Marvel's Hogwarts Professor

Hydra's Hidden Depths—Unknown Underground Base

Baron Strucker stood in one of Hydra's hidden bases, buried countless meters beneath the earth's surface. The vast screen before him displayed live feeds—images sent from his robotic stand-ins scattered strategically across the globe.

Hydra's robot stand-in technology was sophisticated, honed through years of clandestine development. Every Hydra leader wielded similar assets, each with unique approaches—some preferring fully mechanical proxies, others opting for bio-engineered counterparts. In their line of work, survival was paramount, and nobody understood this better than Hydra's leadership. Capturing one of these stand-ins offered little; they retained no core secrets, no way to unmask the true figure lurking behind the mask.

To minds like Strucker's, so long as he lived, Hydra would persist. The organization's lifeblood was survival through redundancy and secrecy.

Currently, the central feed on the screen displayed one such robotic double facing off with none other than Gilderoy Lockhart. Watching the unfolding scene, Strucker's expression remained impassive.

He knew the limitations programmed into his stand-ins. These replicas, modeled after Hydra's leaders, were meticulously restricted in certain ways. Personalities were modified, sometimes set to self-destruct if captured, and adjusted based on mission requirements. The proxy facing Lockhart, for example, was programmed to be excessively zealous and stubborn—traits meant to enforce completion of its task, no matter the cost. That it would utter defiant threats when captured was expected.

However, Strucker's thoughts were far from the robotic duplicate's antics; his focus lay elsewhere—on Lockhart's latest move.

Strucker was fully briefed on Pierce's nuclear gambit. While the substitute could remain blissfully unaware, he had known in advance and had made the appropriate preparations. The attack, however, failed spectacularly, defying all reasonable expectations. Lockhart, apparently miles from ground zero, had somehow nullified a missile nearly 20 kilometers away with, it seemed, a simple spell.

This development troubled Strucker profoundly. It defied not only his understanding but seemed to ignore every natural law. With decades of scientific expertise under his belt, the concept of magic operating so effortlessly, without discernible energy expenditure or material requirements, was nothing short of surreal. If Lockhart possessed such overwhelming power, Strucker wondered grimly if resistance was even possible.

As he pondered, the image on the screen shifted. Lockhart's eyes, cool and intense, began to radiate a pale golden light. Then Strucker heard it.

"In that case, let's meet face-to-face."

The words filled Strucker with an acute sense of dread. His pulse quickened, and he barked orders into his comms: "Terminate all surveillance. Engage the energy blockade. Activate spatial disruption measures!"

A frenetic response followed as systems throughout the hidden base whirred into action, locking down as his commands were executed. Despite these precautions, a gnawing unease took root deep within Strucker.

Meanwhile, Lockhart focused his glowing eyes on the robotic proxy before him. Guided by his intent, ethereal lines began to manifest around the stand-in, weaving into a network of radiant threads. Some glimmered brilliantly, while others were thin, fragile, or nearly invisible.

With a brief sweep of his gaze, Lockhart absorbed the information, each thread providing a connection—relationships tied to the stand-in's creation, its handlers, its objectives. Eastern mysticism might label these threads as "karma" or "fate."

In mere seconds, Lockhart isolated his quarry—Baron Strucker.

Hydra had escalated their tactics with nuclear arms and spatial traps, intending to eliminate him.

So be it, he decided. There's no need for restraint or discretion. Any threats to his safety would be extinguished, along with every Hydra agent responsible.

He locked on to Strucker's location and noted the dense interference mechanisms deployed to obscure it. No matter.

With a slight gesture, Lockhart invoked Distorted Space—Spatial Replacement. His form shimmered briefly, then vanished.

Echoing footsteps filled the silver-white escape corridor, Strucker moving swiftly, his mind set on the nearest escape pod. The pod represented his ultimate exit plan: once inside, he could flee in seconds—leaving Sokovia behind within mere moments, crossing oceans, reaching safety in the United States within half a minute.

But the longer he ran, the greater his sense of impending doom became.

As he increased his pace, determined to reach the pod, a flash appeared before him—a figure coalescing from thin air, solidifying mere feet away.

"Professor Lockhart!" he breathed, his voice laced with horror.

Instinctively, Strucker drew his weapon, firing a barrage of shots. In response, Lockhart raised a hand, a translucent blue shield springing into existence, absorbing every bullet until only the empty casings clattered to the floor.

"Strucker, I told you I would find you." Lockhart's voice was calm but menacing. "Do you have anything worthwhile left to say?"

Strucker's face twisted in a bitter smile as he answered, almost defeatedly, "The words of my robot double… weren't my own."

Then, as if jolted by a final burst of desperation, Strucker hurled a small black orb at Lockhart's feet and sprinted back. According to SHIELD's records, this orb was classified as an 084—an unknown relic of likely alien or ancient origin, reportedly potent and mysterious.

But Lockhart only glanced at the orb, muttering with disinterest, "Invalid."

The black orb clinked harmlessly against the floor, coming to a stop without so much as a flicker.

Observing Strucker's retreat, Lockhart raised a hand, pulling back in a slow, deliberate motion.

Instantly, the floor beneath Strucker began to slide backward, reducing his frantic escape to a futile treadmill exercise. No matter how he ran, the passageway seemed only to narrow, drawing him inexorably back towards Lockhart.

Strucker's eyes filled with despair as he realized his fate was sealed.

"Strucker," Lockhart taunted, a hint of mockery in his tone, "any last words? Your idiotic motto, perhaps?"

Strucker's voice trembled as he gasped out, "Cut off one head… two more shall take its place—"

"Oh, I'm counting on it. This way, I can ensure you stay useful."

Lockhart flicked his wand with a light, almost dismissive touch against Strucker's forehead. A golden dragon-shaped symbol blazed briefly before sinking beneath Strucker's skin, deep into his soul. The mark took root, intertwining with his very being, transforming his thoughts, binding his will. The transformation left no trace on the surface—but the shift was absolute.

A moment later, Strucker's eyes opened, a faint glimmer of gold flickering within. With newfound conviction, he knelt before Lockhart, his voice steady with reverence.

"My lord," he intoned, "your loyal servant, Wolfgang von Strucker."

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