"Still no movement from Sterling and the others today?"
Professor McGonagall looked gravely at Terry, who shook his head with visible weariness.
"No signs of waking up. Ron's body has developed some strange patterns, but Professor Snape examined them thoroughly and found no problems."
"I see." McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line. "Terry, today is this semester's last Quidditch match. Won't you go watch?"
McGonagall worried deeply about Terry. For the past few months, he'd spent every moment except classes and sleep in Snape's office—now, of course, transformed into Utopia Branch.
Neville and Padma occasionally visited to chat and study together, but compared to before, the frequency had dropped considerably.
Partly because core member Sterling and team bond Harry were both unconscious, and partly because...
McGonagall's gaze drifted to four transparent containers lined along the wall. From Harry to Hermione, four people floated motionlessly inside, black robes quietly drifting in the preservation potion, mixing with their hair in a display more sinister than any Dark wizard's lair.
Plus, since Snape had improved the potion composition again, current mixtures required storage in low-light conditions. The entire office was illuminated by only a few guttering candles, terribly dim and oppressive.
Terry's skin had paled considerably—not normal healthy Caucasian paleness, but pathological paleness from far too little sun exposure over months.
Under Professor McGonagall's expectant gaze, Terry shook his head again.
"Professor McGonagall... Ravenclaw was eliminated from the Cup long ago. I'm not particularly interested in this Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff match."
"Alright then." She sighed with resignation. "Remember to go to the Hospital Wing in two days for Madam Pomfrey to examine you properly." At the doorway, she paused and turned back to Terry. "Don't worry too much. Dumbledore will return this weekend... Dumbledore will definitely have a solution."
Terry nodded dutifully, though not very convinced internally.
After Professor McGonagall's figure disappeared down the corridor, Terry pulled several small polished stones from his robes, casually tossing them on the floor—those stones rolled in an unnaturally orderly fashion across the ground, one stone per circular track, all tracks centred on Terry's extended index finger touching the cold floor.
"Mars... is approaching..."
Pushing aside a reddish-brown stone that suddenly derailed and struck his finger, Terry looked at another distant grey stone with growing frustration.
"Pluto is retreating?"
"Is this divination Dad brought from the Department of Mysteries even remotely correct..."
Terry sighed heavily, collecting all the rolling stones with practised sweeps, pulling out extensive notes from his bag to check against his memory with furrowed concentration.
"Mars—war, conflict—generally predicts bloodshed events. Pluto—death and misfortune... I didn't remember wrong? Mars approaching, Pluto retreating—conflict approaching, but no death and misfortune occurring?"
Terry felt the divination method Dad taught truly had fundamental problems.
Perhaps he should consult Hogwarts actual diviner, that Divination professor Sybill Trelawney?
Supposedly ancient prophet blood flowed in her veins—also a prophet who could genuinely "see" future possibilities.
Terry considered this, moving to collect his scattered homework from the cluttered table, originally planning to carry it all to the small desk positioned closer to Sterling's container to write. But halfway there, he stepped on slippery potion residue not cleaned after medicine changes near Ron's jar. Terry fell hard, homework naturally scattering everywhere across the floor.
"Ah... I remember house-elves clean daily..."
Terry rubbed his aching rear while standing up, first seeing several parchments scattered closest to him.
Water soaking them had dyed several words dark and illegible.
The scattered papers had fallen in overlapping layers, and where text showed through the gaps, words accidentally aligned into a sentence.
"He came, on that most relaxed afternoon."
Terry silently collected the parchments with trembling hands, walked forward several careful steps, then tripped again by inexplicably dropped herbs someone had knocked from the storage. This time looking up from the floor, dangling roots hanging from the ingredient display cabinet formed another sentence through shadow.
"The golden sword severed his worldly tentacles."
Terry blinked rapidly, his heart racing.
This... seemingly couldn't be attributed to simple "accident" or "coincidence" categories, right?
Terry raised his right hand slowly, examining that small circle of pale silver vine-patterned marking on his pinky finger with new understanding...
This marking had begun appearing faintly after he and Sterling first became acquainted—
Initially just a barely visible white mark, after Sterling began Animagus practice, it transformed into vine patterns, and after Sterling entered Avalon, the mark slowly gained silver colouration.
After three months progressing to now, having completely transformed into silver vines, Terry also began encountering some... distinctly strange occurrences.
"Is it you?"
Terry gently rubbed this marking with reverent care, then pulled from his chest pocket an exquisite small leather booklet, turning carefully to page seven.
Each previous page bore exactly one line—or rather, Terry believed these were genuine "prophecies" he'd somehow received.
He wrote this new prophecy down too with careful script, then closed the booklet gently. He had a profound feeling he wouldn't open it again for recording purposes.
The moment he set down the pen, ink drops fell from nowhere onto the floor, spreading into clear words.
Terry read aloud with dawning comprehension:
"Prophet Magic—Spying Prophet?"
Sterling set down the ancient note with extreme care, looking with genuine puzzlement at Hermione standing opposite the lectern.
"Where did you find this?" Sterling shook the distinctly ancient note delicately. The paper's age seemed extraordinarily distant—just one small wave produced overwhelmed creaking sounds, forcing Sterling to immediately protect it with preservation magic.
"Professor Page, we found it from... the Ravenclaw common room during night exploration..."
Perhaps because discussing breaking into Ravenclaw's sanctuary before a Ravenclaw-born professor embarrassed Hermione, her eyes never left her toes throughout the explanation.
Naturally she didn't miss Sterling's momentarily twisted expression of betrayal upon hearing her mention the Ravenclaw common room.
When he became Hogwarts Headmaster—no, just Ravenclaw Head would suffice—he'd definitely conduct a complete, comprehensive inventory of everything in Ravenclaw's library.
Without Hermione's specific details, he knew with certainty it must have been found in that Undetectable Extension Charm library.
His Scholar of Stars ability had been obtained only after finding Ravenclaw's own diary hidden inside—oh, he still needed to locate Ravenclaw's legendary Chamber.
Thinking this, Sterling rubbed his temples, trying to ease building pressure, opening magical vision toward Hermione before him.
Completely empty of life threads.
No story threads whatsoever—meaning no genuine history.
If not for seeing this exact scene every single time he opened magical vision, perhaps he'd have been completely assimilated by these four months' immersive experiences...
This was an artificial illusion created by Utopia for Harry's benefit.
Sterling warned himself sternly again.
"Well, nothing particularly serious, not any Dark magic item—how did you judge this might have problems to bring it to me for inspection? I'm not the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."
"Because it suddenly appeared from nowhere, falling from mid-air directly into Terry's hands. This morning Harry took him to the Hospital Wing to find Madam Pomfrey for a thorough examination."
A very proper handling method indeed.
Sterling nodded with approval. Looks like Harry's imagination of himself underwent considerable beautification. If the real Harry operated, he'd probably drag Sterling from bed that very night, making the entire castle know about the discovery.
Yes, Harry's idealised imagination of himself.
The Harry in Hermione's description—the Harry Potter existing in this constructed Utopia—wasn't the real Harry Potter.
He was also a storyless fabrication without genuine history.
This was also precisely why Sterling had been trapped in this Utopia for nearly four frustrating months—his assigned identity here was professor, naturally possessing conditions and authority to contact any student.
Result: he'd systematically screened all Hogwarts young wizards using magical vision.
Ron's whereabouts are completely unknown.
Hermione's whereabouts are completely unknown.
Harry's whereabouts are completely unknown.
Simply incomprehensible. He'd even conducted major searches among the professor team and all intelligent beings existing in Hogwarts to prevent his situation recurring elsewhere.
Heaven knows how piercing were those moved shrieks from house-elves when he examined them one by one in the crowded kitchen.
Even now, recalling those emotional "Mr Page examined my body!" and "Mr Page actually cares about house-elf health; Mr Page is so wonderfully great!" declarations, Sterling felt phantom pains shooting through his ears...
"Professor Page?" Hermione looked up. Harry's fantasy had endowed her with considerable Gryffindor boldness traits, making her considerably less concerned with strict professorial authority.
"Oh, you may go now—next time don't visit other houses' common rooms at night without permission. During daytime hours, as long as you answer door questions correctly, no one will trouble you."
"Ravenclaw always welcomes wise people to share knowledge together. Wisdom sprouts and grows through generous sharing."
Sterling quickly dismissed Hermione with a few platitudes, leaving the classroom immediately with that small precious note.
Hermione had stayed after class to ask Sterling specifically, so he hadn't technically abandoned class duties.
Throughout the walk, Sterling read that cryptic line repeatedly with growing excitement.
Prophet Magic.
He didn't know specifically which abilities comprised the legendary Thirteen Magics, but Prophet Magic happened to be something he'd once glimpsed in Maleficent's extensive notes.
Maleficent's recorded evaluation:
"Disgusting, garbage, nauseating. This thing should be destroyed utterly. Anyone inheriting this Magic is godlike—never let me meet them, or I'll beat every single one I see. If they dare look at me directly, I'll gouge out their eyeballs!"
These were Maleficent's early, early, early period notes, so the words revealed a very youthful mentality—of course Sterling didn't mean Lady Maleficent wasn't young now.
Seems reputation isn't particularly great... Sterling thought grimly. Only Hero Magic received similar vitriolic treatment. But Maleficent disliking Hero Magic was more natural than sunrise—falling to Hero Magic's level, this Prophet Magic's nature was extraordinarily questionable.
Sterling shook his head sharply. His current focus wasn't this tangent.
Prophet Magic—something Harry Potter couldn't possibly know about.
Even captured into this Queen-created Utopia, he couldn't access Thirteen Magic-related knowledge—even in Avalon, this counted as super high-end restricted knowledge.
So how did he create this note here in this constructed world?
Sterling couldn't conceive of any method of accomplishing this, but he thought of another self-explanatory possibility.
This Utopia was the world where Harry's heart felt most profound happiness. Sterling's first reaction had been complete creation by Harry himself—naturally, the Creator God couldn't create an uncomfortable world for himself.
But now it seemed Harry's deepest story was read, and then the Queen personally created this entire world for him.
As for the note—the Queen was naturally well-informed about the Thirteen Magics—she'd officially confirmed the Thirteen Magics concept. Considering the white-robed person's behaviour and the numerous great wizards behind him, Sterling tentatively assumed she held goodwill toward him personally.
Then, this mysterious note—
Applying slight pressure, the note immediately dissolved into pale purple light points that danced.
"Indeed I was overthinking..."
Sterling looked at that string forming "Forbidden Forest" characters hovering in his hand, nodding with dawning comprehension.
Right, from outside the Black Mirror Kingdom's gate, viewing from Hogwarts Express station angle revealed the entire cliff-top Hogwarts.
Not just Hogwarts castle—the Black Lake, Forbidden Forest were all integral parts of this Utopia construction.
He'd only searched people inside Hogwarts proper, completely forgetting in the vast Forbidden Forest were plenty of isolated places hiding people.
If Harry Potter was in Hogwarts, he could only be with his friends.
Then his parents? James and Lily Potter?
Since no teaching position was arranged for them in Hogwarts—then for Harry to feel happiness, feel parental love's happiness, they necessarily existed somewhere else, letting their family of three reunite.
Things were becoming crystal clear.
Sterling happily decided all homework graded today would receive generous "E" or above marks—though Ron still wasn't found, never mind. Sterling was Ravenclaw's genius. Just mere persuasion? Ron could manage it; couldn't I, Sterling, accomplish the same?
First priority: fish out Harry—this Utopia would naturally disappear. Then wherever Ron and Hermione had dropped unconscious, they'd drop out together.
Sterling planned tonight's carpet search of the Forbidden Forest—why not immediately now? He had afternoon classes scheduled, plus no confidence searching the vast Forbidden Forest in one single day.
If he skipped class, Professor McGonagall would wield her Deputy Headmistress authority, giving him some "corrective stick".
Thinking of Professor McGonagall's "tireless" teachings over months, Sterling quickly shook his head vigorously, trying to shake out strings of "Mr Page" from his mind.
"Well done—E."
"Very ordinary, unoriginal essay—forget it. Who told me I'm in a remarkably good mood today? Also, E."
"This is genuinely good—Terry's work, I knew it. Give an O."
Sterling dashingly wrote strings of "E" and "O" grades with flowing script until reaching the last Slytherin homework. Seeing his name, Sterling held his forehead with renewed trouble:
"Draco Malfoy"
His real-world Potions level was quite competent. But this was Harry's territory.
So...
Even in a good mood, Sterling couldn't give this earth-shatteringly, ghost-weepingly terrible homework a score higher than a bare "P".