Wood sprinted across the pitch alongside Dumbledore and several professors, but nothing could prepare him for the scene they encountered.
To Moriarty's mild surprise, Sybill Trelawney, the eccentric Divination professor, had also arrived.
Dumbledore cast a sharp, questioning glance at Moriarty.
"Another emotional upheaval? No warning this time?"
With a quiet swipe, Moriarty withdrew the Slytherin staff, his eyes flicking dismissively at Dumbledore.
"It's worse than the previous three incidents. Gryffindor's students are unstable, impulsive, and furious. Ravenclaw... someone's dead."
Dumbledore's face hardened, his expression darkening immediately. His voice was grim as he addressed Moriarty and Diana. "Wait for me in the Headmaster's Office. There are things we need to discuss."
Moriarty and Diana exchanged a glance before turning and leaving the pitch. Penelope had no choice but to separate from Moriarty. Meanwhile, Wood quietly approached her. The battered bodies of his classmates lying unconscious and twitching across the pitch made his stomach churn.
"What happened?" he asked Penelope in a low, shaken voice.
Penelope opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by Dumbledore's thundering voice.
"What happened here? Someone explain! Mr. Charlie Weasley?"
Charlie Weasley sat slumped on the ground, silent. Though the rage had passed, he trembled with guilt and shame, his head bowed so low it nearly touched his knees.
Dumbledore turned his gaze to another student. "Thomson Brown?"
The seventh-year Ravenclaw, pale and shaking, lay on the ground holding his wand like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality. He stared at it blankly, unable to speak.
Dumbledore named over a dozen students—each one a standout, a prefect, a Quidditch team mainstay. But all were silent, ashamed.
"Raise your heads! Look at me!" Dumbledore clapped his hands, trying to recapture their focus. His voice rang with emotion, his blue eyes flashing behind the half-moon spectacles.
"Look at one another's faces," he demanded. "These are the same faces you share meals with, attend classes with, laugh with. And yet today, you wanted to bruise them with fists, to hex them with wands! Is that what you've become?"
The kind sparkle was gone from Dumbledore's eyes. There was no warm grandfatherly air in him now. Only cold fury. Each wrinkle on his ancient face was a scar carved by anguish.
"Professor Dumbledore!" a student cried.
Mandy Finney, a Gryffindor Chaser, collapsed into sobs. "No, we don't know what came over us!"
Others joined in—tearful apologies and desperate confusion echoing around the pitch.
Again, Dumbledore thought bitterly, they don't know.
This was the fourth time.
Four times now, his students—his beloved children—had committed unspeakable acts under mysterious influence. They had lost control, been consumed by madness and rage, without even understanding why.
And now, for the first time in recent memory, Dumbledore's fury ignited like a storm.
His magic flared in response to his rage. It wasn't just felt—it roared. A tide of power surged from him, unseen but sensed by every magical being in Hogwarts. The castle itself seemed to breathe in resonance with him.
Like a spring rain, his power swept the grounds, soothing and searching.
Moriarty, attuned deeply to the magical structure of the castle, sensed the tremor instantly. He recognized the pattern—Dumbledore had just unleashed two ancient magics.
One for exploration.
One for protection.
He also knew the price: both spells consumed the caster's life force.
"Send the students to the Hospital Wing. Effective immediately, Hogwarts will be on temporary leave until we uncover the cause!" Dumbledore commanded. With a graceful sweep of his wand, the unconscious students levitated and floated toward the castle, escorted by the heads of houses and supporting staff.
"Sybil," he called out, "come with me."
Trelawney blinked and stumbled forward, following him.
Moments later, the trio entered the Headmaster's Office, where Moriarty and Diana waited. The atmosphere was tense, thick with anticipation and fatigue.
Moriarty didn't hesitate. "Where were you when Gryffindor and Ravenclaw clashed?"
Dumbledore removed his glasses, rubbing his face with weary hands. He looked older than ever, regret dripping from his voice.
"Moriarty," Diana intervened gently, tugging on Moriarty's sleeve. "It's not his fault. We were all in the Divination classroom. Professor Trelawney had entered a trance—she was giving a prophecy."
Moriarty's eyes narrowed as he turned toward Trelawney. The woman gave a nervous giggle, then held up a crystal ball like a talisman.
"Oh? What did you see, dear boy?" she murmured, peering at him through the orb. "My third eye—"
"I'm not interested in theatrics," Moriarty snapped. "What did she actually say?"
Dumbledore sighed and adjusted his glasses. "Around four this afternoon, a student found Sybill unconscious in her classroom. Given recent events, I went to investigate myself.
When I arrived, the other professors were already there. Sybill was rigid, her eyes fixed and voice rasping—a clear sign of prophecy.
We waited... and then she spoke.
'Merlin's resurrection, the end of the fight, and the resurgence of grievances.'
Afterward, she collapsed. We stayed to interpret the meaning—until Wood contacted us through Nearly Headless Nick."
Dumbledore's regret was palpable. "If only I had arrived sooner…"
Moriarty's expression turned cold.
"There have been four incidents now. With the exception of the first, we've been conveniently diverted every time. Is that coincidence? Or deliberate obstruction?"
He turned to Diana and then back to Dumbledore. "I lean toward the latter."
Diana spoke softly. "What do you make of the prophecy? We understand Merlin's resurrection. But the 'fight' and 'grievances'?"
"Once Merlin returns, he'll answer that," Moriarty said. "Even the Headless Horseman mentioned Merlin. Right now, we need to locate his portrait. I sensed your scouting magic activate, Dumbledore. Are you…?"
"Oh, dear Moriarty," Dumbledore said with a wan smile. "You're perceptive as ever."
His tone was sincere—devoid of politics or posturing.
"I would give my life to protect Hogwarts and all who dwell within it."
A shiver passed down Moriarty's spine. The weight behind Dumbledore's calm words was enough to silence the room.
But Moriarty met it with equal gravity. "You're not a child, Dumbledore. You're free to choose life or death. But understand this—you can't leave Hogwarts. Not yet."
Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "You're right. I must endure. But I trust that if I should fall, you two would unravel this mystery and save Hogwarts."
"If you're going to continue using that spell, let's not waste time," Moriarty said, lifting his Slytherin staff. He eyed the floor. "Mind if I make a little hole?"
Dumbledore gave a faint smile. "Not at all. So long as you're prepared to replace it with one made of gold."
Without another word, Moriarty aimed the staff. "Thunderbolt."
The spell cracked like thunder. The floor exploded open, revealing the ancient foundations beneath. Trelawney gasped.
"The Headmaster's Office floor has… deteriorated over the years," Moriarty said casually.
"And along with it," Dumbledore added dryly, "the spirits of the 137 owls who gave their lives in service to the school."
He turned to Moriarty and Diana. "Let's count this as a special budget item. Twelve school directors. Special funds. You write the report—I'll sign it."
PS :
5 chapters every two days on Patreon!!
1 chapter every day here!
JOIN MY PATREON TO READ ADVANCE CHAPTERS
We're already at Chapter 150 on Patreon!
▶ patreon.com/HACKDWORLD ◀