"What is so special about a mere fugitive that it’s drawn the attention of a Speaker, if you don't mind me asking?"
Rufus Scrimgeour was the first to speak after Maverick had explained the reason for their gathering. Beside him, Bones and Shacklebolt appeared to be thinking the same thing, glancing curiously in Maverick’s direction.
"I'm glad you asked," Maverick replied. "But before I answer, Rufus, would you mind telling us what you think of Sirius Black—and the case against him back then?"
The veteran Auror furrowed his brow at that. It was clear this young man didn’t quite agree with how the case had been handled. Still, who was he to object? Even if it was the Ministry—or the Auror Office, which he currently led—that was being called into question, a Speaker had full authority to ask such things, even under legal grounds. There was nothing improper about it.
So, he answered.
He laid out everything he knew about the case from those days. Naturally, he hadn’t been in charge of the department back then, and what he knew was more or less the same as what the public had been told. And since the matter had long been buried by the time he took over, he hadn’t seen any reason to dig through what might still lie hidden in the files.
It took him about ten minutes to go over everything he remembered. But by the end, his confidence had clearly begun to waver. As he spoke, the holes in the case became more obvious.
There had been no trial. The witnesses were few and unreliable. And most importantly, there was no formal confession from Sirius Black, just claims that he had been laughing madly when they found him. That alone had somehow been taken as proof of guilt.
“Thank you, Rufus,” Maverick said once Scrimgeour finished recounting everything. He let a pause settle before sweeping his gaze across the room. “Now then... I don’t think I need to point out how all of that sounds like a bad joke, do I?”
“So what?” Amelia, seemingly unable to hold something in, snapped all of a sudden. “Why now, then? What’s he hoping to gain by breaking out after all these years? And if he wasn’t guilty, what was the point of staying silent all this time?”
She raised question after question, her emotion going a bit wild, and watching her, Maverick was pretty sure what Lupin said the other day must be true to some extent.
“Jameson…” Maverick ignored her tantrum and gestured to Lord Greengrass to his right, who retrieved three stacks of papers and passed them to the three of them.
“What is this?” asked Kingsley as he read the headline.
From Ministry to Mogul: Arthur Weasley Poached by Master Alchemist for Key Role!
“The picture, gentlemen— and you, Madam Bones— is the answer to your abrupt questions,” Maverick said, pointing. “Why would a man, apparently guilty of having his supposed best friends killed, suddenly decide to break out of prison after so many years?”
He then pointed to the rat the boy in the middle was holding. “This rodent has been their pet for twelve years. That’s an awfully long time for a rat, don’t you think? Rats typically live no more than two years, and even the domesticated ones rarely make it past four. So what could possibly explain this one living almost three times longer?”
“Animagus!” the three of them blurted out at the same time.
Maverick smiled slightly at their quick deduction.
“But who?” Scrimgeour frowned skeptically. “Are the Weasleys even aware of this?”
Kingsley shook his head. “I do not recall any official record of a rat Animagus in Ministry files, Director. If this one exists, it’s likely an illegal one.”
“Oh, it does exist...” Maverick said with a faint smile, gesturing once again to Lord Greengrass.
Lord Greengrass nodded in acknowledgment and rose from his seat. “Please, follow me,” he said before leading the way toward the door.
Lady Greengrass and Maverick stood as well, and after exchanging nods, Bones, Shacklebolt, and Scrimgeour followed suit.
They passed through winding corridors until they reached a small, dimly lit room. In the center, resting on a polished wooden pedestal, was a shallow, stone basin carved with runes and symbols. Soft, pale blue light swirled within it like a gentle mist, constantly shifting and curling in delicate tendrils.
“A Pensieve?” Scrimgeour asked, stepping inside cautiously.
Lord Greengrass nodded. “Please allow me to share a memory with you. To ensure nothing is fabricated, I will withdraw it here in front of you.”
He raised his wand and gently touched the side of his forehead, closing his eyes. A faint shimmer appeared beneath his skin, and slowly, a silvery, thread-like substance flowed from his temple. It drifted gracefully through the air before sinking into the swirling depths of the alchemical masterpiece.
With subtle movements of his wand, he guided the shimmering thread until it disappeared beneath the surface, stirring the misty memories within. And finally, when the last thread slipped inside, the object pulsed a little brighter—ready to reveal what it held.
“Just to clarify... what you’re about to witness happened not long ago,” Maverick said, glancing at the three of them. “And it should answer all your doubts about the whole Sirius Black case, from start to finish.”
He gestured towards the Pensieve, inviting them to begin.
The shallow basin shimmered with pale, swirling light. Its wide size allowed multiple people to lean in at once, so after exchanging brief nods—first with one another, then with Maverick to show they understood—Bones, Scrimgeour, and Shacklebolt stepped forward and then leaned in.
One by one, they dipped their heads into the mist.
The memory Lord Greengrass retrieved captured the full sequence of events that had unfolded just the other day—beginning from the moment Lupin and Sirius were brought in to see the very much alive Peter Pettigrew.
It showed their entrance, the heavy tension in the room, the heated interrogation, and finally, Pettigrew’s breaking point as he confessed to everything. Even the brutal aftermath, when the truth came crashing down and tempers flared, was laid bare in detail.
Maverick had instructed Lord Greengrass beforehand to include everything as it was, without tampering—though that wasn’t something a mage of his calibre could even manage, even if he’d wanted to.
While Bones, Scrimgeour, and Shacklebolt reviewed the memories, Maverick waited patiently nearby, with Lord and Lady Greengrass standing on either side of him. None of them spoke—until, after a minute or so later, Lady Greengrass leaned slightly and asked quietly:
“Do you think they’ll believe it, Leader? Will it be enough to bring them into the plan?”
“Believe it? Of course they will,” Maverick answered her as a faint smile tugged at his lips. His eyes remained on the trio, who had their heads bowed over the Pensieve, then he added, “Not immediately, no… but eventually. People don’t accept the truth when it’s shoved down their throats. They need to reach it on their own—one step at a time.”
“And that’s why you haven’t shown them Pettigrew yet? Or brought Sirius Black to meet them, for that matter?” she asked, sounding like she was piecing it together but not quite there.
Maverick finally turned his head toward her. “More or less...” he said. Then, turning back, he added, “You saw Amelia earlier—how she lost her composure. If I’d brought Sirius in front of her, she would’ve hexed him without a second thought.”
“Yes, I could’ve stopped her. I could’ve forced them all to sit and listen—bring Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black to the table, shove Veritaserum down their throats, and make them hear the whole truth. Make them believe. But tell me, what would that make me in their eyes?”
Lady Greengrass hesitated. “Strong?”
Maverick gave a soft, amused laugh. “Strong? My lady, strength has never been in question. They know who I am. You know. Everyone knows I’m an Archmage. There isn’t a soul in London who’d dare challenge me to a duel.”
His voice lowered a notch as he continued.
“But I’m not trying to conquer them with fear or overwhelm them with power. I’m showing restraint... deliberately. Because the kind of strength that wins true loyalty isn't raw force. It’s the strength to hold back, even when you could crush everything in your path.”
Then, as a memory stirred of another fellow who had once tried something similar, long ago, he continued.
“You remember the last man who tried to win over the wizarding elite, don’t you? He had power. Influence. Gold pouring from every vault. Even the motto he stood by wasn’t all that bad, if I’m being honest—for the greater good.” He let out a quiet chuckle. “And yet… he chose fear. Brutality. He wanted obedience, not trust. In the end, even his lover turned on him. And the world made sure he burned for it.”
There was a short pause, before he added, voice firmer now.
“That said, I’m not here to play the victim. I don’t mind being questioned... when the doubt is honest, when the concern is real. I’ll answer it. Clarify it. Even change course, if reason demands it.”
Having said that, he glanced at the two of them from the corner of his eye to see their reactions. Lady Greengrass looked like she had more or less grasped his meaning, while her husband seemed somewhat reluctant to accept all of it. So Maverick turned to him directly.
“What? Do you think I’m being too lenient? Or that I’m turning into another Dumbledore... handing out second chances to anyone who questions me?”
“I… Leader… I didn’t say that…” the older man stammered, gulping when Maverick flashed him a grin just a fraction too wide.
Maverick chuckled, turned back to the Pensieve, and when he continued, his voice dropped a notch lower.
“Don’t get me wrong, Jameson. If someone dares to question me with an agenda… if they try to twist the truth of what I’m trying to build for their own selfish gain… then make no mistake... I will break them. Permanently.”
Lady Greengrass glanced between her husband and their leader during the exchange, thoughts racing through her mind. There were still plenty of things she wanted to ask, beyond the question she had raised earlier—doubts she and her husband had often discussed behind closed doors but never dared to say aloud.
Until now, they had kept those thoughts to themselves. But now, after hearing what he had just said about not minding being questioned, she thought there was no reason to hesitate — she should voice them.
Otherwise, wouldn’t that make him—this young man she and her husband now considered their leader—a hypocrite? She didn’t want to believe that. Even if only to prove the point to herself, she spoke up again, voicing the biggest concern about their grand plan.
“My leader, about convincing people with virtue, as you just mentioned,” Lady Greengrass said carefully, “may I ask—how do you plan to convince Albus Dumbledore to follow along? And the two Greatmages at Hogwarts... Minerva and Filius?”
Nehahaha!
Maverick burst out laughing.
“My lady,” he said, turning to her, “I didn’t take you for someone fond of Eastern proverbs.”
He shook his head amusedly. “Indeed, that wise old monster... Sooner or later, I’m sure he’ll realise I’m aiming to topple the Statute of Secrecy—then, for some inexplicable reason, he’ll probably start thinking I’m the second coming of his old lover.”
He clicked his tongue. “Since it all begins at Hogwarts, I can’t expect to keep him in the dark for long. However—” a smile tugged at his lips as he thought of the last resort he had in mind for Albus Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. Turning to the lady, he added, “—to convince a wise old monster, my lady, I’ll simply have to bring forth a much wiser, much older monster. I’d like to see him cling to his ideals when faced with a being out of legend.”
“Legend?” she asked, eyebrows knitting. “I’m sorry... I don’t follow.”
And just then, Maverick’s eyes flicked to the Pensieve.
“Hmm... it seems our friends have finished reviewing your memories, Jameson.”
Unfortunately for Lady Greengrass, that was all the answer she would get—for now. Across the room, Amelia Bones, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Rufus Scrimgeour were rising from the Pensieve, each wearing the same stunned expression of someone who had just seen more than they were ready for.
2025-07-30 19:01:49 +0000 UTC
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Over the next two weeks, Maverick remained at Hogwarts, making no evening departures for outside matters.
Classes went on as usual, and aside from the dreadful creatures still flying about the school, a sense of calm settled over the castle.
That was, until the third weekend.
The trials to select the school’s All-Star team had been progressing smoothly under the supervision of Steven and Professor McGonagall. But on the second day, during the mock matches to narrow down the final fourteen from the twenty-eight students who had advanced past the first day’s challenge, an accident occurred.
The Dementors, it seemed, simply could not resist interfering whenever they sensed happiness nearby. The joy radiating from the students was like a beacon—bright, irresistible—and they began to descend. Slowly at first, then lower still. And then, at last, they gave in. One by one, unable to resist the lure of that warmth and laughter, they broke formation and began to attack.
It happened all of a sudden. Though McGonagall, down below, sensed the creatures descending from the very first moment, she didn’t have time to instruct the students to stop the game.
Furious, the deputy lioness of Hogwarts immediately unleashed the most powerful Patronus her magic could muster. The entire castle lit up in a dazzling white, forcing even the Dementors that hadn’t dared to descend further to be blasted far away from the school’s vicinity.
And at that moment, a certain professor happened to be standing by the window of his office, holding a recorder and capturing the entire incident from start to finish.
After putting the camera away, Maverick curled his lips into a smile, thinking this was more dirt on Fudge. Honestly, he hadn’t expected something like this to happen.
Remembering the original story, an attack like this didn’t happen until the last semester—or was it before Christmas? He couldn’t quite recall. All he remembered was that Harry had been attacked mid-game, Dumbledore had rescued him, and afterward, the old man had been furious and gone straight to the Ministry.
It should be McGonagall storming the Ministry for an explanation this time, he thought with a chuckle, sensing her rage thundering all the way up to his office.
Anyway, he shrugged and brushed the thoughts aside, then prepared the footage to be sent to every newspaper in the country.
The following day, as expected, news broke across the country: a direct attack by Dementors on Hogwarts students. This time, there was undeniable footage of the incident, leaving no room for denial.
Even Magic Vision’s wizarding news program aired the story to every household equipped with one of their sets, replaying it repeatedly while openly criticizing the Ministry’s half-baked measures—measures that had risked the lives of innocent children in the name of catching a fugitive.
Fudge was no doubt under heavy fire now, but Maverick paid little attention to the matter after sending the footage. At this point, it was only a matter of time before the regime changed—and from here on, Jameson could handle things on his own. Unless it came down to a direct confrontation with a powerhouse, Maverick had no intention of interfering.
Back at the school, many expected the Dementors to be recalled to Azkaban after the incident, but Fudge remained stubbornly insistent on keeping them. Whether it was pride or a petty desire to spite Hogwarts’ administration, they were still stationed outside the castle. At best, their patrol perimeter had been pushed slightly farther back, but they continued to linger near the grounds.
---
On the last Friday of September, after wrapping up his final class for the day, Maverick left the school grounds and headed straight home. He spent some time with his family first, enjoyed a home-cooked meal prepared by his mother, and slept in his own bed after a long time.
The next morning, Maverick met up with Isabella. Though it hadn’t been that long since they had spent a full day together—dinner in space and all that—she had become so busy lately that he wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
They spent the better part of the morning curled up on her living room sofa, as she briefed him on the latest updates regarding the news network. She talked through her plans, and Maverick chimed in now and then with a few ideas of his own—not that she needed much help.
By late afternoon, they left all that behind and slipped away into the city for dinner. Just the two of them, tucked into a quiet little place that didn’t care who they were. They talked about nothing important on purpose, laughed a lot, and let themselves be ordinary for once.
By the time the night ended, Maverick didn’t return home, spending the rest of the night with her instead.
The next day, while he was enjoying some afternoon tea with Isabella, Maverick finally received the message he had been waiting for from Lord Greengrass. After a quick glance to the messege, He slipped the phone back into his pocket without a word and carried on enjoying the quiet moment with her.
There was still time, and it was only after a home-cooked dinner from Isabella that evening that he finally told her he had to leave. She did not protest, though she looked like she wanted to. She knew her fiancé had far too many things happening behind the scenes to sit still for long.
Finally, after a few long hugs and kisses, he turned on the spot and disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving behind a half-annoyed, half-worried girl standing by the door with her arms folded and eyes on the sky.
He reappeared just outside the wrought-iron gates of the Greengrass manor, while the sky was lit with dazzling stars scattered like glitter across deep velvet. A faint breeze swept through the hedges, rustling the ivy-covered walls and carrying with it the scent of night-blooming roses from the gardens within.
Maverick glanced up at the moon—half-full and bright—then adjusted the cuffs of his coat and stepped forward. The gates creaked open before he even reached them, responding to his presence without a word spoken.
It was time for business.
---
Some time earlier, the fireplace inside the Greengrass manor roared to life with emerald flames, and three figures stepped out one after another—two men and a woman—dusting off ash and soot as they emerged.
Standing by the drawing room fireplace, Lord Jameson Greengrass and his wife, Lady Soleil, were already waiting. Both were dressed to impress—not extravagantly, just enough to show they had been expecting important guests.
“Welcome to our humble home,” Lord Greengrass said, dipping his head in polite greeting. “Gentlemen. My lady.”
His wife, Lady Soleil Greengrass also offered a warm smile and a nod. “We’re honored to have you.”
The guests were none other than Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office; Kingsley Shacklebolt, a rising star within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and Amelia Bones, the formidable Director of the Department itself.
Three powerful names within the Ministry. And though Lord Greengrass carried the weight of an ancient and noble house, he had always believed in the principle that respect must be shown where it was due.
After a brief round of greetings and a few pleasantries, Lady Bones asked what they were all thinking.
“Is he here yet?”
“Not yet,” Jameson said, keeping his voice calm. “He’ll come when he’s ready.”
He gestured toward the side hallway. “In the meantime, please join my wife and me at the dinner table. We’ve prepared something light—just enough to keep us comfortable while we talk.”
The three Ministry officials exchanged glances, then gave nods of agreement. They followed the Greengrasses through the manor, past antique portraits that blinked lazily at them, until they reached the dining room.
The table was long and finely carved, set with silver and porcelain. They took their seats, and a few house-elves appeared with tea and light dishes—roast vegetables, buttered bread, and a platter of gently steaming chicken basted with herbs.
The atmosphere remained calm but laced with anticipation. They were not here for a social call, everyone knew it.
And it didn’t take long for the person in question to arrive. Lord Greengrass sensed the nudge on the manor wards the moment Maverick apparated near the gate, and he immediately granted full access so Maverick could pass through without hindrance.
Meanwhile, Lady Greengrass, after a subtle gesture from her husband, had already gone to welcome him while the others waited.
---
"I hope I haven’t kept you waiting," Maverick said with a relaxed smile as he stepped into the room and made his way to the head of the table while Lady Greengrass returned to her seat beside her husband.
"Not at all, Leader. You’re right on time," Jameson replied promptly, offering a reassuring nod. "We’ve only just sat down."
Maverick turned his attention to the three guests, offering a nod. "Mr. Scrimgeour, Mr. Shacklebolt, Madam Bones... it's been a while. All well at the Ministry? Seems like the Minister's been catching quite a bit of fire lately..."
"The Minister is the Minister, Mr. Speaker, and the Ministry is the Ministry. For us, nothing has changed," Scrimgeour said in response, as if he knew exactly what was being asked and chose his words to say everything and nothing at once.
Maverick chuckled softly. "Indeed, that’s how it ought to be, isn’t it? Unfortunately, although what you said is true to some extent, it’s not how things really operate in the British Ministry..."
Then, his gaze swept toward the other two. The warmth in his voice cooled slightly as he steered the conversation toward the real reason they were all gathered here.
"Right then... let’s talk about Cornelius Fudge... Lately, all the noise he’s been making seems to revolve around one name... a certain fugitive who slipped out of Azkaban right under his nose. And the reason I called this meeting is very much tied to that same individual."
He gave a pause, then added, "Of course, there’s also the other matter." His eyes lingered on each of them in turn. "Specifically, where your loyalties will lie once Fudge is removed... which, nake no mistake, is only a matter of time now."
—————————
Author's Note:
Sorry for the slower releases this week. Work has been really busy, and I haven’t had much time to focus on writing. Thankfully, it’s just for this week, and things should be back to normal next week. I’m doing my best to write whenever I can, and hopefully I’ll still be able to release five chapters this week.
Thank you all for your understanding and support. 🙏
Enjoy the chapter!
2025-07-29 12:06:29 +0000 UTC
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If looks could kill, Peter would have been dead a hundred times by now. Seeing that the two he once called best friends hadn’t believed a word of his lies, he could only wail, counting the seconds.
“No… no—please!” Snot oozed down his rat mouth like a broken pipe, mixing with the spit and tears as he blubbered for mercy. “My friends… please, it’s me… it’s Peter!”
And all of it—the whimpering, the pleading, the pitiful little gasps—just bounced off the two of them like rain on stone, as they watched the traitor fall apart.
"Why don’t we start with their favorite curse, Remus? The one Voldemort’s lot used on so many of us... Would be a shame to let him die without a little pain, don’t you think?"
“No!”
Pettigrew shook his head frantically, as if he had just heard his own death sentence. He looked between them with desperate eyes, hands pressed together in mock-prayer, sobbing pitifully, stripped of all dignity.
"I’m your friend... your friend... you wouldn’t... Please..."
He was so repulsive, so far beneath contempt, that the two of them nearly abandoned their plans to make him suffer. Killing him would be a mercy. Not for him, but for them.
Perhaps that had been the rat’s plan all along: to abandon every last shred of dignity, hoping their sheer disgust might change their minds. After all, traitor though he was, he had once been their friend, and he knew them better than anyone.
For a moment, it actually worked. Black and Lupin both lowered their wands.
Unfortunately, Pettigrew let out a pitiful little sigh of relief.
And that was his mistake.
Black and Lupin’s expressions darkened at once as they realized they had been played again. They shared a look and, with a single nodd to each other, reached an unspoken agreement.
Peter watched his former friends slowly holster their wands, thinking his pathetic display had finally worked—until he saw them crack their knuckles. His face fell, and his expression twisted into one of sheer terror.
Seeing the wicked grins stretched across their faces—wide, a little unhinged, and far too gleeful—Peter was suddenly reminded of the schoolyard bullying they used to dish out back at Hogwarts.
Only, this wasn’t going to be anything like that. This time, he was on the receiving end—and what he was about to get had twelve years of betrayal and bitterness packed into it.
His eyes widened so much it looked like they might pop out of their sockets.
“W-Wait! Remus... Sirius... Please—wait!”
“No.”
“Stay back!”
“Please—!”
“No—!”
Outside the cell, Maverick listened to the pitiful wails and allowed himself a small smile—the first time since coming down here.
He was hoping Black wouldn’t give in to impulse and kill the rat on the spot—and thankfully, he didn’t. That was good, because Black could be a very useful tool—*cough*, an ally—in the future, both politically and as a mage of reasonable talent.
Of course, even if Black—or even Lupin—tried to kill Peter, Maverick was ready to intervene. Though he looked relaxed, he was always prepared to step in if things went too far.
As for the bloody beating happening now, he saw no reason to stop it. If anything, letting the two men vent their long-buried rage was probably the healthiest thing for them.
---
The beatdown continued.
Sirius and Lupin didn’t use any magic, relying instead on good old fists and boots to do the heavy lifting, pounding the pathetic rat until he was barely clinging to consciousness.
Maverick, standing off to the side with Jameson, occasionally cast healing charms—just enough to keep Pettigrew breathing and reset the cycle.
The sounds of crying, howling, and flesh striking flesh went on for nearly an hour.
By the time it was over, it wasn’t Pettigrew who collapsed. Maverick had ensured the rat stayed conscious—barely alive, but alive all the same. Instead, it was the two Marauders who finally dropped to their knees, every ounce of strength wrung out of them.
Their fists throbbed, their muscles screamed, and their chests heaved with exhaustion, but the rage had passed. What remained was a shattered traitor lying in a pool of his own failure—bloodied, broken, but still breathing.
The matter was over. At least, for now. Pettigrew would still remain in captivity, but Sirius and Lupin had earned their moment of catharsis before the rat was handed over to the British Ministry of Magic.
---
Later, in the private study at Greengrass Manor, they all gathered—partly to discuss the road ahead, partly to share a few drinks.
Of course, Maverick already had the plan mapped out in his head, but it never hurts to hear what other people had to say.
It was decided: Pettigrew would be handed over to the Aurors—specifically to someone tough enough not to flinch and too straight to be bought.
Maverick already had the perfect person in mind, and the handover was set for the Christmas break. Until then, Pettigrew would remain presumed dead—just as he had been for the past decade—and Sirius would continue to lie low.
“I never thought your goal was to take over the Ministry, Caesar,” Sirius muttered, slouched in a velvet armchair with a bottle of magical liqueur in hand. He looked like a man who had both achieved long-awaited revenge and, at the same time, lost the purpose that drove him. “And here I thought you were helping me out of the kindness of your heart…”
“Don’t be rude, Padfoot,” Remus said, sipping from his own glass—half full, or perhaps half empty, depending on how much magical alcohol was clouding his judgment. “If it weren’t for Master Caesar, you’d still be hiding in alleyways, digging food out of garbage bins.”
“And mind you, Lord Black,” Greengrass added with a stern tone, “you’re speaking to an Archmage. And my leader. In my own house. I suggest you show some proper respect.”
Maverick didn’t mind Black’s sharp remark. By now, he understood the man well enough—wild, undisciplined, reckless. The type who never thought more than a step ahead. But fiercely loyal to those he cared about.
He let it slide with a shrug. Besides, Black was clearly drunk.
Sirius then, all of a sudden, burst out laughing, making everyone turn their heads to him. “Ah… apologies, gentlemen. I just never imagined I’d be addressed as Lord Black one day…” He hiccupped bitterly. “Feels like a joke.”
“You are, officially or not, the heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black,” Greengrass said. “The only other living Black-blooded individuals don’t bear the family name. And given that your father was Orion Black himself, no one has a stronger claim than you.”
Sirius hiccupped again and shook his head. “I’ve got absolutely no interest in being lord of that blasted house. To hell with the Black family.”
“Poor Headmaster Phineas... He’d probably claw his way out of his portrait in Dumbledore’s office if he heard that,” Maverick chuckled. “Though if you reject the responsibility, it will eventually fall to Lucius Malfoy’s son. And I hear you and Lord Malfoy aren’t exactly best mates.”
Sirius blinked, the realization dawning despite the fog of drink. His scowl returned, but he said nothing more.
And Maverick was sure of one thing from that brief change in expression—Sirius wouldn’t let the family fortune fall into Lucius Malfoy’s hands, even if the heir in question was Draco, son of Narcissa—his own cousin.
Turning to Greengrass, Maverick changed the subject. “Have you spoken to Bones and Shacklebolt?”
“I have,” Lord Greengrass nodded. “They’ve agreed to meet... time and place at your discretion.”
“Good,” Maverick said, rubbing his chin. “Set it for the beginning of next month. Invite them here.”
“What are you planning to do with Bonesy, Caesar?” Sirius interjected, voice slurred.
Maverick raised an eyebrow and looked to Lupin for context.
Remus chuckled knowingly. He didn’t mind at all that Sirius was right next to him, and spilled all the details.
Apparently, back in their school days, Sirius and Amelia had a thing for each other. Even after Hogwarts, it never really stopped. It wasn’t quite a relationship, more like a constant push and pull. They liked each other but were just too different to make it work.
Sirius groaned and nearly threw his bottle at Lupin. “Shut it, Moony.”
Unfortunately, the damage was done, and the men shared a quick laugh over it.
Returning to the discussion, Maverick laid out his instructions to Greengrass on how to proceed until the meeting next month. He spoke freely, even with Sirius and Lupin present, because there wasn’t anything particularly sensitive in the first place.
Besides, he was certain that he would have both men fully on his side sooner rather than later. For Sirius, the chance to take revenge on Peter, to avenge his dead best friend, and to clear his name was more than enough of a favour.
As for Lupin, the promise of justice held the same weight—but Maverick also had something planned for him, something significant enough to change his entire life for the better. Winning him over was only a matter of time.
Later, Maverick helped the drunken mutt back to the London residence, where Ali was already waiting, then used the fireplace to return to Hogwarts with Lupin.
With that, the night’s business was done, and Maverick was satisfied with how everything had turned out.
2025-07-27 19:56:08 +0000 UTC
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“There were witnesses who claimed they saw you die, Peter…” Lupin said, not knowing what to feel. “A whole street full of them…”
His emotions were in complete turmoil. Yes, Sirius had told him a completely different story from the one that everybody knew about that day. And even though it sounded much more believable, and logical in every sense, he still hadn’t been able to fully accept it.
After all, they had been brothers once—James, Sirius, Peter, and him. He needed to hear it from both of them. Of course, thinking rationally, it was clear enough who the real traitor was. But when it came to family—or friends as close as family—who could possibly think rationally?
The iron door clanked open with a groan, and Jameson stepped aside wordlessly. Inside the dimly lit cell stood a second cage, and Peter Pettigrew sat curled at the center, chained with heavy enchanted manacles.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Sirius brushed past Lupin, entering first, his boots echoing across the stone floor. His fists were clenched, and his wand was already in hand, trembling slightly.
Jameson moved to the back to stand near Maverick, who leaned silently against the wall just outside. They were only here to observe while the two men confronted their past.
“They didn’t see what they thought they saw!” Sirius snapped, voice raw with years of bottled-up rage, responding to Lupin’s earlier remark. He looked ready to pounce, barely restraining himself from hexing the rat into mincemeat.
“S-Sirius… R-Remus…” Pettigrew finally managed to find his voice after the shock of seeing the last people he ever wanted to meet. His eyes darted toward the now-open cell door, but that was all he could do—look.
To escape, he would have to get free from the enchanted chains first, then unlock the smaller cage, and only then could he make a move. And even if by some miracle he managed that—how, in Merlin’s name, was he supposed to get past his so-called old friends?
Back in their school days, James, Sirius, and Lupin had always been better than him with a wand, and there was no reason to believe that had changed.
“My friends… my old friends…” he choked out, eyes darting wildly, mouth twitching with panic. Should he plead? Apologize? Try to lie his way out, maybe fool one of them? He didn’t know what might work—only that he had to say something.
Sirius’s wand arm rose at once, but Lupin seized his wrist and gave him a warning look.
Not yet.
Sirius growled low in his throat, then held back the urge.
Lupin then turned his gaze back to the caged man again. When he spoke to Pettigrew this time, his tone was unnervingly calm.
“We’ve been talking, Peter. About the night Lily and James died.” He took another step closer, eyes narrowing slightly. “I might’ve missed some details back then… so why don’t you fill me in on what really happened?”
Pettigrew’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air.
“Remus,” he squeaked out finally, sweat beading across his already pasty face, “you don’t believe him, do you? He tried to kill me, Remus… You have to believe me!”
“So I’ve heard,” said Lupin. “And that’s exactly why I’d like to clear up one or two little matters with you, Peter—if you’d be so—”
“He’s come to try and kill me again!” Pettigrew’s fat body visibly trembled as he tried to make excuses. “He killed Lily and James and now he’s going to kill me too… You’ve got to help me, Remus!”
Sirius’s face twisted in fury as he stared at him with eyes dark as thunderclouds. He was trying—really trying—not to hex the life out of him right then and there.
“No one’s going to try and kill you until we’ve sorted a few things out,” Lupin said firmly.
“Sorted what out, Remus?” squealed Pettigrew, looking utterly desperate, eyes wide and wild, like a cornered animal. “I knew he’d come after me! That’s why I hid all these years—I knew he’d be back!”
“You knew Sirius was going to break out of Azkaban?” said Lupin, his brow furrowed. “When nobody has ever done it before?”
“He’s got Dark powers the rest of us can only dream of!” Pettigrew shouted. “How else did he get out of there? I suppose He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named taught him a few tricks!”
At that, Black started to laugh—a horrible, mirthless sound that filled the whole chamber.
“Really, Peter? That’s the best you’ve got? Voldemort, teaching me tricks?”
Pettigrew flinched at the name. That terrible, terrible name that still gave him nightmares—yes, even now, after all these years. In truth, that was the real reason he had gone into hiding. Although it had been over a decade since the Dark Lord was declared dead, Peter was still too much of a coward to face the world, convinced even the Dark Lord’s ghost might come after him.
“What, scared to hear your old master’s name?” Sirius asked mockingly. “I don’t blame you, Peter. His lot aren’t very happy with you, are they?”
“Don’t know what you mean, Sirius—” muttered Pettigrew, his breathing faster than ever. His whole face was shining with sweat now.
“I get it now… it’s not me you’ve been hiding from for twelve years,” said Black, every word laced with a mocking edge as he took a step forward. “You’ve been hiding from Voldemort’s old supporters.”
He crouched down in front of the cage, eyes burning with contempt.
“I heard things, Peter—you know, in Azkaban. They all think you’re dead, or else you’d have to answer to them.”
“I’ve heard them screaming all sorts of things in their sleep. Sounds like they think the double-crosser double-crossed them. Voldemort went to the Potters on your information—and Voldemort met his downfall there.”
“And not all his supporters ended up in Azkaban, did they? There are still plenty out here, biding their time, pretending they’ve seen the error of their ways.”
His voice dropped to a cold whisper.
“If they ever got wind that you were still alive, Peter—”
“Don’t know... what you’re talking about...” said Pettigrew again, more shrilly than ever. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked up at Lupin. “You don’t believe this—this madness, Remus—”
“I must admit, Peter, I have difficulty in understanding why an innocent man would want to spend twelve years as a rat,” said Lupin evenly.
“Innocent, but scared!” squealed Pettigrew. “If Voldemort’s supporters were after me, it was because I put one of their best men in Azkaban—the spy...” He jerked his head toward Sirius. “Sirius Black!”
Black’s face contorted in fury as he rose to his feet in one swift, jerking motion.
“How dare you...” he growled. “Me, a spy for Voldemort? When did I ever sneak around people who were stronger and more powerful than me?
“But you, Peter—I’ll never understand why I didn’t see you were the spy from the start. You always liked big friends who’d protect you, didn’t you?
“It used to be us... me and Remus... and James...”
Pettigrew wiped his face again; he was almost panting now.
“Me, a spy... must be out of your mind... never... don’t know how you can say such a—”
“Lily and James only made you Secret-Keeper because I suggested it,” Black hissed so venomously that Pettigrew flinched, expecting a hex at any second. “I thought it was the perfect plan... a bluff... Voldemort would be sure to come after me, would never dream they’d use a weak, talentless thing like you... It must have been the finest moment of your miserable life, telling Voldemort you could hand him the Potters.”
Pettigrew was sweating buckets now, frantically thinking of a retort, a convincing lie... something, anything.
Lupin was now nearly convinced himself, and it was only the final confession that kept him from pouncing too. But there was one more thing he needed to clarify.
“I have a question,” Lupin said, voice tight. “Since you, Peter—as the rat—have been sleeping in Harry’s dormitory for three years... if you’re working for You-Know-Who, how come you never tried to kill Harry?”
“Yes. Yes! That’s it!” Pettigrew said shrilly, like he’d found the perfect excuse. “Why should I, Remus? Because I’m not a spy! Like you said, I’ve slept in their dorms for years and never done anything. I’ve never hurt a hair on Harry’s head!”
“I’ll tell you why,” said Black. “Because you never did anything for anyone unless you could see what was in it for you. Voldemort’s been in hiding for twelve years—people say he’s half dead. You weren’t about to commit murder right under Albus Dumbledore’s nose for a wreck of a wizard who’d lost all his power, were you? You’d want to be quite sure he was the biggest bully in the playground before you went back to him, wouldn’t you? Why else did you find a wizarding family to take you in? Keeping an ear out for news, weren’t you, Peter? Just in case your old protector regained strength and it was safe to rejoin him...”
Pettigrew opened and closed his mouth several times. He seemed to have lost the ability to speak. All he could do was pray—pray to anyone—that Remus would believe him.
“Remus, please—it’s me... it’s Peter... your friend... you have to believe me...”
Lupin waited. The confession still hadn’t come. He needed to hear it—needed Peter to say it.
“Master... noble master... clever master... you—you won’t let them kill me, will you? Help me...” Peter, finally giving up on his lies, turned toward Jameson outside the cell and began to plead.
The Greengrass lord paid him no mind and ignored him completely.
“Remus,” whispered Pettigrew, finally losing all hope. The lies had failed. What was left? Begging. Begging like the pathetic rat he was, no matter how pathetic he looked. “Remus, my friend... show me mercy...”
And there it was. Instantly, both Black and Lupin strode forward, wands raised in perfect sync.
“You sold Lily and James to Voldemort,” said Black, who was shaking now. “Do you deny it?”
Pettigrew burst into tears.
“Sirius, Sirius, what could I have done? The Dark Lord... you have no idea... you can’t imagine... I was scared, Sirius, I was never brave like you and Remus and James. I never meant it to happen... He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named forced me—”
“DON’T LIE!” bellowed Black. “YOU’D BEEN PASSING INFORMATION TO HIM FOR A YEAR BEFORE LILY AND JAMES DIED! YOU WERE HIS SPY!”
“He—he was taking over everywhere!” gasped Pettigrew. “W-What was there to be gained by refusing him?”
“What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who has ever existed?” said Black, his face a mask of terrible fury. “Only innocent lives, Peter!”
“You don’t understand!” whined Pettigrew. “He would have killed me, Sirius!”
“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE DIED!” roared Black. “DIED RATHER THAN BETRAY YOUR FRIENDS, AS WE WOULD HAVE DONE FOR YOU!”
Black and Lupin stood shoulder to shoulder, wands raised.
“You should have realized,” said Lupin quietly, “if Voldemort didn’t kill you, we would.”
They both looked ready to cast the Killing Curse. The green light humming at the tips of their wands was restless—itching for release.
2025-07-26 10:11:37 +0000 UTC
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"There’s no need to be so nervous, Remus," Maverick said with a faint smile, noting how tense the man looked. "I just want to ask a couple of questions on a certain matter... nothing too heavy."
Despite the worn, patchy robes he still wore, Maverick could see that Lupin’s complexion had improved considerably since two weeks ago. At the very least, he no longer looked like someone unsure of where his next meal would come from.
Taking out a cup and a steaming jar of tea from seemingly nowhere, Maverick poured the man a drink and passed it over. "So, how is life as a professor treating you?"
Though he suspected there was more behind the offer than simple hospitality, Lupin still gave a polite nod and accepted the cup.
“It’s better than I expected,” he said after a sip, feeling the tea settle his nerves. “Teaching a room full of lively eleven-year-olds is... more interesting than I imagined.”
Maverick chuckled softly. “I know, right? It’s a strange feeling indeed...”
Pleasantries out of the way, Maverick didn’t keep him hanging any longer. Lupin looked calm enough, but Maverick could tell there was a mess of feelings underneath—nervousness, fear, a bit of admiration—all tangled up. It made sense. The fear was understandable, the nerves likely tied to his particular condition, and the admiration… well, that was easy to place too.
"Right then... I won’t keep you in suspense, Professor," he said matter-of-factly. "I asked you here to hear your thoughts on the murder of the Potters—and more specifically, your take on Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew."
He paused briefly, then added in a gentler tone, "I know this is sudden... and probably not something easy to recall, considering how close you all were... but even so, I’d really appreciate your cooperation."
Lupin looked like he had a thousand things to say—or ask—and that was understandable. Maverick had been quite forward, after all, so he said no more and gave the man a moment to process.
First came the expected ‘why’, followed by a few more questions—Lupin clearly needed some convincing. Maverick answered them patiently, mixing in a few half-truths where needed, until the man finally gave a slow nod and agreed to talk.
Half an hour later, as Maverick sat and listened quietly, he found that Lupin’s story matched Sirius’s in most ways. But unlike Sirius, he hadn’t witnessed the end. All he had were secondhand accounts, rumors, and the Ministry’s word.
James was gone—betrayed by someone close. Peter too—killed, supposedly, by that same traitor. And all fingers pointed to Sirius Black. Yet Lupin never got the chance to face him… to ask if it was really true.
“I just… don’t understand why he chose to break out now of all times,” Lupin finished with a melancholic remark, “I don’t even know what to think of my… former friend anymore.”
Tapping his finger against the desk, Maverick wondered if he should really bring this man into the formula. That was the whole reason he had called Lupin in and asked about the Potters in the first place—to get a read on his character. To see if he could be trusted… and maybe brought onboard too.
From what he had seen, Lupin was actually a pretty solid wizard. Maverick had been quietly observing his classes—especially the sixth-years and the NEWT students—and Lupin handled them well. Really well.
After a short pause, Maverick leaned back in his chair… then just asked, plain and straightforwardly, “do you want to see him?”
Lupin, head bowed as he stared into the empty cup cradled in both hands, let out a dry chuckle. He couldn’t even count how many times he had gone to the Ministry, asking to see the imprisoned man just once. But every time, he had been denied. Brushed off. Treated like he was nobody.
"If it was before he escaped, you could’ve used your influence to get me into Azkaban... but now... what difference does it make?"
Fair point. Maverick didn’t say that out loud, of course. Instead, he checked the time. Then, glancing back at the dejected man still staring into his empty cup, he stood up, walked around the table, and simply said,
“Come with me.”
Lupin raised his head and gave him a puzzled look.
"Where?"
"To see Black," Maverick said, stopping by the fireplace and motioning for him to come over.
Lupin’s mouth fell half open, and a rush of questions flooded his mind. For a moment, he didn’t know what to make of that statement, until Maverick clarified—
“You can think of it as me having captured him...”
“Captured?”
Moments later, the fireplace flared to life in a burst of vibrant green, and the two men vanished from the office.
---
Half an hour later, in a quiet corner of London, inside the house where Sirius was currently staying—
Two old friends who hadn’t seen each other in years were finally having the long-overdue conversation they both needed. When Lupin first laid eyes on Sirius, his instinct had been to hex him on the spot—but somehow, he held himself back.
At first, it got loud—shouting, swearing, years of pent-up frustration spilling out. But eventually, the volume dropped, and it sounded like they were actually talking now. Maverick had left the two of them in a separate room to sort things out, while he and Ali waited in the living room.
In the meantime, he checked with Ali about Sirius's behavior over the last couple of weeks—how cooperative he had been—and also confirmed whether both he and Ali had indeed seen Harry on the first of September this month.
It turned out to be true, and just as Maverick had guessed, the man had simply wanted to see his godson one last time before school began. Maverick didn’t ask Ali any more questions regarding the matter and just left it at that.
More time passed, and soon an hour had gone by, yet the two Marauders still hadn’t finished their talk. Then, as a thought crossed his mind, Maverick took out his phone and gave Jameson Greengrass a call, informing him that he would be visiting shortly.
Once Lupin and Sirius were done with their reconciliation—or whatever it was—Maverick planned to take them to see Pettigrew tonight. There was no way... he just thought it would be better to let them get somethings off their chests if he wanted them to truly cooperate.
Another half hour passed before the two men finally emerged from the room. Maverick couldn't help but raise a brow at the dark bruise forming around Sirius Black's left eye.
"Don't ask..." Sirius raised a hand before anyone could say anything.
Lupin approached from behind and stopped beside the sofa where Maverick sat. There was no hesitation in his eyes as he looked at Maverick, and said directly what had been weighing on his mind.
"I would like to see peter Pettigrew, Master Caesar.”
"What a coincidence..." Maverick murmured with a faint smile. He appreciated Lupin’s composed demeanor—the man was remarkably good at keeping his emotions in check. "I was thinking the same thing just a moment ago."
"Wait, what? Caesar, are you serious?"
Sirius became visibly excited—almost crazed—at the thought of finally meeting the rat, and blurted out, unable to contain himself.
Maverick paid no mind to the flaring mutt and opened a portal directly to the Greengrass manor.
Before stepping through, Maverick gave Sirius a long, squinting look. The man’s eyes were already bloodshot, and that half-insane look Maverick had seen when he first captured him was starting to resurface.
Still, Maverick decided to give him a chance—to see if he could keep himself in check. At worst, Sirius might try to kill Pettigrew, and Maverick could intervene in time.
However, after that, Black would be completely ruled out of Maverick’s future plans. He didn’t need a ticking time bomb.
Even Ali shot him a disappointed look, seeing how easily Sirius lost control.
---
Greengrass Manor.
Flickering torchlight cast long, wavering shadows, revealing cracks and patches of moss clinging stubbornly to the ancient stones.
Lord Greengrass, followed by Maverick, Sirius, Remus, and Ali, descended a narrow stone staircase that spiraled downward. The air grew colder and damper with every step, carrying the faint scent of mildew and rust, until the stairwell finally ended at a heavy iron door.
Beyond the door lay a small, cramped dungeon chamber. In its center stood a sturdy iron cage, bars thick and cold, enclosing a hunched figure chained tightly to the wall behind him.
Peter Pettigrew looked no different than the last time Maverick had seen him. His pale, twitchy face still carried that same rat-like look, and his watery eyes darted around like he expected something to leap at him any second.
His entire demeanor screamed coward—and to be fair, that’s exactly what he was. Chained up and trembling like a cornered rat, it was a fitting look for someone whose Animagus form was one.
Hearing the sound of footsteps, Pettigrew turned his head toward the noise. His beady eyes landed on the familiar figure—yes, the same man who had been feeding him like he was some some farm animal these past few weeks.
He still had no idea how he ended up in this mess. One moment he was relaxing in what he had long considered his home—the benevolent Weasleys’—and the next, he woke up locked inside a cursed cage that not even all his frantic, pathetic efforts could break. He had tried everything. Nothing worked.
He had tried talking to the man he believed had captured him—bribed, begged, and lied through his teeth, offering things he didn’t have and couldn’t possibly deliver—but the man was practically a mute.
At least he recognized him. Jameson Greengrass. Stubborn old pure-blood Lord. Not once had he spoken a word to him. Just came in, left him a bit of half-rotten food to keep him alive, then walked away. Every day. Like clockwork.
But today… something felt different to him.
Merlin help me... am I going to die here? he had wondered more than once.
More footsteps.
Wait. That’s not just him—two more? Pettigrew squinted in the dim torchlight, peering past the bars of his cage.
He didn’t see Maverick or Ali, as Maverick didn’t want his involvement known during the trial. He had already told Greengrass, Sirius, and Ali to simply pretend that he and Ali weren’t there.
Those two figures flanking Lord Greengrass… why do they look so familiar...?
An ominous chill ran down Pettigrew’s spine. His already sweat-slicked face grew even damper as realization crept in, each second a stab to the gut.
He gulped.
“Re… Remus…? … Si—Si—Sirius…?”
2025-07-24 22:32:40 +0000 UTC
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The next morning, with the sun just starting to rise behind a curtain of gloomy clouds and a cool breeze drifting through the castle halls, Maverick left his office and made his way toward the Great Hall for breakfast, feeling rather pleased with himself.
It had been a very successful evening, all things considered. Even managed to make it back in time for today’s classes and still squeeze in an hour of sleep. And on his way down, he happened to overhear bits of gossip from yesterday’s classes coming from passing little witches and wizards. Thank Merlin none of it was about him.
The first was about yesterday’s third-year Care of Magical Creatures class, where Mr. Savior had apparently flown a bloody Hippogriff around the school.
It seemed not a single word of Maverick’s earlier advice had made it through that half-giant’s thick skull—and with that thought, he let out a resigned sigh. Fortunately, no one seemed to have gotten hurt, but still, Hagrid was probably going to get a warning.
The second bit made him chuckle quietly to himself. It was still the same trouble-magnet class, of course. During their Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, the new professor had introduced them to a Boggart—a creature that takes the shape of one’s worst fear.
Boggarts weren’t particularly powerful, but their effect on people with deep fears or fatal weaknesses was remarkable—especially if they were caught off guard.
During the lesson, one student’s greatest fear turned out to be none other than Severus Snape. With a bit of encouragement from Lupin, the student managed to face it head-on and cast the Boggart-Banishing Spell, Riddikulus.
The result was apparently as ridiculous as the spell’s namesake—the old bat, who had loomed moments earlier in full fearsome form, transformed into a woman, except for his unmistakable face, dressed in a frilly bikini, with a pointed sunhat perched on his head and a massive red handbag swinging from one arm.
It was a bit different from the version he remembered—and honestly, it sounded much funnier. Maverick wished he’d been there to witness the spectacle himself. Not that he had any weird fetishes or anything like that. He simply wanted to see the little genius from his Alchemy class in action.
As soon as he sat down at the High Table, he heard the nosy old man doing what he did best—poking into other people’s business, and asking him about his prompt disappearance yesterday.
"Ah, Professor Caesar. I trust your little excursion yesterday went well? Anything interesting to share with the rest of us?"
Maverick shot the old Headmaster a sideways glance as he cut into a piece of bread. “Quite, actually. It was... an out of this world experience...”
“Oh?” McGonagall leaned in from the other side, her brows arching. “Did something happen we ought to know about? What trip is Albus referring to?”
“I was off school grounds after my classes yesterday to take care of something… and yes, something great did happen,” Maverick said, flashing McGonagall a wide, all-teeth grin. “But I’m not telling. Not yet.”
“May I guess?” Flitwick also piped up from a few seats down. “Another breakthrough with one of your remarkable inventions, perhaps?”
Maverick chuckled and gave the tiny professor a thumbs-up. “You’re right, Professor. But I’m still not telling.”
Typical light and easy chatter carried on between the staff, while the Hall in front of them buzzed with the usual breakfast-time energy—students laughing, chattering, and clattering cutlery like any other morning at Hogwarts.
By the time Maverick parted ways with the others after breakfast, it was nearly nine o’clock—just in time for his first class of the day.
---
Time moved slowly, and before long, evening had crept in. The Great Hall was once again alive with noise—laughter, gossip, and the day’s stories flying across tables, each more dramatic than the last. The lively hum of chatter gave the Hall its usual warmth, perfect for the dinner hour.
Tonight, Mr. Savior didn’t seem in the mood to enjoy his dinner, lost in thought over the one big piece of gossip making waves in the Hall at that very moment. And it probably had to do with why some of his classmates kept shooting furtive glances his way, as if he might drop dead any second.
“Don’t worry, mate,” Ron said, leaning in with a mouthful of mashed potato. “It’s all rubbish. To hell with the black dog—and to hell with her and her bloody Grim!”
It turned out that in Divination class, Professor Trelawney had predicted some eerie things for Harry, eerie enough to completely ruin his appetite.
“Ron’s right,” Hermione chimed in as well. “You’re worrying over nothing. Besides, didn’t Professor McGonagall say Divination is one of the most unreliable subjects in magic?”
In fact, Harry himself knew he was probably overreacting. But there was something about what his Divination professor had said—that one bit about a black dog—that really stuck with him. He hadn’t told his friends yet, but on the day he came to King’s Cross with the Weasleys, he really had seen a large black dog. And for some reason, it had caught his attention in a way he couldn’t quite explain.
And the reason his thoughts kept drifting back to that brief but vivid moment was because, at the exact second he made eye contact with the creature, he could’ve sworn to Merlin the dog gave him the most human-like nod—like it was greeting a friend or a family member—before strolling off with its owner, who also gave him a peculiar nod.
At the time, he hadn’t thought much of it—just something odd, nothing more. But after today’s Divination class, he could feel it in his bones… that dog wasn’t normal, and its owner very likely knew who he was.
The Grim… the black dog… something about it felt connected, and Harry’s thoughts started racing wildly.
“Harry.”
“Harry.”
“HARRY!”
“Wha—what? I’m not deaf, Hermione.”
She shot him a sharp glare. “You were completely zoned out, and I asked you twice to pass me the pepper…”
“Right…” Harry mumbled, passing her the bottle absently.
Hermione reached with a soft sigh. “Honestly, Harry, you clearly need to talk to someone... If it’s bothering you this much, I suggest you talk to Professor Caesar...”
Harry mulled it over and figured that wasn’t a bad idea at all. At least, he thought, the Professor wouldn’t laugh at him and would really listen.
So he made up his mind to tell Maverick about what he had seen that day as well. That man and the dog were definitely suspicious, and if anyone could find out more, it had to be Professor Caesar.
With his mind made up, he instantly felt lighter. He gave Hermione a quick grin and finally, turned his attention to the food in front of him.
---
Maverick pushed open the window of his office, squinting up at the sky as the night breeze brushed coolly against his face. Moonlight lit up the clouds drifting lazily overhead, and every so often, something dark moved among them—shadowy figures gliding in and out of view. He wasn’t sure if it was coincidence, but the sky hadn’t cleared once since those things began patrolling the school.
It had been two weeks since the school year began. Nothing major had happened—at least, not here at Hogwarts. Well, maybe except for that first week when Potter came to see him, talking about a black dog and a Grim, looking like someone was out for his head.
Well, there was someone, more than one actually, but... it probably had nothing to do with what the kid was talking about.
It was only after that conversation that Maverick learned Sirius Black had somehow convinced Ali to let him see Potter one last time before school started. Unlike in the original story, Black had no reason to come to Hogwarts now, so knowing he wouldn’t see Harry for a long time, he thought it best to say goodbye.
Of course, Harry never said it was Black or Ali, but Maverick was sure. The mention of a black dog and a man with brown skin was enough for Maverick to make the connection.
But Sirius—the git—had to be the dog, even though Maverick had already given him a near-perfect disguise. And because of that, some of the events that followed ended up oddly similar to the original story, like Trelawney and her divinations about a black dog and bad omens for Harry.
In the end, Maverick could only tell the boy something similar to what McGonagall had said in the original story—divination wasn’t exactly the most reliable branch of magic. Especially with Trelawney, who was known to predict the so-called "Grim" for at least one student every year, and nothing ever came of it.
Fortunately, Harry took his advice to heart, and his demeanor returned to normal almost immediately that same day. Harry never voiced it, but Maverick could sense it clearly: the kid had placed a quiet, unwavering trust in him.
And because of that, he felt a twinge of guilt for keeping certain things from the boy. There was still the matter of the Peverells… and now, Sirius. Not that he was trying to keep secrets like a certain old man—he wasn’t Dumbledore. He was just... too busy.
But not for long. His plan had always been to tell Harry everything about Sirius before Pettigrew was handed over to the Ministry, and to explain what really happened the night his parents died.
Knock… knock… knock.
The steady tapping at his office door pulled Maverick back to the present. Without turning from the window, his Magical-Sense extended through the walls and quickly told him exactly who the visitor was.
A smile curled his lips before he turned, crossed the room, and lowered himself into the chair behind his desk. Then, with a wave of his hand, the door swung open to admit the visitor.
It was Lupin, and with a silent nod in response to Maverick’s gesture, he took the seat across from him as the door shut gently behind him on its own.
2025-07-23 17:24:15 +0000 UTC
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London was draped in its usual moody grey, the kind that made everything seem a little sleepier than it really was this time of year. A thin mist clung to the rooftops, and a breeze drifted through the streets—not quite cold, but just brisk enough to suggest that summer had packed up and was ready to leave.
And hundreds of metres above the city, flickers of orange light suddenly began to shimmer against the clouds. They danced for a second, then spun together into a perfect circle, growing larger and larger until it stretched dozens of metres across.
It was clearly a portal... a big one, easily wide enough for something large to pass through.
From within, a young man emerged, looking small against the vast opening—and he didn’t exactly step out. He floated slowly, his back to the open sky, eyes locked on the glowing portal as if in deep concentration—like he was carefully guiding something through.
Moments later, something big did follow—a fighter jet of some sort, drifting forward without any engine noise or thrust. From the looks of it, it was the young man who was controlling it, guiding it through by some means that was anything but scientific.
Once the machine was fully through, the massive portal began to shrink—slowly at first, then faster—until it vanished entirely. Moments later, the young man disappeared as well, leaving behind only a soft hum in the air.
---
Inside the aircraft, the space was cramped and clearly not designed for comfort. The cockpit held just two seats, and behind them was a small area barely big enough to stand and move about. Dark panels lined the walls, while soft strips of light ran overhead, casting a muted glow over the cabin.
Howard Stark sat hunched in one of the narrow cockpit seats, staring out through the sloped glass with a look caught somewhere between nervous anticipation and quiet excitement.
He was about to go to space, after all—and although he had seen and experienced his fair share of extraordinary things, this was definitely the pinnacle. What’s more, he wasn’t about to take off in a rocket or shuttle, but in a way he never imagined would be possible.
A soft snap echoed behind him, and when he turned his head, he saw his soon-to-be fellow astronaut appear out of thin air, stepping neatly into the narrow space at the rear of the cabin.
“All right, do your thing,” he muttered, trying for casual, but his fingers had tightened around the armrests before he even noticed. Excitement was there, certainly, but so was the unmistakable edge of nerves. This was no ordinary journey, after all.
“Buckle up, Stark. Don’t say I didn’t tell you to stay behind for this,” Maverick told the man while rolling his shoulders once before closing his eyes and channeling his magic.
Even for an Archmage, this would be no easy feat—pushing a machine weighing several tons tens of thousands of metres into the air to escape the planet’s pull.
Moments later, the aircraft began to rise—straight up, without tilt or sway—climbing higher and higher without pause.
A thousand meters.
Five thousand.
Fifteen.
Time seemed to pass especially slowly during this time, as the cabin creaked under pressure and the wind outside screamed past the jet. Howard sat at his station, watching the readings closely while Maverick handled the heavy lifting.
“What’s our altitude?” Maverick called out. He was really starting to feel the drag now—magic pulling like a tide against him, far heavier than he had anticipated.
“Not even close!” Howard shouted back, his voice gruff for a man who was only sitting. While he wasn’t channeling anything that would cost him stamina, the G-force was pressing down hard, flattening him against his seat like an invisible hand. “Still under twenty!”
Half an hour had passed. Then another. The machine’s ascent hadn’t slowed, but since this was no conventional launch, it wasn’t nearly as fast as a rocket racing to escape velocity.
The commonly accepted boundary between Earth’s atmosphere and space—the Kármán line—lay roughly a hundred kilometers above sea level. At that altitude, the air thinned to the point where ordinary aircraft could no longer depend on lift, and anything hoping to stay aloft had to follow the rules of spaceflight.
Luckily, they didn’t need to reach escape velocity. Not yet atleast. As long as Maverick maintained his hold, the aircraft wouldn’t fall, even if it stopped climbing altogether. Still, making it to a hundred kilometers—high enough for the thrusters to take over—was putting a tremendous strain on Maverick’s magic.
"A bit further, boss man. We're now over ninety thousand meters..." Howard was fiddling with the controls, his hands moving quickly while also relaying instructions to the team back at the lab, making final preparations to launch the engines.
At the same time, Maverick was nearing his limit. His reserves were thinning fast, and for the first time in a while, he found himself questioning just how impressive the rank of Archmage really was.
At this rate, he would have to dip into his system points to restore some of his magical energy, something he preferred to avoid unless absolutely necessary.
“Ninety-three thousand... Ninety-four—”
“—Activating the anchoring runes to simulate gravity...”
Maverick could only grit his teeth and push, channeling his magic even harder as the tech genius continued announcing one thing after another. His only job was to lift, and right now, he was pretty much pouring everything he had left into the final stretch of their ascent.
“Ninety-eight thousand... just a little bit more...” Howard had his hand over the ignition button ready to press at any moment, while his eyes stayed fixed on the steadily rising numbers.
"T minus seven..."
"T minus five..."
"Three... two..."
Taking a long inhale, Howard decisively pressed the buttons as soon as the indicator reached the target altitude.
"We're burning fuel. All indicators are green..."
A deep hum vibrated through the aircraft as the systems roared to life, and from the back of the jet—or perhaps now it should be called a spacecraft—the twin engines began to light up.
"Just a bit longer... wait till I thrust..." Howard continued to announce each step he was making to Maverick and the team listening to him back at the lab.
Finally, they felt a movement that was unmistakably mechanical as the craft jolted forward—slow at first—and knew it was almost over.
"500 meters per second..."
"One kilometer per second..."
With no air resistance to hold the spacecraft back, the powerful engines—designed from the best that science and magical alchemy could offer—began accelerating the machine rapidly.
"Five..."
"Ten..."
Finally—when the velocity reached 11.2 kilometers per second…
“We’ve hit escape velocity, Caesar. You can pull your magic back now.”
As soon as Maverick heard him, he released the enormous burden without a second thought and collapsed onto the metal floor on all fours, gasping for breath.
He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so drained—not even his duel with Morvain had pushed him this far. Carrying this thing into space for nearly two hours straight had almost completely emptied his stamina.
Lifting his head slightly, he saw Howard still fiddling with the controls. Beyond the man’s shoulder, there was… nothing. Or rather, it was all black.
After saying something into the comms, Howard finally turned to glance over his shoulder, while Maverick—now having caught his breath—walked up to the front of the cockpit and looked out through the sloped glass for the first time.
Ahead was nothing but black. But off to the side, he saw the blue planet in all its glory. He figured this scene would definitely make for an upgrade the next time he gave the introductory lecture in the Muggle Science class.
“We’re officially astronauts, boss man…” Howard grinned, unbuckling his seat. The tech genius beamed at the young man who looked like he had just finished the most punishing workout of his life.
“So we are…” Maverick said, and a pleased smile tugged at his lips.
The space jet had its course pre-programmed. First, it would make a few orbits around the planet to test systems—communications, propulsion, navigation—make any necessary adjustments, and only then would it slingshot toward its destination.
The two men walked to the side viewport where they could see the blue planet hanging in the void. For a moment, they simply admired it in silence.
“Are you sure no one’s going to pick us up on their radar?” Howard asked, glancing sideways.
“Yes. No current-age technology can detect us. We’re invisible to both radar and the naked eye, even telescopes.”
Another moment passed in silence before Howard spoke again.
“When are we going back?”
Maverick chuckled. It hadn’t even been ten minutes, and the man already sounded impatient. He wondered—if there hadn’t been an option to return during the journey, would Howard have even agreed to board the ship?
“Why? You don’t want to enjoy the view a little longer? You do realize, out of eight billion people, not even a handful will ever experience something like this... or how about bringing Maria up here before the jet begins its real course toward the Red Planet?”
That suggestion made Howard’s eyes light up with genuine interest.
“You know what… that’s actually not a bad idea at all.”
Maverick laughed again. The scenery would remain like this for a few more hours, and he had promises to keep in the meantime.
The team below—though small—was made up of people who mattered. Each of them deserved to witness this moment. He wanted to bring them aboard, even if just for a brief look at the beauty of space.
“Right then… let’s go back.”
Moments later, both men stepped out of a portal, returning to the underground base where their team had been waiting. Cheers erupted the second they appeared, filling the chamber in celebration of a successful mission.
But this was only the beginning. The journey ahead would last somewhere between three to five months. Only at its end would they reach the true goal of all this effort.
Over the next few hours, Maverick made several more trips—first taking Bucky, then the rest of the team, two by two—to see Earth from above, technically making each of them astronauts.
It didn’t take twenty-four hours to make a full rotation—only around two—so each party had just a short moment to experience the wonder.
Howard somehow managed to convince his wife to make the trip as well, and Maverick took the couple aboard before the ship completed its final orbits around Earth.
Then, for the last trip, Maverick went and picked up Isabella. It would have been a sin for her to miss something like this, so he spent a few hours with her admiring the scenery—a quiet, romantic gesture for his soon-to-be wife.
He would never admit that anything of the sort happened between them that would omit thousands of words. It was, and only was, purely a romantic move on his part.
In the end, everyone was left happy.
And Maverick, especially—because this was just the beginning, a big step toward his final goal.
Meanwhile, the team would continue to monitor the aircraft throughout its journey. Maverick left the technical concerns in their capable hands. For now, his role was done. He was practically just the muscle, and frankly, he didn’t want to worry about the details when someone like Howard was at the helm.
If anything came up, they would call him.
Until then, he returned—once more—back to Hogwarts.
—————————
Author's Note:
This was a difficult chapter to write. I hope it was okay. I really tried my best to bring to life what was in my head... played around with the ideas may be a bit too much and… sigh…
2025-07-22 15:43:44 +0000 UTC
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The start of every academic year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was usually full of life and excitement. This year, however, the presence of Dementors patrolling the outer grounds changed everything, casting a heavy gloom over the castle.
It was late afternoon, and if this had been any other year, the castle grounds would have been scattered with students gathered in cheerful little groups. Today, however, Maverick saw only a few here and there, and most had returned to their common rooms after filling their stomachs in the Great Hall.
He remained seated on the wide stone steps that stretched out toward the edge of the lawn, allowing his thoughts to drift as the breeze stirred faintly around him.
In the original story, Voldemort had no direct involvement in this school year at all. Everything from beginning to end revolved around Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
But now that Maverick had taken both of them off the board, he couldn’t help but wonder if something unexpected might unfold at Hogwarts this year.
Perhaps something might happen on Halloween, or would it be Lupin who lost control? Dumbledore had assured him and the others during that first meeting it would not be a problem. Lupin’s condition would be managed by Snape, or so they had all been told.
He sat there for a while, lost in thought, until a quiet sigh slipped out. Maybe he really had grown attached to this place. Two years wasn’t a long time in the grand scheme of things, but somewhere along the way, this castle, and the kids running around inside it, had started to mean something to him.
That probably explained why he kept going in circles over nothing. After all, this wasn’t just some ordinary school. Whatever came their way, Hogwarts could take it. And with the people walking its halls, even a lunatic like Tom Riddle at his peak would have to think twice before even making a move.
"Professor Caesar! What are yeh doin’ out ‘ere?" came a familiar booming voice, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Maverick stood up from the stone steps and lazily cast a cleansing charm over his robes. He turned around just in time to see the half-giant making his way over, bundled up in that old moleskin coat of his, looking cheerful—more than usual, actually—and practically beaming with excitement.
"Nothing in particular," Maverick replied, smiling at the man. "What about you?"
"Got me first class at four, so I’m out collectin’ a few things!" Hagrid said with a grin that reached his eyes. "Gotta make sure everythin’s ready."
Maverick raised a brow. "You’re planning to introduce a magical creature in your very first lesson?"
"That’s right!" Hagrid’s face lit up. "It’s Buckbeak—yeh know him, don’t yeh? He’s real gentle, that one. The students’ll love ‘im, I’m sure!"
Maverick tried his best to come up with a polite way to steer him off the idea. He liked Hagrid, he really did—but when it came to being cautious, the man wasn’t exactly known for it.
"Hagrid, listen," he said finally. "You’re brilliant with magical creatures, no doubt. But the students aren’t. You’ll need to be extra careful... not every kid’s going to know how to handle a hippogriff."
"Don’t you worry, Professor Caesar!" Hagrid thumped his chest with one meaty hand. "I’ll keep an eye on ‘em. It’ll be fine!"
It was like not a single word had reached the man—or maybe they had just gone in one ear and flown straight out the other. Maverick sighed.
"Just... be careful," he said. "And take the kids’ personalities into account when you’re planning... whatever it is you’re planning."
Hagrid only grinned wider.
Before Maverick could press further, he felt a soft vibration from his pocket. He pulled the device out, gave it a quick glance, and straightened up.
"I’ve got something to take care of. See you around, Professor Hagrid..."
That last part made the half-giant blush right down to his beard. With a flustered nod, Hagrid turned and lumbered off, humming happily to himself.
Maverick smiled, then glanced down at the device once more to double-check the message. A knowing smile tugged at his lips as he slipped the phone back into his pocket and looked around the grounds.
With a quick wave of his hand, his Patronus sprang to life, wings beating softly as it hovered in front of him. After a brief moment of eye contact, the shimmering raven turned and soared toward the Headmaster’s Tower.
He might not make it back tonight, so it was only fair to give the old man a heads-up. With that thought, Maverick vanished from sight and rose smoothly into the sky, slipping past the wards before disappearing from the area entirely.
---
North London.
With a soft hum, Maverick appeared high above the city, the faint shimmer of displaced air vanishing behind him. The sky was grey, with a lazy drizzle hanging in the air—like the city hadn’t quite made up its mind whether to rain or not. Below, rows of red-brick houses stretched neatly along the narrow streets, speckled with moving cars and the occasional umbrella.
He hovered for a moment, taking in the view—then slowly descended toward a completely ordinary-looking home on a completely forgettable street.
Without pausing for flair or theatrics, he walked straight up to the front door, flicked a smooth Alohomora, and pushed it open—all in the same breath before stepping inside.
Inside was plain beige walls, a worn carpet, and a modest living room where two men were slouched on a couch, watching a game show with the kind of focus only boredom could bring.
They didn’t overreact when the air shimmered and Maverick appeared out of thin air. Clearly, they recognised both him and the bit of magic that had just occurred.
They exchanged a few quiet words, and with a final nod to the two men, Maverick stepped further into the house, crossed over to a tall bookshelf against the far wall, and pulled out a thick, dusty-looking book.
He opened the book and shook his head with amusement, seeing how typical it was to hide a button inside a book on a bookshelf that led to a secret door.
It was all Howard’s idea, he thought, then pressed the "secret button."
Click. Creak.
Sure enough, he saw the shelf slide backward, then swing sideways, revealing a hidden doorway beyond.
He stepped through without hesitation, and the shelf quietly closed behind him. The men on the couch spared the whole scene a glance only—then promptly returned to their program.
Behind the shelf, he saw a metal platform—an elevator, sleek and silently descending. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his long coat as an indicator blinked on and off in front of him.
This place was the entrance to the underground lab—well, an entrance to one of the underground labs he had set up for Howard. This one, in particular, was where Howard was working on the pod designed to survive in space and Mars’ atmosphere.
The first step was getting there, and for that, he didn’t need anything big. Moreover, there was no need for something like a rocket, as getting a pod spacious enough for just two people beyond Earth’s atmosphere was hardly a challenge for a wizard like him. Besides, there was also portal magic from the Sorcery system, so they wouldn’t even have to spend time inside during the journey.
Ssssss.
The elevator came to a smooth stop, and the doors slid open with a soft hiss, revealing a vast, brightly lit chamber.
Maverick walked in, his eyes sweeping the room—and what immediately caught his attention was the beauty in the centre. The first thing that came to mind upon seeing it was the Quinjet from the Marvel films, though there were a few differences here and there—and it was definitely smaller.
The body was smooth, made from some dark alloy, and it hovered just above the ground on a set of stabilisers. Two large engines were fixed at the back, mounted on joints that looked like they could rotate in any direction, giving it a sense of flexibility and control.
A dozen or so people were still working on it—and they weren’t just engineers. Among them were a few alchemists Maverick had handpicked for the job. With their combined expertise and magical abilities, this team was more than capable of getting it done.
“Didn’t think you’d be here so quickly,” said Robert—or rather, Howard in disguise—as he walked over to him. Maverick had stopped a short distance away, quietly admiring the machine.
"I wasn't expecting it to be completed so soon..." Maverick said, eyes still fixed on the sleek machine before him.
"It's not a big project," Howard replied with a casual shrug. "A machine that can survive in space and theoretically handle Mars’ atmosphere, with decent room inside for two people…"
Maverick finally turned from the machine to look at him. "When can we begin?"
"Begin…" Howard tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Now, if you want. We just finished the final tests. It's ready to go whenever you are."
"Good." A grin tugged at Maverick’s lips before he could stop it. He was genuinely excited—after all, it was space. Who didn’t want to go to space?
Howard chuckled at his expression. "You look like a kid getting his favourite toy."
Maverick ignored the jab and clapped his hands, calling the team over. The engineers and alchemists gathered, following him into a smaller room off the main lab that had been set aside for briefings.
They spent over two hours there as Howard, alongside the engineers and alchemists, walked him through every aspect of the machine—its systems, strengths, and, of course, its limits.
Essentially, Maverick’s job was simple—at least to him. His role was to get the vessel beyond Earth’s gravity well, bypassing the need for any conventional launch infrastructure. Once the pod exited the atmosphere and reached a stable trajectory, the hybrid propulsion system would take over.
The flight path had been carefully calculated using Muggle astrodynamics, and the team had plotted a direct trajectory to Mars using basic orbital mechanics. It wasn’t the most fuel-efficient course, since they weren’t waiting for the ideal planetary alignment, but it was still stable and fast enough to get the job done.
With the help of the ship’s hybrid propulsion system, they estimated the journey would take somewhere between three and five months.
Maverick remembered that before his transmigration in 2024, NASA space programs typically took six to nine months for a mission to Mars, so he was perfectly pleased with the three-to-five-month estimate Howard and his team had produced.
Once the pod approached Martian orbit, Maverick would take control again. While the vessel was equipped with atmospheric maneuvering capabilities, Howard had designed it with the assumption that Maverick would handle reentry manually, using his magic to land safely.
If it were before, he would have placed importance on the machine’s capability of maneuvering within Mars’ atmosphere, allowing for surface exploration—but he had no interest in that now. For him, what mattered—the only thing that mattered now—was getting there.
Because, with mastery over the sorcery system’s portal magic, he could simply establish a stable tether between Mars and Earth, making the return trip—and all future trips—instantaneous. The machine was simply a means to an end.
“Tonight, then, gentlemen,” Maverick said to the team. Turning to Howard, he added, “Get Bucky here as well. I’ll be back around midnight.”
He stood up and grinned at the group, who looked just as expectant as he was for the whole operation. “Let’s make history tonight.”
————————
Author’s Note:
I won’t be focusing much on what happens inside the school this year, as nothing major is expected... except for a short arc involving Lupin later on.
The general trajectory for this year is already set. Besides Sirius and Pettigrew’s storylines, there will be some Marvel-related content as well. It will all come together to be very exciting, and really, I can’t wait to share the finished chapters with you all.
Thanks for reading, and thank you, as always, for your continued support.
2025-07-21 14:14:30 +0000 UTC
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Every year, Hogwarts enrolls an average of a hundred or so students, and this year was no exception. As Maverick went through the roster of this year’s 107 new freshman, he noticed a name that piqued his interest.
Astoria Greengrass—the younger sister of Daphne Greengrass. He had seen this little witch a few times during his visits to the Greengrass manor, but at the time, he hadn’t really paid her much attention.
Seeing her in his class now, he suddenly remembered from the original story that this girl was born into a cursed bloodline—one that made her physically weak and left her with long-lasting magical issues. It was the result of a blood curse that had affected the Greengrass family for generations.
At a glance, he saw no sign that anything was wrong with her. Even a quick scan of her magic showed nothing unusual. But curses were like that—like cancer. You couldn’t always see the damage from the outside.
Still, he made a mental note to take a proper look at her later, just to see if she suffered the same fate in this universe as well. Even though this world was a chaotic blend of several others, most major storylines still seemed to follow the pattern he remembered.
That said, plenty of things had turned out differently too—so it was entirely possible that her bloodline curse didn’t exist here at all.
And speaking of things that didn’t exist, one of the biggest no-shows this year was, in Maverick’s opinion, the ultimate cheat code of the entire Harry Potter universe—the Time-Turner. According to the original timeline, it should have made its debut around now.
If he could get System Daddy to replicate its time-travel characteristic, it would have handed him an ability that bordered on broken. He had very much been looking forward to experimenting with it.
But that hope didn’t last long. Hermione never received such an item. And when he poked around out of curiosity, he found no mention of it anywhere—not in the library, not in any records, not even as a concept. As far as this universe was concerned, the Time-Turner had never existed in the first place.
And honestly, that made sense. This world leaned more toward the Marvel side of things—and anything involving time was... sensitive. If underage students could casually travel through time just to squeeze in extra classes, then the Time Stone—and every other time-related magic or ability—would be reduced to a complete joke.
Anyway, it was just a temporary disappointment. Even if Time-Turners didn’t exist here, there was still the Time Stone. Sooner or later, he would get his hands on it.
“Good morning.”
Sitting lazily on the corner of his desk, he addressed the class, instantly silencing the buzz of chatter. Hopping off, he walked to the front, and from the corner of his eye, he spotted Jean seated dead center in the front row—her books neatly arranged, and her alchemy set placed carefully to the side.
Since it was the classroom, he gave her no special attention and simply carried on with the lesson. As was customary at the start of every year, he began with a brief introduction—but judging by the looks on their faces, it was hardly necessary. Even the Muggle-borns, as far as he could tell, already knew exactly who he was.
Seeing the undisguised admiration—which they weren’t even trying to be subtle about—Maverick could only sigh inwardly. Several of the young witches were staring up at him with the sort of wide-eyed awe usually reserved for famous Quidditch players or singing stars.
Alas. I pray to the One Above All I don’t end up a Lockhart 2.0, he thought dryly.
Next, he had the students do the same—introduce themselves one by one. Today was more about getting to know each other, and by the time every witch and wizard had taken their turn, there was very little time left before the end of the lesson.
Classes at Hogwarts were two hours long, and he usually managed to finish all of that with at least an hour to spare. But for some reason, the students this year were particularly enthusiastic, and by the time they were all done, more than an hour and a half had passed.
Because of that, he skipped the introductory alchemy activity he usually taught in the first lesson of the year, postponed it to the next class, and allowed the remaining half hour for the children to do whatever they liked—which, of course, resulted in him having to answer a barrage of silly questions.
And during this leisure time, while quietly casting an illusion spell over the entire class, Maverick managed to perform a thorough diagnosis on the younger Greengrass witch—and finally confirmed that she, in fact, had no problems with her physical body.
Another inconsistency with the original story—and fortunately for the girl, this one turned out to be a good thing.
"Professor..."
After Maverick dismissed the class, little Jean lingered behind, clearly wanting to speak with him.
"Jean... how was your first day? Hope you got some good sleep last night."
Jean nodded with a quiet um, stepping up to his desk. "It was good. Gryffindors are very friendly."
"They are, aren’t they? Trouble-makers too," Maverick said with a small smirk. "Don’t go picking up bad habits from them."
Jean bobbed her head, though Maverick had a feeling the little lions were going to spoil her sooner or later.
"Right then... what is it you wanted to ask?"
Jean chuckled sheepishly, then said, "I know you’re doing special magic training for Hermione and Harry. I was wondering... if I could join?"
Maverick raised a brow. "Did they tell you that?"
"No... I sort of... accidentally... overheard them talking."
Maverick frowned slightly. Accidentally? He wondered if she might have used her powers to read their thoughts.
"It was back at the mansion, the day we first met," she added quickly. "I didn’t think much of it then, but now I guess it’s kind of a big deal... being personally trained by you."
Maverick sighed inwardly and thought for a moment before saying,
"You can join… but next semester. You’ve only just started school, so it’s better to settle in without anything extra on your plate. For now, focus on the basics in your regular classes, alright?"
The little redhead looked a bit disappointed at first, but then brightened. "Okay. Next semester, then."
Maverick gave a nod and a small approving smile. "Good. Now off you go."
He watched the girl smile back and walk out of the classroom, then checked the watch on his wrist. Since there was still some time before the next class, he decided to head to his office first to clear his head.
Even an Archmage needs a break after surviving a barrage of bizarre questions from a hundred eleven-year-olds.
---
Time passed slowly—and as a teacher, it could feel especially so. At eleven o'clock, Maverick taught Muggle Science to the NEWT students; at one, it was the same subject for the sixth-years; and finally, his last class of the day was Alchemy for the second-years.
Each subject for each grade had at least one day off per week, and today it was the third-year Alchemy students who had no class.
With his classes done for the day, Maverick decided to spend the rest of the day in the Chamber of Secrets—before more students showed up at his office, wanting to “clear doubts” from today’s lessons. He’d had quite enough of that for one day.
Besides, there were still books left to go through down there. Most of the material wasn’t exactly new, but every now and then he stumbled across something odd or unexpected, so it wasn’t all bad.
But before that, he made a call to Jameson to hear how the fallout from today’s article was unfolding—particularly how the fat Minister had taken it. After all, the entire exposé had been Maverick’s doing.
Last night, right after the feast, he had gone straight to Lord Greengrass to set everything in motion. Together, they paid a visit to the chief editor of the Daily Prophet and “convinced” him to run the story.
It wasn’t as if the article was false or fabricated, so it couldn’t exactly be called coercion. Besides, Maverick was now a small shareholder in the Daily Prophet and perfectly entitled to flex a bit of decision-making power.
Of course, Maverick had also assured the man that he would stand behind him if Fudge tried to pull any strings. And Lord Greengrass, who was no small voice in the Wizengamot these days, had given his word as well.
With an Archmage and a political faction leader backing him, Barnabas didn’t put up much of a fuss and had agreed to run the article.
"She's his undersecretary. The woman’s demanding he come to the Ministry to give an explanation or publish a public apology in tomorrow’s headline—otherwise they’ll make things very difficult for him."
Hearing the public’s reaction to today’s headline, and then the fat man’s retaliatory antics over it, Maverick couldn’t help but chuckle down the line.
Honestly, he would almost prefer it if Fudge went completely off the rails and did something stupid, like arresting Barnabas. That would give Jameson the perfect card to play.
"Can you handle things?" Maverick asked.
"I can... unless the idiot sends a Greatmage to knock on his door, I’ll take care of everything from here."
“Good… Barnabas has my ring too. He knows how to reach me if it comes to that. Until then, keep the pressure on and see how desperate Fudge gets,” Maverick said. “Also, arrange a meeting with Bones and Shacklebolt for next week. It’s time they decided whether they’re boarding the ship or not.”
"Understood, Leader," came Jameson's voice from the other end after a brief pause.
Maverick hung up the phone and gave some thought to his own last remark.
For his plan next year, he needed a loyal and obedient leadership. Spectators—or the so-called no-faction people like Bones—would only be a variable, and he had no place for them in the blueprint. Either they got on board or stayed out of the way for good.
After all, this was about bringing down the Statute of Secrecy, and not just killing off a Dark Lord.
With that thought, he made his way toward the Headmaster’s office, where the new, more convenient access to the Chamber of Secrets was located.
2025-07-20 08:45:35 +0000 UTC
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"Welcome, everyone, to a new year at Hogwarts! I have a few words to share with you... one of them rather important... so I thought it best to say it now, before you're all distracted by the delicious feast before you."
Dumbledore cleared his throat and went on, "as many of you will already know from the search on the Hogwarts Express, several Dementors have been stationed at the school by the Ministry of Magic to carry out official duties."
A low murmur spread through the Great Hall as students glanced around at one another—especially those who had seen the Dementors on the train, their faces still carrying a shadow of fear.
“They are stationed at every entrance to the school grounds. While they remain here, I must make it absolutely clear—no one is to leave the castle without permission.”
The Headmaster’s face was set and serious as his gaze swept the room, pausing briefly on the Gryffindor table.
“Dementors are not fooled by tricks, nor can they be deceived by disguises... not even invisibility cloaks. They do not distinguish between excuses and legitimate reasons. So I urge you... do not give them any reason to harm you.”
He turned briefly toward the staff table. “Heads of Houses…” — then his gaze swept back across the students — “…and prefects, ensure that no student comes into conflict with the Dementors.”
Percy, seated a few places up the Gryffindor table, puffed out his chest and glanced around with a self-important air.
Dumbledore paused once more. His expression stayed serious as his gaze slowly swept across the silent hall, giving the students a moment to take in the news.
“On a happier note,” he said, his tone softening just a bit, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year.”
The Headmaster then introduced the two new professors with enthusiasm. The former was the "generous substitute for Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Lupin," and the latter was "Rubeus Hagrid, who takes on the position of Care of Magical Creatures Professor while fulfilling his duties as the Keeper of Keys and Grounds."
Lupin stood up, offered a modest smile, and nodded politely around the hall before sitting back down, while Hagrid responded to his introduction with far more enthusiasm.
The students applauded warmly for both of them, with particularly enthusiastic cheers from the Gryffindor table at the half-giant officially joining the ranks of the professors.
Dumbledore’s speech, as always, was concise and ended there before he turned to Maverick to address the hall.
Just like in the previous two years, Maverick briefed the students on the arrangements for the inter-school Quidditch tournament, outlining the team selection process and announcing this year’s host. He also kept his explanation short and to the point, then handed the stage back to the old Headmaster, who finally declared the start of the great feast.
In an instant, a variety of delicious-looking food and desserts appeared on every plate, and the goblets brimmed with drinks. The Great Hall buzzed with energy once more, and gradually, the gloomy expressions brought on by the unpleasant experience on the train began to fade—replaced by the cheerful clatter of knives and forks.
An hour later, once the plates were finally cleared, Dumbledore stood and instructed the prefects to lead the students to their respective common rooms—obviously marking the end of the opening feast for the new school year.
While the house leaders guided the new students away, Maverick returned to his office, then quietly slipped out the window and vanished into the night beyond the castle walls.
---
The following morning, Maverick sat in the Great Hall having breakfast, holding a copy of that day’s Daily Prophet while tuning into the various bits of gossip buzzing among the young witches and wizards.
Some students clutched newspapers, surrounded by groups animatedly discussing the headlines. It wasn’t just the students—at the staff table, every professor had a copy in hand as well.
Dementors Run Amok on Hogwarts Express: Ministry’s Reckless Oversight Leaves Students Injured!
The headline struck like a punch to the gut for Britain’s magical administration, as the article made no effort to hide where the blame lay: the entire operation had been pushed through by Fudge himself.
At the center of the staff table, Dumbledore set down his copy of the Daily Prophet and turned his head, raising a very pointed eyebrow at the man beside him who was nonchalantly sipping tea and reading the same paper.
Maverick glanced sideways, lips curling into a faint smile, and placed his paper down as well.
“The fat moron is going to have a difficult time after this, wouldn’t you say, Headmaster?”
Cough. Cough.
From Maverick’s right, Professor Lupin—who had just taken a gulp of pumpkin juice—nearly spat it out, managing to swallow it down with great effort before breaking into a fit of coughing and clutching his chest.
“Are you alright, Professor Lupin?” Maverick asked, turning calmly in his direction.
“I’m—cough—” Lupin took a few sips of water, eyes watering slightly as he regained his breath. “I’m fine, Master Caesar. Just… something caught in my throat.”
Maverick’s smile deepened, clearly amused, before he turned back to Dumbledore. Around them, several professors chuckled behind their cups. Maverick had never hidden his disdain for Fudge, and after two years of working alongside him, most of the staff were used to his occasional sharp remark.
“At the very least, could you refrain from arranging newspaper deliveries to the school in that manner? This is an institution of education, not a gossip pub,” Dumbledore said mildly, though his eyes twinkled with pointed awareness.
He knew perfectly well who was behind all this. After all, this wasn’t the first time a swarm of news owls had raided the school.
“Headmaster, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Maverick replied with a straight face before casually taking another bite of food.
Meanwhile, across magical Britain, the wizarding world was waking up to the same front-page headline—and reacting in equally dramatic fashion. In homes, shops, and crowded pubs, witches and wizards of every background were abuzz with disbelief... mostly outrage.
With very few exceptions, public sentiment leaned heavily toward condemnation. The fact that children had been put in harm’s way struck a nerve, and even among those who usually supported the Ministry, the operation was seen as a reckless failure.
Noble families, in particular, were incensed. Their outrage was personal—after all, it was their heirs who had been put at risk. The justification of capturing a dangerous fugitive meant little in the face of that.
Even members of Fudge’s own faction found themselves uneasy. Discontent simmered, and many were already preparing to descend on the Ministry, demanding an explanation.
---
BAM!
A pudgy hand slammed down on the large, ornate desk, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged office like a thunderclap. Papers crumpled beneath the weight of the blow, their headlines barely visible as they bent under the pressure.
Cornelius Fudge, red-faced and seething, glared across the room with wild eyes. His jowls trembled with rage as he clenched the offending stack of newspapers in his fist.
“What is the meaning of this?” he barked. “Has that fool Barnabas finally gone senile? Or does he think he has nothing left to lose?”
Across from him sat the only other person in the room—a squat woman in a sickly pink cardigan, every inch of her radiating smugness. Her short, curly hair framed a toadlike face, and her wide, fake smile never quite reached her cold, calculating eyes.
Dolores Umbridge folded her hands neatly over her clipboard, entirely unfazed by the Minister’s outburst. The scene before her was all too familiar—Cornelius Fudge, red-faced and sputtering, losing his composure yet again.
“I’ve already dispatched a team to summon Editor Barnabas for questioning,” she said in her usual syrupy tone, though there was a sharpness beneath it. “But, Minister… I don’t believe this is merely the Daily Prophet taking liberties with your noble image. I fear we may be looking at something… larger. A coordinated effort, perhaps. A conspiracy.”
“Conspiracy?” Fudge echoed, narrowing his eyes. At the mention of the word, only one name came to his mind, and that was Albus Dumbledore.
He clenched his jaw. For reasons he could never quite explain, even to himself, Fudge had always believed that Dumbledore was working against him. That behind the old man’s calm demeanor and cryptic words lay a quiet campaign to unseat him… to take back control.
It didn’t matter that it had been Dumbledore’s own endorsement that helped him rise to power in the first place. Logic meant little when pride and fear were involved. And right now, with scandal flooding the headlines and nobles knocking on his door, paranoia found fertile ground.
While those uneasy thoughts about the Hogwarts Headmaster churned in his mind, a deeper, even more unsettling worry also began to gnaw at him.
The Daily Prophet had always stood by his side, echoing his policies without question. So why now? What had changed? What could possibly have driven them to publish something so audacious, so openly undermining his authority and tarnishing his name?
He wanted answers. He needed answers.
“No matter what... bring me Barnabas. I’ll have a word with him myself.”
Across the desk, Umbridge—his undersecretary and ever-loyal sidekick—nodded with her usual syrupy smile. For someone who had clawed her way up from the very bottom, grovelling to anyone with influence and licking every shoe and backside along the way, there was nothing more satisfying than watching powerful men stumble. It was, quite frankly, euphoric for her.
Unfortunately for both her and Fudge, the scene they hoped for—and the answers they sought—wouldn’t come so easily this time. At least, not yet.
Even though Cornelius Fudge was the Minister for Magic, he couldn’t simply summon people without cause or force truths out of those unwilling to share them.
Because while he could coerce the common and the naive—force them to do things against their will and even get away with it—things changed when the person in question was someone noteworthy, someone backed by powerful allies. Then, it became a political tug-of-war between equals—a matter of who had the bigger fist.
---
Back at Hogwarts.
Maverick finished his breakfast and made his way to the first-year alchemy classroom—his first lesson of the day—absently flipping through his schedule for the year as he walked.
Every Friday and Tuesday, he had two morning classes and two in the afternoon. Mondays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays were lighter—just three classes spread through the day—so his schedule wasn’t exactly tight.
He planned to use the free time during the first term to finish combing through the rest of the books in the Chamber of Secrets.
There were still shelves in that hidden library he hadn’t fully explored, and he made a mental note to return later that afternoon. With that thought, he stepped into the classroom.
2025-07-18 16:03:55 +0000 UTC
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The start-of-term feast was just minutes away, and the Great Hall hummed with quiet anticipation. Floating candles glowed softly overhead, their warm light dancing across the polished golden plates set neatly on the long house tables. Everything was in place, and all that remained was for the students to arrive and bring the hall back to life.
At the high table, Maverick settled in among his colleagues, exchanging light conversation as the rest of the staff gradually filled their seats. Before long, Headmaster Dumbledore arrived too, though from the corner of his eye, Maverick noticed that the usual twinkle in the old man’s eyes was strangely missing tonight.
Dumbledore did not take his seat right away, but instead walked straight over to Pomfrey and leaned in to whisper something to her. Whatever he said must not have been anything good, as Maverick saw her expression change at once before she stood up and left the hall without a word.
Only then did Dumbledore take his place at the center of the table still clad in a thoughtful expression, eyes fixed ahead in quiet contemplation.
Seems the news of the Dementors going rogue has reached the school, Maverick thought as he glanced inquisitively at the Headmaster.
The old man did not hide anything from him and first let out a tired sigh before saying softly, “I have received word that there were complications aboard the Hogwarts Express. The Ministry conducted an inspection mid-journey, employing Dementors, and, regrettably, a few students suffered mental injuries.”
So, Dumbledore wasn’t aware that a raid was happening?
Maverick had assumed the Headmaster was in the loop about the inspection, but it seemed he wasn’t. And Fudge—the fat moron—really wasn’t taking the old wizard seriously at all.
“Is it bad?”
“A night or two in the hospital wing,” Dumbledore nodded regretfully.
“Did the Minister not inform you in advance of such an arrangement?”
The old wizard narrowed his eyes before shaking his head. “Had I known, I would never have agreed… or at least arranged for personnel to be on board.”
Maverick didn’t press any further and simply shook his head. “Your patience with Fudge is simply remarkable, Headmaster.”
“I shall have a word with him,” Dumbledore said, picking up on what Maverick was implying. “This matter will not go unaccounted for.”
The old man looked as calm as ever, but Maverick could tell he was royally pissed this time.
---
Time passed, minute by minute, and soon the Great Hall filled with the low murmur of voices as students from second to seventh year gathered at their house tables.
But unlike the usual start-of-term excitement, there wasn’t much laughter echoing off the stone walls. Instead, nearly every conversation circled back to the same thing... what had happened on the Hogwarts Express and what everyone had gone through.
A few students sat quietly, looking pale and withdrawn, clearly still shaken or worried about the friends who had been taken straight to the hospital wing.
The rest were more talkative, eagerly recounting what they had seen, with no shortage of dramatic embellishments. A few even claimed to have seen the Dementors up close, describing them with wide eyes and voices that grew more theatrical with every retelling.
One in particular—Weasley, of course—was loudly retelling how his best mate had heroically repelled a Dementor with a majestic lion Patronus, saving the entire train in the process.
Some students were impressed. Others weren’t buying it.
At the Slytherin table, a certain blond boy cast a long look toward the Gryffindor side, his gaze landing on Harry with a complicated expression. While their relationship hadn’t quite sunken to the level of “arch-enemies” in this universe, there was still an unspoken rivalry between them.
And at the moment, Draco Malfoy was cursing under his breath. Potter had outdone him again. Top of the class, star of the school Quidditch team—and now this?
When the Dementors boarded the train, Draco didn’t dare move an inch. And now, he had to sit there and listen to everyone talk about how Potter had actually fought one off.
Of course, he didn’t believe every word of the redhead’s story, but even Draco had heard from others that a blinding flash of light had erupted from the carriage where Potter and his gang had been sitting. That part, at least, seemed to be true.
At the high table, the professors sat with unusually grim expressions, and not one of them looked particularly pleased. They had only just learned what had happened, as Dumbledore had been uncharacteristically quiet, speaking only briefly—and only to Maverick.
Even so, a shared thought seemed to hang in the air between them: what in Merlin’s name had the Ministry been thinking? Sending Dementors to patrol a train full of children?
Fortunately, someone among them had been on board, and although this particular individual's appointment hadn’t been formally announced yet, he was still a professor. And judging by the chatter among the students, the new professor, Remus Lupin, had played a major role in protecting everyone and driving the creatures away.
As for Potter’s supposed feat—casting a corporeal Patronus in third year?—none of the staff were inclined to believe it.
Of course, had they known the boy had been, and still was, personally mentored by an Archmage for over a year, they might have thought differently. But Maverick hadn’t told anyone, and neither had Dumbledore. Even the Gryffindor trio had kept it to themselves, just as Maverick had instructed.
Meanwhile, Maverick’s gaze landed on a particular wizard who had just taken a seat at the staff table. The man was dressed in a tattered robe patched at nearly every seam, the sort of clothing that hinted more at survival than style. He looked exhausted, like someone who had only just managed to escape a storm—figuratively or otherwise.
Though his face was still youthful, streaks of white threaded through his brown hair, suggesting he’d lived through more than his years should allow.
This man was none other than the very professor the staff table had been praising for his prompt yet expected actions during the Hogwarts Express incident—Remus Lupin.
And just as the man sat down, Maverick’s magical sense caught a sudden flicker of intense malice—but it wasn’t aimed at him. He turned his head and saw that it came from none other than Snape, directed squarely at the newcomer.
The Potions Master was glaring at the newly arrived professor with such hatred, it was almost comical. His silver fork bent in his hand with a sharp ting, and his face twisted into something between a sneer and a snarl—like he had just laid eyes on a personal nemesis.
Good lord. Just how much had Lupin and his gang bullied the old bat to make him hold onto this much hatred? Maverick thought, shaking his head with a hint of amusement.
"Right then," as if on cue, Dumbledore—who had been unusually quiet up to this point—finally spoke, his voice calm and clear as he introduced the wizard to the rest of the professors and staff. And whether by coincidence or on purpose, Maverick noticed that Dumbledore didn’t look at Snape once during the announcement.
Amid the buzz of student chatter and whispered stories, and the quiet conversations happening at the staff table, the tall oak doors of the Great Hall opened once more, and Hagrid stepped inside, leading this year’s line of wide-eyed first-years.
Usually, it would be Professor McGonagall who escorted the freshmen through the school, while Hagrid was in charge of bringing them from the Express across the lake. Maverick guessed she was probably busy dealing with the matter of students affected by the incident.
In her place, Professor Flitwick stepped forward to handle the Sorting Ceremony. Without wasting a moment, he unrolled the parchment and began calling names. One by one, the nervous first-years approached the stool, the Sorting Hat was placed on their heads, and slowly, they began finding their seats among the four house tables.
“Callum O’Reilly…”
“Gryffindor!”
“Eliza Goode…”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Dorothea Inkwell…”
“Ravenclaw!”
“Astoria Greengrass…”
“Slytherin!”
“Jean Grey…”
Maverick’s eyes landed on the little redhead as she stepped up, her back turned toward the staff table. From what he could tell, she doesn’t seem particularly shaken now, by the whole Dementor incident. When he observed her inside the carriage earlier today, at least, she had definitely looked very scared.
Maybe the awe of the Hogwarts had already swept her up, pushing the whole episode aside beneath the castle’s wonder.
Still, he made a mental note to check on her later—maybe after class tomorrow.
“Gryffindor!”
“Oh...” His eyebrows lifted slightly in surprise as he glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where the trio was already on their feet, clapping enthusiastically.
Did they talk her into it? Maverick wondered. After all, the tricks with the Sorting Hat weren’t exactly a secret among older students. Everyone knew that if you wanted it badly enough, you could nudge the hat’s decision. Technically, it was just a rumor—but one with enough weight that most students believed it.
He let the thought go with a small shrug. In the end, it didn’t really matter. Whatever works.
With that, he joined in the clapping as well. When Jean finally took her seat, her gaze drifted toward the staff table—just as Maverick raised his goblet in her direction.
"Welcome to Hogwarts, Jean," he sent his voice gently into her mind, offering her a warm smile.
Around the end of the Sorting Ceremony, when only a handful of students remained, Professor McGonagall finally appeared through the side door reserved for staff and quietly took her seat at the table.
One look at her expression told Maverick she was barely keeping her temper in check. Messing with her precious students was probably the one line you really didn’t want to cross.
“Albus. I don’t care what you do, but I expect an answer for this... or you make that baboon of a Minister answer for it.”
Her voice was low and controlled, of course, but not so quiet that it slipped past those with sharp enough senses.
Dumbledore gave a single nod in response, and although it was a simple gesture, Maverick had never seen the old man that serious before.
"RAVENCLAW!"
With the last name called aloud by the Sorting Hat and applause echoing through the hall, Professor Flitwick stepped forward, removed the stool, and carried the old antique away—finally marking the end of the sorting ritual.
A moment later, Dumbledore rose from his seat and stepped to the center of the high table, his gaze sweeping over the hall like a kindly grandfather.
Inwardly, he wasn’t in the best of moods, but none of that showed on his face. Not when he was standing before his students. With a gentle smile, he raised both hands and pressed them down slightly, signaling the hall to settle.
“Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all... and as one of them is rather serious, I think it best to mention it before you become befuddled by our excellent feast.”
Dumbledore cleared his throat and went on,
“As you will no doubt be aware, following their inspection of the Hogwarts Express, our school is currently playing host to a number of Dementors from Azkaban... who are here on Ministry of Magic, official business.”
2025-07-16 13:25:43 +0000 UTC
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"Might I have a word, Professor... in my office."
The sun hung low behind a blanket of thick grey clouds, casting the castle grounds in a soft, dull light. Shadows stretched long over the stone walls, and the air carried the crisp dampness of a late afternoon threatening rain.
Maverick had just appeared above Hogwarts and was descending toward the tower that housed his office when he suddenly paused mid-flight, catching a faint sound in his ear.
A glowing construct shimmered into view before him, wings outstretched majestically. As far as he knew, there was only one person in the world whose Patronus took the form of a phoenix.
And from the sound of it, it seemed a bit urgent, so he got curious as well and changed course toward the spiraling tower of the Headmaster’s office.
He hadn’t been back since the closing feast of the previous term, nor had he contacted Dumbledore or McGonagall. Normally, the staff returned a day or two before the students to go over lesson plans and discuss the general direction for the year ahead. It wasn’t mandatory, but more of an unspoken rule—something all staff knew, or at least should know.
Surely I’m not about to get a proper lecture? Maverick mused, half amused. Wouldn’t that be something—his first telling-off as an employee... in either of his lives.
A quiet chuckle escaped him. When he arrived outside the window, he saw the old man already inside, making a few odd gestures with his wand. Then, as if the wall itself had come alive, it split cleanly down the middle and parted with silent grace, creating a space just wide enough to let him through.
It didn’t seem like Transfiguration, but rather a built-in feature of the castle—woven into the wards for convenience, and likely something only the Headmaster could command.
His boots touched down gently on the stone floor as he stepped through, and he saw it wasn’t just Dumbledore inside—McGonagall, Flitwick, and Snape were present as well.
“I feel like a bad employee now,” Maverick joked with a faint smile, making his way around the desk before settling into the seat beside McGonagall.
"How was your summer, Professor?"
"It was good, Professor Caesar," McGonagall said with a small smile. "And yours? I take it things went well on your end?"
"Fantastic," Maverick replied, settling comfortably into his chair as he glanced around the room.
"That's good to hear, Professor Caesar," Dumbledore chimed in, his eyes twinkling in that familiar way. "We were just going over a few last-minute details for the year—before the students arrive."
Glancing across the four of them, he went on,
"Earlier this morning, a delegation from the Ministry of Magic paid us a visit to discuss school security. As you are no doubt aware, a dangerous criminal is still at large... and the Minister fears he may attempt to breach the grounds in pursuit of the students."
Without pause, he continued, "As such, Dementors will be stationed around the outer perimeter of the castle... namely at the gates and along the boundaries where the wards taper off."
"I ask for your cooperation in this matter," he said, letting his gaze rest briefly on each of them in turn. "More importantly, caution the students not to provoke the creatures under any circumstances."
"While the Minister assures me they are fully under control and pose no threat to the children…" Dumbledore paused, his expression growing more serious, "…I would still prefer our students be properly warned to keep well away from them. In other words... No testing limits, no attempts to interact—" his eyes twinkled faintly as they settled on McGonagall, "especially from those with a reputation for curiosity and courage."
Maverick held back a chuckle. That last bit was definitely aimed at McGonagall, as her house did have the biggest troublemakers, after all.
The meeting continued, mostly to brief the professors about the Dementors and to share a few details Dumbledore couldn’t openly mention during the upcoming opening feast. That, and the matter of the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, were the main points of discussion.
The fact that the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was a werewolf couldn’t be kept from everyone—certainly not from those present in the room. So Dumbledore took the time to explain everything in advance: why he had chosen the man for the position, the precautions he’d taken, and the safety measures that would be in place should anything go wrong.
Basically, it came down to the simple fact that capable candidates were hard to come by, and although Lupin had his condition, he was at least competent where it counted.
A few remarks were made—mostly by Snape, and judging from his expression, he wasn’t pleased in the slightest. Still, he acquiesced in the end, albeit reluctantly.
Flitwick seemed more neutral, if a little curious, and McGonagall said nothing at all—likely because she already knew everything, or perhaps she was the one who had chosen to hire Lupin in the first place.
Maverick kept his thoughts to himself on both matters, simply nodding along and following the discussion in silence. Within the hour, the meeting wrapped up, and the professors returned to their offices to prepare for the evening feast.
“Professor Caesar, thank you for agreeing to join us so promptly after your arrival,” Dumbledore said once the others had left. “I hear you took the boy… traveling?”
“I did. Him and Granger, actually. Just a bit of cross-exposure practice,” Maverick replied. He could tell the old man had more on his mind, so he remained behind, and sure enough, the old man wanted to ask about Potter.
“That’s good. I would very much like to see the boy’s progress.”
“Not much yet. But he should be ahead of the others in his year. The kid’s a natural when it comes to dueling, Headmaster. He and Granger. Granger’s even better, to be honest.”
Dumbledore smiled gently. “Then would you consider making it official? Taking them as your disciples?”
Maverick raised a brow, then shook his head. “Not yet. Maybe after they graduate.”
“I see,” Dumbledore said simply, letting the matter drop. After a pause, he changed topic again. “What are your thoughts on Sirius Black?”
"Sirius black?" Maverick wasn’t expecting to be asked so directly. He paused, weighing whether to share his plan—and the fact that he had already found the fugitive.
Best to keep things to myself for now, he thought, and maybe tell the old man later, perhaps before handing Pettigrew over to the Ministry.
After carefully choosing his words, he said, “I’ve read a bit about the case. Honestly, quite a few things don’t sit right with me.” He glanced at the Headmaster and, with a thoughtful expression, spoke his mind.
“Everything about his life before that day paints the picture of a very different man than the monster they claim he became. I don’t believe he was the perfect spy. And then there’s the trial... or rather, the complete lack of one.”
“It seems you’ve read more than just a bit, Professor,” Dumbledore remarked with a twinkle.
Maverick waved it off. “Spare me. I only paid attention because Potter was involved.”
Dumbledore chuckled, and he didn’t seem the least bit worried about the so-called "dangerous" criminal, whom he had emphasized moments ago in the meeting.
Maverick was sure the old man knew about the inconsistencies too—but why he hadn’t pressed the Ministry or investigated further was unclear. Maybe he had, and Maverick just didn’t know.
“Very well, Professor. I shall see you at the feast,” Dumbledore said, signaling the end of the matter.
With that, Maverick gave a nod and took his leave. In just a few hours, the quiet halls of the castle would fill with noise and laughter—marking the start of a brand new school year.
---
Two hours later.
The Great Hall was now fully prepared to welcome the new school year, with floating candles casting a warm glow from above and the banners of the four houses hanging proudly overhead, gently swaying in a breeze that wasn’t really there.
Some of the professors—Flitwick, Sprout, Sinistra, Trelawney, and Pomfrey—were already seated at the high table, dressed in formal robes for the occasion. The Headmaster and the others were still making last-minute preparations or on their way, while Professor McGonagall was likely out to meet the students arriving from Hogsmeade Station.
Meanwhile, today Maverick wore a sleek black robe trimmed with faint crimson lines, layered over a crisp white shirt neatly tucked into black trousers and polished boots.
After sorting out a few things in his office and freshening up the old-fashioned way, he made his way toward the Great Hall as well. And just as he reached the entrance, he spotted Hagrid approaching from the opposite direction.
He raised an eyebrow. The man’s familiar umbrella was present as always, but it wasn’t what drew his attention. The half-giant was dressed far more formally than usual, and his wild beard had actually been combed. Something was definitely going on.
“How do I look, Professor?” Hagrid asked proudly, puffing out his chest with a grin.
“Uh... very... gentlemanly,” Maverick told him half honestly. He did look the part—at least compared to how he usually carried himself.
And in the next moment, he saw the large man’s eyes welling up with tears.
Did I say something wrong? Maverick wondered, a twitch forming at the corner of his eye.
Should I have said handsome?
"Mr... Hagrid—"
The gatekeeper quickly switched the umbrella in his hand to the other side and pulled out a worn handkerchief from his coat pocket, dabbing at his eyes.
"It's wonderful... I've been waiting for this day for so long." His voice cracked a little. The more he spoke, the more Maverick found himself confused—until a memory clicked into place.
Right. Wasn’t Hagrid supposed to be appointed as the Care of Magical Creatures professor this year? But that only happened after certain events... and those events hadn’t happened. So how?
"I’m sorry, Hagrid," Maverick said, stepping closer. "I wasn’t around the school this summer, so I’ve no idea what you're talking about. Mind filling me in?"
"Oh... right!" Hagrid’s expression brightened into his usual innocent grin. "Well, Headmaster Dumbledore… don’t know how he did it, but he somehow found new evidence, somethin’ solid. Brought forward the real culprit or somethin’ from that Chamber of Secrets business fifty years ago. Even got Myrtle’s testimony… yer know… the ghost girl?"
Maverick nodded slowly, listening.
"Anyway, with all that, the Ministry lifted my ban... the one they slapped on me for bein' the 'alleged killer of Myrtle'. So now I’m cleared! Free to use my wand proper." Hagrid beamed with pride.
Maverick glanced at the large pink umbrella in Hagrid's hand. "Isn’t your wand always hidden in there?"
"Shhh, shhh!" Hagrid hissed, holding up a hand quickly and glancing around. Then he grinned again. "Yer right, Professor. But now I don’t have to hide it anymore, see? It's just... part of my style now." He raised his bushy eyebrows up and down in exaggerated fashion, clearly pleased with himself.
"Right," Maverick said slowly, dragging out the word as he eyed the big man. It seemed Dumbledore had pulled a few strings, and somehow, things had conveniently fallen into place. Maverick had no idea what sort of evidence the old man had even managed to dig up—other than Myrtle’s testimony, maybe.
Not that he cared all that much. Honestly, he didn’t even want to know. He glanced back at Hagrid, who was still grinning stupidly at him with that same goofy smile, and said, "Well, I’m happy for you, Mr. Hagrid. And I take it you’ve been given a new position?"
"That’s right!" Hagrid puffed out his chest even more. "Yer lookin’ at the new Care of Magical Creatures professor! Professor Kettleburn’s retired... bless him... and the Headmaster asked me to step in. We’re real colleagues now, eh?"
Maverick returned a grin of his own, genuinely pleased for the man. "Congratulations. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Hagrid... uh no, it should be Professor Hagrid now, right? I’ve no doubt you’ll make an excellent teacher."
Hagrid looked absolutely over the moon. His cheeks flushed a deep shade of red that, to Maverick, looked… frankly weird af on a man that size.
With a cheery wave, Hagrid said, "Right then! I’ll be off to pick up the little ones. See you in a bit, Professor!"
Maverick nodded, smiling as he stepped aside to let the half-giant pass. Hagrid then lumbered off, practically bouncing like an oversized kid on Christmas morning.
Shaking his head amusedly, Maverick then strolled off toward the professors’ table.
2025-07-15 07:21:46 +0000 UTC
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There were two reasons why Maverick had chosen to travel to Hogwarts via the Express today. First, he wanted to see whether events would truly unfold as they had in the original story. And second—because Jean was on board.
He would make absolutely sure nothing happened to her. If she lost control, there was no telling what the consequences might be, and Maverick wasn’t about to leave that to chance.
Aside from that, he had no intention of interfering with the Ministry officials or their reckless plan to bring Dementors on board.
Chooh! CHOOOOO!
Two loud whistles echoed from above, and Maverick felt the train begin to slow. He sat up straight and slipped off the narrow bed.
Then, with a nudge of magic to the ring on his finger, his clothes began to change—morphing smoothly into the full-body black suit. A soft hum followed, and the next moment, he vanished from the spot and reappeared above—already in motion, flying along the top of the train as it gradually decelerated.
With his magic suppressed as much as possible, invisibility in place, and the extraordinary trait of true concealment masking his presence entirely—not even the Dementors’ senses could detect him gliding silently over the train.
Dozens—perhaps more—he could see the creatures flying overhead, slowly entering the train one by one from the front. The two officials were giving them verbal instructions, and what he saw next made him raise a brow—the Dementors actually nodded, as if they understood and intended to carry them out.
It was a strange sight. Everything happening was now within his range of observation as he silently landed atop the second-to-last carriage—the very one where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Jean were seated. The train had slowed down considerably by now, and soon, it came to a complete halt.
The inspection had also started, beginning from the front carriages, as one Dementor after another opened the compartment doors.
Maverick’s senses were on full alert, but he would only step in if a student’s life was truly in danger. Until then, he would be just a spectator—watching this so-called inspection play out from a third-person point of view.
Hmm… one particular carriage caught his attention—a group of Gryffindors were seated inside, and…
Remus Lupin? he thought, spotting an adult sleeping in the same cabin.
The lights were off, and when the train had stopped, the kids inside had stirred awake. One of them he was quite fond of—a bit of a genius in his alchemy class—Neville Longbottom, the other boy-who-lived.
The Dementor opened the door, and the children inside, obviously, went pale with fear. But then…
Maverick’s brow furrowed. His magical sense picked up one of the students’ magical energy being drained rapidly. No… two. Longbottom and the kid next to him were both reacting the same way.
Sure enough, the creatures couldn’t help themselves and were feeding on them. Not to life-threatening levels, but subtly—and even so, they were just kids. It would leave a scar on their minds.
And it wasn’t just that carriage. Maverick noticed the same thing happening in several others. Some of the Dementors were doing it intentionally—or more accurately, they were simply helping themselves to a small bite of the feast Fudge had practically laid out for them, probably thinking it wouldn’t matter to anything.
Maverick’s eyes narrowed as he raised his hand, ready to put a stop to it all.
But just as he was about to act, he sensed a sudden movement—the sleeping man jolted awake, sprang up, and with a flick of his wand, blasted the Dementor in his compartment.
It was a Patronus.
A wolf—of course. And it did the trick. The Dementor fled, but Lupin didn’t seem to want to stop there.
Maverick observed as the man said something to the students in that cabin, then stepped into the corridor before unleashing an even stronger Patronus. At his command, it surged forward from carriage to carriage, scattering the Dementors like shadows chased by sunlight.
Quite impressive—and with that thought, Maverick slowly lowered his hand and turned his focus back to the carriage beneath him.
One of the Dementors had just entered. He saw Granger bravely shielding little Jean, and across from her, Harry stood ready as well. The boy did look frozen for a moment, but then he pulled himself together—and it seemed the scene from the original story, where he fainted, wouldn’t be repeating itself.
What followed was the two of them—Harry and Hermione—doing their best to cast the Patronus. They weren’t having much success, though. Understandable, after all—they had only come across the spell about a month ago.
However, it didn’t take long before, from Miss Know-It-All’s wand tip, a faint white mist began to form. It wasn’t anywhere near a corporeal Patronus, but even that was enough to keep a Dementor from at least approaching.
Again, quite impressive, Maverick remarked inwardly. He was ready to act should they fail to hold it—even if it was just a small whiff of their emotions, he didn’t plan to let it happen, not with Jean involved, considering the unknowns.
Harry was trying too, muttering the spell again and again, but the savior still wasn’t quite there. The Dementor lingered at the doorway, hesitant, watching the flicker of magic—which, to it, though faint, was like a piece of the most disgusting thing standing between it and its meal.
Maverick’s focus shifted to Jean—and he was surprised to see that her expression wasn’t quite like that of a frightened child. She wasn’t exactly calm, but she wasn’t frozen in fear either. He watched as her hand rose slowly, as if preparing to cast a spell of her own—wandlessly.
No… Maverick thought sharply.
Was she about to use her mutant ability?
Would it even work against a creature like that?
But she didn’t get the chance, as suddenly—
“EXPECTO PATRONAAAM!”
Harry’s voice rang out loudly and, surprisingly enough, was strained with frustration rather than fear.
A white mist, slightly brighter than Hermione’s, burst from his wand and began to fill the cabin.
“YOU SHALL NOT PASS, EVIL CREATURE!”
Harry shouted again, and from Maverick’s perch above, one of his eyes twitched.
“Is this kid Gandalf now?” he couldn’t help but mutter amusedly.
The Dementor gave a screech of frustration and bolted from the compartment—only to fly straight into an enormous form of a silvery wolf that lunged and bit into its ragged cloak.
Lupin’s Patronus wasn’t exactly a werewolf, but more like a Mackenzie Valley wolf—one of the largest wolf species in the world.
Maverick watched as the Dementor struggled for a moment, then finally broke free and tore away like its robes were on fire.
Whoever said Dementors couldn’t be harmed clearly didn’t know what they were talking about. Maverick could sense it—the creature’s magic, foul as it was, had diminished noticeably from just that brief clash.
All in all, it seemed he wouldn’t have to take action personally today. The sorry excuse for what they dared call an inspection finally came to an end. The Dementors—all of them—began to leave, heading off to Merlin knows where, and Maverick spotted the two officials yelling frantically into the air at their hasty departure.
It was clear now that the whole operation had been a complete failure. Dozens of compartments remained unchecked, and from what Maverick gathered while eavesdropping on their panicked conversation, their main concern wasn’t exactly the unfinished job, but the fact that several students had nearly passed out being drained of their emotions.
Nothing akin to a permanent injury to their bodies or magic, but still—they were just students, and it was sure to be a scarring experience.
Worse still, a number of those students were heirs to noble houses—some aligned with factions directly opposed to Fudge’s own. Once word reached their parents, the Ministry would undoubtedly be in for a storm.
Watching the two men bicker over what excuse they could offer, Maverick’s lips curled into a knowing smile. He already planned to have the details of this disaster spread to every corner of the country by morning.
Time crept by, and at last, the Hogwarts Express lurched forward once again to finish its journey toward Hogsmeade Station.
Maverick had no reason to linger any longer. After casting one last glance—using his Magical Sense—through the roof at the compartment below to make sure the children were alright, his body rose silently into the sky.
There were still around two hours left before the train would reach its destination. Then, a moment later, a sharp snap echoed where he hovered—and he vanished, returning to Hogwarts for the first time since the holidays had begun.
2025-07-12 20:07:10 +0000 UTC
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The Hogwarts Express let out a loud hiss, followed by a long whistle, and began its journey with a heavy lurch, its wheels clacking into a steady rhythm as it pulled away from the station.
Inside the train, faces pressed up against the glass as windows flew open with a rattle of old frames and creaky hinges. Little hands waved out eagerly—some with big smiles, others, mostly the first-years, trying hard to hold back a few tears.
Harry, seated beside the window, slid the glass halfway open as well, and leaned out to wave at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. Ron squeezed in beside him and added his own energetic wave, while Hermione opened the window across from them to wave at her parents.
They waved until the train curved gently around the bend, and soon the station disappeared from view in a cloud of smoke and distance.
Harry slid the window shut and sat back in his seat. “Well… we’re off,” he said with a smile, inwardly looking forward to another year.
“So, what do we do during the trip?” Jean asked, looking curious as she glanced around at the trio.
“Sleep. And eat,” Ron answered instantly, sinking deeper into his seat. “Mostly sweets. The trolley lady has some brilliant stuff.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Hermione shot him a sharp glare. Then turning to Jean, she said, “there’s plenty we can do. Like a quiz! We can stick to first-year stuff to keep it easy.”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Don’t say ‘we,’ Hermione. Besides, she literally hasn’t even set foot in school yet.”
Jean gave an awkward smile as well. She, too, wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending the ride buried in lessons, even if she was excited about learning all about magic.
Harry picked up on her expression and quickly changed the subject. “So, who do you think the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher is going to be?”
“Anyone but Lockhart,” Ron muttered.
“Or Quirrell,” Hermione added, exchanging a look with the redhead.
“Why? Were they not good?” Jean asked curiously.
There was an awkward pause inside the compartment at her question until—
“They weren’t exactly the best,” Harry said vaguely, scratching the back of his head. “But don’t worry. I’m sure the Headmaster will hire a solid professor…”
Hermione nodded. “Anyway, did you all get your permission slips signed for Hogsmeade?”
The conversation moved on as they talked about Hogwarts, their favorite sweets, and all the things they were looking forward to this year. In the relaxed atmosphere, little Jean Grey also got the chance to clear up many things about the school that she hadn’t managed to ask when she first met Harry and Hermione weeks ago.
Outside, the countryside rolled past, changing slowly as the train travelled farther north. The fields gave way to rocky hills and wild moorland. Clouds thickened overhead, and by late afternoon, heavy rain splattered against the windows.
The view outside turned into a blur of grey, and shadows deepened as the sky darkened. One by one, lanterns flickered to life above the luggage racks and down the corridors, casting a warm, sleepy glow.
The train rattled on through the storm. Rain hammered the windows, and the wind howled against the sides, but inside the compartments, it was quiet now. Most of the students had already dozed off, lulled by the rocking motion and steady rhythm of the journey.
Jean was curled up next to Crookshanks, who purred like a motor by her side, while Ron had dozed off with his head tilted against the window, mouth slightly open.
Hermione sat reading beside Jean, her eyes skimming over the pages, while Harry kept staring with a slight frown at the grey blur beyond the glass.
A creeping unease was tightening in his chest, one he couldn’t quite explain, and... he was starting to feel a strange chill.
He glanced at Hermione across from him and saw she, too, was likely feeling the same, seeing her rubbing one hand over her arm.
“Are the warming enchantments broken?” he asked quietly, careful not to wake the sleeping duo.
Hermione frowned, thinking the same. “Should we call the attendant?” she suggested.
And just then, the two of them glanced up at the same time, hearing the faint crackle of the flickering lights, and saw the enchanted lanterns above them begin to flicker—once… twice… before an eerie stillness settled around them.
Harry sat up straighter, feeling the unease he was sensing spike all of a sudden. “Did you feel that?” he said quietly.
Hermione became alert as well and nodded.
More strangeness followed. Outside the corridor, they saw the glass on the door fogging over, and the rattling of the train gradually slowed.
“Are we stopping?” Harry muttered, glancing around, now more alert than ever.
Before Hermione could say anything, they heard the hiss of the train slowing to a stop, and then all the lights inside and out went out completely.
“Get your wand!” Hermione said, leaning over Jean and gently pushing her inward into the seat.
Lumos!
Their movement woke the other two as well.
Ron blinked at the sudden darkness and the light that followed from Hermione’s spell as soon as he opened his eyes.
“Are we there yet?”
Jean also stirred and opened her eyes slowly.
Hermione sat down and met her gaze.
“You stay seated unless I say otherwise, okay?”
Harry fished through his robes for his wand and quickly gripped it, ready for action as well. His breath misted in the cold air, and he could feel it now—something terrible pressing in on them… or drawing closer.
“What the bloody hell’s going on?” Ron voiced, squinting at them. “Why do you two look like you’re about to go hunt an Acromantula or someth—”
His words stopped, and his eyes widened as he looked at the door to the compartment. There, behind the frosted glass, stood a shadow—tall as the door, and unlike anything human.
The four of them turned their heads and saw the same thing, freezing at the sight just like Weasley. Especially Jean, as this was the first time she was experiencing something so... utterly creepy.
They saw a grey, rotten-looking hand curl around the edge of the doorframe, and then, with a low creak, the compartment door began to slide open very slowly before a towering black figure loomed into view.
Its hood hung low over its face, hiding whatever lay beneath. Tattered robes swept across the floor as it glided inside without a sound. To the four of them, it felt as though death itself had stepped into the compartment.
Harry’s heart thudded wildly in his chest, and for a moment, the pulsing fear left him paralyzed—unable to think properly.
But he was no longer the powerless boy who had only just discovered the extraordinary side of the world anymore. And more importantly, this wasn’t the first time he had come face to face with something that, in his mind, was out for his life.
“No. No, you don’t.”
Muttering grimly under his breath, he clenched his jaw, summoned every ounce of courage he had, and shoved the negative thoughts aside. He would not cower.
His thoughts cleared, and he came to understand exactly what this thing was and what to do when faced with one. And it wasn’t only him—so did Hermione.
Their training over the holidays hadn’t just been about duelling; they had picked up a fair bit of new knowledge as well, including a handful of spells they normally wouldn’t have learned at Hogwarts until their NEWT years.
As luck would have it, one of those spells was precisely meant for dealing with creatures of pure darkness—just like the one now gliding into their compartment.
But still, knowing what to do and actually acting in the moment were two very different things.
----
Some time earlier...
Inside one of the front carriages of the train, in one of the private compartments arranged for staff, Maverick lay relaxed on the bed with his eyes closed, enjoying the rhythmic sound of rain tapping against the windows.
Seemingly, of course. By now, he had figured out something he hadn’t quite understood when watching the Harry Potter movies in his previous life. Exactly why the Hogwarts Express had come to a stop in the middle of its journey, and why Dementors had boarded the train like some bizarre version of magical traffic police.
It turned out that, aside from the train’s operating staff, there were also Ministry officials on board. And when he had listened in on their conversation, everything made sense—especially what was going to happen midway through the journey.
It was, essentially, a security inspection—personally arranged by Cornelius Fudge to check whether Sirius Black had boarded the train disguised as a student. To that end, they were bringing along Dementors who, aside from serving as mere deterrents to boost the menacing prestige of that ominous prison, were also known to be capable of distinguishing individual magical signatures.
Polyjuice Potion, full-body Transfigurations—none of the usual disguise methods would fool their senses. If Sirius was on board, they would know.
To Fudge’s credit, it was a solid arrangement—but only if he had absolute confidence that the creatures in question were, in fact, under his full control.
Maverick didn’t believe that was the case. As far as he understood, the only thing keeping the Dementors in check was a simple agreement—a word of promise between the British Ministry and the creatures. In exchange for being allowed to feed on the emotions of Azkaban’s prisoners, they were expected not to run rampant across the country.
A convenient arrangement—a win-win for both sides—but nothing official on paper. There were no concrete safeguards, no real means of enforcement if either party broke their word.
All of this, Fudge should have been well aware of. But his obsession with capturing the fugitive—the first ever escape from Azkaban, and one that had happened under his watch—must have bruised his reputation badly. And to restore it, the idiot was, whether knowingly or unknowingly, risking the lives of schoolchildren.
What exactly gave him the confidence that no accidents would occur, Maverick couldn’t say. But the fat man had at least convinced the two officials carrying out the inspection that everything would go smoothly.
Foolish, Maverick thought, mocking the obese moron. And just as the thought crossed his mind, his eyes slowly opened and focused on the ceiling above. He wasn’t exactly looking—his senses had simply picked up movement overhead. Most likely, it was the very creatures he had just been thinking about.
2025-07-12 20:05:00 +0000 UTC
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September 1st, 1993
The morning sky over London was a cool grey, brushed with streaks of pale gold where the sun had begun to break through the clouds. A light breeze carried the scent of autumn leaves and chimney smoke, brushing gently against coats and jackets as people walked along the streets.
Cars moved steadily through the narrow roads, buses hissed to a stop beside crowded pavements, and people hurried in every direction, holding coffee cups or checking their watches.
Parents guided sleepy children toward school, tourists squinted at folded maps, and office workers rushed toward trains and underground stations. It was the kind of morning that felt like a fresh start—and it was, as schools were opening their doors for the start of a new academic year.
At King’s Cross Station, the pace only quickened. The air was filled with the sounds of trains coming and going, whistles blowing, and announcements crackling over the loudspeakers. Suitcases rumbled across the floor, and voices rose and echoed beneath the high ceiling, blending into the familiar chaos of a busy morning.
Passengers hurried between the numbered platforms, weaving past one another—some bound for Edinburgh, others for Leeds or Newcastle. Most had no idea that, tucked quietly between Platforms Nine and Ten, there stood a stretch of wall quite unlike any other.
To ordinary eyes, it was nothing more than brick and stone. People brushed past without a second glance, their attention fixed on tickets, luggage, or the morning paper. But if someone looked closely—very closely—they might have noticed something strange.
A boy pushing a trolley loaded with a large trunk had just vanished straight through that very same, seemingly unremarkable wall. A moment later, a woman followed, her hand resting gently on the shoulder of another child carrying a cage with a snowy owl inside.
No one seemed to notice. Every now and then, a similar scene would play out, yet to the rest of the station, nothing appeared out of the ordinary—as if some unseen force gently nudged their attention elsewhere, causing them to ignore it entirely.
After all, there was magic at work here. This was the entrance to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters—a hidden gateway between the ordinary and the extraordinary, shielded by powerful enchantments that only a few could see and even fewer could understand.
Stepping through it, everything changed. On the other side, the atmosphere was entirely different. The air felt warmer, livelier. The platform buzzed with movement and sound, full of the familiar charm of the magical world.
The scarlet steam engine of the Hogwarts Express stood proudly on the track, releasing gentle puffs of smoke that curled into the bright September sky.
Children in black robes weaved through the crowd, some dragging their trunks behind them, others levitating their luggage with a flick of their wands. There was a sense of urgency, but also excitement in the air.
Just like schools across the country were opening their doors for a new term, so too was the school of magic. For young witches and wizards, this was the start of another year filled with spells, potions, and all manner of magical learning, and it began, as always, with this familiar scramble to board the train on time.
A little farther down the platform, a nervous first-year clung tightly to her mother’s hand, wide-eyed and silent as she took in the bustling scene around her. Not far off, a group of older students were already laughing and catching up, trading stories and thumping each other on the back like no time had passed at all.
Parents stayed close, not quite ready to say goodbye. They adjusted robes, handed over packed lunches, and brushed away specks of dust that weren’t really there. The whole platform buzzed with energy—quick hugs, last-minute reminders, and the usual jumble of farewells.
By now, the crowd had grown into the thousands, with parents, students, and staff filling every corner of the platform. But not everyone here had come through the enchanted wall from King’s Cross Station.
Near the stone barrier at the far end, soft cracks sounded now and then—the quiet pop of people Apparating in. Many wizarding parents preferred to arrive this way, appearing out of thin air with their children clinging to their arms. Amid the hum of voices and steam, no one gave them a second glance. It was all perfectly normal here.
And at that moment, at the far end of the platform, tucked away from the bustle and drifting steam, a similar soft crack echoed through the air. Two more figures had appeared—one tall, dressed in a long black coat, and the other a little girl with a satchel slung over her shoulder, still clutching the man’s arm from their slightly bumpy arrival.
The girl clearly did not look like she had just had a pleasant experience. She was half-crouched, coughing, and holding one hand to her head as if the world was still spinning.
The man beside her, however, seemed rather amused. He stood calmly, waiting as she got her balance back. It did not take long. Once she straightened up, he gave her a pleased smile, said something quietly to her, and began walking toward the train.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that, Professor,” she muttered, trailing after him. “I never want to do that again.”
The man chuckled. “Right, right... Let’s find Harry and Hermione first.”
The girl perked up at the mention of the two familiar names, her eyes lighting up with excitement. She glanced around, taking in the scarlet steam engine and the lively scene on the platform.
She was Jean Grey, of course, and the man beside her was Maverick, who had gone to the States to bring her here.
Originally, he had planned to let her experience walking through the enchanted wall at King’s Cross Station. But he had already told her there were two ways to reach Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, and Jean had been adamant about coming by the second option.
She was probably regretting that decision now.
---
Meanwhile, near the usual entrance to the platform, a group of boys and girls had just come through, most of them with the same unmistakable shade of red hair. The Weasleys had arrived, all together as usual, with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley flanking their children like bookends. Among them were two who didn’t quite match the family look—Harry and Hermione, of course.
“The sooner we get on the train, the better,” Ron muttered, nudging Harry’s arm as he quickened his pace. “I want to get away from Percy. He’s been reminding me he’s a prefect every single day, you know. Bloody annoying.”
And right on cue, the man in question strode past them, nearly knocking Ron aside as he puffed out his chest and called, “Penelope!” His voice was bright with importance, and he made sure his shiny new badge caught the light as he marched over to a girl with long, curly hair.
“That’s his girlfriend,” Ron added, looking even more annoyed for some reason. “Come on, let’s go,” he said again, tugging at Harry’s sleeve.
Harry shrugged and followed without any protest, seeing that his friend had at least moved on now from losing that pet of his.
But just as they took a few steps toward the train, Hermione jogged up behind them. “Wait, you two! Why are you in such a hurry?”
“Ron wants to find an empty compartment before the train fills up,” Harry said straightforwardly.
Hermione crossed her arms. “Are you forgetting something?”
Harry cocked his head. “Forgetting what?” And then he realized what she meant. “Right! Jean.”
“Yes. Jean. We’re supposed to wait until Professor Caesar arrives with her.”
“The girl from America, right?” Ron asked them. Harry and Hermione had already filled him in on what he had missed while he was vacationing in Egypt. Needless to say, he wished he had gone too, but the time he spent with his family wasn’t bad either, so he didn’t sulk much.
“There she is!” Hermione suddenly pointed across the platform. “Jean!” she called, waving excitedly before running over. The girl on the other side spotted her as well and ran toward her in return.
“Did you learn any spells yet?” Hermione asked the moment they hugged. They looked a lot like sisters than friends in that moment, grinning wide and talking over each other.
Maverick followed a few steps behind Jean. His purpose was simply to escort her to the station, not to travel with her all the way. “I’ll leave her to you, then,” he said with a nod to the trio. Turning to Ron, he added, “Mr. Weasley. Heard you had a fun summer.”
Ron smiled. “I did, Professor. Though I wish I could’ve joined them too.”
“Next time, then,” Maverick told him. Then, turning to Jean one last time, he added, “Good luck, and I’ll see you at school.”
He turned and left without drawing any attention to himself, making his way toward the train. No one around seemed to notice him—almost as if he wasn’t even there.
It was like when Muggles passed enchanted wards or walked right by a Notice-Me-Not Spell without ever realizing it—only in his case, both Muggles and wizards overlooked him, except, of course, the few like the trio he had revealed himself to on purpose.
As for why he was boarding the train, it was simply to make sure things played out the way they had in the original story. There was a separate staff compartment near the front, and that was where he planned to stay—just resting during the trip, with no intention of interfering in anything.
And things might not go exactly as they had in the original story. After all, Harry and Hermione weren’t exactly pushovers anymore. They had already learned to cast the Patronus, at least partially—and that alone could change a lot.
Meanwhile, Hermione had already taken the lead and was ushering Jean and the others onto the train.
They checked the compartments one by one, looking for an empty one, but each seemed to already be occupied, with at least one student inside.
Making their way toward the back, they continued searching and even passed a compartment where an adult man in shabby robes was fast asleep, slumped against the window with his face hidden behind a copy of the Daily Prophet. Deciding that wasn’t the place for them either, they moved further down the corridor until, thankfully, they found an empty one near the end.
As soon as they had settled into the compartment, Hermione turned eagerly to Jean.
“Right, tell me everything you learned over the past month.”
“Seriously?” Ron groaned, slumping into his seat.
“School hasn’t even started yet, Hermione,” Harry added as well, clearly having the same thought as his best buddy.
Hermione either didn’t hear them or simply chose to ignore them.
Jean giggled at her enthusiasm and happily launched into a lively account of her past few weeks. The chatter filled the compartment, and soon Harry and Ron joined in as well. Hermione’s new cat, Crookshanks, was curled up like a furry cushion under the table, looking perfectly content with the atmosphere.
Finally, about half an hour later, the train gave a soft jolt and began to move, slowly pulling out of the station.
2025-07-11 09:43:36 +0000 UTC
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Time passed, and soon the remaining weeks of the summer holidays were drawing to a close.
True to his word, Maverick crafted a disguise much like the ones he had made for the Stark couple, with some added features to conceal the magical signature. It wasn’t difficult—after all, the alchemical technology wasn’t new. Most ancient family rings had the ability to hide a wizard’s magic, and Maverick only needed to make subtle adjustments to that.
Sirius Black was recovering at a noticeable rate, slowly putting on muscle and a bit of fat to fill out his skeletal frame day by day. With the ring on, he no longer had to worry about being discovered—he looked like a completely different person to the eye and even to any extraordinary senses. He followed Ali without protest, and at last, Maverick had the time to focus on other things.
And speaking of other matters, out of Voldemort’s remaining Horcruxes, only Nagini and Helga Hufflepuff’s cup remain as material objects. The locket has been destroyed, making four out of seven gone, and Harry Potter is a whole other matter entirely.
That serpent, Nagini, had been especially difficult to track down—over a year had passed since he had people searching for it, but there were still no leads. The goblet, however, was almost certainly hidden inside Gringotts and wasn’t going anywhere. Maverick already had a solid plan to steal it, but that was something to deal with at a later date.
The next few days, Maverick spent organizing the lesson plans for the new year. Once again, his workload at school was set to increase. Last year, he taught first and second grades, then sixth and seventh. This year, third grade would be added to the list, but it would still be manageable for him.
He also paid a visit to Durmstrang to discuss the inter-school Quidditch tournament, offer advice, and introduce his own people who would take key parts in organizing the event. After all, this was his project—one that generated a lot of Galleons for him—and he couldn’t just blindly hand it completely over to the host school.
This year, Hogwarts would be traveling to Germany, but unlike the previous year, Maverick didn’t plan to escort the students himself for every round of the tournament. He would let another professor handle that. Of course, if Hogwarts made it to the finals, that would be a different story.
And while he went on getting one thing after another checked off his list of personal and Hogwarts-related tasks, at Diagon Alley, Harry Potter finally found out about the escape of Sirius Black, apparently Voldemort’s most loyal follower.
After coming back from America and spending a couple of days at home, Harry got in touch with the Weasleys, and the redheads came to pick him up from the Dursleys. Coincidentally, the time he sent his owl was just as the Weasley family returned from their vacation, so together, they came to Diagon Alley to buy the year’s school supplies.
At this time, Harry was taken to a corner inside the Leaky Cauldron by good old Mr. Weasley to tell him a big — not exactly a secret. Posters of Sirius Black were plastered everywhere, and nearly every magical soul in Britain now knew of the man’s escape.
"You best be careful this year, my dear boy. A dangerous criminal is on the loose, as you can see," Mr. Weasley said, nodding toward the wanted poster on the wall not far from them, then turned back to Harry with a series of odd expressions, like he was trying to say something without actually saying it.
"I know, Mr. Weasley. Everyone knows," Harry said, looking puzzled as to why Ron’s dad was going through so much trouble just to tell him that.
"Good... good." Mr. Weasley clearly didn’t realize he was only making Harry more confused, when all he meant to do was make the boy a little more cautious this year—without actually revealing the whole truth.
But the way Mr. Weasley's eyes kept darting left and right, glancing around nervously, did nothing to help his case. It was plain as day—even a half-blind troll could tell he was either hiding something or afraid of being overheard.
And as a result, even Harry—with his classic Gryffindor brain—finally caught on that something was off.
"You think Sirius Black escaped to come after me?" Harry asked, bewildered by the sudden thought.
"What? No... how did you—"
"But why? What did I ever do to him?" Harry pressed on, and gave the older man no room to refute.
Poor Weasley—he had truly bitten his own tongue. Merlin’s thick beard, why did I even start? he thought.
He had only meant to warn Harry to be careful, to avoid sneaking around the school after curfew—especially that dangerous forest they called “forbidden.” And as a former Ministry official, he was well aware that the area didn’t fall entirely under the castle’s protective measures.
He also knew the kind of troublemaker this boy was—and his own sons, no less. Trouble didn’t find them; they went looking for it themselves. That’s all Arthur could think when it came to these kids.
Sigh.
“Listen, Harry… that criminal won’t be able to reach you as long as you stay inside the school. I’m just saying… try to stay out of trouble this year, will you? No late-night adventures, and absolutely... no sneaking around after curfew!"
Arthur realized he had failed rather miserably at achieving what he had intended in the first place, and could only fall back on a stern warning. Unfortunately, that, too, had the opposite effect on the Boy Who Lived.
"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, Mr. Weasley," Harry said with a sheepish grin. "Besides, you haven’t answered my question—why would that criminal be coming after me?"
That Gryffindor curiosity kicked in hard, and now Harry was dead set on getting every detail.
"I need to know," he pressed. "And would he really be stupid enough to come to Hogwarts? There's the Headmaster... and Professor Caesar, after all."
Arthur opened his mouth to respond to the barrage of even more sensitive questions, but hesitated. He was dangerously close to digging himself into a deeper hole—and Harry didn’t look like he was going to let the matter drop.
Begrudgingly, the older man realized he had already said too much. There was no point in holding back now. With a heavy sigh of resignation, he finally offered a vague but honest admission.
“It’s not that they’re stupid, Harry. You can’t judge Vold... You-Know-Who’s followers, especially a mad man like Sirius Black by normal standards. They’re absolutely mad beyond reason, the lot of them.
“But you’re absolutely right on one thing… with Headmaster Dumbledore and Master Caesar at the school, Sirius Black won’t be able to lay a finger on you—”
“ARTHUR! What are you two whispering about so secretly?”
Mother Weasley’s sudden call startled the man, and he quickly swallowed the rest of what he was about to say.
"Right... you got the general idea," he whispered one last time to Harry before turning to his wife.
"Nothing, dear. Just checking if Mr. Harry here managed to buy everything earlier today..."
"Really?" Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes at him like a hawk, making Arthur swallow nervously before she turned to Harry with her usual warm smile.
"Well? Did you manage to buy everything?"
"I... yes, Mrs. Weasley. Everything’s bought. Fred and George went with me this morning, remember..." Harry answered, fidgeting a little. She really was a strange mix of motherly warmth and quiet intimidation.
“Wonderful,” she smiled, then sighed. “Ron still has a few things left to get, and—would you believe it?” She shot a sharp look at Arthur, who was supposed to be keeping an eye on the boys while she went with Ginny. “He’s been lying asleep all morning while the three of you were off shopping! Honestly, I’ve given him a proper telling-off already—such a lazy boy!”
Harry’s eyes twitched, and he spared half a second of silence for his best buddy. She was right, though, Ron hadn’t exactly been in the best mood.
This morning, he, Fred, and George all tried to wake him up, but he just grumbled and stayed stubborn. There wasn’t much they could do... so they left him to sulk.
"Would you do me a favor, dear, and check on him?" Mrs. Weasley asked, this time with real worry in her voice. "He’s been in such a state ever since that pet of his disappeared… sulking like it’s the end of the world. Honestly, that boy. Usually one stern word from me is enough to set him straight, but losing Scabbers has really got to him."
"I will, right away, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said quickly, and with that, he turned and ran off toward the stairs where the Weasleys had booked their rooms.
And speaking of pets—meanwhile, in another part of Diagon Alley, Hermione Granger was strolling alongside her mother and father when she suddenly came to a halt in front of the Magical Menagerie.
Behind the glass, a large, fluffy ginger cat sat lazily on a perch, its squashed face and thick tail twitching slightly in boredom. Its eyes—golden and oddly intelligent—met hers through the glass.
Hermione’s breath caught. She stared, wide-eyed, with an expression that hovered somewhere between surprise and wonder… as if she’d just recognized something she hadn’t even known she was looking for.
The butterflies had long taken flight—wings stirring currents that twisted the flow of fate—but even in chaos, time has a strange way of guiding the pieces back to where they belong. One by one, the puzzle finds its shape.
———————
Author’s Note:
Next chapter, we officially start Book Three. The summer holidays arcs ended up dragging on longer than I originally planned, but honestly, I’m pretty happy with how it all turned out in the end.
I really tried my best to cut down on redundant paragraphs as much as possible, and I hope you guys noticed that too.
Please leave your feedback... seriously. Your constructive criticism helps me improve how I tell the story more than anything else.
And finally, thank you so much for your continued support. Over 200 chapters and 400,000 words in just half a year… I never thought I’d actually pull that off. All the credit goes to you, my amazing readers.
Thank you, thank you... from the bottom of my heart.
2025-07-09 12:38:37 +0000 UTC
View Post
Screeeech!
The terrifying, twisted, inhuman scream tore through the silence like something dragged from the depths of hell, reverberating through the Mirror Dimension and warping the space around like ripples through glass.
Clink… ting… ting… clink…
The locket twisted and thrashed on the ground, rattling loudly as pitch-black flames coiled around it. The fire moved like living serpents, cruel and hungry, wrapping tighter with each second, as if determined to drag something out from within.
Click.
Click Click.
A thick, shadowy mist began to leak from the cracks forming on the locket’s surface, then poured out in writhing streams, gathering together before shaping itself into a twisted face.
Screeech!
Screeech!
It looked furious and in pain, but the cursed flames paid it no mind as they closed in, devouring the vile thing bit by bit. In just a matter of seconds, its screeches went from rage to guttural snarls, then turned into desperate pleas.
"What is that thing?"
Sirius Black stood behind Maverick and Ali, looking truly shaken by the horrific sight. And coming from a man who had spent more than a decade locked away in the deepest, darkest corners of Azkaban, his reaction said plenty about just how disturbing the scene really was.
"It's a soul… or it used to be," Maverick explained without looking back. "That locket was said to have once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself… but now, it's been twisted into something purely evil."
"Whose soul do you think that is, Mr. Black?" he then asked the man, glancing slightly over his shoulder.
Sirius didn’t need long to guess the answer. The locket had been found in his dead brother’s room, and Regulus had once been a fanatical follower of the Dark Lord.
“Voldemort,” the name slipped from his lips like a curse.
His fists clenched, and now that he knew whose soul it was—the same monster who had killed his closest friends—Sirius’s fear faded quickly, replaced by a grim sort of satisfaction.
As the seconds passed, the blackened soul fragment thrashed and twisted, growing more and more desperate to escape. But without the locket to anchor it, there was nowhere for it to run. It couldn’t fight. It couldn’t hide.
Finally, after one last twisted shriek, it collapsed in on itself and crumbled into ash—gone for good. The whole thing hadn’t taken long, really. From the moment Maverick had unleashed the Fiendfyre to now, barely a minute had passed.
"Is that it?" Ali glanced at Maverick, feeling the whole thing had ended a bit... anticlimactically.
Maverick hummed thoughtfully, then scanned the charred remains of the locket with his magic, checking for any lingering traces of anything unnatural.
He sensed nothing unusual. But just to be safe, he let the real expert have the final say.
With a flick of his finger, the burned lump of metal flew into his hand, and sure enough, the system didn’t prompt anything from it.
"It's done, yes," he gave a short nod.
Sirius also stepped closer, frowning as he looked down at the blackened scrap. "How did the Dark Lord's soul end up in something my brother kept? I thought he was supposed to be dead?"
Maverick curled a smile, then closed his fist. The charred remains cracked and crumbled like brittle glass, slipping through his fingers and scattering as ash across the floor. Turning to the fugitive, he answered, “He never died, Mr. Black… but you just helped destroy a part of him. So, congratulations.”
With that—
Snap!
The world around them rippled.
The mirror-like warps in the walls began to smooth out. The shimmering bends in space snapped back into place. Edges sharpened. Colors deepened. And with a soft click, like glass settling into its frame, the Mirror Dimension peeled away—returning them once more to Regulus Black’s old office.
"We're done here." Saying that, Maverick gave a slight nod, signaling it was time to leave.
“Wait!” Sirius stepped forward. “You can’t just drop something like that and not explain anything. What the hell do you mean that madman isn’t dead?” He wasn’t convinced, and for good reason.
Maverick understood it as well. “My friend will fill you in, Mr. Black.”
He had no intention of keeping the man in the dark, and telling him about old Voldy now wouldn’t make any real difference to his plans anyway.
With that thought, he opened a portal in the middle of the room and stepped through. Behind him, Ali let out a quiet sigh, already thinking he would be stuck playing babysitter for this grown-ass walking trouble a while longer.
"Come, Sirius Black. We have a lot to talk about, and… I shall explain to you everything."
---
A couple of minutes later, they were back in the same residence where Sirius had first been brought to recover and heal.
"What you need to do now, Mr. Black, is focus on healing. The Ministry has mobilized the most unthinkable assets in their arsenal to search for you—all over London, and even at Hogwarts."
Sirius sat down on the bed, listening to Maverick’s instructions—reluctantly, of course, since they mostly boiled down to one thing: he wasn’t allowed to leave the place. That said, he understood the reason. He had more or less recovered by now, at least enough to think rationally.
He let out a bitter chuckle at the mention of unthinkable and muttered, “Does Fudge really think that highly of me? Sending Unspeakables, of all people?”
Maverick sneered and shook his head. “No. Although you're probably the first recorded escapee from Azkaban, you're still not relevant enough for those old relics to make a move. And Fudge... just because he runs the Ministry doesn't mean he has the power to order them either.”
By now, Maverick had learned a great deal about the British Ministry of Magic from Lord Greengrass—things that weren’t written down but were core secrets known only to the upper circle of power. One of these secrets involved the so-called Unspeakables. Apparently, there were two Great Magi among them who weren’t registered with the ICW.
That also made him realize that much of what’s on record might not be the full truth. Who knows how many old fossils are out there, quietly hiding their true abilities all over the magical world?
He paused at the thought, then added to his earlier remark, “It’s your old buddies from Azkaban, the Dementors, who’ve been let loose to hunt you down.”
“You’re joking?” the fugitive asked, taken aback.
“I’m afraid not,” Maverick said firmly. “Precisely it's because of those creatures, you have to stay hidden for now. They don’t have eyes, but their senses are sharp, and they can detect magical signatures. So unless you can stay in your Animagus form indefinitely, even if you disguise your face as someone else, they can, and will, eventually track you down.”
“Am I then supposed to stay here for Merlin knows how long until you finish whatever it is you have in mind?” Sirius asked again, though this time without the maddening rage. “Don’t get me wrong, I'm not being ungrateful and can think clearly now, but it’s just...”
"Not for long," Maverick cut him off. "I'm already working on something to disguise your face and suppress your magical signature. It'll take a couple of days, but until then, just stay put."
He glanced at Ali and added, "In the meantime, my friend here will fill you in—about what happened earlier, and about Tom Riddle too."
Of course, that wouldn’t be all of his secrets—just enough to keep Sirius in the loop without it affecting anything important. Maverick didn’t say that part out loud, and Ali understood it without needing him to spell it out.
The fugitive’s face lit up at the mention of being able to move freely. He didn’t doubt Maverick could deliver on what he had just promised and said gratefully, "I understand, and… thank you."
Maverick smiled inwardly. Finally, the man was cooperating sincerely, and the rest would be easy to handle. Glancing back at Ali, he said, “I’ll return in a day or two. After that, you can take him along wherever you go.”
Back to Sirius, he advised one last time, "remember, Mr. Black, this is all for your own good. Don’t let our efforts go to waste. Follow Ali’s instructions, and depending on how well you cooperate, we'll tell you more... like why I’m keeping Pettigrew captured instead of handing him over to the Ministry or killing him outright."
Sirius’s fists clenched at the mention of the rat again, but he kept his temper in check and gave a stiff nod.
“Good.” Maverick gave one last look, then turned and left the place.
2025-07-09 12:37:09 +0000 UTC
View Post
Islington, London
Not far from a quiet row of Georgian-style townhouses, three figures suddenly appeared in midair, about a hundred meters above the ground. And in that same instant, a magical construct shimmered into existence beneath their feet, catching them as they landed smoothly in perfect balance.
This was supposedly the site of the Black family’s primary residence—known to most as Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.
In canon, little was revealed about their other properties or ancestral manors, but considering the noble House of Black was one of the most prominent names in wizarding aristocracy, it hardly made sense for their only estate to be a single hidden townhouse tucked away in the middle of London.
According to Sirius, he had indeed grown up here. But there were other properties as well—one of them being his grandfather’s home, which was most likely the true ancestral manor.
“Over there,” Sirius said, pointing ahead.
He looked nothing like the haggard fugitive who had escaped Azkaban days earlier. Now cleaned up and dressed properly, he wore a crisp charcoal-grey shirt, fitted trousers, and polished black boots. A sleek, all-black robe hung to his knees. If not for the hollowness still lingering in his face, he could have passed for a proper gentleman.
Maverick moved the magical construct over the neighborhood, drifting block by block until Sirius pointed to one of the houses. It didn’t look much different from the others—unremarkable, plain—but magic, as always, was meant to fool the naked eye.
Maverick could already sense the powerful wards cloaking the building and gave a small nod, confirming this must indeed be the place they were looking for.
He brought them down between two buildings across the street, landed silently, and first activated his magical senses to sweep the area. It wasn’t that he was worried about being spotted—he had full confidence in the true concealment extraordinary characteristic—but it didn’t hurt to check for any Aurors who might be staking out the place in case a certain fugitive decided to show up.
It seemed he had thought too highly of Fudge. Not a single magical soul was in sight.
"Let’s go," he said, stepping out and leading them quietly across the street toward the house numbered 13.
In the original story, a few years from now, this house would be hidden under a powerful Fidelius, courtesy of old Dumbledore. Anyone—Muggle or magical—would see only the houses up to number eleven, then jump straight to thirteen, as if number twelve had never existed at all.
Sirius personally opened the door without any resistance, and with his permission, Maverick and Ali followed him inside. The wards, recognizing the Black family magic in Sirius’s blood and his authority, made no fuss and allowed them through without any issue.
“Wait a bit.”
As soon as the door shut behind them, Maverick raised a hand and told Sirius to hold. The wards might have recognized them, but Maverick remembered there supposed to be many portraits here—especially one of the most racist witches to ever live, hanging on these walls.
He did not want to be met with any annoyance, so with that thought, he spread his magic and stretched out his hands, making subtle finger movements. There were no colorful flashes, but spell after spell silently flowed through the house, precisely targeting every magical portrait, whether out in the open or hidden behind walls.
The moment he finished, Maverick sensed a magical ripple from a small room nearby. Sure enough, a second later, a small creature wearing worn-out clothes Apparated into the living room and began darting around, searching for the disturbance it had just felt.
Maverick, Ali, and Sirius were still cloaked under true concealment. No matter how hard the creature looked, it wouldn’t be able to find them.
“Guess I didn’t have to call for it...” Sirius said with a shrug, watching the target of their visit appear on its own.
Maverick had already briefed him on what they were after. He hadn’t mentioned that it was a Horcrux, only that it was a locket saturated with dangerous dark magic that needed to be destroyed.
Sirius did not question him. After the screw-up earlier today and the cold shoulder he received because of it, he decided it was best to cooperate fully.
Whatever this young man hoped to gain by handing Pettigrew over to the authorities later was not for him to question. Either way, he would get his revenge on the rat sooner or later—and after that, he would walk free. There was nothing to lose, except staying in the dark about a lot of things. He could, no, he would stomach that.
And his change didn’t go unnoticed by Maverick. Sirius had made a right mess of things earlier today for sure—accusing him of sniffing around for Black family gold when all Maverick was doing was helping him. It had pissed him off a bit, certainly, but not enough to bother holding a grudge. He let it pass and hadn’t made things difficult for him since.
“Who’s there! Show yourself, you thieves! Breaking into the noble House of Black—how dare—”
The house-elf, Kreacher, shrieked in outrage, stretching out one hand as if ready to attack. But before he could act, his small body was suddenly yanked off the floor and flung toward the hallway, stopping mid-air as if caught in an invisible grip.
He tried to shout again, but his mouth clamped shut. Against Maverick’s overpowered magic, he was helpless, like a moth caught in a sudden gust of wind.
“Can you not kill it?” Sirius asked Maverick, watching him hold Kreacher aloft like a trapped animal. He didn’t particularly like the house-elf, sure—but still, it was the Black family’s elf, after all.
“Who said I’m here for its life?”
Imperio!
Kreacher didn’t even have time to process what was happening. One moment, he had sensed foreign magic spreading through the house and came to investigate—only to find nothing. But in the next instant, he was completely at the mercy of that very nothing.
His thoughts blurred, and his mind slipped away. The curse settled over him without the slightest resistance—or rather, whatever resistance he had was insignificant to stand against the power invading his mind. In moments, his will was no longer his own, held entirely at the mercy of another.
“Take me to the locket left by Regulus Black.”
Under the Imperius, Kreacher did not hesitate for even a second. The moment Maverick set him back on the ground, the elf turned and began walking toward the stairs.
They passed several portraits along the wall, and Sirius gave them a puzzled look when he noticed that each one had turned completely grey. He glanced at Maverick, quietly impressed but not surprised.
They soon reached the upper floor and stopped in front of a door with a small plaque:
No Admittance Without Permission From The Owner. Regulus Arcturus Black.
“This was my brother’s room.” Sirius’s gaze turned cold as he stood before the door of the man he once called brother. His voice held no trace of sorrow—only contempt.
Regulus Black had been a firm believer in pure-blood supremacy, like everyone else in his family. But that wasn’t why Sirius hated him. It was the cruelty—the blind loyalty to the murderous lunatic Voldemort—that made his blood boil. He never mourned his brother’s death, and he had never tried to hide that fact.
Of course, Maverick knew this was probably a misunderstanding. According to the original story, Regulus had realized what Voldemort truly was—just a power-obsessed lunatic, not the savior of pure-bloods he claimed to be—and died trying to destroy one of his Horcruxes.
But Maverick didn’t mention that—not yet, at least. For one, he wasn’t sure if the same was true in this universe, and for two, he didn’t have time for all that right now. Maybe during the next Christmas holidays.
Kreacher entered the room first and headed straight to the large, ornate desk at the back. Without hesitation, he pulled open a drawer.
The moment the drawer opened, Maverick felt it—and so did Ali and Sirius. A wave of foul, cursed magic surged out from the compartment.
“Stop,” Maverick commanded before Kreacher could reach inside, and the house-elf froze in place.
With a small flick of his fingers, Maverick put the elf to sleep and cast a clean, precise Obliviate to erase everything that had happened tonight from the creature’s memory.
"Mr. Black, you can take it back to its room, or wherever it sleeps. I have no more use for it."
Maverick levitated the house-elf and brought it over to Sirius, who reluctantly took hold of it and nodded. He wanted to stay, and was far too curious to leave now.
“Better hurry up... if you want to see what we came here to find... and destroy.” Maverick said catching the hesitation on Sirius’s face and chuckling quietly to himself.
As soon as Sirius left the room, Maverick’s expression hardened, and his focus returned to the matter at hand.
With sharp precision, he locked onto the drawer’s contents, isolating the object that reeked of dark magic. It floated up at his command, gliding silently through the air before landing near them with a soft metallic clink.
“Lumos,” Ali murmured beside him, raising his wand.
A soft glow filled the room, casting long shadows along the walls as both men turned their eyes toward the object on the floor. It was a locket—just as Maverick had expected—silver, aged, and heavy-looking, with an ornate serpentine "S" engraved across its surface. The moment the light touched it, a sickly sheen rippled across the metal, like oil floating atop dark water.
Ali's brows drew together as he stared. “It’s trying to get into my head…”
Maverick didn’t look his way, keeping his eyes fixed on the Horcrux. “It shouldn’t be difficult for you to resist it now...”
Indeed, Ali was no ordinary wizard anymore. His recent breakthrough had boosted more than just his magic, and his mental barriers had grown considerably stronger as well. The invasive whisper faded as if it had struck a thick wall, unable to take root in his mind.
“I’ve come across all sorts of dark artefacts before,” Ali said with a frown, “but this… has to be the most revolting one yet.”
“You’re right to think so, my friend,” Maverick replied, lifting his hands and beginning to move his fingers in some strange, but deliberate motions. “What you’re looking at is a Horcrux. A piece of Tom Riddle’s soul. To create one, the soul must be torn apart by an act of pure evil… which is why the magic radiating off it feels so foul.”
“How many of these things have you destroyed?”
Maverick paused in thought. “I’ve already gotten rid of two. Dumbledore claimed to have dealt with one himself. And now this”—he pointed at the locket—“makes four. That leaves two more… three, if you count the kid.”
“Harry Potter?”
“Yes…”
Ali nodded thoughtfully. Besides Edward, he was the only one who knew most of Maverick’s plans for the future, so naturally, he knew about Harry and his role in it.
Letting out a slow breath, he added, “No wonder the man went mad. I heard he used to be sharp and quite calculating in his early days. Splitting his soul so many times must have carved the sanity out of him.”
“Or,” Maverick also added, seemingly finished with whatever he’d been doing as he lowered his hands, “maybe he was always mad…”
Tuk tuk tuk.
And just then, footsteps pounded up the stairs, and a moment later, Sirius burst into the room, looking winded but expectant. “So?” he asked. “What’s happening now?”
Maverick glanced over his shoulder, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. Without answering, he raised a hand and snapped his fingers once.
Click.
Click.
It was like watching glass form out of thin air. The room folded inward, the corners stretching as if caught in a moving reflection. Shimmering panes of translucent light rose up around them, sealing the space in a dome that bent light and sound. Walls warped, the floor glimmered, and the ceiling twisted into a mirrored sky.
Sirius’s jaw dropped slightly. “What in Merlin’s name…?”
“We’re in what’s called the Mirror Dimension,” Maverick said simply. “It reflects the real world, but nothing here is real. You can twist space, tear down walls, unleash even Fiendfyre... and none of the aftermath will affect the world outside.”
He gave a small pause, then added with a look toward the locket. “Which means, whatever happens here... stays here.”
2025-07-07 18:55:17 +0000 UTC
View Post
London — inside a seemingly ordinary two-storey house in the eastern suburbs.
Bright white light spilled from the ceiling fixtures, illuminating a modest room with pale walls and a white tiled floor. There were no windows. Only two doors—one appeared to lead out, the other, with frosted glass, likely to a bathroom.
Basic furniture filled the room. A narrow wardrobe stood against one wall, with a small dresser beside it and a single chair pushed in close.
The bed was placed in the far corner. It was a single-sized one, and the sheets were still crisp and neatly arranged except for the part disturbed by the man lying in it.
This man was Sirius Black.
He lay unconscious, his thin frame still beneath the plain shirt and trousers he now wore. The ragged clothes from his escape from Azkaban were gone, but the starved, worn-out look was still there.
It was clear that someone had cleaned him up, and although the hollowness around his eyes remained, he looked at least a little more like a person than the walking corpse he had been just two days ago.
A low groan slipped from his throat as he stirred. His fingers twitched. His head rolled to the side, and slowly, with some hesitation, his eyes blinked open.
White.
Everything was white.
He squinted, groaning again as the brightness stabbed at his vision. For a moment, he couldn’t tell where he was, and his heart beat quickened as a flicker of panic rose inside him.
“Where… am I?” he muttered hoarsely, voice dry and cracked like brittle parchment.
His mind clawed at half-formed memories—a rat in the newspaper, the cold of Azkaban, his godson. Then came the clearer part: getting captured by some pretentious bastard and dragged into an interrogation. Everything swirled together like smoke, scattered and hard to hold on to, and it felt like his skull might split at any moment.
So for a while, he just lay there, pressing his eyes shut and letting the ache pulse through his head, not yet ready to make sense of where he was or how he had ended up here.
Half an hour passed. The room was dead silent, until—
Click.
A soft sound reached his ears, snapping through the fog in his mind. His groggy head turned toward it, and he saw a man enter through the door—a stranger with Middle Eastern features and sharp eyes, wearing an expression he couldn’t quite read.
He tried to place the face, digging through his already muddled memories, but nothing came. Then, a sudden realization hit him—this wasn’t the important issue right now.
With a jolt, he sat up and pushed himself off the bed. He glanced left, then right. There were only two doors, and both were behind the man standing in front of him. Without thinking, he took a step back and pressed his back against the wall.
His breath quickened as his eyes stayed fixed on the stranger, who approached casually and stopped a few paces in front of him inside the room.
"Who are you?"
“Good,” the man said with a nod, ignoring the question entirely. “At least you have not gone completely mad yet.”
The accent was thick, unmistakably Middle Eastern, and he at least ruled out that this stranger was a Brit. He saw the man tilt his head slightly, motioning toward the bed.
"You should lie back down—"
"I said, who the hell are you?" he snapped impatiently. "Why am I being locked up?"
The man didn’t seem even slightly bothered by his outburst. “My name is Ali. And you’re not a prisoner, Sirius Black… at least, not in the traditional sense.”
Sirius tried to place the name. Ali. It rang no bells. He didn’t know anyone by that name—not from the past, not even from Azkaban.
Then he saw Ali’s arms move beneath the coat he wore.
Is he reaching for a wand? Should I tackle him? Could I even manage that?
The thoughts ran through his mind, but Sirius just stood there, only more tense than before, and did not move an inch. He watched warily as Ali reached into his coat without hurry and pulled something out.
It wasn’t a wand.
“This is rejuvenation potion,” Ali held out a small vial filled with a swirl of colourful liquid. “I already gave you six doses since you collapsed the night before last. You must take one every six hours, unless you are eager to die the Muggle way… what they call malnutrition.”
Two days? Sirius blinked in thought. The ache in his head had eased enough now for memories to start falling into place. I passed out… and it’s really been almost two days since then?
He didn’t reach for the potion right away. Instead, as his mind cleared a bit more, he finally gave the man in front of him a proper look.
“Are you… his person?”
“His?” Ali repeated, then seemed to catch on. “If you mean my leader, Caesar, then yes.”
He gestured toward the bed again, nudging his head in that direction.
“You need rest, Mr. Black. If I wanted to harm you… or hand you over to the British Aurors, I would not have bothered to clean up a grown man and dress him in clean clothes.”
He then pointed toward the small dresser. “Or look at yourself in the mirror first...”
Stepping aside, he added, “My orders were not to treat you like some honoured guest. Only to treat your physical injuries. I can do that just fine without pretending to be polite.”
The mirror. Yes, it had been a long time... he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his own reflection. After a moment’s thought, he took a step forward, then another, until he stopped in front of the dresser.
He saw a man who looked like he hadn’t had a proper meal in ages. The face staring back was pale and drawn, with sharp cheekbones and hollow eyes standing out against clean clothes and freshly washed skin. His shoulder-length curly hair and somewhat thick beard gave him a look that someone might mistake for a rabbi or a sheikh.
His frame was still skeletal, with barely any muscle or fat. Still, his noble Black family genes gave him a hint of handsome features even in that state, though he was nowhere near the man he used to be.
"I would get rid off off that stash and beard. You look nothing like the prince of a noble house."
Sirius couldn’t help but chuckle, though there was no humour in it. He turned around slowly.
"I assure you, I’m no prince. The name Black isn’t something I’m particularly proud of."
He walked over to the bed, sat down with a sigh, and held out his hand, palm open.
"That was quick," Ali said, raising an eyebrow. "So, one look in the mirror, and suddenly you accept your situation?"
"Do I have a choice?" Sirius shot back. "Like you said, why would a grown man go through the trouble of cleaning and patching up another grown man just to hand him over?"
Ali tossed the bottle, and Sirius barely managed to catch it.
“Just to clarify, I used a cleansing charm and only magic to clean you up and replace your clothes. Anyway, my leader should be here this afternoon. Until then, we wait.”
Sirius let out a small chuckle, probably the first real one he had in years.
His eyes then settled on the small bottle in his hand. He had to admit, if these people wanted to kill him or hand him over to the Ministry, they wouldn’t need to go through all this trouble. So with that thought, he uncorked the vial and drank it down in one gulp.
---
The clock on the wall kept ticking, its hands circling steadily, and before long, three hours had passed. The two men now sat in the middle of the room, where the bed had vanished—most likely transfigured—and a table with a chessboard had taken its place. They faced each other in silence, eyes on the pieces, until the quiet was broken by the sound of the door opening.
Both men turned their heads at the same time and saw Maverick step into the room. He closed the door behind him and walked over, a mildly amused expression on his face as he took in the sight before him.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, conjuring a chair and settling into it before either of them could respond. Ali moved slightly as if to stand, but Maverick waved a hand, signaling him to stay seated.
“Sirius Black,” Maverick then addressed the fugitive, who looked like he had far too many things to say. “I imagine you have quite a few questions.”
“You think?” he asked rhetorically.
“Good,” Maverick said, then added in the same breath, “Keep them to yourself…”
Maverick glanced at him briefly, ignoring the visible irritation on his face while noting the change. The neatly trimmed beard and cleaner appearance... in other words, he no longer looked like a beggar.
Then he turned to Ali.
"Has he been taking the potions?"
Ali nodded. "One Rejuvenation Potion every six hours, and a Calming Draught every twelve."
Maverick gave a short hum then turned to Sirius again. "I’ll get straight to the point then. Two nights ago, after you passed out, I went to the Weasleys, found Peter Pettigrew, and captured him. He’s locked up now in a secure cage that I personally enchanted, and he won’t be seeing the light of day until I hand him over to the Aurors."
The moment the rat’s name was mentioned, Sirius's face visibly twisted into fury. But just as he was about to launch into a rant, Maverick snapped his fingers, and his mouth clamped shut.
"Listen while I speak, Mr. Black," Maverick leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "The rat is caged and will remain so until I say otherwise... which will be in a couple of months when I hand him over to the Aurors. However," he paused and leaned back again, "I can let you vent... allow you to remove the rest of the rat's toes if you must... all that, of course, if you’re willing to cooperate."
He snapped his fingers again, and Sirius found he could speak. His chest rose and fell as he worked to calm himself.
“Why not just kill him? What’s the point of keeping that traitorous garbage alive?”
Maverick shook his head. The resentment coming off Sirius at every mention of Pettigrew was just overwhelming.
"Peter Pettigrew is useful to me alive... That is all you need to know."
Sirius clicked his tongue. He had heard those exact words more than once now. "Then why are you helping me?"
Maverick smiled, finally getting to the point. "Two reasons."
He raised two fingers.
"First, your godson, Harry Potter, is my student. Not just any student, but someone I mentor personally."
"If you go and kill Pettigrew like a moron, you lose your only chance to clear your name. That means Potter grows up without any magical relatives. And worse, because you never cleared your name, he’ll grow up resenting you."
Maverick held his gaze. "Now, you might be thinking... why does that matter to me?"
He answered his own question. "It doesn’t. Not really. But since Harry Potter is my student, if he ever finds out the truth about you, the first person he’ll come to is me. He’ll ask why I didn’t help, even though I knew everything."
"In other words, I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing it for myself... and for him."
Sirius listened in silence. His expression changed slightly as the reasoning began to sink in, though the killing intent for Pettigrew still lingered in his eyes. But at the same time, deep down, he truly wanted to be there for little Harry. And for that, he knew he would have to swallow his anger. At least for now.
"And the second reason?"
"The second reason," Maverick’s smile returned, "is because you—or rather, a place only you know—has something I want."
Sirius couldn’t help but curl a disdainful smile. Of course, he thought. Maybe it was the dog’s brain in him that jumped to conclusions, but he immediately assumed that Maverick's real aim had something to do with the Black family inheritance.
"And what, pray tell, does your Majesty want from my house? The gold? Our dusty old library?"
Maverick’s natural expression also faded. He caught a glimpse of the man’s surface thoughts—ridiculous—and his brows drew together in a frown.
"Careful, Black," he said coldly. "I’ve shown a lot of patience towards your continuous disrespect..."
His magic rippled through the room, making the lights flicker and the temperature drop sharply. Sirius’s smirk vanished as he felt the raw power settle over him like a dagger pressed to his throat, and he realized he had overstepped... again.
Then... that feeling vanished just as quickly as it had come.
Maverick now looked at him, not like someone he wanted to help, but like a man dealing with a tool he had to tolerate. His eyes turned indifferent as he said, “What I need is at your old family home. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place...”
Sirius took a breath and looked at him, trying to keep calm. "I know the place. When do you want to go?"
He had more questions—like what could possibly interest an Archmage in that crumbling old house—but he kept quiet and swallowed them all. He had already messed things up once and didn’t want to make it any worse. He knew himself well enough to recognize how often he shot his bloody mouth off exactly when he should have stayed quiet.
"Tonight," Maverick said as he stood up. He glanced at Ali, who had been sitting there quietly, just observing, and gave him a nod. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room.
Once the door shut behind him, Sirius let out a long breath.
"You should listen to his advice, Mr. Black. He’s showing you a great deal of patience."
Sirius gave a wry smile and waved a hand.
"I’ll... try to behave."
Ali gave no further comment, got to his feet, and walked toward the door as well. He did feel sympathy for the man and could understand that his head might not be in the right place just yet. That was the only reason he didn’t reprimand him for disrespecting Maverick, but he also made a mental note that this would be the last time. Anyone disrespecting Maverick would have to face his claws.
"I’ll be back in an hour," he said, then went out to pick up something to eat for the two of them.
2025-07-06 16:36:14 +0000 UTC
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Maverick wasn’t just listening—throughout the entire conversation, he had also been skimming the broken man’s surface thoughts and quietly reading his emotions with his Magical Sense as well.
Sure, he remembered how the events had played out in the original story… but at the end of the day, that was still just a story.
Reality—especially in a universe as much of a chaotic mess as this one—could very well turn out differently. That was exactly why he had made Sirius recall everything for him, just to be sure.
Fortunately, things had lined up more or less the way he remembered. And now… he could finally begin the next phase of his plans.
“You are… a pitiful man, Sirius Black. Brave, sure—taking Azkaban on the chin for choosing Pettigrew, knowing it got your friends killed. But let’s be honest… it was also foolish. You never stopped to think the rat might’ve escaped… which should’ve been obvious if you’d even entertained the thought.”
“Or you could’ve at least exposed him. Brought some kind of justice for the Potters—who you’ve claimed time and time again were your closest companions. But instead… you let your guilt bury you. You hid behind your grief and called it penance.”
“You’re a coward too, Sirius Black. A brave man… who ran.”
Hahaha.
Sirius let out a hysterical laugh, loud and broken. Even Maverick’s Patronus, which had been quietly calming him until now, was beginning to lose its effect.
“Yes… I’m a coward. A bloody coward who ran instead of facing it all. A coward who let his best friend’s son grow up in a Muggle shithole, never knowing the truth. I knew it… I know it… but so what?”
“What can change now, huh? What’s left to fix? They’re dead. James… Lily… all gone. And I—”
He tugged at the restraints, growing wilder with every word that left his mouth.
“I just ran. Like a useless, gutless fool. So yeah… call me whatever the fuck you want... I don’t bloody care anymore!”
“My heart…” he growled, yanking hard at the ropes again. The bindings held firm, causing the chair to creak and nearly tip over.
“My heart only wants revenge now! Now that I know the rat’s alive—killing that son of a bitch is the only thing keeping me breathing! You hear me, you condescending little fuck? Let me go!”
His eyes turned bloodshot as he thrashed against the restraints, yanking over and over, desperate to break free. His voice rose to a raw, broken scream.
“Let me fucking go! I want to kill the bastard who got my friends killed! I want to kill—”
Then… a quiet sob slipped out.
Just moments ago, he had been thrashing in his chair, screaming for blood, his eyes wild and furious. Then, as if a switch had been flipped, his fury cracked.
Maverick, even with his overpowered Magical Sense, found it difficult to grasp the barrage of emotions pouring off him. The little sanity Sirius had left was crumbling like a demolished building—and it was happening at an alarming rate.
The broken man’s whole body slumped as though the fight had drained out of him all at once. The ropes held firm, yet he no longer struggled against them. His breath hitched. A second sob followed the first, and then another.
“Let me go.
Just… let me go and…”
Maverick watched the man break down and let out a quiet sigh. It was time to end the interrogation.
He exhaled slowly, then flicked his finger, and Sirius Black went limp, unconscious in an instant. Another flick, and the ropes vanished, leaving the broken man to slump out of the chair—but just before he hit the ground, a soft mattress formed beneath him, cushioning the fall.
Grrrr.
With a low growl, Ali—who had been silently watching the whole time—also moved. His form shrank, then morphed into his human self as he stepped toward the unconscious body.
“Do you feel sympathy for him?” Maverick asked from behind.
“Yes...” Ali didn’t hesitate. “But like you said, boss... he’s a coward who ran. At the same time, that doesn’t erase the fact that he’s still an innocent man who’s suffered far too long.”
Maverick tugged a brief smile at his friend’s straightforwardness. He stood up, and the chair behind him vanished as he too walked over to Sirius, and then crouched down beside him.
Ali watched silently as Maverick retrieved a vial from his storage ring, and then placed a finger against the unconscious man's forehead.
After a few quiet minutes, wisps of silvery substance began to rise from Sirius Black’s head, almost like drifting smoke. With calm precision, Ali observed as his leader guided the strands into the vial before sealing it shut with practiced ease.
“Clean him up and take him to a guest room. Let him rest, and give him a few rejuvenation potions while you’re at it,” Maverick said, rising from his crouch. “But don’t leave him alone—not even for a second.”
He gave Ali a brief pat on the shoulder as he passed, heading for the room’s only door.
Maverick could, of course, end it all right now if he wanted to—take the memories, capture the rat, hand it over to the Ministry, and effectively reopen the case for Black. He had more than enough influence now in the Wizengamot to ensure that Fudge, or any other idiot, wouldn’t be able to sweep the case under the rug to save face.
But it can’t happen now. Maverick needs Fudge to mess up badly enough before he takes action. Besides, the one who would make that happen would be Greengrass, not him.
As for the rat, he planned to capture it tonight—without the Weasleys ever knowing a thing. Letting that garbage run free any longer was no longer necessary. Until the time came to use it, he would keep the coward locked up and miserable.
Passing through a couple of doors, he stepped out onto an empty street in Hogsmeade Village. This was just one of the many properties he had purchased and converted into a safe house.
It was nearly midnight, and not a soul was in sight. Then, a soft pop later, he vanished with the destination clear in his mind: the Burrow.
---
Half an hour later, he hovered over the Weasleys’ property, peering down at the peaceful—though somehow oddly unsettling—house. Or building, really, whatever it was. And next to him, a cage held an unconscious, scruffy brown-furred rat with a missing toe.
It was hardly a challenge. Finding the rat, knocking it unconscious, and securing it in a cage took only a matter of minutes. As for how he got inside and past the wards—well, the house barely had any to begin with. The few in place were nothing more than simple Muggle-repellent charms and basic intruder alarms.
For someone like him, they were little more than a mild inconvenience, easily slipped past without so much as a whisper.
Next, with a soft pop, he vanished once more—this time reappearing above the Greengrass family estate. Tonight’s events, which had originally been planned for a much later date, had forced an early change. Several adjustments would now have to be made to the careful blueprint he had drawn up for the year ahead.
Precisely, it was about freeing Sirius Black and, at the same time, dismantling Cornelius Fudge’s political power. And since Greengrass would be the one leading that charge, Maverick had come to inform him of the necessary adjustments—and deliver precise instructions.
---
Inside the Greengrass Lord’s private study.
Jameson Greengrass sat across from Maverick, dressed in loose evening robes, staring in disbelief at the scruffy brown rat curled up inside a small cage on the desk between them.
“So this is Pettigrew? The ‘brave’ wizard who ‘sacrificed’ himself to stop the ‘mass murderer,’ Sirius Black?” he asked dryly, sounding far from surprised.
Of course, he was already aware that Sirius Black was very likely innocent, and that Pettigrew was still alive as Maverick had told him everything long ago.
By now, Lord Greengrass was a firm believer that Maverick was a powerful Seer, especially since many of his predictions had already come true.
“Yes,” Maverick nodded. “Look after the rat for me. He can’t transform or break out—I’ve placed strong enchantments on the cage. Just make sure he’s fed so he doesn’t starve. Also, the rat doesn’t know I’m the one who captured him, so you can follow the original script I gave you. When the time is right, hand him over to Bones.”
“And what about Black?” the older man inquired.
“Black’s situation is... a bit complicated. But one way or another, I’ll get him to follow the plan too.” Maverick sighed, thinking back to what had happened earlier tonight.
Yes, Black also had a role to play in his roadmap, but the man needed to be sane for it. Still, he was confident he could bring Black on board, so he brushed the thought aside for now.
“What’s Fudge’s plan for catching him?” Maverick leaned back slightly.
Lord Greengrass smirked at the question. “That insufferable fool wants to flood Hogwarts with Dementors, convinced Black will make a move on the Potter boy. Many have raised objections, but stubborn as he is, he’s determined to catch the escapee—regardless of the chaos it might unleash.”
“What a moron,” Maverick muttered with a sneer. He couldn’t fathom what on earth gave Fudge the confidence to think he could completely control the Dementors.
“Well, stick to the plan. But because of this,” he said, nodding toward the cage, “a few changes need to happen.”
Maverick then laid out to Lord Greengrass the steps he needed to take over the coming months—things he had already been told before, but now with a few adjustments, mostly about when to act in response to certain news.
It wasn’t much—just a few key points—and in under ten minutes, he covered everything on his mind.
“Remember, don’t let anyone know about the rat until the time is right,” Maverick said as a final remark.
Just as he was about to get up, he heard the older man speak—hesitantly.
“Leader, there’s a tiny nuisance who’s been nosing around our people lately. One of Fudge’s.”
Maverick raised an eyebrow. “If it’s so little, why bring it to me?”
Lord Greengrass sighed. “It is little, but a persistent nuisance. Are you familiar with Dolores Umbridge?”
“Umbridge? Fudge’s secretary?”
“Yes. She’s been poking around, trying to figure out who’s backing us—asking questions, making vague threats to some of our members. Thankfully, none of them are part of our inner circle, so she hasn’t gotten anything. Still, it’s a damn nuisance.”
Maverick narrowed his eyes in thought for a moment before finally standing up. It was well past midnight, and he didn’t want to stick around any longer than necessary with a grown-ass man.
“You can handle such trivial matters yourself, Jameson,” he said with clear displeasure. It was, after all, a small issue—one that a man leading a major faction within the Wizengamot should be more than capable of handling on his own.
Maverick then waved his hand in a slow circle, and a glowing portal shimmered into existence before him.
Lord Greengrass’s heart thumped as he sensed his leader’s displeasure. And now that he thought about it, such a minor issue really shouldn’t have been brought to the highest level in the first place.
“My deepest apologies, Leader. Such incompetence on my part will not be repeated,” he said quickly, bowing his head as Maverick stepped into the portal—though no response came.
That was, until just before the portal closed.
Maverick’s voice echoed through the room, cold and sharp, sending a chill of regret down Greengrass’s spine.
“If you need me to step on ants for you, Jameson, you don’t belong in that seat.”
2025-07-04 13:20:30 +0000 UTC
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“Why don’t you start by telling me what really happened that day... when you, 'apparently,' blew up half a Muggle block and took a dozen lives in the process?”
That... day?
Sirius Black blinked, a little taken aback by the unexpected question. He braced himself to be asked about the Black family fortune, or maybe some dusty old secrets from his ancient family’s library—but never did he expect to be asked about the most regretful period of his life.
Why does this young man want to know about that time? Am I really wrong to think he isn’t just after the Black family’s wealth or secrets?
“Why?” he asked, unable to hold the thought.
He didn’t realize it yet, but for the first time in a long while, his frantic, half-mad mind—worn down by years of suffering—had settled enough for him to think clearly, before the madness could push him into reckless actions. Unbeknownst to him, a faint, whitish halo-like aura surrounded him, an invisible calm that was exactly why his racing thoughts had quieted for the moment.
The Patronus Charm, at the advanced level, gave Maverick many insights into the spell's versatile uses—not just as a mere insect repellent, i.e., Dementors—and what was happening to Sirius now was one such example.
In addition to making someone feel emotionally uplifted, the Patronus Charm could also, with subtle adjustments, calm a person’s emotions—much like the Draught of Peace or a Calming Draught, which are used to relieve anxiety, agitation, and mild depression. Of course, that’s not all it can do... but that’s a matter for another time.
“Like I said earlier, I know about a certain rodent who’s supposed to be dead... but is very much alive. I only found out recently. And the funny thing is—you just so happened to escape Azkaban right around the same time. Strange, isn’t it?”
“I didn’t think that was a coincidence... Pettigrew, alive, and the man who supposedly killed him just so happened to escape Azkaban. How did you find out he was still breathing, anyway?”
“I saw the rat on the news,” Sirius eyes flashed with loathing. “Not many know his Animagus form, but I’d never forget that filthy little traitor.”
Maverick hummed thoughtfully. Of course, he already knew that. Or at least, he had guessed—pulled from memories of the original story. Still, it was good to confirm that the plots hadn’t changed too much.
Fate… what a terrifying thing. Even in a world so different—and with himself as the butterfly—it seemed some invisible hand was quietly correcting the ripples.
“I see,” he murmured, brushing aside the shivering thoughts clawing at the edge of his mind. “Anyway—back to your little question. Since Potter happens to be my student, I figured, I should learn more about the case... hence, why we’re all here now.”
His gaze then sharpened.
“Now, Black… if you tell the truth... and believe me, I’ll know if you’re not... I’m willing to help clear your name. But if you really are the criminal the world believes you to be…”
His eyes flicked briefly to the beast beside him.
“…Then I’ll feed you to my friend right here without a second thought.”
At his words, Ali—still in his monstrous form—grinned, wolfishly. Literally. His menacing pupils thinned into narrow slits as he loomed beside the young man, glaring straight at Sirius.
The veteran prisoner of the most dreadful prison visibly paled.
By Morgana’s rotting knickers… what kind of two-faced lunatic is this? Sirius cursed inwardly, a cold sweat breaking across his back. One moment the kid sounded like a proper bloke—rational, calm, even weirdly charming. And the next… a bloody psychopath, all smiles and threats like they were the same thing.
Swallowing a dry mouthful of saliva, Sirius turned his gaze from the talking pet demon to the young man. He sighed dejectedly, then, as his mind drifted back to that long-buried day, he finally prepared to speak.
But first, he needed to clear a doubt swirling in his mind. Steadying his racing thoughts, he said, “I’ll tell you everything. But first... could you please explain why, since you’re my godson’s teacher and a professor at Hogwarts, you haven’t caught that rat yet? Surely a mage of your caliber wouldn’t find it difficult.”
Maverick curled a smile. “I have use for the rat. It’ll be caught when the time’s right, and that’s all you need to know for now.”
Sirius’s eyes narrowed. “Use? Aren’t you worried that a murderer's hiding in plain sight with the Weasleys?”
“I said, Black...” Maverick narrowed his eyes, flaring his magic toward the haggard man, making the air grow heavy and tense. “Don’t make me lose my patience.”
“It’s been living with the Weasleys for over a decade now... so a little more time won’t make much difference. It’ll be caught soon enough. And besides, it’s only your word that he’s a murderer. So you’d better start talking—and convince me otherwise.”
Sirius Black suddenly found it hard to breathe. For the first time, he felt a glimpse of this boy, no, this Archmage’s unfathomable magic.
Strong. Ridiculously strong. Even his late father, a Greatmage before he was killed, had never radiated pressure close to what he was feeling now. And he had a sinking feeling this was only a fraction of a fraction of what this kid was truly capable of.
But just as that pressure came, making him feel as if his insides were gripped by an invisible hand, it vanished, allowing him to catch his breath. He took a few gasps, nodded reluctantly, and finally, began to tell his story.
He sighed.
“It all started after I became the Secret-Keeper of the Fidelius Charm for my best friend’s home, during Halloween of 1981… back when that mad fuck was terrorizing everyone.”
Basically, it was pretty much aligned with the original story Maverick remembered—Sirius had convinced James and Lily to switch the Secret-Keeper to Pettigrew, believing he was the least suspicious choice and that it would throw Voldemort off their trail.
He regrettably recalled never realizing that the rat had already been serving the Dark Lord.
What happened next was that Pettigrew revealed the Potters’ location in Godric’s Hollow to Voldemort. The Dark Lord went there himself, killed James and Lily… but when he tried to kill baby Harry, the Killing Curse rebounded and destroyed him instead.
Sirius, still unaware of Peter’s betrayal, rushed to Godric’s Hollow after hearing the news. He found the house in ruins, James and Lily dead… and Harry, somehow, miraculously alive.
He handed Harry over to Hagrid, who had been sent by Dumbledore, trusting the half-giant to take the boy to safety.
It was only afterward that he finally realized the truth—Pettigrew had betrayed them. The Potters’ location had only been known to him. And by the time the realization struck, it was already too late... as he regretfully recalled.
Next, he remembered tracking Peter down on a Muggle street—and confronting him.
“The damn traitor...” Sirius muttered with disgust. “After I cornered him, he started shouting nonsense. At the time, I didn’t think much of it... but now I realize... it was all to fake his own death.”
He spat to the floor with a sharp ptoo! and went on bitterly.
“He screamed accusations... loud, clear, pointing the finger at me. Framed me for betraying my best friend.”
“Then the rat, filthy coward that he is, uses a Blasting Hex... kills a dozen Muggles on the spot... then has the gall to slice off his own bloody finger, leave it there like some sick trophy.”
He gave a harsh, humorless laugh. “All of it... just to make it look like he died.”
“In reality,” he muttered, venom rising in his throat, “he turned tail, changed into that damned rat form and vanished in the smoke. And just like that, I became the murderer. Pettigrew dead, Muggles dead, and me standing there... the perfect scapegoat.”
“The Ministry people arrived not long after. I remember laughing hysterically amid the wreckage… at Peter, someone I had once considered a friend, for his cruel betrayal.”
“I was heartbroken. In truth, I blamed… no, I still blame myself, at least partly, for my best friends’ deaths.”
“My mind was a mess that day. That’s why I never denied being guilty—of betraying the Potters, of murdering Peter Pettigrew, of killing those Muggles. I was the only one there capable of such, so naturally, I became the prime suspect. On top of that, some witnesses heard the rat shouting, blaming everything on me.”
“With all that stacked against me, I was sent to Azkaban… without a trial—not that one was offered, nor did I care back then.”
“And that’s where I spent the last twelve years.”
2025-07-04 13:19:49 +0000 UTC
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Woof! Woof! Woof!
Sirius Black—currently in his Animagus form as a large black English Mastiff—could swear that not even the soul-sucking horrors of Azkaban had startled him this badly.
And that was saying something.
His Animagus form had always granted him heightened senses, enough to detect the presence of nearby magical or non-magical beings, no matter how stealthy they tried to be. That ability had helped him stay at least partially sane in that cursed prison, avoiding the Dementors’ attention by remaining a dog, and thus, avoiding their dreaded Kiss.
But apparently, none of that mattered in front of this man.
Sirius was sure—absolutely sure—that he had seen the young man get into a Muggle car and drive off moments ago.
So why was he crouching beside him now, as if they were bloody acquaintances?
Woof. Woof. Woof.
"I truly hope that’s not you cursing at me, Mr. Black," said the young man.
He smiled, and Merlin’s saggy left sock—that smile looked more dangerous than a swarm of Dementors. Sirius wanted nothing more than to bolt. Especially after hearing that last part.
How in Merlin’s balls does he know it’s me?!
Did that bastard Pettigrew sell me out that badly? Did the rat even spill our Animagus secrets from school?
Damn it!
Woof. Woof.
And with that grim thought, Sirius turned tail—literally—and bolted toward the woods, sprinting as fast as his four legs could carry him.
Branches whipped past him. The cool night air roared in his ears as he ran, four limbs pounding the earth, not daring to stop or look back.
He might be a little insane after all those years locked away in that dark, soul-sucking cell—but he wasn’t stupid. Even a brain-dead fool wouldn’t be dumb enough to take on an Archmage.
At first, when he saw the headlines in the paper, he thought it was nonsense. Sensationalist drivel. But after breaking out and coming here to check on his godson, he discovered that little Harry had been traveling around with one of his professors.
Curious, he lingered. Listened. The Dursleys mentioned the name in passing, and it rang a bell. So he dug deeper—stole a few older newspapers, scoured the archives from dustbins and alleys, and slowly, it all fell into place.
That same young man he had seen in the news months ago… really was an Archmage. If it had only been one article, he might have dismissed it. But they were everywhere—story after story, each more outrageous than the last—yet all circling back to the same name.
There was no doubt anymore.
Huff. Huff. Huff.
He ran—fast, desperate—driven by the singular thought of escape. In his mind, that young man must have discovered him. And surely, as Harry’s professor, he would not allow a dangerous fugitive to roam free after being exposed—especially when that fugitive’s so-called crime was directly connected to Harry himself.
False as the accusations may have been, Sirius had no doubt that the world now saw him as the Dark Lord’s most loyal follower.
Ridiculous!
Unfortunately, he could not change that. What had happened, had happened. Nobody believed him back then, so why would anyone believe him now?
But even so, he could not afford to be caught. Not now.
Not before he found him.
Not before he took his revenge.
No way. No way.
But the moment he broke through the trees on the other side, the hound skidded to a halt, and the dog’s eyes widened with disbelief.
He was back.
It was the same stretch of road. The same night air. And standing in the exact same spot was that same young man, hands in his pockets, watching him with a faint, amused smile.
What the hell is going on?
With that thought, and without wasting a second more, the dog spun around and bolted back into the woods.
Huff. Huff. Huff.
He zigzagged through the trees, faster, sharper turns this time, trying to escape whatever trick was being played on him. But when he burst through another opening—
Woof! Woof! Woof!
—there he was back again. That same young man, waiting like he hadn’t moved an inch.
Panic welled up in Sirius’s chest.
What in Merlin’s name is happening?!
His heart pounded harder as he sprinted back, faster than before—but once again, he found himself at the same spot.
Again. And again. And again. No matter which path he took through the woods, he always emerged in the same place.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
“What the bloody hell have you done to me?”
Woof! Woof! Woof!
Realizing he was caught in some kind of magic beyond his understanding, the hound barked frantically at the young man, who still stood there calmly, watching as if all this was a game.
“Leave me alone, dammit! Leave me alone!”
Woof! Woof! Woof!
His mind raced while panic clawed at his chest as his brain frantically tried to find a way out... but then, all of a sudden, his head began to feel heavy.
His thoughts tangled, and the sight in front of him felt like it was... tilting, ever so slightly.
His head jerked from side to side—quick at first—then slower... and slower, as the heavy feeling turned into a strange drowsiness, creeping over him like a fog, swallowing his senses whole.
His breathing slowed.
“What have... you...” he mumbled, now barely conscious, until—
“The... ra... rat...”
His voice trailed off into silence.
---
Haaaah!
The sound of a sharp inhale, followed by frantic, uneven breathing, echoed through the air.
Where... am I?
Sirius Black opened his eyes, taking in a dim, shadowy space surrounded by nothing but cold walls. Confusion gnawed at him as he struggled to piece together what was happening.
Did I pass out?
His gaze dropped to his body, and then a cold, harsh realization hit him.
No... I was captured.
He looked down at the thick ropes firmly binding him to the chair.
Uhh... uhh...
He strained against the bindings, but the ropes held strong and didn’t budge an inch.
Panic rising in his chest, he reached inward, desperate to trigger his Animagus transformation. If he could just change forms, maybe he could slip free of the restraints.
But—nothing.
It wasn’t that it was difficult. It wasn’t working at all. His body simply refused to change.
His heart pounded harder, and a cold weight settled in his gut. The transformation that had once come as easily as breathing seems completely out of reach. His animagus magic... was unresponsive.
He yanked at the ropes harder as more desperation fueled his movements until-
“You better stop... unless you want to break those already very fragile bones of yours.”
A calm voice from ahead made him pause and snap his head in that direction.
There, standing just a few feet in front of him, was that young man, looking down at him indifferently.
“It’s you!”
Uhh... uh...
He struggled harder, the thought of returning to prison without taking his revenge flooding his mind.
“Let me go, boy!”
His voice was rough, and coupled with his sunken eyes and skeletal frame, he looked like a ghost barely holding on to what was left of his sanity.
“Let me go!” he barked, yanking at the ropes with twitchy, frantic movements. “Let me go, and I’ll give you... galleons—yes! You want gold? I’ve got gold! You know who I am, don’t you?” His eyes darted wildly. “Release me! I’ll only kill that rat—and you can bury me alive in that godforsaken prison for all I care!”
“Is it Pettigrew? The pet of the Weasley family?” Maverick conjured a simple chair and lowered himself onto it.
“Yes, yes... that rat. That fucking traitorous piece of garbage—”
“Wait... how do you know the rat lives with the Weasleys?”
Sirius narrowed his bloodshot eyes.
“Are you one of that mad fucker’s followers too? You and that rat in the same boat? Huh?”
He yanked and twisted against the chair, growing more frenzied with every scream.
Thud!
Thud!
“Answer me, bastard! Why are you so close to James’s boy?! You sons of bitches—was it not enough to murder the kid’s parents?! What dark schemes are you lot planning now?!”
Thud!
Thud!
Grrrrrrr…
“What the fuck is making that ruckus—”
In the middle of his outburst, he snapped his head toward the source of the heavy, trembling stomps and low growls. The sounds were grating on his already frayed nerves, each thud and growl increasing his irritation—but when he actually saw it, his sunken eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.
Grrrrrr…
It was a monster. Familiar—like his friend, Remus—yet not. No… this wasn’t like the creature in his memory. This was something else entirely.
Then, something even more bizarre happened—something that sent a shiver through his fragile body.
The towering beast, easily twice his full height, leaned down. Its massive head lowered until its snout was inches from his face.
Gulp.
Sirius swallowed, mouth dry as parchment, dreading what might come next.
Sssssss...
The monster leaned in and gave him a long, deliberate sniff—like it was savoring the moment before the inevitable.
But then, it suddenly recoiled, letting out a sharp snort of hot air, as if it had just inhaled something foul.
Then it straightened to its full height, glanced at the young man standing ahead, and… spoke. Actually, spoke.
Its voice was like grinding stone—cold, heavy, and inhuman. Like a demon dragged up from the depths of the underworld.
"He reeks of rot... I won’t eat him. My stomach's not that desperate.
But if he refuses to answer... I’ll start snapping bones, one by one. Slowly."
Sirius Black sat petrified, wide-eyed and utterly terrified. Hearing that the beast wouldn’t eat him at first made him breathe a small sigh of relief. But then, seeing the clear disgust in its eyes, he wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved... or, something else.
Still, it seemed there was no way to escape this place. And from what the beast had just said, they wanted something from him.
Was it information about something… or secrets of the Black family?
He watched as the beast thudded its heavy feet and strode past him toward the young man, then stood behind him like an obedient subordinate, waiting for instruction.
The prisoner of Azkaban was terrified.
Sure, Dementors there no longer made him flinch—he had grown used to them, fooled them into thinking he was nothing more than a dog. But this was the first time he was a prisoner in a situation where, he believed, pure, unrelenting torture awaited him. After all, why else would there be a monster here waiting to eat him if he didn’t cooperate?
And speaking of cooperation, Sirius thought, if I satisfy them by giving everything I can from the Black family they want, maybe I could go free?
His mind raced with all sorts of possibilities as a heavy silence settled over the room. He was certain this young man desired something tied to the Black family—riches, or perhaps knowledge. Yes, his ancestral family’s library must hold some precious, valuable books.
“Fine. What do you want?” he finally asked, his gaze fixed on the young Archmage sitting there so leisurely.
Maverick tugged at the corner of his mouth, a faint smile appearing. Seeing the man finally calm down a bit, he thought to himself that bringing Ali along for an initial scare had been a good choice.
2025-07-03 18:31:53 +0000 UTC
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“How is it? Do you feel any different?”
Inside one of the private chambers of the underground base, Maverick stood beside Sarah, both watching Ali, who lay resting on a narrow bed surrounded by a softly humming mix of magical and electronic monitors.
It had been half an hour since Ali drank the potion meant to rid him of the lycanthropy curse. The result wasn’t exactly a cure—more of an alternative—but all things considered, the outcome wasn’t bad at all.
Ali let out a long, weary breath and gave a slow nod. “Just tired. I haven’t felt this drained since... well, ever.”
Nearby, Sarah was hunched over a piece of parchment, scribbling with quick, uneven strokes. “Expected,” she muttered, then glanced up at one of the monitors and gave a small nod, more to herself than anyone else.
Maverick glanced between the two, "doctor" and "patient," as Ali answered all of Sarah’s questions.
And he was also aware that Ali was running on fumes—not just from how haggard he looked, but because his magical sense picked up almost nothing… as if the man’s reserves were bone-dry. Dangerously so.
“Is this going to happen every time he transforms?” he asked, brow furrowed.
Sarah shook her head and tucked the parchment and quill back into her storage ring before moving over to check another instrument. “No. The test subjects only experienced this kind of exhaustion after the first transformation. The body’s gone through a complete rework, you see—magic, biology, the whole lot. But that’s all done now, and the next transformations will be quick and painless. Just like an Animagus. No agony, no crawling around with broken bones. Just—snap—and it’s done.”
Maverick gave a small nod, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It was reassuring to know that his friend would no longer have to endure painful moons, or madness, or the constant risk of losing control.
“Well, my friend,” he said, patting Ali’s arm gently, “get some rest for now. Once you’re back on your feet, we’ll run a few more checks, then... well, we’ll talk about it then.”
Ali mumbled a tired "Thank you" before sleep took him, and a moment later, he was out cold, soft snores rising from the bed.
Sarah chuckled. “You haven’t congratulated him on the other thing yet.”
Maverick shrugged and smiled. "Later. Once he's awake and in better condition." He then turned to her with another matter. "Anyway, teacher... let’s talk about the potion. Can it be mass-produced or not?"
Sarah sighed, long and loud, folding her arms. “I knew you’d ask me that,” she said. “Unfortunately, no. The potion needs Greyback’s bloodline factor to work, and we burned through most of it during testing. What little we have left isn’t nearly enough to mass produce.”
“Then what about the other potion?”
“That one’s doable.” She shrugged. “It can indeed be mass produced and doesn’t require rare ingredients.”
Maverick crossed his arms and fell into thought. It wasn’t ideal, but... it was something. At least, a better choice than the Wolfsbane of today.
“Let’s work with it,” he said at last. “We’ll put it out there, announce the side effects and all. I’m sure there will be many who’d choose to rid themselves of the lycanthropy curse, even at the cost of their magic. Most werewolves—like my friend here when I first met him—just want their lives back.”
They continued discussing the arrangements—how and when to make it public—and even brought in their teacher, Edward, for his input. A remedy that could cure lycanthropy was bound to send shockwaves through the wizarding world, and they couldn’t afford to take the matter lightly.
---
Time passed.
By early August, three weeks had flown by in the blink of an eye, and now, less than a month remained before the new academic year started.
Maverick spent most of that time at the underground base, splitting his attention between overseeing Harry and Hermione’s training and personally working with Ali.
Just a day after taking the potion, Ali was well enough to stand tall again, and Sarah fully discharged him into Maverick’s care. The first thing Maverick did was congratulate him on reaching the rank of Greatmage. After that, he personally and thoroughly tested Ali’s werewolf transformation, confirming that the beast was completely under Ali’s control.
Moreover, just as Sarah had predicted, the change was instantaneous and painless—no different from an Animagus transformation. From man to beast and back again, he could control it effortlessly, and Maverick finally let go of his last remaining worries for his friend.
And since Ali was now officially a Greatmage, Maverick planned to make him his official thug… cough, right-hand man. Up until now, Ali had been managing Maverick’s growing empire mostly in name, while Maverick himself had to step in whenever something required raw power. But that was no longer necessary.
Ali had the wits now—and the strength to match. Unless an Archmage decided to meddle and throw their weight around, there was very little he couldn’t handle. And Maverick was fairly certain that the upper circles of the magical world—namely, the Speakers—now knew better than to trouble him. After all, the display at his inauguration hadn’t been just for show. It had been a message, loud and clear.
In the weeks that followed, Maverick trained Ali personally, holding nothing back. He shared knowledge, passed down techniques, and offered the kind of experience that couldn’t be found in books—everything Ali would need to stabilize and grow into his newfound power.
It wouldn’t all settle in at once, of course, but with Maverick’s support, the path forward would be far smoother and faster than it would’ve been otherwise.
By the first week of August, Ali returned to London—rested, recharged, and stronger than ever in both power and magic. He was more than ready to take up the mantle of leadership. With that settled, Maverick turned his attention back to Harry and Hermione, who were also now getting ready to return home.
Even though he had spent most of his time with Ali, he hadn’t forgotten about them, and would stop by to check on their progress as well.
The two kids had grown remarkably—fitting, really, for the son of luck and his sidekick in the original story.
The training sessions—especially the mock duels against Edward’s students—had sharpened their skills to a fine edge. The instructors here were no less capable than Hogwarts professors, and arguably had more real-world experience in dueling.
So even though Maverick hadn’t personally given them pointers during practice these past few weeks, their progress—and the time they spent here—was far from wasted.
Maverick was confident now. If they had to stand toe-to-toe with NEWT-level Hogwarts students, they could hold their own—and then some.
The summer had been long and intense, but also productive. From learning sorcery at Kamar Taj to managing Jean’s orientation, and dealing with Ali’s beastly problem while organizing training for the two kids—it had been a very successful couple of months.
There were, of course, a few things Maverick had planned to do with the Gryffindor duo that he hadn’t managed because of the unexpected situation with Ali, which had demanded most of Maverick’s attention.
Still, Harry and Hermione seemed quite satisfied with their visit and even appeared to have made a few new friends.
But now, it was time to head back. Only three weeks remained until school started, and the kids still hadn’t bought their supplies for their third year. That was plenty of time, though, and Maverick didn’t need to accompany them for that.
So, the day after Ali left, Maverick drove Harry and Hermione back to London. After dropping Hermione off, he drove normally the rest of the way to the Dursleys’ home on Privet Drive.
By the time they arrived, it was around seven in the evening. The sun had long since set, and the clear summer sky was dotted with stars.
“Are you going with your aunt to get your supplies, or will you call the Weasleys to come with you?” Maverick asked, stopping at the doorstep of the Dursleys’ home.
Harry shrugged. “I’ll call Ron and ask if they can come pick me up. If not…”
“Why don’t you take your aunt?” Maverick suggested. “Show her around Diagon Alley. I mean, she’s trying—at least to make up for everything. And she’s your only close blood relative, the only person connecting you to your mother.”
Harry scratched the back of his head, seeming to consider the idea. “You think it’s a good idea, Professor?”
Maverick chuckled. “I just thought of it, but it’s your call. Don’t feel like you have to take my word for it. Like I said before, you get to decide whether to forgive her and her family or not.”
With that, he turned away and waved a hand. “Go on then, Potter. I’ve got something to take care of.”
The door shut behind him with a slight nudge from his magic before Harry could say anything. Maverick didn’t stop but made his way toward his Porsche and opened the door.
Just before getting in though, a smile tugged at his lips and his eyes darted momentarily toward the other side of the street, near a garbage bin.
There, he detected a subtle fluctuation of magic—so faint it could only be noticed by someone with a highly advanced magical sense.
One of the best advantages of being an Animagus was that in their transformed state, their magic became almost undetectable, blending perfectly with the real animal they mimicked. And right now, Maverick had just spotted such a case. He knew exactly who this ‘pretend old mutt’ was.
Sirius Black. A large black dog with gleaming eyes, alert and watchful.
And the dog—Black, at the moment—had its eyes fixed on the car and the man getting into it, thinking nothing was amiss and that his presence hadn’t been noticed.
Click!
He watched as the car door shut behind the young man, and a moment later, drove off down the street. The dog sat vigilantly, eyes fixed on the disappearing car—watching, always watching—with a flicker of madness glinting in their depths.
Though he had been suffering like a true animal in the depths of Azkaban, he hadn’t been completely cut off from the outside world.
For reasons he never quite understood, newspapers would occasionally be delivered even to the prison cells. Apparently, even criminals had to stay up to date on the major happenings in the wizarding world. Or was it something else? He thought about it but couldn’t come up with an answer.
But it was precisely because of that ridiculous luxury that, a few weeks ago, he had suddenly made the decision to escape.
He was a man who had long since given in to his situation—perhaps wrongly imprisoned, perhaps not. He wasn’t even sure he cared anymore. Not until recently, when he saw something in the news. Something that changed everything.
Pushing aside the grim thoughts, the black dog—Sirius Black—relaxed and turned his gaze back to the house. Through the lit window, he saw the boy he was most curious about.
Harry. He was seated at a table, and a woman—Sirius assumed it must be Lily’s sister—brought him a cup and sat down beside him. They spoke with easy smiles and calm expressions, the kind that suggested a rare kind of peace.
The dog tilted his head slightly, puzzled.
He remembered James telling him that Lily’s sister had been… difficult, to say the least. But judging by what he was seeing now, perhaps he had misunderstood. Or perhaps something had changed.
Whatever bitterness that may or may not have once existed between his best friend’s wife, Lily, and her Muggle sister didn’t seem, at the very least, to be affecting her son.
Prrr.
He rested his head on his paws, eyes still trained on the warm little scene playing out inside. It had been so long since he had felt anything like this. So long since he had let himself relax, even for a moment.
He couldn’t even remember the last time. But seeing Harry—his best friend’s son—safe, healthy, and smiling... it brought a quiet ache to his chest.
He wanted nothing more than to go to him. To walk up to the door, fall to his knees, and just say it—I’m sorry. Again and again, until the guilt no longer burned.
But of course, that was only a dream. A fleeting thought.
Reconciliation wasn’t part of his plan. He didn’t deserve it. Deep down, he had already decided that he was partially to blame for James and Lily’s deaths. No matter what others said. All he wanted now was to find the one who had truly betrayed them. To find him... and make him suffer.
Perhaps tomorrow, he thought. Tonight, I just want to watch.
“He looks happy, right?”
A calm voice spoke beside him.
Prrr. The dog let out a low sound and bobbed his head in quiet agreement.
Yes. James Junior looked happy... and he deserved to be even happier.
WAIT!
2025-07-02 14:14:20 +0000 UTC
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The wind rolled in steady from the sea, brushing over the cliffside and rustling the grass. Clouds hung low in the sky, casting a silver hue across the rugged landscape. Below, the ocean heaved with powerful swells, crashing against the base of the cliffs in a deep, distant rhythm.
Suddenly, the natural stillness was broken by a crackle of sparks and a sharp sizzling sound. A portal, edged with glowing orange light, tore open in the middle of the grassy stretch. From it, three figures stepped out onto the cliff—Maverick, Ali, and Sarah.
"I’ve never seen space magic that stable," Sarah remarked thoughtfully.
The moment she stepped out, she turned and started to observe the orange ring still sparking in the air. With a hum and a nod, she watched it shimmer for a few more seconds before vanishing without a trace.
"Hey..." she looked over her shoulder, already walking toward Maverick and Ali. "You have to teach me that someday."
"Someday, sure…" Maverick added with a chuckle. Then, getting back to the matter at hand, he asked, "Teacher, how does he take the potion? Any specific instructions?"
"Not really," Sarah said with a lazy shake of her head. "Just gobble the thing down… oh, and before that—" she turned to Ali with a slight grin, "maybe take a dozen steps back. Okay?"
Ali raised a brow but didn’t argue. He turned and walked until he was about twenty feet away, then stopped and faced back again.
“This must be the southernmost cliff, right?” Sarah asked Maverick while looking around the area.
“Yes,” Maverick nodded. Seeing her carefree demeanor, he couldn’t help but sigh. “Teacher, are you really sure there’s nothing else to prepare?”
“Don’t worry.” She nudged him lightly with her elbow. “We’ve tested it on a lot of... well, um... subjects. I’m confident it’ll work.”
Maverick studied her for a moment. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her—he did. It was simply concern for his friend. But knowing Sarah, and knowing she wouldn’t joke about something like this, he let the worry go, then called out to Ali who was standing a good distance away.
“Go ahead... you can start.”
Ali didn’t hesitate. As soon as he heard the instruction, he uncorked the vial and gulped it down on the spot.
“Quite bold... Where did you find him?” Sarah smirked as she watched Ali. His resoluteness spoke volumes, and from that one interaction alone, she could see just how much trust he had for Maverick.
Maverick smiled and nodded in agreement. “It’s a long story…” he said, but then trailed off as he saw Ali suddenly clutch his chest, his face twisting in pain before he dropped to one knee.
Maverick frowned. “Teacher, is this normal?”
“Don’t worry. The first transformation will hurt a bit, but after this, it’ll be seamless—just like any other Animagus transformation.”
Maverick glanced at her for a moment, then looked back at Ali, who was now half-wailing, half-growling, crouched on the ground. Clearly, it was more than just a bit of pain.
Meanwhile, Ali was now feeling the full brunt of the potion tearing through his system. It was nothing like the transformations he had endured during every full moon. This was deeper. Harsher. Violent.
The magical potion was quite literally reshaping him—every bone, every fiber, every cell pulled apart and rewritten from the inside out. And it wasn’t just his body. The very magic flowing through his veins was being unraveled and reforged, raw and unstable, and it did not come gently.
“Haah… Haaa…”
He gasped, struggling to breathe as searing heat crawled under his skin. His muscles felt like they were being shredded apart, then stitched back together with burning thread—again and again and again.
Ali clenched his jaw as sweat poured down his face. He had thought he was used to pain—after all, he had endured the curse of lycanthropy month after month, every full moon, each transformation anything but pleasant. But this was entirely something else. If those nights had been a breeze, then this was a wild and unrelenting storm.
His legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to the ground, one hand digging into the dirt, the other clutching his chest as if trying to stop something from tearing its way out.
Thump Thump!
Thump Thump!
From the very depths of his soul, he heard a heartbeat. If anyone who had gone through the ritual of Animagus transformation had heard it, they would have recognized something familiar—a resonance, like the call of their inner animal. Similar, but not quite the same. After all, this was no Animagus ritual.
Finally, the pain became too much to bear, and he let out a raw, guttural scream.
"Arrrhhhh!"
With a sudden force, he slammed both fists into the ground, the impact echoing like thunder—unconsciously fueled by pure magic.
Bam. Bam.
He continued to beat the earth for another half minute before his screams finally faded, leaving only silence.
A low, wailing sound of utter exhaustion escaped his lips as he lay there in a prostrate posture, bloodied fists resting on the ground and eyes closed.
Then, suddenly, his eyes snapped open wide.
His pupils began to change, the round shapes narrowing into sharp, vertical slits. His teeth grew sharp, and his body snapped upright toward the sky as he let out a long, piercing howl.
“Awooooooo!”
The call—whether a plea or an announcement—was something no one could mistake. It echoed through the air like the voice of something ancient. Yet, the bright sky and steady breeze softened the scene, making it far less tense and eerie than the usual werewolf transformations that happened at night under a menacing full moon.
“Interesting...” Maverick muttered, raising an eyebrow as he watched the scene. But his reaction wasn’t about what he saw—it was about what he was sensing.
Using his magical sense, he felt a strong surge of magical energy pouring from Ali, and it wasn’t small—it was more than the magic even a peak magus could radiate.
He chuckled softly, imagining what was coming next. Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he created a transparent magical barrier around himself and Sarah.
“What are you doing?” Sarah gave him a puzzled glance. From her perspective, this wasn’t necessary, especially since neither of them were simple mages. She herself was a powerful Greatmage, not to mention Maverick.
Maverick chuckled but said nothing and continued observing what he was now sure was an incredible dual transformation.
Woosh!
First came a shockwave like a sudden gust of air that slammed against the barrier, then—
Boom!
The earth beneath Ali shattered, ripping up grass and hurling debris in a wide circle around him.
“Son of a hex... is this really happening?” Sarah finally realized, and her eyes widened in disbelief.
“I believe so, teacher...”
While magic surged outward from Ali like a storm, his appearance began to change as well. His screams started to sound more beast than man—no longer just cries of a man in agony—as the first unmistakable signs of his transformation began taking hold.
Crack!
His body convulsed with a sharp, unnatural snap. Muscles bulged and stretched beyond human limits, veins pulsing with raw, volatile energy. His shirt groaned under the strain, seams tearing as thick arms swelled with power. His trousers split at the thighs, the fabric shredding like paper as his legs lengthened and thickened, reshaping into something far beyond human.
Boom!
Boom!
The violet magic escaping from him grew more violent as his transformation neared completion. A shallow crater had formed beneath him, as if he were the source of some great, unstable energy.
Crack!
Another sharp snap rang out like bone striking iron. His frame surged in size. Fingers stretched unnaturally, joints popping as his nails thickened into curved claws that scraped against the rocky ground. His chest heaved. Skin rippled and darkened, toughening as coarse fur burst through in patches.
His shoulders widened, spine arching as his features twisted and reshaped. He looked no longer human, but also not yet fully the beast.
Then, his face began to stretch, bones shifting beneath the skin. His jaw jutted forward with a crunch, and his teeth lengthened into jagged fangs. His eyes flared open, glowing with feral intelligence.
GRRRRRR!
Finally, a low growl rumbled in his throat—deep, primal, and building. It rose higher and higher until it tore from his lungs, erupting into a thunderous roar that shattered the momentary stillness and shook the cliffs like the cry of an alpha beast announcing its reign.
ROOOOOOAAAAAAAAR!
Booom!
An undeniable will descended over the area like a tsunami, commanding every creature in the vicinity to submit. In that instant, the innate power that lies dormant within all great mages surged forth from Ali—or rather, the beast he had become—marking not just his transformation, but his ascension to a rank beyond that of an ordinary mage.
"This is..." Sarah stood with her mouth half open, utterly stunned by the astonishing feat unfolding before her. The transformation had been a success—that much was clear—but never had she imagined she would witness the birth of another Great Mage today.
On top of that, what she was sensing now radiating from the creature was unmistakably the pressure of Dominant Spirit—something that, in theory, only fully manifests when a Great Mage breaks through to the rank of Archmage.
Of course, the monster beside her—no, not the beast, but her student—was something else entirely. Maverick was never someone she measured by conventional standards. She didn’t even try.
And Maverick—who had rarely shown surprise during everything that had just happened—was taken aback as well. Only slightly, though. He reasoned that this overwhelming change likely had more to do with the nature of the transformation than with Ali himself. Or perhaps it was simply a surge of pent-up power, finally unleashed during this first-ever transformation.
Either way, it didn’t matter. What concerned him more right now was whether it was Ali... or the beast that held control.
And speaking of Ali’s werewolf form—no, this monster looked nothing like the half-baked, scrawny, tortured creature he used to become during the full moon.
This form was something else entirely. Massive. Towering. Easily three heads taller than Maverick, with a far broader frame. His body was packed with muscle, wrapped in thick, coarse fur. He looked less like a man cursed and more like a beast born from power itself—bigger than even Greyback. More... complete.
A low growl rumbled from the creature’s throat as it slowly turned its gaze toward where Maverick and Sarah stood.
Maverick chuckled at the movement, sensing how the storm of magic around the beast had begun to settle—drawn inward and contained, as though it were now under control. That meant, most likely, it was Ali in control and not a mindless beast.
Sarah, on the other hand, swallowed hard. The werewolf’s piercing red eyes was locked onto her direction like a predator sizing up prey.
Then—
Thud.
Thud.
It started moving toward them, each step heavy enough to shake the ground.
Maverick curled his lips into a faint smile, then silently dispelled the barrier around them. He tucked his hands casually into his trouser pockets, as if the towering beast approaching them meant nothing at all.
Sarah, on the other hand, looked the exact opposite—tense. She quickly retrieved her wand from her storage ring and promptly stepped behind Maverick.
“That... uh... should we back up a bit? Or maybe shackle it?” she proposed, her wand trembling slightly as she aimed it at the towering, twelve-foot-tall beast approaching them.
Maverick didn’t answer her. He kept his gaze locked on the giant werewolf as it stepped closer and closer.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
The creature finally stopped just an arm’s length away, and for a long moment, silence stretched between them... heavy, with tension.
Each breath from the werewolf came out in deep, steaming bursts, like pressure escaping from a strained and dangerous vessel.
Neither man nor beast looked away. The world around them seemed to narrow, the sound of crashing waves and rustling wind fading into nothing. Time itself felt suspended, caught in the gravity of the moment.
Their eyes locked—unyielding, unflinching—like two titans standing face to face. Just a silent battle of wills, waiting to tip one way or the other.
“What’s happening...?” Sarah whispered from behind Maverick. She glanced at her student’s face and found only a smirk curling on his lips, his head tilted up as he stared calmly at the behemoth towering twice his height before him.
Once again, she was met with silence. She swallowed hard, and with the trembling hand holding her wand, she debated whether to wait for this unreliable student to act or cast a binding hex herself—until...
Boom!
She saw the giant werewolf suddenly dropped to one knee with a thunderous stomp, then lowered its massive head in a slow, deliberate bow.
She froze at the sight. It was... submission.
Complete, submission.
And then, she saw the beast—though still kneeling, it towered over them—begin to change. The dark fur started to pull inward, shrinking along with its massive frame. It was turning back into human form, but...
“Hey, kid… unless you’re into that sort of thing, you might want to conjure something to cover him.”
2025-06-29 20:36:33 +0000 UTC
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The next day, after a good night’s rest, Maverick finally brought Harry and Hermione to Edward Garling’s underground base on St. Matthew Island, Alaska.
Not much seems to have changed since his last visit, aside from a few unfamiliar faces—probably new kids Edward had taken under his wing.
The man must have taken in hundreds of witches and wizards over the years, and even though Maverick had only met a handful, he knew one thing for sure—by the time they 'graduated,' every single one of them would be seriously skilled.
This time, he spotted three new faces, and... some things never changed, he thought with a small smile as he gave the two Gryffindors a brief tour of the areas they were allowed to explore within the vast structure.
Back to Edward’s personal army of talents, Maverick then considered their loyalty. From what Edward had told him, they were about as loyal as anyone could be without the use of coercion or enchantment.
They would follow any command Edward gave—without hesitation—so long as it wasn’t completely meaningless. They wouldn’t, for instance, throw their lives away for no reason. But if the task really mattered to Edward, even if it meant certain death, they would carry it out without question.
His teacher may not be a dark wizard, but he was no saint either. “Don’t break the law,” he used to say, “just bend it far enough that it doesn’t snap.”
Maverick chuckled inwardly. Of course, that rule didn’t apply when it came to handling things in the shadows—and by now, he knew his teacher’s ways all too well.
Finally, Maverick made a mental note to speak with his teacher about the man’s small army of trained magicals. Since their loyalty and numbers could be counted on, they were sure to prove useful for the plans he had laid out for the coming year.
After settling the two kids in and introducing them to the small group of young witches and wizards, Maverick did not linger with them any longer.
The program he arranged would be supervised by the instructors already there, who were also Edward’s people. It was basically a collaborative exchange between the kids and Harry and Hermione—sharing spells, sparring, and testing their magical knowledge against each other. It was simple, yet a very effective way to achieve comprehensive learning.
With all that arranged, he went off to find his potions teacher, Sarah. But first, he made a quick jump back to London to pick up Ali, and together they headed to the lab in the lower levels of the base.
---
The hum of magical equipment and the faint scent of herbs filled the air at the entrance. Inside, they found Sarah along with half a dozen others in white coats, each focused on their own task.
Some of the setups looked unmistakably like something out of a biologist’s lab, while Sarah and another witch appeared to be cooking something that didn’t look very appetizing. After all, to anyone unfamiliar with potions—or magic in general—it would probably just seem like they were preparing a stew.
The place was brightly lit and spotless—nothing like a typical potion labs described in stories. Maverick had seen the greasy bat’s setup back at Hogwarts, and while Snape’s lab was clean in its own way, it was always shrouded in gloom, lit only by flickering candlelight.
The man even keeps the curtains closed during work and while teaching, with no apparent reason other than to satisfy his inner edgelord.
“Teacher…”
Sarah turned at the sound and saw Maverick approaching, followed by someone unfamiliar.
“You kid… finally found the time to come,” she said with a smile, then went back to sprinkling something into the bubbling cauldron in front of her. Afterward, she muttered a few words to the woman beside her, slipped off her gloves, and motioned for them to follow.
“By the way, Teacher, this is my friend Ali... the one I told you about,” Maverick said as he introduced Ali to Sarah while they walked.
“Your… man behind the scenes, in charge of the empire you’re building?” She gave Ali a sideways, scrutinizing look at first. But when she saw the way he looked at her—as if she were some kind of heaven-sent messiah—she shivered inwardly for a moment.
Then, without another word and before Ali could respond, she quickened her pace and stepped through another door.
As for Ali, the reason behind his worship-like gaze was that Maverick had told him—just before they came—that Sarah had made a breakthrough in finding a solution for his beastly problem.
Ali knew Maverick had people working on it, but he did not expect results so soon. After all, many had tried before, and up until now, the only options available for werewolves like him were half-baked at best. Now, knowing that a breakthrough had been achieved, he was filled with excitement and held nothing but awe and respect for the person who made it possible.
“It’s been ready for weeks now. I was just waiting on you,” she said, walking over to the desk inside the room where a single suitcase-like object was neatly placed.
The room itself was spacious and spotless, with nothing else inside besides that one case.
Maverick watched as she opened the case, took out her wand, and muttered a spell under her breath. Through his magical sense, he detected a subtle spatial fluctuation and guessed the contents were kept in an airless state using spatial magic.
Inside the case were two vials—one filled with an orange-colored liquid, the other darker, almost reddish. After retrieving both vials, Sarah turned back toward them, her eyes darting between the two before settling on Maverick.
She first motioned to the bottle filled with orange liquid and began explaining, “This one here... is what I’d call a near-complete solution to lycanthropy. One dose, and anyone infected would stop reacting to the full moon... completely and permanently.”
Ali’s eyes widened with every word. His heart began to pound, his hands shook, and he looked moments away from grabbing the vial and gulping it on the spot—until—
“What’s the catch?” Maverick asked, raising an eyebrow.
Sarah chuckled at the question, clearly pleased. “Smart. Like I said, it’s near complete. The test subjects we used showed no reaction to the full moon afterward, meaning the lycanthropy was neutralized. But…” She paused, letting out a sigh, “their magic was crippled.”
Ali, who had looked all excited just a moment ago, froze mid-reaction.
“Not gone,” Sarah clarified. “They don’t become Squibs, but they can’t cast even the simplest spells properly. We tried changing wands, tested it on different subjects... same result every time. Their magic weakens. Even those at magus rank drop to the level of mage apprentice... after studying their magic and testing their blood, my team came to the conclusion that there would be no chance of further improvement for them in the future.”
“I see,” Maverick said, nodding slowly. He glanced at Ali, who looked like he was trapped in a storm of thoughts. Maverick couldn’t blame him. Losing his mind to the beast during every full moon was Ali’s worst nightmare.
Unlike Greyback or those dark wizards who took pride in their transformations and willingly surrendered to the beast within, Ali was a rational man. All he had ever wanted was to be free of it.
And now, faced with the option to be rid of his condition at the cost of crippling his magic, Ali found himself caught in a difficult predicament.
Maverick said nothing, choosing not to comment or suggest anything to Ali for now. He turned to Sarah, intending to ask about the other potion, but first... “By subjects, you mean?” he asked, wanting to clarify another point.
He did not doubt Sarah’s integrity or her sense of morality. Like him, she was a student of Edward, and Edward would never keep anyone who would cross the line and harm innocent people indiscriminately.
Experimenting on humans—werewolves or not—would certainly be crossing that line. However, it was a completely different matter if the said subjects were dark wizards or evil beyond redemption.
And the reason he was asking was so Ali could hear it too. He knew Ali trusted him completely, but he still wanted him to understand.
“Excuses for human beings. Animals, really. If you want, I can list their deeds...” she remarked with disgust.
Maverick shook his head lightly. “No need…” He glanced briefly at Ali, then back to Sarah, and added, “I trust you, teacher. That’s more than enough said.”
Sarah nodded as well. Being students of the same master, they understood each other perfectly. If it had just been the two of them, she knew Maverick would not have brought it up at all. She understood, without Maverick having to spell it out, that the question had been meant for the other person to hear.
“Then what about the other potion?” Maverick gestured toward the other vial filled with reddish, viscous liquid.
The master potioneer smiled softly, turned around, and carefully placed the first bottle back into the case before closing it. Then, holding only the second vial, she faced them again, and her eyes sparkled with excitement as she began to speak about it.
“This… my dear student… is revolutionary,” she said. “By studying Greyback’s blood using cutting-edge magical potioneering and the finest principles of scientific biology, we managed to uncover the secret behind his unique transformation... and even improve on it.”
She glanced at Ali and noticed the excitement returning to his face, replacing the gloomy expression he wore when she’d explained the other potion.
“Instead of curing lycanthropy, one dose of this formula completely suppresses the beast,” she explained. “Those infected won’t transform during the full moon... well, unless they want to. It’s not a cure, of course. The beast is still there, just... tamed, not removed.”
She paused, rubbed her chin thoughtfully, then added with a grin, “Basically, it turns a witch or wizard infected with lycanthropy into something like an Animagus… only with full control over both the transformation and their mind.”
This time, Maverick showed a flicker of admiration in his eyes toward his teacher. From what she said, it meant turning a witch or wizard into a werewolf animagus without any side effects.
“No catch?” he asked, just to be sure.
“No. If anything, the results are even better,” she chuckled. “You see, unlike the other potion, this one actually comes with a bonus... it slightly enhances magical energy too.”
“Really?” Maverick muttered, then glanced again at Ali, who now stared wide-eyed at the potion.
He chuckled, already guessing the decision Ali would make, but to be sure he said, “My friend, you’re free to choose either option. Whether it’s completely getting rid of your lycanthropy or becoming a werewolf animagus, I won’t judge.”
Ali looked at Maverick, nodded thoughtfully, and took a moment to think. Neither Maverick nor Sarah interrupted.
Maverick was about to suggest taking some time, maybe postponing the decision for a few days, but Ali spoke up as if his mind was made up.
“I choose this one.” He pointed to the reddish potion in Sarah’s hand and then looked at Maverick with a sincere, respectful expression. “Boss, meeting you has been the luckiest thing in my life. Working for you, I’ve found my purpose. You’ve shared your vision for the future, and I don’t want to stand on the sidelines. I want to be there, helping you make it happen.”
He turned to Sarah again and added, “Even if it’s not a full cure, I choose the second option. I’d rather stay useful to him than take something that might cure me but leave me powerless.”
Maverick raised a brow, a small smile tugging at his lips. He didn’t say anything sentimental but simply nodded at Ali, accepting his heartfelt declaration.
Sarah glanced at Maverick with a knowing look, then smirked. “Good subordinates you’ve got, kid,” she remarked.
Maverick smiled back and asked Ali, “When do you want to begin?”
“Now, if possible. What’s the point of waiting?”
“Good.” Maverick nodded, then raised his hand and opened a portal to the surface. “Let’s go somewhere with a breeze and get this over with.”
Sarah stared at the incredible magic, her mouth half-open in amazement. She had never seen anything like it before. But before she could ask a single question, Maverick stepped through the portal, with Ali following right behind him.
She shook her head, smiled, and stepped in after them.
2025-06-28 04:55:55 +0000 UTC
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“So you’re really sending Jean away to another school? Have you properly thought this through?”
Hank McCoy stood with his back to the room, hands in his trouser pockets, staring out the tall window while absentmindedly watching the sleek black Porsche 911 parked near the mansion’s entrance.
Behind him, Professor Charles Xavier sat in his wheelchair at the desk while quietly flipping through a stack of documents.
The only other person in the room was a woman with sharp features and a calculating expression. She sat on a nearby sofa, her eyes fixed on Charles and was waiting for his answer just as much as Hank was.
“Yes. Her abilities go beyond just mutant powers, and unfortunately, I’m neither qualified nor able to guide her in that area,” Charles answered with his eyes still on the papers in front of him.
“Can’t you just hire someone from their group?” The woman stood and walked over, leaning on Charles’s desk with both hands. “You know she’s no ordinary mutant. What if she loses control?”
Charles let out a quiet sigh, set the papers down, and looked up at the woman. “I trust they’re capable of handling her, Raven, if it ever comes to that. Besides, I’ve explained everything to Mr. Caesar, and he assured me he’ll personally look after her.”
Hank turned away from the window, walked around the desk, and sank into the sofa. He let out a quiet sigh as well, seeming to agree with Charles. “I hope things turn out the way you say.”
Just then, there was a knock at the door.
“Looks like they’re here. Raven, please let them in,” Charles said with a small smile as he looked toward the door.
With a click, the woman—Raven—opened the door and saw her colleague Ororo smirk before stepping inside with a young man trailing behind her.
She eyed the young man—someone she had heard many great things about from Charles but never met, and the one who would be taking her student away to another school—trying to figure out what was so special about him.
However, the moment her eyes landed on him, they widened and her pupils shrank to pinpoints. For a split second, it felt like time itself slowed around her, and a sudden, unnerving chill ran through every fiber of her being. Her whole body shivered, as if she had glimpsed something so unfathomable, so vast, that her mind went completely blank.
Then, just as quickly, the feeling faded away.
A drop of sweat formed on her forehead as she saw him raise a brief brow before stepping inside and following Ororo toward the professor.
With Maverick, he gave her only a quick, curious glance—her face was unfamiliar, someone he hadn’t seen the last time he was here—then turned his attention to the man in the wheelchair and walked over with a bright smile.
“Charles…”
“Mr. Caesar.”
They shook hands before Charles gestured for him to sit.
Maverick gave Hank a nod in greeting too, then settled onto the sofa, while Ororo took a seat beside him. Only Raven still remained frozen at the door—until...
“Raven?”
Xavier’s voice pulled her out of her trance.
Raven Darkhölme—the shapeshifter-slash-spy-slash-superhuman—did her best to hide the chaos racing through her head and gave a stiff, fidgety nod, then walked over and sat down next to Hank.
To her credit, no one noticed her abnormality—no one except Maverick, of course. And he, quite simply, didn’t care much. Her reaction wasn’t anything new. Ever since he became an Archmage, he had gotten used to people flinching the moment they looked him in the eye the wrong way.
It wasn’t something he did on purpose, but over time, he figured it had to do with intent. Whenever some random idiot looked at him with the wrong mindset, whether it was doubt or challenge or something else, and that intent brushed up against his, their subconscious just... folded, like they saw something they weren’t supposed to.
And Mystique—after years of spying all over the world—had a danger sense that bordered on supernatural, so she must have felt that jolt hit her straight in the soul just now. But alas, who told her to size him up?
Xavier smiled once everyone was seated and the conversation began.
"Mr. Caesar—no, I suppose it's Councilor Caesar now, isn't it?"
Maverick figured the topic would come up. Ever since he became a Councilor and gained access to classified information, he had done a general review of the world's extraordinary elements from the perspective of the Muggle world. One thing that had caught his attention was the mutant community and their ongoing push for a seat at the global decision-making table.
So far, they hadn’t been able to secure one. And from what he had read, it was Professor Xavier himself who had been leading that charge.
"Oh? Professor, how did you find out about that?" Maverick asked, pretending not to know anything.
Charles let out a light chuckle. "The World Security Council might operate behind the scenes, but I still have my connections."
Fair enough, thought Maverick.
“Wait—World Security Council?” Hank leaned forward, taken aback by the casual info drop. “How you end up as one of WSC Councilors?”
“High Councilor, to be exact,” Charles answered instead, giving Maverick a small smile.
Unlike Charles, Hank and the others only knew the basics about the WSC and its role as an international organization. So, seeing an opportunity—with a High Councilor sitting right in front of them—Charles took a moment to give his colleagues a more thorough rundown of the World Security Council, the wizarding world, and how the two had been connected behind the scenes for years.
By the time he finished, Ororo, Hank, and Raven were looking at Maverick in a whole new light. Their expressions held a quiet mix of surprise and... envy.
Everything they had been fighting for—mutants having a place in the world without fear, without hatred—it seemed the wizarding world already had it. A hidden society, yet fully integrated with the larger world.
It stung, just a little.
But then, sensing the mood in the room getting a little too heavy, Charles shifted gears and turned back to Maverick, bringing the focus to the reason he had come today.
“So, my friend... you’re here to take Jean to the magical world, just like your school’s letter said?”
Maverick nodded. “Yeah. It’s just a standard orientation for muggle-born witches and wizards—nothing special... like the walkthrough I gave you and Ororo a few months back, except Jean will need to purchase some specific school supplies. But since Hank and Raven didn’t come along that day, I’ll give a quick rundown.”
With that, he gave a quick overview of the magical world’s customs, explained how the orientation worked, and went over what Jean would need for her first year at school.
“We should be back around sunset,” he added, glancing at his watch. “Although, I think it’ll still be mid-afternoon here by then.”
Hank asked a few more questions, mostly about the differences between mutant powers and magic. Raven, on the other hand, stayed quiet. She still hadn’t said a single word since Maverick walked into the room.
“Raven?” Charles finally took notice of her odd demeanor. “Are you alright?”
But before she could say a word, the office door suddenly swung open and Jean Grey burst in, with Hermione and Harry close behind her.
“Professor! When are we going to... Diagon... Diagon Alley?” she asked, stumbling over the name. She stopped right in front of Maverick’s chair, not even glancing at the others in the room, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Seeing her so enthusiastic, everyone smiled. Maverick stood up, gently ruffled her hair, and chuckled. “So eager... alright, we’ll be going now.”
He gave Charles and the others a nod, then glanced at Hermione and Harry. Judging by the look on their faces, they had probably told Jean all about Hogwarts already. Hopefully all good things.
“Right, gentlemen, ladies... we should be back in a couple of hours,” he said, and with a nod from Professor X, made his way out. It was almost midday here, which meant it was already past three in the afternoon in London.
A few minutes later, Jean was in the back seat of the Porsche with Hermione, grinning from ear to ear, while Harry sat up front. Maverick flashed a grin of his own, shifted gears, and stepped on the accelerator.
The car zoomed forward, then—
Wroooom!
From Xavier’s office window, Charles, Ororo, and Raven watched in stunned silence as the sleek black car lifted off the ground and soared into the sky.
Mouths slightly open, no one said a word for a while... until Hank finally broke the silence.
“Charles,” he said slowly, turning toward him with a serious look, “I don’t care how you do it, but... you must ask Mr. Caesar to make a flying car for me.”
---
Not long after they flew over the forest surrounding the mansion, Maverick conjured a portal mid-air that connected to London, all the way across the ocean. The Porsche 911 glided through, and within seconds, they were flying over the heart of the city before landing quietly on Charing Cross Road.
With both a Muggle-Repelling Charm and camouflage magic in place, no one noticed the inconspicuous car as it rolled to a stop near a narrow alleyway. Tucked between a record shop and a dusty bookstore stood the Leaky Cauldron—shabby as ever.
Maverick stepped out first, the kids close behind, and led them into the old, weathered pub without drawing a single glance.
The Leaky Cauldron was as busy as ever. The air buzzed with lively chatter, clinking glasses, and the thick scent of smoke and stew. Witches in pointed hats laughed in shadowy corners, cloaked figures leaned close and whispered over half-empty mugs, and in one corner, a grumpy old wizard was arguing with Tom the pub owner something about firewhisky prices.
No one paid Maverick and his group any mind. Or rather, they couldn’t. Maverick had subtly veiled their presence, making their entrance blend into the pub’s background noise like smoke in the wind.
He gave Jean a quick rundown of the pub and its purpose for Muggle-born witches and wizards as he slowly guided them to the empty courtyard out back. There, he let Harry and Hermione demonstrate how to tap the bricks and open the magical gateway.
Jean’s eyes widened as the bricks moved and revealed the cobbled street of Diagon Alley.
“This is amazing, Professor,” she breathed, stepping through the archway. “So many people… such strange buildings… it’s like another world.”
Even though she was a mutant with supernatural abilities and was used to seeing her friends' extraordinary powers at the X-Mansion, this was something else entirely for her.
Much like every Muggle-born’s first visit, Jean was completely captivated. Maverick smiled and stepped back, letting Hermione take the lead in showing her around. Harry chimed in now and then, but it was clear Hermione loved being the one in charge.
Their first stop was, of course, Gringotts.
Jean wrinkled her nose the moment they entered the goblin-run bank. “Ew… what are those things?”
Luckily, a sound barrier spell surrounded them, so no one heard her comment. Inside the quiet marble hall, the goblins worked silently behind their counters, barely sparing them a glance.
Back during the conversation with Xavier, Maverick had explained the need for wizarding currency. Hogwarts offered interest-free loans for Muggle-born students, but Professor X wouldn’t hear of it and insisted on handling the funds himself.
He handed over enough US dollars to exchange for 50 Galleons—the maximum amount a Muggle-born could convert on their first visit—and asked Maverick to use it to buy everything Jean would need.
Maverick didn’t argue. The X-Men weren’t short on money, so there was no reason for him to be charitable when they were more than capable.
With the exchange done and a new account opened in Jean’s name, they made their way to the shops.
First stop: Ollivanders.
Jean stepped inside, eyes shining with excitement for her very first wand. The old wandmaker greeted them with his usual flair, immediately recognizing Harry and Hermione and giving Maverick a knowing, respectful nod.
“An extremely rare few are chosen by a wand on the very first try,” Ollivander said, eyeing Maverick with quiet approval. “I knew from the moment you held it, Master Caesar, that you were destined for greatness.”
This was only their second meeting since Maverick had bought his wand, but the old man had clearly kept tabs on him. As he went on with his usual chatter, his hands never stopped moving, testing wand after wand for Jean.
It turned out, only the ones with phoenix core reacted at all to her touch. The others were duds, producing nothing but a few sparks or a puff of smoke.
Eventually, one wand lit up the room the moment Jean held it. The harmony between wand and witch was obvious even to a bystander.
From there, they stopped at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions for fittings, but since the robes wouldn’t be ready immediately and would take an hour, Maverick used the time to buy the rest of Jean’s supplies.
They hit Flourish and Blotts for textbooks, Potage’s for her cauldron, Slug & Jiggers for potion ingredients, Wiseacre’s for astronomy gear, and finally the Magical Menagerie.
Jean struck gold at the last shop. A rare magical Himalayan Snow Owl with silver-edged feathers had just arrived, and the moment Jean and the bird’s eyes met, the choice was made.
The two clicked instantly, and Jean got her first magical pet, which she named Solara.
Coincidence? Maverick wondered, sensing how the name matched her inner, birdly spirit. Should I ask what made her think of that name, or... he shrugged and pushed the thoughts aside entirely.
With most of the shopping done, Maverick treated them to Florean Fortescue’s for a quick meal and some ice cream. Jean was practically beaming, her cone in one hand and her wand in the other the whole time. About half an hour later, they all headed back to Madam Malkin’s to collect her finished robes.
For most of the trip, Maverick let the kids talk among themselves. He was glad he had brought Hermione along as she explained everything in such vivid detail that Jean was completely drawn in. Harry chimed in now and then, but it was clear who clicked with who. The two girls already looked like they had become best friends.
By the time they were done, Jean had a solid idea of what life at Hogwarts would be like.
Maverick didn’t rush them. He let the kids wander a bit longer, quietly keeping an eye on them from a distance, and when the sun began to dip below the rooftops, they regrouped and made their way back.
---
Wroom!
The Porsche glided back to Xavier’s mansion, coming to a smooth stop at the front gate. Here, the sky was still blue, and the sun hung high above the horizon, casting shadows across the lawn.
Jean stepped out, carrying a sleek, stylish backpack over her shoulders, which was enchanted with an expanded space charm—a product from one of Maverick’s own stores. It looked far more elegant than the bulky old pouches previously used in wizarding Britain.
Back in Xavier’s office, Maverick gave Jean a few parting instructions. He didn’t ban her from practicing magic, but he warned her about the Trace for underage wand use.
“You’ve got a few weeks before school starts,” he said. “Technically, the Trace won’t kick in until then. Just be careful... stick to simple spells like Lumos or the Levitation Charm. And try to read Hogwarts: A History when you’ve got the time.”
Xavier was there, and while Maverick spoke directly to Jean, the real message was just as much for him—to make sure Charles would see that she followed the instructions.
Harry and Hermione exchanged contact information with Jean before they left. Finally, Maverick told Xavier and Jean that he would return early on the morning of September 1st to escort her to the Hogwarts Express.
“Professor,” Hermione yawned as they climbed back into the car. “What’s next?”
Maverick chuckled and glanced at Harry, who looked just as worn out.
“First, we get some real food. Then we check into a hotel and call it a day. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to my old master’s training grounds. You’ll get to practice magic there with the other kids...”
That perked them both up right away. After all, that was the whole point of their trip with Maverick this summer.
As he started the car, his mind wandered to a message he had received from Sarah, his potions teacher, a couple of weeks ago. The little project she had been working on at his request... it seemed she had made a breakthrough.
Hopefully, I will be able to deliver on the commitment I made to my old friend soon, he thought to himself, smiling faintly as the car disappeared into the clouds.
2025-06-26 16:07:21 +0000 UTC
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Wroooom!
A sleek black Porsche 911 soared through the skies above London while its engine gave off a soft hum, barely loud enough to be heard even from the outside. This was one of Maverick’s personal side projects—an idea he had borrowed from Mr. Weasley—and today marked the first time he was taking it out for a proper spin.
Naturally, the car was cloaked in an invisibility enchantment, and a Muggle-Repelling Charm was layered on top, ensuring no one would spot the bizarre sight gliding silently above their heads.
Meanwhile, inside the car, two kids sat in the back seat with their faces practically glued to the windows as they took in the dazzling view below.
“Professor… did you ask Mr. Weasley to make a flying car for you too?” Harry finally pulled his face away from the window, leaned back in his seat, and glanced at Maverick, who sat calmly at the wheel up front.
“Idiot.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Professor Caesar is one of the best alchemists in the world. Why would he need someone else to make a flying car for him?”
Maverick chuckled, watching their little bickering through the rearview mirror. “Well, Harry’s not entirely wrong. Mr. Weasley gave me the inspiration... I just added a few minor upgrades.”
“So, Professor,” Hermione piped up eagerly, “are we heading to your teacher’s place now? To practice with his students?”
Back at Hogwarts, just before the school year ended, Harry had approached Maverick with Hermione tagging along, asking if she could join the summer training program Maverick had arranged for him.
He had originally planned for Harry to spend a few weeks with Edward’s students around his age, exchanging spells and knowledge. But when he saw little Miss Know-It-All’s pleading eyes, he figured, why not? One more wouldn’t make much difference, so he decided to bring her along as well.
“No, not yet,” Maverick shook his head at Hermione’s question. “Yeah, we’re heading to America, but first... got to make a quick stop. There’s a new student joining Hogwarts this year, and I need to give her the orientation.”
“A new student? From America?” Hermione tilted her head. “Why isn’t she going to Ilvermorny?”
“Because I want her at Hogwarts,” Maverick answered casually. “She’s a genius I met some time ago, and I didn’t want to give her up to another school.”
“A genius?” Hermione perked up at that, and her competitive streak sparked instantly. She leaned forward, ready to ask more about this so-called genius, but Harry interrupted with a very reasonable question.
“Professor, uh… we’re not driving across the Atlantic, are we?”
Maverick chukled. “Of course not.”
Saying that, he brought the car to a smooth stop in midair, then raised a hand and made a swirling motion with his finger.
Then, ahead of them, orange sparks flared and quickly wove themselves into a circular portal large enough for the entire car to pass through.
Both Harry and Hermione lunged forward with wide eyes, and pressed over the front seats to get a better look.
“Is that… a portal?” Harry asked uncertainly, having never seen magic like that before.
“I’ve never seen a spell like this in any book,” Hermione added voicing Harry’s very doubt.
“Yes, it’s a portal,” Maverick confirmed with a nod. “Ten points to House Granger,” he added with a smirk in her direction. “And as for the spell... best not think too hard about it. It’s one of those magics noble families keep to themselves... private spells. I’m not allowed to teach it to others.”
“Oh...”
Both Harry and Hermione got the message and didn’t push further. They exchanged a quick glance and kept quiet as Maverick eased the car forward and drove through the swirling gate.
On the other side, the sky was just as high, but the sunlight was different—brighter, more golden. The sun hung overhead like it was still morning. Somewhere around ten o’clock, Maverick guessed.
“Early morning?” Hermione squinted out the window, then looked down at the skyline below. “Is this… New York?”
“Right again,” Maverick replied. “And we’re not far from where we need to be.”
He sped up again, the Porsche zipping smoothly through the sky. Along the way, Maverick took the chance to explain what they should expect, weaving in a few half-truths by saying it was a school similar to Hogwarts, though meant for people whose abilities were a bit different from magic.
Mutants, after all, weren’t exactly common knowledge, even if many people had heard of them. Still, it wasn’t a complete secret either, since individuals with abilities occasionally made headlines every now and then.
About half an hour later, the car finally flew over a large estate nestled within a stretch of greenery. The entire area was surrounded by stone walls and bordered by a long expanse of tall trees and thick forest.
“What a massive house,” Harry said, pressing his face to the glass.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s a school, Harry, of course it should be big. And for your information, it’s more accurate to call it a mansion.”
“A mansion is still a house.”
They bickered like kids—usually, it was Ron on the receiving end of Hermione’s sharp tongue, not Harry. But Ron wasn’t here today. Still, it was never serious enough to put a dent in their bond—not since the troll incident back in first year.
By now, both boys had gotten used to her personality, and she had grown used to theirs. It was like an unspoken harmony between them. Together, they made the perfect trio—a dynamic so iconic that many fans even joked the series should’ve been called Hermione Granger and Her Two Idiot Friends instead of Harry Potter.
Meanwhile, after a quick pass around the mansion, Maverick began his descent toward the edge of the woods. The road leading to the estate was lined with towering trees, and not a single soul was in sight. He brought the car down onto the road, disabled the invisibility, and drove the rest of the way until finally arriving at the gate about ten minutes later.
Looks like they took my advice, he thought with a small smirk as he glanced at the lock system installed on the wall near the iron gates.
“Wait here,” he said to the two and stepped out and approached the device. A few taps, and the connection went through.
It was Ororo who answered on the other end. After a brief exchange, the gates creaked open automatically.
Maverick climbed back into the car, and they drove through the winding path. Harry and Hermione were both practically hanging out the windows, marveling at the sprawling gardens and sleek architectural design until they finally reached the main entrance.
And there, waiting patiently at the top of the steps, stood Ororo Munroe. Her hands were tucked casually into the pockets of her jacket, the breeze tugging at the hem of her short V-neck shirt that showed a hint of her toned, chocolate-brown midriff. She wore fitted jeans that matched her effortless confidence, and her white hair swayed gently with the wind. A faint smile played on her lips as her eyes settled on the approaching car.
"Jean’s been asking about you for days ever since that bird brought the letter..." Ororo called out as she walked down the steps to greet him. She raised a brow when she saw two kids stepping out from the back seats, looking around curiously before approaching.
Maverick chuckled and gave a casual nod. “Sorry, something came up that delayed my visit a bit… and these two are also students from Hogwarts. I figured Jean could make a few friends before school starts.”
“That’s thoughtful of you...” She smiled, then leaned down slightly and asked, “And what are your names?”
Harry, unfortunately, chose that moment to look up—and immediately flushed as his eyes landed on the mountains—no, on Ororo’s pretty face—and his brain short-circuited. He turned away quickly, stammering, “I—I, uh…”
Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath before stepping forward with a polite smile. She offered a hand.
“Hello, ma’am. My name’s Hermione Granger. This is my friend and classmate, Harry Potter.”
Maverick couldn’t help but let out a soft laugh. “Sorry, but… you can't blame the kid for that...”
Ororo didn’t mind, of course. She straightened up and gave Harry an amused look before shaking Hermione’s hand and ruffling Harry’s hair with a playful grin. “Nice to meet you both.”
She turned back to Maverick and gestured for him to follow. “Come on, let’s head inside.”
Click.
The front door unlocked, and as they entered, they saw a few kids lounging on the sofas, some watching TV. All of them turned their heads at the unfamiliar group entering, eyes curious.
Then—
“Uncle!”
The sudden shout broke the quiet as a redhead came bounding down the stairs.
Maverick’s lips twitched as he watched the girl sprint toward him and come to a stop in front of him.
“Hello, Jean.”
He bent slightly to pat her head. Then, gesturing to his face, “what part of this looks like an uncle to you?”
Jean scratched the back of her head, unsure what to say.
“Just call me Professor,” he added while straightening up again. “Professor Caesar.”
“Ah—Professor Caesar, then!” she corrected quickly. “So are you finally here to take me shopping for school?” Her eyes lit up with excitement.
“Yes, but first…” Maverick stepped aside, lightly nudging the other two forward. “Let me introduce you. These two are students from Hogwarts as well. Make friends, ask about school all you want, and show them around a bit. I need to have a quick chat with Professor X first.”
He turned to the two and gave them a nod. During the car ride, he had already explained everything, so they knew what to do.
Hermione was quick to catch on and returned Jean’s friendly energy with ease. Harry, a bit slower, eventually followed her lead.
Soon, Jean was dragging the two of them deeper into the mansion with all the enthusiasm of a host giving a VIP tour.
Maverick watched them go and a small smile tugged his lips. Jean reminded him of Sarah—
Right… I should bring her here sometime. He made a mental note, then turned to follow Ororo upstairs toward Charles Xavier’s office.
2025-06-24 01:11:52 +0000 UTC
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The sky was clear, painted a soft blue with only a few cotton clouds drifting lazily overhead. The sun hung warm and steady, casting golden light over the neat rows of suburban houses. A gentle summer breeze rustled through the hedges, carrying with it the scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. It was the kind of afternoon that made the whole world feel a little slower.
After returning from Kamar-Taj, Maverick first took a few quiet days to spend with his family—a rare breath of normal life—before diving back into the extraordinary. With summer already slipping by, it was time to get back on track and start crossing things off his list.
First stop: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.
The change in Harry’s life was like night and day. The boy who once looked like a tired little servant now stood straighter, smiled more often, and carried a quiet kind of energy that had not been there before.
The Dursleys had changed too—or at least, their treatment of Harry had. Maverick had taken the time to observe them before stepping inside, and he saw no scowls, no sharp words, and none of the constant nagging that used to follow Harry around like he was some kind of disease.
Petunia seemed genuine in how she treated the kid now—like she was really trying to make things right with Harry, the orphan of her late sister.
Vernon, though… well, he was trying too, in his own awkward, clumsy way. The forced politeness, the stiff smiles—it all felt more like a performance.
But it doesn't matter. If things worked out between them and Harry, great. If not, that was fine too. Harry was growing up, and when the time came—when Voldemort was no longer useful and finally killed off—Harry would have full freedom to live however he wanted. Whether that meant finding his own place or cutting ties with the Dursleys for good, it would be his call.
Maverick stepped up to the front door of 4 Privet Drive and rang the bell. With his Magical-Sense, he knew already what was going on inside. Harry had just finished breakfast with the Dursley family and gone upstairs to his room, with Dudley following suit. Petunia was at the sink doing the dishes, and Vernon had just settled in front of the television.
At the sound of the doorbell, the heavy man got up and opened the door—only to freeze like he had just seen a ghost.
Maverick pretended not to notice and gave him a... less-than-friendly smile before the fat man quickly greeted him, then stepped aside and gestured him in.
“Sir... we, uh... little Harry did mention that you’d be visiting...”
Maverick held back the chuckle, nodded, then stepped inside and greeted Petunia as well.
He then slipped off his coat, folded it neatly over one arm, and glanced around the place. From the corner of his eye, he saw the news playing on the television and—
Oh… is it already happening? he thought inwardly, then brushed the memory aside.
“I’ll be taking little Harry for a couple of weeks,” he said casually, leaving no room for argument as he walked toward the stairs.
The couple simply nodded, seemingly already aware of his visit and Harry’s plans for the holiday.
Harry looked absolutely exhilarated when he saw Maverick standing outside his room. Before Maverick could even ask, the boy grinned and said he was ready and had already packed.
When Maverick asked if he needed a few more days, Harry shook his head decisively.
“Aunt Marge is coming for a visit soon, and... I’d rather be anywhere else.”
“Aunt?” Maverick raised an eyebrow, a bit puzzled at first before a memory clicked him.
Ah... right. In the original story, there was a woman who visited during the summer. A pig, actually. And after that, Harry was supposed to have his first run-in with the Night Bus.
And if he remembered correctly… Sirius Black... his animagus form was also supposed to make his first appearance around that time.
Thinking it over, Maverick immediately spread his Magical-Sense to cover a few blocks in every direction from the house. But there were no traces of magic except for his and Harry’s.
Seems the pup hasn’t shown up yet. He shrugged the thought away.
“Anything interesting happen since the holidays started?” Maverick asked, glancing around Harry’s room as he made his way over to the bed and sat down.
Harry, meanwhile, was busy tugging his god-awful-looking suitcase out of the closet.
“Argh—” Harry gave it a hard yank, then let it drop with a dull thud onto the floor. Letting out a breath, he straightened up. “The owl with this morning’s paper hasn’t shown up yet... but if it's about recently, the biggest thing I remember is about Ron’s family.”
Maverick raised a brow. “Weasleys?”
“Yeah,” Harry said as he opened the suitcase and gave everything inside one last check. “It’s actually got something to do with you, Professor. Mr. Weasley joined your company, right? That made the papers. Said he got a big-salary job, high-ranking position… it even made the second page.”
Maverick smiled faintly. “I didn’t think that’d make headlines.”
A month ago, Arthur Weasley had finally agreed to leave his Ministry job and join Magitech. Maverick had given him a generous starting bonus, sure, but he hadn’t exactly broadcast the news.
Harry nodded. “The Prophet made a big deal out of it. They even interviewed him. The whole Weasley family ended up in a photo. Ron looked ridiculous... like, properly silly. Even Scabbers got into the shot.”
Thud!
Harry shut the suitcase after stuffing in a few last-minute items, then looked up at Maverick with an expression that said, I'm ready.
Maverick gave a slow hum. “You do remember that the ring I gave you has expanded space inside it, right?"
“Of course… ah…” Harry began, but then his voice trailed off as he glanced down at the oversized suitcase beside him, then at the ring on his finger, and finally back up at Maverick while looking properly embarrassed.
“If Granger were here,” Maverick added sighing as he got up, “I can already hear her calling you an idiot to your face.”
Harry scratched the back of his head, then placed a hand on the suitcase, making it disappear into the ring with a quiet shimmer of light. He looked so flustered that he didn’t even bother taking the items out individually, and just stuffed the whole thing in as it was.
“Well then,” Maverick said, gesturing toward the door. “First, go let your aunt and uncle know that you’re leaving now and will be back in a few weeks.”
Little Potter gave a quick nod, then dashed out of the room before returning only a minute later, looking all set and ready.
---
With a quiet pop, Maverick and Harry Apparated to an upper-middle-class neighborhood in another part of London—Hampstead, to be exact. The area was calm, the streets lined with neat hedges and parked cars, and the houses had that familiar, tidy British suburban charm. They strolled a short way down the street until they stopped in front of one such house.
"Is this where Hermione lives?" Harry asked, glancing around.
"Yes," Maverick said as he stepped forward and pressed the doorbell.
A moment later, the door opened to reveal a man who looked to be in his late thirties. Maverick immediately recognized him as Mr. Granger—Hermione’s father.
Thankfully, the little witch had already informed her parents that Maverick would be coming to pick her up, so they weren’t caught off guard. Still, the Granger couple were understandably cautious. They were kind and polite, but also clearly protective of their daughter. Even knowing he was her professor, they didn’t let their guard down right away.
They asked questions—lots of them. Where were they going? What would they be doing? How long would she be away? When would she be home? Maverick answered everything patiently. He didn’t mind. They were parents, after all, and their concern was only natural.
Hermione, however, looked like she wanted to disappear into the floor. Her face turned pink as she watched her professor being cross-examined like some kind of criminal. She finally had to step in and drag her parents back to reality, muttering something about trust and how she wasn’t a child anymore.
They stayed for a while, long enough to accept a lunch invitation from Mrs. Granger, who had prepared a simple but delicious spread. It wasn’t until a couple of hours later that Maverick and Harry finally took their leave, and of course, Hermione Granger joined them as well.
2025-06-24 01:11:16 +0000 UTC
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After weighing the pros and cons of the Sling Ring, Maverick finally made up his mind. There was no more room for hesitation. He decided to replicate its Extraordinary Characteristic right then and there.
At first, the system prompted him with the usual message—it needed to convert the ability into an integratable Characteristic. Maverick had seen it enough times by now, so it didn’t catch him off guard. He accepted without much thought, and the system got to work.
By the end of the process, the only noticeable change was in the name. What was once called Cosmic Conduit had now become Cosmic Voidgate Conduit.
Doesn't matter, he figured. As long as the effect remained the same or got better, he wasn’t going to complain. With that, he went ahead and initiated the fusion.
Then, aside from a slight tingling sensation in both arms, the system worked its magic swiftly and without any fuss. Within just a few minutes, the fusion was complete.
The new ability appeared under his list of Extraordinary Characteristics, and when Maverick checked the system notes, it confirmed exactly what he had hoped.
He could now replicate the Sling Ring’s function without needing to actually wear one himself.
It might not seem like a big deal at first, but Maverick couldn’t help thinking back to that scene in the latest Doctor Strange movie—when America Chavez grabbed Strange and snatched his Sling Ring during their very first meeting. That single moment had left him convinced. This was absolutely worth investing in.
Finally, he took a proper look at the changes in his system.
[ Name: Maverick Caesar ]
[ Class: Wizard ]
[ Rank: Arch-Magus ]
[ Magical Energy: 22,751+ ]
[ Points: 6732 ]
[ Extraordinary Characteristic Points: 0 ]
[ Extraordinary Characteristics: ]
[ Excellent grade: Spellcasting, Independent Expanded Dimension, Flight, Vitality, True Concealment, Cosmic Voidgate Conduit ]
[ Talents: ]
[ Magical Energy Manipulation (Master +) ]
[ Magical Sense (Master +) ]
[ Spacial Rift (Advanced +) ]
[ Dominant Spirit (Advanced +) ]
[ Nature Energy Manipulation (Advanced +) ]
[ Transfiguration (Advanced +) ]
[ Alchemy (Advanced +) ]
[ Potions (Intermediate +) ]
[ Eldritch Meditation (Advanced +) ]
[ Spells: ]
[ Aquired Master Proficiency: ]
[ Fiendfyre + | Apparition + | Illusio Lunam Lectorem + ]
[ Aquired Advanced Proficiency: ]
[ ... ]
For starters, it had been fifteen whole months since he last invested any points. Well, aside from the 110 points he spent upgrading Eldritch Meditation to the Advanced level, he hadn’t used a single point to improve his Magical-Energy, any talents, or any skills during that entire time.
There was, however, one additional spell that stood out—Apparition. The system now listed him as having Master-level proficiency in it. It likely had something to do with his promotion to Archmage, and the spatial affinity that naturally came with the rank.
Meanwhile, his usable points had grown from a little over 2,000 to nearly 7,000 now—more than enough to raise any spell to Master proficiency or push any talent to Advanced. But as for which talent or spell to upgrade, he still hadn’t made up his mind.
Then there was his Magical-Energy. It had been around 21,000 over a year ago, and now, thanks to his body and soul’s own cultivation, it had increased by almost 1,700 units, bringing the total close to 22,800.
It might not seem like much, but considering his Magical-Energy had only increased by about 400 units during his time as a Magus and around 900 units at the Greatmage rank—without using any system points—this was actually a pretty solid improvement. He wasn’t sure if the growth rate matched that of other Archmages, or how much their Magical-Energy increased through cultivation alone, but he was confident it wouldn’t be any worse than theirs.
Next, he had to decide which talent or spell to invest his accumulated points in, but for now, he planned to call it a day. With that in mind, he retrieved the Sling Ring back into his storage ring and went to sleep.
---
Days passed, and in the blink of an eye, half a month was gone. For the past fourteen days, Maverick hadn’t left the Sanctum. He spent his time training with the two masters, learning the ways of the mystic arts. Every day, he practiced the sorcerers’ martial arts for half a day, then spent the rest studying books and spells.
And just as he expected, the system picked up the Sorcerers’ magical spells as well, as soon as he understood the basics, letting him spend points to increase proficiency whenever he wanted. The martial arts, however special, unfortunately did not register as something extraordinary to the system.
But still, since he was already trained in close combat skills like Tae Kwon Do, Kyokushin Karate, and Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, getting familiar with the Sorcerers’ special martial arts wasn’t difficult at all. Aside from a few differences—mainly how the martial arts integrated with mystic spells—it was basically just coordinated kicks and punches, like any other combat style.
As for spells, it’s safe to say his arsenal of offensive and defensive options had grown considerably. That included Eldritch Whips, Crimson Bands, Flames of the Faltine, Bolts of Balthakk, Shield of the Vishanti, and Crimson Bands of Cyttorak.
And then there was the Mirror Dimension, the Sling Ring Portal, and Astral Projection. Being able to learn all these spells within just two weeks was largely thanks to his Advanced-level proficiency in Eldritch Meditation. After all, it was the most fundamental step in mystic arts. The more experienced someone was in refining cosmic energy, the easier it became to grasp spells that manipulated that energy.
Moreover, he only needed to understand the most basic, primitive workings of the spell for the system to register it. After that, it was just a matter of spending points to increase his proficiency.
Needless to say, the two masters were left speechless, unable to praise such genius (cheat). Even the Supreme Sorcerer went so far as to call him a monster among monsters.
And now, even without relying on his wizarding system of magic, he could face Masters Hayes and Tenebris in single combat using only mystic arts spells. Of course, that was largely thanks to his passive Magical-Sense, which granted him enhanced perception and heightened awareness in battle.
As for the Ancient One… well, even if he used both magic systems, all of his Extraordinary Characteristics, and every hidden card he had, he might be able to last a few moves. But defeating her was out of the question.
She was, after all, a being on the same tier as Merlin in this universe—two full ranks above Maverick. An All-Father-level existence. One of the strongest sorcerers to ever walk reality. The MCU nerfed her hard, no question. In truth, her threat level was easily Planetary, if not higher. If she ever went all out without holding back, she could very well rewrite the shape of Earth itself.
That did not mean the gap was unreachable. Time was all he needed. Who needed Infinity Stones when he possessed the ultimate cheat—the system itself?
He was certain—by the time Tony Stark donned his first suit of armor, he would stand as an equal to All-Father-tier beings, if not surpass them.
---
“For me?”
Maverick raised an eyebrow as he sat inside the study room, eyeing the official robes of the Mystic Arts being presented to him.
Across from him sat the Sorcerer Supreme, flanked by the two masters of the Sanctum. The one offering the robes was none other than the Ancient One herself.
Today marked the final day of his practice here, and they already knew he wouldn’t be staying long. But before his departure, the Sorcerer Supreme had summoned him for a brief meeting, and this, as it turned out, was the reason why.
“Consider yourself an official Sorcerer, Mage Caesar. Or perhaps I should say Master Caesar now. As long as you remain our ally, we shall stand as your allies in return. Should you face any trouble in the future, do not hesitate to call upon us. Our aid will be yours.”
Hearing her words, Maverick accepted the offer without hesitation. Though he still harbored doubts about why the Sorcerer Supreme had taken such special interest in him—guiding him personally and probably even bending some of the very rules she herself had made—he trusted that she bore no ill intent.
If anything, it seemed she had recognized his potential and made an early investment in his future. And if that was the case, he was more than willing to accept. Though it felt a bit self-serving on her part, in the end, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement.
“Thank you, Sorcerer Supreme.” Maverick accepted the robes respectfully with both hands and gave a courteous bow. Then, a thought crossed his mind. He retrieved three items from his storage ring and handed one to each of the masters.
“These aren’t anything special,” he explained casually. “Just communication devices—I call them mobile phones. If you know today’s brick-sized cell phones, think of these as smaller, more portable versions. They have color displays and a much more user-friendly interface.”
“We know what a cellphone is, Mage Caesar. We sorcerers are not strangers to technology,” Master Hayes said, taking the rectangular device—almost two fingers long—in his hand. The screen lit up with simple icons, much like the earliest color-display phones from Maverick’s previous life.
Maverick let out a light chuckle and continued, “My company will be releasing these to the world this November. But unlike the public versions, these are alchemically enchanted for extra power and durability. I know it’s not much, but you can use these to contact me for anything casual. And…”
Saying that, he pulled out three more items—this time, three rings—but didn’t hand them out just yet.
“This,” he said, holding up the rings, “you can use if there’s an emergency. I’ll upgrade them to sync with the magical system of Sorcerers and have them ready in a few days. By channeling energy in a special rhythm, you can alert me instantly—even from the other side of the world—and I’ll come to your aid right away.”
He tucked the rings away again, saving them for later delivery.
The Ancient One nodded. “A thoughtful gesture. We accept.”
Maverick smiled warmly and thanked all three of them once more. This wasn’t a goodbye forever, just a pause—for now, he had important matters to attend to before summer came to an end.
With a final nod, he vanished from the Sanctum in a flash of Apparition, reappearing near his home in London.
---
[ Name: Maverick Caesar ]
[ Class: Wizard ]
[ Rank: Arch-Magus ]
[ Magical Energy: 22,751+ ]
[ Points: 5882 ]
[ Extraordinary Characteristic Points: 0 ]
[ Extraordinary Characteristics: ]
[ Excellent grade: Spellcasting, Independent Expanded Dimension, Flight, Vitality, True Concealment, Cosmic Voidgate Conduit ]
[ Talents: ]
[ Magical Energy Manipulation (Master +) ]
[ Magical Sense (Master +) ]
[ Spacial Rift (Advanced +) ]
[ Dominant Spirit (Advanced +) ]
[ Nature Energy Manipulation (Advanced +) ]
[ Transfiguration (Advanced +) ]
[ Alchemy (Advanced +) ]
[ Potions (Intermediate +) ]
[ Eldritch Meditation (Advanced +) ]
[ Spells: ]
[ Aquired Master Proficiency: ]
[ Fiendfyre + | Apparition + | Illusio Lunam Lectorem + ]
[ Aquired Advanced Proficiency: ]
[ Mirror Dimension + | Sling Ring Portal + | Astral Projection + | Eldritch Whips + | Crimson Bands + | Flames of the Faltine + | Bolts of Balthakk + | Shield of the Vishanti + | Crimson Bands of Cyttorak + | Flipendo + | Bombarda + | Bombarda Maxima + | Expelliarmus + | Sanare Vipra (Advanced healing) + | Protego + | Finite Incantatem + | Petrificus Totalus + | Stupefy + | PatronusCharm + | Episkey (Healing) + | Reparo + | Revelio + | Disillusionment + | Wingardium Leviosa + | Occlumency + | Legilimency + | Mirror World spell + | Confundus + ... ]
2025-06-22 09:55:35 +0000 UTC
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Maverick scratched the back of his head a bit sheepishly. He understood why she was surprised. After all, the knowledge and experience granted to him by the system were the result of what should have taken years—if not decades—of effort. All of it compressed into him in an instant.
“Alright,” the Sorcerer Supreme said, standing to her feet. “Now that we’ve covered the fundamentals, I’ll show you the next basic steps. Though… I have a feeling it won’t be much trouble for you.”
Having said that, and without any further explanations, she waved her hand. The table and futons vanished, leaving the room empty except for the bookshelves lining the walls as she prepared to begin tutoring him.
“Watch,” she said.
A swirl of orange sparks danced across her fingers as she began to move her hands in a precise, practiced pattern.
“These are the simplest constructs we teach the disciples of the Sanctum once they’ve learned to refine cosmic energy.”
With one hand, she conjured a radiant shield of orange light, its surface inscribed with ancient sigils and flowing geometric designs that pulsed with arcane power. In the other, she shaped a gleaming energy blade—just as elegant as it looked deadly—etched with the same mystic patterns.
“The shield, as you’d expect, is for defense. It may turn aside blades, bolts, and spells alike... regardless of the origin or system of magic.”
She then pointed the sword at the wooden floor and let it drop.
Woosh!
It pierced halfway into the floorboards before vanishing in a ripple of sparks. A neat gouge remained in the wood.
"Its purpose, as you can see, is quite obvious. But the weapon... it need not always be a sword.”
She conjured it again—only this time, the blade twisted and reshaped itself into a long whip of magical light.
With a sharp crack, she lashed it to the side. The tip curled around a book on the top shelf, stuck to it, and with a tug, the whip yanked the book toward her, and then caught it effortlessly.
"Your imagination is the only limit. These are merely the basics. For more powerful and complex magic, you will, of course, need to learn spells."
She raised her hand again, and a portal opened above her palm. Five thick books dropped from the swirling gateway, which she guided toward Maverick.
He caught them mid-air with his own magic and brought them to his hands. A quick glance at the covers told him they were spellbooks and general mystic arts theory texts.
“Study them. Normally, I’d assign you to a master to teach and guide you... but in your case, I think you can grasp the concepts just by reading.”
Maverick nodded. “Do I need to return them before I leave? After two weeks...”
The Sorcerer Supreme considered for a moment, then shook her head. “If you’re not finished, take them with you. But return them once you’re done. These books may seem like general knowledge, but we don’t spread them beyond the Sanctums. You’re an exception.”
“Understood. Thank you, Ancient One.” Maverick didn’t bother asking why she was making so many exceptions for him. He had a feeling she’d just brush it off with something like, “I can’t tell you now,” so it was better to just follow her script.
He stored the books into his ring and gave a nod of appreciation.
“I’ll try to finish them before the end of next week.”
“Good.”
She then opened another portal, this one leading outside to the main courtyard.
“Come,” she said, motioning for him to follow. “While you’re here, spend half a day every day practicing martial arts with Master Hayes.”
“Our martial arts is also special, just like our meditation technique, and practicing them is a discipline in itself. Moreover, for combat using Eldritch magic, there are no better movement exercises.“
“After finishing martial arts practice, you may use the rest of the time to practice sorcery and study the spell books. If you have questions, you can always come to me.”
They stepped outside to the courtyard, where a group of acolytes practiced under the watchful eyes of two instructors—Masters Hayes and Tenebris. As soon as they saw the Sorcerer Supreme arrive with Maverick, the two paused their instruction and approached.
“Master Ancient One,” they said together with a respectful bow. “Mr. Caesar.”
Maverick and the Sorcerer Supreme returned the gesture.
“Include Mage Caesar in the martial arts training,” she instructed. “In fact, I want one of you to work with him directly—one-on-one. Focus on martial arts and basic constructs. No spells... and also…”
She went on to explain how to tailor his instruction—from martial arts to complex use of constructs and opening portals—clearly taking into account that he was no ordinary acolyte. The two masters understood this too, but nodded nonetheless, accepting her orders without question or need for explanation.
“Oh, and one more thing…”
She opened a small portal, reached inside, and retrieved a modest wooden box. Lifting the lid, she paused for a moment before carefully pulling out a peculiar item.
It was a ring—no, two rings—bronze in color and designed to fit across two fingers. Two connected bands formed its shape, adorned with subtle, intricate engravings. Simple, yet elegant.
Maverick immediately recognized it for what it was: the Sling Ring, a powerful item used to open portals across dimensions.
“This is a Sling Ring,” she explained. “A tool we use to focus cosmic energy and open spatial gateways. Like so—”
She slipped on her own ring and traced a circular motion through the air. Instantly, a full-body-sized portal shimmered into existence beside her.
“Some magic, no matter how well you understand it, cannot be performed without the proper medium. That is one major difference between your system and ours, Mage Caesar.”
Having said that, she handed him the box and stepped into the portal. Before closing it behind her, she turned and offered a small smile. “Good luck.”
And then she was gone.
Maverick then turned to the two Sanctum masters and gave each a respectful nod while holding the box in his hand. “Please take care of me, Masters.”
---
The day passed in a blur.
Master Tenebris took the first session, guiding Maverick through martial arts forms and drills. He mentioned that Master Hayes would take over the next day, and that they would alternate daily.
Maverick had no complaints. Learning from both would give him broader insight.
He didn’t practice magic or how to use the Sling Ring to open portals today, and focused solely on martial arts. While he already had a solid foundation from his MI6 training, he quickly realized that the techniques taught here were different. Nothing supernatural—but somehow more refined, structured, and deeply effective.
That night, after dinner and inside his room, he finally opened the box containing the Sling Ring. Sure enough, the moment his fingers brushed the bronze surface, a familiar chime echoed in the back of his mind—and a system notification quietly appeared in the corner of his subconscious.
[ Detected an item of Extraordinary Characteristic ]
[ Item: Sling Ring ]
[ Extraordinary Characteristic: Cosmic Conduit ]
[ Grade: Excellent ]
Sitting cross-legged on his bed, slightly hunched over and hugging a pillow, Maverick stared at the ring resting atop his palm. His eyes lingered on the bronze surface, mind turning over the decision he was about to make.
Conduit... like a medium? That meant... without it, using cosmic energy to open portals shouldn’t be possible.
From what he remembered of the MCU movies and his limited understanding of the Marvel universe from the comics, the Sling Ring served as exactly that: a conduit, or focus, for channeling cosmic energy. Sorcerers used it to anchor their intent into reality, allowing them to tear open portals through space-time with precision.
Even the best—Stephen Strange, Wong, Mordo—needed it. The MCU had never shown a sorcerer open a portal without one... unless they had some entirely different source of power, like America Chavez with her multiversal gift, or ancient beings like Dormammu.
Then again, he thought, this isn’t the Marvel universe.
For wizards, Apparition—jumping through space—wasn’t that big of a deal. It was a basic travel method, commonplace among magical folk. But it had its limits. No matter how cool it looked, every jump took a toll. It drained stamina. And unfortunately, stamina was finite.
Even for an Archmage like him, jumping halfway around the world left a strain. Not a lot, but still—any strain, at his level, was telling.
The Sling Ring, though... it was different.
From what he understood—again, through the films and comics—a sorcerer with enough cosmic awareness, magical control, and a clear mental image of the destination could use it to open portals not just around the world, but between planets. Possibly even between planetary systems, spanning distances between stars.
In Infinity War, Doctor Strange used portals on Titan, a planet lightyears away. Earlier, he’d portaled people across Earth’s vast distances without a second thought. When Strange, Iron Man, and Spider-Man were stranded on Titan, there was no new artifact or trick for the return trip—just the Sling Ring.
So yeah, Maverick thought while brushing his chin. Even if I already have teleportation magic as a wizard, this is still worth it.
It was a matter of efficiency. Apparition drained stamina and was limited to short distances. The Sling Ring—if mastered properly—had none of those drawbacks.
After a long pause and a deep exhale, Maverick finally made his decision.
[ Do you want to use one Extraordinary Characteristic Point to replicate it? ]
[ Yes ]
2025-06-20 23:27:19 +0000 UTC
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