After resigning from his post as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts, Professor Stephen Swinton made a brief return to his ancestral home on the banks of the River Derwent in Yorkshire. Not long after, he set out for Egypt.
He spent some time exploring Egypt, and once he had chosen his target, he traveled upstream along the Nile to a hidden, ancient pyramid—one concealed from the Muggle world. He entered alone.
What happened inside that ancient ruin changed everything.
When "he" emerged, he was no longer Stephen Swinton. He was only Ian Stanley.
...
Moonlight poured through the large glass window, flooding the medieval-style bedroom with a silver glow.
A pale arm lay draped across his broad, powerful chest.
Its owner, cheeks still tinged with a rosy flush, slept deeply and peacefully.
But Ian's eyes blazed in the moonlight—bright, almost unnaturally so.
That light was the reflection of a hunger he could no longer suppress: raw ambition, unchecked desire.
"I won't waste my life like that fool, content to play schoolmaster and amuse children," he whispered coldly to the darkness.
Emerging from that pyramid, he had shed his greatest shackle—reborn, in a way he'd never imagined.
Afterwards, driven by instinctive caution, he didn't linger in North Africa. Instead, he returned to Europe, to the magical academy where he—or rather, "they"—had once studied: Beauxbatons.
"They" had left many unpleasant memories in those halls. Of course, buried in Stephen's recollections, there were a few things worth remembering.
For instance, a girl named Apolline—now, no doubt, a woman.
He remembered her: exquisite features, golden hair, a slender figure that seemed to shimmer with a silvery aura.
As a youth, Stephen Swinton had fallen hopelessly for her. Ian Stanley, lurking deep in the subconscious, had always sneered—she was part Veela, after all, and her beauty was a spell in itself.
Later, driven by foolish insecurity or perhaps something else, Stephen had let her slip away. Soon after, he'd received news of her marriage.
Looking back, young Stephen's heartbreak had been almost pathetic.
"Heh. What a pitiful wretch," Ian thought with a sneer.
It was on the day he returned to Beauxbatons that Ian saw a girl on campus who looked so much like Apolline.
The same delicate beauty, the same golden hair, the same slender, graceful figure—at such a young age, she radiated a charm that was almost supernatural. She could have been Apolline's mirror image.
But when Ian met her gaze—those piercing blue eyes—his mind went blank for a moment.
That slip startled him, even made him angry, because it was Stephen's reaction, not his.
So, the very day he arrived, he left—abandoning whatever trouble he'd planned to cause.
"Fleur Delacour..." The name slipped from Ian's lips, unbidden.
Too similar. Far too similar!
That damned delicate face, that damned golden hair, that damned slender form!
Rage welled up in him—hot, irrational, consuming.
He glanced at the sleeping woman beside him, then rose abruptly.
"Ian... again?" The woman, roused by his movement, murmured a sleepy complaint.
"Shut up!" Ian snarled, his voice a guttural growl from deep in his chest.
The moonlight remained as pure as ever, spilling serenely across the room, while within, chaos and fury reigned.
People always hope they are only themselves, yet fear becoming someone else—never realizing that they were never just themselves to begin with.
...
The next morning, Ian Stanley rose refreshed and ate breakfast.
Then, under the gaze of the beautiful witch Camille—her eyes glistening with unshed tears—he left the apartment and departed Paris.
He was determined to carve out his own path.
Ever since he'd walked out of that ancient pyramid, he'd resolved to make something of himself—no matter if it meant light or darkness.
He traveled throughout Europe, searching for the opportunity he needed.
But in recent years, only Voldemort had made any noise, and even he had vanished. The Death Eaters were now little more than hunted outlaws and prisoners—joining them would be pointless.
Then, in the Parisian wizarding quarter, Ian heard rumors. Whispers about "G.A."—Grindelwald's Army.
In less than a year, this faction had taken root in Brazil and across the Americas, growing rapidly and posing a real headache for the local Ministries of Magic and magical congresses. Now, their influence was beginning to creep into Europe.
This was exactly the chance Ian had been waiting for.
He'd asked Camille to help gather information—after all, when it came to dealing with women, he was far more skilled than Stephen had ever been.
Now that he knew the G.A. leader, Gellert Abernathy, was in New York, he had no intention of missing the opportunity.
He was certain he was exactly the kind of person they needed.
And they were exactly the kind of foundation and soil he craved.
Just as an old Eastern poem says: "This journey is like autumn wind meeting crystalline dew, outshining a thousand earthly encounters."
...
...
If we lift our gaze higher—higher still—and drift eastward from Paris, we find ourselves gazing upon a majestic mountain range: the Carpathians, the eastern reach of the Alps, known here as "the backbone of Romania."
Nestled at a bend in this great, crescent-shaped range is a stretch of rolling hills and grassland.
If we were to swoop down here, and if our luck held, we might glimpse a dragon or two soaring through the sky.
Of course, that's only if we're not Muggles—and can see through the powerful illusions cast by wizards.
This is one of Europe's most famous dragon reserves: the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary.
A young, red-haired wizard had just started work here as a dragon researcher.
"Charlie, that little one's gone missing—let's split up and look for him!" A burly, bearded wizard stomped into the wooden cabin, clearly annoyed.
"Alright, Benny! I'll head out as soon as I finish this letter," called the young wizard inside.
He signed his name at the bottom: Charlie Weasley.
The letter was addressed: "Dear Qin."
Yes, this was none other than the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain, Charlie Weasley, fresh from his graduation at Hogwarts.
With the new term underway, Charlie had decided to write to a few old friends and classmates—Qin Yu among them.
He slipped the letter into a sturdy parchment envelope, scribbled the address, and called over an owl to send off the batch.
Of course, the owl couldn't make it all the way to Britain in one go—it would need to stop at a few points along the way before finally reaching Hogwarts. But Charlie didn't worry about the details; he'd already paid a silver Sickle for postage.
With that done, Charlie left the cabin to search for the missing "little one"—if a dragon over three meters tall could be called "little."
He soon found the dragon in a rocky canyon.
But what he hadn't expected was to see a girl—just a girl—send the three-meter-tall dragon flying with a single punch.
She was a black-haired girl, not particularly tall, perhaps seventeen or eighteen. She wore a striking red outfit, her long black hair tied back in a neat ponytail. When she leapt up and struck the dragon's head, it was like watching a giant hammer crash down on a fencepost—the blow echoed through the canyon, making even Charlie's heart skip a beat.
"Hmm? Red-hair, is this your dragon?" The girl spotted Charlie and gave him a sharp, upward nod.
"Uh? Yes, yes, it's mine—well, not really mine, I'm just a researcher," Charlie stammered, then corrected himself.
"Researcher? Sounds complicated... Whatever. It stole my food, so I hit it. That's within your rules, right?" the girl asked, her tone matter-of-fact.
"It... is," Charlie replied, still a bit dazed.
"Good." The girl nodded once.
They both fell silent, the only sound the soft whimpering of the "little" dragon.
"Ahem, well, let me introduce myself. I'm Charlie Weasley. May I ask your name?" Charlie ventured, summoning his courage.
"Oh, I'm Puxi!" the girl replied.
"Puxi what? I mean, what's your full name?" Charlie pressed, finding her oddly easy to talk to—almost endearingly naïve.
"I'm just Puxi. Puxi is Puxi!" she insisted, as if that explained everything.
"Alright, Puxi, it's nice to meet you!" Charlie gave up—after all, compared to her ability to punch a dragon, not having a surname seemed perfectly normal.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Charlie invited the girl—Puxi—back to his cabin.
Maybe, probably, it was because he couldn't bear to watch such a petite, adorable girl gnawing on a wild boar raw—the very one she'd rescued from the dragon's jaws.
——Dimensional Wall——
Let's broaden the scope a bit before returning to school life.
Sigh, I've been really stuck lately. There are so many plot points in my head, but I'm struggling with transitions and narrative order.
Anyway, I'll keep writing, slowly but surely, and do my best not to let things fall apart.
And, well, is it too much to ask for a few gifts? If you're able, please send some of those free little tokens—every penny helps the author afford a bit of luxury skincare, and every dollar makes the world a little brighter!
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