HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

A pale, cold flame ignited at Sagres's fingertips as he moved slowly forward, his boots echoing hollowly on the damp stone steps.

What will he see here after a thousand years?

Perhaps this place holds long-lost forbidden magic, perhaps it holds mysterious and precious treasures, perhaps it is the tomb of Salazar Slytherin himself...

But reality is always disappointingly dull.

What appeared before them was a simple, almost shabby, research room: a rough stone bed, a huge research table, and a few decaying utensils scattered among them.

The crucible was already rusted, and the glassware was covered with a thick layer of dust, as if it would turn to dust at the slightest touch.

Sagres surveyed his surroundings expressionlessly. Next to the research room, he discovered a sunken space—the floor bearing the smooth marks left by the basilisk's long-standing presence.

"Really..."

He sighed softly and turned to leave.

Just then, a faint glimmer of light suddenly pierced his vision.

In the most inconspicuous corner of the research table, an hourglass buried in dust reflects a pale flame.

Sagres' pupils contracted slightly, and his fingertips trembled slightly.

"Completely cleaned up."

The dust was completely cleared away, revealing the crystal-clear outline of the hourglass.

The Time-Turner—he had seen it just a few months ago, but it waited a thousand years to meet him again.

Sagres carefully picked up the hourglass, momentarily dazed.

Salazar Slytherin is gone. Not only him, but the other three leaders have also turned to dust. Everything that happened seems like a dream.

If it weren't for that familiar fleshy monster and the perfectly intact hourglass in his hand, he would hardly believe that he had traveled back a thousand years and dealt with a group of "old relics".

He carefully examined the hourglass in his hand. Suddenly, a soft light shone from the hourglass, and then a wisp of silver magic thread floated out and slowly transformed into a yellowed parchment.

Sagres frowned as he opened it and saw the neat yet weathered handwriting.

To Zagreb:

I asked Rowena, and she confidently told me you would see this letter. I hope her predictions are accurate as always, and I also hope she wasn't lying to me.

If this parchment can truly penetrate the veil of time and reach your hands, then my last hope will not have been in vain.

I am Salazar Slytherin, and I am old as the ink slowly flows across this last letter.

You ignited the flame of my youth with your wisdom that transcends the stars, and unintentionally handed me a beacon from the future, a window through which my soul glimpsed infinite possibilities.

Now, the window is slowly closing before my eyes, leaving only the cold stone wall.

What has sustained me through these long years is an ultimate mystery about magic.

You once jokingly mentioned exploring the laws of life, and at that time I did not understand its profound meaning, but now it has become my only remaining obsession:

After a thousand years, have you—future wizards—truly touched that realm sealed by the gods? Do you possess the power to reverse the River of Death?

I crave an answer, no, I yearn for a definitive "yes".

It is for my rose, who has long since turned to dust—her name still burns on my lips and tongue, yet I can no longer utter it in this world.

Her passing extinguished the last light in my world and made me see clearly the unhealable, cold cracks beneath the four cornerstones of Hogwarts.

This castle embodies our ideals, but ultimately failed to grant me the key to recover what I lost.

Therefore, I choose to leave, to step out of this fortress we built with our own hands one last time when the fog clears.

As for you, my friend… the traveler who once gazed upon the ancient years with the eyes of the future, a last, faint echo remains in my heart: Will you return? Return to the land where the castle's foundations were just beginning to take shape, return to this chaotic and barren era, even if only to give me an answer?

I know all too well the perils of the river of time, but if your journey allows for a slight detour… then please return before I bury that rose. Let me take one last look at the future stars reflected in your eyes, stars I cannot comprehend.

Of course, if not... that's fine too.

It was unexpected that Salazar Slytherin, who lived a proud life, would so deeply... look up at the time and space where you lived at the end of his life's journey.

Today, I will step into deeper darkness to seek the answer that may only exist on the fringes of legend and taboo. If your time has already found it, then let this knowledge transcend time and space, becoming the light at the end of my long journey!

May time be kind to you, and may magic ultimately be the wizard's servant, not his prison.

Salazar Slytherin

This letter will be sealed deep within a secret chamber, and my servants will guard it for me.

Sagres stared at the letter in his hand and fell into a long silence.

Salazar Slytherin, known to the world as cold-blooded, ruthless, a proponent of absolute reason, and even a ruthless experimenter on bloodlines, has long been infamous for his terrifying reputation.

However, at this moment, this yellowed parchment silently reveals a truth buried by time: beneath that cold and hard exterior that keeps people at a distance, there beats such a soft heart.

The letter points to a heartbreaking truth—his lover, perhaps a wizard who once taught at Hogwarts, has perished.

He devoted his entire life to studying the terrifying flesh and soul magic, the source of his mad obsession being nothing more than to snatch the deceased back from the cold fingers of death.

Sagres's gaze returned to the hourglass in his hand. He carefully recalled the knowledge entrusted to him by Rowena Ravenclaw and compared it with the structure of the hourglass.

The result is undeniable: the time converter was pre-programmed, and its endpoint was the era a thousand years ago.

However, a chilling truth also emerged—he was a time traveler, and in this world, he was a person "without destiny."

According to the knowledge about time taught to him by Rowena Ravenclaw, everyone's fate and time are in one-to-one correspondence, which is also the principle behind the operation of the time converter.

But for him, every journey into the river of time will be a wandering journey full of unknowns.

He can't go back, or rather, it's very difficult for him to go back. Even if there's a time converter that's been set up, he'll inevitably end up at another point in time when he uses it.

This process is like groping for a specific star in endless darkness; besides relying on a slim bit of luck, all that's left are countless near-desperate attempts.

What puzzled him even more was: even if he could go back, what should he do?

He also had no answer.

A bitter thought quietly emerged: a thousand years have passed, yet the progress of the magical world is so disappointing.

This is not his fault alone, but if he really has to embark on his journey home, how can he return empty-handed?

So if he really has to go back, he will have to go back with the answer to that question.

Chapter 97 Blame

Sagres expressionlessly put away the hourglass, glanced around the simple stone chamber one last time, and then turned and left.

When he stepped back onto the cold ground, the once empty chamber was now crowded with people, who were noisily surrounding the motionless, tall, and ferocious flesh and blood monster.

Dumbledore, his silver beard flowing, stood solemnly at the front, with the four heads of the house standing behind him like silent guards.

Lucius Malfoy, accompanied by several displeased members of the board of trustees, was speaking in hushed tones with Fudge.

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge himself blushed, surrounded by several tense-looking Aurors, their wands gripped tightly.

The noisiest of them all were Rita Skeeter and the photographers and stenographers from the Daily Prophet she brought with her. Like vultures that had smelled blood, they greedily aimed their lenses at the immobile monster of flesh, their flashes crackling.

The shorthand quill also danced wildly in the air, greedily capturing every detail.

Poor Gilderoy Lockhart huddled in the corner, ignored by everyone except Rita Skeeter, who occasionally cast a malicious and gloating glance and directed her quill pen to give an embellished description.

The moment Sagras appeared, all eyes were instantly drawn to him. The crowd surged forward as if drawn by a magnet, a wave of shock, fear, and questioning washing over them.

What happened here?

Fudge was the first to speak, his voice somewhat forceful but carrying the imperious air characteristic of a minister, "What...what is that monster? How did Professor Lockhart become like this? And you, Sagres, what were you doing in there?"

His fat fingers almost poked Sagles's nose.

Explain! Immediately!

A member of the board of directors echoed him sharply. Sagres glanced at the man and saw that he was an old wizard from a pure-blood family.

Rita Skeeter pushed her way to the front, her mouth, thickly coated with scarlet lipstick, firing off sharp questions like a machine gun, while her shorthand quill buzzed excitedly:

"Mr. Greengrass! Exclusive! Tell us the truth! Are you the mastermind behind this horrific incident? What is your relationship with this monster? Or..."

Her beetle-like eyes gleamed with malice as she deliberately drew out her words, hurling the most vicious accusation, "...You, are you the murderer who controlled this monster? Using it to achieve some nefarious purpose?"

The air around him seemed to freeze.

Snape wore his usual sarcastic smile, while Lucius watched coldly, saying nothing, and even subtly taking a step back.

Fudge and the Aurors were clearly affected by Rita's accusations, their eyes filled with wariness and distrust as they looked at Sagrais, especially since they didn't trust this man from Azkaban to begin with.

Sagres glanced around, his face showing no sign of anger, but rather a calm that bordered on boredom.

He ignored Rita's provocation and began his "explanation" in a clear but flat tone:

"Gentlemen," his voice was not loud, yet strangely drowned out the noise, "as you can see, this place is sealed with the body of an experiment left behind by Salazar Slytherin. Unfortunately, a fragment of Voldemort's memory controlled Professor Lockhart to come here, and eventually possessed this body, leading to everything you see before you."

He paused slightly, his gaze sweeping over the doubtful faces of the crowd, lingering especially on Rita's excited face for a moment, before continuing, "As for Professor Lockhart," he gestured toward a corner, "he tried to resolve this problem, but unfortunately... his Oblivion Charm seems to have gone too far, erasing all of Voldemort's memories. The result is a thing that has lost all its memories, leaving only primal instincts..."

“Ridiculous!” Fudge retorted immediately, “The ‘mysterious man’ is dead!”

His voice trembled with excitement as he eagerly tried to convince everyone, “A memory possessing you? And then being stunned by a forgetting spell? That sounds like something out of a third-rate wizarding novel! Where’s the evidence? Sagres, what we need is solid evidence, not your vague ‘explanations’!”

“Evidence?” Rita Skeeter scoffed, her quill pen moving even faster.

"Minister, this is probably just a bizarre story fabricated by the murderer to escape punishment! Look at him, walking out of Slytherin's secret room unscathed, and look at that monster... No connection between them? Who would believe that? The Daily Prophet's readers need the truth! And that truth is very likely—you, Sagres Greengrass, are the real mastermind! You created all this chaos!"

She pressed closer, her spittle almost landing on Sagres's face, her greed and malice undisguised.

Dumbledore finally spoke, his voice steady and powerful: "Rita, you cannot accuse a Hogwarts professor like this without evidence!"

But Rita was already caught up in the frenzy of her self-created "exclusive," and she interrupted Dumbledore: "Evidence? Headmaster Dumbledore, sometimes the truth is hidden in the most obvious clues! A man who was once imprisoned in Azkaban for murder, a monster that suddenly appeared, a professor who is emaciated and half-dead—isn't this an elaborate conspiracy? Sagres, do you dare to undergo a truth serum test? Or let us search your room?"

Sagres frowned slightly, extremely displeased by Fudge's imperious tone and Rita Skeeter's quill pen that was almost poking his nose.

He raised his hand, and an invisible barrier gently pushed back the crowd that had gotten too close by half a step. Then, he calmly looked at Rita Skeeter, his tone unperturbed, "Rita Skeeter... are you questioning the veracity of my explanation?"

The calm question carried an invisible weight, causing several people standing too close to instinctively shrink back.

But the flames in Rita's eyes burned even brighter, as if she had caught the stench of breaking news. Far from backing down, she straightened her back, her jeweled glasses reflecting a malicious light, and her voice rose to a shrill level:

"Ha! Professor Greengrass, are you threatening me?"

Her quill pen left afterimages in the air as she frantically jotted down notes in her notebook, her spittle almost spraying onto an invisible barrier.

"Look at that! What a typical reaction! This proves I've hit the nail on the head! Perhaps this whole thing was your conspiracy from beginning to end! A masterpiece of revenge for 'expelling' you from Hogwarts back then! But I must tell you—"