Hogwarts: Third Dark Lord

Su Xinghe felt like he had just woken from a long, chaotic dream. Countless scenes and faces flashed through his mind, accompanied by an avalanche of names. His head felt as though it was on the verge of exploding!

Suddenly, a single word shot through his thoughts, bringing a sliver of clarity to his muddled brain: Hogwarts.

As Su Xinghe slowly opened his bleary eyes, he saw a tall man standing in front of him. The man held what looked like a pair of "chopsticks" in one hand and wore a mocking expression as he scrutinized Su Xinghe.

Noticing that Su Xinghe had regained consciousness, the man waved the "chopsticks" in his hand nonchalantly and sneered:

"Just like that man you share a surname with—you've regained consciousness so quickly after being hit with my Cruciatus Curse. I must admit, I'm impressed."

As Su Xinghe's awareness returned, he realized the man wasn't holding a pair of chopsticks. No, it was something infinitely more familiar to him—a wand!

Being a devoted Harry Potter fan, Su Xinghe had dreamed countless times of holding a wand in his hands. Yet, now that he was mere millimeters away from one, he found no joy in the moment—not when the wand's owner had it pointed directly at him.

Forcing himself to focus, Su Xinghe quickly scanned his surroundings. Behind the man stood several others, rifling through the room as if searching for something.

Nearby, lying lifeless on the ground, was a grotesque creature with bat-like ears and tennis-ball-sized green eyes. One glance, and Su Xinghe immediately recognized it—a house-elf, just as described in the Harry Potter books.

Su Xinghe racked his memory. Just moments ago, he had been at the premiere of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them with friends. As the cinema lights dimmed, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him, and when he came to, he found himself here.

Now, a deluge of memories flooded into his mind, each more painful than the last. Su Xinghe gritted his teeth against the overwhelming ache and finally pieced together the situation. The dead house-elf before him was named Libby—his house-elf.

According to these new memories, after his parents died in a car accident, Libby had cared for him, keeping him from becoming destitute. Yet now, Libby lay motionless on the ground, clearly dead for some time.

"Hey, kid, are you listening to me?!" the man demanded impatiently, waving his wand in front of Su Xinghe. "Where is the Prophecy Skull? Hand it over, and I'll make your death quick."

Su Xinghe, or rather the body he now inhabited, scanned the situation and realized the truth—he had transmigrated. Unfortunately, it seemed his luck had run out; he had arrived at a terrible place, at a terrible time, in the midst of a terrible predicament.

"Smack!"

The man slapped Su Xinghe hard across the face, leaving a searing red handprint.

"This is your last chance. Where is the Prophecy Skull? If you don't speak, I'll make you taste the Cruciatus Curse again. You liked it the first time, didn't you?"

Su Xinghe wanted to tell him he hadn't experienced the Cruciatus Curse yet—because the original owner of this body had already died from it. But before Su Xinghe could respond, a new figure suddenly appeared beside him.

"Just now," the newcomer said calmly, "did I see you strike this child?"

Both Su Xinghe and the man stared in shock at the sudden arrival: an elegant elderly woman. She wore a tilted hat that revealed a wisp of silver curls beneath it. Her face, though lined with wrinkles, held piercingly sharp eyes. Clad in a sophisticated robe, she exuded an air of dignity.

The man instinctively raised his wand toward her, but the woman was faster.

"Expelliarmus!"

Before the man could complete his motion, the woman disarmed him with a swift flick of her wand. Turning her attention to the other men in the room, she pointed her wand at them and declared with quiet authority:

"Don't move. You're surrounded. I've spared this man's life for now because he intrigues me, but if any of you so much as twitch, I will use the spell I'm most proficient in—and you won't like it."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added:

"Ah, where are my manners? I am Rosier—Vinda Rosier, of the Pureblood Party."

Su Xinghe, now fully awake, was stunned. The magic he had only dreamed of was unfolding before his very eyes, leaving him almost unable to process it all.

"What's wrong, Wentworth? Don't you recognize me? Wentworth? Wentworth!"

Rosier's voice jolted him from his daze. The memories flooding his mind told him that this body's name was indeed Wentworth.

Turning toward Rosier, Su Xinghe recalled that in the body's original memories, this elegant woman had owned a clothing shop nearby. She had moved away not long ago.

"Rosier… Grandma?" Wentworth stammered tentatively.

Rosier's eyes flicked to the bright red handprint on Wentworth's face. A flash of fury passed through her gaze, but her voice remained gentle as she said:

"Wentworth, it's all right now. You're safe."

Then, turning back to the man she had disarmed, Rosier's expression hardened. Her voice was icy as she said:

"Since you've come here, you must know who this child is. How dare you!"

The man hesitated, fear flickering in his eyes, but he forced a defiant tone.

"Old woman, you should lower your wand. Do you think you can take on all of us by yourself?"

At his words, the others raised their wands, exchanging cautious glances.

But Rosier only laughed—a chilling sound that unnerved her opponents.

"You clearly haven't been told the full story of our past. Otherwise, you would've attacked immediately—or fled. Now, it's too late."

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

With a series of sharp cracks, several figures apparated into the room. Though their hair was mostly gray, their eyes burned with determination, and they held their wands with unwavering steadiness.

The intruders froze, realizing their peril too late.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Green light streaked through the room. When it cleared, only the man Rozier had disarmed remained standing; his companions lay lifeless on the ground, faces drained of color.

"Didn't your teachers ever tell you?" Rosier said, her voice cold. "The magic we excel at is dark magic."

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