Harry looked like he was in a daze as he walked out of Sullivan's office. He couldn't wrap his head around the fact that his father—his hero—had actually been a schoolyard bully.
Hermione, noticing Harry's state, tried to comfort him. "Harry, don't let it get to you. It was just childish rivalry. Professor Sullivansaid it himself: your father was a pillar of the resistance against You-Know-Who. He was a great wizard."
Harry understood the logic, but his heart felt heavy. He had no idea how he was supposed to face Snape after this.
For the next week, Harry's behavior in Potions class was bizarre. Even when Snape threw his usual snarky, biting comments at him, Harry just stayed silent. It actually threw Snape off his game; he didn't know how to handle a Harry Potter who didn't fight back.
Sullivan, oblivious to the teenage angst, had finished his Transfiguration side quest and was now fully immersed in his own research.
The magical server project might have to wait, but the semi-automatic casting press was showing real promise. He could see the light at the end of the tunnel and was itching to finish it.
---
On Friday night, Snape knocked on Sullivan's door. He looked gloomy as ever as he set a box and a bag of Galleons on the desk.
Looking at Snape's dark expression, Sullivan couldn't resist teasing him. "Come on, Severus, lighten up. I defeated the troll; the materials are my rightful loot. You aren't going to be stingy about it, are you?"
"Did you say something to the boy?" Snape stared at Sullivan, articulating every word with icy precision.
"Which boy?" Sullivan played dumb.
"Harry. Potter."
"Oh, him? I didn't say much. Just chatted a bit about the friction between you and his dad back in the day," Sullivan said, feigning casualness.
Snape's eyes flashed with a look that said I knew it. He looked agitated, his voice rising in accusation. "How much did you tell him?"
"Relax. I didn't mention Lily. I just talked about the feud between you and the Marauders..."
Before Sullivan could finish, Snape cut him off. "Do not speak her name! Listen to me, Sullivan. This has nothing to do with you. I expect you to stop discussing anything with Mr. Potter."
Sullivan felt a spark of irritation. "You think I wanted to bring it up? You were careless. Harry saw your injured leg. They came to me for help because they thought you were trying to steal whatever is on the fourth floor. Was I supposed to just sit there and let you be misunderstood?"
"I don't care!" Snape snapped.
"Don't care?" Sullivan shot back. "Don't care about what? Yourself? Or Lily? You clearly care about the kid, so why do you insist on acting like you hate his guts?"
Snape looked furious, practically cornered. He stared into Sullivan's eyes. "This is none of your business. Stay out of it, and keep your mouth shut."
With that, Snape whipped his cloak around and swept out of the room like a giant bat. Sullivan just shook his head helplessly.
He checked the items Snape had left. The Galleons were all there—100 exactly. But the vial of troll blood was fuller than he expected.
It had clearly been purified, too. All the impurities were removed, making it perfect for alchemy. The troll bones had also been meticulously prepped, stripped of all flesh and sinew. It was flawless work.
Sullivan smiled wryly. Classic Snape. The man was emotionally constipated and stubborn as a mule, but his work was always perfection. He'd go the extra mile but would rather die than admit he did a nice thing. What a headache of a personality.
---
On Saturday, Sullivan went down to Hogsmeade Village. He had a meeting with a Goblin named Hurd to discuss a real estate transfer.
Sullivan had decided to open his Magic Phone factory right here in Hogsmeade. The village had plenty of wizards and goblins—a perfect source of skilled labor and a built-in customer base.
Setting up a factory came with headaches, the biggest being the facility itself. Initially, Sullivan wanted to rent.
However, Snape had warned him against it. Most Hogsmeade properties were owned by Goblins. Those greedy landlords would wait until business was booming and then jack up the rent. Worse, they might kick you out just to open a copycat store in your place.
Plus, landlords put too many restrictions on renovations, which would make expanding the space with Undetectable Extension Charms a nightmare.
So, taking the advice to heart, Sullivan decided to buy. He had accumulated a pile of Galleons during his time in America anyway. Letting them sit in Gringotts earned zero interest, so investing in property made sense.
Real estate in Hogsmeade was pricey. New construction had been banned for over a century.
Because of Extension Charms, square footage was relative—technically, you could buy a closet and expand it into a stadium inside. This drove the unit price through the roof. At its peak, it hit 500 Galleons per square meter. It had dropped recently, but the average was still over 300.
Even with the freshman discount exchange rate of 5:1, that was £1,500. Adjusting for inflation and currency conversion, that was roughly equivalent to prime Manhattan real estate prices. For 1991, it was absolutely terrifying.
Sullivan had his eye on a storefront on the main street. He wanted such a prime location because this wouldn't just be a factory.
He was planning a Flagship Experience Store. He wanted these old-fashioned, stubborn wizards who looked down on Muggles to actually experience the convenience of a Magic Phone firsthand.
Hurd, despite being a Goblin, understood wizard etiquette well. He wore a tailored suit that made him look distinguished despite his short stature.
Seeing Sullivan, Hurd offered a standard wizard's bow and smiled.
"My dear Professor Sullivan, look at this location! Honeydukes is right across the street. The Nimbus Broomstick flagship store is to the east, and the Three Broomsticks is just a stone's throw to the west."
"No matter what you sell here, you'll be famous across Britain in no time. Sales won't be a concern!"
Sullivan mentally translated the sales pitch: This place is good! Expensive! Pay me!
Sullivan remained calm, stroking "Coal Ball," his magical pet, who was tucked in his coat. Coal Ball had just used Legilimency on the Goblin. The creature sensed Hurd was hiding something. Negotiations were always easier when you had a psychic animal on your side.
"I'm in no rush," Sullivan said. "Actually, I'm curious. If this location is so perfect, why did the last owner go out of business?"
Hurd choked a little. "Well, naturally, that was due to poor management. This used to be a wand shop—Anthony's Wands. You might have heard of them; they once rivaled Ollivanders."
"But thirty years ago, the new heir started cutting corners, using cheap substitutes instead of precious magical cores. No one noticed at first."
"But he got greedy. Wizards who bought wands here started experiencing loss of control, explosions, and backfires. The Ministry stepped in, and the scandal was exposed."
"Little Anthony fled, and the property was abandoned. I acquired the deed through... legitimate channels."
Sullivan raised an eyebrow. "So, for thirty years, this shop has sat empty? No one else tried to open a business here?"
"Ah... well... there were a few," Hurd stammered. "But they also failed due to poor management! It had nothing to do with the building, I assure you!"
Thanks to the mental link with Coal Ball, Sullivan knew the truth. In the thirty years Hurd mentioned, the shop had changed hands six times.
No shop lasted more than a year. Inventory would vanish mysteriously, and by the end of the month, the owners were always in the red.
Eventually, the locals realized the place was cursed, and no one dared to rent it.
Sullivan actually knew more about the property than Hurd did. He had sneaked in several times with detection gear and found a hidden basement beneath the bedroom.
He figured the supernatural events were tied to that basement. If he could clear the "curse," this would be a steal. And if he couldn't fix it, he'd just ask Dumbledore. The greatest wizard of the age could surely handle a little haunted basement.
Sullivan kept his poker face. "Alright. Let's talk price. If you're sincere, I might consider it."
"350 Galleons per square meter. That is the lowest price on the street. Trust me, Professor, my sincerity is as deep as the ocean," Hurd said earnestly.
Sullivan was about to haggle when his pocket buzzed. He pulled out his phone instinctively. His face went pale.
"Sorry, Mr. Hurd. Emergency. I have to go."
With a wave of his wand, Sullivan Apparated to the outskirts of Hogwarts castle. He pulled out his Magic Phone and texted Dumbledore: Professor, are you in the castle?
Back in Hogsmeade, Hurd the Goblin looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. Thirty years! Someone finally wanted to buy that money pit, and his quote had scared the customer away.
No, I have to write to Professor Sullivan, Hurd thought, panicking. I'll offer 250... no, 200 Galleons! He rushed home. He needed liquidity badly; he was tired of being "house poor" because of that cursed building.
Sullivan had no idea his abrupt exit had just saved him 150 Galleons per square meter. Right now, he couldn't care less about money.
The message he received was from Tonks: Northumberland. Help me!
After a month of knowing her, Sullivan had a soft spot for Tonks. He knew her personality; she wouldn't send a text like that unless she was in a desperate situation.
But could he handle a situation that desperate? Tonks was on a mission, likely led by Kingsley Shacklebolt. If an elite Auror like Kingsley couldn't handle it, what could Sullivan do?
His fight with the troll had shown him his limits. As an alchemist, he was great at prepared battles, but terrible at sudden, chaotic skirmishes.
He waited for Dumbledore's reply, but the screen stayed dark.
Going into the castle to hunt for the Headmaster would take too long. And what if Dumbledore wasn't even there?
If he delayed and Tonks got hurt...
No, in the original books, Tonks lives until the final battle. She can't die now, he reasoned.
But wait... my presence has caused a butterfly effect. What if this is my fault?
In the span of a minute, Sullivan cycled through a dozen excuses not to go. But every time he thought of Tonks' smile and her hair changing color with her mood, his chest tightened.
He made up his mind. He pulled his modified Kawasaki ZXR250 motorcycle out of his Extension Bag, set the destination, and roared into the sky. He had to save her.
He didn't know exactly where the town of Northumberland was, but heading toward Northumberland National Park seemed like a safe bet.
To prepare for the unknown, Sullivan accessed the "System" interface while flying. He took his last 2 General Skill Points and dumped them into Magic, boosting it to Level 8.
Level 7 and above cost more points, but the result was worth it. He felt his internal mana pool double, but more importantly, the energy felt denser, more stable.
He test-fired a few spells. The flames of his Incendio turned a hotter, intense blue. His binding ropes became tougher.
He felt a little more confident about facing whatever was waiting for him.
With the modified Kawasaki's speed, he reached the outskirts of the forest park in half an hour, arriving at a small town called Minnigaff.
Instead of landing in the town, he circled in the air until he spotted a tour guide leading a group. He dove down rapidly.
Sullivan cast a Confundus Charm to disperse the tourists and landed right next to the guide.
The guide, a middle-aged man in a shabby suit, froze. His brain short-circuited at the sight of a man on a motorcycle dropping out of the sky.
"Excuse me, do you know where the town of Northumberland is?" Sullivan asked.
The guide nodded dumbly and pointed. "That way. About twenty miles."
"Thanks." Sullivan flicked a gold Galleon into the man's breast pocket.
The engine roared, and Sullivan shot back into the sky. As he flew off, he fired a spell over his shoulder: Obliviate!
The guide would never remember why he had a strange gold coin in his pocket.
Sullivan had to stop and ask three more times before he finally hovered over the town of Northumberland. He stashed the bike in mid-air and Apparated down to the street.
Immediately, he opened his bag and tossed five "Sentry Wards" into the air. The red mechanical tentacles twisted into small wings, turning invisible as they scattered to scan the town.
The video feed showed a normal town. Nothing supernatural. The only odd thing was that several funerals were happening at once.
"Excuse me, have you seen this person?" Sullivan asked a fruit vendor, showing a photo of Tonks on his phone.
"You buying fruit?" the vendor countered, ignoring the question.
Sullivan was about to pay when Coal Ball messaged him mentally: He doesn't know.
Sullivan felt a strong urge to hit the guy with a Killing Curse. He asked several more people, even checked the local police station. Nothing.
His heart sank. Is she already gone? He swore if she survived this, he was inventing a GPS tracking feature for the Magic Phone.
Then he remembered: Tonks was a Metamorphmagus. She wouldn't look like herself on a mission.
He scrolled through his chat history and found a group photo of Tonks' Auror squad. He showed it to the fruit vendor again. "Any of these people?"
The vendor, intimidated by Sullivan's murderous glare, caved. "I saw the black guy this morning. They went toward the old castle in the west forest."
"The castle? Where exactly?" Sullivan's eyes lit up. The vendor had pointed out Kingsley Shacklebolt—a rare sight in this rural area, which explained why he was memorable.
"Follow this road up the mountain, about three miles," the vendor said, pointing. "But listen, stranger—people say that place is haunted. You shouldn't go there."
Haunted. That was exactly what Sullivan needed to hear. Without another word, he sprinted in the direction the vendor pointed.