A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Outside Hogwarts Castle, many people wandered aimlessly on the steps, occasionally glancing at the school gates in the distance.

They were filled with curiosity about the ancient magical text international exchange event happening in Hogsmeade, but unfortunately, the school didn't permit them to leave. "This was planned." A student angrily pointed out the truth, "They even postponed the first Hogsmeade weekend for this!"

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat on the steps near the entrance hall. It was their third visit, yet they hadn't seen any familiar figures. Harry looked up at the clouds, anticipating rain that might come at any moment.

"Is there something in the clouds?" Ron suddenly asked.

Harry gazed at the low, dark clouds. Indeed, there was something glowing within them. More and more students noticed the peculiarity overhead. Countless beams of light pierced through the thick clouds, spreading into a soft glow that illuminated the entire castle.

"This is... Lumos?" Harry's mouth hung open in surprise.

Just then, his scar seared with intense pain. He clutched his forehead, feeling like his head was about to split open, vague images flashing in his mind.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Hermione was the first to notice something amiss.

"Voldemort... he's somewhere, ecstatic!" Harry gasped through the pain. "Where is he?" He struggled, taking a few staggering steps, almost tumbling down the stairs.

"You saw him again?"

Their commotion caught the attention of others. Several members from the lookout stations hurried over. "What's happening?" Simon asked, astonished, shouting into the distance, "Get a professor here, anyone! Harry's sick, his scar—"

"Don't!" Harry muttered, holding his head, his face contorted with pain. Simon was frightened, and Neville pushed through, "Harry, should I fetch Professor McGonagall? Or Professor Black and... Professor Snape?" His face took on a solemn expression at the mention of the last name, knowing he usually avoided Snape.

Hermione shot him a meaningful glance. She knew the individuals Neville mentioned were members of the Order of the Phoenix. She decisively said, "Any of those three will do, quickly!"

As Neville spoke, Harry's scar felt like it was on fire. His skin felt like it was melting, and an image appeared before him: a majestic building atop a mountain, surrounded by an environment similar to Hogwarts, shrouded in damp mist and dense forests. Two massive humanoid stone statues flanked the main entrance, but they were at the edge of his vision, barely visible. A strange thought became clear: he sensed its presence, connected to his bloodline...

The legend was real...

Harry collapsed on the steps, a soft white light shattered the dark clouds above, washing over his face. It brought some relief, and he closed his eyes, a cold sensation suddenly touching his lips. "Harry, drink this." He heard Hermione say anxiously.

Harry reluctantly opened his eyes, seeing a vial containing a potion in front of him. "No, I don't want it," he muttered softly, "It's too noisy." There was chaos around, students shouting, making it hard for him to delve into Voldemort's mind.

"Quiet! Stop the racket!" Ron's voice cut through, waving his arms to disperse the crowd inching closer.

Harry resisted the involuntary Occlumency, 'I need to see more, I don't need you for now...' Two scenes alternated: on one side, footsteps, "Professors are coming!" on the other, a sudden view of a lush giant tree, leaves swaying without wind, making a rustling sound, and he felt two intertwining waves of joy.

One came from Voldemort, the other from the towering Serpentwood, as if it had its own consciousness, celebrating the arrival of its new master.

"What's happened... Potter?" Snape appeared expressionless, accompanied by Draco Malfoy and a pale-looking Neville.

"He's having another scar episode!" Hermione said anxiously.

"Weak people, easily crushed by a bit of reality's pressure... if his performance in Potions class remains inadequate, I can only say—" n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

"You know what I mean!" Hermione snapped at him.

"Gryffindor, minus ten points for disrespecting a teacher," Snape said instinctively. Then, he noticed the distorted serpent-shadow on Harry's face. He maintained his sneering expression, hesitating, hesitating, then slowly said, "I can't help. It's best to take him to the school infirmary."

"You, you twisted old..."

Ron's voice mixed with Sirius Black's arrival, the footsteps of McGonagall, and loud inquiries, which made Snape only catch the first sentence. His expression turned dangerously cold, but Sirius pushed him aside, and he remained silent, standing coldly in place.

"What's happening, Harry? Harry! Your scar's hurting again?" Sirius shouted anxiously.

Harry didn't respond. His voice became low and hoarse, emitting a chilling hiss. Sirius widened his eyes, reaching out to do something.

"Don't touch him." Hermione grabbed him, her expression fearful yet resolute. Trembling, she said, "It's Parseltongue, Harry's connected to that person."

Sirius's outstretched hand froze, torn by inner conflict, unsure whether to stop this dangerous act.

Fortunately, the Parseltongue quickly faded, leaving Harry gasping on the cold steps. At that moment, a stone in front of them transformed into a stretcher. "Let me take you to the infirmary first, Harry," Professor McGonagall said calmly, "then inform Headmaster Dumbledore."

Harry didn't speak. More incredulous images flashed in his mind. The colossal Serpentwood was rapidly withering, its bright leaves dulled, turning a sickly yellow-gray, the trunk ready to collapse, as if millennia had passed in mere seconds.

"Snap!"

The trunk split open in the middle, revealing a gaping hole.

A wand floated out from the dark abyss.

Several soft, tender shoots connected to the wand, but they lost their luster and fell away in an instant. The wand's surface became radiant, as if it had absorbed all the life force of the colossal Serpentwood. Waves of ecstatic joy surged like tides, making it impossible for Harry to distinguish reality from illusion. His mind's last image was a long, pale hand gripping it.

Harry felt like he plunged into an icy abyss, instantly jolting awake.

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