Chapter 126
On the Other Side
Inside Hagrid's hut, which stood close to the Forbidden Forest, Albert and Hagrid sat together, speaking freely.
Albert was pointing to some notes scattered across the table, while Hagrid listened with complete focus.
Albert explained, "Here this part shows the process of mixing two essential ingredients for brewing the Polyjuice Potion. The first is a liquid base, made by combining the Zurlas herb found in the forest with powdered oak leaves, and adding salted water. The second and most crucial ingredient is a strand of hair from the person you wish to transform into. That's the foundation of the potion. So, Hagrid, that's today's lesson. I hope it makes sense."
A wide grin spread across Hagrid's face as Albert finished his explanation. He had always been curious about this potion, but never before had anyone taken the time to teach him.
Of course, Hagrid had been expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, due to a tragic misunderstanding. Since then, his wand had been confiscated, and he hadn't been able to properly study or practice magic. Worse still, he'd never had a true friend to guide or teach him.
But now, with his wand restored to him, and with Albert at his side as both friend and teacher, Hagrid felt as though he had gained a lifelong companion—one he cherished dearly.
"Thank you, lad," Hagrid said warmly, his eyes misting slightly. "I've missed these moments… feeling like I'm learning again."
Albert smiled. "Don't mention it, Hagrid. I'm just helping out. Since you want to catch up on everything you've missed, tomorrow I'll start you on a brand-new lesson. Be ready for it, all right?"
"Of course, Albert!" Hagrid replied eagerly.
Albert stood. "Well then, I suppose lunch must be finished by now. I should head back to the castle."
Hagrid rose with him and went to open the door.
"Safe journey, lad!" he called as Albert stepped outside.
Albert waved and started back toward Hogwarts. On the way, his eyes caught on Hagrid's winged beast—the one he had once ridden during a Care of Magical Creatures class. The creature bore bandages around its belly, evidence of a recent injury. Clearly, Hagrid had already tended to it.
Albert chose not to dwell on it, and continued toward the castle. Yet his mind was far from at ease. A truth he had uncovered some time ago still weighed heavily on him.
---
A Month Earlier
In the Restricted Section—
"Hey! Hermione! Wake up! Hermione, can you hear me?!" Albert shook her gently, but she remained unconscious.
Panic flared in his chest. With no other choice, Albert turned toward the great black door, determined to find the cause.
But suddenly, something seized his arm—an invisible force dragging his hand toward the golden handle of the massive black door.
"What the—?! My body! It's moving on its own!" Albert cried, struggling in vain.
Despite his resistance, his fingers closed around the handle.
In an instant, a whirlpool of magic engulfed him. The world spun violently, and before he could even gasp, he was somewhere else.
The room was narrow, though large enough to rival Dumbledore's office.
Albert staggered back, wand raised, ready for danger. Yet nothing came. After a long, tense silence, he lowered his wand and slipped it into his robes.
Approaching cautiously, he found a massive desk piled high with books. All of them were bound in black. The sight alone was enough to tell him they belonged to the Dark Arts.
He leafed through them one by one. Some spoke of flight magic, which astonished him. Others described enchantments of truth-revealing, torture, and mind control—spells not at a beginner's level, but advanced, nearly impossible to counter.
As he turned the last page of one tome, a glimmer of light flashed across his face. He turned sharply to its source.
It was a small statue of solid gold. The figure bore a long beard, a heavy robe, a necklace across its chest, and—most strikingly—a bald head gleaming in the dim light.
Albert froze, recognition dawning.
"It's a statue of Salazar Slytherin…" he whispered.
He stepped closer and reached out, his hand brushing the golden surface.
The moment his fingers touched it, agony exploded through him. The statue fell from his grasp as he collapsed to the floor, convulsing, screaming as though every nerve in his body were aflame. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth as he writhed helplessly.
It was a Cruciatus Curse—woven directly into the golden idol.
Albert hadn't anticipated it. He hadn't cast the counter-charm in time.
His cries echoed through the chamber, raw and unrelenting, until suddenly—darkness.
When he opened his eyes, he was lying in a void, a place without light, without walls, without end.
His body trembled. Slowly, the pain ebbed away. Gasping, he forced his breath into steady rhythm. He touched his face, feeling the wetness of blood.
Pulling out his wand, he whispered a healing charm. The bleeding stopped at once.
"Where… am I?" he muttered, glancing around the endless dark. "Is anyone here?!"
At once, a thin white line appeared in the air before him. Albert stepped back in alarm.
The line widened, unfolding like a slit in the very fabric of reality.
And then—he emerged.
A tall figure cloaked in deep green robes, his arms heavy with golden bracelets and jeweled rings. A thick chain hung at his throat, his beard long and sharp, his bald head shining under the unseen light.
Albert's blood ran cold.
Salazar Slytherin himself stood before him.
But that was impossible.
Albert's grip tightened on his wand. He raised it, voice steady but seething with disbelief.
"How in Merlin's name can Salazar Slytherin be alive after a thousand years?!"
To be continued…