A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

In the village of Hogsmeade, Felix was conversing with a representative from the French Ministry of Magic.

The man named Giles Fitzgeller was quite talkative, and despite his habit of frequently smoothing his sparse hair, the conversation remained relatively relaxed and pleasant.

"I heard Mr. Heap is still the director at Beauxbatons, a talent discovered by Mr. Nicolas Flamel... He certainly chose the right person. Mr. Lemay has always been generous. I received quite a substantial scholarship during my schooling. He's a good man, isn't he, Merlin?" Giles turned to the middle-aged wizard beside him, who was the Deputy Headmaster of Beauxbatons.

"You're right," Merlin replied with gravitas. "Mr. Lemay's departure is a loss to the French wizarding community."

"That's true," Giles cleared his throat. "But now we have Mr. Heap. History has its cycles..."

"Yes," Deputy Headmaster Merlin concisely agreed.

Felix smiled silently. This conversation occurred as Giles subtly probed about the Beauxbatons scholarship arrangements for him. Upon confirming that everything remained unchanged, Giles spent a whole ten minutes excessively praising him. However, upon realizing Felix's lack of interest in the flattering remarks, Giles swiftly pivoted to extol the contributions of Nicolas Flamel.

Nicolas Flamel had left behind a considerable legacy, but Felix only took what was most useful to him, leaving everything else untouched. This included Nick's vault at the French branch of Gringotts; Felix had visited it only once, finding little of alchemical value worthy of his attention.

Therefore, when the goblin from Gringotts presented a stack of thick contracts, he chose not to annul a single one.

"The wind is quite strong today," Giles grumbled, reaching to push away a strand of hair that incessantly tickled his nose.

But soon, distant clamor reached their ears. Felix raised his head, his expression turning serious as he gazed into the distance.

Extending his hand, a black dot appeared on his palm, spreading swiftly like ink dropped in water, and in an instant, a book materialized in his hand.

"Mr. Heap?" Giles asked in astonishment, eyeing the book of magical texts Felix held.

"We're in trouble, Mr. Giles. Inform others to take cover temporarily," Felix said calmly. His figure suddenly disappeared, reappearing at the outskirts of Hogsmeade.

An exaggerated black tornado bore down upon the village. Wherever the black whirlwind passed, rocks, grass, bricks, and trees were uprooted, causing chaos among the wizards.

"Quiet."

Felix heard the resonant voice of Amelia Bones. However, its effect was meager. Everyone was stunned by the sudden arrival of the natural disaster. Although the tornado was still some distance away, the howling winds and raindrops had arrived, hitting them head-on.

"Aurors of the Ministry, strike with me against the storm," Mrs. Bones shouted. Ministry staff emerged from various concealed corners.

Pressing his hand against the book of magical texts, pages flipped, and a dozen milky-white orbs flew out, heading straight for the colossal entity.

"It's the Lumos spell!"

"Professor Heap is here."

The black tornado engulfed the orbs, and after a few seconds, the tornado rapidly expanded. It seemed as if it aimed to roll down the clouds from the sky. Bright beams of light pierced through the roaring vortex, just in time to disperse it before it breached the village.

Forced to disperse into several smaller whirlwinds, the black tornado charged into the village, wreaking havoc. Rocks and branches plummeted from the sky. Felix watched as a boulder the size of a human head smashed a gaping hole in the roof of a shop. The subsequent whirlwind scattered the furnishings inside, resembling some kind of retching creature.

After dispersing one of the smaller tornadoes, Felix had to pause. Standing amidst the chaotic currents, he stared into the sky, where a black-robed wizard appeared, features indistinct, skin pallid.

His red eyes surveyed the wreckage below, silently breaking into a smile. Did thousands of wizards matter?

"Come up," he mouthed.

Unmoved, Felix gazed at Voldemort. From the perspective of Nightquill, his soul radiated a black light from within, missing more than a few pieces, like a rotting pumpkin gnawed and discarded by beasts.

A thought flashed through Felix's mind: Voldemort's soul was uglier than his appearance.

He counted repeatedly, a total of seven gaps.

In other words, Voldemort had created seven Horcruxes... including himself, he had divided his soul into eight parts.

"They've already destroyed four of them: the diary, the crown, Gaunt's ring, and the snake. Three remain: Slytherin's locket in Dumbledore's possession; Harry, who currently can't be separated as a Horcrux; and the last one—unknown."

Felix's lips moved as he relayed this information to Dumbledore in a corner of Hogsmeade. After finishing, he kicked a stone aside, leaping into the air, facing Voldemort from a distance.

"I overestimated you a bit, Voldemort," Felix said. "A self-proclaimed ruler resorting to indiscriminate killing."

"Just a greeting, would you care about accidentally squashing an ant?" Voldemort lazily replied, twirling his wand made of snake wood, observing Felix's silver eyes, the snake-like nostrils flaring in excitement. "Indeed... you've remade yourself too. You've chosen the Night Hippogriff?"

"Ah," Felix replied nonchalantly. "After all, creatures somewhat affiliated with death."

"But they're too feeble; I prefer the Basilisks," Voldemort asserted haughtily. "I bred a few, but none fully matured, perhaps due to missing crucial steps. Later, I found a liking for Dark Magic, conducted some experiments on myself—some successful, some not... that's the price of leading the forefront of the entire wizarding world, necessitating trial and error."

Voldemort relished this prelude to their battle; it was one of his rare interests. There were few who could discuss magic with him in the world, especially given his lack of rapport with Dumbledore—Dumbledore greeted him with Transfiguration spells and spoke incessantly of 'the power of love.'

"Why isn't Dumbledore here? Have you two had a falling out?" Voldemort insinuated maliciously, his snake-like pupils peering down.

"Isn't this what you expected? Before your arrival, I killed over a dozen Dark Wizards. Perhaps he didn't like leaving prematurely," Felix retorted.

Voldemort scrutinized his face, seeming to gauge the authenticity of his words. "Doesn't matter," he said. "He's no longer my match."

"Tsk," Felix clicked his tongue.

"Do you think I'm bluffing?" Voldemort squinted.

"I don't know. But it seems you've finally found a suitable wand for yourself, daring to appear openly," Felix noted, as Voldemort had always prominently displayed his wand from the start.

"Slytherin's wand, crafted by Salazar Slytherin himself, inherited by his finest descendant," Voldemort boasted, spreading his hand, his wand emitting a jade-green light, humming vibrantly.

"That suits you indeed," Felix remarked slowly.

After a brief exchange, an intense battle erupted.

...

Hogsmeade village was in disarray.

Madam Puddifoot, short and plump, dashed out of her ravaged shop, looking thoroughly disheveled. Her storefront had been blown off, now nowhere to be seen. Spotting Voldemort hovering above, she slumped to the ground, dazedly murmuring, "It's true... he's truly returned..."

The relatively composed wizards gathered, uniting to counter the small tornado Felix had just dispersed.

The Ministry's prepared staff proved invaluable, joined by some formidable wizards midway. The owner of the Hog's Head bar cursed while shattering a mini-tornado, then glanced toward a white-bearded old man not far off, bearing some resemblance to him.

"You're utterly useless," Aberforth bluntly remarked.

Dumbledore waved, dispersing a whirlwind, listening intently. Seconds later, his eyes displayed a complex mix of surprise, regret, and hesitation. When he looked up, he found his brother glaring at him fiercely, seemingly pondering whether to land a punch on his nose.

"Ah, sorry, what were you saying?" Dumbledore hastily glanced into the distance; the battle had commenced. Felix had lured Voldemort outside the village, their clash echoing through the valley, black thunder accompanied by dazzling golden flames, raking the earth repeatedly, followed by a rain of spears, coins, and... was that butterbeer bottle caps?

In a corner, a chubby wizard with a walrus mustache peeked around, looking embarrassed when meeting Dumbledore's gaze.

...

A crimson-gold giant bird swooped down from the sky, its tail shimmering with golden light, sharp claws of the same color gripping a string of people, dragging one along its tail. Fawkes screeched disapprovingly, tossing off the one who'd been clutching its feathers all along.

"My word—"

"Ouch! Don't crush me."

"Quiet, stay alert!"

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville struggled to their feet, seeing Sirius cautiously wielding his wand, surveying their surroundings. "Take out your wands, kids," Harry and the others did so. Before them lay havoc, rubble strewn everywhere, display windows shattered, not a single intact pane to be found. A shop's sign had been pelted, dust thickly coating everything.

"That's Madam Puddifoot's shop! Where's her door?" Ron pointed at the wide-open doors of a teashop.

A figure staggered into the shop, Draco Malfoy. He almost crawled, rushing into the tea house.

"What's wrong with him?" Neville asked, puzzled.

"Probably regrets," Ron sneered. "No one asked him to come; he was gripping onto Fawkes' tail himself."

Harry gazed at Madam Puddifoot's tearoom, silent, suddenly feeling deceived.

Malfoy claimed to support Professor Snape, yet he never spoke about how he supported him, let alone admitted his father's affiliation with Death Eaters. The only valuable information he provided was admitting to handing the diary (a Horcrux) to Professor Snape.

But the problem was, Malfoy didn't know the diary was a Horcrux.

In hindsight, it didn't really signify much. Perhaps he feared being controlled by the diary again, so he voluntarily handed it over, choosing a professor from Slytherin House, just as he said, he didn't want any ties to the Chamber of Secrets...

As for whether he'd considered the safety of the Muggle-born wizard in between, only the heavens knew.

"Are we late?" Neville inquired, still showing traces of nervousness and excitement, seeing this as a legitimate action against Voldemort. "Did the mysterious figure attack here? But where are the professors? Headmaster Dumbledore? The Ministry's staff?"

No one was around.

Fawkes let out a cry, flying directly in one direction.

They exchanged glances.

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