat on Sirius’s other side.

"Brilliant. School’s over and I can’t wait for the holidays. What do you mean you’ve been here since yesterday? How come I never saw you?"

In his excitement at seeing his godfather, Harry fired off a rapid stream of questions, completely forgetting where he was or that other people were in the room as well.

Then a quiet cough sounded, and Dumbledore cleared his throat to gently remind him he had company.

"I arranged for Mr Black to come early, Harry. There were matters he needed to understand beforehand, since he now holds the role of your magical guardian."

"Ah. Apologies, Headmaster."

Harry finally realized he might have gotten a bit carried away. He scratched the back of his head, thinking for a moment, then asked, "Is this related to what you wanted to talk to me about… about Voldemort?"

"Yes… Headmaster Dumbledore and your professor have already explained everything," Sirius said before Dumbledore could respond. "They’ve told me about your… particular situation." Looking at Harry, his face took on a grave seriousness, making it clear this was no simple matter.

Seeing the change, Harry also mirrored his godfather’s expression, then turned his gaze to the older man across from him.

"I still have no idea what this is all about," he said, "but anything involving Voldemort is never going to be good. Still… I’m ready, Headmaster. Please, explain what this important matter is."

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with approval at Harry’s quick composure. That amateur little boy has grown remarkably, he thought, muttering, "Good," before turning to Maverick. "Professor Caesar, perhaps you could explain everything in a way he might better understand… if you would?"

Maverick let out a small eye-roll at being dumped the task, but he said nothing. Better this way. The old man can’t string two phrases together without sounding cryptic anyway.

He, on the other hand, resolved to be clear and honest with the kid, steering away from the original story’s outcome, where Harry stayed in the dark until the final moment and even Snape remarked that he had been raised like a pig for slaughter.

Once all eyes turned to him, he started explaining everything...

It was much the same as what he and Dumbledore had told Sirius. Sirius had been brought in early to keep him from losing his temper in front of Harry. And it had been the right decision, because the night before, once everything was explained to the former fugitive, he had let loose some truly impressive language.

Couldn’t really blame him. After all, having something like a soul fragment, the very madman who had killed his best friends, parasitizing his beloved godson was not something he could simply accept. Of course, he wasn’t angry at the latter two for keeping it; his frustration came from feeling helpless and from the worry that weighed on his heart for Harry.

His temper only intensified when he realized the extreme danger Harry had had to face. Maverick and Dumbledore had explained everything, at least as much as they understood about Harry’s complicated situation.

The Horcrux inside Harry was a fragment of Voldemort’s soul, and its destruction was inherently tied to Harry’s life. The thought that his godson might have had to confront Voldemort directly, and that the process could kill him, left Sirius seething. It was risky in every imaginable way, and honestly, a huge if as to whether it would even work. Eventually, though, when he learned that an alternative solution had been found, he finally calmed down.

"First of all," Maverick began, "understand this, Harry. You are just a boy. Even if you had known certain things, there was nothing you could do except worry needlessly, and that would have affected your everyday life. That is why…" He paused, glancing at Dumbledore. "That is why Headmaster Dumbledore kept this from you."

Surprisingly, Harry didn’t interrupt. He simply listened, though the confusion on his face made it clear he was struggling to piece things together. Maverick made sure not to linger unnecessarily.

"It all started when you were born, more precisely, on the day Voldemort supposedly died."

For the first time in his life, Harry Potter learned the truth—the whole truth. About the prophecy that had driven the madman to kill his parents, the way that event had shaped Voldemort’s eventual downfall, and, most importantly, the complex circumstances Harry himself now faced…

Maverick spared no detail. He told Harry about the Horcruxes, their connection to him, and, above all, the Horcrux that he himself had unwittingly become.

He went on to explain how Dumbledore had spent years searching for a way to remove the parasite from Harry, how the Headmaster had even risked his own life in the process, and, of course, the initial, incredibly risky solution that had been considered for Harry to rid himself of the curse.

Needless to say, realizing he carried a piece of Voldemort inside him—the very monster who had killed his parents—terrified Harry to his core. Not because he feared Riddle, but because having a fragment of Voldemort’s soul within him could endanger his friends at any moment. Perhaps it was the Gryffindor in him, but the boy had shown no cowardice when he first learned that the original solution required confronting Voldemort directly.

Still, he was visibly relieved to hear that a foolproof method had finally been discovered to free him from the curse, and that it could be carried out immediately.

“…Of course, there are still a lot of uncertainties, and I’m honestly struggling to wrap my head around all the details myself,” Maverick continued. “But yes, ultimately, that was the idea. You duel him, he kills you… and somehow, you survive while he doesn’t. Mother magic works in mysterious ways. I’m no expert in that area, Headmaster’s far more knowledgeable than I am.”

“I shall gladly offer you my personal library on soul magic, Professor, should you wish to delve into that field,” Dumbledore said with a small smile.

“I’ll pass on that, Headmaster. Besides, there’s no need to worry about it anymore,” Maverick replied.

“What about after?” Harry asked suddenly. “After the Horcrux inside me is destroyed… he’ll still be alive, right? Will he come back to life in a new body?”

“That part’s actually simple,” Maverick said. “In fact, we want him to regain a physical body. Killing a fully-formed Tom Riddle is easy for us… it’s his cockroach-like wraith form that makes everything complicated. Remember your first year, Professor Quirrell? That was Voldemort’s wraith parasitizing his body. Back then, I tried to destroy it, but it slipped away. A wraith is extremely difficult to deal with because it’s intangible, incredibly fast, and can escape almost at will. That’s why we’re letting him revive properly, as it’s far easier to destroy him physically than to deal with a wraith.”

Well, that part was only half true. Now that he had access to Sorcery, Maverick had countless ways to obliterate Voldemort’s wraith, but there was no reason for them to know any of that, nor was it important anymore. After all, Voldemort’s revival now served a far greater purpose for Maverick.

Which brings to the next complicated matter Maverick had to explain to Harry: Voldemort’s resurrection. When Maverick had first told Sirius about it, needless to say, the man had been royally furious and rejected the idea outright.

However, after hours of negotiation with Dumbledore vouching for the plan and Maverick detailing the countless precautions to keep Harry safe, Sirius finally, reluctantly, agreed.

In truth, Maverick really didn’t want to involve Harry in the plan. But without the kid, blood of Voldemort’s greatest enemy, the scheme wouldn’t even get off the ground next year. The next step, then, was to explain everything to Harry.

Yes, even though he was still a child, there was no other choice but to fill him in on everything. After all, from the beginning, Harry had been a core part of the plan, and Maverick would rather keep him informed than manipulate him in the dark.

Besides, having personally been his mentor for the past three years, he trusted the boy to some extent. At the very least, he was confident that the kid could keep his mouth shut when he insisted.

Another half hour passed.

Contrary to what the adults in the room expected, Harry showed no worry or fear. In fact, he looked almost thrilled after Maverick finished explaining everything, particularly when he learned the part he would play.  As expected of a Gryffindor.

“Right then, shall we move on to resolving your parasitic problem next…” Maverick glanced from Harry to Dumbledore, signaling it was time. The ritual had already been prepared in advance, and with only Harry remaining as the final piece, they could get started at any moment.

_______________

Author's Note:

If it feels a little confusing right now, don’t worry... everything will become clear as the events unfold. XD

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 285 - The Boy Who Shall Live (I)

To most, the month of May also passed quietly, and the 1993–1994 academic year drew to a close under soft warmth and gentle skies.

The exam weeks, too, came and went, humming with their familiar energy. Students in a rush with parchments clutched and quills tucked behind ears murmuring spells or checking notes one last time while teachers walk the corridors, offering reminders or sharp glances to keep the castle in quiet, careful order.

That said, after everything settled, the atmosphere changed completely, separating the school into two groups. There were those who hesitated, second-guessing and waiting quietly for their results, and then there were the few, bold enough to embrace the moment, who had already started arranging their holiday plans.

Today, an even gentler warmth filled the skies above Hogwarts, accompanied by a mild breeze that drifted along the ancient walls with perfect ease. It was the final day, with the practicals completed and the last written exam for the final batch of subjects having finished only moments earlier. Students poured out of the exam rooms in a rush of every expression imaginable, and one trio in particular stood out above the rest.

“Dad said he already got tickets for all of us from the first-class platform. Can you believe it… first class!”

Ron had already forgotten he had even left an exam room, acting as if the results would never arrive. Hermione Granger, on the other hand, looked as though her entire life were flashing before her eyes, while Harry rested between the two extremes, appearing calm and confident. In spite of that contrast, the three still moved in perfect sync through the sea of students and stopped beneath the shade of a tree, where they settled on an empty bench.

“Sirius told me he also has a surprise waiting for me… hmm… I bet it has something to do with the World Cup finals.” Harry shrugged nonchalantly, thinking for a moment, then pulled three cold soda cans from his storage ring, the metal hissing lightly in the sun, and passed them to his friends.

Hermione absentmindedly took hers, opened it with a click, and without a word, gulped down half the can. She exhaled as if a massive burden had lifted from her shoulders, and clarity returned to her eyes. She glanced sideways, although her eyes were already halfway rolled.

“I am genuinely baffled that neither of you seems worried about the results. Especially you,” she said, glaring at the redhead beside her. “Is Quidditch all that goes on in your head?”

Her permanent stance, however, did not faze Weasley this time. “What are you on about now?” He didn’t hold back and even mirrored her by rolling his eyes. “Is wracking your brain over the exams now going to change anything?”

Hearing his best buddy’s comment, Harry couldn’t help but chuckle aloud. “What?” he asked, looking at Hermione, who was now giving him a pointed glare. “He’s got a point, you know…”

Miss Know-It-All gave a final huff and leaned back as the odds were two against one. Anyway, it wasn’t a serious quarrel and was only another everyday episode for the trio.

And just then, from the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar figure walking with a few witches and before she knew it, her hand was already up waving.

“Jean…”

The girl in question turned at the call of her name, confusion melting into delight when she saw who it was. She murmured something to the people beside her, slipped out from their circle, and made her way toward them at a quick pace.

“Hermione… Harry and…”

“If it isn’t my long-lost sister…” Ron pulled a teasing face and shuffled to the side to make room for her.

Jean rolled her eyes and dropped into the spot between them, snatching the cold soda can from Hermione’s hand. “Don’t even start.” She took a slow slurp, sighed, and grumbled, “It’s annoying enough that half the castle keeps calling me Jean Weasley.”

Without mercy, the trio laughed at her misery, and the redhead’s eye twitched as if it had a life of its own.

“Alright, stop teasing her,” Hermione said, though she was giggling just as badly as the other two. “I’ve been meaning to ask… how did all of that even start?”

“It’s that fat snake from the Ivory family,” Jean replied, flicking her hair back as if the memory itself was beneath her. “Guess she was jealous I was better than anyone in my grade but had nothing to use against me, so she called me a Weasley bastard.”

Hermione gasped, covering her mouth. “She actually called you a bastard?”

Jean wiggled her fingers dismissively. “Anyway. I showed the snakes what it means to be a protégé. Hung the morons upside down in some forgotten corridor before they were eventually found by someone.”

Hermione gasped again, louder this time, leaning in as if she had just witnessed a crime. “You… so it was you… Merlin, the whole school was searching for the culprit. How did you not get caught?”

“Forget that. Jean, I’m your biggest fan from now on.” Harry laughed so hard he slapped his knee.

“Exactly,” Ron added, cackling with delight. “Why didn’t I think of that? It’s way better than hexing a tongue-lock or making those stupid snakes vomit frogs.”

Ron wasn’t boasting at all. Unlike in the original story where dumb luck usually dragged him out of trouble, he now had the capital to back up most of his claims after grinding through Maverick’s training plan for three years.

“Stop it,” Hermione exclaimed, pointing accusingly at them with the seriousness of someone twice her age. “What if she gets caught? Do not encourage her to be like you two…”

Harry leaned forward with a dramatic bow. “So how did you avoid getting caught? Teach us, Master Yoda.”

Jean pressed her palms together with sudden sage-like calm. “Ah… young padawan. Simple, it is. Caught, I would be, or humiliated, they would be by a little witch. Which do you think they’d choose?”

Ron copied Harry’s bow. “I see. I see. Wise you are, master.”

Jean let out a small laugh, ending the drama. “Alright, I’ve got to ask… how do you wizards even know about Star Wars?”

“Professor Caeser showed all the movies in Muggle Science,” Hermione replied, rubbing her chin. “He claimed it was compulsory cultural knowledge… for science… whatever that actually means.”

“Isn’t Muggle Science only from sixth year?” Jean raised a brow.

“It is. But students from all grades join whenever something interesting comes up. Even some professors join in. The whole classroom ends up packed…”

“Ah… I always figured it was just boring basic science. Didn’t know it could actually be interesting.” Jean grinned, eyes shining. “Next year, I’m totally going to check it out.”

“Speaking of next year,” Hermione said, nudging her gently with an elbow, “anything fun planned for the summer?”

Jean tapped her chin, thinking. “Not really. Probably traveling.”

“Same here,” Hermione sighed, looking genuinely let down.

From Ron’s side of the bench came a hopeful spark. “How about watching the World Cup finals with us then?” He leaned in like someone offering a rare treasure.

“Watch Quidditch for who knows how long? I’ll pass…” Jean replied immediately, decisive enough to make Ron wince.

Harry lifted a finger. “It’s not just Quidditch. It’s the World Cup finals. There’ll be fireworks and loads of fun activities too.”

“Yeah. And it’s practically a camping trip,” Ron added quickly. “We never know how long the match is gonna last. I heard this year’s entertainment section is supposed to be something special.”

The girls paused, exchanging a look. Put like that, it really did sound tempting.

Jean sighed. “Even if I want to go, who’s going to take me there?”

“Can’t you ask Professor Caeser?” Hermione offered.

Jean gave her a look. “Professor Caeser is not my nanny, Hermione. He’s already doing a lot for me, considering I live on another continent. Knowing him, I’m sure his summer is completely packed.”

Harry lifted his head, thinking aloud. “I could go with Sirius to pick you up from America…”

Jean’s eyes brightened instantly. “Ooh, is it that handsome criminal uncle from the news back then?”

Harry’s eye twitched as he stared at her. “I don’t know about handsome, but he was indeed a criminal once. Wrongfully convicted though.”

Hermione nodded firmly, chiming in. “Jean’s not wrong,” she added, jabbing the redhead playfully before glancing at Harry. “Your godfather is practically the number one bachelor in all of wizarding Britain… maybe even the whole wizarding world.”

“Right?” Jean grinned at Hermione, then leaned toward Harry, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “So… is he picking you up at the train station?”

Harry winced. “About that…” He scratched the back of his head as he suddenly remembered something. “I’ve been meaning to tell you… I won’t be joining the train back home. I have to stay for a few more days.”

At his words, the entire group turned to him with synchronized suspicion—even Ron. They were well aware that much of their training under Maverick happened because of Harry, and that Harry, unlike them, also received some private tutoring.

Well, “private tutoring” was mostly their suspicion, since every now and then, after practice, Maverick would keep Harry behind and dismiss them. What else could it be for?

“Is Professor Caeser keeping you behind for extra special training or something?” Ron asked, speaking the question on everyone’s mind.

“No, no.” Harry waved both hands quickly. “It’s not Professor Caeser. Headmaster Dumbledore asked me to stay… though Professor Caeser was there as well. Apparently, it’s something about my parents and…” He lowered his voice, eyes flicking around. “Well… Voldemort.”

“You-Know-Who?” Ron yelped.

“Shhh! Ronald!” Hermione hissed, almost smacking him.

“Yes… You-Know-Who. So, I’m sorry, guys. I can’t join you on the train…”

“That’s alright, Harry,” Hermione said gently. She understood that he would share everything when he was ready. Especially anything involving his parents, it was Harry’s private matter and it was only right to respect that.

Trying to steer them away from the awkward topic, Harry brightened again, glancing in Jean’s direction. “Once I’m home, I’ll ask Sirius to go pick you up from America. I’ll call first, of course.”

“Pick me up too,” Hermione added. “If Jean is going, I’ll join as well. I’ll tell my mum and dad… maybe they’ll even come along.”

“Brilliant. It’s settled then. We’re all going to the finals.” Ron looked as if someone had delivered his life’s wish on a silver platter. To him, Quidditch was the highest priority, and sharing it with his best friends was simply perfect.

---

Time slipped by before any of them noticed. Two days later, the results were announced and, as expected, the school erupted into a wild assortment of emotions. Another two days later, the OWL and NEWT results were released as well, officially closing the academic year.

As always, the year-end feast was held in grand style. The House Cup, surprisingly, went to Gryffindor, with Slytherin, last year’s winners, coming second, followed by Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. This year, though, the scores were closer than usual, with no more than twenty points separating them.

The headmaster ended his speech in an unusual way, leaving everyone buzzing with curiosity when he hinted that next year would bring a major surprise.

Finally, on Thursday of the third week of June, the Hogwarts Express departed from Hogsmeade Station, ferrying students home and leaving the castle wrapped in a rare, peaceful quiet after months of bustling activity.

Yet not every student was on the train. As it disappeared from view, Harry, the only one left behind, followed his alchemy Professor up the spiral staircase to the headmaster’s office for the appointment they had arranged a couple of weeks ago.

—————————

Author’s Note:

And that’s a wrap for Book Three. Phew. I wanted to add a little fluff this time, a bit of filler, showing bits and pieces of the year from the students’ perspective. Hope you enjoyed it.

Drop your thoughts in the comments... I always love hearing from you.

Things are only going to get more exciting from here, and I can’t wait to share it all with you.

Thanks so much for your support, and see you in the next one.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 284 - Plans in Plain Sight (V)

The scorching sun shone brightly over Hogwarts, bathing the fortress in a majestic radiance. Time had a way of slipping by unnoticed when one became too wrapped up in something, and before long, the hours had vanished without anyone realizing it.

The meeting had started late into the night, but in what seemed like a single breath, morning slipped away and midday had already arrived. There was far too much to discuss and nowhere near enough time. After all, the legends did not arrive as a timely visit, they had simply dropped by in response to a summon.

In any case, Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick made full use of that golden opportunity, allowing their curiosities to run completely wild.

Much of the conversation revolved around magic, naturally. Even though they were educators themselves, their modest reservoir of knowledge could not compare to living, breathing libraries who had walked the world for millennia.

Eventually, the talks then drifted toward history, speaking about the magical world of that ancient era, the early days of Hogwarts during its founding, and, more importantly, the reason the four founders had suddenly vanished from recorded history.

Maverick, too, was curious about the matter, and during the talks he did not simply sit and listen. He would occasionally chime in as well, however, when he finally heard the reason for the four legends’ abrupt disappearance straight from their own mouths, it struck him as rather anticlimactic.

It turned out that they had simply grown too powerful for the average world. In other words, after crossing the threshold from archmage to warlock, they had left behind the constraints of mortality, essentially reaching the next level, which was a demigod or at least something close to such a being.

Naturally, that would mean the supreme rank, which followed the warlock realm, reached the domain of gods, and Merlin himself admitted as much, well, sort of, in a roundabout way. Without elaborating, he casually remarked that a supreme-rank mage possessed enough power to quite literally reshape an entire planet, whether through creation or annihilation. If that did not count as cosmic level, then what would?

Merlin also simplified how the universe classified extraordinary beings into different tiers, similar to how mages had their own ranks. Basically, archmagi were the pinnacle of mortal capabilities, warlock was a demigod, and the supreme rank aligned with beings who were revered as gods.

There were also higher levels, quite a bit according to him, but for no other reason than the fact that such knowledge was unnecessary for the four people at this point, he did not elaborate any further.

But with all that revelation, a single shared thought rose in everyone’s mind except Maverick’s. Why, with all that power, did Merlin and the four founders allow the magical world to grow so decadent over the centuries?

Couldn’t they have ended the discrimination or the conflict, call it whatever, between the small magical population and the vast muggle masses, if not through negotiation then through firm coercion, so magicals did not have to hide like cornered rats?

Of course, they also understood there would be resistance, and rightly so, but what of it? What could opposition, no matter how massive the numbers, amount to in the face of absolute power? Time was the best healer, and even if the early years had been turbulent, wouldn’t the world have grown accustomed to magicals by now if action had been taken a millennium ago?

It was a logical question, and neither the ancient wizard nor his students took offense at it. Yet the answer Merlin gave once again left the three mages baffled about the world they thought they knew. It turned out that the Earth hid far, far more than they had ever been led to believe.

In Merlin’s narration, he was not the only supreme-level being on this planet, and certainly not the most powerful. The Sorcerer Supreme was one, and the ancient wizard gave a few more examples—beings who were quite literally immortal and wielded god-level powers.

It intrigued Maverick as well, and he recognized a few familiar names from the ancient wizard, like the Yoruba gods of Wakanda and the Eternals—yes, apparently Merlin knew about them too. There were also some he was not familiar with, such as beings named Chernobog and Gaea, and gods who did not exactly reside on Earth but had avatars here, like the deities of Celestial Heliopolis—in other words, the Egyptian gods, the Ennead.

Maverick wasn’t surprised, nonetheless. After all, he had knowledge from beyond the fourth wall and knew that Marvel’s lore ran as deep as a black hole, not to mention, this universe was a total clusterfuck of who-knows-what other universes.

So basically, the reason Merlin and his students did not intervene or try to resolve matters between muggles and magicals was simple: if they were to coerce the majority of Earth’s sentient population, it would cross a major line, conflicting not with just one, but with many god-level and demigod-level beings residing on the planet.

They might not mind even if Merlin played monarch among the magical populace, but going beyond that would be inviting catastrophic-level trouble.

As for the reason behind their disappearance from history, it was essentially simple: for lack of a better word, they let the natural order play out, hoping that one day everything would resolve itself without crossing the red lines of other powerful beings. And so, they distanced themselves from the “ordinary” world, waiting quietly, becoming ghosts lost to the annals of history until that day arrived.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick kept nodding as if they understood, but Maverick, of course, called it nonsense internally. He still remembered Merlin mentioning some kind of prophecy and knew there was more to their disappearance than that. Still, he did not raise the matter—it was not his place to question—and nodded along as if he believed it too. Besides, the last thing he wanted to discuss was some bullshit prophecy.

On top of responding to the flood of inquiries, the four founders didn’t hold back in their explanations, revealing a wealth of knowledge. One key topic they covered was the warlock rank, particularly how it stood apart from the archmage rank below it.

They explained that a warlock’s lifespan, or more accurately their genetic life level, increases exponentially compared to an archmage. By this measure, they could stand alongside Asgardians—well, at least a typical Asgardian soldier—in terms of physical capability alone, and essentially surpass them, since a mage’s abilities extended far beyond mere physical strength.

A warlock’s control over magic, in their experience, basically became instinctual. Casting spells without wands was apparently as effortless as drinking water. However, they did point out that wands still made a noticeable difference, especially when conjuring particularly complex spells.

Naturally, their reservoir of magical energy also received an exponential boost. In other words, it would take a very long time for a mage of warlock rank to exhaust themselves of mana.

Out of the many revelations, one in particular caught the four juniors off guard, and yes, it surprised Maverick too. Apparently, when a mage reached the warlock realm, they awakened an ability that existed outside the traditional system of magic, something the founders referred to as nature affinity.

Fire, water, air, and earth. They explained that stepping into the warlock realm granted mastery over one of these elements, and they stressed that this ability worked without magic, which meant it stood as a power all on its own.

Even if a situation arose where magic could not be used, the power of nature could still be wielded. Out of the four warlocks, two awakened fire—Gryffindor and Slytherin—while Ravenclaw awakened wind and Hufflepuff awakened water. For some reason, the power of earth did not appear among them.

While the four founders continued speaking, Maverick kept his face carefully neutral. Inside, however, his mind spun with confusion. He already knew about elemental affinities, or, as his system phrased it, nature energy manipulation.

The thing was, he did not control just one element but every single one of them, which was precisely why their explanation threw him for a loop. So basically, he mused, that made him some cheap knockoff of an Avatar.

No, that's not right. If anything, he was anything but cheap. With his current arsenal of endless abilities, he could, or should, probably, solo the entire Avatar universe, right?

Anyway, from there, the conversation eased into another topic, focusing on the stories and legends surrounding the founders’ names and then expanding into the lore woven throughout the world.

In the end, the one who benefited the most from the gathering was undoubtedly the headmaster. Merlin had pointed out earlier that Dumbledore stood only a single step away from ascending to warlock rank, and throughout the meeting he gained valuable insight from the four Founders, particularly their experiences when they broke through that same boundary.

Merlin added his own explanations as well, and truthfully, half the gathering felt like a lecture, with one side asking endless questions and the other patiently clearing their doubts.

Finally, the meeting drew to a close when Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick appeared to have run out of things to discuss. Or at least, that was how it seemed. Without a doubt, they still had a mountain of questions they wanted to ask, but they knew better than to push their luck and risk coming across as rude, even though the four founders and Merlin had shown no signs of impatience the entire time.

After all, the entire meeting had begun because Maverick wanted to flex his backing, and his point had been addressed shortly after the discussion started. From there, more than half a day had passed with everyone sitting and simply talking, talking, and more talking.

Making a poor first impression was the last thing they wanted. These were the four founders of Hogwarts, after all, the very architects of their school, and Merlin was, well, Merlin.

Still, the headmaster respectfully offered to have lunch prepared for them before they left, but the offer was declined with equal courtesy. Soon after, the legends departed from the school, leaving behind only a promise that they could be summoned whenever the need arose.

Of course, it went without saying that this did not apply to casual conversations, and the real meaning was clear to everyone present. They could summon the founders only during situations that had slipped beyond their control.

This, of course, did not include Maverick, and he had a feeling he would be facing the old fossils sooner rather than later. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick might not know, but Maverick was certain that Merlin was well aware of his “side project,” because for some reason, it aligned with the prophecy the old wizard had told him long ago.

Anyway, he would deal with it when the time came. For now, his focus was on the present, finishing the year and getting the exams ready.

---

"I suppose there’s no need to say that what happened earlier today stays between the four of us, right?"

After the founders and Merlin himself departed, Maverick, McGonagall, and Flitwick followed Dumbledore to his office, as the old man had suggested, for a cup of afternoon tea.

Setting down his cup, McGonagall gave a sharp, brilliant smile and huffed softly through her nose. "I am very much restraining myself from calling you 'boy,' Professor Caesar. Who do you think we are?"

"You, Professor, is the head of the house where mouths outrun brains faster than owls can fly..."

"Hahaha..." Flitwick laughed out loud. Clearly, his mood was jolly at the moment, but he swallowed the rest of the laughter bubbling in his gut when he saw the stern lady glare sharply back at him.

"Thats right, professors Caesar. Shame on you to think we would go announcing we had the fortune to meet the biggest legends in the history of the magical world." He said firmly, although, his expression showed otherwise.

"All jesting aside, Professor Caesar is not entirely wrong in bringing it up," Dumbledore chimed in, a gleaming, mischievous twinkle dancing in his eyes, and a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
“We would do well to keep it to ourselves. On the brighter side, we can quietly savor the pleasure of knowing we have been party to such a remarkably fortuitous encounter, as we are doing now. Perhaps gather for tea every weekend?”

"Uh... I’d rather not," Maverick rolled his eyes. Then his expression hardened. "On a serious note, Headmaster, professors, I take it now, we’re all on the same page regarding my arrangements for next year?"

Noticing his serious expression, the others also fell into a similar mood. A quiet pause hung over the Headmaster’s office before Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully and, after a moment, asked, "Then, I suppose, following the plan you detailed, the next course of action is retrieving the Hufflepuff artifact from Gringotts?"

Maverick nodded and glanced at the others to gauge their reactions, only to find Flitwick giving him a curious, strange look.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The half-man hummed thoughtfully before replying, "you didn’t think to ask Lady Hufflepuff herself whether she could summon it? After all, it is her house’s heirloom."

Maverick: …

"I..."

"No," McGonagall interjected. "Best to stick with your original plan, Professor Caesar. With your abilities, I’m sure it won’t be difficult to… take a little stroll through that place."

Maverick nodded, conceding the point. Yes, best not involve the founders in this matter, and besides, it really wouldn’t be difficult for him, just as McGonagall had said, to take a stroll there without anyone noticing.

Leaning back, he couldn’t help but shot McGonagall a teasing glance. "Of all the things I thought I’d see in my life… never did I imagine Professor Minerva McGonagall endorsing a bank heist."

BAM!

—————————

Author’s Note:

I know that’s a lot of lore dumped in there. And no, I didn’t just pull all of that out of my ass, I actually put a lot of thought and pondering into it. Some of you might love it, some might not, and that’s perfectly fine.

Either way, I’d really appreciate your feedback.

Thank you, as always, for your continued support!

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 283 - Plans in Plain Sight (IV)

“I’ve carried many names over the passage of time… Emris, Allanon, Myrddin, a druidic title or two. Though there is one name that has remained constant, which I am sure you children know very well.”

Contrary to what everyone expected, Merlin did not speak with an air of authority or coldness. Even Maverick had not imagined his tone would be so... amiable, especially after that dramatic entrance.

His voice carried the warmth of a grandfather addressing his grandchildren, and without realizing it, their sense of edge faded the moment he began talking. Whether some subtle magic was involved was something they did not bother to ponder, and simply listened without interrupting.

“Those who know the truth of my existence call me Merlin Ambrosius, and yes, children, I am exactly the figure you think I am. Though I prefer that you simply address me as the Supreme Mage, just as my students here do.”

Having introduced himself, the old wizard fixed his gaze on Maverick and smiled. “You, child, have been rather busy, I see. Normally, I do not reveal my existence to just anyone, but this is indeed a special case.” His eyes then drifted across the table, stopping on each person from left to right. Flitwick, McGonagall, then Maverick, and finally Dumbledore.

“A child from the lineage of the phoenix contractors. As expected of his descendant. Only a century old and already on the verge of shedding mortal flesh to reach the demigod realm.” An approving smile touched his lips as he continued. “Your talent is no less than my students here. Perhaps even greater, since they only reached the rank of warlock two centuries into their lives.”

“M-my lord, I…” Dumbledore swallowed a dry mouthful. His hands were still trembling slightly under the table despite the strange calmness that had settled after Merlin began speaking. After all, the most renowned legend the magical world had ever known was sitting only a few feet away, and the figures beside him were no less overwhelming.

The headmaster of Hogwarts needed only a single glance to guess who they were, because the lion, badger, raven, and serpent on their chests were far too deliberate to be coincidence. Not to mention, the moment he looked at them, his magical sense had practically screamed in alarm, as their aura felt countless times more dense than his own even with how tightly restrained it seemed.

“You need not feel intimidated,” Merlin said with a slight nod. “And as I mentioned earlier, I prefer to be addressed as the Supreme Mage. Lord and all that… perhaps I once held the title, but it no longer means anything to me.”

Without pausing, he turned his gaze back to Maverick. “Let us first discuss why you have summoned me, child, and after that we shall have plenty of time to become acquainted.”

Seeing the look, Maverick realized it was his cue to speak, so he cleared his throat and gathered his thoughts. But then he remembered he had not told Merlin anything about his plan yet.

Do I have to start from the beginning? Fortunately, just as the thought crossed his mind, Merlin spared him the trouble, almost as if he had read his mind.

“I am well aware, child, that you intend to expose magic to the wider human world. Therefore, I need only know the role I play in it.”

Is this old fossil keeping tabs on me? Maverick thought nervously, especially seeing that seemingly knowing smile directed at him. Whatever—at least he wasn’t going to act against my plans.

He cleared his throat again and began. “Yes, I intend to completely dismantle the Statute of Secrecy and expose our world to the non-magicals…” He spoke quickly, trying to get everything out in one breath, and just as Merlin had requested, he skipped all the details and focused only on the role he wanted Merlin to play.

“At the climax of my plan, an archmage‑level duel will take place over the great city of London. It will be controlled, of course, and my people will be stationed everywhere on both the Muggle and magical sides. Some will act as countermeasures to prevent innocent lives from being harmed, while others will focus on spreading the news."

“Using both Muggle and magical technology, I will ensure the entire world has its eyes on it in the shortest possible time, to the point where it becomes impossible for the ICW to contain the news. Once that goal is achieved, I will bring the duel to an end. Of course, to the outside world, it will appear as if I had no choice but to intervene, and by the end of it, the entire world will know of the existence of the magicals.”

“Basically, I ask for your help, Supreme Mage, as a final safeguard to guarantee that no innocents are harmed during the act. Apart from the archmage, which I will be” — he paused and gestured with his hands as if making quotation marks — “trying my best to stop, there may be great magi on the enemy side as well. Of course, I have confidence that my people can handle it, but my colleagues here want a little more assurance, which is why I summoned you.”

With that, Maverick finished, and the table sank into silence as everyone awaited Merlin’s response. The old wizard hummed thoughtfully and, after a moment, gave a small nod. “Not the brightest of plans,” he murmured, “but if everything unfolds as you envision, then this long standing rule will no longer need to exist.” He let out a quiet, almost weary sigh.

“And I agree with you on this matter, child. There was a time when keeping our world hidden was necessary, but that time has passed. Our world has evolved beyond that, and it is about time we lift the curtain.” As he spoke, his gaze swept over the three seated beside Maverick, lingering briefly on Dumbledore.

“You have my word. I, along with my students, shall act on that day and ensure that no innocent lives are harmed.” He turned back to Maverick. “So go ahead with your vision. Take the necessary step that our magical world has long needed to take.”

At his words, Maverick felt a weight lift from his chest. He exhaled without thinking and allowed himself a small, relieved smile. He turned first to his left, toward Dumbledore, whose tired sigh met his gaze, and in that look, Maverick knew the decision had been made.

“Headmaster…” Maverick murmured, and Dumbledore nodded in response.

“I am convinced. Worry not. With the Supreme Mage overseeing matters unseen, I am certain everything will align as you have envisioned.”

He nodded in response, then glanced to his right, where the two professors also nodded. “I shall always stand by Albus’ decision, Maverick. You can count on my support.”

“And mine,” Flitwick chimed in. “Truthfully, I too am weary of hiding ourselves from everyone… and I look forward to stepping into that tomorrow, where the veil is lifted.”

“Thank you. Honestly, you have no idea how much your support means to me.” Maverick’s words were not just for show, and he was truly sincere. By now, he had truly grown attached to them, seeing them as genuine companions.

Maverick’s nature had always been like this, which is why he had chosen a path that compelled him to form bonds and interact with many people. Even his subordinates, well, at least those he trusts, he regarded as genuine companions. If he had wished, with the help of the system, he could, of course, have grown stronger than anyone over time, quietly, behind closed doors.

In both his previous life and even more in the present, he had always been naturally inclined toward extroversion. After all, what was the point of becoming all-powerful if there was no one to share that glory with? For that reason, even more than Merlin, he cherished Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick’s support, for the bond he shared with them was precious.

Setting those thoughts aside for the moment, he turned back to the ancient wizard and offered a sincere, appreciative smile. “Thank you, Supreme Mage. I shall not forget this favor.”

“There is no need to call it a favor,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “It is for the betterment of the magical world in the end, which you, I, and all of us share.” He smiled, then briefly glanced to his left and right. “Now, with that out of the way, let us become better acquainted. Introduce yourselves, my students, to your juniors.”

“Rowena.” From the far left, the woman who appeared to be in her late twenties spoke first. Her face was flawless, and her hair shone black as midnight. Her eyes settled on the half-man with an approving glance. “Together with my friends here, I helped found this great castle. And you, young man, I understand today you represent the house named after me.”

“It is an honor, Madam Ravenclaw.” Flitwick’s eyes visibly sparkled as he bowed courteously. “I always had a feeling that your disappearance from history was no simple matter. I suppose I was right. In any case, meeting you in person has long been a dream of mine, and I hope I have not disappointed in guiding the students sorted into the great house of Ravenclaw.”

“I am Godric.” The broad-shouldered man, looking every bit a warrior rather than a mage, spoke next. He scanned the four people before him with a practiced eye and finally fixed his gaze on McGonagall. “You, girl, have my approval. A remarkable talent representing the house named after me.”

Meanwhile, Maverick caught, from the corner of his eye, McGonagall’s face turning crimson at the remark. Merlin… uh… the old man is here. Anyway, did the stern lady actually blush?

“You remind me of Rowena when she was young,” Godric Gryffindor continued, rubbing his chin and finishing with a wide grin.

As soon as he finished, a soft, almost ethereal chuckle came from the other side as the woman in the lavish pink gown smiled. Honestly, Helga Hufflepuff was nothing like Maverick had envisioned, and certainly not with that striking look. A stunning face, a body with the right curves in the right places, she was nothing like the plump woman most history books depicted.

“Indeed, an accurate remark. Rowena also had a face as stern as yours when she was young…”

On the other side, the founder of the Ravenclaw house rolled her eyes almost to the edge and cast her a sharp glance. That, in turn, made the lady in pink giggle even more.

“Right, right, my turn.” She waved her hand. “I am Helga Hufflepuff. Unfortunately, the young lady representing my house was not invited to this meeting, so I cannot make any remarks about her.” She cast Maverick a provocative smirk. “Therefore, young man, I shall settle with you.”

The hell? What did I do? And is this not simply about introducing you old things to us? Of course, Maverick did not say any of that aloud and only shrugged at the woman giving him that look. “If you want, I can bring her here, Lady Hufflepuff.”

“Ahaha. You hear that, Salazar? He called me a lady.”

A quiet sigh followed her remark before the last person in the room who had yet to speak finally did. “Do try to mind your manners, Helga. They are your juniors, after all.”

It was the man who had worn a stern expression through the brief exchange so far, polished like a literal mafia boss. Yet he sounded nothing like what Maverick or his colleagues expected. For one thing, his voice was far too soft, almost like the introverted sibling of the family. Even more surprising, he sounded much too young for someone who was supposedly a millennium old.

“I am Salazar Slytherin,” he continued, and as he spoke, his gaze locked onto Maverick, his expression cooling inexplicably for some unknown reason.

Maverick: …

“You, boy, have an apology to make.”

The hell? When did I insult this guy’s parents? Maverick scrambled through his memory, trying to figure out what it could possibly be, and not long after, something did come to his mind. He remembered that back in the Chamber of Secrets, he might have, maybe, probably, and quite unintentionally, called a statue that was supposedly modeled after Slytherin an... ugly monkey.

Uh… he swallowed. Surely it wasn’t about that, right? Was there some magical CCTV or something… or… he thought of something else. Did that old snake snitch?

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 282 - Plans in Plain Sight (III)

“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to resort to this…” With his mind made up, Maverick met the three of their gazes in turn and sighed. “It isn’t my place, really, to reveal his existence to you. Though, I was told I could ask for help with anything I want, and revealing his existence in this situation, I believe, counts as help.”

Listening to Maverick speak in such a cryptic manner, the three professors exchanged puzzled looks. Resort to what? Reveal who? Wasn’t it simply a matter of telling them who or what had given Maverick the confidence that nothing would go wrong? So why did it sound like he was about to drop a name so profound it might as well be Merlin himself?

Maverick ignored their baffled expressions and continued injecting his magic in a mysterious rhythm into the ring on his finger, though if he knew what they were thinking, he would have definitely given them a thumbs up.

Meanwhile, silence stretched between the three veteran professors as they tried to guess who this mysterious person could be. Based on everything they knew about Maverick, they had a handful of possibilities, and to their credit, aside from his closest people and his teacher, they probably understood him best.

A moment later, McGonagall eventually couldn’t hold it in anymore and asked the first name that came to mind.

“Is it Olympe?” she asked skeptically. After all, it was no secret that Maverick and the woman had some kind of cooperative relationship. But still, that name alone wasn’t enough to change her mind, nor Flitwick’s or Dumbledore’s.

Their fear of old Voldy was not simply because he was an archmage, but because of his maddening and utterly unscrupulous character.

So what if Maverick had three archmagi and numerous greatmagi tagging along behind him. That would amount to nothing if they couldn’t stop Voldy from arranging other means, like having his dogs run a slaughter while they were trying to keep or capture him.

Otherwise, Dumbledore would have stopped Voldemort long before he caused carnage across wizarding Britain over a decade ago. Voldemort was like a cockroach, always slipping away or hiding whenever Dumbledore drew near during his rise. He was difficult to catch and even harder to kill completely, like a persistent pest.

What they wanted, more than anything, was a guaranteed way that once he was resurrected, Maverick could contain him, and that no innocent lives would be dragged into the aftermath of Voldemort’s prearranged schemes.

Maverick shook his head at the mention of the half-giantess, although he did have plans to pull the woman into the blueprint as well. Perhaps during the summer break he would pay her a visit, and go along with his teacher and, if this discussion eventually turned out the way he wanted, Dumbledore as well. With the two of them together, he was ninety percent certain the old woman would also fall in line.

As he sat in thought, he finally sensed something at the edge of his magical awareness, and the ring on his finger gave the corresponding feedback he was expecting. He smiled. “It’s him,” he finally said, no longer keeping them in suspense, speaking without really looking in any particular direction.

"Him who, Professor? Please spare us the riddles... it’s the middle of the night for Merlin’s sake," McGonagall rolled her eyes, genuinely growing tired of it.

And just as she finished speaking, before anyone else could voice a word, a voice, seemingly speaking directly to the root of their souls, suddenly reverberated through the room, causing all three of the veterans to crease their brows and, just as quickly, causing their pupils to dilate.

It was only one syllable: “ME…” they heard, but it carried so much weight that they literally felt the word press against their skin. And that wasn’t all, because they suddenly felt their bodies freeze, no longer under the control of their consciousness, as if some unfathomable power had rooted them to their place, like a higher being pressing their aura upon a lower one.

One must know that McGonagall and Flitwick were veteran great magi, with magical senses honed to such an extraordinary degree that only a mage a full rank higher could sneak up on them, let alone freeze their actions entirely. But that couldn’t be true, because Dumbledore looked equally startled, frozen in shock, and he was arguably the most powerful archmage alive.

There was only one logical explanation for it.

They all remembered, from their youth, how meeting powerful teachers or other formidable individuals made them feel small—reduced to the point where they couldn’t even act on instinct, as if nothing besides their own thoughts was under their control.

Not only that, they themselves had flexed their magic occasionally as well whenever the situation called throughout their long lives, so they weren’t at all foreign to the feeling.

With just that single syllable, they were left completely at the mercy of the being who spoke it, utterly helpless.

Of course, Maverick wasn’t like them. He knew exactly who it was, and the reason he wasn’t affected like Dumbledore and his two other colleagues was simply because he was spared.

After hearing the expected sound, a sigh first escaped his lips—after all, he wasn’t entirely certain the old fossil would show up even if he was told he would. Then the exhale turned into a smile, and he rose to his feet.

He waved a hand, and ignoring the shocked expressions of his colleagues, the surroundings began to change according to the will of his magic, like a puzzle assembling itself on its own. The mirror dimension rippled, glass-like transparent shards flickering with light, walls, tables, chairs, ceiling—everything moving as if guided by an unseen hand.

Where once they had sat two by two facing each other across a coffee table, they now sat in a single line in front of a large table, the opposite side empty except for a single, exquisite-looking chair. Everything else had disappeared, leaving a clean space devoid of walls or sky—a perfectly appropriate stage for the arrival of a living legend.

The transformation took only a second, maybe two, and was over almost as quickly as it began. With that complete, Maverick remained standing, waiting, while glancing sideways at Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, who were still seated, frozen in shock.

The corner of his eye twitched. It wasn’t his idea at all to put them in that state. Sure enough, he hadn’t been wrong to label that old fossil a legitimate farmer. He just hoped that after all this, the three of them wouldn’t blame him. This was definitely not his doing, nor did he have the capability, no matter how ridiculously OP he was now, to freeze them with just a word. Sigh.

Fortunately, the wait wasn’t long. Across the table, suddenly in mid-air, orange sparks began to form—a familiar scene—and Maverick couldn’t help but raise a brow. Not surprising, after all, the bald auntie Yao had said the old man was a sorcerer as well.

What made him arch his brows, though, was how clean it was—too clean. The mirror dimension did not so much as ripple, even with someone invading forcefully, which clearly showed that the old man’s proficiency in Eldritch meditation must be extremely high by now.

Subsequently, on the other side, a familiar face appeared—clean, noble, clad in a finely tailored suit, and, of course, wielding a cane—as Merlin Ambrosius stepped through with absolute majesty. Each tap of his boots, each strike of his cane against the floor, sounded like a bell resonating in their hearts—not harsh or unsettling, but gentle with an air of arrogance.

Mentally, Maverick’s eyes lit up with stars. Must take notes. Must take notes. Expert. Definitely an expert farmer.

As soon as the legendary wizard stepped out and stopped behind the chair, Maverick smiled and made a respectful bow. “Apologies, Mage Supreme, for having disturbed your time.” Respect for one’s elders had to be shown, especially when that elder was a living legend.

But just as he raised his head, he saw more familiar sling-ring portals forming behind the old man, catching him momentarily off guard. His first thought was: was the Sorcerer Supreme crashing the party as well? But he quickly brushed it aside when another realization struck him and his eyes widened involuntarily as a result.

Four people. He had a guess—no, he was fairly certain of their identities. Although Merlin himself had not specifically named them and had only vaguely mentioned having students, it was not difficult to discern who they were. Now, looking at them, especially judging by their attire, he felt even more confident in his earlier guess.

Meanwhile, the moment Maverick said the word “Supreme,” Dumbledore and the other two’s pupils, already constricted, nearly disappeared. They did not doubt for a second that Maverick was wrong, because they still couldn’t move, and only a being like that could immobilize them so completely—one peak archmage and two great magi.

And just as those thoughts crossed their minds, they suddenly felt their bodies back under their control, and abruptly, all three of them rose to their feet. Even Dumbledore, usually calm in the most difficult situations, was visibly shaken—literally, his hands trembled at that moment.

Their little commotion pulled Maverick out of his stupor as well, and he quickly gathered his thoughts. Glancing to his left and right, he spoke, “Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, allow me to introduce you… Supreme Mage, Merlin Ambrosius. And…” He paused, then looked ahead, glancing between the unfamiliar faces who were smirking at him, unsure of what to say.

To Merlin’s left stood a woman clad in a sleek, modern dark dress, a rather large black hat tilted over her head. Next to her was a burly man, majestic as hell, with golden hair flowing like a lion’s mane. Maverick’s first impression was that he might be one of his teacher’s ancestors—the resemblance was unmistakable.

To Merlin’s right was another woman, dressed in an extravagant pink gown, every detail lavish and precise. Beside her stood a stern, lean man in a tailored suit, a fur-lined robe draped over his shoulders.

Actually, only three of them were smirking at him, while the stern, lean man—looking like a straight-up comic book villain—stared as if Maverick had personally insulted his parents.

These four people had to be the four founders of Hogwarts: Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and… Salazar Slytherin.

And sure enough, while he was still at a loss for words on how to introduce them—

“Little guy, you don’t have to be so tense. We are exactly who you think we are.” Chuckling, with a hand over her mouth, the woman in the lavish pink dress winked at him.

Tapp.

Suddenly, the man in front tapped his majestic cane on the floor, and four more chairs materialized, which they all took and sat in unceremoniously.

“Sit, children. This meeting has long been overdue,” Merlin declared in his deep, bell-like voice, addressing Maverick and his party.

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 281 - Plans in Plain Sight (II)

Candlelight flickered softly, blending with the steady orange glow of the table lamps, sending restless shadows crawling across the quiet room.

“This had better be something important, Professor. I have had a rather exhausting day.” Wearing her nightgown and certainly not in her best mood, Minerva McGonagall gave Maverick a pointed glare as she took her seat.

“My apologies for the untimely summons, professors…” Maverick slid three steaming teacups outward across the table with a humble smile.

“If you truly mean that,” McGonagall muttered, “then how about taking over supervising detention for those two trouble magnets of my house for the rest of the term?” She blew across her cup before taking a long sip, as if she needed it more than air.

Across the table sat Maverick and Dumbledore, while beside her was Flitwick, who had arrived with her after the abrupt Patronus Maverick sent to their private chambers.

“I’d rather fight an army of aliens again, Professor…” Maverick chuckled and leaned back. Supervising the Weasley twins’ detention? He really wasn’t joking.

“Tell you what,” he added, “I’ll have the newest model of Magic Vision delivered to your office next week instead.”

Cough. And just then, Flitwick cleared his throat, because after all, McGonagall was not the only one dragged out of bed in the middle of the night.

“Of course, it’s for the two of you.” Maverick’s smile grew, glancing at the little man across from him.

“Bah… you don’t have to, Professor,” Flitwick said with a sheepish grin. “Though I do rather like the color violet.”

“Duly noted.”

McGonagall rolled her eyes at their antics, then turned to Maverick while also glancing briefly between him and Dumbledore in front of her. Her mentor had been rather quiet, she thought, and she sighed inwardly. He must also not be in a good mood after being summoned so abruptly.

Maverick: ...

“Speaking of aliens,” she continued seriously, “surely it can’t be another invasion, right?”

"Ah... no." Maverick shook his head, then paused briefly. "Although, not entirely magical either." He glanced sideways at the old wizard, then back to the two again. "First, I hope you will allow me to finish speaking once I start. It’s a matter of great importance, and I’d like to explain everything clearly…"

At his words, McGonagall, Flitwick, and even Dumbledore all turned serious. Knowing Maverick, anything described as ‘not small’ or ‘of great importance’ carried tremendous weight.

"Go on, or do you want us to swear an oath first?" Flitwick asked.

"No." Maverick shook his head and snapped his fingers decisively, summoning the mirror dimension to envelop the entire room. "There’s no need for oaths, but please don’t mind my precautions."

"Truly fascinating magic. I can no longer sense the presence of Hogwarts," Flitwick murmured, turning his head to inspect the space. He did not panic, nor did the others, and they simply assumed Maverick was taking precautions to keep their discussion discreet.

Still, here at the heart of Hogwarts, they could not grasp the need for such extreme precautions.

Only Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, and that was it. He remained patient, more curious than concerned, wondering what this “confession” might entail.

Maverick raised his arm, and on his third finger, an exquisite, ancient-looking ring materialized. Its face bore a black stone etched with intricate, interwoven lines forming a spiral labyrinth, with tiny runes circling the edge, pulsating faintly with a soft inner light.

The three did not recognize the symbol, assuming it only to be a storage ring, and waited, anticipating what might come next: another summon? Something otherworldly drawn from the ring?

But contrary to their expectations, Maverick simply lowered his arm, as if the earlier display had meant nothing. Puzzled, they exchanged glances, but Maverick ignored them and finally got to the point.

"By this time next year..." He leaned forward, hands clasped together, elbows on his knees, eyes shadowed by a furrowed brow.
"I’ll have a plan in motion that will reveal magic to the entire world."

Perhaps it was the weight of the revelation, or simply too much of a bombshell, but neither Dumbledore, McGonagall, nor Flitwick showed any outward reaction to his declaration. Still, Maverick raised a hand, motioning them to remain silent.

"Allow me to explain everything first," He said, thinking it best to start with Voldy, since the plan would ultimately end with him as well. "It all begins with someone you are all quite familiar with… Tom Riddle, who, contrary to popular belief, is not dead..."

---

The short hand of the clock had unknowingly passed two digits before Maverick was finally able to narrate everything swirling inside his head. He did not hold back this time. From Voldemort to his Horcruxes, how he had discovered them, how many he had destroyed, and how many remained, he told them everything, including his plan to destroy the rest.

Of course, not everything he said was true to the letter, but he made sure it was as believable as possible. Some, like how he came to know about the Horcruxes, he attributed directly to the Sorcerer Supreme.

Anyway, even if they went to her for confirmation—which Maverick was sure they wouldn’t—he was confident the old lady would give him face or cover for him with some clever excuse.

Beyond Voldemort, he also explained why he had meddled in the country’s politics, even going so far as to orchestrate a coup to replace the Minister. He mentioned the Malfoy family and how they were now his spies, and with the movements of the Ministry of Magic and the Death Eater circles under his control, he narrated how everything would fall into place next year.

(A/N: I know I’m not giving all the details, and that’s intentional. You may have a general idea of the MC’s plan by now, but I want to leave some surprises for when I bring you the scenes themselves.)

Without giving them a chance to interrupt, Maverick concluded his explanation, covering the precautions, the risks, and just how far he had prepared, while leaving some plans still in motion. When he finished, he could at least see their pupils relax slightly, which he took as a promising sign.

"Do you have any idea, young man," the stern lady finally snapped, forgetting to call him even Professor—whether deliberately or by accident, Maverick couldn’t tell. "Do you have any idea how completely mad you sound?"

"Yeah… I’ve heard that from a couple of people," Maverick sighed, leaning back and raising his head to the ceiling. Every single person he had confessed his plans to had dubbed him mad, so it barely registered with him.

"How can that aloof, moronic, muscle-bound man even agree to all that? Even agreeing to help you..."

"Don’t blame the teacher, Professor," Maverick said lazily, still resting his head on the sofa’s back. "He’s just as fed up with this ridiculous system as I am."

He lifted his head again, meeting her gaze. Meanwhile, Flitwick and Dumbledore remained silent, letting the confrontation play out. In other words, whatever questions or objections they had, their colleague was handling them just fine while confronting Maverick.

"The world is changing… people’s mindset, culture, everything. Technology most of all." Maverick paused to make his point sink in. "You cannot deny how fast the Muggle world is advancing, Professor. Sooner or later, we will be discovered. And when it happens all at once, what do you think will follow?"

"There will be chaos!" Flitwick finally blurted.

Maverick glanced at him briefly, then returned his gaze to McGonagall. "Eventually, the world will settle, but between chaos and peace, there will, make no mistake, be a lot of blood."

"Unless, of course," Maverick continued, lowering his tone, "we control how we’re exposed."

"The ICW will never agree…" McGonagall replied matter-of-factly, and with good reason. Many of the council’s members were centuries old, and some of those stubborn fools stood at the Archmage level.

Their thinking was so backward that Maverick didn’t even want to bother correcting it. Only something uncontrollable would force a change. In other words, when the exposure became overwhelming in a single moment, they would have no choice but to accept it.

"I know," Maverick said equally matter-of-factly. "Otherwise, why do you think I’m having this whole drama played out in front of the world?"

"Do you think allowing that evil, twisted lunatic to resurrect fully is some kind of spectacle?" McGonagall’s voice rose sharply with every word. "How do we know that madman will even walk into your trap? And if he does, how can you possibly be certain everything will unfold according to your script? And most importantly, do you understand how many innocent lives you’ll be placing at risk if you fail, or if your plan strays even a little?"

She barraged him with question after question until she looked utterly exhausted, and Maverick made no move to interrupt or take offense, allowing her to vent freely. In truth, he understood.

Ninety percent of her fury toward his plan stemmed from Voldy alone, for during the madman’s reign, she had suffered greatly as well, particularly targeted as Dumbledore’s lieutenant and having lost many dear to her in his carnage.

A long silence filled the room as the three adults fixed their gaze on the youngest among them, waiting for his response. In truth, they too would be far happier if the Sacracy Act did not exist. It had been created to safeguard the future of the wizarding world, true, but circumstances back then—and now—were completely different.

Now, there was already an unspoken agreement between the Muggle world and the magical world to coexist in harmony, and the leaders of the entire Muggle world were fully aware of magic.

Moreover, during the last world war, the balance of power was clear, established, and understood by both sides. Muggles had their weapons of mass destruction, while magicals had living, breathing weapons of their own. No longer did one side need to fear the other, and this was no longer an age where someone could be burned at the stake simply for being misunderstood.

Yet still, the magical world’s hierarchy insisted on remaining hidden, and so much time had passed that this secrecy had become accepted as the norm by the majority of the wizarding public.

"If you can answer Minerva’s questions satisfactorily, Maverick, then you can count on my help," Dumbledore finally said amid the uncomfortable silence, drawing everyone’s attention to him, even Maverick’s. He hadn’t expected the old wizard to speak so decisively.

"Albus…" McGonagall began, but Dumbledore raised a hand, turning squarely to Maverick.

"I’ll be honest, I always knew you were up to something big from the very first day Minerva told me about you. However, you have truly exceeded my expectations."

"What? You want to call me a madman too?" Maverick asked, arching a brow.

"Not really," Dumbledore replied, ignoring the script entirely. "I’m sure you’ve read history and know that you aren’t the first to attempt breaking the Sacred Secrecy Act. The last one was just as powerful as you, with an army of witches and wizards… and he still failed."

"I am not—"

"I know you’re not Gellert, Professor Caesar. I just want to remind you of that point."

"Why exactly? I’m not planning to take over the world, and I’m sure as hell not planning to launch a campaign against Muggles."

"No… you’re not. Your plan," Dumbledore glanced briefly at the others, then back at Maverick, "mad as it sounds, is the first one I believe has a real chance of succeeding."

"ALBUS!" McGonagall exclaimed.

"Minerva… let me finish," Dumbledore sighed, continuing. "You’ve even gone so far as to innovate new technology on the Muggle side, just to ensure your plan to expose magic has a better chance of success. You know, I’m still having a difficult time processing it all... the meticulous steps you’ve taken."

He paused, and in the end, fixed Maverick with an expectant gaze.
"Which is why I say, if you can satisfyingly answer Minerva’s earlier questions, I shall not hesitate to bind myself by oath even, in support of your plan."

Even though Dumbledore had not formally given his agreement, it was clear from his words that as long as Maverick could prove he could execute his plan flawlessly, then Dumbledore was essentially saying that he would aid in breaking, or rather destroying, the one taboo that had governed the entire modern magical age.

Even Maverick was taken aback by the decisive declaration. Fuck. Is this going to turn into another pyramid scheme? A cold sweat broke out on Maverick’s forehead as he thought it over. Usually, when something involving this old wizard went a little too smoothly, Maverick was the one who ended up suffering later.

"So you simply want to know what gives me confidence that things won’t go out of control?" Maverick asked, rubbing the ring on his finger.

"Precisely. Even with your teacher, the many others you’ve enlisted, the Ministry, and even the Muggle government assisting behind the scenes as you mentioned, I remain unconvinced that innocent lives won’t be affected."

"It’s the bloody center of Great Britain you want as your stage, after all…" Flitwick chimed in from across the table, leaning back with arms crossed.

Maverick took a moment to consider their questions, and they gave him the time.

Sighing, he finally made up his mind and raised his head, meeting each of their gazes in turn.

"What gives me confidence is him," he said, and they looked at him, puzzled.

"Who?" McGonagall asked.

Then, all of a sudden, a sound came from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if spoken directly into their hearts.

"ME!"

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 280 - Plans in Plain Sight (I)

Rumble!

The sky convulsed as thunderclouds crashed against one another in a furious, endless cycle.

Crackle!

Lightning burst outward in wild, twisting forks and each flash framed the massive structure below in stark white, turning it into a titan standing defiantly beneath a sky that seemed determined to swallow it whole.

Below, the sea raged. Waves heaved upward and smashed against the cliffs with furious strength, exploding into spray that vanished into the storm winds. The entire island felt locked between two wraths, one above and one below, and the air pulsed with raw, crackling pressure.

Azkaban. Island, fortress, storm and sea, all work together as if the world built this place to cage the damned. Its very name is tied to despair, its walls echo with madness, and its inmates rot under the presence of Dementors who feed on every trace of happiness and trap them with their darkest memories.

Only once in its entire history has anyone ever escaped from here, and that single incident was immediately buried under layers of countermeasures as soon as the method was discovered. It was, in truth, a rather unremarkable escape, simply exploiting a loophole and nothing to do with overwhelming magic.

To this day, a forceful escape was considered impossible, as the prisoners could barely hold themselves together after the Dementors had their way with them. An attack from the outside was never even considered, perhaps because in the dreadful fortress’s long history, nothing like that had ever happened.

BOOOM!

Amid the thunderclaps shaking the skies and the roar of the ocean, suddenly, a deafening explosion tore through the eastern side of the colossal structure, carving a charred scar of molten rock across the wall.

ROAR!

From the jagged breach, a torrent of fire erupted in a sweeping inferno, curling and twisting like a massive serpent that howled against the raging storm.

Moving closer to the opening, two silhouettes became clear, one cloaked entirely in black, a hood pulled low over their face, and the other a woman who looked as if madness itself had taken shape. Her eyes were bulging, and her smile looked wicked and unhinged as she lowered her wand, surveying the carnage she had unleashed with unsettling satisfaction.

---

TERROR AT AZKABAN: DEATH AND DESTRUCTION ENSUE!

Setting the stack of papers down, Maverick leaned back in his chair and a light smirk appeared on his lips. His eyes drifted once more to the moving picture beneath the headline, where the scene of Azkaban replayed in stark detail. Thunder and lightning raged across the sky, the sea thrashed violently against the cliffs, and the prison’s eastern wall had been torn open like a jagged, bleeding scar.

It was a prison break, obviously, though one that started from the outside. A band of dark wizards led by a mysterious greatmagi shattered the outer defenses and threw Azkaban into turmoil. The Aurors arrived almost instantly and fought hard until the situation finally settled under their control.

Well, that was the official report, at least. The article claimed the Ministry’s elite Aurors arrived just in time to stop the chaos from spreading, conveniently leaving out any mention of escapes.

If it were any other time, he would have scoffed at the article, however, this time he couldn’t even if he wanted to. Everything had happened from start to finish, from the chaos to the aftermath and even the reports, all of it unfolding under his knowing, or rather, under his acquiescence.

In fact, he had been there at Azkaban when it all happened.

At first, when he received the news from Lucius, he was a bit taken aback, because he remembered nothing like this happening in the original story, at least before Voldemort’s resurrection. But just as quickly he brushed the thought aside, because he had learned by now that not everything would happen in the canonical order, or even happen at all.

Still, though, logically speaking, launching an attack on Azkaban would be sheer madness for any ordinary witch or wizard, or even for a daring group of them. It was simply not worth it, because, terrifying as the prison was hailed to be, the inmates there were nearly all nothing but Magus rank or lower.

To risk getting caught, or worse dying for a bunch of Magus‑rank prisoners, would simply be a stupid decision.

Moreover, it was no secret that the prison had a direct link to the Ministry of Magic, and elite Aurors, including Britain’s Great Magi, could be dispatched in no time should any ruckus occur.

Not to mention, the guards there were not exactly nobodies either, and by guards, actual witches and wizards—few in number, yes, but still stationed throughout the prison. After all, if it were only Dementors guarding the prison, the first thing that would happen to the prisoners would be death by starvation.

In other words, it would have been impossible if it had been just a bunch of Death Eaters at the Magus rank to pull it off, but somehow, it turned out they had help from an unknown Great Mage who led the operation.

Maverick had no idea how Voldemort’s sorry state had even managed to convince a Great Mage to do it, and he did not care anyway.

Moving on, what really happened was that the "mysterious" Great Mage struck Azkaban from the outside and freed Voldemort’s Death Eaters, including Bellatrix Lestrange, the most dangerous inmate locked in the prison at the time.

The madwoman was a Great Magi herself and Voldemort’s most formidable lieutenant, having served him during the upheaval that had shaken wizarding Britain over a decade ago.

The part about the Ministry dispatching its elite force in time to intercept was true as well, with Alastor Moody leading the offensive. Unfortunately, they were still unable to prevent all of the Death Eaters from escaping. After all, Moody was only one man and could not contend with two Great Magi working together.

To their credit, though, the Aurors did manage to stop many of those attempting to escape, leaving only a dozen or so of the hundreds to truly become fugitives.

Meanwhile, Maverick simply made sure no Aurors died in the skirmish, with a miss here and a nudge there—basically, every single exchange of hexes was completely under his control. Of course, nobody there knew a puppet master was twirling his fingers and assumed everything had happened by coincidence.

He also did not take any action to stop the fugitives who escaped, including Bellatrix Lestrange. Anyways, they would not be making any moves before old Voldy was resurrected and would likely lay low until then.

It was not a guess, and he had confirmed it by listening to the exchanges between Bellatrix and the other Great Magus. Mad as the woman was, she would follow Voldemort’s orders as if they were gospel.

What he did do, however, amid all the chaos, was plant a highly advanced tracking magic from the Sorcery system on every single one who had managed to escape from Moody and his men. Now, there was nowhere on earth they could hide from him, and more importantly, he would know exactly where Voldemort was.

Hmm?

Outside the floor-to-ceiling window lay only darkness, the hour creeping past midnight while the castle slept in utter silence. His train of thoughts were interrupted when his magic alerted someone closing in on his office door.

What’s this old thing doing here in the middle of the night?

A knock came, but before the second one, he waved his hand and the door opened, revealing Dumbledore, thank Merlin not in his nightgown, holding a candlelight on the other side.

“Headmaster, to what do I owe this… untimely visit?”

The old man unceremoniously let himself in, though Maverick saw none of the usual expressions on his face. Even that damn annoying twinkle in his eyes was gone. And while Dumbledore tried to hide it, Maverick could tell from the first glance that plenty of bubbling thoughts were churning inside his head.

He sat down across the table from him, set the candle on the surface and let out an exhale.

“I take it you’ve seen the newspaper?” His eyes darted momentarily to the stack of papers in front of Maverick first, then to him.

“Hard to miss…” Maverick shrugged. “Is there something you want to talk about, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore stared at him absentmindedly for a moment, then instead of answering, he posed a question in return. “You know what this means, right?”

“You’ll have to be a little bit more specific…”

“Lord Voldemort…” he said, as if releasing something heavy from his chest. “He’s ready to make his move...”

Maverick leaned back first, resting his elbow on the chair’s armrest and tilting his head slightly. He really wanted to pry open the old man’s skull at this moment and check his brain to see what in Merlin’s name was wrong. A dignified archmage behaving so pathetically, it was honestly embarrassing.

“You think they might start terrorizing Britain again, or make a move on Hogwarts… or,” he said after a brief pause, “come after Potter?”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore nodded slowly. “I spoke with Severus. He tells me the mark Lord Voldemort left on him has grown… considerably stronger, all at once.”

“You think he’s somehow resurrected?”

“No.” Shaking his head, Dumbledore also leaned back. “The Dark Lord, he must have found a way at least. And he is preparing.”

Maverick let out a long exhale and decided to speak directly about what was on his mind. “Headmaster, I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but why are you acting like the whole world is about to end? Even if that lunatic regains the full power of his heyday, you’re still Albus Dumbledore. You’ve even broken free from his curse, so why are you behaving… embarrassingly...” He paused briefly, then added, “Forgive me for saying it, but like a coward?”

Dumbledore raised his head but did not answer.

“What is it about him that makes you look so weak?” Maverick continued without pause. “I can’t even recognize you like this.”

“You don’t understand his madness, Maverick.” Dumbledore drew in a deep breath. “You weren’t there. He is evil. The purest, darkest kind of evil you can imagine, the sort that would do anything to get his way. And if he thinks he can’t reach you, he will go after those around you, threaten them, take hostages… anything.”

Merlin’s thick beard. How much had old Voldy tortured this man psychologically while he was alive?

“During his rampage over a decade ago…” Dumbledore went on, murmuring, “…the Dark Lord used every vile trick he could imagine to strike at me. Knowing he could not best me in magic, he turned his cruelty on everyone close to me—my students, my friends, my allies. So many perished. And even without ever confronting me directly, he ensured I suffered every ounce of pain he could inflict. Even those who survived, like the Longbottoms, remain trapped in hospital wards to this day, neither truly dead nor truly alive.”

He lifted his head, his expression solemn, and met Maverick’s gaze. “The Dark Lord is a danger of an entirely different kind. People think he is a madman, and they are absolutely right. But I know that boy. He is mad beyond reconciliation, yet shrewd in his thinking. He is a schemer... the most vile of his kind. Otherwise, he would have confronted me directly instead of resorting to all those dirty, despicable means.”

“He is not Gellert,” he sighed, “nor a straightforward terrorist. It would be foolish to underestimate him, or his methods, simply because someone might surpass him in magical skill. I learned that lesson the hard way.”

A tense silence stretched across the office as the two, one old, one young, held each other’s gaze. Maverick’s expression had grown serious as well, for what Dumbledore had said was neither an over-glorification nor an exaggeration.

Now, was Maverick being overly confident in his own strength, so much so that he hadn’t even considered those points? Not at all. He was well aware of just how much of a lunatic Voldemort was. Yet, as Dumbledore had pointed out, he also knew that Voldemort was a cunning, scheming mind, one who planned far beyond raw madness.

At this moment, Voldemort was at his weakest, reduced to a decadent wraith, with nothing more pressing than reclaiming a physical body of his own. And precisely because of that, Maverick was fairly certain Voldemort would not allow his dogs to fuck around and find out, risking exposure or revealing his location before he was fully resurrected.

Anyway, Maverick had marked every single one he had allowed to escape, deep down to the root of their souls. They could not hide from him, and as a result, Voldemort would now always remain under his radar.

“It’s not that I haven’t considered those points, Headmaster.” Maverick gave the old man a nod, briefly diverting his gaze, and let out a sigh. Perhaps, he thought, it was about time to come completely clean.

With that thought, he raised his arm, coiled his fingers, and his Patronus sprang to life between them, splitting into two shimmering ravens.

In front of Dumbledore’s inquisitive gaze, he murmured, “Go,” and the Patronus shot forward, phasing effortlessly through the window, while Maverick met the old wizard’s eyes once more.

“It’s best if Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick are here as well.”

“To discuss countermeasures against the Dark Lord?” Dumbledore tilted his head, a flicker of puzzlement in his expression at Maverick’s sudden, inexplicable actions.

“No,” Maverick said quietly. “To confess. I haven’t been entirely honest with all of you.”

HP: Bloodraven Chapter 279 - Into the Red (III)

On a wide stretch of rust-red ground, where broken stones and drifting dust shaped the lonely landscape, a group of people stood in silence, their bodies fully covered in protective attire, facing the fading light of the setting sun.

Click.

Click.

Cameras clicked, flashes washing over the group while they seized that single heartbeat of time.

One recording settled into a still image built from ones and zeros, and the other drifted into a moving picture shaped by runes and magical energy.

The picture revealed a small group of men and women, all dressed in identical outfits, standing on rust-colored sands while a gentle crimson glow spread across the sky. The landscape behind them lifted into rolling hills of rock and dust, and in front of the group a planted flag swayed softly in the pale, passing wind.

The moment carried the grainy charm of footage captured on a seventies camera. In the years to come, these images would hang in museums and fill the pages of history books, marking the moment humanity stepped into a new chapter, perhaps of its entire existence.

---

Nearly half a day had passed since Maverick opened the portal between Earth and Mars, and his team still buzzed with restless energy. The setting sun cast long shadows as they wandered like toddlers in a sandbox, scooping rust-colored sand, picking at odd rocks, and staring at everything with eyes so wide they could hold the horizon.

The sunset on Mars lacked the bold colors of Earth, yet it was no less mesmerizing. Deep orange and gold lingered in the sky, and the light stretched thin as it washed the horizon with gentle blues and muted reds, as if the sun were slipping behind a veil of dust.

As the glow settled across the landscape, everyone agreed that the moment belonged in the history books. To mark it, Maverick added a final touch by planting a simple flag in the ground and gathered the team for a photo.

They stood side by side, captivated as they watched the pale sun sink toward the horizon. To Maverick’s left and right stood Howard and Norex, while Bucky and Howard’s wife took their places at the sides, and the others fell naturally into a loose line behind them.

The flag stood at the front, nothing more than a simple piece of cloth covered with everyone’s signatures on both sides. It carried no symbol and belonged to no nation, and even though it had been a decision made on a whim, it felt more meaningful than any polished emblem.

"The initial base will be ready for installation in about a month. After today’s little triumph, I think it is safe to say the team is fired up and ready to make it happen as soon as possible," Howard said quietly as the wind brushed against them, while also running through the plan for the coming weeks.

“I leave everything to you.” Maverick listened with a thoughtful nod. “Just don’t call me every day to transport things. My schedule at the school is already tight enough.”

“Still, until the base is finished…” Howard smiled at the fading light. “After that, once a week should be fine, right?” He turned his head slightly.

“Can you two drop the work talk for a bit?”
Maria let out a small breath as she held onto Howard’s arm. “Take this in. We're actually standing on another planet."

“Listen to your lady, Howard,” Maverick chuckled.

Maria smiled and glanced at him. “On a serious note… a year ago, I remember this was all just talk. But I’m sure of it now, Mr. Caesar. Your grand vision will come true someday.”

Maverick leaned his head slightly, a sly glint in his eyes. “So... does that mean you didn’t believe me before?” he asked, raising a brow.

“I…”

Howard quickly answered for her, raising his hands. “You can’t blame her. What you proposed back then would have sounded absurd to anyone.”

Bucky also chuckled. “I’m taking Howard’s side on this, boss. Even with the crazy things I’ve seen, not once in my life did I think I’d stand on an alien world.”

“There’s literally an alien next to you,” Maverick nudged his head toward Norex.

All three of them turned to Norex and, shrugging together, smiled.

“He doesn’t count.”

The sun slipped lower and lower, casting the land in quiet, muted color. As night fell, the Martian sky grew sharper than anything they had ever seen. Without humidity to blur the stars and without pollution to dim them, the heavens stretched above like black glass sprinkled with silver dust.

Unlike on Earth, where stars twinkled, here they shone with hard, unwavering brightness that made the universe feel almost within reach. It was a moment they knew would stay with them forever. Even when the light faded, they did not move to leave.

Curiosity kept them wandering since everything around them seemed fresh and unfamiliar. They noticed every rock, every glimmer of mineral, and every change in the sky, and this made them want to begin studying it all at once, in that very moment.

But hunger and exhaustion still reminded them of their human limits, and they could not stay without food or sleep for long. Nevertheless, Maverick did not rush them and allowed them to savor the moment.

Only after they insisted did he lead them back through the gateway, and the entire team went out for a celebratory dinner, still buzzing with excitement.

Time slipped by steadily, with days turning into weeks and weeks stretching into months. March slowly gave way to April, and the weather followed suit, changing without warning. The chill of winter receded as spring made its cautious entrance, sending warm breezes to mingle with rain that came and went like whispered thoughts. Soon, May arrived quietly, without much notice.

Nothing remarkable happened at Hogwarts during that time, although the Quidditch excitement had reached new heights now that the all-stars were playing for their house teams.

Dumbledore, too, seemed unusually cheerful, though no one suspected it was because he had been cured of his life-threatening ailment. The old man was… well, clearly up to something, but Maverick did not bother to find out.

At the same time, while the school carried on as usual, Maverick’s schedule was almost overflowing. For two months, nearly every afternoon after classes, he functioned as a living gateway, ferrying materials, trucks, heavy machinery, and all the supplies required for the Mars mission.

The initial base expanded rapidly, resting on a solid foundation designed to endure violent dust storms, and it was finished in just over a month. On the bright side, with the machinery finally running, Maverick no longer had to shoulder every heavy task.

A portion of his team was now stationed on the Mars base, already beginning their research. Now, Maverick’s visits were limited to delivering supplies or rotating personnel only, while the crew handled the completion of compartments and installations independently. This growing autonomy allowed him to focus on other matters.

By early May, with his routine returning to normal, he finally had time to consider a project of his own: constructing a gateway through alchemy between Mars and Earth. Even though he now only needed to serve as a hub once a week, enabling his team to move between the planets independently would make the operation far more efficient.

It might sound easy, but it was far from it. For starters, even with his expertise as a master alchemist, the magical system alone offered no way to bypass its limitations. Yet by combining it with the sorcery system, he could theoretically create a stable teleportation device linking the two bases.

This time, though, he wasn’t drawing on ideas from his previous life. Instead, it would be a project entirely his own, with no theoretical blueprints to rely on, and he would have to design, test, and complete it on his own.

It was certainly difficult, but not beyond his abilities. He felt confident that, given enough time, he could bring the project to life, possibly even completing it before the year was out.

And speaking of the year, it was now early May and just a month away from year-end exams. That meant exams, exams, and exams, and being a teacher, he was responsible for creating them, and he had to prepare five sets this year, from 1st to 3rd years and 6th and 7th.

Who would have thought a dignified archmage would be reduced to juggling minutes like this? But even if he wanted to complain, he had only himself to blame. After all, who had asked him to fall into Dumbledore’s pyramid scheme and agree to professor two whole subjects?

Maybe it was time, he thought, sitting in his Hogwarts office with a steaming cup of coffee, to pester the old man about hiring someone for the alchemy classes, at least for the younger students. Because next year his schedule would only get tighter.

Taking a sip and exhaling the steam, he set the cup back on the table and leaned back. And just then, he felt his pocket vibrate, reached in, and pulled out his phone.

It was… he hummed, raising an eyebrow. Lucius?

Despite his busy schedule over the past two months, he had not neglected the important matters that would feed into next year’s plans.

For starters, at the end of April, Minister Greengrass had finally informed him that the ministry—or at least all its regular departments—was under his complete authority, with the right people placed in the right positions.

Meanwhile, Lucius, his very own Snape, kept him updated on the pure-blood circles, their movements, and whether any moron was planning something that could cause him trouble. Fortunately, they had been quiet, and perhaps unfortunately, too quiet.

After Pattegrew had so conveniently “escaped,” no word of him had been heard, even within the Death Eater circles, and not a single mention of the supposedly dead noseless wanker had appeared in their communications.

But it seems... that was all about to change.

“Interesting,” he murmured, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at the text.