A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

Chapter 166: Unleashing Waters

Chapter 166: Unleashing Waters

Felix Harp pondered ceaselessly about the origin of this group of attackers.

Suddenly, he recalled the intelligence from the dark wizard Aladdin: "It is said that these attackers are extremely audacious. They warned that woman and left behind a blood-stained emblem."

"What emblem?"

"Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

...

Was that emblem truly a warning, or an accidentally lost item?

At this moment, Felix had disrupted the formations of the attackers, leaving only five or six individuals who could still rise from the ground. Among them, the leading squad had been reduced to just one lucky diminutive wizard.

However, luck was the last thing the diminutive one acknowledged. He wished he had lost consciousness, for less than two meters away stood a figure that resembled a devil, calmly observing him.

Felix advanced step by step towards the short wizard before him. His pace was deliberate and steady, a strategy to ease the dizziness brought on by the successive illusions of Disapparition. To others, his footsteps seemed like a leisurely stroll, his gaze seemingly gentle, yet it was akin to a released dragon, bristling with menacing spikes.

The air seemed to solidify, freezing the struggling attackers, the young and proud Aro, Silas trying to maintain his composure, and the man who appeared world-weary. They all appeared as if a pause button had been pressed.

The short one's eyes brimmed with fear. He instinctively turned to flee, only to be tripped by his unconscious comrade's body, his forehead hitting the gravel, blood seeping slowly.

By the time he managed to get up, Felix was already standing before him.

"Let me see who you truly are."

Felix extended a hand towards the mask.

In the eyes of the short wizard, that open hand seemed to contain magical wonders, rendering him immobile. He desperately urged himself to run, but in the end, he became akin to a cold statue, his spirits plummeting. His lips trembled—

"Don't..."

"Don't!"

Two voices overlapped, the latter unexpectedly from the mouth of Noël Céleste, her gray eyes reflecting an uncharacteristic panic.

Yet, Felix did not halt; resolutely, he lifted the mask.

For an instant, Felix froze; the hand grasping the mask remained suspended in mid-air.

He had assumed a witch would be beneath the mask, not only due to the individual's diminutive stature but also the high-pitched voice. All these characteristics led him to associate the figure with a female identity.

However, beneath the mask was the blood-stained face of an overly young boy—a mere fifteen or sixteen at most, appearing even younger than Percy Weasley.

The short one gazed blankly at him. Suddenly, the expression on the other's face grew enigmatic, impossible to fathom.

Summoning his courage, the boy snatched the mask, stumbling backward.

Felix remained in place, refraining from pursuit.

"Thud! Thud! Thud!"

A dozen more black-robed wizards stormed into the hall. Among them, one excitedly exclaimed, "Someone's been rescued; we can withdraw now! Did Silas Céleste, that old hag, get captured?"

However, the scene on the field wasn't what they had anticipated. The newcomers hesitated, their gaze falling on Felix, who had just lowered his wand—surrounding him were a dozen or so companions.

Less than a third were awake, with a few having been just awakened by magic, sporting bewildered expressions.

"Run, quickly," the short male wizard croaked.

"What?"

"Run, quickly!"

But the leading wizard was unwilling to leave these individuals behind. He raised his wand, and the others chose to follow suit.

Several beams of red light surged toward Felix Harp. The newcomers were clearly elites; their scorching spells resembled lasers. However, all of them were blocked before Felix, forming a faintly visible ring-shaped barrier.

Air was painted with intricate interweaving lines of silver and gold. As the incantations striking it grew stronger, the barrier's form became clearer—

It was an enlarged half-body armor, illusory yet vibrant with magical flames.

The armor, constructed by the Ironclad Charm, encased him entirely, rendering him impervious to these assaults.

The black-robed wizards launched attack after futile attack, their spirits inevitably sinking into despair.

"Leave this place before I change my mind," Felix declared.

After a brief silence, the attackers spoke:

"He, he's trapped by his own magic. Hurry, take the unconscious ones away!"

The leading wizard fabricated reasons haphazardly, but whatever the rationale, it seemed this formidable adversary had no intentions of continuing the onslaught.

Others caught on, using Levitation Charms and Transfiguration to carry away their fallen comrades, rapidly retreating from this perilous location.

During this short yet prolonged minute, no one spoke. Silas Céleste, the weathered male wizard, the French Ministry Aurore, even the Muggle researchers—all unusually remained silent, implicitly endorsing Felix's actions.

Felix's gaze settled on the few who remained, running while casting glances back at him, their eyes full of inquiry.

"Don't stare, hurry!" one of the black-robed wizards said.

The attackers departed, leaving the hotel in ruins.

...

Three or four Muggle experts on the field gazed around, as if they had experienced a bizarre dream.

From a tranquil meeting to an unexpected attack, and then a battle concluded by a powerful young man in less than thirty seconds—wasn't this all a dream?

Felix approached Maxwell beside him, carefully assessing his condition—unconscious, his face covered in clusters of small bumps.

"This... sir? Is he alright?" the young Aurore asked cautiously.

"Not too serious, hit by too many Stunners, with a nasty hex mixed in," Felix remarked, a hint of exasperation in his voice. The hex seemed to mock everyone present.

Silas Céleste emerged, disheveled and covered in dust, accompanied by the weathered male wizard.

"You..." she hesitated.

"What exactly are the attackers' identities?" Felix asked straightforwardly, already having a guess.

"I'm not certain. They might be remnants of the Purifiers or Grindelwald's devotees," Silas replied.

"I believe you're trying to deceive me, Madam Céleste." Felix took a step forward, silvery radiance now completely consuming his formerly light blue irises. "Look into my eyes."

Her expression immediately froze. Rapid flashes of scenes swept by—

"Confidential reports indicate that minors have joined the Innovators. Our magical society is further divided because of that damned law!"

"Cecil, we can't compromise; giving in now means yielding ten or a hundred steps."

"But even wizards born into Muggle families are part of us, and our laws are hurting them! Since 1965, more and more feel deceived, Silas. This patience has reached its limit, hence the birth of the Innovators, an organization that humiliates us all. Our gentlemen in Congress sit atop a giant magical firework, sipping red wine with smug satisfaction."

"...The council families won't support it."

"So you're just covering it up, Silas? We're a legislative body; we should be responsible for the laws of the American wizarding world!"

"What should I say, esteemed Mr. Representatives? Because of our utterly foolish laws, Ilvermorny students and alumni have conspired to establish the Innovators, preparing to resist the American magical Congress?"

"I must remind you, Silas, that this is already a fact."

"I can't appear like a fool in front of the Representatives... at least, I need a list."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"...Patience, Cecil. By summer break, I'll set a seemingly harmless yet alluring trap. Catch one or two people, and we can unravel a string of names."

"Silas, you yourself are a brilliant bait. They've set their sights on you."

"Thank you, Cecil."

"I'm not praising you!"

"Cecil, when the time comes, remember to have The New York Ghost spread the news..."

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