A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts - Chapter 419: Thrilling Cold Night

“Harry, Harry! Are you okay?”

Harry panted heavily, hearing a familiar voice. He barely opened his eyes, seeing two blurry yet concerned faces—Ron and Neville. They looked terrified, arms extended in confusion. Harry found himself on the cold floor, unaware of when he fell from the bed.

“I’m fine, Ron, Neville, thanks,” Harry managed, noticing Seamus and Dean stirring from their beds. “I’m alright…” he emphasized.

“You don’t look alright,” Ron said stiffly.

“Oh, it’s just my scar… acting up,” Harry stuttered, getting up from the floor. Ron handed him his glasses, and as Harry put them on, the room came into focus.

Neville held a magical lamp, its light not glaring but causing Harry a dizzy spell. It felt like he was back in that vivid dream. He was sitting in a chair, talking to someone… but it didn’t feel like him. He wasn’t that fragile, needing someone to even feed him potions.

He tried to immerse himself in it. It felt too real. The thick potion slid down his throat like ice, swirling in his stomach.

“Are you sick, Harry?” Seamus looked at him with alarm. “I think you need to visit the school hospital.”

The dream was slipping away. No, it couldn’t be… Harry thought, finding an excuse for himself: “I need to use the loo… don’t worry, I’m fine.” He stumbled out in his pajamas.

“I’ll check on Harry, you guys go back to sleep,” Ron decided, and Neville passed his little lion-shaped magical lamp to Ron. “Oh, thanks, Neville. Harry must have had a nightmare. I’ll check the bathroom…”

Ron explained, following Harry out of the dorm.

Outside, he didn’t see anyone at the door. As expected, in the corner of the common room, he saw Harry. He sat on a crimson armchair, head tilted back, one hand on his forehead, the other on his chest, brows furrowed.

Harry tried hard to recall, pretending he was still in that dimly lit room. The viscous potion tasted like an iced rock sliding down his throat. He was angry, something had gone wrong. He mentioned someone’s son, and that person was there, silently serving him. No, that wasn’t him. It was Voldemort. Sirius Black had analyzed it for him. It had to be the scar on his head, Dumbledore had explained it back in his first year.

Voldemort was weak, constantly needing that potion. Harry wished it tasted worse. But Voldemort had a body, terrible news… Voldemort had been attacked, but he reacted quickly, blocking that… black lightning? So familiar… It was Professor Lupin! How did he appear? Did he get a clue from Voldemort among many dancing partners?

Harry dismissed the unreliable idea. He had to recall more details. They talked briefly, Voldemort asked someone to leave. Who was scolded? He couldn’t recall the name, but he knew it had three syllables… Professor Lupin used a powerful fire spell, not like Hermione’s, it was a pale forest green flame… They continued their conversation. Harry shook his head, unable to remember clearly. His mind was like a sink with the plug pulled out; the details of the dream kept leaking away…

They mentioned Professor Dumbledore, hypocrite? Anger surged in Harry, but quickly, nervousness took over. He knew what happened next; the impression was too deep. In the dream, he almost thought he died… Professor Lupin conjured a flaming sword, piercing his chest, screaming in agony… No, he got it wrong again. It was Voldemort, not himself.

Harry felt relieved. Professor Lupin began the attack, countless dazzling spells… Voldemort floated in the air, mocking Professor Lupin’s useless efforts… But Harry experienced firsthand that biting hatred. Voldemort’s malice was too strong, not as indifferent as he appeared… Harry felt like he was seeing through Voldemort’s eyes, not dreaming, but living the moment!

Have I entered Voldemort’s mind? Harry thought, excited and scared, tightly shutting his eyes. He felt like he was floating in the clouds, rapidly moving forward, the night blurring everything around. Then, a dazzling silver light illuminated him, flying towards him. It was a silver phoenix, like Fawkes. He found himself gritting his teeth, shouting, “Dumbledore!”

Then, he plummeted into the ground, darting through black soil and brown rocks. He had something crucial to do, barging into an underground chamber, possessing an unlucky rat. The rat squeaked a few times and when it opened its eyes again, they were blood-red. It crawled onto a table, triggering something, bursting into a vivid purple light. The rat was flung, hitting the wall several feet away, twitching a few times, dead.

Then, Voldemort’s spectral form emerged from the rat’s corpse. He stood there quietly, no sound, but Harry felt a heavy sense of oppression…

Harry opened his eyes, finding Ron sitting across from him, looking at him with mixed expressions. “You had that dream again, didn’t you?”

Harry took a deep breath, affirming, “Voldemort informed his spy within the school.”

“What?” Ron looked at him in shock. “Mate, do you know what you’re saying?”

“I do!” Harry tried to keep his tone as calm as possible. “I know, I definitely know…” Suddenly, he stood up, pacing around in the common room. “Voldemort lacks manpower; he can’t afford to lose his servant in the castle… I can feel it… Professor Lupin and Professor Dumbledore launched a sudden attack, brilliant move!” He suddenly clapped his hands.

Ron looked worried.

“But Voldemort found a way to contact the spy in the castle, the one who put our names in the Goblet of Fire!” Harry contemplated, his thoughts becoming clearer. “He lost

his pet rat, Peter Pettigrew!”

“Peter Pettigrew? The rat?” Ron’s jaw dropped.

“He’s not just a rat!” Harry snapped, feeling his heart racing. “He’s Voldemort’s spy, the one who’s been lurking around since our fourth year!” Harry pointed at Ron. “He’s here, in the castle. He’s the one who told Voldemort about Sirius and Professor Lupin. He’s the one who gave us up!”

Ron’s eyes widened. “What are you saying, Harry?”

“I’m saying… Peter Pettigrew is among us.”

The air was charged with tension as spells crackled and ricocheted through the room. Ron, emerging from the invisibility cloak, cast a spell towards Barty Crouch Jr., a magic rope nearly brushing the ground, snaring his legs. Harry seized the moment, channeling more power into his spells. Barty stumbled backward, tripping over a large crate and vanishing behind it.

Harry’s spells struck a pile of glassware in the office, shattering a mirror-like device. “Stupefy! Stupefy!”

Harry and Ron seized the opportunity, unleashing spells, yet they only hit the wide-open crate, producing a dull thud. Harry, heedless, charged forward, seeing Barty not felled by spells but by stumbling.

He had to seize this chance…

Suddenly, ropes on Barty transformed into a giant snake, blocking a cutting curse and a barrier spell. His gaze darted around, landing on something resembling a mirror hanging on the office wall—within it, shadowy figures moved hazily. But gradually, the images sharpened. Two figures emerged, one sporting a long beard, the other swift and youthful…

“Hiss…”

Barty’s face contorted, flipping into the crate. Harry moved to pursue, a wand tip emerging, emitting a dazzling red light.

“Boom!”

An enormous explosion resounded. Harry was flung, crashing into the corridor wall alongside Ron. Bones ached, and Ron, struck by a large stone, winced in pain.

Harry surveyed the Dark Arts office—a collapsed half-wall, a gaping hole in the ceiling, dust clouding the air.

“Cough, cough!” Harry coughed violently, glancing at Ron, pale and groaning. Struggling, Harry leaned against the wall, weakly raising his wand, “Repa—cough, cough, cough!—Reparo!”

“Reparo,” a voice echoed.

Harry looked up, exclaiming with delight, “Professor Dumbledore!” Amidst the haze, Dumbledore’s shadow mirrored what he had seen in the mirror before. He looked to the side; another figure emerged in the mirror, “Professor Snape!”

“Mm,” Felix nodded, casting healing spells, surveying the wreckage. “The Defense Against the Dark Arts office is quite a disaster…”

In his first year, Felix hadn’t been aware, but since joining, the office of the Dark Arts professor had seen nothing but trouble. From Lockhart and Rita Skeeter’s quarrel causing Lockhart to be obliviated for weeks to the following year’s havoc with Lupin and Snape, forcing them to relocate to the third floor. And now, even the new office didn’t last.

But fortunately, it seemed to be just explosive magic this time, manageable compared to dark magic. Felix waved his wand, stones floating and settling back into place, restoring everything.

On the other side, under Dumbledore’s spells, Ron’s expression softened.

“Prioritize emergency treatment; after everything settles, you both need to visit the hospital wing,” Dumbledore stated.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief but suddenly remembered Moody in the office, “Professor, Professor Moody is still in there… He must have been hexed! And the spy, the one who put our names into the Goblet of Fire, a young man but showing as Barty Crouch… His name disappeared, he escaped!”

His expression was a mix of confusion and disbelief.

“That person is Barty Crouch’s son, also named Barty Crouch,” Felix explained briefly. He glanced at Harry’s Marauder’s Map, disappointed, “His name vanished; he fled.”

As he spoke, the office had returned to its former state, except for magical items beyond the spell’s range.

Leading the way, Dumbledore entered the office, swiftly assessing and heading to the bedroom. Despite the explosion, the impact seemed minimal, thanks to Hogwarts’ protective spells. He unlocked the door, revealing Moody lying peacefully in bed.

Although the situation was far from normal.

“With such a commotion, why didn’t it wake him up?” Ron asked, amazed.

Dumbledore inspected Moody while Harry explained what had transpired. When Harry mentioned seeing Voldemort’s actions upon waking up, Dumbledore’s expression turned grave, “How did you see, Harry? Were you watching from above or…?”

“I was him,” Harry confessed. As he spoke, he realized what he had revealed. His voice grew hoarse, his face paling, “I… I entered Voldemort’s mind, saw through his eyes, felt his anger.”

There was something he didn’t say. Harry sensed an odd tension between Dumbledore and Snape, an unprecedented hatred towards these two individuals after experiencing Voldemort’s emotions.

The air thickened with uneasy silence. Harry noticed Snape’s gaze shifting, expecting him to say something, but there was only silence, Dumbledore included.

Suddenly straightening up, Dumbledore addressed everyone, “Alastor is physically unharmed. As for his memories… Felix, I might need your assistance.”

“No problem, Albus,” Felix replied solemnly.

“In that case, we now have one last issue to address: how did Barty Crouch Jr. hide within the castle? As far as I know—Felix, have you observed Alastor before?”

“Occasionally, not just him, but a few others I found suspicious,” Felix scratched his chin. “But found nothing, quite strange.”

“Indeed…,” Dumbledore stared at the now closed large crate, “I detected no trace of unplotable spells unless he dug a passageway, but that would require the Headmaster’s authority, which he couldn’t have obtained.”

“Albus, your mention of the unplotable spells reminded me; we forgot a possibility—Barty Crouch Jr. stands behind Voldemort, who’s quite familiar with the castle,” Felix belatedly suggested.

Dumbledore gazed at him, murmuring, “The Chamber?”

Or it might be the Room of Requirement… Felix thought, but that possibility seemed lesser compared to the Chamber.

“Let’s find out,” he said, “We only found one entrance in the girls’ bathroom before. But Slytherin might have built more. Or Voldemort could guide Barty to open the closest passage…”

They opened the large crate, revealing darkness extending downward. Felix conjured a light, spotting a damp passage’s end.

Dumbledore sighed, “Even I couldn’t unveil all the castle’s secrets. Let’s descend; if Barty hurriedly escaped, there might be an unexpected surprise.”

Harry exchanged a meaningful glance with Ron. Understanding, they silently followed the professors down a lengthy staircase, eventually arriving at a damp tunnel. Felix signaled Harry towards a faint snake symbol on the wall. Harry realized it was the entrance.

With a serpent-like hiss, Harry, using Parseltongue, said, “Open.” A greenish glow emerged from the damp tunnel beneath them. Moments later, they felt weightless—a floating charm and a human-shaped armor charm cushioning their landing.

Curiously, Harry touched his face, feeling a thin yet resilient barrier. He recognized this spell from Professor Snape’s memory lesson in Room 7C—traversing hidden passages. Snape had used it to protect secret entrances. But Barty Crouch Jr. was long gone, and what they discovered wasn’t merely an escape route.

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