"I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this…" With his mind made up, Maverick met the three of their gazes in turn and sighed. "It isn't my place, really, to reveal his existence to you. Though, I was told I could ask for help with anything I want, and revealing his existence in this situation, I believe, counts as help."
Listening to Maverick speak in such a cryptic manner, the three professors exchanged puzzled looks. Resort to what? Reveal who? Wasn't it simply a matter of telling them who or what had given Maverick the confidence that nothing would go wrong? So why did it sound like he was about to drop a name so profound it might as well be Merlin himself?
Maverick ignored their baffled expressions and continued injecting his magic in a mysterious rhythm into the ring on his finger, though if he knew what they were thinking, he would have definitely given them a thumbs up.
Meanwhile, silence stretched between the three veteran professors as they tried to guess who this mysterious person could be. Based on everything they knew about Maverick, they had a handful of possibilities, and to their credit, aside from his closest people and his teacher, they probably understood him best.
A moment later, McGonagall eventually couldn't hold it in anymore and asked the first name that came to mind.
"Is it Olympe?" she asked skeptically. After all, it was no secret that Maverick and the woman had some kind of cooperative relationship. But still, that name alone wasn't enough to change her mind, nor Flitwick's or Dumbledore's.
Their fear of old Voldy was not simply because he was an archmage, but because of his maddening and utterly unscrupulous character.
So what if Maverick had three archmagi and numerous greatmagi tagging along behind him. That would amount to nothing if they couldn't stop Voldy from arranging other means, like having his dogs run a slaughter while they were trying to keep or capture him.
Otherwise, Dumbledore would have stopped Voldemort long before he caused carnage across wizarding Britain over a decade ago. Voldemort was like a cockroach, always slipping away or hiding whenever Dumbledore drew near during his rise. He was difficult to catch and even harder to kill completely, like a persistent pest.
What they wanted, more than anything, was a guaranteed way that once he was resurrected, Maverick could contain him, and that no innocent lives would be dragged into the aftermath of Voldemort's prearranged schemes.
Maverick shook his head at the mention of the half-giantess, although he did have plans to pull the woman into the blueprint as well. Perhaps during the summer break he would pay her a visit, and go along with his teacher and, if this discussion eventually turned out the way he wanted, Dumbledore as well. With the two of them together, he was ninety percent certain the old woman would also fall in line.
As he sat in thought, he finally sensed something at the edge of his magical awareness, and the ring on his finger gave the corresponding feedback he was expecting. He smiled. "It's him," he finally said, no longer keeping them in suspense, speaking without really looking in any particular direction.
"Him who, Professor? Please spare us the riddles... it's the middle of the night for Merlin's sake," McGonagall rolled her eyes, genuinely growing tired of it.
And just as she finished speaking, before anyone else could voice a word, a voice, seemingly speaking directly to the root of their souls, suddenly reverberated through the room, causing all three of the veterans to crease their brows and, just as quickly, causing their pupils to dilate.
It was only one syllable: "ME…" they heard, but it carried so much weight that they literally felt the word press against their skin. And that wasn't all, because they suddenly felt their bodies freeze, no longer under the control of their consciousness, as if some unfathomable power had rooted them to their place, like a higher being pressing their aura upon a lower one.
One must know that McGonagall and Flitwick were veteran great magi, with magical senses honed to such an extraordinary degree that only a mage a full rank higher could sneak up on them, let alone freeze their actions entirely. But that couldn't be true, because Dumbledore looked equally startled, frozen in shock, and he was arguably the most powerful archmage alive.
There was only one logical explanation for it.
They all remembered, from their youth, how meeting powerful teachers or other formidable individuals made them feel small—reduced to the point where they couldn't even act on instinct, as if nothing besides their own thoughts was under their control.
Not only that, they themselves had flexed their magic occasionally as well whenever the situation called throughout their long lives, so they weren't at all foreign to the feeling.
With just that single syllable, they were left completely at the mercy of the being who spoke it, utterly helpless.
Of course, Maverick wasn't like them. He knew exactly who it was, and the reason he wasn't affected like Dumbledore and his two other colleagues was simply because he was spared.
After hearing the expected sound, a sigh first escaped his lips—after all, he wasn't entirely certain the old fossil would show up even if he was told he would. Then the exhale turned into a smile, and he rose to his feet.
He waved a hand, and ignoring the shocked expressions of his colleagues, the surroundings began to change according to the will of his magic, like a puzzle assembling itself on its own. The mirror dimension rippled, glass-like transparent shards flickering with light, walls, tables, chairs, ceiling—everything moving as if guided by an unseen hand.
Where once they had sat two by two facing each other across a coffee table, they now sat in a single line in front of a large table, the opposite side empty except for a single, exquisite-looking chair. Everything else had disappeared, leaving a clean space devoid of walls or sky—a perfectly appropriate stage for the arrival of a living legend.
The transformation took only a second, maybe two, and was over almost as quickly as it began. With that complete, Maverick remained standing, waiting, while glancing sideways at Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Flitwick, who were still seated, frozen in shock.
The corner of his eye twitched. It wasn't his idea at all to put them in that state. Sure enough, he hadn't been wrong to label that old fossil a legitimate farmer. He just hoped that after all this, the three of them wouldn't blame him. This was definitely not his doing, nor did he have the capability, no matter how ridiculously OP he was now, to freeze them with just a word. Sigh.
Fortunately, the wait wasn't long. Across the table, suddenly in mid-air, orange sparks began to form—a familiar scene—and Maverick couldn't help but raise a brow. Not surprising, after all, the bald auntie Yao had said the old man was a sorcerer as well.
What made him arch his brows, though, was how clean it was—too clean. The mirror dimension did not so much as ripple, even with someone invading forcefully, which clearly showed that the old man's proficiency in Eldritch meditation must be extremely high by now.
Subsequently, on the other side, a familiar face appeared—clean, noble, clad in a finely tailored suit, and, of course, wielding a cane—as Merlin Ambrosius stepped through with absolute majesty. Each tap of his boots, each strike of his cane against the floor, sounded like a bell resonating in their hearts—not harsh or unsettling, but gentle with an air of arrogance.
Mentally, Maverick's eyes lit up with stars. Must take notes. Must take notes. Expert. Definitely an expert farmer.
As soon as the legendary wizard stepped out and stopped behind the chair, Maverick smiled and made a respectful bow. "Apologies, Mage Supreme, for having disturbed your time." Respect for one's elders had to be shown, especially when that elder was a living legend.
But just as he raised his head, he saw more familiar sling-ring portals forming behind the old man, catching him momentarily off guard. His first thought was: was the Sorcerer Supreme crashing the party as well? But he quickly brushed it aside when another realization struck him and his eyes widened involuntarily as a result.
Four people. He had a guess—no, he was fairly certain of their identities. Although Merlin himself had not specifically named them and had only vaguely mentioned having students, it was not difficult to discern who they were. Now, looking at them, especially judging by their attire, he felt even more confident in his earlier guess.
Meanwhile, the moment Maverick said the word "Supreme," Dumbledore and the other two's pupils, already constricted, nearly disappeared. They did not doubt for a second that Maverick was wrong, because they still couldn't move, and only a being like that could immobilize them so completely—one peak archmage and two great magi.
And just as those thoughts crossed their minds, they suddenly felt their bodies back under their control, and abruptly, all three of them rose to their feet. Even Dumbledore, usually calm in the most difficult situations, was visibly shaken—literally, his hands trembled at that moment.
Their little commotion pulled Maverick out of his stupor as well, and he quickly gathered his thoughts. Glancing to his left and right, he spoke, "Headmaster, Professor McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, allow me to introduce you… Supreme Mage, Merlin Ambrosius. And…" He paused, then looked ahead, glancing between the unfamiliar faces who were smirking at him, unsure of what to say.
To Merlin's left stood a woman clad in a sleek, modern dark dress, a rather large black hat tilted over her head. Next to her was a burly man, majestic as hell, with golden hair flowing like a lion's mane. Maverick's first impression was that he might be one of his teacher's ancestors—the resemblance was unmistakable.
To Merlin's right was another woman, dressed in an extravagant pink gown, every detail lavish and precise. Beside her stood a stern, lean man in a tailored suit, a fur-lined robe draped over his shoulders.
Actually, only three of them were smirking at him, while the stern, lean man—looking like a straight-up comic book villain—stared as if Maverick had personally insulted his parents.
These four people had to be the four founders of Hogwarts: Rowena Ravenclaw, Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff, and… Salazar Slytherin.
And sure enough, while he was still at a loss for words on how to introduce them—
"Little guy, you don't have to be so tense. We are exactly who you think we are." Chuckling, with a hand over her mouth, the woman in the lavish pink dress winked at him.
Tapp.
Suddenly, the man in front tapped his majestic cane on the floor, and four more chairs materialized, which they all took and sat in unceremoniously.
"Sit, children. This meeting has long been overdue," Merlin declared in his deep, bell-like voice, addressing Maverick and his party.
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Author's Note:
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