A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Just over ten minutes ago.

In the village of Hogsmeade, the challenge continued.

As per the routine, Felix elucidated on ancient magical scripts in the morning, a segment was reserved at noon for showcasing prowess, and the afternoon was dedicated to on-site ancient language experts, wizarding school professors, and the headmaster, who would raise queries while Felix took charge of answering.

However, following the recent 'disappearance of a dozen dark wizards' and the 'illumination spell by Felix to disperse the dark clouds,' the wizards present were visibly dazed. Despite Felix's words, they mechanically stared at him, still reeling from the recent astonishments.

No one dared step forward for the challenge. Several wizards who had signed magical contracts lamented their predicament.

Felix promptly announced the postponement of the challenge to the next day, urging everyone to rest for a couple of hours before resuming the questioning phase. The wizards dispersed, each needing time to digest everything they had witnessed, especially redefining the ancient magical scripts in their minds.

A handful of wizards and all the journalists remained, encircling Felix, bombarding him with various inquiries.

"Mr. Harp, was the magma-like flame you just used another form of ancient magic?"

"Indeed."

Felix glanced at the journalist. "You can assume so." The journalist's breath hitched, displaying an awkward smile.

"Mr. Harp, I read about the Illumination Spell in a booklet about ancient magical scripts, but its description was nowhere near as extraordinary as your demonstration...?"

"Ancient magic varies from person to person," Felix patiently explained, "It's challenging to control but lacks limitations."

"Mr. Harp! Oh, excuse me, please! I'm a senior official from the French Ministry of Magic. I corresponded with you through a letter—" interrupted a stout man whose hat got displaced, revealing a few strands of thinning hair.

Felix appraised him, "Giles Fitzgeller?"

"Yes, I'm here on behalf of Maxwell," the man slightly bowed, exposing his balding head, "The French Ministry is interested in introducing new subjects at Beauxbatons School. Can we discuss?"

Felix's eyes lit up, scanning the surroundings for an imposing figure, "Is Madame Maxim not here?"

"She got delayed with some trivial matters, might arrive tomorrow. But the Vice Headmistress of Beauxbatons is here—" the man struggled amidst the crowd, as if about to retch. With one hand on his head and another pointing towards a man several feet away.

"No problem," Felix replied.

At the edge of Hogsmeade Square, Amelia Bones sighed in relief, "Thankfully, no major trouble arose. Who were those dozen dark wizards? Do we have records of them?"

Kingsley replied, "The available data is scarce, and they used a phantom displacement to enter. These dark wizards, however—"

"Proved to be foolish," Mrs. Bones sarcastically remarked.

After a moment, she asked in a low voice, "Is there no news from Mad-Eye's side?"

"No reports yet," Kingsley responded.

"Strange," Mrs. Bones puzzled, "We arranged a day off specifically, leaving unprecedented emptiness in the department. It's the perfect opportunity to seize the Memory Sphere..." ṝãɴꝋβĚŠ

Kingsley shrugged.

"I don't expect Voldemort to show up in this scenario. Let's just eliminate potential threats," Mrs. Bones smiled, "Even without Mad-Eye and the Aurors, there are nearly two to three thousand wizards in Hogsmeade, many among them elite wizards."

Her expression froze upon seeing a particular face. The headmaster of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Gilbert Fontana, suddenly turned pale and rushed away.

"Let's follow." With slight hesitation, Mrs. Bones said.

They watched Fontana enter a nearby tent. Mrs. Bones and Kingsley called out twice, receiving no response, realizing something was amiss.

Mrs. Bones cautiously parted the curtains while Kingsley readied a spell, finding the tent empty.

They exchanged glances.

"Was it a phantom displacement? Or a portkey? Kingsley, inform the Portkey Office and the team for reverse spontaneous magic events. At least, determine the general movement..." Mrs. Bones spoke sternly.

...

Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Headmaster's Office.

A figure suddenly materialized inside the room. At the same time, Gilbert Fontana dashed out through the window at an astounding speed.

"Headmaster Fontana?" Uriah Edmund, who was strolling the garden with Berni Bach, inquired with surprise, "Weren't you going to England? Why are you back so soon?"

Fontana hastily left a sentence, "The Serpentwood Restraint was triggered; I need to check." Then vanished from their sight.

Uriah's expression turned grave. He turned to Berni, "If it's enough to alarm Headmaster Fontana, I must follow and see."

"In case of danger—"

Uriah hesitated, raising his arm. Tiny runes began appearing on the inner wrist, followed by the appearance of a wand.

"Uriah, this is for crucial times as instructed by Mr. Harp," Berni advised, "I'll go find the other professors—"

"Now is a crucial moment." With a firm grip on the wand, Uriah said, "Don't worry, I'll take care of myself."

Meanwhile, Fontana had reached the school gates and, after a brief pause, sprinted towards the Serpentwood. His mind raced; every former headmaster had laid protective magic on the Serpentwood, something even an ordinary student couldn't tamper with. Moreover, the Serpentwood was connected to a secret dating back over three hundred years.

The hidden history of Ilvermorny slowly unfolded in his mind:

Isolt Sayre, a witch whose mother hailed from the ancient Gaunt family—a lineage of pure-blooded witches and one of the longest descendants of Salazar Slytherin among them. However, her mother didn't align with the family's staunch views on blood purity and had left the family early.   

  After her marriage, tragedy struck Isolt's family in a devastating fire that claimed both her parents.

The culprit was Isolt's aunt—Gormlaith Gaunt, a temperamental witch. She took the five-year-old Isolt, intending to mold her into a "proper" pure-blood witch. As Isolt grew, she realized the true nature of her aunt, seizing an opportunity to steal her aunt's wand (as she wasn't allowed her own) and boarding the Mayflower to North America.

That wand was the Gaunt family heirloom—Salazar Slytherin's Serpentwood wand.

In the New World, Isolt married James Steward, and they enjoyed peaceful years together. During this time, she laid the groundwork for Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. However, Gormlaith Gaunt, who had lost track of the family heirloom, eventually discovered Isolt's whereabouts. Furious, she invoked the pre-designed commands in the Serpent Wand, sending it into a dormant state. Gormlaith then prepared to kill Isolt's entire family.

However, she ultimately failed.

Later, Isolt buried the dormant wand outside the school and attempted to craft her own wand. The following year, where the Serpent Wand had been buried, sprouted into what became the emblematic "Healing" Serpent Wand of Ilvermorny.

President Fontana finally arrived at the spot, only to be astounded: the Serpent Wand lay utterly destroyed, reduced to ashes.

A pale-skinned, indistinctly featured wizard in black robes gently caressed a wand shimmering with vibrant light.

The Serpent Wand!

Crafted by Salazar Slytherin himself, this wand had recently made waves in the news as the modest seventh-ranked wand. However, President Fontana sneered at this notion. He had known from the start that while other wands might be mere legends, this one was undoubtedly real. And extraordinarily powerful.

Voldemort felt extremely satisfied. In his hand lay the wand of the greatest among the Four Founders, with no trace of rejection. He could sense the ancestral wand cheering; its power resonated with his magic, urging him to use it to its full potential.

"There's no wand more suited to me, and no one more deserving to wield it than I..." Voldemort mused, considering a suitable sacrifice. His gaze turned to the sky. Wasn't Felix Harp supposed to be at Hogwarts right now?

Voldemort smirked coldly and was about to depart—

"Hold it!" President Fontana shouted, meeting Voldemort's red-eyed gaze. Frowning, Fontana observed the tall, slender figure before him, resembling a skeleton, a peculiarly twisted face, the more he looked, the more familiar it seemed...

"Are you the Dark Wizard, Voldemort?" he said coldly.

"You may address me as the Dark Lord Voldemort," Voldemort replied courteously.

"Whoever you are, leave the wand! It isn't yours," Fontana demanded. Though Voldemort had never appeared in America, and Fontana had no dealings with him, the mere fact of his return... No, it was absurd. Magic couldn't resurrect the dead.

But having witnessed Voldemort's reign of terror in Britain for over a decade, Fontana remained extremely vigilant.

"Not mine? There's no one more rightful to possess it than I," Voldemort sneered. "What if I refuse?" He lazily opened his hand, and the Serpent Wand gleamed in his palm.

Fontana sensed trouble; the wand seemed to have chosen its master. However, he drew his wand, ready for anything, fulfilling his duty as a headmaster.

"Hey!" Voldemort sneered, his vividly red eyes seeming ready to shed blood. He softly said, "Considering you as the first sacrifice wouldn't be a disgrace to it..."

"What did you say?"

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light filled his entire vision.

"No!"

...

"No!"

Harry cried out. His mind was in chaos, as if it had been slashed with a knife. All he could see was green light—a color of death. He and another young man in his mind shouted simultaneously, a person he found strangely familiar...

"Harry, wake up!"

Hermione shook him vigorously. He reluctantly opened his eyes, finding himself lying on the ground, resting against the cold earth, a large shadow looming over him. Ron was there, bickering incessantly with Malfoy.

"What did you do to him, Malfoy? I knew you couldn't be trusted!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"It's not him, Ron. It's Harry's scar," Hermione said.

Harry blinked, uninterested in their argument. He felt incredibly heavy-hearted; someone had died, the headmaster of Ilvermorny. A lingering green light remained in his mind. Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy's faces twisted strangely, while Neville stood silently, as motionless as a stone.

He turned his head, seeing Sirius and Snape rushing over from a distance, both looking equally anxious...

Harry massaged his forehead intensely; the scar throbbed like needles.

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice tinged with tears, "you can't keep doing this." She took a deep breath. "You can't allow your mind to be invaded—"

"Allow? Hermione, I can't let crucial information slip away, and it's not me being invaded; it's me invading Voldemort's mind!" Harry retorted angrily.

"But they're the same; your mental defenses have become full of holes. It could ruin your practiced Occlumency," Hermione patiently reasoned.

"I can't focus on that now, Hermione. This can wait; we have more important things to do right now," Harry said. He pushed himself up, his hand touching the cold mud, invigorating his spirit. He grabbed some and pressed it against his forehead, the icy sensation easing the pain in his scar.

Raising his head, he stared at the cast-iron gates before him.

"Harry, what did you see? What did he do?" Hermione leaned in, whispering.

"He killed the headmaster of Ilvermorny," Harry said, dazedly.

Horrified, Hermione covered her mouth. Ron and Malfoy were speechless, while Neville's eyes widened, and the just-arrived Sirius and Snape froze in place. They stared at Harry, as if hearing the most absurd thing on earth.

But it was Harry who first

realized. He urgently said, "There's something more critical—Voldemort is coming."

"What?"

"Voldemort is coming, he's heading to Hogwarts to find Professor Harp!"

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