Author's Note:

  I'm taking a few days off over the New Year... spend some time with my family, so there'll be a short break in updates after this chapter. Not long, at most, only a week ??

  I just want to say thank you, truly, for all the support you've shown me. It means more than I can properly put into words. I hope all of you have a happy, peaceful, and wonderful New Year, and I'll see you again very soon.

  Anyways, enjoy the chapter, and as always, smashing the Powerstone button really helps.

  _________________

  Sunday evening, at five o'clock, the sky was already pitch black, and snow drizzled softly, blanketing the rooftops of the castle's many towers.

  Emerging from his office, Maverick strolled through the empty hallways and came to a stop by one of the open corridors. In the distance, he could see young witches and wizards returning from the holidays, appearing along the long slope that led to the castle.

  Excitement, and most of all eagerness, was written all across their faces. Even without using his magical sense to listen in, he could easily guess the subject of their animated conversations, which was quite literally about him, along with the three who had taken part in the battle against the aliens.

  Sighing, he continued his lazy walk toward the Great Hall for the opening dinner. For the next few days at least, he was certain he would have a hard time doing any actual teaching, with all the questions he would inevitably have to answer.

  ---

  The weeks passed like a quiet river, unhurried yet inevitable, carrying all things forward. The first week, true to his guess, half the lessons were about satisfying the young witches' and wizards' relentless curiosity, so much so that in the end, he had to gather the entire school on the weekend and play out the battle for everyone, of course, on the condition that no more talk of it should be held, at least during classes.

  It didn't work. The excitement continued through the second week and even lingered into the third, though it had begun to soften somewhat by then. It was only in the fourth week that life at Hogwarts finally returned to normal, with classes, meals, and lessons resuming their familiar rhythm for students and professors alike.

  And by familiar, it was not by typical Hogwarts standards, but by those of any normal educational institution. Hogwarts, after all, had always been a magnet for chaos. Yet now, with the matters of Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black finally laid to rest, and even Lupin's furry problem resolved, the castle stood quieter than it had in years. The events that were meant to unfold in the original story would not come to pass. Probably, anyway.

  The trio's training also resumed in the Room of Requirement, and they seemed even more fired up now, for no other reason than having witnessed the thrilling battle against the alien invaders. After all, who wouldn't dream of being the hero who saves the world, right? In any case, there was one change in their practice routines now, which was that Jean had started joining them in the sessions as well.

  Initially, Maverick had been adamant that she experience life at Hogwarts normally, like any other student. But with the alien invasion and her aunt Ororo being part of the team on the front lines, she seemed to have changed her mind as well, saying she wanted to be ready for anything.

  Of course, that wasn't the reason Maverick had agreed to let her join the trio in training, but it had been Ororo who, on the first day of school, gave him a call and asked him to allow her to participate, insisting on it quite persistently.

  Maverick had no doubt that the little witch was one hundred percent behind it, making Ororo convince him and likely even feeding her what to say. Sly little bird. But anyway, she had already spent a semester like any other student, which was probably enough, and coupled with Ororo's personal insistence, he agreed in the end without much argument. Besides, it wouldn't be him personally instructing her, but the trio, who by now were more than capable of handling it, at least for the basics, until she could catch up with them.

  As for their performance, starting with the trio, Hermione and Ron were still behind Harry, and Potter, the son of luck, proved to be an absolute genius when it came to dueling—something Maverick had firmly recognized by now.

  A little slow, yes—every time Harry learned new spells it took him some time, slower than Miss Know-It-All—but once he got the hang of them, applying them to practice came almost naturally to him.

  Their magical energy was also growing due to the high-intensity training they were undergoing, and Maverick was certain that by the time they graduated, at least Potter, Granger, and Jean would successfully advance from mage apprentice to magus.

  Jean, perhaps even sooner, for among all of them, her magic was the most potent—or more accurately, there shouldn't be anyone her age more magically gifted than her. Given, after all, she was an avatar of a walking, talking creature of cosmic myth. Fortunately, until now at least, there hadn't been any sign of her sleeping powers trying to take over.

  January, as well as February, passed just like that, with some frenzy at the beginning but eventually settling into a quiet rhythm. The harsh winter winds gradually softened, and the heavy snow gave way to occasional patches of sunlight breaking through gray skies, hinting at the coming spring. Then, once again in March, excitement returned to the school, stirring the corridors and classrooms with renewed energy.

  The second round of the interschool Quidditch tournament began early in March, and once again, the team set off, flanked by Coach Steven, McGonagall, and Hooch, bound for the host country. Maverick chose to stay behind for this round as well, though he planned to join them if the team made it to the finals.

  The castle buzzed with sportsmanship throughout the week. Huge screens were set up in the Great Hall, and even the house-elves prepared feasts with extra treats for the occasion so that everyone could watch the games. Class schedules were adjusted as well, ensuring that whenever Hogwarts played, no student would miss a match, allowing everyone to gather and cheer together.

  This round featured three schools, each playing two games, making a total of three matches. In the past two years, thanks to a combination of luck and talent, Hogwarts had advanced through this round and even reached the finals, claiming the championship once. Unfortunately, this year was not their year.

  In the first game, they lost after a neck-and-neck battle against Igor Karkaroff's team of Durmstrang barbarians, falling short by just two goals when Durmstrang reached 150 points first.

  The second game was simply a matter of bad luck, as the opponent caught the Snitch within the first five minutes, before Potter even had a chance to catch his breath. The son of luck had simply not been fortunate in either game.

  But that's the nature of Quidditch. Often, if luck is not on one's side, the outcome can be harsh, and it can change in an instant. Unless the International Quidditch Association decides to change the strange rules surrounding the Snitch, it will remain that way. Yet that unpredictability is also part of what sets Quidditch apart from Muggle sports.

  Magic and luck are inseparable, after all. This was also why Maverick chose not to propose changing the Snitch rule in the tournament, limiting adjustments only to the total points instead.

  It was a miserable evening at Hogwarts. The whole school returned to their dormitories as if they had been taught a hard lesson, long faces everywhere. Still, no one blamed the team, as it was clear their loss in qualification had come down to bad luck.

  When the team returned, however, the school greeted them with as much fanfare as if they had won. Much of the credit went to old Dumbledore, who lifted everyone's spirits with his signature Dumbledory talk-no-jutsu, reminding them that both winning and losing are part of the beauty of the game.

  On the bright side, though, now that the school would no longer participate in the tournament for the rest of the year, the students of the All-Star team got to play in the school's house competition. The teams were readjusted, and in the end, Quidditch frenzy continued with the same hype, if not more, than before.

  ---

  Weeks melted away, and suddenly, March was also behind, leaving only faint memories of its passing. The bitter winds of winter had softened, replaced by shafts of warm sunlight cutting through lingering clouds. Snow patches clung stubbornly to the grounds but were slowly retreating, revealing streaks of green that hinted at spring's quiet return.

  One weekend, after dinner and past curfew, Maverick wandered the empty corridors and once again, for the umpteenth time this semester, found himself standing before the gargoyle statues guarding the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

  It wasn't a random stroll, though, and before he could even mutter the silly name of a dessert he would rather feed to Goose, the statues stepped aside, granting him permission to enter.

  From inside, the old wizard greeted him with his signature twinkle, but tonight his expression carried something more, a sense of anticipation and eagerness for what was to come.

  "I must say, Professor, I did not anticipate you finding it so quickly," Dumbledore said, his voice carrying both surprise and delight. "I reached out to every friend I could think of, and not one was in possession of it. I had begun to fear we might have reached a rather unfortunate dead end."

  Shrugging lightly, Maverick raised his hand, and a small wooden box materialized in his palm. He extended it toward Dumbledore. "You might want to thank the Sorcerer Supreme," he said with a small smile. "After this is over, it would be wise to pay her a visit."

  Dumbledore only raised a brow, his knowing look giving nothing away, and nodded before carefully opening the box.

  After a beat, he closed it again, and in the next moment, the box vanished into his own storage ring. "I shall pay her a visit," he said softly, then turned toward the fireplace. "Come along. Everything else is prepared for the last ritual."

  —————————

  Hogwarts, deep beneath the castle, in the Chamber of Secrets.

  The air was cool and heavy with the scent of wet stone, while the dim light from burning torches flickered across the walls, revealing serpentine carvings that glistened faintly with moisture.

  At the far end of the chamber stood a colossal stone face, presumably that of Salazar Slytherin himself. The carving was disturbingly lifelike, its expression both proud and cruel, with serpents twining around its long beard. "Hideous" would be the first word to come to mind when looking at it.

  Then, with a deep rumble, the statue began to move. Stone grated against stone as its mouth slowly opened, the lips parting and the massive jaw lowering to reveal a dark passage beyond, as though the ancient founder were about to speak after centuries of silence.

  From within the shadowed tunnel, slow, deliberate footsteps echoed into the vast underground hall, breaking the stillness as two figures emerged side by side. Their voices were low, almost casual, as they walked between the rows of serpent statues, the sound of their conversation mingling with the faint hiss of air moving through the ancient chamber.

  "Couldn't you have chosen a better place, Headmaster?" Maverick asked, waving his hand and sending two orbs of light drifting into the air. They hovered above, casting a steady glow across the damp stone. "At least somewhere with a bit of a breeze..."

  The two in question were Maverick and Dumbledore, and the passage they had just emerged from was none other than the true Chamber of Secrets, hidden behind the enormous stone face. After their first exploration of the place and their encounter with the castle's guardian, they were now able to access this secret sanctuary through a floo point connected to the Headmaster's office, allowing them to enter and exit with ease whenever needed.

  "The ambient magic here is strong, and the chamber is well protected with wards," Dumbledore replied, half-smiling, and paused as he reached the heart of the long walkway lined with countless grim snake faces, his steps coming to a deliberate halt.

  "Interesting choice for ink…" Maverick said, frowning slightly.

  Before them, on the slick stone floor, a wide circle of rune-like patterns sprawled outward, drawn in a thick black substance. It glistened faintly in the torchlight, viscous and almost alive, as if the ink itself pulsed with a quiet, steady rhythm.

  "Ah, Night Serpent Essence… I happened to acquire it from Hagrid," Dumbledore said, smiling. "It is rare, certainly, yet not altogether difficult to obtain. It resonates most harmoniously with darker forms of magic and provides a remarkably steady conduit for even the most intricate of runic enchantments."

  "Or, in this particular case, for inscribing a ritual circle," Maverick added.

  "Quite right," Dumbledore agreed, his eyes twinkling as he gestured toward the slick black runes already laid out on the floor. "I completed the inscriptions only yesterday, and now, it is ready to be set into motion."

  "Whenever you're prepared, Headmaster."

  "I shall begin then…" Dumbledore said, nodding thoughtfully.

  While Maverick watched, Dumbledore stepped carefully into the circle, mindful not to disturb the dark ink, and one by one retrieved items from his storage ring, placing them at precise points along the patterns.

  "And you're certain, Headmaster, this is the last ritual?" Maverick asked after a moment, his eyes studying the objects carefully laid out within the circle.

  "The third," Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully as he continued his movements. "If all proceeds as it should, then yes, this will be the final ritual."

  Maverick then began to circle the drawn pattern, studying it carefully with both his eyes and his magical sense. "How far has the curse been lifted so far?" he asked.

  "It is not removed, Professor, though 'suppressed' would be a more accurate term," Dumbledore answered, casting a brief glance at him, then retrieved another item, the wooden box Maverick had given him earlier, and continued his careful work. With a precise flick of his wand, he levitated it to the very center of the circle and gently lowered it into place.

  The item looked ordinary at first, just a small, withered piece of wood. Yet its deep black color and the deliberate care with which Dumbledore handled it made it clear there was more to it than met the eye.

  "Shadowroot," Dumbledore said, stepping carefully out of the circle now that the final item was in place. "Records tell us it is a subterranean tree, flourishing only in perpetual darkness. I must admit, I had long since lost hope, for it was believed extinct for centuries." He smiled, eyes twinkling as he gave Maverick a knowing glance. "That is, until you were kind enough to procure it for me."

  Saying, he walked over to Maverick and, standing shoulder to shoulder, peered into the circle. Then, with a teasing lilt in his voice, he asked, "Curious why it's so crucial?"

  "I'm not," Maverick answered, letting out a quiet sigh at the old man's antics. "But I'm sure you'll explain anyway."

  Chuckling softly, Dumbledore continued, "It anchors the ritual to the physical world, preventing the curse from escaping into the ether or rebounding onto another host."

  He then pointed to another item. "The Crystalline Water from the Silver Springs cleanses magical residue, ensuring no remnants of the curse linger to rebind the victim later."

  Then he gestured to another. "Moonflower Pollen enhances the alignment between earthly and cosmic energies needed to purge soul-bound curses."

  "Dragon's Vein Blood acts as a stabilizer for volatile energies, preventing the curse from backfiring onto the caster or the circle. Its elemental power strengthens the ritual's containment..."

  "I know the ingredients, Headmaster. I'm a master alchemist," Maverick cut him off, holding back the urge to roll his eyes. "By the way, where's Slytheris?"

  "Ah… the guardian should be resting in her chambers," Dumbledore's hand moved to his chin. "But with you here, Professor, I won't be requiring her assistance during this ritual."

  "You had her assist you with the past rituals? How?" Maverick raised a brow, genuinely curious.

  "Of course. Using her authority over the castle's magic, she assisted in strengthening the wards of the chamber, even layering barriers with her own magical energy in case any residual magic was produced."

  Maverick gave the old man a long glance, then turned away. "I never took you for reckless… or daring, Headmaster. Why didn't you ask for mine, or Professor McGonagall's assistance?"

  "Oh, do not take it the wrong way, Professor. I acted as I did because I have every confidence the ritual would succeed completely. It was simply an exercise in extreme precaution."

  "And now? You don't have full confidence?"

  "I do," the old wizard replied, eyes twinkling. "The ritual will succeed, of that I have no doubt. In my younger days, I pursued this branch of magic rather extensively and became, dare I say, fairly knowledgeable in it. Along with my…" He stopped mid-sentence, a faint smile tugging at his lips, as if reconsidering whether to share what was on his mind.

  "The point, Professor," he continued after a brief pause, "is that this old man knows what he is doing. And besides, the Ancestors' Book is quite comprehensive. I dare say a master alchemist such as yourself could glean many valuable insights from it… would you care to take a look for yourself?"

  "Isn't it in Slytherin's personal chamber?" Maverick shrugged knowingly. "So I will, eventually… when I have the time."

  "Grimoire of Eternal Chains," Dumbledore went on, eyes twinkling. "It contains some very wicked knowledge for anyone inclined toward evil, yet at the same time, it is remarkably insightful."

  "I'm sure it is." Maverick had gone through nearly all the books in the general Chamber of Secrets by now; only the personal collections in the founders' private chambers remained largely unexplored. And these past few months, he had been pressed for time at every turn.

  Pushing the thought aside, he refocused on the matter at hand. "Is everything set up now for the ritual?"

  "Yes. Though I will need your assistance, Professor, to ensure the aftermath is as quiet and controlled as possible."

  Maverick took a moment to consider, then gave a small nod. After all, this was a ritual, a branch of magic he was not particularly proficient in. Yet he trusted Dumbledore, and from the old man's calm explanations, he sensed nothing but confidence. And with that reassurance, he let go of any lingering worry as well that something might go awry.

  Once again, Dumbledore carefully stepped inside the circle, and while standing at the only point empty of ink and objects, he waved his wand. As a result, his robes vanished along with every piece of fabric on his upper body, and the old man lowered himself to the stone floor.

  Damn… this old thing is ripped af. Maverick raised an eyebrow, watching Dumbledore's deliberate movements, then moved into action himself, pushing up from the stone floor and letting his magic flow as well, weaving protective layers around the ritual circle.

  Layer by layer, he applied magical barriers, combining the magical system and the spells of sorcery, and soon, despite not being able to see anything with the naked eye, he was sure nothing, physical or otherwise, could escape far from the runic circle in which Dumbledore sat.

  Meanwhile, sitting cross-legged with his upper body bare, Dumbledore waved the Elder Wand with his good hand, tracing precise gestures over his other, cursed hand. The tattered fabric that had once covered it had vanished, leaving only skin exposed. At a glance, the change was striking: where before the hand had looked sickly and bluish, it now appeared almost normal, at least to the naked eye.

  The last two rituals the old man had performed seemed to have worked their miracle. From what Maverick had learned from Dumbledore, the curse was now almost completely suppressed. What remained, then, was simply the final step: removing it entirely and destroying it.

  With another flick of the Elder Wand, one of the ingredients, the crystalline water that Maverick recognized by its silvery hue and faint magical residue, began to flow from its container in the ritual circle. Gradually, it flowed outward and wrapped around Dumbledore's outstretched, cursed hand like a serpent encircling its prey.

  "When you're ready, Professor, I shall begin." With his arm, from elbow completely enveloped in the water containing the special magical essence, Dumbledore called out without raising his head.

  "One moment," Maverick said, then added one final layer of magic. He enclosed the space and manipulated the mirror dimension, not in the usual way, but altered it so that objects could enter the circle while nothing could escape.

  To an outside observer, shards of mirror-like surfaces would appear out of thin air, slowly spreading to envelop the entire space. Gradually, Dumbledore and Maverick would fade from sight, vanishing from the naked eye as if the air itself had swallowed them.

  "Interesting… what fascinating magic," Dumbledore couldn't help but remark mid-action.

  "You can start now, Headmaster."

  —————————

  Dip.

  Dip.

  Dip.

  Hogwarts. Deep underground, within the outer hall of the Slytherin Chamber of Secrets.

  The soft sound of water droplets falling into a small puddle echoed through the still air, each drop rebounding off the stone walls like a slow, unending rhythm.

  The chamber was silent otherwise, almost eerie. The air was heavy with the scent of wet stone, and a chill dampness seemed to seep into the skin, while dim light from a line of torches flickered faintly across the damp stone statues, where patches of moss and mold clung stubbornly to their surfaces.

  To any outside observer, it would seem like an ancient ruin, lifeless and undisturbed; yet in truth, behind the veil of reality, existing both there and not truly there at the same time, a great struggle of will and rare magic was taking place.

  Within the mirrored dimension, magic unlike any found in spellbooks stirred the air. Light and shadow intertwined, clashing in a silent battle over a single soul. Bolts of mysterious purple energy leaked from the runic symbols forming the ritual circle, and at its center, Dumbledore's bare upper body glistened faintly. The symbols pulsed with a steady rhythm, each thrum echoing the quiet beat of his heart.

  The water around his outstretched hand rippled with energy, revealing faint black veins pulsing beneath his skin as if alive. Gradually, the parasitic curse attached to his soul began to yield to the ritual's force, pushed outward as tendrils of shadow-like smoke leaked into the air. It was a slow process, but it was working.

  Rhythmic surges of magic coursed through the mirrored dimension, each pulse echoing like a heartbeat in the void, while bolts of blackish lightning continued to arc from the runes, drawing power from the rare and magical materials placed within the inscriptions.

  The ritual was clearly working its miracle. Yet Dumbledore, at least from his outward expression, showed no sign of discomfort. All the while, purple light flickered across the old wizard's face, catching on his composed features and the sharp focus in his eyes as time moved on.

  Maverick, watching from above, sensed everything as he observed this mysterious branch of magic at work. It was fascinating to him, after all, this was the first time witnessing a magical ritual unfold. But at some point, his brows furrowed, and curiosity turned into caution. There was something there he could not quite identify at first, though not entirely unfamiliar.

  A few years ago, he remembered feeling the same cold and repulsive energy during his battle against Morvain, after the lunatic had made some sort of contract with a mysterious entity. At the time, being new to the world of magic, he had no idea what it was. Later, however, he learned it was demonology, and the energy he was sensing now carried the same dark, familiar presence.

  On second thought, it wasn't surprising at all that Riddle dabbled in such vile magic. Like Morvain, he was also hopelessly lost to his own insanity, probably the maddest of them all.

  Demonology, after all, is not something one simply studies, waves a wand, and masters overnight. It demands a price of its own—a contract, or in other words, an equivalent exchange. A soul, a life, even one's sanity could be placed on the table for the bargain, quite literally a deal with the devil, all for power beyond mortal measure.

  Riddle must have given up something of great importance to bind that curse to the ring. Knowing him, it could have been a fragment of his own soul or worse, the lives of countless innocents. Whatever it was, it could not have been insignificant, or Dumbledore would have found a cure long before now, with all his wisdom and connections.

  It was only after discovering the Chamber of Secrets and its collection of precious books that the old man finally found a way out.

  The old wizard had kept it to himself about that, but Maverick had known for some time now. Such a thing as the lingering aura of decay and death could not escape his keen magical senses, given how often he met the old man at Hogwarts. However, he chose not to mention it, preferring to wait until Dumbledore brought it up himself.

  Perhaps he was waiting for the right time, but anyway, he knew about it, and Maverick was certain that Dumbledore also knew he knew. Besides, during the alien invasion, Grandmaster Flamal had even remarked about it in front of everyone.

  And just weeks earlier, Dumbledore had asked for Maverick's help in locating a crucial ingredient for a "special ritual," or so he had said. It was also then that the old wizard finally shared everything with him. Beyond that, Dumbledore also recounted some of his past attempts to find a cure, even revealing that he had sought the Sorcerer Supreme's assistance.

  At first, Maverick was a little taken aback upon hearing that the Sorcerer Supreme herself was unable to offer any assistance, and he even inwardly raised the threat level of old Voldy by a couple of notches. After all, if Riddle was able to cast curses that even the Sorcerer Supreme had no solution for, then that meant the man was truly a monster.

  Locating the ingredient Dumbledore had asked for proved tricky at first, since it had apparently been considered long extinct for many centuries.

  He tried using the connections he had, but had no luck. Finally, he thought to turn to the Sorcerer's side. After all, the Sorcerer Supreme herself had said he could come to her anytime, and if anyone could track down something thought extinct, it would be her. At the same time, he also wanted to verify whether Dumbledore's claims were true, or if there was another piece of the story he hadn't been told. It turned out there was.

  First, he got the item Dumbledore wanted in almost no time. The Sorcerer Supreme had simply opened a portal, disappeared to who knows where, and returned moments later, as if she had just stepped out for a quick errand, casually handing him the ingredient.

  A bit anticlimactic, really. She didn't even ask for any favor in return. And it wasn't a small piece she gave him, but anyway, he had more than enough, with even more left over for who knows when it might be needed in the future.

  And with that taken care of, he finally asked her about the curse leeching on Dumbledore. Once again, he was left uncertain, for the Sorcerer Supreme only gave a knowing smile.

  "Ridding Dumbledore of the curse would have been simple," she said casually. "I could have fixed him in no time."

  The next question, of course, was why she didn't. To answer that, the woman gave him a strange look and an even stranger curl of her smile before saying, "Aren't you helping Dumbledore save his life now?" In other words, she could have saved him, but apparently she wanted him to be involved, which, as it happened, he now was.

  Did she see the future back then and decide not to help Dumbledore herself? Or was it a future even further ahead, beyond now, that showed her something which influenced her decision? Or perhaps she saw that helping him would alter both his and Dumbledore's future too much. In any case, he didn't know, and frankly, there was no point in wracking his brain over it.

  He didn't ask any more questions. He simply thanked her for her help with the item and left on the spot.

  Nearly half an hour had passed. The magical fluctuations radiating from the ritual had reached their peak, though they were still nothing Maverick couldn't contain. He could feel the ritual nearing its climax.

  The dark veins on Dumbledore's hand had nearly vanished, evaporated into smoke. Again, a bit anticlimactic, honestly. Even Riddle's horcrux, when it was consumed by fiendfire, had at least let out a wail.

  The old man also did not appear to have experienced any pain from the beginning until now, maintaining the same solemn and focused expression. Perhaps he was suppressing any discomfort, or maybe the ritual itself was simply that powerful and efficient.

  Maverick made a mental note that he definitely needed to read the book Dumbledore had mentioned.

  A few minutes later, Maverick heard Dumbledore utter a single, strange syllable, sharp and resonant, and subsequently, the water around his hand exploded into motes of golden light before vanishing entirely. The glow from the circle also faded, as if the runes themselves had exhausted their power, until finally, only the faint torchlight remained.

  Silence fell once more, and sensing no lingering magic in the air, Maverick lowered himself to the ground as well, waving his hand while also dispelling the mirror dimension.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Dumbledore exhaled deeply and lowered his hand. The hand that had once borne the curse looked whole again, the skin smooth, pale, and unmarked. He flexed his fingers once, and perhaps involuntary, a smile curled his lips, his eyes calm and faintly amused.

  "Congratulations…"

  "Thank you," Dumbledore replied with a smile, rising to his feet. His robes materialized, and with a few flicks of the Elder Wand, the signs of the inscribed circle, along with the remains of the materials, vanished—all in a single breath.

  "How does your magic feel?"

  "Good," he nodded. "Better than good, in fact." He tightened his grip on the Elder Wand, and raised his arm with quiet confidence. "I can no longer sense even the faintest echo of the curse."

  Then, closing his eyes, he drew in a slow breath and released it just as calmly. "It has been far too long since I have felt this… unburdened." Opening his eyes again, he turned to Maverick, smiling with undisguised appreciation.

  "You have my deepest gratitude, Maverick. Without your help, I fear this old man would still be quietly counting his remaining days."

  "I barely did anything..."

  "No… the Chamber of Secrets, the library, all of it. Without your hand in fate, I might never have found my way to it."

  "Okay, okay." Maverick waved his hand quickly, cutting him off. "I get it, so please, spare me." He really didn't want to have this conversation, it was awkward as hell.

  Chuckling, Dumbledore nodded and let the matter rest. They were familiar enough by now that not everything needed to be spoken aloud. Besides, this wasn't the only favor Dumbledore owed him.

  "I'll conduct a diagnosis as well... so lower your magical defenses for a moment."

  Dumbledore nodded. He had already done one himself, but more eyes were indeed always better. And he trusted Maverick completely, so he complied without a thought, drawing back his magic, both the passive and active layers guarding his body and soul.

  Minutes passed before the orange sparks coursing along Dumbledore finally disappeared. The diagnosis spells, both from the magical system and the sorcery, had done their task.

  From what Maverick could tell, the ritual had been thoroughly successful, perhaps a little too successful, as he was momentarily taken aback by the feedback he received.

  First, nothing remained of the evil curse, no lingering traces, no injuries to the body, and even his soul appeared unharmed.

  But how? Dumbledore should have borne some damage to his soul, having had the curse drain his life energy all these years, shouldn't he? Even if the curse had been removed, the injury should still have remained—it should have taken time to recover.

  The spell he had used to examine Dumbledore's magic was highly advanced sorcery, at least in the field of diagnosis and detection. It was capable of revealing even subtle abnormalities in a person's life energy—possession, leeching, missing fragments—but he detected nothing of the sort. In other words, Dumbledore's life energy... seemed completely unharmed.

  Therefore, the only reasonable conclusion was that the ritual had not only cured him entirely but had also restored the life energy the curse had drained.

  Incredible, he thought.

  "Headmaster, you're... completely recovered." Lowering his arm and wearing a thoughtful expression, he finally spoke. "Physically and magically, you're fine."

  Dumbledore let out a soft chuckle. "Ah, from that look on your face, I see you have questions," he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Let me venture a guess… you're wondering how my injuries healed so completely?"

  "Yes..." Maverick admitted plainly.

  "Understandable," Dumbledore said, inclining his head. "Ritual magic is a subtle and demanding art, studied by very few."

  Well, the old wizard wasn't wrong. It wasn't a popular subject of study, not even publicly taught. The main reason was that much of it involved steps far darker than most would dare to attempt. Nine times out of ten, the process required binding, manipulating, or sometimes even consuming something vulgar—flesh, blood, or the like. Essentially, rituals tampered with the natural order of things, carried immense risk, and could even inflict lasting damage on one's own soul.

  Of course, high risk often meant high reward, but not everyone was willing to pay such a price. There was perhaps only one magic of that sort taught publicly throughout the magical world, and that was the Animagus ritual. But even that was taught under extreme supervision, because if the ritual went wrong, the witch or wizard could very well become permanently trapped in the form of the animal, their mind and soul warped beyond repair.

  "Come," Dumbledore beckoned Maverick to follow. "Let us continue this conversation in the Ancestors' Library..."

  —————————

  Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets was, in truth, more of a library than anything else: books, books, and more books. In fact, it could hardly even be called Slytherin's chamber, for the volumes stored here belonged to all four of the great warlocks. Each founder had a personal chamber of their own, preserving the magical knowledge they had gathered through their lives.

  The only thing that truly marked this "secret chamber" as Slytherin's was perhaps the enormous serpent that was the basilisk, and the damp, gloomy atmosphere that seemed to fit the man's reputation perfectly. Otherwise, it might as well have been called the Hogwarts chamber of exceptionally rare books, guarded, of course, by an equally exceptional snake.

  Back to the matter at hand, Slytherin's private chamber was small and austere, much like the others, with only subtle differences in detail and perhaps in color. Its stone walls were lined with shelves packed to the brim with timeworn books.

  To one side stood a wooden table of dark, polished oak, its surface worn smooth by time, with a half-melted candle burning quietly upon it, the flickering flame sending restless shadows dancing over the shelves and steeping the chamber in a solemn, reverent stillness. Well, that was the case a few hours ago. The chamber was now otherwise occupied by two men, one old and one young.

  "This is really…" Commenting on what he had just read while closing an ancient-looking book, Maverick glanced at Dumbledore, who sat across from him, smiling knowingly as if expecting his reaction. "Profound knowledge, Headmaster."

  "Profound, yes." Dumbledore nodded. "And dangerous. Magic that deals directly with the soul can be perilous if wielded by the wrong hands, of course."

  Yeah, no kidding, Maverick mused. The text covered everything from the creation of Horcruxes to the merging of shattered souls, written in such precise, almost scholarly detail that any ordinary witch or wizard would have deemed it forbidden magic on sight. And that was only scratching the surface of the bizarre and unsettling knowledge within.

  Moreover, that was only one book. This was Salazar Slytherin's personal library, filled with all kinds of knowledge most would rather burn than read. No wonder the man had such dark rumors around his name. In Muggle terms, he was exactly what they'd call a mad scientist.

  There were even books here dissecting the three Unforgivable Curses, covering both attack and defense, and even Maverick had found new insights within them. It was worth noting that his understanding of the three Unforgivables was already at an advanced level, meaning the system had instilled in him profound comprehension that one might not find in any book.

  In other words, as Dumbledore had said, the knowledge contained in this library could indeed be very dangerous in the wrong hands. Fortunately, old Voldy never discovered this true chamber within the Chamber of Secrets during his school days, or Maverick was certain the mad fool would have tried every ritual in these books that promised even the faintest taste of power.

  "Is it the ritual of Anima Purificare that you performed today?" Putting the book down on the table and sliding it across, he asked after a moment of thought.

  "Indeed." Dumbledore waved his hand, and the book levitated, drifting to one of the shelves where it settled neatly into place. "That, and the rituals of Maledicta Vinculum and Tenebris Compressum."

  It had to be said, this old man was truly a genius. In fact, the rituals Dumbledore had performed weren't even designed for removing a curse of demonic corruption. None of them were. It was the wise old man's ingenuity to use them in a precise order that had, in the end, cured him completely—and perhaps even improved him.

  "Wait a minute, Headmaster…" Maverick suddenly thought of something, and his eyes lit up. "Do you think that the same series of rituals could be used on Potter? To rid him of the parasite of Riddle's soul?"

  At his words, Dumbledore raised a brow, then fell into thought, leaning back in his chair. He rubbed his chin, mulling over the idea, while Maverick waited. After a while, his eyes seemed to gleam as he looked at Maverick. "Theoretically, yes."

  "Please explain, Headmaster. I'm not that knowledgeable in this particular branch of magic, you know."

  "It's actually very simple." Dumbledore leaned forward. "Young Harry—what do you think is the difference between the entity leeching his magic and the curse that parasitized my soul?"

  "Horcrux?" Maverick answered with a thoughtful expression, then his eyes lit up. "Soul. It's the soul."

  "Brilliant." Dumbledore chuckled lightly. "How I wish you were a student here at Hogwarts, Professor."

  "Right, right. I've heard that too many times." Maverick waved a hand dismissively.

  Chuckling again, Dumbledore continued. "What's parasitizing young Harry is a fragment of a mortal soul, while in my case, it was something else." He raised one finger, as if lecturing a student. "Similar in some ways, but also different. What do you think would happen if the ritual were done on young Harry?"

  Honestly, Maverick had no idea, and he didn't try to act smart. "I don't know."

  "Precisely," said Dumbledore, leaning back again. "We don't know. But that doesn't mean it's the end of the matter. Your suggestion, in fact, is theoretically quite sound. I shall research further to see if it can be made foolproof."

  Maverick nodded. Unless absolutely certain, he would not attempt it either. It could cure Harry and remove the parasitic fragment, but it could just as easily make things worse. Better to wait. Moreover, Harry wasn't Dumbledore, and his composure and magical stability would be vastly different—factors that could affect the ritual's outcome.

  "Please do, Headmaster," Maverick said solemnly. If Harry could rid himself of the parasitic soul before next year, then Maverick's plans would become far more foolproof. A lot of uncertainties could be removed—or in other words, many risks cast aside. "If there's anything you need—rare ingredients, components, anything you can't find—let me know. I really want the kid to get better."

  Leaning back in his chair, smiling with that familiar twinkle in his eyes, and giving a look Maverick couldn't quite read, Dumbledore nodded. "I shall do it regardless, Professor. Young Harry's unfortunate situation…" he sighed melancholically, "and his family's tragedy back then, are also partly my fault. I trusted the wrong people, or perhaps I was too overconfident. Either way, it is my responsibility."

  Looking at the old man's expression, Maverick could tell he truly meant it. He wasn't a schemer—well, maybe an old one—but he was definitely not the manipulative villain so many fanfictions in his past life had painted him to be. Knowing him this long, Maverick could at least deduce that much.

  "Right then, let's put this matter aside for now. You can rest assured I will devote my utmost effort to researching the ritual..." Dumbledore rose to his feet after a moment of silence. "Let us head back up for now."

  Maverick nodded and stood as well. "Will you be announcing your recovery to the world?"

  Walking side by side out of the chamber, Dumbledore shook his head. "Not yet. I would appreciate it if you too, Professor, kept the matter between us for now." Saying that, he raised his hand, and the tattered clothing that had once been draped over his arms materialized again beneath his sleeve.

  What's this old man thinking now? Maverick thought, but he didn't dwell on it and simply shrugged. Whatever. "It's your call, Headmaster," he said.

  ---

  A few days later, the Muggle Science classroom.

  Inside, the air smelled faintly of metal and charred dust. Heavy oak tables stood in neat rows, two students sharing one, each equipped with simple glass beakers, small metal rods, and tiny open boxes filled with powders and crystals.

  Today's lesson focused on decomposition. Maverick rolled up his sleeves and scanned the classroom, watching the students dive into the work before them. Behind him, a single word was underlined twice in chalk: Electrolysis.

  As with physics and biology, chemistry, of course, had its place in the Muggle science curriculum. And what better way to show just how fascinating it could be than with a simple electrolysis experiment, right? Moreover, it was one of his favourite subjects, and he had loved it even in his previous life.

  "Macmillan, it's supposed to be pale yellow, not that murky green." He paused beside their table as he walked past. "And Parkinson, no magic… use the tools provided. Look carefully: green means too much salt. Clean the rod, correct it, and keep going."

  Moving on, he noticed the only redhead in the class looking up at him and came to a stop. "Okay, Ronald, what's bothering you?"

  "Uh… Professor?" Ron cleared his throat, stealing a look at his partner before speaking. "I mean… is it really possible to, you know, make proper gold this way?" Clearly, some odd ideas had gone on between the two of them.

  Maverick stared blankly for a moment, then looked at the beaker they were working on. "What you're doing here, as I mentioned in the beginning, is coating, not creating. You're depositing gold ions from the solution onto the rod. Basically, just painting. So don't go having weird ideas."

  Ron sighed and nodded, returning to his work. His partner for today's class was Susan Bones, a meticulous little witch. Their experiment, at least, showed no signs of error despite the odd question Ron had just asked, so Maverick didn't linger and moved on to the next table.

  A few tables down, another hand raised. Maverick approached Draco Malfoy and Hannah Abbott, who were frowning at their beaker. "Professor, why is ours all brown?"

  Maverick leaned in to inspect. "I told you to clean the rod properly before starting. Otherwise, the residue on the surface reacts first, ruining the finish… which is exactly what's happened here. Off the fumes, clean it properly, then try again."

  He continued moving through the classroom, the flicker of each table's flame reflecting in his eyes. Beakers clinked softly, and the faint metallic scent filled the air as students watched the slow shimmer spread along their rods.

  "Patience," he said as he passed Harry and Tracy. "Real science is slower than magic, but sometimes that's the beauty of it. The process itself teaches you something."

  Minutes passed, accompanied by the soft murmur of discussion and the occasional whispered question, until the bell finally rang, marking the end of the allotted class period.

  "Alright," Maverick called, clapping his hands once. "That's enough for today. Switch off your power sources and set your rods aside. Now, before you all pull out your wands—don't."

  Groans rippled across the room, as if they had already expected him to say it. Smiling faintly without changing his expression, Maverick continued,

  "Remember, this is Muggle chemistry, not a potions classroom. For learning's sake, you'll clean the instruments the Muggle way too. Soap, water, and absolutely no spells."

  It was the last class of the day, and the students had no other lessons to attend anyway. And with that, he turned toward the door, leaving them with the final instruction.

  As soon as he stepped outside, a subtle thrill passed over his face, though it wasn't because he had just taught another interesting lesson about science to his students. During class a while back, he had finally received the message he had been most expecting this month, and he could hardly wait to leave the school.

  But first, he needed to let the old man know he wouldn't be around. He raised his hand and flicked his finger, and a silver-white shimmer gathered at his fingertips, taking the form of a raven whose feathers seemed woven from living mist.

  "Go," he whispered, watching the silver raven cry once and vanish through the wall, and with a single thought, his own figure also dissolved into invisibility as he moved toward the nearest open window.

  —————————

  "It's not the deep red I was expecting..."

  "It's more like a muted orange-red or butterscotch… What made you think it would be straight red?"

  "I mean... people keep calling it that. Whatever, forget it. Is the center-most feed running in real time?"

  London, deep underground at the Mars mission lab or the headquarters or simply mission control. Maverick never really bothers naming his underground bases, he just calls them this or that location.

  The atmosphere here was especially lively today. People in white coats moved between stations with quick steps and hushed voices, their eyes flicking from papers to glowing screens.

  One wall held a wide monitor that covered nearly the entire surface, divided into several live feeds, each one showing a different angle in and from the spacepod as it drifted into the red planet's orbital region.

  Beneath it, a long row of control units hummed with steady lights and flickering buttons, while other consoles filled the room in neat clusters, each one manned by someone adjusting dials or tapping keys as telemetry streamed in.

  The control room itself was built on a single wide floor, and a short metal staircase on both sides led up to a raised platform that felt almost like a stage created for oversight.

  From there, anyone standing at the railing could see the entire room and every feed running at once. At this moment Maverick, Norex, Bucky, Howard and his wife stood among several other scientists and alchemists, some watching in silence and others commenting softly as the controlled chaos unfolded below them.

  The reason for everyone gathering here was obvious. Today, if everything went according to plan, could become the day their long quest reached its turning point, the day they finally surfaced the mysterious world.

  "Yes, the camera with the quantum entanglement tech we installed last week on the spaceship has its feed up on the center screen," Howard said, nodding without taking his eyes off the display. "The rest of the feeds are running about ten minutes behind..."

  "Mars isn't exactly close to Earth right now, but it isn't at its farthest either," Norex chimed in. "Using standard Earth technology, the delay would be anywhere from four to twenty minutes, depending on the planets' positions."

  "Quantum entanglement research is our main focus at the moment, sir," another man in a lab coat said. "It will give us reliable, near-instant communication and allow us to track the mission in real time. Over the long term, it should save a significant amount of time."

  "I don't mind," Maverick nodded without looking. "Just don't put the entire team on a single project. If you need extra manpower for it, let me know."

  "It won't take long," Howard said. "With Norex on board, we should have this technology under control in no time." He glanced briefly at Maverick and added, "I can't help but wonder if the world is ready for this technology."

  "No," Maverick interjected firmly. "Not yet. It's far too soon to share such groundbreaking technology with the world. They're barely entering the age of information technology." His expression turned thoughtful. "In ten years, maybe twenty, then I won't mind. Until then, any technology we study from the Kree and Norex stays with us."

  Earth's communication tech, or data transmission, basically runs at the speed of light. That's not slow by any means within the planet, but beyond it, when distances stretch from tens of thousands of kilometers to millions or even billions, the delays start adding up fast. Even a message between the Moon and Earth isn't instantaneous, let alone one traveling to a whole other planet.

  Quantum entanglement, on the other hand, lets information jump instantly across any distance. If the latest Earth tech was like sending a letter through the mail, entanglement was like whispering into someone's ear on the other side of the solar system, and they would hear it the instant you spoke.

  Of course, quantum entanglement technology is not just for faster communication. The reason Maverick was not willing to share it, at least not right now, was simply because most of the leadership on the planet was stupid and shortsighted. He had no doubt that the first thing they would do is try to weaponize it, turning a scientific breakthrough into a tool for destruction.

  On top of that, the biggest reason was that sharing the technology now would completely alter the course of technological evolution across the entire world. It could accelerate progress by decades or even hundreds of years, and as a result, he would effectively lose the advantage of his future knowledge.

  "Fine, fine, you're the one paying the bills. The tech stays with us," Howard said, waving his hand.

  The people working here were carefully selected, including both muggles and magicals, and Maverick had, more or less, some trust that they would not be tempted to go against his instructions for greed or any other reason.

  And even if some idiot were to, say, plan to go against his orders, they could not. It was not just trust or a paper contract that gave him confidence, and he was not stupid enough to leave everything to just that either. For a mage of his caliber, he had more than enough ways to ensure their tongues stayed restrained. Call it cruel or tyranny—he did not care.

  They were not here by force, but of their own free will, having acknowledged the terms. On top of that, the benefits he offered were far better than anything they could find elsewhere. Not to mention, they were part of history, researching and participating in something as groundbreaking as literally reshaping the structure of a planet.

  "Anyway, from that distance, are you able to do your thing?" Howard asked again.

  "How far away is it still?"

  Howard, with a hand on his chin, made a thoughtful expression and hummed. "Further than the distance the ISS orbits Earth."

  "Actually, it's about three times that distance," another scientist added.

  "Then it should be fine," Maverick said, nodding, and then turned to Norex. "Is the suit ready?"

  "Yes. I've modified the communication systems, upgraded the suit's durability, and added the settings you requested. It can handle any region of the red planet's surface, including its harshest weather conditions and the freezing poles."

  "Good…" A smile crossed Maverick's face. "Then let's not waste time."

  A few minutes later, he stood inside a small, sealed room, wearing the gear Norex had made. The spacesuit was basically the Kree uniform with some upgrades, and of course, the look had been altered to better fit his… cough... particular tastes.

  Sleek, all black, and absolutely not a cape trailing behind him.

  It might look simple at first glance, but it held a ton of technology beneath the surface and could be used for multiple purposes, not just as a spacesuit. Close combat was entirely possible, and wearing it felt surprisingly comfortable. It was strong, equipped with a breathing system, a communication system, a holographic interface, and basically packed with advanced tech throughout.

  "Room is sealed. You may open the portal, boss man," Howard's voice rang out inside the room.

  The purpose of the contained space is simple: safety. When the portal opens, it essentially connects the atmospheres of two planets, and hazardous gases containing who knows what from Mars would undoubtedly flow in. The control room's containment system prevents the rest of the lab from being flooded with all that nasty stuff until it is neutralized.

  First, though, he didn't open a portal directly to Mars. He couldn't, not yet. His hands moved, and the portal first connected to the inside of the spacecraft, and he stepped through. Once inside, the portal closed behind him, and he walked to the ship's front, finally seeing the red planet up close for the first time.

  It looked… breathtaking, for lack of a better word, and he couldn't help but smile. Not because Mars was beautiful, its red dust and jagged terrain could never match Earth's blue and green, at least not yet. The smile came simply because this was the place, this was the moment where his plans and his ambition would truly begin.

  "This is mission control. Boss man, do you read?" Howard's voice echoed inside the suit's helmet.

  "I can. Is the body camera feed running okay?"

  "Clear as day," Howard answered.

  "I've sent the coordinates marking the best spot to surface," Norex's voice followed. "The pod is directly above the location, the Elysium Planitia region, as you humans named it. It is a flat surface surrounded by rocky mountains on all sides and is less likely to encounter severe weather."

  Yes, Mars does have storms, and that factor had to be considered before establishing a base. However, the storms on the red planet are very different from those on Earth. There is no rain or lightning, since the atmosphere is extremely thin and dry, but dust storms and dramatic temperature swings make the weather just as harsh and dangerous for both equipment and humans.

  Three regions were shortlisted as good candidates for the starting base, and Maverick's team collectively voted for Elysium Planitia. It's a very flat region, statistically calmer than many equatorial locations. Basically, there's no place on Mars guaranteed to be "storm-free." Global and regional dust storms can, at times, affect nearly the whole planet. That said, some areas have a much lower probability of dust-storm activity, and this region was one of them.

  Hearing Howard and Norex's instructions, Maverick's eyes moved to the holographic display in front of his retina. A miniature map of the red planet appeared, with a blinking point indicating where he should go.

  "Right then, the space pod will temporarily lose connection. I'm preparing to surface," Maverick spoke into the communicator, then, with a thought, he vanished from the spot and reappeared outside in space, beside the ship.

  The plan was never about piloting the thing through the red planet's atmosphere. That would be foolish when he had far better and more efficient means. So next, with a single, effortless motion, he made the not-so-large space pod vanish into his storage space.

  The space pod had basically achieved its purpose at this point. Perhaps far, far in the future, it would end up displayed in some museum, who knows.

  He then turned slowly, letting his gaze sweep across the red planet, taking in the vast, alien landscape that stretched endlessly before him.

  The convenient thing about the Sling Ring portal was that so long as he could see, had seen, or had been to a place, he could open a portal directly there regardless of distance. He had traveled back and forth between the space pod and Earth many times now, and until now, no problem had occurred.

  In the Avengers: Endgame movie, he remembered Doctor Stephen Strange opening a portal all the way from Titan, Thanos's homeworld, which should be tens of thousands of light-years apart.

  He had even vaguely asked the Sorcerer Supreme about the range of the Sling Ring portal. Her answer was simply: so long as one knows and has been to a place, the portal can connect—even across dimensions. Basically, the Sling Ring portal was an absurdly powerful spell.

  Anyway, he would soon find out whether he could cross planets using the portal magic.

  With a thought, his body moved closer to the planet, the extraordinary flight magic, replicated from the super broom, guiding him forward. About a quarter of an hour later, he felt the planet's gravity beginning to pull him down, and he stopped.

  He glanced from the holographic instructions displayed in his retina back to the planet, fixed on one spot, and guided his hands with careful intention. The familiar orange portal materialized again, and he stepped through without a second thought.

  He emerged on the other side, hovering roughly ten thousand meters above the jagged red terrain. This was perhaps the first time in human history that someone from Earth had penetrated deep into the Martian atmosphere. Well, he pushed the thought aside—there was no one there to applaud, anyway.

  Instead, he took a moment to digest the scene, the vast orange sky stretching endlessly above him and the rocky surface below looking both alien and astonishing.

  "A bit off course, Mr. Caesar. Please follow the coordinates… the pointer is showing over your eye." instructions came through the communicator as he breathed in the alien air. Technically, he was wearing a helmet, but metaphorically, that was how it felt to him.

  "Classical mechanics, boss man. Newton's laws of motion…"

  "I know the law of inertia, Howard. Shut up and let me focus," Maverick snapped, cutting the annoying bastard off. Sighing and brushing aside the feeling of taking in the moment, he focused between the instructions displayed on his retina and the planet's surface again. From where he hovered, he could already make out landmarks on the ground below.

  It was daytime in this region, but unlike Earth, the sky wasn't bright blue. The thin CO? atmosphere and suspended iron-rich dust scattered sunlight differently. The overall effect was a muted, dusty hue, almost like a desert with a permanent haze.

  Moments later, he gestured with his hands once more, and the portal appeared, connecting to a region far away but still within his sight.

  —————————

  Author's Note:

  You can find this story on Webnovel, Fanfiction, and ScribbleHub, all under the same author name: RyanFic. Updates drop first on Webnovel!

  Thank you so much for your support. It means the world! ????