To avoid complications, Sterling decided to enter Avalon tonight.
Mainly because delaying further seemed pointless. Should they have Snape prepare potions? Vitam craft alchemical items? Avalon didn't need such things.
When Sterling proposed leaving tonight, Professor McGonagall immediately objected but was quickly persuaded—mainly by invoking Dumbledore's name. This made McGonagall even more dissatisfied with the headmaster.
She'd already decided that once Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts, she'd return all school management work to him. Previously, she'd handled many less important headmaster duties as deputy headmistress to ease this old codger's burden—teaching equipment replacement, supply inventory, student discipline logs.
But now it seemed he had too much free time, leaving Hogwarts so casually. If he'd stayed at Hogwarts, would young wizards need to take such risks?
After receiving approval, Sterling began preparing to bring people into Avalon. Dumbledore had told him this—he'd never imagined Avalon could accept others. Previously, he couldn't even bring non-Avalonian objects inside, though bringing Avalonian things out had no restrictions.
After his eleventh birthday, only close-fitting clothes and his wand, which somehow could enter, were allowed. Before that, each Avalon entry relied on wearing Avalonian clothes before sleep to prevent arriving in embarrassing states at strange locations.
Sterling directly called Hermione and Ron back to Snape's office, now temporarily requisitioned as "Utopia Branch" by Deputy Headmistress McGonagall's approval.
Snape protested, but as mere Slytherin Head, how could he resist Professor McGonagall, Hogwarts Deputy Headmistress and Gryffindor Head?
"Professor Snape, please come back tomorrow morning."
Watching his office door close before him, Snape experienced topsy-turvy injustice for the first time in recent memory. If not for that shade of green he so desperately needed to see restored...
Snape swept away, black robes billowing, randomly docking ten points from an unfortunate Hufflepuff for "corridor running".
Too bad not Gryffindor. At this juncture, even thirty points wouldn't bring McGonagall's wrath. What a pity. Snape felt genuinely regretful.
"So, um, shall we try magical connection first?"
Sterling sat in the inner room chair, facing properly seated Hermione and Ron, with Terry holding a notebook nearby, quill at the ready.
Terry strongly requested observing and recording. Considering whether bodies would physically go to Avalon this time, Sterling gladly agreed. If, like before, only spirits left bodies projected into Avalon, they'd need Terry to soak all three in potions too—different bottles from Harry's, naturally. Hygiene mattered.
"Remember when I taught you Magic Power Shaping—how to externalise magic power?"
Both nodded, their expressions tense with concentration.
"Then try first. From that one experience, you'll probably need a moment to find the feeling."
Sterling was already drinking strong tea, ensuring he'd wake mid-air upon reaching Avalon to adjust landing spots and save time. The bitter liquid burnt down his throat.
After about seven minutes, Ron externalised magic slightly before Hermione, who followed immediately, her face tight with concentration.
Still colourless magic power. Even in Sterling's magical vision, no golden presence remained.
Sterling had them gather close, then externalised his own magic, intertwining it with theirs. Yet no connection seemed established. The strands of power slipped past each other like oil and water.
Maybe because they weren't sleeping? Sterling thought, though his intuition lacked the "this works" feeling, suggesting low probability.
Next came Dumbledore's proposed method.
Sterling hesitated, holding the small knife—he'd never been injured to bleeding extent. But after just a pause, the sharp blade sliced across his index fingertip like cutting through butter.
One second, two seconds... no blood drops seeped out.
Sterling sceptically squeezed near the wound. Just pain, still no blood.
"Perhaps you're the type with less blood?"
Terry leaned over, peering at the finger with scientific curiosity.
"That can't be right. Such types don't exist."
Hermione also approached, her brow furrowed.
"Ha! I knew Sterling wasn't human! What young wizard is this powerful?"
Terry and Hermione exchanged glances, pressing Ron firmly back into his chair.
"Strange..."
Sterling stubbornly kept squeezing, but uselessly. Two minutes produced no blood, just an aching throb in his finger.
"Should I cut deeper?"
"No." Hermione stopped Sterling's hand. "You've cut quite deep already. Going further might damage finger nerves—a serious problem."
She'd read medical books at home out of interest, devouring anything that caught her attention.
Everyone stared at the finger in fascinated silence.
Suddenly, Sterling felt an inexplicable urge to activate magical vision. He never refused such sudden impulses, so rubbing his temples, he looked at his finger again.
"Oh..."
In magical vision, Sterling's finger was "flowing" some suspended colour, like smoke rising from incense.
Perhaps "dissipating" was more appropriate.
Watching upward-drifting mist mixing pink, blue, and purple, Sterling felt confused. Is this my "blood"?
Yes, Sterling knew he might not be ordinary—having some special aspects like stronger physical qualities than wizards, inexplicable magical vision, and Origin Magic abilities. But these were at least encompassed by "special, talented young wizard".
This... this appearance might not quite be human?
Sterling quickly recalled magical history—plenty of strange people existed. Some with blue blood, transparent blood, or crystalline blood. Maybe his condition resulted from learning Avalonian magic?
Right, I'm definitely human.
Thinking this, Sterling glared at Ron. If not for his earlier comment, Sterling wouldn't suddenly worry about his composition.
But if this was blood, perhaps they could proceed?
Sterling traced his index finger across Hermione and Ron's closed eyes—no theoretical basis, just feeling this might work. For Sterling, such feelings meant one hundred percent certainty.
He didn't tell them what his blood looked like, only saying, "This should work"; otherwise, he could imagine Ron saying, "I told you Sterling wasn't human!" Definitely would say that.
However, Terry still looked at Sterling meaningfully. Others might not know, but he who followed Sterling daily couldn't miss it?
Rubbing temples activated some magic or talent. Anyway, this "blood" was probably seen—blood invisible to normal sight.
No problem. Terry had long felt Sterling's human content was questionable. Just abnormal blood? Compared to his talent, he seemed more human actually.
His friend was Sterling, not "ordinary person Sterling". Let alone "somewhat abnormal Sterling". Even if Sterling suddenly said, "Actually, I'm a human-shaped magical creature," would he abandon this friendship? Impossible. So he completely didn't care about Sterling's human content level.
If that day truly came, he might be even happier. Feeling dejected losing to young wizards was one thing, but seeing magical creatures exhaust themselves should bring pride—plus having a non-human friend sounded super cool, super unique, and super Ravenclaw.
"What do you do next? Sleep?"
Sterling had already explained his Avalon entry method involved sleeping.
Sterling nodded. "But I'm not very sleepy now," Ron muttered, shifting uncomfortably. Hermione also nodded somewhat urgently, her hands clenched in her lap.
Sterling noticed Hermione's white knuckles—she looked very nervous.
No wonder she'd been so quiet today—quite normal. He still remembered first meeting Hermione on the Hogwarts Express, anxiety forming thorns protecting her. Now less aggressive—probably because, in her understanding, Avalon was still part of the magical world, not so "unfamiliar".
Ron actually wasn't as fearless as he appeared either. Sterling hadn't missed his faster-than-usual speech, and more thoughtless words than usual.
Sterling only now belatedly realised that for normal, ordinary first-year students, going to a potentially dangerous strange place was frightening. Why hadn't he noticed before?
Sterling suddenly felt an impulse to "wait a bit; let them mentally prepare before going to Avalon."
But this thought was quickly discarded.
Simple reason—who knew how long Dumbledore's mentioned "coincidence" would last? The opportunity to bring people into Avalon required Sterling to consider whether this was his only chance.
"I prepared some Draught of Living Death."
Sterling pulled a green potion from Snape's shelves, dividing it into three small bottles with practised efficiency.
"Actually just a sip brings infant-like sleep... Terry, do we need beds?"
"If bodies stay here, whether sitting in chairs or lying on beds, don't I need to throw you in potions anyway?"
Terry showed a somewhat exasperated expression. "Might as well stay here, closer to the potion containers and the tank. I can save some effort."
He pointed at three large containers lined up beside Harry's tank, already prepared and waiting.
It's hard imagining how eerie this would become after they entered jars with added potions. Dim, cramped room with four large jars filled with blue-green liquid, looking up to see four pale-faced floating young wizards... Terry shook his head, banishing this horror scenario.
Meanwhile, Sterling's trio were preparing to toast with small bottles, holding them up like ceremonial goblets.
Hermione swallowed hard. Ron vigorously wiped hand sweat on his robes, leaving damp patches.
Three...
Why did drinking Draught of Living Death feel like a mysterious ritual? So weird. Terry thought, without breaking the atmosphere, his quill poised over parchment.
Then Hermione and Ron exchanged glances, drinking entire bottles clean, faces twisting at the taste. Their heads immediately drooped, chins falling to chests.
"Terry, your safety is most important. Though I hate saying this—if real danger comes, remember to abandon Harry and run."
After final instructions to Terry, Sterling drank the Draught of Living Death amid Terry's quiet "safe travels".
Like every time before, two choices appeared—sleep here or go to Avalon. But this time, choosing Avalon, he suddenly sensed two controllable "feelings" nearby, warm presences tangled with his own consciousness. He gathered these feelings and fell toward Avalon.
This descent was far smoother than before—no cloud-like sensation below, but an incredibly free feeling, like diving through silk.
The strong tea began working. At high altitude, Sterling opened his eyes and immediately looked around, wind whipping past his face.
Hermione and Ron floated on his left and right—good news, Avalon brought their clothes too, sparing unprepared Sterling embarrassment.
Sterling manifested a rope, firmly binding the still-sleeping pair to himself with quick, efficient knots.
He didn't plan on waking them yet—for normal young wizards, directly facing falling from ten thousand feet was too stimulating. Sterling wouldn't suffer mixed-gender high-pitched torture.
At high altitude, Sterling rapidly adjusted direction—not toward the nearest, most familiar snowfield visited almost daily, nor Vivian's inaccessible garden or Maleficent's Black Forest. Soon, endless azure appeared in Sterling's vision, stretching to the horizon in every direction.
He immediately descended there, angling his body like a diving hawk. Meanwhile, dream-like bubbles seeped from his chest, shimmering with iridescent light. He selected three bubbles, enlarging them to cover their heads.
Azure light flashed across Sterling's chest. Previously wind-tossed, seemingly fragile bubbles instantly became rock-solid, firmly fixed on their heads like glass diving helmets.
Moments later, a huge splash rose from the sea surface, white foam exploding upward.
Before hitting water, Sterling cast four or five Shield Charms on Hermione and Ron, the protective magic shimmering around them. His knowledge told him normal people couldn't withstand impact force from such heights.
As for Sterling himself? His body—whatever it was made of now—could handle the impact. He'd fallen from the sky onto Maleficent's Black Forest ground without injury before. The water surface would be nothing
But the tremendous impact still woke Hermione and Ron, their eyes flying open in shock.
Ron felt sore all over before opening his eyes, unable to understand what happened before hearing a loud soprano, like Fawkes singing at maximum volume. Sterling hurriedly calmed Hermione, who'd opened her eyes to find a shark head inches away, desperately explaining this shark was knocked unconscious by their falling commotion, and even awake, Avalonian animals didn't harm people.
Before calming Hermione, Ron's opened eyes produced another male soprano—well, they'd fallen rather deep, the pressure making his ears pop. Sea spiders were visible on the seabed, their legs as thick as tree branches.
Sterling kicked away the unconscious shark, its massive body drifting away in slow motion, using magic to drive away sea spiders, finally barely calming both emotions.
Then, in somehow clearly visible deep-sea light filtering through water like cathedral windows, Sterling spread his arms, smiling for the first time since Christmas, the expression transforming his face:
"Welcome to Avalon—Kingdom of Atlantis!"
Distant whale songs came melodiously, haunting and beautiful, as if accompanying Sterling's welcome. Bioluminescent fish drifted past, painting trails of light through the dark water. Ancient columns rose from the seabed in the distance, draped in swaying kelp like banners. The water itself seemed alive with magic, warm and welcoming despite the depths.
Above them, the surface sparkled like hammered silver. Below, the ruins of an ancient civilisation beckoned.