Chapter 341
Changes in the Magical World
Grindelwald had never imagined that, even in a dream, he would one day see the Resurrection Stone appear within Hogwarts.
In the vision, a boy stood on the grounds, his face obscured by shifting mist. From the faint traces of spatial magic lingering around him, it was clear he had used a Portkey to return from far away. In his hand was a ring—dark, ancient, and unmistakable. Set into it was the Resurrection Stone itself.
The boy was trembling with excitement, murmuring to someone who could not be seen. Then, with a reverence bordering on desperation, he closed his eyes and turned the stone three times.
Reality twisted.
A woman appeared—her existence defying every known law of the magical world. She was neither ghost nor illusion.
She was a soul returned from death.
At that moment, Grindelwald jolted awake.
Silence pressed down around him in Nurmengard. He raised a hand, slowly steadying his breath.
"Summer… Hogwarts is in summer," he muttered. "But where that boy stood, winter was already close."
His eyes narrowed.
"So that scene hasn't happened yet. Next year, perhaps? And my departure from Nurmengard… was that part of the prophecy as well?"
Fragments of the dream resurfaced, refusing to fade.
"There was also a ship," he continued softly. "In the Black Lake. Durmstrang's final stronghold—capable of moving to any body of water."
His lips curled into something that was not quite a smile.
"The Triwizard Tournament… I was the one who facilitated it."
He leaned back, eyes glinting with obsession rather than regret.
"But none of that matters. As long as I obtain the stone… as long as Ariana can be revived… everything can still be saved."
Across the ocean, in Britain, no one knew that the devil who had imprisoned himself in Austria had once again left the fortress he built with his own hands.
Meanwhile, both Hogwarts and the wider wizarding world were undergoing changes no one could have predicted.
For weeks now, discussion revolved around the mysterious Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—and, more importantly, the unconventional knowledge he had introduced. Slowly but surely, the British wizarding community began to reconsider something it had suppressed for centuries.
Muggle technology.
The Office for the Prohibition of Misuse of Muggle Artifacts had finally begun to live up to its name. Rather than blindly prohibiting everything, it now focused on preventing genuine misuse.
The office had effectively transformed into a registration and review department.
Any magically modified Muggle item now had to be registered. Its stability, safety, and long-term effects were evaluated. As long as it wasn't discarded into the Muggle world and met safety standards, its use was permitted.
The result was immediate—and chaotic.
In Diagon Alley, walking had become optional.
Instead, witches and wizards zoomed past on an astonishing variety of registered contraptions.
Arthur Weasley had once imagined enchanted bicycles, cars, or perhaps motorcycles.
Reality proved far more unrestrained.
A supermarket shopping cart was considered normal, if only because it technically had "cart" in its name.
Roller skates, skateboards, and even ice skates were already pushing boundaries.
But then came the truly outrageous inventions.
Lighters, hair dryers, microwave ovens, washing machines—objects with absolutely no relation to transportation—were transformed into bizarre yet functional travel devices through a combination of wild imagination and reckless magic.
Even Arthur Weasley, the wizard most enthusiastic about Muggle culture, found himself staring in stunned silence.
At Hogwarts, Muggle-born students were suddenly in high demand.
From time to time, older students would approach them quietly, asking for help acquiring certain Muggle items. Among these, one product had become especially popular.
Scuba diving equipment.
Since the Skywalker Alchemy Workshop's underwater breathing tubes were strictly forbidden on school grounds, bulky but functional scuba gear had become the next best alternative for exploring the Black Lake.
Rumor had it that Colin Creevey, a first-year Gryffindor, had made a small fortune reselling the equipment. He even abandoned his beloved photography hobby because of it.
"If I can't take pictures of Harry Potter," Colin once said matter-of-factly, "what else is there worth photographing?"
He had, after all, already taken pictures of nearly every corner of Hogwarts in a single day.
Upon hearing this, Harry Potter touched his chest in relief. For the first time, he felt genuinely grateful for his recent seclusion—and for the lingering fear caused by Tom Riddle's influence.
With trends like this, even Quidditch was beginning to lose its grip on the student body.
Today was Saturday. Gryffindor versus Slytherin.
Yet less than half the usual crowd filled the stands of the Quidditch stadium.
The air was hot and heavy, thunder rumbling faintly in the distance.
Inside the Gryffindor locker room, players in bright red robes sat close together, listening to Oliver Wood's customary pre-match speech.
"Don't be nervous," Wood said, voice tight with emotion. "There's good news. That not-so-bad Malfoy bought his way onto the Slytherin team."
"Hey," Fred Weasley interrupted, pouting. "He's my brother's lover. He's actually a pretty good flyer. I saw him over the summer—maybe he didn't pay."
Wood ignored him.
"Even so, he's flying a Nimbus 2001. Stark, I believe you can outfly him on a Nimbus 2000. Same goes for the rest of you. Except for the Seekers, they have no broom advantage."
He took a breath, eyes burning.
"We train harder. We've flown in every kind of weather—"
"That's true," George Weasley chimed in. "My clothes haven't been dry since August."
"—And we cannot lose," Wood finished hoarsely. "We have to show those who abandoned Quidditch that this sport still matters!"
The students Wood referred to—the so-called traitors—were currently scattered around campus, absorbed in experimenting with Muggle devices.
Some of them were probably swimming in the Black Lake at that very moment.
To Quidditch fanatics like Wood, such behavior was unforgivable.
The atmosphere in the Slytherin locker room, however, could not have been more different.
"Relax, Draco," Marcus Flint said cheerfully. "We're definitely winning this time. A Nimbus 2001 versus a 2000? That gap isn't easy to overcome. Stark can't manage it."
He smirked.
"Honestly, Gryffindor's declining. In my opinion, only Ravenclaw—with Harry Potter—can even qualify as a real opponent."
Laughter rippled through the green-clad team.
Only Draco Malfoy didn't join in.
His brow furrowed.
Ron Weasley was his friend. Ron's brothers were Gryffindor beaters. Draco knew exactly how hard Gryffindor had trained—especially before the rainy season disrupted everything.
And the difference between a Nimbus 2001 and a Nimbus 2000… wasn't as overwhelming as people liked to believe.
If we keep underestimating them, Draco thought grimly, this match could go either way.
Under an uneasy sky and before the smallest audience in Quidditch history, Gryffindor and Slytherin finally took the field.
"The Quaffle is immediately taken by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor—what a brilliant Chaser, and very attractive too—"
"Jordan!"
"I'm sorry, Professor."
Lee Jordan barely paused, even under Professor McGonagall's sharp glare.
"Johnson speeds forward and passes beautifully to Alicia Spinnet, originally discovered by Oliver Wood after two years as a substitute—and it's back to Johnson, and—oh! Slytherin steals it! Marcus Flint takes possession and charges ahead—"
High above the pitch, the match unfolded beneath darkening clouds, while far below the surface of the magical world, changes far greater than a Quidditch score were already reshaping the future.
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