"I've always found it strange... After Harry 'disappeared,' Hagrid never came to ask even once."
Sterling walked while speaking to Professor McGonagall. He naturally wouldn't carelessly bring just a few kids fresh from the Mirror's Utopia to fight Voldemort. Though Dumbledore had assured him before the reversal that current Voldemort was forcibly driving a nearly destroyed body with a pile of curses—his strength probably not even reaching half his former power—but that was still the level capable of defeating three professors with power to spare.
If not for Terry and the other three somehow now possessing engravings, Sterling wouldn't have even preserved their memories of the reversal.
"Hagrid... Indeed, I haven't seen much of him these months—and if it's him, he has authority to travel between the Forbidden Forest and the castle. Hogwarts defensive magic wouldn't hinder him."
Professor McGonagall's face darkened as she used her Patronus to message the prefects, instructing them to keep students firmly in their common rooms.
"This also explains why that day when Voldemort first broke into the Forbidden Corridor, Hagrid came so late... Even though I'm this year's new professor, I know he treats those dangerous magical creatures like his own children—but would such a gentle soul really betray you all like that Quirrell did?"
Vitam, carrying a backpack almost as tall as herself, said with genuine confusion, "Mr. Dumbledore even emphasized to me he's trustworthy; he even suggested I could ask him to help collect some alchemical materials."
She jostled her backpack—it contained all the alchemical creations she'd brought to Hogwarts. She swore to properly display what a disciple of Nicolas Flamel could truly accomplish.
Truly unfortunate timing—first encounter with Inferius trolls aside, minimal equipment engagement. If not for Sterling's help, she'd nearly have been humiliated. The second time besieging Voldemort, the urgent timing meant she couldn't bring tools needing adjustment, plus she'd released many items along the way rescuing or mediating between students...
This time she was 100% prepared—definitely showing Sterling what an alchemist's combat aesthetics truly meant.
Sterling looked at Professor McGonagall. She shook her head firmly.
"I don't believe Hagrid would willingly submit to Voldemort—but he probably has not even a shred of resistance to the Imperius Curse."
Right, unlike possessing Quirrell. If Hagrid was truly controlled that night, he'd have faced a Voldemort freely using magic.
"Why not have Terry come with Professor Flitwick?" Harry asked from under the Invisibility Cloak—also what Hermione and Ron under the cloak wanted to know.
"Because current Hogwarts is still being interfered with by that emotion-manipulating magic—we've just returned to yesterday's state. Yesterday compared to today was just missing one spark to ignite the powder keg."
Sterling explained, "Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, and Professor Sprout each watch their respective houses. Terry stays in the Headmaster's office awaiting Professor Dumbledore's return, using his prophecy abilities to confirm no new 'sparks' ignite the situation at Hogwarts."
The reversed Dumbledore was still desperately rushing back from Britain's border.
"As for Gryffindor, Madam Hooch and Madam Pince are together watching them. Actually even unwatched doesn't matter much—they can't see the other houses anywhere in Hogwarts anyway, so they surely can't fight their own housemates."
In the empty Hogwarts, even the normally moving staircases obediently remained motionless under McGonagall's Deputy Headmistress authority. The group quickly left the castle, arriving before the Forbidden Forest's dark edge.
The Forbidden Forest seemed no different from usual, but in the adults' eyes it had gained an oppressive gloominess—perhaps not in Harry's perception.
He looked at the small hut whose outline was already visible at the forest's edge, gripping his wand harder.
Things that made him feel genuinely happy—undoubtedly included revenge.
The more he'd watched "Hogwarts without Voldemort existing," "Godric's Hollow without Voldemort existing" in the Mirror's Utopia, his hatred toward Voldemort had risen exponentially.
Just as they approached Hagrid's hut, Vitam extended her hand, stopping them all.
She pulled from her chest a constantly spinning Foe-Glass that whirred ominously, then threw her backpack to the ground and began pulling things out rapidly.
"This is a—well, think of it as a far more powerful Foe-Glass. I set the detection threshold to twice my strength or greater."
Vitam explained while tossing the ordinary Foe-Glass into her pack dismissively.
"Currently at Hogwarts, only Voldemort could match twice my magical power through sheer strength alone, so next—consider this a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson."
The latter sentence was directed at Sterling and the hidden trio.
"I told you in our first lesson that intelligence is crucial, right? Actually, for you normal wizards, it's fine—your adaptability is much stronger than we alchemists'."
"However, an alchemist with sufficient intelligence is vastly more formidable than normal wizards—"
Vitam pulled from her pack a remarkably old cannon, resembling ancient bombards. Its muzzle still bore many rust spots. The fuse mechanism was distinctly "magical"—a ruby set there, projecting upward a phantom "fuse."
"Sterling, with another year of research, you could probably replicate this. My teacher calls it the Full Power Concentration Cannon. The effect is quite simple—completely drain something's magical power, then shoot it out in concentrated form."
"This cannon's design isn't too complex. The main challenge is continuously extracting the 'hardness' concept to prevent the magical power from blasting it apart. The real difficulty is this ruby—the magical power conversion device."
"Forget it, this explanation would be tedious. If you're interested, come to my office in a few days."
Vitam pulled from her pack a half-person-tall jar filled with azure liquid. She extended the ruby's phantom fuse far out, then inserted it into the jar.
"Alright, Defense Against the Dark Arts is just three steps."
Vitam raised three fingers, folding one down.
"Collect intelligence."
She aimed the cannon muzzle directly at Hagrid's hut.
"Targeted preparation."
She stuffed a gleaming golden scarab into the muzzle.
"Finally—demonstrate the highest art of Dark Arts alchemy!"
Vitam slapped the ruby decisively. Instantly, the entire jar's liquid was consumed completely. A surge of magical power that even alarmed Sterling gathered at the muzzle into a five-meter-radius sphere.
The just-inserted scarab was wrapped in the magical sphere, melting into liquid gold that dyed the entire sphere golden, revealing an almost holy aura.
"Isn't Voldemort maintaining his existence with a mummy curse? Using scarabs that devour mummies to counter him couldn't be more perfect."
Vitam smiled as she raised her hand. The magical sphere suddenly shot forward with devastating force.
For some unknown reason, the invisible, colorless magical power became visible this way, even gaining a "heat" attribute. It blasted the ground into an extremely deep smoking trench, then the entire structure of Hagrid's hut was launched skyward.
"This is true alchemical warfare—"
Vitam grinned with fierce satisfaction, then pulled from her pack two flintlock pistols, similarly connecting two jars—this time directly soaking scarabs in the liquid.
Before she could pull the triggers, the slowly-descending hut suspended in the air suddenly burst apart as black smoke materialized. Intense screams echoed across the sky, making birds flee from nearby trees.
From the faintly-visible firelight, Voldemort's condition clearly wasn't good.
But Vitam shook her head, not continuing her attacks.
"He modified the mummy curse?" McGonagall asked with professional interest.
Vitam nodded grimly. "Originally the scarabs should've broken the mummy curse entirely, but it looks like they just made him catch fire. His spellcasting ability remains intact."
Professor McGonagall sighed heavily. She'd never expected to conveniently kill Voldemort outright. Causing him significant trouble was good enough.
She raised her wand decisively. Hut fragments falling together with Voldemort transformed into a flock of vicious raptors, quickly attempting to tear into Voldemort's head with razor-sharp claws and beaks.
But Voldemort became black smoke, instantly breaking through the raptors' blockade with practiced ease.
He stopped not far from Sterling's group. Before he could make any dramatic declaration, he was blasted flying by another cannon shot, falling hard into the freshly-created dust cloud.
Vitam said nothing, just continuously replacing jars, firing, replacing jars in rapid succession. Voldemort was indeed briefly suppressed under the relentless barrage, but soon, a deep gray crescent-shaped ray of light slashed from the dust clouds, cleaving the cannon Vitam couldn't transfer in time cleanly in half.
"Merlin, this had five-times-purified 'hardness' concept embedded—"
Vitam retreated several hasty steps, pulling out her flintlock pistols.
But Voldemort wouldn't give her ample preparation time. Malicious Dark Magic spells flung from his skeletal hands in rapid succession. Sterling's group scattered, dodging desperately. When they met truly unavoidable curses, they blocked with hastily cast Shield Charms.
McGonagall protected the three under the Invisibility Cloak, continuously transforming ground rubble into barriers to block the incoming magic.
Though Sterling was being suppressed by the dense spell barrage, he didn't feel particularly tense—no Killing Curse was being used, and the spell power was also greatly inferior to before.
Completely different intensity from Halloween night. Could even be called manageable.
Sterling waved his hand, manifesting many pebbles that shot toward Voldemort like bullets. He snorted coldly, not caring about these seemingly weak projectiles.
As the stones neared their target, Professor McGonagall suddenly waved her wand sharply. Those stones all transformed into wickedly sharp blades mid-flight. Caught off-guard, though Voldemort's black mist transformation could grant immunity to physical damage, one or two wounds couldn't be completely dodged.
Before he could properly react, a whistle unforgettable to him sounded. He raised his head sharply, meeting a pair of bright magical headlights—
The thunderous sound of wheels on tracks filled the air.
A full-sized Hogwarts Express locomotive ran directly over his face with crushing force. Sterling closed the book page with deep satisfaction.
McGonagall and Vitam both looked at Sterling with expressions like they'd seen a ghost.
McGonagall was already planning to fill out all his report cards through graduation in advance—needless to say, Charms "Outstanding," Transfiguration "Outstanding" were absolutely guaranteed.
Honestly, shouldn't such prodigies graduate early?
Did he really still need to learn anything at Hogwarts? Learn what, exactly?
Before McGonagall could finish processing her thoughts, scorching heat began spreading through the Forbidden Forest. Pitch-black flames soared skyward, instantly melting the Hogwarts Express into slag.
"Fiendfyre? Shouldn't it be deep red?" Vitam swallowed hard. Pre-reversal Voldemort hadn't used this particular magic.
The three young ones huddled together instinctively. Hermione already covered her mouth to prevent screaming—Harry, whose leg she'd unconsciously grabbed in panic, also covered his mouth to prevent pained sounds.
Only Ron still stupidly peeked around curiously, manifesting armor on himself. He looked like he was seriously planning to ambush Voldemort with a surprise lance strike during the chaos.
"How did you know I was here?"
Voldemort spoke his first sentence of the encounter.
He truly couldn't understand—if failing to discover his presence earlier was one thing, fine. His disguise as that oafish half-giant had been pathetically unconvincing. He could accept that the disguise had failed.
But why now? Why this exact moment?
He looked back painfully at the blasted hut's ruins. Peeves's carefully arranged magic array had also been blown sky-high with the structure.
One more day—just one more day—and all of Hogwarts would have been destroyed by his hand.
Since learning Peeves possessed this ability, stealing the Philosopher's Stone had been relegated to his secondary goal.
So close... they'd been so achingly close...
If all of Hogwarts had descended into complete civil war, even with subsequent mediation, so what? Dumbledore couldn't erase so many young wizards' memories—he wouldn't do it, couldn't do it.
As long as the memories remained, even if they eventually learned this was his conspiracy, what did it matter? The rifts wouldn't simply disappear. After all, he'd only amplified their existing emotions, not fabricated their memories from nothing.
The entire magical world would have been torn apart.
On this point, Voldemort and Dumbledore's thinking diverged fundamentally. There was no need to wait for this generation to grow up and take positions of power. Just by this happening, British magical society would have inevitably fractured.
The most numerous Hufflepuff, the highest social status Slytherin, the strongest combat prowess Gryffindor, the deepest magical research Ravenclaw—what a magnificently chaotic future. If this chaos had been realized, even abandoning the Philosopher's Stone would have been acceptable. In such chaotic conditions, he could have easily sought other resurrection methods at his leisure.
But it had ended.
The magic array was destroyed. What he could do now was simple—go all-in on seizing the Philosopher's Stone!
For this stone, he'd caused incalculable damage to his main soul. If not for Death Magic's engraving providing structural support, switching to ordinary wizards, the soul would've long since scattered, with some random Horcrux automatically replacing the main soul's position.
He glared fiercely at the silent group, then became black smoke, planning to rush toward the castle.
But just flying halfway, he was blocked completely. Hogwarts' defensive magic firmly trapped him within the Forbidden Forest's range. Without Hagrid's body as a magical passport, he couldn't advance a single inch.
Voldemort lowered his head in realization, then abruptly smiled with dark amusement.
This body was probably finished. He didn't know how much of his soul could be preserved after its destruction.
Then, given the situation, what to do was obvious.
Voldemort's skeletal finger pointed directly at Sterling.
Hogwarts couldn't produce another "Dumbledore."
Especially a young wizard with even more terrifying innate talent than "Dumbledore" had possessed at that age?
"Avada Kedavra."
The moment he released this spell, Voldemort's body also swayed precariously, nearly collapsing.
But the result was gratifying—Sterling, believing he couldn't use the Killing Curse, hadn't properly defended against it. That sickly green light quickly pressed against his chest with inexorable finality.