HP: The Dangerous Azkaban Professor

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"Is that so?" Erios murmured absentmindedly, his voice dazed and hollow. "You never once thought of stealing my research?"

The Nightingale calmly replied, "We were only searching for materials. Someone else will help us complete the wand's creation…"

"Who?" Erios cut in sharply, his voice tightening as another wave of agitation took hold. "When it comes to wandmaking, who could possibly compare to me?"

His mood spiraled again… nervous, erratic, unstable.

"Wandcraft is an ancient and profound art," he muttered, eyes wide with a feverish light. "Only I can forge creations that rival the Elder Wand… only I… only me!"

His gaunt and timeworn face twisted with madness.

"Who did you find to craft Wands for you?" he demanded, his tone nearly manic now.

Before the other two could answer, he scoffed and sneered, dismissing them with a shake of the head. "The Ollivander family? Those old-school European traditionalists can't innovate to save their lives. If you went to them, then you've made a grave mistake."

Seeing their silence, he continued, his voice growing sharper and more frenzied. "Gregorovitch, that fool, showed a sliver of creativity… but his obsession with fame and fortune far outstripped his real devotion to the wand itself!

Then there's Shikoba Wolfe from the North American fusion faction. Her wands do excel in elemental magic, I'll give you that, but their limitations are far too glaring to ignore.

The Adebayo family in West Africa? They've mastered the blending of magic and alchemy, yes… but they've become too reliant on nature. So much so that they've forgotten the very essence of magic itself.

Only I… only I am the greatest wandmaker this world has ever known…"

With trembling hands, the old man pulled aside his robe and reached into a leather pouch at his waist. He drew out several wands, each one different in shape and style, each unlike the next. The wood gleamed faintly beneath the flickering light.

"You're looking for wands, aren't you? Then allow me to show you… what a true legendary creation looks like."

Gently, reverently, he lifted the first wand and held it out for them to see.

"Body carved from ancient cypress wood. Core from the tail feather of a Thunderbird. And embedded at the tip… an amber gem, within which lies the fossilized remains of an insect from the age of giants. When it channels natural magic, its performance surpasses that of any other wand.

Only one final step remains… a drop of the wielder's blood, infused into the wand's veins, and it will be complete."

The second wand followed.

"Crafted from self-healing yew, carved into the shape of a spinal column. The universal core is made from tendons taken from the heart of a mountain tyrannosaur. To finish it, it still needs to be soaked for a year in the fresh blood of a Mooncalf. Even now, as a half-finished prototype, its defensive capabilities are nothing short of astounding."

The third wand came next.

"A twin-cherry wood body… extremely rare! And as for the core, And the core is made from the fetal hair of unborn unicorn twins who died during a difficult labor. Incredibly rare… utterly unique.

Without question, a creation that defies the world's expectations. The offensive magic it channels is peerless… believe me, I've tried every possible combination, this one is the perfect…

Originally, it lacked one final component too—a heart from a Norwegian kraken. But it's complete now. All that remains is a single tear from its future wielder… and then it will be ready."

And finally, Erios lifted the last wand, still wrapped in soft, dark velvet. His voice grew quiet, tinged with something almost like reverence.

"Its body is crafted from a Everbloom wood. The core is formed from three rare and terrible materials—first, a tail feather from a Thestral slain by the Killing Curse; second, strands of hair from a Yeti driven mad by the Cruciatus Curse; and third, the spinal cord of an Occamy whose will was shattered under the Imperius Curse. These three components are intricately woven together, forming a core that embodies pain, death, and control… and in that lies limitless potential."

He ran his fingers slowly along the wand's surface, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

"The thorn-like spiral patterns that wrap around the wand's body allow it to store traces of residual magic from repeated spellcasting. The stronger the wielder's magic, the more powerful the spells it casts become.

It is attuned perfectly to all forms of magic. This wand… this is the culmination of everything I have ever created, born from years of relentless effort and devotion."

Then his voice began to dim, the pride slowly fading from his expression.

"What it still lacks…" he murmured, "is a true master. Someone who can truly, absolutely control it."

His voice dropped even lower.

"No one has ever succeeded in mastering it. Not yet, at least…"

Then he looked up at the two young figures standing before him, and what he said next caught them both entirely by surprise, "If either of you can wield it perfectly… then I'm willing to hand over everything I've ever achieved, without hesitation."

Sargeras picked up the wand made from translucent everbloom wood. The moment his fingers closed around it, he could feel it…something different, something powerful, something alive. He casually cast a few spells, and the sheer force they unleashed startled him.

Nightingale glanced at the old wandmaker and asked, "What exactly does it mean to wield it perfectly?"

Old Erios stared blankly ahead for a moment… then, all at once, burst out laughing.

"Hah. He has already done it…"

There was sorrow in his smile now, a quiet kind of grief, "An ordinary wizard would lose their mind the moment they touched it. The wand draws out the deepest desires buried in the heart and feeds on them, until even the simplest spell becomes impossible to cast…"

"Ha… yes… how ridiculous it is… I created a legendary wand I can't even wield myself."

The curse had already spread… dark veins now crept up along his throat. His frail, hunched body was being devoured rapidly by its power.

With trembling hands, he fumbled for a crystal vial, uncorked it, and, right in front of them, drew a single murky tear from the corner of his eye.

"Take it… all my skills, all my research… it's yours now."

Sargeras and Nightingale stood in silence, unmoving, watching him with quiet eyes.

"…Please," the old man whispered, his voice faltering. Desperation softened it now. "I'm begging you… help me. Even if it's only finding someone, anyone, just so what I've created doesn't die with me…"

At last, Sargeras gave a small nod. He stepped forward and took the vial from the old man's trembling fingers. For once, there was a rare trace of respect in his tone.

"This is true craftsmanship," he said softly. "It would be a shame to let it all disappear, swallowed up by the darkness in these ruins."

"Hah… you see it too, then…"

The black veins had already crept up his face, distorting the last of his human features. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he lifted a trembling finger and pointed at the wand of everbloom wood still held in Sargeras's hand.

"One last request… kill me with that wand… use that beautiful fire spell…"

Sargeras said nothing. The old man, seeing his hesitation, pleaded again and said to him, "I've lived for one hundred and thirty-one years… countless people have died at the hands of my wands… There's no denying it… I've been a bastard through and through. But… for the sake of these wands… please, grant me this one final, insignificant wish."

At last, Sargeras raised the wand and gently touched it to the old man's chest. A pure white flame flickered to life at the wand's tip, and in the blink of an eye, it consumed him completely.

When it was over, he gave the wand a slight wave, and a shallow pit appeared in the ground.

Nightingale knelt, gathering a few pale, drifting ashes along with the wand Erios had once wielded. She dropped them into the pit without a word. Then Sargeras summoned a stone slab and placed it at the head of the grave.

With her wand, Nightingale etched a message into the stone slab.

The grave of a wicked man,

The end of a legendary wandmaker.

To those who come after—

Do not let greed drive you to claim what was forged from the blood and bones of Felker Erios.

Or you will suffer a terrible fate.

When she finished carving the final word, she straightened up and met Sargeras's gaze.

"So, that's it? We've achieved our goal?"

"…I think so," Sargeras replied quietly, casting a glance at the ruined chamber around them. In truth, he had known for some time.

This was the place mentioned in the prophecy. Just beyond that shadowy door to the north lay what they had come for… rare materials used in wandmaking. But now, those were no longer needed.

Sargeras slipped the everbloom wand into his robes and handed the twin-cherry wood wand to Nightingale. The remaining two unfinished wands had already been reserved for their destined owners.

The matter has come to an end; it's time to return to Hogwarts…

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[Chapter End's]

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