Marvel's Hogwarts Professor

Los Angeles, USA. Hydra's Underground Base.

In the heart of the base's central command room, Hydra leaders Pierce, Madam Hydra, and Baron Zemo stood gathered around a darkened screen, each of them tense with concern.

After a long silence, Baron Zemo finally broke it. "Pierce, the signal's been lost. We've no updates from the Houston base. Are you still confident this will work?"

Pierce paused, his gaze steely. "What choice do we have? Lockhart's beyond the reach of our usual technology. Only with magic do we have any hope. We need to place our trust in our allies."

Madam Hydra interjected with a sly smile. "There's no need to worry. I've dealt with them before. I set up the blood sacrifices for them myself."

She paused, watching their reactions, and continued, "And this time, I've heard their god—Dormammu—wants Lockhart directly. With zealots like them, we can be sure they'll give everything they've got."

"God ?" Zemo asked skeptically.

"Yes, an actual god," she replied confidently. "Dormammu's followers rely on their god to fuel their rituals. They demand hundreds of human sacrifices each time. Without our assistance, they'd have vanished ages ago."

A slight, smug smile played on her lips. "Of course, I looked into these so-called sacrifices and verified through certain methods that their god exists. But he's restricted—unable to come fully to Earth."

At this, the others' expressions brightened. Technology was their realm, but magic remained uncharted for most of them. With Dormammu's presence limited, and his followers few in number and hunted, they saw potential.

Hydra's goals could be furthered with minimal risk to themselves. If Dormammu required sacrifices, they could arrange it without getting directly involved. They'd each grown skilled in hiding their true locations and identities. And if it came to it, pushing a mere agent forward was a classic Hydra strategy.

Satisfied with the prospect, Pierce cast a questioning look at Madam Hydra. "How long have you been working with these followers? Have you met them in person?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "I've only communicated via video," she replied. "It was clear the leader wasn't a peaceful type. But as you know, I operate primarily through stand-ins."

Pierce looked at her intently, unease flashing in his eyes. "And you've traded nothing physical with them? No magical items?"

Her expression darkened slightly. "Pierce, I know what I'm doing. You worry about your own work, and I'll handle mine. I'm not careless. My location has always been secure."

Pierce gave a curt nod, recognizing he'd overstepped. But he couldn't help it; the threat Lockhart posed was gnawing at him. Unlike the others, he had crossed paths with Lockhart personally, and the pressure weighed heavily on him.

Seeing that the screen remained dark, the Hydra heads exchanged silent glances and then dispersed. Each moved cautiously, always relying on doubles. But even stand-ins needed their moments of reprieve.

Pierce made his way to his private lounge. As he stood at the doorway, he looked over the spacious room, the tall bookshelves, and the white bed. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax.

But then—flicker, flicker, flicker.

The base lights began to flicker erratically, causing Pierce's pulse to spike. What's going on?

"Zola, report," he called out sharply, his voice echoing in the quiet room. He knew Zola monitored his every move.

But there was no response—only the soft, eerie hum of the flickering lights.

The silence stretched, oppressive and unnerving, sending a shiver down Pierce's spine. Instinctively, he reached for his gun, pressing himself against the wall as he scanned the room.

"Zola, can you hear me?" His voice was firm, but inside, tension tightened like a vice.

Still nothing.

Pierce grabbed his radio. "Zemo, if you're there, respond."

But only static answered. A faint, crackling hiss from the other end, but no voices. The eerie silence returned, pressing in from all sides.

After a moment, Pierce spoke aloud, "Professor Lockhart, I know you're here. If you have something to say, I'm listening."

No response, only the sizzling hum of the ceiling lights.

Pierce's pulse quickened despite himself, and though his agent instincts kicked in, he couldn't shake a creeping dread. What's going on?

Deciding not to linger, he moved back toward the command room, keeping to the shadows as he retraced his steps. His footsteps echoed down the empty corridor, merging with the steady hum of the flickering lights.

Pierce's brow furrowed. Where is everyone? The agents I trained wouldn't be caught off guard like this.

As he approached the central command room, Pierce tried the silver door, only to find it firmly locked. Frustrated, he fired at the handle, hoping to force it open. But the bullets ricocheted harmlessly to the floor as if they'd struck an invisible barrier.

Then, the door began to ripple as if it were alive, shifting in color from silver to an eerie shade of gray. From its surface, ghostly, silver-white hands emerged, reaching toward him.

Pierce's breath hitched, but his instincts took over. He fired again, emptying his clip into the reaching hands, but the bullets had no effect. He turned and sprinted down the left corridor, dodging the hands that seemed to grow and multiply along the walls and floor, stretching to grab him.

In his panic, a chilling, otherworldly voice began to echo in his ears.

"Pierce, I'm going to catch you this time…"

The voice repeated, hauntingly close.

Pierce's fear swelled, and though he knew he was just a stand-in, the terror felt all too real. He fired his gun wildly, his steps frantic, even as the rational part of him tried to regain control.

"Lockhart, I know it's you! Come out and face me!" he yelled into the empty hall, his voice laced with desperation.

But the silver hands continued to reach for him, relentless. His gun now empty, Pierce stumbled forward, each step weighted with growing dread. He felt his mind slipping, memories fading as only panic and instinct remained.

His lips moved soundlessly as he muttered the words, "New order… Hydra… New order…"

As the strange energy around him intensified, Pierce's form began to change. His body grew faint and translucent, like a ghost. He passed through walls and corridors, his eyes blank, driven by a primal need to escape.

Elsewhere, in the base's central control room, Lockhart observed through six crystal spheres, each one showing a different Hydra head—Pierce, Madam Hydra, Baron Zemo, and others—all in similar states of spectral disorientation. Their bodies flickered in and out like ghosts, stumbling forward with hollow expressions, each heading toward their true bodies.

Snape, standing beside Lockhart, watched with a mix of awe and caution. "Lockhart, don't you think this is a bit… extreme?"

He had just witnessed Lockhart casting dark magic—fear spells, memory erasure, curses—all designed to twist the minds and souls of the Hydra operatives.

Lockhart glanced at Snape, his expression unreadable. "Extreme? These are Hydra's leaders we're talking about. I'm just helping them reunite with themselves."

Snape's lips thinned, but he said nothing. He only worried that Lockhart's use of dark magic could become a temptation. It was a power he had struggled with himself in his youth.

Seemingly sensing Snape's concern, Lockhart turned to him. "Don't worry, Severus. I know exactly where I stand. Dark magic isn't something I take lightly."

"Good," Snape replied, his voice low. "Because this kind of magic can quickly take hold if you're not careful."

Lockhart nodded thoughtfully. He returned his attention to the screens, gauging the scene's outcome.

"This should be the end for Hydra," he remarked. "Perhaps it's time to elevate the students' training."

Lockhart considered the students' training needs carefully. "I have to admit," he added, "Hydra was never more than a practice tool for them. But now that we've dealt with Dormammu's followers, they need a greater challenge."

"Agreed," Snape said. "The students have learned much about technological weapons. What they need now is true magical combat. You mentioned knowing the sorcerers of Kamar Taj. Perhaps you could bring some apprentices over for real sparring sessions?"

Lockhart hesitated, but after a moment he nodded. "I'll see if I can arrange it."

With their plans settled, Lockhart turned back to the crystal spheres. He raised his wand and tapped the air, and with two sharp cracks, two figures appeared on the floor, bound and struggling, their mouths sealed by a silent spell. Red runes glowed ominously on their foreheads, while fiery red chains bound their wrists, torsos, and legs.

These were the captured followers of Dormammu. Lockhart had kept two alive; he saw little need to preserve the third, who he had sent directly into Dormammu's dimension.

Lockhart waved his wand, lifting the silencing spell. "So," he said, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Any last words?"

One of the disciples sneered defiantly. "Lockhart, the great Dark God watches you. When he comes, you'll be powerless to escape."

"Darkness is coming," the other chimed in, his eyes gleaming with fervor. "Soon we'll all be reborn."

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