I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 173 Azkaban—The Union—Now Only Fear Exists

The young wizards beside them instinctively wanted to back away.

Just as everyone was making arrangements, wondering whether to ask Mrs. Pomfrey to come and take a look, Professor Trelawney began to speak again, in a hoarse voice that was quite different from her usual tone.

Then a prophecy was made, a real prophecy.

"Darkness reigns, the dead rise, life and death are reversed. Dark clouds are approaching Hogwarts, and on Christmas Day, with the help of his servants, the Dark Lord will return. His bloody plot must be paved with blood. The master of the illusion will mark his enemies."

The professor exuded an aura he had never felt before, a terrifying aura with the power to captivate and steal one's soul.

"Corruption and fire—only one can exist!"

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

Professor Trelawney lowered her head to her chest and snorted.

Then, quite suddenly, her head snapped up again.

"Oh! What happened?" she asked, hiccuping as if in a dream.

"Professor, it seems you just made a prediction!" Hannah said with a serious expression.

Professor Trelawney's appearance just now must have been what is known as having her third eye wide open!

Irving stood there, speechless, pondering the prophecy.

First of all—it has nothing to do with him; the entire prophecy has nothing to do with him.

well.

Secondly, he should go back to sleep!

If we don't go back soon, we'll really start having nightmares!

"A prophecy?" Professor Trelawney was startled. She seemed to have no memory of entering her third eye state. "I don't make prophecies lightly. You're probably just resting and talking nonsense."

While Irving was still in a daze, the professor stumbled away, his figure disappearing around the corner of the corridor.

As the professor walked away, a sudden, inexplicable panic arose in the hearts of the young wizards present.

Thanks to Harry for that month of promotion.

Everyone now knows that Professor Trelawney's prophecy was terrifying.

Even wizards would be afraid of such mystical things.

A few days later, the prophecy of the Dark Riot swept through the entire castle almost instantly, and everyone knew that Hogwarts might suffer an unprecedented disaster!

Besides prophecy.

Dumbledore's series of actions were the real reins that tugged at the young wizard's heartstrings.

He left the castle several times these days, and then the school gradually gained more students.

Some very famous people.

It was as if he knew the school was going to suffer, so he went ahead to gather helpers.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

"Dumbledore!"

The surrounding rooms were cluttered, with walls made entirely of rough, black stone.

The dilapidated floorboards were rotten and emitted a putrid smell.

In front of the old principal was a narrow door, which was tightly closed.

This room is like that screaming shack; no one has been here in a long time. It's covered in dust, and the floor makes a creaking sound when you walk on it.

"Is the situation serious?"

The noisy footsteps approaching betrayed the panicked state of the person coming.

The leader was a rather old wizard.

He had gray hair, a traditional English face, and a very high nose, which made his features look very three-dimensional.

He was wearing a gray suit instead of a wizard's robe, and he looked very capable.

It's obvious at a glance that he's a seasoned Auror.

"Theseus." Dumbledore was quite surprised to see his old friend here. He remembered that the man had been retired for nearly thirty years!

Although he fought against Voldemort as a member of the Order of the Phoenix during the Dark Ages, he did so as an individual, not as an Auror.

"I didn't expect it to be you leading the team, Newt."

"I went to Greece, as you know," Theseus Scamander replied succinctly. "The Ministry of Magic couldn't spare any more people, and Moody, that junior, has rejoined the Aurors. Of course, I can't stay holed up in the farmland of Dorset."

"I heard he was transferred by you?"

"Moody?" Dumbledore asked calmly. "He and his students went to Paris."

"Paris?" Theseus's weathered face suddenly stirred slightly. His eyelids twitched as he recalled some unpleasant memories.

"Important matter?"

"Very important!" The old principal nodded.

"Alright! Let's go then. It might be worse inside than you think." With that, the Aurors behind him parted to make way, and then, in an instant, they all breathed a sigh of relief.

The greatest white wizard has finally arrived.

The tips of the Aurors' wands glowed faintly.

The fireflies flickered in the darkness, seemingly on the verge of going out at any moment.

They were like people walking into the jaws of a monster that would devour anyone, heading deeper into hell.

This is Azkaban!

Dementors don't need torches or anything like that for lighting.

The Ministry of Magic, of course, wouldn't be so kind as to provide such luxuries for prisoners.

"The captured dark wizards." Dumbledore's blue eyes swept across the empty cells.

He immediately frowned slightly.

More than two months have passed since the mass breakout from Azkaban.

Although not many, a considerable number of prisoners were recaptured.

Azkaban shouldn't be this quiet!

"Assimilated." A look of horror flashed in Theseus's eyes. It was hard to imagine what he had seen that could make this World War I hero, an elite wizard who had fought against Grindelwald in the First Wizarding War, show such an expression.

"This is just our speculation!"

"Perhaps they used some method we don't know about again, and everyone escaped once more!" Theseus suddenly broke into a rather ugly smile. "Compared to those creatures, I'd rather believe they escaped!"

"On this deserted island, only fear exists now!"

Upon hearing this, Dumbledore's expression also turned serious.

He has visited more than just Azkaban these days.

Of course, I've seen those monsters before!

But—being assimilated is still too terrifying.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The group walked up a spiral staircase.

The staircase stretched downwards, seemingly leading to the deepest part of the earth, to hell.

That was the deepest part of Azkaban, and also the most heavily guarded part of the prison.

There will never be a day of peace, never a day of sunshine.

At least if you live on the upper floor, you'll have a window, right?

"The Dementors seem to emerge from this deepest part." Some Aurors cautiously drew their wands.

Although most of the Dementors were driven away.

But new Dementors still occasionally emerge from the bottom of Azkaban.

The newly born monsters will attack all living people.

"No one knows why Dementors exist, just like the Undead." Theseus also pulled out his wand.

Everyone held their breath, their eyes fixed on the depths of the darkness.

The faint glow of fireflies couldn't dispel the darkness before me. The damp steps were incredibly slippery, and the walls on both sides were bare, devoid of anything.

This inevitably raises the question of whether such a construction design was intentional on the part of the builders.

"Bang! Bang!"

Then came the sound of heavy footsteps again.

The entrance to the eerie staircase leads to a corridor that seems to stretch on forever.

The occasional flashes of light testified to a terrible battle taking place there.

"Flames are raging!"

"Torn apart!"

"Crushed to pieces!"

Dozens of different colored spells, like neon lights in the darkness, kept flashing and going out.

The Aurors appear to be fighting some kind of monster.

From the flickering light and shadow, one could see that it was a creature covered in sharp hairs, with sharp teeth and a thorny tail. Its head was different from others; some had eagle heads, some rat heads, and some horse heads—a chaotic mess of creatures.

Aside from its uniform monkey-like lower body, it's hard to associate this creature with the same species.

On the walls, in the corridor.

These creatures are everywhere.

They looked like reptiles, and as far as the eye could see, they were monsters.

But the most terrifying thing was not these. An Auror used the Burst Spell to blast a monster's body into dust, but not long after, it seemed to be activated in some way. Suddenly, its bones became grotesque and trembled, and then it revived.

Its shape is extremely bizarre.

"Even the Killing Curse couldn't kill them." Theseus's brown eyes revealed a deep sense of dread. "Those criminals suddenly disappeared, and then this group of undead appeared out of nowhere."

"They still possess all the possessions of those dark wizards. This makes one wonder if they have been assimilated by the wizards."

"There is no evidence that the Deadborn are connected to wizards." Dumbledore frowned as well. He didn't quite agree with Theseus's opinion, but so far, everything in Azkaban seemed strange.

"We'll have to wait for Newt's investigation results before we can draw any conclusions," Theseus said calmly. His personality was somewhat like Percy's, while Newt was like an alternative Fred.

The two men's contrasting personalities made it difficult for them to communicate openly, and their complex brotherly bond led them to lose contact after the war.

But Theseus could question his brother Newt in any way except when it came to magical creatures. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, his brother Newt Scamander was the greatest master of magical creatures of our time.

The group of undead before them, in the wizarding world's understanding, are a strange magical creature, somewhat similar in classification to Obscurus.

A dozen or so Aurors rushed forward from behind the two, continuously casting spells to confine the group of undead monsters in the corridor.

But it's obvious to anyone with eyes that every time those undead are defeated, their next resurrection will be even more powerful than before.

"These immortal monsters have appeared not only in Azkaban, but also in Denmark, Sweden, France, Spain, Egypt, and throughout Europe and the Mediterranean coast."

"It's spreading rapidly to the surrounding areas like a plague."

"There have been Muggle attacks!" Theseus stared seriously at the flash of light before him, his wrinkled forehead furrowed inward.

"The Muggles who were attacked, they—" Dumbledore didn't finish his sentence.

But Theseus knew what he meant. "No, all the bodies have vanished. The Muggle government simply considers them missing. The Egyptian Ministry of Magic is sending people to the disaster area, but—still no news!"

"It's like that land was dragged into hell!"

"Alright, Theseus, perhaps things aren't so bleak after all!" Dumbledore patted the somewhat neurotic 'young man' in front of him, then raised his wand.

"Everyone back!" Theseus roared.

Then the Aurors all retreated.

Dumbledore began to cast a spell, and the tip of his wand suddenly became bright.

Then a ball of orange-red flames, unlike the raging torrents of Fiendfire, suddenly emerged, carrying an ancient feel, and swept towards the monster in front of them, burning fiercely.

"Eeya~~~"

That sound, like a cruel human scream, suddenly appeared.

Everything around us became strange.

Flames were burning the monsters, which first disintegrated, then revived under the influence of some force.

Then it continued to be destroyed by the flames.

Then continue to revive.

Dozens, or even more, mournful voices echoed in the corridor, turning this place into a true hell.

"How long will this flame last?" Theseus took a small step back.

A hint of apprehension flashed in his eyes as he looked at the flames that resembled fierce fire.

He suddenly remembered another wizard who could also unleash such powerful flames; one of his spells had nearly destroyed all of Paris, and his fiancée had died under that man's spell.

"That depends on when they completely disappear," Dumbledore said calmly.

The sound of the flames still echoed in the corridor.

The dark corridor was finally illuminated by the fire.

Everyone's faces were glowing a reddish-brown from the flames.

Everyone looked at what was in front of them with apprehension.

Only Dumbledore's expression remained calm.

Like the Black Lake at Hogwarts, it never stirs up any waves.

What's hidden beneath the surface of the lake is something even more terrifying.

"Let's seal off this place!" he said.

"It will need to burn for at least a while."

As soon as he finished speaking, the wizards around him suddenly felt a chill creep up their spines, but they all knew what was going on.

This is just an ordinary fact.

The old headmaster turned and left.

Azkaban wasn't the only one attacked by the undead.

There are other places that need him.

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The distant horizon sank into darkness as the sun set.

Then the neon lights came on.

Natural beams of light have been replaced by artificial light.

The city remains as dazzling as ever.

just

This city belongs to Muggles, not wizards.

France—Paris!

The hotel where Hermione once stayed has welcomed a new guest.

A guest dressed in a wizard's robe.

She knocked on a door.

Then came the voice of another elderly woman from inside the room.

"Please come in~"

Hearing the sound, the woman in front of the door pushed the door open and entered.

"What exactly happened? I don't have time for you to waste!" She said bluntly as she pushed open the door, her tone demanding.

She seemed extremely busy, her hair a mess with no time to style, a few strands falling from her temples.

Feeling a ticklish sensation, she frowned, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She continued, "It's chaos outside, and you're still in the mood to stay here?"

Looking at the neatly arranged tea set on the table, the woman revealed a mocking smile: "Drinking tea?"

"Chaos?" The aged woman wore a relaxed expression, completely different from that of the young woman. "Chaos is good, silly girl."

"Want some tea?"

"No, I can't accept the tea offered by the vice president of the Wizarding Association." The young woman had a fake smile on her face and a sarcastic tone in her mouth. She waved her folding fan slightly and looked at the man in front of her with a flirtatious gaze. He had been a high-ranking official of the association for at least sixty years!

"You've made such a mess of things, Dumbledore will find out about your—your conspiracy—sooner or later. Newt's already in Greece, you know, he's Dumbledore's 'vanguard,' and soon the secret of the Deadborn spreading will be impossible to suppress. A whole year, sometimes I really admire you for managing to keep the news under wraps for so long! Ms. Rosier~"

The woman in front of him kept talking, but the high-ranking official from the federation remained calm and composed.

"Don't put it so harshly!" The woman from the Rozier family exuded elegance, a smile playing on her lips as if discussing everyday family matters. "The Federation doesn't know why the Deadborn have spread on such a large scale. We only used a little bit of authority to delay the discovery of this matter by a year. In that sense, our plan still failed, at least two months ahead of schedule."

"We have to find something for Dumbledore to do."

"You seem to really 'hate' Dumbledore?" the young woman asked casually, sitting on the sofa with her legs crossed.

"Hate? No, no, no, how could we hate the greatest white wizard in the world? Under his 'wise' leadership, the authority of the Federation has been declining. At the beginning of this century, the Federation could hold the national ministries of magic accountable and even forcefully coerce them. But now? The Federation is just becoming a mouthpiece for these countries."

"I don't resent him at all!"

"Your expression is so intense, you practically devour him!" A flash of coldness and anger crossed the young woman's eyes, which she concealed well; it was only for a moment, and soon her face returned to its lazy demeanor.

"So, what about your support plan?"

"See, you're wrong again." Rozier smiled again, picked up the black tea on the table, gently blew away the steam, took a sip, and said, "It's just going with the flow."

"The Federation needs an enemy, an enemy that all nations will fear, because only then will short-sighted fools band together for warmth and remember the Federation!"

Since Grindelwald's failure, we have been looking for a new candidate. At first, we thought it might be my little niece who betrayed the Rozier family. She had been with Grindelwald for so long and had been influenced by him, so it would be natural for her to become his successor.

Therefore, we gave her considerable support, hoping she could shoulder the responsibility. Unfortunately, traitors never learn loyalty; she and her experiment escaped the surveillance of the Norwegian Ministry of Magic's Aurors, killing several of our people.

She took a sip of her black tea and continued, "Later we thought it would be Tom Riddell. The Federation kept silent when he was at the height of his power, which was a deliberate act of letting him grow and spread the war to Europe!"

Unfortunately, that foolish half-breed had such a narrow vision. We expended a great deal of energy, but he only focused on that tiny piece of land called Britain. He completely disregarded the assistance the Federation provided when he traveled the world.

Fourteen years ago, that fool was finally defeated by Dumbledore.

The magical world has once again lost the power of 'darkness'.

Left with no other choice, we turned our attention to Nurmengard, hoping that Grindelwald could make a comeback.

"You let Grindelwald go on purpose?" A flicker of shock crossed the young woman's eyes, her face filled with disbelief.

"Make another mistake!" Rozier smiled slightly.

"Niumengard is the fortress he built; how can his fortress bind its master?"

"We simply told him some news from the outside world about the miserable lives of his followers."

"After that, all we need to do is wait for it to ferment."

"Sophisticated schemes, designs that see through people's hearts, you truly deserve to be in this position." The young woman's cheeks twitched slightly, as if they were about to deform.

But in the end, she stubbornly endured it.

Then he said with a forced smile.

"Don't say that. Many hands make light work. Of course, I also contributed a little bit. After all, Dumbledore is not easy to deal with. You need to know a little about Occlumency to be a master of Legilimency."

"Am I right, Miss Tonks?"

"Tonks? Who's that?" The young woman looked at Rozier calmly, her expression unchanged.

"So, you need to know a little about Occlumency, little girl. Although you are a natural Animagus, which allows you to transform into anyone, your mind cannot be transformed."

"Your presence here means Dumbledore has become suspicious of me?"

Tonks's expression gradually turned cold; the old hag was right.

Dumbledore did indeed have doubts about her.

She never expected that the other party was actually a master of mind control and thought manipulation.

Damn it, I should have thought of that sooner. How could someone who could hide by Dumbledore's side for so long be a mediocre person?

"Hmph!" Tonks sneered.

Her sudden arrival was certainly not without preparation!

Inside the room, the Auror in charge of the president's security quickly drew his wand upon seeing this—but before they could even utter a single spell, the door was suddenly kicked open, and the person who entered was an old man with a missing leg, dark gray hair, and a face covered in scars.

He's not nearly as old as Dumbledore!

But both his strange, demonic eyes and his dry hair gave him an air of age and decay.

"I told you, you should have learned that spell a long time ago." Mad-Eye Moody burst in, slamming his cane-like wand into the ground, sending the two men flying and embedding themselves between the walls.

The walls seemed to come alive, with bricks interlocking to lock the two people tightly together!

"If you can learn Occlumency, combined with your Animagus abilities, you will become the greatest Auror!"

"Alright, alright, stop being so fussy the moment we meet!" Tonks drew his wand and unleashed several Anti-Transformation Charms, striking the woman who was trying to escape.

(End of this chapter)