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The plaque reading No. 93, Diagon Alley was nailed to a mold-speckled brick wall, and most passing wizards took it for an abandoned storage shed.
Sargeras tapped the wall three times with his wand, and the bricks rippled and reshaped like piano keys being pressed, revealing a spiral staircase leading down into the cellar. This was his temporary lodging, leased weekly for two Galleons—formerly a candy cellar beneath what used to be a sweets shop.
" Scourgify (Freshen up)," he murmured, flicking his wand at the oak barrels crusted over with old frosting. With the rich scent of aged cream lingering in the air, a dozen barrels rolled into place and locked together to form a desk, while the caramel syrup congealed on the wall melted into the warm amber glow of a desk lamp.
The Daily Prophet slid in through a crack in the window just as he sat down, the front page splashed with a bold headline: "Order of Merlin Medalist Cleared of All Charges, Appointed to Teach at Hogwarts." The photograph showed him from behind, his black robes whipping in the sea breeze as he stepped out of Azkaban.
Tucked just below the headline was a printed copy of the Ministry's official pardon.
Sargeras folded the newspaper into an origami crane and tossed it into the fireplace. Flames licked across the word "Dangerous Genius " as it burned, reducing the headline to ash in the blink of an eye.
Suddenly, a warm splat of bird droppings landed squarely on the pardon.
"You're two minutes and seventeen seconds late," he said flatly, without even glancing up.
Soot rained gently from the chimney as the raven Noctis landed, folding its wings with a metallic shimmer. It held a letter in its beak, the wax seal still perfectly intact.
This creature was a cursed construct he'd scavenged from the ruins of Durmstrang. Its creator had embedded a shard of obsidian into its left eye that could refract magic. Now it drew sustenance from Sargeras's magic, and in return, the raven named Noctis served as his personal courier.
Sargeras plucked the letter and skimmed it, and without a word, a quill and sheet of parchment flew out from the dragon-hide trunk nearby.
He retrieved a small pouch of mithril flakes, and Noctis immediately fluttered down onto his arm, tilting its head and letting out a sharp, piercing screech.
"Quiet…"
Silenced, the reprimanded raven turned away and began pecking at the mithril flakes. At the same time the quill scratched smoothly across the parchment:
Required Reading for Advanced Spellcraft:
Theory and Practice
Advanced Applications of Spellwork – Miranda Goshawk (Revised 1897 Edition)
Introduction to Magical Theory – the Ancient Runes Society
Topological Studies in High-Order Magical Currents – Sargeras Greengrass (Manuscript Facsimile Edition)
The quill paused briefly, then added one final line in small script at the bottom:
Recommended Materials:
Mithril-Plated Slide Rule
Dual-Sided Crystal Prism
As he finished and corked the ink bottle, sunlight was just beginning to filter through the narrow window of the cellar, casting a soft glow across his profile.
Sargeras loosened the collar of his shirt and stepped before the dressing mirror. The Hogwarts professor's black robes adjusted themselves to his form with a gentle ripple of fabric, until the silver-threaded embroidery of the Ravenclaw crest shimmered to life on the left side of his chest.
It was a privilege reserved for him as an alumnus.
---
The thick scent of coal and steam greeted him as he stepped onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
Sargeras moved through the milling crowd of first-years struggling with their luggage carts, his black robes brushing the corner of a suitcase belonging to a red-haired boy—where the edge of a Chocolate Frog card peeked out, the portrait of Dumbledore winking directly at him.
"Outta the way! Make room! This stupid trunk's about to fall apart!"
Ron Weasley's shout rang out just as the lid of his trunk burst open with a loud sproing of snapping springs.
A chaotic mess of spellbooks, magazines, comic books, newspapers, a half-eaten bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, and even a limping old rat shot through the air, skimming past Sargeras's boots. Behind him, another bespectacled boy scrambled to tape the broken trunk back together.
"Reparo," Sargeras murmured with a flick of his hand.
The scattered items flew back into the suitcase with twice the speed, and with a metallic clink, the old brass latches reassembled themselves into a sturdier, geometric lock.
Ron gaped, and staring wide-eyed at the fully restored trunk. Before he could speak, Sargeras asked, "Red hair? Are you from the Weasley family?"
His gaze lingered briefly on the battered wand poking out of the boy's robe pocket—cheap willow, with a thin fracture running down its side. The faint glow at its tip suggested the unicorn hair core had long since frayed and begun to peek through.
Without waiting for Ron to answer, Sargeras went on, "Even if you're a first-year, not knowing the most basic repair charm is inexcusable. Especially since you're a Weasley."
The two boys just stood there, rooted to the spot, speechless and dumbfounded. Shaking his head, Sargeras turned and walked toward the end of the train.
The shrill blast of the whistle swallowed their stammered thanks.
Once he stepped into the final carriage compartment, a sheen of frost instantly spread across the door handle. A powerful repelling charm shimmered invisibly in the air, nudging the minds of any passerby to simply overlook the space.
---
Hermione Granger slid open the door to another compartment. "Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one."
Harry and Ron, both in the middle of snacking, looked up and shook their heads at the girl standing at the compartment door. Just then, a gust of wind from the window blew open a copy of the Daily Prophet, revealing its bold front-page headline:
"Order of Merlin Medalist Cleared of All Charges! Controversial Genius Returns to Hogwarts"
The accompanying photo showed a strikingly handsome man in black robes, his profile sharp and cold like carved stone. Behind him, the iron bars of Azkaban twisted into a blurred backdrop under the morning light.
"Merlin's beard! That guy's actually going to be a professor at Hogwarts!" Ron leaned in so close his nose nearly touched the page, crumbs of Chocolate Frog smeared on the edge of the headline. "It says here he blew up five wizards with magic!"
Harry also leaned in to take a closer look, just in time to see the man in the photo suddenly lift his head and glance straight at the camera. A flash of silver flickered in those grey eyes, startling Harry so much he jerked back—his Chocolate Frog leapt straight into Ron's pumpkin juice.
"They were five Dark wizards," Hermione corrected immediately, turning to shut the compartment door behind her. "I've read several articles about him."
"What's the Order of Merlin?" Harry took the chance to ask, while Hermione tapped her wand to clean the spilled juice.
"I saw reports in more than one paper. The Daily Prophet always likes to twist things. But if you check the Department of Magical Law Enforcement archives, it clearly states that the wizards he killed were Death Eaters attempting to kidnap Muggle politicians. At the time, Professor Greengrass was a rookie in the Auror Command Division."
"But it says here he reduced their bodies to ashes…" Ron shivered a little.
"That's not fire. It was a spell he invented himself," Hermione said, pointing to a small line in the article. "'Eyewitnesses say he used only a single spell. He didn't even speak an incantation.'"
"You still haven't told me—what exactly is the Order of Merlin?" Harry pressed again, unable to hold back since neither of them had answered his question.
Hermione gave him a startled look. "You seriously don't know? The Order of Merlin is one of the highest honors in the wizarding world. It's awarded by the Wizengamot, and it's been around since the fifteenth century. It recognizes a wizard's individual achievements and contributions."
She lifted the newspaper slightly in her hands as she spoke. "It says here that on the very day he was expelled from Hogwarts, he improved several healing spells—Episkey, Vulnera Sanentur, and Rennervate among them. His improvements increased success rates on critical injuries by over sixty percent. A lot of media outlets condemned Dumbledore at the time, saying he'd gone senile for expelling someone like that."
"That kind of sounds like he was trying to prove a point to whoever kicked him out…" Harry muttered under his breath.
"I've heard my dad talk about it too. Apparently, Professor Greengrass didn't even show up to the award ceremony afterward," Ron added.
Hermione didn't respond—she neither confirmed nor denied it—but pointed to another paragraph. "It says here that after being expelled in his fifth year, he went on to study at Durmstrang and graduated two years later. He was invited to teach at Ilvermorny not long after, and resigned a year later. Then he travelled for a year. After that, the British Ministry of Magic gave him a direct appointment."
Ron, chewing on his Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, mumbled, "So in the end, he still got sent to Azkaban for murder?"
"It was self-defense!" Hermione's curls bounced with her indignant tone. "The Wizards' Rights Protection Act clearly states that when Aurors encounter danger during a mission, they're allowed to use defensive force if the situation demands it."
The young girl with brown hair gave a firm little nod, more to herself than to the others. "Two pureblood families filed the charges against him. That's probably because someone they knew was among the Death Eaters he killed."
"Then why did Headmaster Dumbledore expel him in the first place?" Harry asked, unable to hold the question in any longer.
Hermione immediately fell silent. After a moment of pause, she finally said, softly, "I don't know either…"
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[Chapter End's]
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