Dumbledore grabbed onto Fawkes' talons and flew straight into the Forbidden Forest. Severus Snape followed close behind, using a flying spell, while Rubeus Hagrid whistled sharply. From beside the Black Lake, the hippogriff Buckbeak spread its wings and soared over.
The forest was eerily silent.
The air reeked of blood.
In the centaurs' territory, the scent of fear drifted like smoke.
These powerful magical beings—possessing near-human intelligence, high magical resistance, and strong, agile bodies—were more than capable of matching adult wizards in battle.
And yet—
they were being overrun.
A group of cloaked figures advanced through the forest, hoods drawn low.
At their head stood a mysterious wizard who had already broken through the centaurs' defenses and reached the final line.
"A three-headed dog," he said casually.
"Much smaller than the one I used to raise."
Fluffy bared its massive fangs, all three heads snarling as it lunged forward.
"Out of my way."
With a flick of the wand—
the XXXX-level magical creature was blasted aside like nothing.
But for Fluffy, that was little more than an itch.
Enraged, it roared again and charged.
"Too noisy."
"Go to sleep."
The wizard transfigured a stone into a harp, then cast another spell.
The harp began to play on its own.
Soft, elegant music—like a melody drifting from the Aegean Sea—filled the forest.
Fluffy froze.
Its rage melted away.
Sleepiness overtook it.
The beast collapsed onto the ground—
and began snoring.
"Good boy," the wizard said with satisfaction.
The centaur leader Firenze saw this and immediately charged forward.
He could not allow Dumbledore's task to fail.
Hooves thundered.
Bow drawn.
At twenty meters—
a distance where centaurs never miss—
he released the arrow.
The wizard turned slightly and cast a defensive charm.
Earlier, he had easily blocked volleys of arrows.
But this one—
was different.
"Anti-magic arrow?"
The arrow pierced through the shield—
straight into his heart—
and passed clean through his body,
embedding itself in a tree behind him.
Without a single drop of blood.
"What…?" Firenze froze.
He had never seen anything like it.
A slightly annoyed voice came from beneath the wizard's hood:
"Centaurs' anti-magic arrows aren't so easy to block."
"If you want to die, don't drag me with you."
Another sharp, hoarse voice responded:
"You're the local wizard. Why didn't you warn me?"
"Trying to get me killed?"
"What benefit would that bring me?"
"Who knows? Maybe freedom?"
The wizard argued with himself—
as if two minds shared one body.
Firenze hesitated.
A deep, instinctive fear took hold.
He drew his last three anti-magic arrows.
All at once—
he fired.
Head.
Heart.
Abdomen.
But again—
the arrows passed through the wizard like illusions.
Like reflections in water.
Fear gripped Firenze.
"Are you… the master of the Golden Scepter?"
"Technically," the wizard replied,
"its master was the Pope of the Sanctuary."
"But the soul sealed within it—"
"is mine."
Firenze staggered back.
"Herpo…"
"You're Herpo!"
"Since you know who I am," said Herpo the Foul calmly,
"then don't interfere with me reclaiming what belongs to me."
At that moment—
Coates descended into the centaur territory with Sean.
Sean heard the gentle harp music drifting through the air.
He instantly understood.
Someone had already subdued Fluffy using music.
Though Fluffy was a dangerous magical creature, it had one fatal weakness—
music.
It would fall asleep when it heard it.
"This time… it wasn't Hagrid leaking it," Sean thought.
In the original timeline, Quirinus Quirrell had tricked Hagrid into revealing that weakness using a dragon egg.
But this time—
nothing like that had happened.
The truth was simple.
Herpo—
came from ancient Greece.
And three-headed dogs originated there.
He was already intimately familiar with them.
He had even raised one larger than Fluffy himself.
"Master!"
Coates landed and bowed deeply.
Herpo didn't even look at him.
He walked straight into the stone chamber that housed the Golden Scepter.
But—
it wasn't there.
Instead—
there was only a grand mirror with a golden frame.
And within it—
his own grotesque reflection.
"What is this?" the sharp voice asked.
"There's a spatial magic fluctuation."
"Never seen it," the other voice replied.
"It must be something created after my time."
"I see the Golden Scepter inside."
"Get it for me."
"Coates!"
"Yes, my master."
Coates stepped forward, examining the mirror.
The inscription along the frame read:
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi."
He reversed it aloud:
"I show not your face, but your heart's desire."
"My lord," Coates said respectfully,
"This is the Mirror of Erised."
"It reveals one's deepest desire."
"Enough."
"How do I get the Scepter?"
Herpo snapped impatiently.
Coates lowered his head, thinking quickly.
"This mirror likely combines extremely advanced spatial magic with Legilimency."
"It was designed specifically to prevent theft."
"Only someone who seeks the Scepter—"
"but does not wish to use it—"
"can retrieve it."
Outside the stone chamber—
Sean heard everything.
The moment Herpo mentioned the mirror—
he already knew.
The Mirror of Erised.
The ultimate vault.
Herpo fell silent.
Every follower he brought—
had clear ambition.
They all wanted the Scepter.
None qualified.
"Bring me a centaur," Herpo ordered.
But Coates immediately spoke up.
"My lord, that won't be necessary."
"I brought a hostage."
"A student."
"He can retrieve it."
For the first time—
Herpo turned his gaze toward Coates.
"Well done."
"Bring him in."
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