Hogwarts: Harry Returns from Azeroth

Chapter 234, Section 233: Lockhart's Sacrifice
For demons skilled in shapeshifting and disguise, they can even create an extremely realistic prophetic illusion for their target, leading them to the desired outcome. Such an illusion is especially believable for those whose prophetic abilities have never been wrong in the past and who are extremely confident in their own strength.

That's exactly the kind of stubborn old man Grindelwald is talking about... Hmm, thinking about it that way, Dumbledore is actually a stubborn old man too.

Perhaps he foresaw certain scenes, or perhaps he heard certain voices; in any case, that's why Grindelwald left Nurmengard... Harry wasn't afraid that Grindelwald had good intentions, but rather that his good intentions were deliberately created under the guidance of some being.

Dumbledore was busy once again, having to relive a heart-pounding memory from decades ago—the world-wide search for Grindelwald.

Harry, not long after, returned to the UK after nearly two months.

In the Minister of Magic's office, Fudge removed the irrelevant people.

"What? You want to go to the Department of Mysterious Affairs?" Fudge's eyes widened in astonishment. "I thought you came back to help the department deal with the ever-increasing number of elemental spirits—why the Department of Mysterious Affairs?"

“This is important, Minister Fudge,” Harry sighed. Unlike when he was facing Dumbledore, he hesitated whether to tell Fudge, a man who lacked the courage to take responsibility, about something so important… Letting such a person know too much would not only be of no help, but might even backfire under the pressure. “I need to check the Death Hall of the Department of Mysteries.”

“Inspect,” Fudge said with a strange expression. “Those silent people will not allow an outsider like you to inspect. They don’t respect anyone, not even me, the minister.”

Perhaps because they had worked together on Crouch's matter—well, at least in Fudge's eyes—and because Rita had exposed a lot of things when she contacted Fudge, Fudge spoke quite frankly when he was alone with Harry.

—In fact, he has never been authoritative since he took office as Minister of Magic. Instead, he has been tortured all the time, so he has never had the opportunity to develop authority.

Not to mention any ministerial arrogance; that doesn't exist.

The entire world, both Muggle and wizarding societies, is in chaos, and the island nation of Britain is no exception. If Fudge hadn't yet reached the end of his term and hadn't been so unwilling to be a Minister of Magic forced to resign in humiliation, he would have already stepped down and fled.

“Those people weren’t even employees of the Ministry of Magic, you understand? Harry,” Fudge sighed deeply. “I don’t know if you’ve heard this before, but the Department of Mysteries existed long before the Ministry of Magic was established—of course, it wasn’t called that back then, and I don’t know what it was, whatever.”

“So they have their own set of rules for doing things. It’s not just me who can’t do anything about them; every Minister of Magic in the past has been unable to do anything about them. It’s not my problem.” Fudge picked up his teacup and took a sip, then asked, “Speaking of which, why don’t you go to Dumbledore? A great wizard like him would definitely have a way to get you in.”

“I can’t reach Dumbledore, and there’s no response when I call Fawkes,” Harry said gravely. “The last time I tried to contact him was about a week ago, but I don’t know exactly when I lost contact.”

"Wait, wait a minute!" Fudge sat bolt upright, his eyes wide as he exclaimed, "You mean—Dumbledore is missing?!"

“That’s right,” Harry nodded.

"Dumbledore?"

"Correct."

"That Hogwarts headmaster? The president of the International Confederation of Wizards? The chief wizard of Wizengamor?"

"Correct."

"The greatest wizard of our time? The modern-day Merlin?"

"I really didn't know that Dumbledore had acquired the title of modern Merlin, but we are indeed talking about the same person."

“That’s impossible,” Fudge said firmly. “Even if it were me, uh, I mean—Dumbledore couldn’t possibly be in trouble—he’s Dumbledore!!”

Just like Ron blindly believed in Harry, even though Fudge hated having Dumbledore above his head and longed for real power, he still believed in Dumbledore.

“I’m not arguing with you about how great Dumbledore is,” Harry said, looking at the agitated Fudge with a speechless expression. “I’m just telling you a fact: I really can’t contact Dumbledore right now, and even Fawkes the Phoenix isn’t responding—in the past, I could just call Fawkes and she would appear.”

“That sounds like your phoenix,” Fudge muttered. “Well, well, I really don’t know what you guys who always speak so cryptically are planning, but Dumbledore—good heavens, what will happen to England if Dumbledore really disappears? What will happen to Hogwarts?”

Was he really going to have to shoulder the burden of the British magical world?
When Fudge realized this, he suddenly felt a wave of unease – could I really do it?

Is it okay?

“I can’t tell you much, Minister Fudge,” Harry said, seeing Fudge’s restless state. He knew Fudge wouldn’t be of much use, so he tried to reassure him, “But that’s the world. Both Muggles and wizards are facing a crisis. As the highest leader of the British wizarding community, you should stand up—”

Bang! ! !
The door to Fudge's office was suddenly kicked open, and the battering guard standing guard rushed in, shouting in a panic, "It's terrible! Minister! Professor McGonagall has sent a Patronus with a message! Hogwarts has been attacked!!!"

"Pfft!!!" Unable to hold back his tea, Fudge spat it out. "What?!"

An attack on Hogwarts is no small matter. As the only designated magic school for wizards in Britain, if anything happens to the young wizards here, it would be tantamount to jeopardizing the future of the British wizarding world—a responsibility that no one can bear. Fudge, the minister who failed to properly protect Hogwarts, would even be recorded in the history of magic as an infamous figure for eternity.

"Why did something happen again?!" Before he could even react, Fudge looked like he was about to cry.

"Who attacked Hogwarts? How many enemies were there?" Harry, no longer caring about Fudge, quickly picked up his suitcase, stood up, and asked.

“Professor Potter! It’s so good to see you here!” The batter, who was clearly quite old, breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Harry. “I don’t know the specifics. Professor McGonagall’s Patronus just said to have the Ministry of Magic send someone to rescue him as soon as possible and then disappeared.”

“I understand. Does the Ministry of Magic have a Floo Network route connecting to Hogwarts?” Harry asked quickly.

“Yes! But it’s to the Headmaster’s office,” Fudge said, sweating profusely. “Harry—could the Ministry of Magic also be under attack—” In that very short time, Fudge thought of many things, from Harry bringing news of Dumbledore’s disappearance to the attack on Hogwarts…

“Now is not the time to think about such things, Minister Fudge,” Harry glared at Fudge sternly. “I will immediately travel to Hogwarts via the Floo Network. Please send the Auror troops into Hogwarts as soon as possible.”

"Ah, yes, yes, that should be it," Fudge stammered, wiping the sweat from his brow, "but the Ministry of Magic—"

"If something really happens to the young wizard and the Ministry of Magic does nothing, remember to watch out for the wrath of ordinary wizards, Minister Fudge."

After saying that, Harry turned and left without looking back, carrying his suitcase.

Before Harry arrived at Hogwarts, let's take a broader perspective and rewind a bit.

Hogwarts, in the Scottish Highlands.

Lockhart had never felt so good.

there has never been.

Even after I first used a spell to sneak up on that lame old wizard and steal his story and adventures, I didn't feel this good... Bah! An adventure master, my foot! He couldn't even defend against my memory charm, bah!
I will never forget the tension and fear I felt when I first stole someone's life, as well as the satisfaction and sense of accomplishment after the success—all the light and glory will belong to Lockhart, because I am the center of the world, and the world should revolve around me.

But Lockhart is also a thief, and even a corner of his own heart admits to it... He's afraid of being discovered, afraid of being confronted by the person involved, afraid of being exposed, and afraid of losing everything.

But not anymore.

Every time Lockhart thought about the past six months since he became a professor at Hogwarts, he felt as if he had been living in hell... But now, it's all finally over.

Walking on the stone paths of Hogwarts, Lockhart's gaze swept over the elemental spirits that were either running around in the courtyards or whizzing through the gaps between the castle walls. Of course, he also noticed the belongings of the students who suddenly became active and the students who were shouting in panic behind them...

Chaos—that was the only word that came to Lockhart's mind.

In fact, this has been the norm at Hogwarts during this period, or rather, the norm for the entire world.

So chaotic.

But it was precisely this chaos that, at this moment, made Lockhart feel so...wonderful.

Chaos is good, chaos is good. Only in this way can I take the opportunity to get everything I want. After everything settles down, I might even be able to publish another book.

Lockhart even had the title in mind for "My Year as a Professor at Hogwarts".

The beginning and end of the book are not important; what matters is that Lockhart ultimately saved Hogwarts and those ignorant students... There could never be a more perfect ending, and no one can stop it or change it—absolutely not.

"Let me see... there seems to be a problem with the drawing here..." While humming a song, Lockhart was lying on the floor in the cleaned-up underground classroom, inspecting the patterns on the ground without any regard for his image.

On his other side, several students, whose wands had been taken away and whose hands, feet, and mouths had been tied, were struggling with tears streaming down their faces, constantly making muffled pleas—but Lockhart seemed not to hear these sounds, focusing only on the patterns on the ground.

The pattern was drawn with blood, so it couldn't possibly be Lockhart's own blood. Instead, it was warm, magical wizard blood released from the bodies of the captured students.

The students were pale from blood loss, but more so from fear—even the youngest wizards who didn't understand magic could tell that the magic their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was using was not benevolent.

How could normal magic possibly use human blood? No matter how you look at it, this is a requirement only for extremely evil black magic. Not to mention the writing that makes up those patterns. It's not the elemental language or minotaur language that Professor Potter showed us, nor is it the runes that wizards are familiar with. This unknown fear makes the students' rationality increasingly close to collapse.

They were all lured to secluded places by Lockhart under various pretexts, then ambushed and captured. They even watched helplessly as Lockhart took their blood and used it to inscribe this extremely evil magic circle while they were still conscious. They had never so desperately wanted Lockhart to be a good-for-nothing, preferably a good-for-nothing, but the unknown symbols that had begun to emit a pale green light kept reminding them that Lockhart's actions were effective.

It was an inverted pentagram magic circle composed of three concentric circles. If Harry were here, he would immediately recognize that the magic circle was composed of words written in demon language.

The air, which had previously only smelled of blood, now carried a faint, inexplicable smell of sulfur. When Lockhart finished drawing the last blood-stained rune, the magical patterns that had previously only emitted a faint green light seemed to come alive. They rose from the ground and formed swirling green runes.

The lines that should have been straight or smooth were strangely twisted, as if they were growing, but upon closer inspection, they were found to still be lying quietly on the ground.

Lockhart stood in the center of the magic circle, his eyes unfocused, as if listening to an unknown voice.

Are you ready?

That voice resonated deep within his soul.

This was not his own voice—Lockhart knew this perfectly well; it was not his real voice, nor were the words he spoke.

But this is not a figment of imagination; it truly exists.

"Are you... telling the truth?" Lockhart's voice turned strange. "If I sacrifice them, I will gain all their magical talents?"

(End of this chapter)