[Marvel's Hogwarts Professor] Chapter 701 - 705

Chapter 701: A Changed World

[Link to Harry Potter World Shuttle Channel] [Linking...]

[Link failed] [Reason for failure: World shielding strengthened, defense mechanism activated, world has shifted from original coordinates...]

[Initiating new search...] [Searching...] [Expanding search parameters, increasing energy investment, deploying origin power...]

[Searching...] [Search continuing...] [...]

In the ethereal void between dimensions, Lockhart waited silently, his enchanted suitcase clutched in his hand. Though system notifications continued to appear, he had anticipated some complications during this final interdimensional transit.

He hadn't, however, expected difficulties of this magnitude.

In the past, traveling between worlds had been nearly instantaneous—a transition completed in the blink of an eye. But now...

Lockhart cautiously extended a tendril of mental energy, lightly probing the chaotic, twisted energies and information streams that surrounded him in the void.

This must be the space between worlds. And it was... dangerous.

Ultimately, "dangerous" was the only appropriate label Lockhart could assign to this place. Even with the system's protection, he hesitated to extend his consciousness further.

The tiny fragment of awareness he'd already projected was almost instantly obliterated. What little he managed to sense revealed boundless, chaotic, disordered, and violently twisted energy fluctuations.

A profound sense of dread washed over him. Perhaps only beings of divine stature could hope to survive in such an environment.

With these sobering thoughts, Lockhart resigned himself to patient waiting. His only option now was to await the system's precise results. At worst, he would simply return to the Marvel universe empty-handed.

He had prepared himself for this disappointing outcome.

Time seemed meaningless in this place. The system interface continued displaying its blue search progress indicator for what felt like an eternity.

Suddenly...

"Host, I'm not sure whether to tell you you're fortunate or unfortunate," the system's voice, silent for so long, finally announced. "There's good news, and there's rather problematic news. Which would you prefer to hear first?"

Lockhart gently pinched the handle of his suitcase, unconsciously running his tongue across his lips.

"Let's establish one thing first," he said softly.

"Congratulations, host! The Harry Potter world is undergoing a state of advancement!"

Harry Potter World, 2033 New York, United States

Honk! Honk! Honk!

A large vehicle hovered high above the city skyline, its horn blaring impatiently. The scene resembled a driver waiting at a traffic light—which, in fact, was precisely the situation.

Floating traffic signals in mid-air indicated that even in the sky, the fundamental rules of traffic control remained in effect.

Buzz!

Soon the red light transitioned to green. As if coordinated by a single consciousness, all the aerial vehicles surged forward together.

Each car moved with remarkable precision, turning and navigating around others with barely any change in velocity. The drivers demonstrated skills that could only come from years of experience.

No—to call them "experienced drivers" would be a significant understatement. These operators possessed what amounted to trillions of miles of driving experience.

In 2033, the concept of manually driving one's vehicle had become almost laughably archaic. Why would anyone drive themselves when artificial intelligence could handle the task with perfect efficiency? Self-driving had become so standard that manual operation seemed ungrateful to the technology available.

On the aerial track above Queens, a yellow vehicle gradually descended to ground level and proceeded forward at a measured pace. It soon came to a stop before a roadside house.

A red-haired woman exited the vehicle and walked directly toward the entrance without glancing back. As she approached, the car began automatically parking itself while the house door slid open.

The woman entered without hesitation.

Slam!

The door shut forcefully behind her, though the sound didn't startle her in the slightest. Instead, she calmly settled onto a sofa.

Sigh... sigh...

The red-haired woman took several deep breaths, her body language suggesting a transition from tension to partial relaxation.

"Professor Maura, what developments have you observed outside?"

Suddenly, a figure materialized beside the sofa, the voice cold and precise.

The woman—Maura—quickly rose to her feet, her tone grave as she responded: "Principal Carter, the dictator's search efforts have intensified beyond precedent. In major cities like New York and Washington, magical apprentices experiencing power manifestations are being collected almost immediately."

Professor Mora's voice carried both affection and desperation. Their situation had already deteriorated significantly—hiding from surveillance daily, resources dwindling to critical levels. These hardships had become their norm.

But now, with recruitment of even a single new student becoming impossible, they faced a dire shortage of fresh talent. Like wounded prey, they were being systematically bled to extinction.

"The methods have become more severe?" Principal Carter inquired thoughtfully. She appeared unmoved by Maura's emotional state, maintaining her composure.

Not long ago, she had sensed pulsations from the Dream Origin. Combined with the current search patterns...

"Yes!" Professor Mora seemed to suppress her inner despair as she nodded emphatically.

"I understand," Peggy Carter said softly. "Maura, return to the Dream World first. I fear this location won't remain secure much longer."

"After all..." she left the thought unfinished.

The precision of technology combined with the mystery of magic creates a formidable force.

With a gentle wave of her hand, Carter summoned a kaleidoscope of colorful lights, and both figures vanished instantly.

The house returned to darkness and silence.

This stillness persisted for an indeterminate period until suddenly—

CRASH!

A thunderous sound erupted as the house's door shattered. Several robotic figures leaped through the opening and stormed into the residence.

Their metallic arms, hands, and torsos bristled with various weapons, ammunition, and tactical equipment. Their steel heads rotated rapidly, red optical sensors flickering as they conducted comprehensive scans.

After a brief analysis, a mechanical voice reported:

"Alert: Lost traces of the Blasphemer."

"No life signatures detected."

"No spatial fluctuations present." "Minor energy fluctuations detected." "Energy signature analysis in progress..." "Composition: 97% Blasphemy power, 2% Shadow essence, 0.5%..." "Deductive calculations indicate target has likely returned to the Blasphemy stronghold—Kamar-Taj!"

Once the information transmission completed, the robots methodically withdrew from the premises, leaving only devastation in their wake.

Dream World, Kamar-Taj

Across a verdant plain stood ancient castles and towers, their majestic silhouettes dominating the landscape. The uppermost level of the central castle housed the office of Kamar-Taj's Principal.

Peggy Carter sat alone at her desk, brow furrowed in apparent internal conflict. She seemed to be weighing a critical decision, one with far-reaching consequences.

For decades, she had shouldered responsibility for tens of thousands throughout the school. Her choices directly impacted everyone's fate.

Relocating from London to New York had proven correct. But now, a greater question loomed: should they return to London—Voldemort's very stronghold—from their refuge in New York?

Chapter 702: The Federation

London, England remained ceaselessly vibrant regardless of hour. The city truly never slept—an apt description for the center of the world.

Decades earlier, when the great king Tom Riddle conquered the British Isles with his mysterious supernatural powers, subsequently subjugating Germany, subduing the United States, and sweeping across the globe, the traditional divisions of nations had dissolved. Countries like Britain, Germany, and the United States ceased to exist as independent entities.

There remained only the Federation—a singular authority ruling the entire Earth.

As the birthplace of the king, the British Isles naturally became the world's center, with London as its pulsating heart. Here, everyone who entered or departed possessed wealth and power. The wizards who commanded mysterious forces were especially revered.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

The sound of rushing wind accompanied a fleet of black aircraft soaring toward the city center. Each bore a distinctive emblem prominently displayed on its fuselage—a skull above, serpents below.

The Dark Mark of the Death Eaters.

Civilian aircraft in the vicinity hastily cleared a path upon spotting this insignia, none daring to impede the black fleet's trajectory. The ordinary citizens watched the aircraft depart with a mixture of trepidation and envy.

These were the truly privileged, the superior ones. Even ordinary dignitaries—mayors included—would adopt ingratiating smiles in their presence. The emblem signified without question that its bearers were wizards wielding mysterious powers, loyal ministers and warriors in service to the king.

Lucius Malfoy sat within one of the aircraft, his gaze fixed dispassionately ahead. The decades had brought dramatic transformations.

The once-preeminent wizards Grindelwald and Lockhart had long since vanished. Even Dumbledore—former Hogwarts headmaster and once considered the world's greatest magical practitioner—hadn't been heard from in years.

The pure-blood nobles and Death Eaters now wielded influence over world affairs—a reality engineered by the former Dark Lord and current Federation King, His Majesty Tom Riddle.

The black aircraft gradually decelerated, having reached its destination. Modern wizards had abandoned traditional broomsticks; under the king's global dominion, magical systems had undergone revolutionary innovation. Antiquated modes of transportation had been replaced with the current magical flying machines.

Lucius touched the wand at his waist reflexively as he disembarked. Several robust wizards clad in black, emanating subtle magical auras, approached immediately.

"Minister Malfoy," one addressed him with soft deference, "the conference chamber is prepared. Minister Crouch, Attorney General Pierce, and the others have already arrived."

Lucius merely glanced at these wizards, offering a slight nod to indicate they should lead the way.

These individuals had once been Squibs—non-magical persons born to magical parents. Now, with the reformed magical system, through specialized meditation techniques, these Squibs had gained opportunities to connect with mysterious magical energies. Without such advancement, they would have remained at society's lowest tier, relying solely on physical labor for sustenance.

As these reflections crossed his mind, Lucius followed his guides deeper into the building, contemplating what urgent matter had prompted this sudden summons. He had no interest in dwelling on Squib affairs; his thoughts focused exclusively on why His Majesty would summon him through the Dark Mark.

The abruptness of the situation was notable. He had been overseeing magical industrial operations in America when the call came, necessitating his immediate return.

Such urgent commands had become rare over the years. The last comparable instance had occurred more than three decades earlier, during the campaign to raid the Magical Congress of the United States of America and neutralize Muggle nuclear capabilities.

Suddenly—

Click! Click! Click!

The sound of heels striking the floor echoed through the corridor—slightly hurried, as if driven by anxiety carefully restrained.

Lucius glanced toward the sound and immediately recognized Bellatrix Lestrange, His Majesty's most devoted confidant and ardent admirer. A woman of her temperament would naturally exhibit such urgency when faced with a royal summons.

If not for the restricted spatial teleportation protocols within this facility, Bellatrix would likely have apparated directly before His Majesty without hesitation.

Lucius quickened his pace to reach Bellatrix's side.

"Bella, what has transpired? Do you have any information?" he inquired in hushed tones.

Though both served the Dark Lord, Bellatrix's loyalty and status far exceeded his own. It would be unsurprising if she possessed knowledge that had not yet reached him.

Bellatrix glanced at her relative, momentary disgust flashing across her features before she shook her head, indicating her own ignorance. She then accelerated her pace toward the conference chamber.

These calculating pure-bloods, she thought dismissively. Their loyalty conditional, their abilities questionable. When it comes to political maneuvering, however, they excel.

Had the two incarnations of His Majesty not merged into one, these scheming factions might still oppose one another openly.

Indeed, there had once been two Voldemorts, but now only one remained. Whether this singular entity had resulted from one devouring the other or through genuine merger remained unknown.

But with only one Voldemort—this Dark Lord, this Tom Riddle—his intelligence, methodology, and strength had reached unprecedented heights, enabling the near-unification of the world under his rule.

Lucius observed Bellatrix ahead of him, understanding her thoughts but remaining unconcerned. Though both served His Majesty, their factions maintained distinct priorities. Regardless of their familial connections, she represented the absolutist faction, while pure-blood wizards like himself inevitably prioritized familial interests to some degree.

Upon entering the conference chamber, Lucius felt a sudden cold sweat break across his skin. There, seated at the head of the table, was the former Dark Lord and current Federation King, His Majesty Tom Riddle.

Lucius hastened to his designated seat, carefully keeping his eyes averted. He focused instead on the small nameplate before him: "Finance Minister Lucius Malfoy."

The conference room remained utterly silent; none dared speak. The atmosphere hung heavy with tension. With His Majesty Riddle present, no one would risk utterance without explicit invitation.

Even the faintest sound, though transmitted through magical means, would resonate like a shout in his presence. The attendees even restrained their thoughts, avoiding direct eye contact with Tom, lest any untoward notions be detected.

Before a master who could absorb thoughts through Legilimency, no secrets remained safe.

Time ticked by methodically. Eventually, all seats around the grand table were occupied, everyone silently awaiting His Majesty Tom Riddle's directives.

"Now that all are present, let us address the matter at hand," Tom's measured voice carried effortlessly through the chamber, commanding immediate attention from all present.

Clearly, the issue was of considerable importance—His Majesty had dispensed with even the most perfunctory pleasantries.

"Some of our old friends are returning," Tom Riddle stated calmly, fingertips tapping rhythmically against the polished tabletop.

He then pronounced two names that sent ripples of tension through the assembly:

"Gilderoy Lockhart. Gellert Grindelwald..."

Chapter 703: Fugitives in the Night

Night had fallen on London's East End, yet the district's all-night establishments throbbed with undiminished vitality. The city maintained its bustling energy well after sunset, with revelers coming and going, indulging in various festivities.

Flying vehicles traversed the sky while ground transportation wove through streets below. "Busy" scarcely captured the pulsating life of the megalopolis under darkness.

In a relatively secluded bar, patrons danced, sang, and drank according to their inclinations. A middle-aged man in nondescript gray casual attire moved through the corner of the establishment, wine glass in hand. With practiced nonchalance, he settled into a seat beside a red-haired woman.

Clink!

After gently touching glasses, the man took a measured sip of his wine.

"Vera, what information have you gathered?" he inquired softly.

"Nothing promising, I'm afraid." The woman raised her own glass, taking a deliberate sip to mask the gravity in her expression. "Ian, this return differs entirely from our expectations. Not only has time advanced significantly—nearly forty years—but the world itself has transformed. Hogwarts has vanished completely."

Hearing this, Ian reclined slightly against the sofa cushions, assuming a posture of casual relaxation despite the concerning news.

"Indeed," he murmured. "The Kamar-Taj Dream World remains equally unreachable. Our other associates are similarly incommunicado. It's as though everything we knew has simply... disappeared."

His tone grew heavier with his final words.

"Yesterday I attempted to use magic to summon our returning companions," Vera continued. "I was unprepared for how swiftly Voldemort's forces responded. They appear to monitor the entire city continuously."

The situation was increasingly unfavorable to their cause.

Ian offered no further comment, silently draining his glass. This return had defied all their preparations. Beyond losing contact with their allies, they had emerged into a hostile environment none had anticipated.

Who could have foreseen that the Dark Lord Voldemort—once hounded by Ian's teacher, forced to flee constantly—would now command dominion over the entire world? Even the contingencies established by his mentor Lockhart to contain Voldemort had proven ineffectual.

Hogwarts had vanished. Headmaster Dumbledore had disappeared without trace. No information regarding either could be found.

These had been Lockhart's primary safeguards for the wizarding world. Given Dumbledore's formidable abilities, even if he couldn't defeat the Dark Lord outright, he should have been able to maintain some form of resistance indefinitely.

Why had there been no word for over three decades?

This question plagued Ian. The root cause of the world's dramatic transformation surely connected to this mysterious disappearance—the missing Dumbledore.

As Ian pondered these troubling matters, the atmosphere suddenly shifted.

"Auror inspection!" a commanding voice announced. "Stop the music! No one moves! Silence!"

A cacophony of authoritative orders shattered the bar's ambiance. The previously pulsing music cut abruptly, leaving a jarring silence.

The crowd, hearing the word "Auror," fell immediately still. No one dared move, each fearing identification as a person of interest.

Aurors were not mere police officers. They were wizards wielding mysterious powers. Where ordinary law enforcement might need justification for lethal force, Aurors killed with impunity. One's guilt or innocence was determined solely by their judgment.

The bar remained perfectly silent for thirty tense seconds. No patron risked movement. Regardless of an ordinary person's speed, none could outpace a wizard's spell.

Moreover, magical detection capabilities were legendarily effective.

Ian and Vera sensed the magical fluctuations surrounding the bar, their expressions subtly shifting. The Dark Lord's response system had evolved to remarkable efficiency.

Neither reacted rashly, however. They discerned that this particular Auror unit possessed only average magical strength—their energy signatures resembled those of ordinary wizards. The magical flow within these Aurors followed a vaguely familiar pattern.

"Damn it," Vera muttered, "these Squibs have adopted the master's meditation techniques, yet they hunt us."

The proliferation of meditation practices had dramatically increased the wizard population. Among the vast Muggle majority, many potential Squibs existed undetected. When Voldemort had publicly released the meditation methodology, a veritable army of Squib wizards had emerged.

These newly empowered individuals became Voldemort's staunchest supporters, helping him establish dominion over the entire world. Wizards—even those of Squib origin—now constituted a privileged class globally.

Beep! "Move along!" Beep! "Not your concern, exit immediately."

The mechanical sounds continued as Aurors processed the bar's patrons one by one. Each beep was followed by instructions for the scanned individual to depart.

The Aurors appeared to operate some form of testing apparatus. With his magically enhanced vision, Ian observed the process clearly.

Each Auror wore specialized thick glasses and wielded an elongated black device which they pressed briefly against each patron's fingertip. As the device's yellow indicator light shifted to green, the person was instructed to leave. A small blood mark remained on every departing patron's finger, suggesting the machine had extracted a sample for analysis.

This methodology gave Ian pause. The Dark Lord had not grown complacent in his dominance but had continued developing innovative methods of control. These instruments represented a fusion of technology and magic—an approach previously unknown in wizarding society.

As these thoughts crossed his mind, an Auror approached Ian and Vera. He extended the scanning device, gesturing for their cooperation.

With apparent calm, the pair offered their index fingers without hesitation.

Beep!

The yellow light transitioned to green.

"Proceed," came the Auror's cold instruction. Ian and Vera promptly exited the establishment.

Though these Aurors wielded specialized equipment, they posed little threat to Lockhart's direct disciples. A child armed with a pistol could hardly threaten a heavily armored giant.

Ian had casually cast an illusion spell that the Aurors failed completely to detect. Even the external instruments designed to identify magical fluctuations registered no anomaly.

While uncertain about developments in high-level magical combat capabilities within the Wizarding World, Ian remained confident that unless Voldemort personally pursued them, they could escape any other wizard—even if victory might prove challenging.

Ian and Vera strolled along the street outside, appearing to engage in casual conversation as they walked.

"Ian, what's your next move?" Vera asked quietly.

"The chess piece our mentor positioned within the wizarding world—Rita Skeeter—has surprisingly become a prominent reporter. I intend to arrange a conversation with her," he replied. "And you? What's your plan?"

"I want to investigate why the mentor's magical brand appears to have failed. If we could contact Principal Carter, I believe many of our questions might find answers."

"Very well, pursue your research," Ian agreed, then added, "Though regarding Rita Skeeter, I'm personally hesitant to approach her yet. My intuition suggests it might be a trap. We should seek someone else."

"Ian, who do you consider suitable?"

"An old acquaintance would be ideal."

"Who?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

Chapter 704: The Malfoys' Dilemma

London, Malfoy Manor.

The Malfoy family of the present bore little resemblance to its former self. Once merely a prominent British pure-blood family, they now stood at the pinnacle of global power. The significance of Lucius's position as Federal Minister of Finance was self-evident.

Having ascended to become one of the world's preeminent families, the Malfoys had long since relocated to London, the epicenter of political influence. Even at this late hour, Malfoy Manor remained brilliantly illuminated against the night sky.

On the estate's expansive lawn, middle-aged Draco Malfoy sat cross-legged, eyes closed in deep meditation. The magical energy fluctuating around him significantly exceeded that of ordinary practitioners.

The meditation techniques he practiced had originated with Hogwarts Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, once considered the world's premier wizard. After Lockhart's disappearance, the great Tom Riddle had vigorously developed and expanded these practices, creating an entirely new magical system founded upon runes and ancient arcane principles.

Despite being the Finance Minister's son, Draco had not followed his father's path. Instead, he had pursued a career in law enforcement, eventually rising to become Director of the Auror Office. His position commanded dozens of teams dedicated to hunting wizard dissidents and other insubordinate elements.

For Draco, his situation inspired a measure of silent resentment. Despite his directorial title and considerable authority, his position was far from unique. Nearly every major city boasted someone of equivalent rank. His jurisdiction wasn't even London but rather a relatively remote region in America.

Calling it exile might be excessive, but only marginally so. Even the most obtuse official understood that proximity to London—the political nucleus—correlated directly with influence and advancement. His posting to America, despite its apparent power, had effectively capped his potential for promotion.

Unless he achieved something truly extraordinary, returning to work in Britain would remain unlikely.

Draco understood the reasoning behind his circumstances all too well. His father controlled the Federation's finances; if Draco himself commanded significant military or law enforcement power while stationed in London, the Malfoy family's combined influence might become problematically concentrated.

Only through exceptional merit could he earn promotion and return to England.

As Draco meditated, he gradually calmed his internal frustrations. He was no longer the impetuous youth of his school days. Years of conflict and administrative responsibility had instilled in him a deeper measure of equanimity.

After an indeterminate period, his concentration was interrupted.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

The sound of approaching footsteps caused him to open his eyes. Before him stood his father, Lucius Malfoy.

"Father," Draco acknowledged, rising to his feet. "What prompted this sudden summons?"

Studying his middle-aged son with an appraising gaze, Lucius's expression softened into a smile. Rather than answering directly, he initiated a seemingly casual conversation.

"How is my dear granddaughter Nona faring these days? Does she miss her grandfather?" Lucius inquired warmly.

At the mention of his daughter, Draco's features visibly softened.

"Nona is thriving. She continues to excel at Ilvermorny," he replied, his tone gentler. "She misses you dearly and mentions you frequently in her letters. I plan to bring her home during the next holiday for an extended visit."

Lucius nodded appreciatively, then seemed to fixate momentarily on a particular detail. "Ilvermorny," he murmured, almost to himself.

Abruptly, his demeanor shifted, becoming notably more serious.

"What developments have you observed in America? Any progress locating the dark wizards?"

This question touched upon the silver lining of Draco's remote posting. America had shown signs of dark wizard activity. Successfully capturing these Kamar-Taj practitioners—these traitors to the Federation—would certainly please His Majesty Tom Riddle, potentially fulfilling Draco's desire to return to London.

This explained Draco's prolonged tenure in America. A significant contribution could resolve his current predicament.

Unfortunately...

"No success thus far. These vermin conceal themselves with remarkable efficiency," Draco responded with evident frustration. "Often we identify promising leads, only to find our quarry has slipped away like eels through water."

His voice diminished as he concluded, the weight of repeated failure evident in his tone.

He had hoped to distinguish himself by capturing dark wizards, yet after more than a decade, he remained stationed in America with nothing substantive to show for his efforts.

This constituted his persistent dilemma. Even his father's position as Finance Minister provided no remedy. Those who opposed him actively hoped he would languish indefinitely in America.

The Federation's vastness harbored numerous competing factions. Established only twenty to thirty years prior, it still contained remnants of various Ministries of Magic, newly empowered wizards, traditional pure-bloods, and other diverse interest groups. The political landscape remained exceptionally complex.

Lucius nodded, maintaining his composure. "Don't concern yourself unduly, Draco. Recent developments promise significant changes. You must seize the opportunities these shifts will create."

"What changes?" Draco inquired immediately, unable to mask his eagerness.

As a Malfoy, he naturally maintained his own information channels and had detected rumblings of transition within the Federation's upper echelons. Though specifics eluded him, his father would certainly possess more comprehensive intelligence.

"Those who vanished have returned," Lucius stated with an unexpected sigh rather than excitement. "In the coming days, mere survival may become the primary challenge. If you endure, opportunities will eventually present themselves."

Draco's brow furrowed at his father's uncharacteristically somber tone.

"Father, are you suggesting Dumbledore has returned? Or perhaps Gilderoy Lockhart? Grindelwald?"

Having witnessed the Federation's establishment firsthand, Draco comprehended the complexities involved in its creation. The process had encountered numerous obstacles—resistance from regional Ministries of Magic, the Muggle world's nuclear threat, and various other complications—most of which had been methodically overcome.

Yet virtually every wizard from that era recognized that the Federation had never faced its potentially most significant challenges: confrontations with the wizarding world's most formidable practitioners.

Whether Dumbledore, Grindelwald, or Gilderoy Lockhart (the originator of the meditation techniques now widely practiced), none had manifested during the Federation's formative period, allowing for a considerably smoother consolidation of power.

Had even one of these three legendary wizards appeared, the current Federation would likely never have coalesced in its present form. Their collective absence had permitted Voldemort—once perpetually pursued and frequently defeated—to reverse his fortunes and establish the current global regime.

Crucially, His Majesty Tom Riddle had also evolved, recovering a measure of sanity previously compromised. His methodologies had grown substantially more sophisticated.

Muggles, wizards, Ministries of Magic, Magical Congresses, and Muggle governments alike had proven little more than playthings before His Majesty's refined strategies.

And now, based on his father's words, the once-vanished wizards of legend had apparently returned.

Chapter 705: An Unwelcome Visitor

"Father, are you certain?" Draco's voice carried a bitter edge, his demeanor visibly unsettled.

His anxiety was understandable. If wizards of Grindelwald and Dumbledore's caliber had indeed returned, even the most obtuse observer would recognize their inevitable pursuit of vengeance.

Draco's position in America—tasked with apprehending dark wizards, specifically the remnants of Kamar-Taj and Hogwarts—placed him squarely in potential danger. Would these returned powers not target him specifically?

Lucius responded with a solemn nod. This concern had motivated his urgent summons for his son. The reemergence of legendary wizards represented both crisis and opportunity.

Dangers certainly existed, particularly for his son stationed in America confronting Kamar-Taj and Hogwarts loyalists. If powerful wizards had returned, Draco might become an expedient sacrifice.

Yet simultaneously, achieving significant results during this volatile period would undoubtedly earn recognition from His Majesty Tom Riddle. Should that occur, Draco's return to London and advancement within the law enforcement hierarchy would transform from distant aspiration to attainable reality.

Observing his father's expression, Draco's complexion fluctuated, though he maintained silence. He comprehended the underlying reason for his father's summons.

He now faced a pivotal choice: remain in America, risking his life while continuing to hunt dark wizards in hopes of attracting His Majesty's attention—or strategically withdraw under his father's aegis, surrendering his current position to return to the safety of Malfoy Manor. From there, he could patiently monitor developments before determining his next move.

For ordinary wizards, no such choice would exist. But as son of the Federal Finance Minister and heir to the Malfoy legacy, he possessed this privilege of agency.

This very privilege generated his profound ambivalence. Could he truly abandon over a decade of independent effort? Simply relinquish everything he'd built?

Draco remained silent, his internal conflict evident. As a father, Lucius waited patiently. Whatever decision his son reached, he would accept it. After all, his son had matured—a man in his fifties occupying a position of considerable influence could hardly be considered a child.

Time passed slowly, a palpable tension permeating the manor's lawn.

Suddenly—

Buzz!

A faint silver-gray ripple materialized, enveloping the surrounding area. Simultaneously, a feminine voice with an ambiguous tone—neither entirely amused nor completely serious—broke the silence.

"Please, continue your discussion. Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy—what course will you select?"

"Who intrudes here?" In perfect synchronization, both Lucius and Draco brandished their wands, voices sharp with alarm. They appeared poised to activate the manor's defensive enchantments.

Yet—nothing happened.

In the next instant, a figure materialized before them.

"Avada Kedavra!" "Divine Edge Shadowless!"

The moment the intruder appeared, Lucius and Draco raised their wands in unison, directing potent spells toward the mysterious figure with lightning efficiency.

However—

Buzz!

The figure opposite them extended a right hand casually. A silver-gray light barrier materialized, intercepting both spells instantly upon impact.

The barrier rippled like disturbed water but showed no indication of fracturing. As the figure executed a subtle grasping motion, the barrier began contracting.

Within mere moments, the light barrier had enveloped both spells, condensing into a silver-gray orb of energy attached to the figure's hand. Two distinct magical signatures—one red, one green—continued struggling within the sphere, yet remained firmly contained.

Witnessing this effortless neutralization of their magic, Lucius's expression transformed. Clearly, this visitor's abilities vastly exceeded both his own and his son's.

"My friend," Lucius stated with forced composure, "what do you desire? Whatever your conditions, the Malfoy family will endeavor to meet them. I request only one concession—allow my son to depart unharmed."

Draco, hearing his father plead for his safety, attempted to interject. Before he could speak, however, Lucius silenced him with a severe glance.

Mentally, Lucius rapidly cataloged potential identities for their visitor—a political rival, an agent of His Majesty Tom Riddle, perhaps some dark wizard from the resistance.

The figure before them solidified, revealing a vaguely familiar countenance.

"Vera Fatil!" Draco exclaimed before Lucius could react.

Having dedicated years to hunting Kamar-Taj operatives and Hogwarts-affiliated dark wizards, Draco immediately recognized one of Gilderoy Lockhart's earliest recruited students. Vera Fatil's identity was unmistakable, despite her long absence.

Like her teacher Lockhart, she had reportedly vanished years ago—just as Professor McGonagall and other Hogwarts faculty had disappeared alongside Dumbledore.

"It seems my reputation persists," Vera remarked, examining the two imprisoned spells hovering within her grasp. "More than thirty years have passed in this realm, yet I remain remembered. Fascinating—many intriguing developments must have occurred during these decades."

With a casual gesture, she released the silver-gray orb of light. Countless silver-gray particles dispersed, transforming the immediate environment.

A silver-gray table materialized, accompanied by three chairs positioned before both parties. Vera seated herself with natural confidence, beckoning them forward with a languid wave.

"Join me," she invited, her voice carrying an indolent quality. "Recount the events of these past thirty years. Speak candidly, and your lives shall be spared."

Draco and Lucius exchanged glances, noting both Vera's unchanged youthful appearance and the formidable power evident in her casual displays of magic. Slowly, cautiously, they approached and settled into the offered chairs.

Vera spoke again, her tone now infused with unmistakable coldness.

"Dismiss any notion of contacting your master. No information can penetrate my containment field. Once, Voldemort was merely another defeated adversary of my teacher. His current status exists solely because external circumstances prevented my teacher's return—allowing the monkey to crown himself king."

Lucius remained silent upon hearing this assessment. Similar sentiments had crossed his mind previously. Nevertheless, he harbored uncertainty regarding the relative strengths of His Majesty and Lockhart. After all, the former Dark Lord had maintained control over this vast magical empire for nearly three decades. His current capabilities surely surpassed anything previously imaginable.

Draco appeared skeptical yet demonstrated admirable restraint, recognizing this was no occasion for defiance. Such impulses would constitute nothing short of suicidal recklessness.

"Your Excellency Vera Fatil," Lucius began with calculated deference, "we welcome your return. What specific information do you seek? We shall withhold nothing within our knowledge and express everything we know."