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The air around the long table solidified in an instant.
"You mean to say… this thing is… Voldemort?" Swift couldn't help but ask, her voice breaking the silence with a note of disbelief.
"Strictly speaking, only a part of him is," Sargeras replied calmly. "A fragment of soul from one of the Horcruxes Voldemort created ended up, by some bizarre twist of fate, lodging itself within that flesh-and-blood monster. And then, thanks to a particularly powerful Memory Charm cast by Gilderoy Lockhart, all memories and any trace of the personality that once belonged to Tom Riddle were completely washed away."
His lips curved ever so slightly. It wasn't quite a smile, more like the shadow of one.
"Through a series of events that can only be described as ironic, that broken shard of soul fully merged with the unstable flesh magic. And the result… was what you all just witnessed."
"A Horcrux? And this… this flesh monster… what are they exactly?" Kestrel asked, her brows drawn together in clear confusion.
"A Horcrux is considered to be the most dreadful of all forms of Dark Magic," Thunderbird answered coldly, his voice filled with contempt. "Its purpose is to achieve immortality by splitting one's soul. It is vile, utterly evil, and the price it demands…" He let the words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.
Sargeras gave a slow nod, clearly agreeing with Thunderbird's assessment.
"I'll be placing a mark on each of your badges later," he continued, looking around the table. "In moments of need, you'll be able to use the badge to summon it into battle."
Then, as if naturally shifting gears, Sargeras turned his gaze toward them and asked, "By the way, how's your progress in magical training coming along?"
"I can fly now!" Kestrel blurted out before anyone else could answer, her voice bright with excitement she couldn't hide. Her spine straightened instinctively, puffing up a little with pride. "Hehe, it's way faster than riding a broom! Honestly, it's just so convenient, I've already used it to travel to several places…"
She gave a satisfied little shake of her head, as if to emphasize just how proud she was of herself.
"Traveling?"
A few light coughs echoed from around the long table, dry and ambiguous sounds that didn't quite mean anything on their own. Still, the subtle shift in expression from several members spoke volumes. They exchanged curious, slightly uneasy glances, their gazes flicking toward Kestrel with a mixture of amusement and concern.
Using a flying spell… just to go traveling? The idea sounded bold… perhaps a little too bold. And reckless. Definitely reckless.
Sargeras's brow tightened ever so slightly, the movement so faint it almost went unnoticed. With a sigh, he lifted one hand and gently rubbed the side of his forehead, his voice low but filled with quiet caution.
"Be careful, Kestrel. Don't fly too high or draw too much attention. The last thing we need is for you to end up buried under a mountain of Muggle reports about (UFO) Unidentified Flying Objects… or worse, hauled before the Wizengamot by the International Task Force for breaching the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy."
There was a definite edge in his voice. It wasn't harsh, but the seriousness in it was unmistakable.
"No way that's gonna happen!"
Kestrel shot back instantly, the confidence on her face completely unshaken. Her grin widened as she spoke, still basking in the satisfaction of her accomplishment.
"I only went to a few remote spots… places out in the countryside, where magic detection's super weak. Some of them don't even have a proper Ministry of Magic! They've got no authority over me."
From the look on her face, it was obvious she believed she'd already thought everything through. In her mind, she had covered all the angles.
"Where exactly did you go?" Nightingale asked, unable to hide the mix of curiosity and subtle concern in her voice.
"Oh, just flew around over the European continent a little," Kestrel replied vaguely, waving her hand as if brushing away a pesky detail.
"Uh… Kestrel," came the voice of Stork, the Information broker, who had been silent until now. He cleared his throat and looked over at her with a serious expression. "You really should be more careful. Things have been… tense lately in the European wizarding world."
He paused for a beat, his eyes drifting almost unconsciously toward the head of the table.
"Especially in Britain. There are undercurrents stirring within the Ministry… and at Hogwarts." He lowered his voice. "I've heard rumors that something serious happened there. Dozens of students have been—"
Stork didn't finish the sentence, but Sargeras had already pieced it together. His tone remained calm and steady as he picked up the thread.
""Yes. There's been a petrification incident. Several dozen students were affected."
His tone was flat, almost indifferent, "But the root of the problem has already been eliminated. Give it a few more days, and you'll see the official report in the papers."
Then, shifting his gaze, he turned to the slender figure of Hummingbird and asked gently, "How is your progress on the 'Soul Weaving'?"
The sudden mention of her name caught Hummingbird off guard. She tensed slightly, her posture stiffening as if startled. When she spoke, her voice carried a faint thread of nervousness.
"The… the theory and basic operation, I've already mastered those pretty well, Professor. But I haven't actually… tried it on a real person yet."
Her fingers twisted anxiously in her lap, betraying her unease. "I just feel like… I probably need more practice and simulations, just to be sure nothing goes wrong…"
Sargeras gave a slow nod, his expression softening as he acknowledged her caution with quiet approval.
After that, he went around the table, asking each member about their magical training. To his satisfaction, almost everyone had successfully grasped the core spells they were studying.
This remarkable efficiency was, on one hand, thanks to their extraordinary innate talents. Each of them was a one-in-a-hundred witch or wizard, individuals whose learning abilities far surpassed the norm.
But talent alone could not account for their progress. Much of the credit belonged to Sargeras's unique teaching methods. Through the spell "Memory Divergence," he could deliver knowledge with surgical precision, focusing only on what truly mattered. When paired with the "Mechanical Mind" state, a heightened mental condition that stripped away distractions and sharpened focus, their learning process became exceptionally streamlined and effective.
Even so, Sargeras didn't rush to assign new tasks.
Between "initial mastery" and true proficiency lay a wide gulf, one that could only be crossed through time and repetition. Not even the most gifted learner could bypass that stage.
He needed to ensure these powerful spells became second nature to them. Not just theories they could recite, but instincts etched into their nerves and muscles, ready to be unleashed the moment they were needed.
"Let's talk about something a little more interesting now," Sargeras said casually, leaning back into his chair with an ease that softened the earlier tension in the room. His voice was calm, almost inviting. "Hummingbird, unless I'm mistaken, you used to work at St. Mungo's Hospital, didn't you?"
She gave a small nod, open and honest.
"There's a professor at the school who may be heading to your hospital for treatment in the near future. There's something I'd like you to pay special attention to…"
At those words, several of the others exchanged glances, their expressions shifting subtly into something strange. The way Sargeras had phrased it… it almost sounded like he was planning to send someone to the hospital himself.
Naturally, Sargeras noticed the change in their expressions. He smiled lightly, perfectly at ease.
"Don't get the wrong idea…"
With a flick of his fingers, he tapped the tabletop. In an instant, a drink appeared before each of them; perfectly chilled, subtly aromatic, quietly comforting.
"The professor whom I mentioned is… Lockhart. He had most of his life force drained away by Voldemort's Horcrux. If I had to guess, he's probably already on his way to St. Mungo's as we speak."
A memory flickered across Sargeras's mind: that sudden ambush, the stunning power behind that Memory Charm. His brow furrowed as he spoke again, more to himself than to anyone else.
"Honestly, his ambush method and the strength of his Memory Charm were far beyond what you'd expect… and yet everything else about him is painfully mediocre. When you consider the books he's written and the fame he's accumulated, I can't help but suspect he's the type who built his reputation by stealing other people's experiences… and their memories."
That made the others glance at one another, each face marked with varying degrees of surprise and disbelief.
"Wait, seriously? I bought one of his books!" Robin blurted out, voice rising with a kind of helpless shock.
"You mean… you're planning to expose him?" Snow Owl asked cautiously, testing the waters. "I mean, did something happen between the two of you? Or is this about… what we might gain from it?"
"Hummingbird is an exceptionally gifted healer," Sargeras said, his gaze sweeping across the table slowly.
"In the near future, when she completes her mastery of Soul Weaving and successfully cures those driven mad by the Cruciatus Curse… I believe she will fully deserve an Order of Merlin for her work."
That drew a wave of approving nods from everyone present. No one seemed to doubt her ability or the weight of his words.
"And once that happens," Sargeras went on smoothly, "it will be her who reveals the truth behind the so-called 'bestselling author' Gilderoy Lockhart. With just a little help from us behind the scenes… she'll have a great chance at becoming the youngest Head Healer in the history of St. Mungo's."
He paused there, letting the idea settle before adding, with a quiet weight in his voice, "I think it's time we started placing our people in key positions… positions that matter. In the long run, this will give us an edge in everything we do."
His eyes lingered on them all, steady and calm.
"And this," he said, voice barely louder than a breath, "is only the beginning."
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[Chapter End's]
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