A rendezvous with a doppelgänger, encounters with witches, and an unexpected companion from «my» past.

— So, that is that. I see. And what does she do nowadays?

After fifteen years since my disappearance, Maria resigned from her position as an ICM representative, dedicating herself to two pursuits: her personal growth and the quest for me. While she could not entirely abandon her social and political engagements in European countries, she pursued them with moderation. Nowadays, she holds the esteemed position of abbess at a Catholic convent.

Within the convent's walls, she trains talented nuns, honing their abilities with a particular focus on healing arts and potion-making. She provides moral support, assisting the Brothers of the Order of the Creator and the Dragon in their battle against evil.

Nowadays, no serious military operation, however promising and difficult, is conducted without the presence of a field hospital, where the nuns of a convent provide immediate assistance to the wounded soldiers. Despite the fact that the Church has long held a dominant position in Europe, there still exist hidden locations such as ancient pagan temples, tombs, and other sites from which many malevolent forces emerge. Consequently, the work of the military arm of the Catholic Church remains abundant, with incidents occurring almost annually.

That concludes my knowledge regarding Maria and Konecki, who, naturally, follows her superior everywhere. Now, I anticipate you to share with me the details of your recent absence and the circumstances that have led to your current predicament. I find it hard to believe that you were merely seeking solitude.

"Haa. Shall we go to your workshop and upload my memories? I simply cannot fathom it. Why would Maria come to see you in person when she could have used a pair of communication artifacts or a patronus, for example?"

"Maria was never one for making a fuss. She was passionate and had a strong will, but she always approached her impulses rationally and knew how to control them. I had to work hard to teach her this trait, for haste and impetuousness can cost a sorcerer not only their life, but their soul, and with it a worthy reincarnation."

"After she became an Archmage, due to the nature of her primary specialty, dreamwalking, all communication artifacts malfunction in her presence, or even behave in strange ways. The only method she can use to transmit messages is her patronus, but it is highly conspicuous and known to those in power. Thus, she cannot use it to conceal our connection."

"What's wrong with her Patronus? She's a beautiful lizard, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"I really didn't understand the intricacies of this mode of communication."

"There's nothing wrong with him. He's great! He's very distinctive, and I don't know anyone else who has a Patronus like him."

Still, a Patronus, as a magical being, is a sign of a powerful wizard and extraordinary abilities."

This became even more perplexing. Well, yes, I agree that the Komodo dragon is formidable, but the non-magical world has already discovered and recognized it.

But seeing no comprehension of the issue in my expression, he clarified further.

"Heh. Perhaps for you, Svyatozar, having a fifty-metre basilisk as your Patronus would not be unusual," he said, "but outdated information. Now, he's all one hundred."

The presence of a dragon's Patronus is a commonplace and unexceptional fact, but for most wizards, it is a significant affirmation of strength and singularity!

No or yes? Certainly, it happens, but there's more to it than that.

"Is her patronus a dragon now, a member of the magical fauna?" I inquired. "Not a Komodo dragon?"

Alfonso nodded, confirming my suspicion. "It's sometimes called a dragon," he replied, his voice tinged with impatience. He was already eager to continue our conversation.

"Svyatozar," he exclaimed, "I can't bear it any longer! Let's go downstairs! I want to hear about your adventures!"

I sighed, pondering the futility of waiting for the advent of cinema with advanced computer graphics. Perhaps it would quench my friend's thirst for excitement and adrenaline, as it had been unable to do for me. These days, there is little in the way of truly captivating entertainment. My friend's sole source of joy lies in summoning demons and subduing their will. Poor fellow.

When one observes him in his senility, his appearance and demeanor may seem harmless, like that of a benign grandfather. However, when the need arises, he transforms into a sadistic maniac, a ravenous predator who is unafraid to delve into the depths of another sentient being, alive and aware, to inflict torment and breach their mental defenses. His goal is to subjugate and train this demon into an obedient dog, one that will fetch his slippers with its teeth.

After sharing my most vivid recollections of the past few years with him, I left him to his solitude for the day. Before I departed, I informed him that I would be venturing to the realm of witches, promising to return the following night. My intention was to ascertain the well-being of my vassals and gather information about the activities of the Order of the Dragon, as well as their interactions with the nuns at my former student's monastery.

"Well, hullo, Vold," I said.

Just fifteen seconds after my arrival in the assembly hall of the Citadel, Witold appeared, accompanied by Olaf and a group of other enigmatic individuals. They were all dressed in combat attire, evidently prepared for battle. It seemed that the alarm for spatial displacement had been activated, and I had sensed it, yet I had not paid it any heed.

"Svyatozar, I'm so relieved you finally arrived," he exclaimed, embracing me. I felt a bit awkward, for his joy at my return seemed genuine. For me, they were not mere acquaintances, but individuals whom I aided for a specific purpose: to provide him with the means to summon professional monster hunters, thereby gaining weight and influence within the European political arena. The witches extolled me, almost worshipping me. After all, I had rescued them from a dire situation where they would likely have perished had we not encountered each other. Perhaps this is why they did not appear in the canonical works described by J. K. Rowling; they existed only in historical records by that time.

"I too am delighted to see you," I responded to his emotional outpouring, once my feet had regained their footing and I was returned to my original position. "Please gather all the leaders of the Order. I wish to receive a detailed, firsthand account of events in my absence and meet with each of them."

Within the hour, I encountered my former acquaintances, and the personnel of the management remained unchanged, save for the presence of a new face. As I observed this young woman, with her petite stature, seated at Adair's side, I swiftly deduced that she held a familial relationship to him, as she appeared anxious and sought solace in Flitwick's presence. It was likely she was his daughter, as their resemblance was striking.

And I was correct. The young woman's name was Maria, and she was the youngest daughter of Adair, having now assumed the position of head of the workshop for crafting artefacts. She possessed two exceptionally potent magical abilities. One of these abilities was specifically attuned to the creation of artefacts, while the other was focused on the manipulation of blood and bone. Under her skilled hands, remarkable bone artefacts emerged, imbued with enchantments based on goblin runes and thaumaturgical vampire sigils.

From a young age, she found immense joy in displaying her talents, having already demonstrated them. She relished the process of creating and crafting with her own hands. Despite her relatively young age, Maria possessed a mastery of artefact creation that would befit a master craftsman, and her reserves and control were such that she would soon attain the level of power befitting an archmage.

Sire, the number of witches has now risen to thirty-three thousand and eleven. Of these, fifteen thousand are combatants, half of whom are actively engaged in the direct operations of the Knights of the Order of the Dragon in Europe. The remaining witches serve as the garrison of the Citadel and Rock Haven, as well as providing security for the industries, greenhouses, and farms in the magical realm.

Witold concluded his report, after which Agnieszka took the floor to continue.

The Order requires nothing and is capable of achieving complete self-sufficiency at any given moment, yet we continue to procure food and other supplies from the mundane world through the Church apparatus. The current reserves of foodstuffs, fabrics, materials, household utensils, and ingredients, along with rare components necessary for concoctions and other magical requirements, will suffice for our needs for a period of seven centuries.

By focusing our production on premium and expensive goods, we have satisfied over seventy percent of the demands of the European market for the items we manufacture. Agnieszka, as content as a cat after a sumptuous meal, appears ready to groom herself. Her satisfaction is understandable, as she joined the ranks of the Order during their challenging times. When I encountered the witches, no one else comprehended their predicament, but she already occupied the position she holds today.

Hkm, the current value of our treasury amounts to one hundred and eighty million galleons, and this figure pertains solely to coinage. If we were to estimate the full extent of our treasuries, the sum would likely exceed that figure by a factor of five. Our treasury holds approximately nine hundred million worth of precious assets.

Olaf has already spoken, and the combat capabilities of the Order have also been enhanced. We now boast eleven Archimages and a total of two hundred and forty-three Masters within our ranks.

Oh, a balm for my soul. Well done, witches! Just beautiful! I did the right thing in taking control of those who were unnecessary and even harmful to society. They were just right for me.

The witches had an organized structure, a well-established and functioning school of fighters with experienced instructors, motivation, and a strong foundation. I took them under my wing, as they were a threat to human society, and non-human beings found them perfectly suitable to become vassals of the Naga. Nor were they prejudiced against the Fae, as they had been severely ostracized themselves due to their nature as magical chimeras.

Moreover, I do not know what exactly someone associates this with and how it occurs, but I have never met a witch who only thinks of their own benefit. Man, they are the perfect communists who have already built socialism. To them, it does not matter where the coin rattles, in their pockets or in the treasury of the Order.. They maintain a strict regimen of frugality, with only the bare essentials retained, while all surplus is channeled into the treasury.

Regarding the Archimages, myself and Alfonso, at the onset of my apprenticeship and his mentorship in demonology, Scorpion Man summoned me once during a training session and inquired, out of curiosity, about the number of Archimages present in Europe. My response was a categorical «None!» — I had yet to encounter the progeny of Dagon or Dracula, and I was at the zenith of my mentor's influence.

Now I have at my disposal eleven archimages, plus my Maria and Koneka, not to mention my brother Alfonso, making a total of fourteen units of raw power each of which could lay waste to Europe. Perhaps not with one strike, but with a few well-placed blows, any one of them could accomplish the task, even if an archimage specialises in druids, healing, or some other non-combative aspect of the arcane arts.

"I see," Marcus interjected. "What about my assignment to search for squibs in England, Switzerland, Spain, and Poland, and how is the recruitment process progressing?"

For a period of time, we have put this practice on hold, and for over two decades, we have not accepted anyone from the outside. Our zeal in this matter alarmed the Vatican, but as soon as we received hints about it, we ceased our actions.

The church is currently led by a staunch supporter of humanity, who is opposed to anything that does not fall within that definition. While Pope Leo XIII remains in office, we have decided not to exacerbate the situation. There has been cautious talk among the cardinals about conducting a census of Dragon Knights within the church, but I have already made it clear that we serve not the Church, but the Lord God.

Maria Badoer's support for the Order of the Creator has temporarily silenced the most vocal advocates among the highest ecclesiastical dignitaries.

Thus, that is the situation! I must now consider how to further confound the church, ensuring they have enough concerns beyond my order.

It is unlikely that the situation will escalate into violent confrontation. The Order of the Creator, represented by Mary and her Battle Nuns, has clearly stated its support. Not only are her followers skilled in healing, but they are also capable of using Hellfire and Hades' Breath in case of necessity. Moreover, she has a few individuals who can employ the Path of Anubis multiple times.

The Inquisition, while maintaining its neutral position, has yet to take a side. However, it is unlikely that they would engage in direct conflict with us if they were ordered to do so. After all, there is a history of bloodshed between us, which continues to this day. Regardless of one's opinion of the Inquisition, there are only a small number of fanatical believers who consider the Pope to be the voice of God on Earth. They would not align themselves with those they have fought alongside against evil and monstrous forces.

Upon hearing Marcus' report, I was compelled to take action against those Vatican clerics who had lost their sanity. What, like Salazar in his youth? No, we cannot resort to causing pestilence or other calamities. Innocent lives would be lost. We must be more subtle!

Hmm. Why not? I just need to deliberate, for I have had such insights before, which have led to some rather unfortunate situations. Well, I shall ponder it later. Allow my subliminal streams of consciousness to contemplate the idea and its execution. I must go there at some point, anyway.

What am I talking about? The egregore. It is not a wise course to leave such a vast resource untapped and entirely outside my control. But it is a perfect fit! An extraordinary idea has occurred to me: how to serve the clergy a cunning trick and not draw attention to myself or my vassals. I have resurrected an old friend of mine, Vincenzo Amati. A true zealot with unwavering faith in the Lord, his soul, after death, must find its place in the pantheon — if, indeed, after the departure of Yahweh or Sabaoth or whatever you wish to call it — the mechanism for extracting the souls of mortals still operates and the chalice functions properly.. And should I ascend to the celestial realm, to the very throne of the deity who abandoned this world, I shall easily locate the soul of the rational individual I seek and resurrect them without effort. I will perform a veritable feat, causing the heads of these cardinals to ache with concern. It shall be an extraordinary occurrence, and my comrade in arms shall leave their camarilla in disarray. He shall crush the cradle and squish it like a flea. Only, it will be essential to make it grand and with ample witnesses. All of Europe must be made aware of the trial! My fingers itch with an eagerness to bring it about.

I fulfilled your request to create all masters of personal spirit weapons long ago. Following that, I moved forward and began crafting such weapons for magical masters.

At present, there are twenty-six thousand, three hundred and forty-one magical witches who possess personal spiritual artefacts. My workshop has significantly expanded, and under my guidance, there are now twenty-six masters blacksmiths who have achieved the rank of Master in magic, with three of them close to becoming Archimage.

He paused, but I could see that everyone in the room, save for his daughter, held a similar level of power. We also have one hundred and three apprentices, and I anticipate that within twenty years, they will all attain mastery in their craft.

There is a great demand for our products in the market, and we are well-supplied with orders for the next half-century. Naturally, we do not offer our finest work, as it is reserved for apprentices.; The quality of our products is slightly superior to that of our own, but our work remains unparalleled in the market. Your brother is the only sane individual who possesses a sword crafted by us, surpassing even the finest weapons forged by master craftsmen.

Adair, well done! Even from a distance, I take great solace in knowing that what transpires here brings me moral and spiritual fulfillment, and I cannot help but feel elated at the mere thought that it all stems from the wise decision I made long ago, which continues to yield dividends to this very day.

"Well done, Adair! I have come to the conclusion that the Order is thriving and well-equipped. Soon, I will solve the problems of the Vatican, and they will be out of our way. Now, tell me, do you have any personal requests or desires? If it is within my power, I shall grant them. Well?"

As I looked at their smiling faces, calm and unperturbed as before, devoid of any trace of mental turmoil or contemplation, I realized that they desired nothing! Without my assistance, they were content with their status, their position in society, and the knowledge that they were part of something greater than just the Order — they were one extended family.

Svyatozar, through your efforts, we have achieved all that we could have ever hoped for. Our global endeavors are now free from stress, our work is fairly compensated, and our standard of living and resources surpass what many royal courts and noble magical dynasties could only dream of.

We have become a power to be respected or, at the very least, feared. We have formed families, and this is all thanks to you, Svyatozar. Personally, I cannot imagine any greater dream, and I believe that my brothers and sisters feel the same. We are living our dreams not in dreams but in reality.

In the midst of Witold's lengthy and candid monologue, the intelligent individuals present nodded in agreement with his words and smiled openly at me, expressing gratitude for all that I have given them. My response was simple: "I did what I believed was right. There is no need for thanks. Your presence in my life has provided me with ample opportunities and perspectives. All is fair, all is just!"

We spent approximately half an hour at the communal table in the conference room, during which Iolanthe provided me with a detailed response and elucidation on certain aspects of interest regarding the accomplishments and successes of my subordinates in the field of artifacting. After that, we parted ways.

I also took the opportunity to engage in a brief exchange with Marcus.

Iolanthe, as you have joined the clan but also remain my vassal, it is essential that you, on behalf of your clan, submit to my authority, along with its magical powers. After all, your clan's code may clash with the Charter of the Order, and your magic might rebel. To prevent this, we can either go to your family's estate in Scotland tomorrow or today, where you will bestow an omen on the Zmiev family from the Peverell line. So, when shall we depart?

Once I feared to approach him, but now I am certain in my abilities and see no reason to deprive myself of the opportunity to gain additional benefits from vassalship over such an ancient lineage, whose founder was none other than Morena herself!

"We can do so now," Marcus's wife replied with a slight shrug. "I will accompany the children to our family's ancestral home, allowing them to interact with the portraits of our forebears."

"Very well, then. I shall await here while you and the children prepare to depart."

As they departed, I conjured a pair of duplicate-images and dispatched them to the chamber in the subterranean realm, where my altars — relics of power — lay, conducting the initiation of sorceresses. It was imperative that I gather intelligence from all my duplicate magi imprisoned within them, leading to the creation of new witches. These duplicates would update the information and become duplicate-images themselves.

Meanwhile, I retrieved my relic-library and sifted through the new data that had accumulated in my absence. During my sojourn in the realm, I observed that the connection between artifacts in the otherworld had been severed. Consequently, my personal library, which I carried with me, had not received recent additions. However, upon my return to my own world, the relic-library resumed functioning normally and received an extensive influx of fresh information. Now, it contained twice as much data as it did prior to my arrival in Stlloshh.. The goblins have played a pivotal role in such a profuse influx of new knowledge. These aberrations endeavor to deprive humanity of its capacity for resistance, and knowledge has naturally been a major player in this.

However, their avarice prevented them from merely destroying valuable and at times even priceless tomes and other repositories of information. Consequently, they have hoarded everything they have acquired, which was obtained through bloody means and intrigue in their subterranean lair. Gringotts still reigns over the xenos, and they meticulously transcribe all new knowledge into their artefact libraries, from which they disseminate it to me and the general network of artefacts owned by witches such as Maria and Koneka, and Alfonso.

The incorporation of the Peverell lineage under my auspices proceeded without incident or surprise. Dinner was imminent, but another notion arose in my mind. However, before proceeding further, I deemed it necessary to address a matter, thus I turned to Iolanthe.

We were ascending the stairs from the depths of the subterranean chamber, where the wellspring and ancestral relic of her clan resided.

"Iolanthe," I inquired, "do you have any knowledge of the current headmaster of Hogwarts?"

She responded, "Indeed, I am aware. Nigelus Phineas Black holds that position at present."

"Splendid! I shall be attending Hogwarts."

"Oh, splendid!" I exclaimed. "I must take my leave of you now, as I cannot join you for dinner, for I have pressing matters to attend to. Since there is nothing further for me to say or do in your presence, I shall see you again later."

With that, I descended the stairs directly to the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, more specifically, to the flight of stairs leading to the said office. Ascending to the highest level of the headmaster's tower and unlocking the door, I entered the office, which was the locus of all the primary keys to controlling and accessing the system of enchantments and functionalities that ensured the proper functioning and protection of the institution. Only the sanctum sanctorum, the source of Hogwarts' magic, offered greater opportunities for manipulating and adjusting the school's systems.

The office was empty, save for the portraits of former headmasters adorning the walls. It bore no resemblance to the description in Rowling's book when Dumbledore took up residence there. Whereas Albus's office had been like an eccentric collection of artefacts, Nigelus's was minimalistic, austere, and opulent! However, this opulence was not manifested in ostentatious displays of precious metals or stones, but rather in the exquisite craftsmanship and noble hues of valuable magical woods. The predominant colours were black and dark brown, subtly accented with amber and jade details in the form of intricate statuettes and panels adorning the walls alongside the living portraits. These pseudo-personalities regarded me with a curious gaze, as if I were an unwelcome intruder in this inner sanctum of the school.. But one did so with such intensity that, glancing at the inscription on the frame of the portrait, I discerned the words: «Corwin Gont». Aha, so this is how you appear, my donor's kin, but Salazar has bestowed upon me so much, and it would be foolish to deny my connection to him. Now I possess all his knowledge, magical power and other souls after the complete transmission. Therefore, it would be justified to claim from him, and from his kin, what he has given me already.

They did not allow me a prolonged glance at the interior. No sooner had I entered the room than Black appeared, his dark power swirling around him, attempting to attack me with an Avada! What on earth?

No greeting, no offer to sit. He struck me immediately with the Unforgivable Curse, which is now recognized by the MACUSA. I do not know what I am talking about. I am aware of Blacks for their acuity and impetuosity, sometimes going to extremes and spiraling into madness and psychosis.

The Avada Kedavra did not even faze me. I did not put up any defenses, but absorbed it with my own aura, which also absorbed the second Unforgivable. It was like a cup of coffee in the morning, a slight jolt, nothing more. He was surprised at the consequences of his own curse, and before he could even attempt to eliminate me, I bound him with telekinetic magic, placing him in a chair at the Headmaster's desk and immobilizing him. I had no interest in the Hat, or rather, in what was supposed to be contained within it, if one were to believe the rumors.

"Hello, Ron. You old dustbin!" I exclaimed, activating the hat and allowing the soul within it to take the reins of the animating spells. Upon my command, a look of profound shock and disbelief appeared on the face of the object before me.

"Nasri in me, Bucephalus!" Godric used to address all his horses. "Salazar! How on earth did you survive the troll's burp? You wretch! The moment we heard from Rowena that the Inquisition and traitors from Welsh clans had set an ambush for you, Godric and I rushed to the site of your battle, only to find your lifeless body. Rowena confirmed it was you, and you were beyond doubt dead!" Godric's words poured forth in a torrent, conveying a myriad of emotions ranging from disbelief and shock to anger and indignation, culminating in the joy of encountering an old friend and former squire.

— Why on earth did your soul find itself in a hat? What in the world made Godric do such a thing to you? The two of you were as close as brothers.

And it was true. Godric had a multitude of offspring, none of which he acknowledged as kin, denying them all the right to inherit the Gryffindor line, depriving them of the opportunity to one day become the head of their bloodline, severing all ties of family magic from the lineage to everyone but himself.

However, in his late sixties, he took a liking to a boy who attempted to steal his sword and tried to quaff from Godric's mead. The boy was apprehended and brought before Godric, who was drinking with Salazar at the inn. Ron, an agile, raven-haired lad of eight, with a gypsy-like appearance, failed in his attempt, and after a half-litre of Avalonian mead, he became intoxicated.. It is difficult to say whether Salazar's actions were motivated by his desire to steal Godric's sword or by his acceptance of Godric's challenge, but his boldness and daring undoubtedly impressed the Gryffindors.

Salazar, already quite intoxicated, climbed onto the table, where he urinated on the backs of the Welshmen, who were not popular in England. The Welshmen intended to retaliate, but in his drunken state, Salazar pierced the hand of one of them with an awl concealed in his sleeve. He then leapt from the table, attempted to hide under it, and attempted to flee the inn. However, he did not need to. Godric and Salazar were not fond of the Welsh either, and within moments, there were six fewer intelligent people in the inn, leaving an equal number of corpses behind.

I intercepted Salazar as he attempted to leave the inn and escorted him back to our table. Salazar became Godric's squire, and later, his heir.. Gryffindor House had welcomed him into their fold and proclaimed him their magical heir before the family relic. Yet, I could not fathom what had rendered him a captive of the Sorting Hat.

"It was that woman!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with such intensity that one could feel the depth of his hatred towards Rowena's daughter. "She did this to me! After your 'passing', Godric and I spent an entire year dwelling on the bitterness of our loss. To him, you were like a younger brother, but to me, you were akin to an uncle. I believed that you were my own blood kin, Salazar, until the very beginning of my training under Godric's guidance. After all, there was a striking resemblance between us."

With a heavy sigh, Ron recounted the tragic tale of his adoptive father's demise.

We were ambushed during one of our customary excursions through the inns of England. Godric, having imbibed copious amounts of alcohol, was caught off guard when arrows tipped with cold iron and poisonous darts were unleashed upon us. Somebody had activated a potent magical suppressor.

Godric, though intoxicated, remained sufficiently alert to avoid being completely taken by surprise. Had it not been for my presence, he might have escaped unscathed. But you know him, fool that he is! From the top of his head down to the calluses on his feet, a knight of steel! He seized me by the nape of my neck and thrust an enchanted artifact into my pocket, one crafted by Rowena. This artifact enabled him to transport me to another dimension. He hoisted me into the air and flung me away from the ensuing battle.

Rowena, upon discovering the incident and confirming Godric's demise and departure from this world, used a soul-trapping dagger to pierce my heart.

Indeed, what a remarkable woman. Godric did not harbour romantic feelings for her. I mean, he valued and esteemed her as a friend and an accomplished sorcerer, but the lack of affection on Godric's part did not deter her from her fixation. It was unfortunate for Ron that he was the primary cause of her beloved's demise, and she exacted her retribution upon him.

I apologise for the inconvenience, my friend. I had ample time to examine the construction of this hat and comprehend the essence of what was achieved through the rituals of soul fusion and the intricate enchantments embedded within it. Unfortunately, I am unable to extract Ron's spirit from the hat and subsequently revive it in its original form. Morgana, a skilled druid, performed a ritual that merged Ron's essence with the hat's fabric, leaving behind only the immortal Atman of his soul. The first two layers of his being have been erased, leaving behind an astral shell that bears no resemblance to a human body. This shell contains a diminished sentient spirit and a fragment of Ron's magical essence, but it lacks the core and the channels of magic. The only remaining integral layer is the mental plane, which is sustained by the mana drawn from the connection with Hogwarts. Even my divine powers cannot restore the missing layers and separate them from their physical manifestation as a hat.

"Alas, there is nothing I can do to assist you. Rowena is an expert in her field, and a virtuoso when it comes to spirit shells. I do not know if this will be of any comfort, but I have destroyed her soul."

"What do you mean?"

"She also fell into the hands of the Inquisition in France, it is a proven fact."

The hat nodded in agreement. "Yes, indeed, she did!"

"You do not know everything, friend. Rowena was a woman of many lives, on the run from Milady. When we met, she was dozens of years older than any of us, and you know one of her identities that made history. If you think about it, you can even guess one of her former names. A character cannot hide."

And now the hat's cartoon face expressed disbelief and doubt.

"No, it cannot be Morgana!" came out of the hat after several seconds of contemplation.

"There you go. I said you could do it."

But now it was time to get down to business. There would be time to talk with an old friend later.

"Why did I come to Hogwarts?" I asked, lifting the hat from its shelf and reaching into its depths to summon the sword of my rightful heir. "That's why," I replied.

With the ceremonial sword of Gryffindor in my hand, Nigelus's eyes widened in disbelief. Ha! I had forgotten all about him, which was no fault of his. It was a common occurrence for me to lose myself in interesting conversations or experiments. Ah well.

A few of my secondary consciousnesses were monitoring for danger, but they paid little mind to such trivialities. They were part of me, after all, with their own unique personalities. Placing the hat back on its shelf and tucking the sword into a spatial pocket, I turned to Ron, the reluctant witness to my exchange with Nigelus.

"What am I to make of you?" I inquired of Nigelus. As my gaze fell upon him, the veil of deception lifted from his countenance, revealing the true visage of basilisk eyes. Yet, devoid of their lethal or paralyzing intent, I peered into the depths of one of Hogwarts' most repugnant heads.