Hogwarts: Bloodline Legend

Hiss! Hermione felt awful all over, she had only seen those sensational stories in the newspapers, but now she actually suspected that she had become a victim in one of them?

Such a shocking thought emerged.

She suddenly panicked and quickly dismissed this absurd idea. The portraits on the corridor walls looked curiously and a few even whispered among themselves.

With these portraits witnessing.

Professor Lockhart shouldn't be that insanely deranged, right?

Hmm, that's impossible! Professor Lockhart can't be a pervert, after all, every professor at Hogwarts has undergone a strict background check, and this is recorded in "Hogwarts: A School History" as well!

Honestly speaking.

If it were in the past.

Hermione would have been very trusting of "Hogwarts: A School History," but ever since the events of yesterday, she doesn't have much confidence in the records of "Hogwarts: A School History" anymore. Professor Lockhart appears charming, indeed resembling many novel's disguised perverts.

Regarding this part of the books.

The Little Witch had previously explored.

There are similar cases in Sherlock Holmes' stories.

"What did he take that Gryffindor girl to the office for?"

"Bet a Galleon on it, surely another show-off of his new book..."

The portraits whispered among themselves.

They did not have such wildly imaginative thoughts as Hermione.

"Hopefully, it's just showing off his new book."

Hermione sincerely prayed that the portraits were correct.

Her heartbeat accelerated rapidly, almost breaking through her chest. As she turned the last corner, she caught Peeves on the ceiling making a throat-cutting gesture at her.

"Damn!"

Hermione wanted to pick up a stone and throw it, but how could there be such rubbish in Hogwarts castle? Helplessly, she could only fiercely glare at Peeves and ignore him.

All the way, her heartbeat quickened, she could even hear her own heart pounding. Finally, they arrived at the office door of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

The door to the Defense Against the Dark Arts office slid open silently.

Lockhart pushed the door open, inviting her inside. Hermione took a deep breath and stepped through. Expectantly, the inside was surprisingly tidy. Lockhart's shiny medals and most self-portraits had been removed, replaced by a simple oak table and a few tomes that appeared frequently perused.

Of course, the office still had a faint perfume scent, and a picture of Lockhart remained on the wall, though no longer as excessive as Hermione previously noticed.

"Sit." Lockhart gestured to the chair opposite, then gracefully sat himself. His actions flowed smoothly, contrasting his usual ostentation.

Instead, it carried a kind of elegance that Hermione had never seen before...

Like aristocracy.

Hermione sat in the chair, hands clasped together tightly, back straight, mind racing with various possibilities. Yet, when Lockhart sat down.

His expression suddenly turned serious, his tone calm. Lockhart interlaced his fingers, resting them near his chin, blue eyes fixed on her, "Ian Prince?"

It must be said.

Hermione had thought of many possibilities.

But this question was truly unexpected.

"What?" Hermione blurted out, brain instantly blank. She had imagined countless possibilities but never this question. Ian Prince? How did Professor Lockhart suddenly mention this name? For a moment, the Little Witch didn't know how to respond, she could only open her mouth, trying to organize words.

No choice.

Due to her promise to Dumbledore, Hermione couldn't discuss or was afraid to talk about what happened in the Forbidden Forest. But now, asked to fabricate a lie, her mind was a void.

"I don't know."

After stammering for a long time, Hermione could only respond with this.

However.

The next moment.

An even more mind-stopping event occurred.

"You need to confess to me."

Professor Lockhart spoke softly, as if something was swirling in his eyes, Hermione felt her will beginning to blur—and the next moment, a sound of a door opening echoed from behind.

"Grandfather, Headmaster Dumbledore would not want to see you do this."

Still Lockhart's voice.

Directly snapped the dazed Hermione back to clarity.

She turned suddenly.

Incredulous to find another Professor Lockhart standing at the door.

What's going on?

Hermione's breath paused for an instant.

Her lips trembled, but she couldn't make a sound. The air in the office felt frozen, only the fireplace occasionally emitted slight crackling sounds.

"Polyjuice Potion?"

After a long time.

Hermione's head shifted between the two Professor Lockharts.

She cautiously inquired.

"Transformation technique couldn't be such an inconvenient thing?"

There was a mocking laugh rising.

Just see.

The Professor Lockhart sitting at the desk began to transform, turning into a silver-haired old man, his appearance so familiar from history books stunned Hermione.

"Grindelwald!"

She screamed in horror.

"You will forget this day, but before that, you need to tell me where Ian Prince and Albus Dumbledore have gone."

Grindelwald spoke softly.

...

The night draped down.

The depths of the Forbidden Forest were covered in a murky darkness. Tall ancient trees rustled in the wind, in this environment that should be bustling with life, no creature's noise was heard.

Only the sound of flames burning.

In a clearing deep within the Forbidden Forest, a bonfire crackled.

In this tranquility, a Bronze Gate stood silently, like an ancient relic. Its entire surface was covered with intricate runes, emitting a faint glow.

As if waiting to be awakened at a particular moment.

And before this grand door, a figure sat cross-legged, holding a tree branch with a piece of roasted meat skewered, the fire reflected on the boy's face.

Revealing his slightly lazy expression.

Ririm—or rather, that ancient existence with the boy's appearance—was leisurely flipping the roast over. Grease dripped into the firepit, emitting an enticing "sizzling" sound.

This was probably the only noise in the Forbidden Forest now.

The boy had been here all day.

"Really boring..."

Ririm took a big bite of the meat, grumbling indistinctly.

"It's been all day, why hasn't there been any movement?"

While mumbling, Ririm looked up at the sky.

Moonlight filtered through dense tree canopies, casting mottled shadows on him. He casually tossed the clean bone into the fire, wiping his greasy fingers on his robe.

Then rose, stretched lazily, then patted the dust off his robe.

"Whatever, let's find some fun." Ririm muttered to himself, walking toward the silently standing Bronze Gate, "Challenging the so-called 'Wizard King' should be quite interesting."

His palm pressed against the cold surface of the gate, instantly, the entire Bronze Gate began to tremble, runes flashing with brilliant light as if responding to his magic input.

"This rumored Trial Tower, I haven't seen it for a long time." Ancient runes continuously flashed with eerie green light—a vortex slowly formed in the center of the door.

In the twisted space, a figure gradually emerged.

An old wizard with gray hair, a sinister face stepped over the threshold, his robe billowing without wind. When he saw the boy before him, his murky eyes suddenly widened.

"Damn! Imposter! You imposter! I am the rightful one!" The old wizard suddenly roared, his voice hoarse and piercing, "I shall become the King of all realms!"

Seeing this scene.

Ririm was not surprised either.

He seemed to know this door's particular function long ago.

"You're just entertainment, you're no King of anything." Ririm unabashedly criticized another version of himself, rubbing his hands together, ready to unleash terrifying Ancient Magic.

The opposite side was the same.

The elder clutching his scepter swung it fiercely.

The battle erupted instantly.

The feast of Ancient Magic disturbed the peace of this land.