A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts-Chapter 725: Pages

As Christmas approached, the festive cheer was overshadowed by a somber and solemn air, weighing heavily on everyone's hearts as if invisible holly and mistletoe ribbons were hung upon them like the decorations on the hall's Christmas tree. News and photos regarding New York Harbor became increasingly prevalent, from traffic jams caused by blizzards to the deployment of soldiers, Marines, and the Coast Guard in the harbor, along with the United Nations headquarters calling for restraint from both sides. The tension among the public only intensified.

Initially, the White House attempted to portray the conflict as a "drill" to help wizards recognize their situation and understand their place in the world. However, this approach was quickly deemed ineffective.

The unusual silence of the entire wizarding world, coupled with the unity and determination it showed, as well as the news of "hundreds of young wizards being illegally imprisoned and mistreated for over two decades," spread worldwide, forcing a rapid shift in strategy. Criticism towards the legitimacy of the "International Federation and Alliance Charter" grew fierce.

The White House claimed that wizards were a minority and should abide by U.S. laws. Yet, when reporters inquired about the 200-page list of criminals provided by the International Confederation of Wizards and the Pan-Magical Alliance, the spokesperson remained silent. Federal courts, representing justice and public order, were conspicuously silent at this crucial moment.

A public relations expert from across the Atlantic, with a manner reminiscent of Luna's, revealed an uncomfortable truth: "The secret of the conflict is written on the last page of the 'International Federation and Alliance Charter.'" 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

When people, driven by intense curiosity, examined the densely signed document with magnifying glasses, they were astounded to discover the truth was surprisingly simple:

Next to the signature of 'Felix Harp'—a name now well-known, with over three hundred organizations in North America bizarrely claiming association—was a line of fine green ink stating:

"The above statutes are recognized and enacted by all representatives of the wizarding world, authorized and protected by the Grand Sorcerer."

Some had a moment of realization, recalling how a spokesperson for the International Confederation of Wizards somberly announced days before that Felix Harp was tasked with rescuing American wizards facing personal threats. Before this, he was to participate—as the spokesperson sarcastically put it—in the so-called peace drills as the sole wizard representative.

"This is Mr. Harp's personal choice. I do not wish to delve into his reasons. All I can do is pray for him, just as we awaited the outcome of that legendary duel half a century ago."

In the following days, tabloids unanimously used eye-catching words like "cruel" and "bloody," with some even branding it a "Black Christmas."

On the morning before Christmas, as the time came, the whole world fell silent.

The dawn light was a cold deep blue, with the weather cold and dry. Dozens of warships, ghost-like, sailed a few kilometers off the harbor, stirring the waters and making the unfrozen port increasingly restless. At least hundreds of Earth observation satellites aimed their lenses here, capable of capturing centimeter-level details.

In an underground command center deep in the harbor, the atmosphere was exceedingly tense. A phone call had come in just minutes before, signaling "It has begun," and a 'hunt' operation was swiftly launched. Suddenly, one of the satellite feeds began to distort abnormally.

A group huddled around the screen showing the anomaly.

"What's happening?"

"We're not sure!"

"And the ground radar?"

"Apart from the marked helicopters, fighter jets, and warships, no moving targets detected."

Then, a civilian staff raised a hand, indicating, "Report, this situation resembles one described in the manual."

"Speak!"

"Magical disturbance."

The commander was visibly shocked, "Someone on the satellite?" A monitoring staff member, facing away from the general, muttered under his breath, "That man has been to the moon." His implication was clear: compared to the moon, what's the distance to a satellite? The general abruptly cut him off, "There's no evidence he's been to the moon! Except for that bit of dust—"

Before he could finish, a young man's profile appeared on the screen, his lips moving as if speaking to himself, but unfortunately, the sound didn't carry. Then the screen plunged into darkness.

The general swallowed hard, asking, "Did anyone catch what he said?"

Silence fell in the command center. After a few seconds, a voice from a corner softly said, "Judging by the pronunciation, I think he said..." The voice paused, seemingly finding it unbelievable, "U...S...A..."

In the next ten minutes, hundreds of screens went dark one by one, their images extinguished by an unseen hand in the darkness, like the flames humanity first harnessed. The air conditioning seemed to fail completely, making the room as cold as the icy outdoors, suffocating.

Three

minutes later, no more screens went dark. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief; less than half of the satellite images remained intact. Just as they caught their breath, the phones in the command center began to ring incessantly.

"Silence those fools!" bellowed the general. "The target may have given up. Immediately gather the remaining satellites, max out radar power, and tell the helicopters, reconnaissance planes, and fighter jets to search with all they've got—"

Hundreds of fighter jets patrolled the sky, leaving long white trails behind, slicing the sky into a checkerboard of "white smoke," encircling the morning star that had not yet fully faded.

When the AWACS finally climbed to nearly 30,000 meters, it sent back a message, "Target spotted!! Shall we engage?" Followed by military radar and satellite positioning, the image gradually became clear, though it only captured the back of a head.

"Attack," the commander ordered coldly.

Felix was resisting the urge to use magic, allowing himself to float down gently like a feather, despite being capable of flying on his own. He found himself humorously calculating that, at his current rate of descent, he would land in about three hours—a painfully long time.

The sky lit up with streaks of orange fire that intertwined into a net, rushing towards him like a tempest. Thanks to the expansive reach of his thought cabin, Felix knew well in advance whether the machine gun bullets, fired at high velocity, would hit their target—him. It was a matter of precision, after all, given his relatively small size compared to that of an airplane.

Felix made a few token dodges before facing a barrage of different types of artillery, air-to-air missiles, and laser-guided bombs. The sky turned into a display of fireworks, flashing wildly and thunderously loud. When another fireball with a blast radius of over two hundred meters exploded beside him, attempting to obliterate him, Felix merged solemnly into the air.

Silence resumed. Felix observed the nearby black smoke and the much brighter sky. In the distance, various fighter jets were attempting to turn around, seemingly ready for another go.

"At this height, the view must be quite clear, right?" Felix murmured to himself. He wasn't speaking to the pilots or even the ground commanders, but rather addressing over two hundred countries and regimes worldwide—conventional weapons were ineffective against him.

Felix stretched out his hand and calmly stated, "Let's end this quickly." Prepared as he was, he had numerous methods at his disposal.

In a dazzling light of pale green, sounds resembling the cries of a baby became louder and more chaotic, then abruptly ceased. Felix, standing in the air, lowered his arm expressionlessly. Within the reach of the thought cabin, sleek fighter jets suddenly lost control, tumbling down awkwardly.

The cry of a mature Mandrake could be fatal—a magic Felix had intended to keep sealed forever.

It wouldn't be long before information about it was laid out on the desks of world leaders, its magical effect comparable to that of a nuclear bomb. With immense magical power, it could envelop a city almost without side effects, instantly creating a zone of death from which not even insects or cockroaches could escape. Felix suddenly felt like a merchant of death, a spokesperson for the Grim Reaper, now showing potential buyers the product's capabilities, complete with an instruction manual.

Felix knew no one could hear him, but he felt compelled to say something.

"It was inevitable it would come to this. If not America, then some other country. The more I thought and planned, even accounting for places as chaotic as Africa to avoid war as much as possible... the more I found myself opposed by the entire world."

"Wizards, being a powerful group, should have been utilized by countries from the moment they were exposed. But I delayed that process, leading some to doubt wizards' strength. Indeed, without me... the top force, wizards would either resist, compromise, or hide deeper, and some places would fall into war... Chaos was inevitable for years, perhaps decades, but it would also allow everyone to give a more accurate assessment. A new order would be established through blood and fire, at the cost of countless lives."

"I despise chaos, so I played a part in the creation of the 'International Federation and Alliance Charter,' just as a thousand years ago, the four greatest witches and wizards joined forces to establish Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Thinking about it, I foresaw this scenario, as if I had seen the future—well, in a way, that's not wrong. Given that, I felt it was my responsibility to ensure this future became an inevitable reality."

From today on, everyone would understand what it means to stand against a Grand Sorcerer, especially one from the ancient magical text domain.

Felix vanished and reappeared at the edge of the harbor, savoring the scent of the sea. He extended his left hand, palm up, and a book, its pages saturated with magic, appeared out of thin air. He opened the book of magical texts with his right hand, gently brushing his fingertips over the pages. One page detached itself and floated in the air, unaffected by gravity.

To a skilled magician, this page held unimaginable magical power.

Felix stood upright, casually lifting his head to scan all directions—though it was unnecessary since the thought cabin had already informed him the nearest helicopter was two kilometers away, the fleet outside the harbor had yet to turn around, and the city was blanketed in snow, with reflections from glass and telescopes mingling. He could even faintly hear the roar of motorcycles and excited shouts.

He could understand the attraction. The city, with an area of over a thousand square kilometers and home to nearly eight million people, was mostly evacuated, causing a major traffic jam. Yet, a few daredevils chose to stay, seeking thrills among the deserted streets where they

could unleash their primal urges with steel, leather, motorcycles, muscles, and sweat...

Felix guessed that this place might inspire many artists in the coming week.

The next moment, the page touched the ground.

Ancient magical texts danced like ice crystals, and ice-blue magic surged, blending with the bone-chilling wind and rustling clothes. The magic spread like dye in water—Felix had cast this spell before, more than once, but never using as little magic as now. The result was that colors began to fade from everything around him, leaving only clear lines that reflected a shallow halo.

The spell's wide coverage was enough to envelop soldiers along the coastline, command centers, part of the fleet... They were still alive but would spend the next week in silence, turned into panels in a comic book.

After doing all this, Felix stepped out to the harbor's exterior. There was complete silence, reminding him of his first experience in space. A bold idea crossed his mind—to roll up New York City like he had done with Grawp's cabin at The Burrow and hang it on the White House's door. Even he found the idea too outrageous, suspecting that every means of communication available to Akingbade and Ms. Bones was being overwhelmed.

The thought cabin's alerts reminded Felix of pressing matters. Standing high above, he noticed the sea split into two distinct halves: one part was real water, and the other had the wave patterns found only in comic books. He looked towards the city, where not everyone had been 'lined.' He had deliberately spared the wizarding families hidden in the shadows; they were unharmed and stood out amidst the chaos of black and white lines.

The most prominent among them was the Woolworth Building, headquarters of the American Wizarding Congress, housing several hundred wizards.

As Seraphina Picquery flew towards him on a broomstick, Felix realized the American Wizarding Congress might soon face its sixth relocation.

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