HP: The Dangerous Azkaban Professor

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During those long days of waiting, Sargeras spent most of his time seeking knowledge from Rowena Ravenclaw, delving into the mysterious depths of time magic.

It was a profound and perilous branch of the arcane — completely unlike the destructive spells he had once created. This magic did not aim to wound or destroy; it bent reality in subtler, far more dangerous ways.

And just a short distance away, out in the wilderness, Salazar Slytherin was busy dissecting a creature that Sargeras had crafted through the forbidden spell, Flesh And Blood Forging.

His makeshift workshop was shrouded in an eerie, murky green glow.

From the dark stone walls, snake-shaped sconces flickered with cold flame, casting his elongated shadow across the wild terrain, where it warped and twisted into some strange, monstrous silhouette.

On the simple workbench before him, a row of silver surgical blades gleamed with icy light. Each one had a hilt embedded with some kind of grotesque organic remnant — a harpy's vertical-slit pupil, a centaur's amber iris, the crystallized lacrimal gland of a unicorn…

Every piece still glistened with a slick, wet sheen, as if freshly torn from living tissue.

"Subject Seven. Begin recording," Slytherin said. His voice was low, emotionless, and utterly cold.

Immediately, a floating quill darted across the surface of the parchment, drawing a long, dark line of ink.

With surgical precision, the silver knife sliced open the creature's chest cavity. A clump of eyeballs, tightly packed within, recoiled violently — but Slytherin didn't so much as blink. The quill moved on its own, scribbling down line after line:

"Magical circuitry discovered at the junction of wing bone and pectoral muscle. Structure resembles ocular tissue, presumably a biological conduit for flight magic…"

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Sargeras was learning at a staggering pace.

Before Godric and Helga had even returned, he had already grasped the foundational principles of time magic.

Of course, it was unknown whether Rowena had deliberately withheld any of the most crucial incantations. She was, after all, a remarkably intelligent witch, one who had deeply studied the mysteries of time, fate, and memory.

In his free moments, Sargeras would sometimes observe Slytherin's magical experiments.

And it was through those quiet observations that he began to realize just how rigorous the future founder's research methods truly were — every single step came with detailed notes, and each conclusion had been thoroughly tested again and again.

Even by the standards of the twentieth century, there were few in the magical world who could match that level of precision.

Though they had lost to him in their magical duels for now, Sargeras had no doubt about the brilliance these wizards would one day achieve in magic.

What made it even more interesting was that this wasn't a one-sided observation.

While he was quietly studying the two founders, they too had begun analyzing Sargeras from the shadows.

His unconventional casting methods, the way he fused modern logic into magical theory — these things had started to subtly influence the minds of these two prodigies, whether they realized it or not.

What a pity, then, that after more than a thousand years of development, the progress of the wizarding world remained so limited. Compared to the rapid and breathtaking pace of Muggle technological advancement, wizards seemed to be marching in place, stuck in the same circle.

Sargeras watched Slytherin's experiment in silence.

But he would never tell them any of this. Every era has its own purpose, and the mission of the Four Founders was to build Hogwarts… not to usher in a revolution that spanned across centuries.

That task belonged to him alone.

As dusk began to fall and the last light bled from the sky, a strange black dot suddenly appeared on the distant horizon.

At first, Sargeras didn't think much of it.

But then the shadow expanded at an alarming speed, tearing through the clouds until its full shape burst into view — a monstrous creature at least sixty-five feet long: an Ukrainian Ironbelly, one of the most massive species of dragon in existence.

In the twentieth century, such a beast was nearly extinct.

And now, one was hurtling straight toward them.

Its silver-gray metallic scales gleamed coldly in the fading sunlight, each flap of its enormous dragon's wings stirring up hurricane-force winds that sent shockwaves rippling across the air.

Sargeras's pupils contracted sharply. His wand slashed through the air, leaving a blazing crimson trail behind.

The earth rumbled beneath his feet.

In the blink of an eye, the Flesh-forged monster sprang to life with a thunderous roar. Dozens of tentacles shot into the sky, writhing like living serpents as they lashed toward the fire-dragon's heavily scaled neck, coiling around it and constricting with terrifying force.

"What the hell is that thing?!"

A furious shout rang out from the dragon's back.

A flash of silver streaked through the sky, and one of the thick tentacles was severed cleanly on the spot.

The Ukrainian Ironbelly lost its balance and swayed violently midair. The seven or eight figures riding its back scattered in all directions, and just before they could plummet, someone caught them with a perfectly timed Levitation Charm.

A cold smile appeared across Sargeras's lips.

Suddenly, the mangled flesh of the creature's back tore open, and a massive pair of wings — crudely formed from shattered bone and stretched sinew — unfolded with a dreadful snap. Then, defying all sense of logic or natural weight, the creature surged forward, chasing after the falling dragon with terrifying speed.

Its massive talons, lined with sucker-like pads, clamped down on the dragon's neck. Where flesh met scale, a sickening hissing sound of corrosion filled the air and made one's teeth ache just to hear it.

"STOP!!!" Ravenclaw's shout rang out, and at that same moment, a torrent of dragonfire erupted toward them.

Bathed in searing white flame, the monster didn't burn or even blister… instead, it seemed to absorb the fire like a sponge soaking in water. Every fiber of its muscle expand and quivered from the sudden surge of energy, pulsing with unnatural strength.

Right then, Sargeras calmly raised his left hand.

The creature, just moments away from finishing its meal, froze mid-motion. Its entire body solidified in an instant, becoming a grotesque statue soaked in blood.

The fire-dragon thrashed and roared in agony, the sound shaking loose stones across the ground. Its massive head, still caught between the abomination's claws, had already begun to twist unnaturally, slowly sinking into the pulsing mass of flesh. Dragon scales were dissolving one by one, giving way to patches of dark red, living tissue.

Then, with a crisp snap… Sargeras snapped his fingers.

The Flesh-forged monster instantly loosened its claws. The Ukrainian Ironbelly let out a piercing screech, stumbled back a few paces, and with a powerful beat of its wings, launched itself into the sky and disappeared into the clouds above.

"Who the hell is this guy?!"

A booming voice exploded from the crowd as a burly, bearded man stepped forward.

He wore a pointed wizard's hat, and unruly reddish-brown curls sprang stubbornly out from beneath its brim. In his hand, a gemstone-encrusted longsword still dripped with fresh blood.

"That dragon took me forever to catch! I only just got to ride it for the first time!"

"Calm down, Godric!" the one who spoke, surprisingly, was Slytherin himself. He strode over quickly, his pale fingers resting lightly on the man's shoulder as he leaned in and whispered a few quiet words into his ear.

Gryffindor's expression shifted. The fury drained from his face, replaced by stunned disbelief.

"It's him…?"

The burly man turned to look at Sargeras, eyes wide with curiosity and surprise. Then Rowena Ravenclaw stepped forward to make the introductions on his behalf.

"This is Sargeras. A… traveler," she said, her voice gentle but laced with meaning.

She then turned toward Sargeras and introduced the bearded man beside her. "This is Godric Gryffindor."

And right after that, she gestured toward a full-figured woman with a warm, radiant presence. "And this is Helga Hufflepuff…"

Helga Hufflepuff wore her long pale-gold hair in soft waves, with delicate purple wildflowers woven between the strands. Her round face held a smile as warm and welcoming as spring sunlight.

Sargeras also noticed that there were faint, fresh green stains on the hem of her linen-colored dress — traces of freshly gathered herbs.

"These are all the children we rescued from the Church…" she explained softly.

Sargeras's eyes drifted past them, settling on the group of frightened children huddled near the back.

They had clearly been taken from the clutches of the Church, small wizarding children dressed in nothing but filthy rags. Their bare ankles were bruised and mottled, and the fear in their eyes reminded him of young beasts trapped in cages, trembling and silent.

He wasn't quite sure why Gryffindor and the others hadn't given them something proper to wear, but—

"Rejoice!"

With a flick of his wand, golden flecks of magic shimmered through the air and fell gently onto the children's heads. As a few smooth Transfiguration spells rolled off his tongue, their tattered rags transformed into neat black robes that fit perfectly to each of their sizes.

The smallest girl in the group reached up hesitantly to touch her new robes, blinking in confusion. Then, all of a sudden, she broke into a beautiful smile — the first one anyone had seen from her all day.

Gryffindor crossed his arms and glanced at Sargeras, his eyes flicking across the stranger's face with measured interest.

"Looks like we've got a lot to talk about," he said, his voice steady and full of meaning. His gaze briefly swept over the massive Flesh-forged creature still looming nearby.

"But first…" his mood shifted in an instant, and a dazzling grin spread across his face, "we're going to have a proper meal. And then, a few rounds of drinks!"

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[Chapter End's]

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