At the Hog's Head Inn, Tonks checked over the short, skinny dark wizard lying on the floor—the one who didn't even deserve a name mentioned. She turned to Kingsley beside her.
"Yeah, that's him, boss. But aside from a few dark artifacts, he's got nothing else on him. No dragon egg either."
Kingsley glanced at Sullivan nearby and asked, "Professor Sullivan, how exactly did you find him?"
Sullivan shrugged. "I was just wandering around the village when I sensed some intense magical fluctuations. Came over to check it out. By the time I got here, this guy was already dead. And it looked like someone had just Apparated away."
"Intense magical fluctuations?" Kingsley pressed, still suspicious. "How did you sense them?"
Wizards did have sharper senses than Muggles, sure, but picking up on powerful magic like that? Only legendary wizards could do it reliably. And this kid in front of him didn't strike Kingsley as legendary.
Sullivan didn't seem bothered. "If you're up on your intel, you'd know I'm an alchemical master. And an alchemical master always has a few interesting little gadgets on hand."
Kingsley couldn't argue with that. He'd seen his own subordinate, Tonks, chatting with this guy using a small square box pretty often.
He was honestly jealous of that little device. Right now, the only way he could talk to friends was through owls. If he and his buddies had something like that? It'd be brilliant.
So he didn't push back too hard on Sullivan's explanation. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't—Sullivan had diplomatic immunity and Dumbledore's protection. Neither was something Kingsley could challenge.
Changing the subject, he asked, "Professor Sullivan, did you see any other suspicious people?"
"Yeah," Sullivan said. "I spotted a wizard in a big black cloak sneaking into the bar. He had the hood up, so I couldn't see his face."
He went on to describe the cloaked wizard's build and features in detail—without outright naming Quirrell.
For one thing, even though his magic had improved, he was still far from ready to face the Dark Lord head-on. He wasn't looking for that fight yet.
For another, he needed Voldemort around to farm quests. Plus, some of his future plans required the Dark Lord's... cooperation.
Once the questions wrapped up, Kingsley and Tonks hauled the dead wizard off to the Ministry. As they left, Tonks winked at Sullivan, but he had no clue what she was trying to say.
Sullivan headed to the bar counter. With everything that had just gone down, the owner hadn't even poked his head out. Talk about staying cool under pressure.
The guy was still going about his business—tall and skinny, with messy, tangled long hair and clothes that looked like they hadn't been washed in ages. Hard to believe this was Albus Dumbledore's brother.
Sullivan didn't chat much with Aberforth. He just quietly had a drink and left.
Back at Hogwarts, Sullivan stopped by Snape's office first. Even on weekends, Snape wasn't slacking—he was prepping potion ingredients for the next week's classes.
"Hey, little prince, what're you up to? Take a look at these for me," Sullivan said with a grin as he walked in.
Hearing that nickname, Snape's face twisted with embarrassment. He glared at Sullivan with those dead-fish eyes, like he was saying: Call me that again, and I'll curse you into next week.
Sullivan waved it off. "Fine, fine. You came up with it yourself, but won't let anyone use it? Kinda pointless, don't you think?"
"If you've got nothing better to do, get out and stop bothering me!" Snape growled, clearly at his limit.
Sullivan pulled a few potion vials from his Undetectable Extension Bag. "Help me out—tell me what these are and how much they're worth."
The potions were from the dead wizard, naturally. But with Sullivan's level 3 Potions skill, he couldn't figure out their effects or value on his own.
Snape hesitated, then came over, uncorked one, and sniffed it. His eyes widened. "Where the hell did you get this?"
Sullivan kept it vague. "Ran into two dark wizards fighting in Hogsmeade today—one dead, one fled. These just fell into my lap."
Snape snorted. "Lucky you, then. This is a Transfiguration Potion. Similar to Polyjuice, but it turns you into an animal for a while."
Next vial: "Felix Felicis—you've heard of that, right?"
Third: "Antidote. Drink it, and for five minutes, it'll neutralize pretty much any poison in your system. But only five minutes—get poisoned again after that, and you're done for."
He went through seven vials in total, all rare and valuable. Sullivan got more excited with each one. Finally, he asked, "How much are these worth altogether?"
"Are you that broke?" Snape shot back. "The brewing's sloppy—maybe 70% effectiveness at best. If you're not desperate for cash, keep them. They might save your sorry life one day."
Snape had a real talent for making concern sound like an insult.
But Sullivan ignored the advice. "Nah, sell them for me. If I need any, I'll just have you brew better ones anyway—your skill's way higher than this junk."
Snape clearly liked the flattery; the corner of his mouth twitched up. But he still scoffed and refused: "I won't sell inferior potions. It'd ruin my reputation."
"Fine, whatever. I'll keep them then." Sullivan put the vials away, then dumped a bunch of herbs he didn't need onto Snape's desk. "These are for you—useless to me anyway."
Snape glanced through them, a flicker of interest in his eyes. "These would be wasted on you. Smart choice. I'll brew some potions and give you a cut."
Sullivan had been used to Snape's tsundere act for twenty years now. He didn't dwell on the herbs and switched topics: "Heard you and Harry Potter aren't getting along great."
Snape's face stiffened at the name. "Our savior is just like his father—arrogant and stupid."
Sullivan chuckled. "I think the kid's pretty polite, actually. Not like that show-off Potter at all. And his eyes are really like..."
"Enough!" Snape snapped, cutting him off. "If you've got nothing else, leave. I've got work to do."
"Come on, Snape, I actually have something serious to ask. Don't you think things at school feel a bit off?"
"No. The weirdest thing here is you—why are you sitting in on my first-year Potions classes? Don't you know how abysmal your talent is?"
That actually shut Sullivan up for a second. He fired back, annoyed: "That's exactly why I need to learn more! Since I'm humble enough to ask, shouldn't you praise me in class or something?"
"Heh. Never. Not with the garbage you brew. Don't ever expect praise in my classroom."
"If you don't praise me, I'll come to every class—and cause chaos!"
Snape was so mad he actually laughed. It wasn't a pretty laugh—kinda creepy, even.
"Alright, alright, but seriously—don't you think Dumbledore's fishing?"
"Why else would he mention that fourth-floor corridor at the Start-of-Term Feast?"
Snape paused his work. "You're overthinking it. Just a friendly warning to students."
"Yeah, right," Sullivan said, staring at him. "Not mentioning it would've been better. Now some super-curious kids—like our Boy Who Lived—are gonna check it out."
Snape's hands stopped. He knew Dumbledore's plan, alright. Before he could respond, Sullivan kept going: "You think this is okay? You really want to see her kid in danger?"
"Tell you what—those two wizards in Hogsmeade today? The one who got away? I'm pretty sure it was Quirrell. Didn't see his face, but that bulky head under the black hood? Gotta be his turban."
Snape finally looked serious, meeting Sullivan's eyes. "How much do you know?"
Sullivan shrugged. "Not much—just guesses. But I'm betting this ties to Voldemort, and Dumbledore might be using Harry as bait to draw him out."
Snape was quiet for a long time before saying, "Dumbledore will keep Harry safe. You can trust that."
Sullivan wasn't convinced. "You sure about that? And Hogwarts has more than just Harry—letting a dangerous guy like that in the school is okay?"
"So what's your brilliant idea?" Snape asked.
"Honestly? None yet. But when I do have one, I hope you'll be on my side. Deal?"
Snape didn't agree outright. "If your plan's actually workable, I'll help."
That was good enough for Sullivan. He left satisfied—and surprisingly, his main quest "The Headmaster's Secret" jumped to 25% completion.
Sunday evening rolled around, and Sullivan called George and Fred into his office. The twins looked nervous—they'd just had their Marauder's Map confiscated by this professor a few days ago.
Seeing their faces, Sullivan smiled. "Relax, guys. Want this back?"
He held up the Marauder's Map. The twins nodded like their heads were on springs.
Sullivan set it down and pulled out a copy of Basic Alchemy Explained from his drawer. "Take this book and study it. If you can pass my private exam by the end of term, you can become my apprentices. When you take on disciples, the master gives a gift."
He waved the map again, smirking.
He was overthinking it, though. Fred and George had always loved tinkering with magical gadgets and were dying to learn alchemy. Even without the bribe, they'd jump at the chance to study under an alchemical master.
Sure enough, the twins lit up. They snatched the book without hesitation. "Don't worry, Professor Sullivan—we'll ace that test!"
Watching them leave, Sullivan smiled faintly. Taking apprentices? That wasn't something he'd planned before.
Back then, he was just an average wizard with decent alchemy skills—mostly famous for his wild ideas. His biggest achievement was probably leveraging the Stewart family's name to solidify his "master" title.
But now? With the system, in just over two months, he'd felt his power explode. And with it, his ambitions were growing too.
A powerful wizard without a power base either got tied down by rules or branded a heretic.
Dumbledore and Voldemort were perfect examples. Dumbledore was insanely strong but didn't build a real faction. He had fame, sure, but if the Board of Governors wanted, they could strip him of the headmaster job.
Voldemort? More like a terrorist. Yeah, he had Death Eaters, but to Sullivan, they were just opportunists chasing personal gain under his shadow.
That's why, when Voldemort vanished, over 95% flipped sides instantly and disavowed him.
Grindelwald forty years ago did it smarter—his influence spread worldwide. But he relied too much on ideals to rally people fast, without building a solid, long-term base.
Sullivan wanted something different: a faction built from the ground up, bound by real interests, with enough clout to have a voice in the entire wizarding world. In thinking, it was all about building high walls, stockpiling grain, and claiming the throne slowly.
So he needed to build a team. Snape was his first target—the old friend was a genius. If Sullivan's alchemy was level 8, Snape's potions were at least level 9, maybe higher.
His dark arts and charms? Easily level 8+. If his heart wasn't chained down, Sullivan figured he'd be the next legendary wizard.
As for students, the twins were just the start. They had real alchemy talent and tons of creative ideas—perfect for developing future features on magical phones.
Beyond them, Sullivan had his eye on Percy Weasley from Gryffindor, Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff, Gemma Farley from Slytherin, and more.
But no rush. He had years before Voldemort's full return. Plenty of time.