HP: The Dangerous Azkaban Professor

Read 20+ Chapter's Ahead in Patreon

"Heh… now this is interesting…" Sargeras shook his head lightly, a playful smile curved at the edge of his mouth. "Take a guess… what do you think I've discovered?"

All eyes in the room immediately turned towards him, sharp and focused.

Sargeras raised his wand, and with a slow, deliberate movement, drew out shimmering strands of memory from the traitor Wren's temple.

The silvery threads floated upward, forming a clear, vivid scene in the air for everyone to see.

In the memory projection, they could clearly witness the moment when Wren met with the French Ministry of Magic's Aurors, along with the scenes of her passing along information, frame by frame, each one undeniable.

"What's wrong with this?" Nightingale, ever sharp, instantly sensed something wasn't right. She knew Sargeras well enough to understand — the man never made baseless accusations.

"It's sloppy… looks like it came straight out of a beginner's manual of the Memory Modification," Sargeras remarked coolly as he magnified a few critical frames of the memory and slowed the playback for everyone to see.

Nightingale frowned. "You're saying… someone tampered with her memories?"

Sargeras offered no confirmation nor denial, his expression giving nothing away.

Bird of Paradise narrowed his eyes. "And what exactly does that mean?"

"It means…" Sargeras replied, his voice calm yet laced with an ominous edge, "the memories we just saw… weren't hers. They were someone else's careful handiwork, designed to show us exactly what they wanted us to see."

Kestrel's eyes darkened. "So… what are you implying?"

Sargeras didn't answer her directly. His gaze shifted, locking onto the old man in the room.

"So… Albatross, anything you'd like to say for yourself?"

Once again, all eyes in the hall turned to the old man. His face had gone deathly pale, and cold sweat was trickling steadily down from his temples.

"I… I don't know what you're talking about…" His voice trembled, brittle and weak, like a leaf about to be swept away by the wind.

"Oh, you'll know soon enough." Sargeras's expression turned cold, and without hesitation, he cast Legilimency.

A surge of powerful magic crashed into the old man's mind with brutal force, prying apart his thoughts like iron claws tearing through silk.

It didn't take long for Sargeras to find exactly what he was looking for.

"Your Occlumency isn't half bad…" Sargeras offered him a rare, almost sincere compliment, though there was no warmth in his eyes. "But… it's a shame you ran into me."

His magic churned like spinning blades, vicious and unrelenting, and within moments, it shredded the old man's defenses to pieces.

The moment Albatross's body began convulsing, foam bubbling from the corners of his mouth, Sargeras forcibly drew out shimmering threads of memory and, without pause, unfolded them before the crowd like an open scroll.

The memory projection played out clearly for all to see:

Under the dim, flickering lights of the Leaky Cauldron Tavern, Albatross sat there, his expression dark and brooding, as he carefully fastened a special Bronze Feather emblem onto a hidden spot on Wren's chest.

Then the scene shifted…

Inside Wren's home, under the cover of night, Albatross struck without warning. His attack was swift and ruthless, catching her completely off guard. After incapacitating her, he performed Memory Weaving, meticulously forging false memories within her mind and altering her very perception of reality.

The final scene was the most damning.

With a sly, triumphant smirk on his face, Albatross revealed the secret gathering place of the Bronze Feather to officials from the Ministry of Magic, his eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of a plot well executed.

As for his motive? It was painfully simple.

The Bronze Feather hadn't had a leader for quite some time. And as the eldest member of the organization, Albatross naturally believed he was the most suitable person to take charge.

But there was a prerequisite — before he could seize control, the unstable elements had to be removed.

The troublemakers.

The ones who refused to obey his orders.

The potential threats he couldn't manipulate… or control.

Unfortunately, the Aurors from the French Ministry of Magic turned out to be utterly useless, a bunch of incompetent fools. Even with all his careful preparations, they still failed spectacularly, unable to capture a single target. The botched operation dealt a heavy blow to Albatross's grand scheme.

Luckily for him, he had thought ahead and arranged a scapegoat, a sacrificial pawn to take the fall.

That way, not only could he neatly wash his hands of all responsibility, but if he played his cards right, he could even be the one to "expose" the traitor, earning himself more prestige, more trust, and firmly securing his place within the organization.

The only flaw in his otherwise meticulous plan… was his own arrogance. He overestimated his skill in forging memories, convinced that no one would ever see through his handiwork.

But unfortunately for him… he ran into Sargeras.

In the end, everything spiraled completely out of control, and the carefully laid conspiracy collapsed in its entirety.

And as for Albatross himself… after enduring Sargeras's brutal mental assault, he was left completely broken, reduced to little more than a drooling, empty-eyed idiot.

"That's enough for today…" Sargeras turned to face the remaining crowd, his voice carrying a quiet but unmistakable finality, leaving no room for debate. "The next gathering will be arranged for one week from now, at the safe house in Paris."

The crowd exchanged brief nods in acknowledgment, and in the next instant, the sharp cracks of Apparition filled the room one after another. Within moments, the once-crowded space emptied out completely, leaving only eight figures still standing in place.

— Nightingale, the potion master.

— Snowy Owl, the merchant.

— Kestrel, the seer.

— Thunderbird, the wandmaker.

— Hummingbird, the healer.

— Stork, the information broker.

— Robin, the defense expert.

— Swift, the curse-breaker.

It wasn't that they didn't want to leave.

It was just that each of them had received a subtle signal from Sargeras… a quiet instruction to stay behind.

"I know your hearts are filled with questions right now," Sargeras said calmly, his voice steady and assured. "But please don't worry. I'll explain everything to you, one by one."

With a gentle flick of his wand, the three unconscious figures lying on the ground — the goblin, the newcomer, and Albatross — vanished from the center of the room and reappeared neatly in the corner.

Almost at the same time, an oval-shaped long table and nine bronze chairs materialized out of thin air, forming a quiet, enclosed space for their private discussion.

Sargeras pulled out a chair and sat down first. Seeing this, the others wisely followed suit, settling into their seats without complaint.

"The gathering I mentioned just now? Forget all of it," Sargeras declared flatly as his opening line, leaving the others momentarily stunned and confused. But before the doubt could settle, he offered them an explanation.

"Once you see this, you'll understand."

A slender thread of memory floated gently onto the tabletop. As the silvery threads unfurled and the projected images took form, the crowd couldn't help but widen their eyes in disbelief.

"This is…"

"This is Wren's original memory," Sargeras explained with a faint smile. "That old man thought he was being clever, carefully selecting a scapegoat to shoulder the blame. But what he never expected was that… his so-called scapegoat turned out to be an actual Ministry of Magic agent."

"Ah? Then didn't we… wrongly accuse him?" Kestrel exclaimed in surprise.

"No, we didn't," Sargeras replied, his expression turning cold, his tone carrying a weight of certainty. "The old man's actions are real. The evidence is irrefutable. That much cannot be denied. It's just that this Wren…"

He lifted his wand once more, tracing a smooth, gentle line through the air. In the next moment, the projected memory unraveled like strands of thread being teased apart. Yet under Sargeras's precise control, the scattered fragments wove themselves seamlessly back together, settling neatly into place.

The nine figures seated around the table watched the scene in quiet awe, witnessing what could only be described as a masterful display of Memory Magic.

Sargeras's talent for memory manipulation was nothing short of extraordinary. Perhaps it had something to do with his bloodline… after all, his father had been an Unspeakable.

With steady care, he began editing the newcomer's memories, methodically erasing every trace of information connected to the nine individuals present in the room. Only after the last detail was wiped away did he gently rewrite the necessary pieces — the time and location for the next gathering, scheduled exactly one week from now.

Only after completing all of this did he gently infuse this rewoven strand of memory back into Wren's mind.

"She'll definitely leak the meeting details to the French Ministry of Magic without even realizing it. And as for those dark wizards…" Sargeras smiled faintly as he spoke, the corners of his lips curling with a trace of cold amusement. "Well, don't think I was too ruthless today. The fact that I didn't deal with them on the spot already counts as me showing remarkable mercy."

His eyes swept across every face at the table, his voice steady and firm, carrying a quiet, undeniable authority.

"The Bronze Feather will be cleansed. We don't need ambitious desperadoes trying to seize power for themselves, and we cannot allow ourselves to be hunted and hounded by the International Confederation of Wizards any longer."

"Those people… their methods, their ambitions… they have nothing in common with your integrity, your hard-earned reputations, or your expertise in your respective fields. From now on, their existence will no longer threaten you. You won't have to hide in the shadows or live in fear because of them ever again."

Sargeras's gaze lingered on the crowd, their faces revealing flickers of emotion — relief, determination, a faint sense of anticipation.

He continued, his voice steady and filled with quiet conviction. "We will restore the honor and dignity of the Bronze Feather… this ancient organization founded in the fifth century BC, whose sole purpose has always been to stand against the Dark Creatures. And from now on, each of you will have the right to recommend new members. But understand this clearly — the vetting process will be far stricter than ever before."

With a graceful motion, Sargeras waved his wand, and at once, every Bronze Feather emblem detached itself from its owner. The emblems drifted gently through the air, gathering in his outstretched palm.

A soft, pure light slowly began to bloom, casting a serene radiance across the table as eight newly forged Bronze Feather emblems appeared before them, more exquisite and resplendent than ever.

"I have placed protective magic on your emblems," Sargeras explained casually, holding one up for everyone to see, "and made a few… rather interesting upgrades."

He turned the emblem over in his fingers, revealing subtle, intricate runes worked into the design.

"Now, these not only allow you to transmit short messages to one another but also serve as magical Portkeys. From now on, the location and timing of our gatherings will be decided by different members in rotation. The one who chooses will also be responsible for setting the Portkey's final destination."

"More importantly… during times of crisis, this emblem will be your most reliable safeguard. As long as the enemy's magic doesn't surpass the limits I've set, all spatial anchoring spells will fail in its presence. In that moment, all you have to do is activate the badge, and you'll be able to escape danger instantly. The badge will also notify the others, so they can come to your aid."

"To make absolutely certain no one else can tamper with them, I've also woven bloodline magic into the enchantment. One drop of your blood… that's all it takes. From that moment on, the badge will be bound to your bloodline. No one else will ever be able to lay a hand on it."

Finally, Sargeras's eyes swept across the room once more. His tone softened slightly, but the words carried a quiet, chilling certainty.

"One last thing… next week, at the Paris safe house, the 'members' of the Bronze Feather that exist in Wren's memories will all be captured. They'll 'resist fiercely' and… be executed on the spot."

"When that happens… the International Confederation of Wizards' global manhunt for the Bronze Feather… will come to its perfect, final conclusion."

**

**

[IMAGE]

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[Chapter End's]

🖤 Night_FrOst/ Patreon 🤍

Visit my Patreon for Early Chapter:

https://www.patreon.com/Night_FrOst

Extra Content Already Available