Chapter 2292 - Ch: 46-50 (more available)

Chapter 46: Detention

"Hogwarts has never seen such a large-scale night wandering." Professor McGonagall's voice was very low, but every word was like a nail driven into the desk. "You'd better give me a reasonable explanation."

Rhys sighed in his heart. He knew Professor McGonagallwas suppressing her anger—not the table-slamming kind, but something more terrifying, a bone-chilling cold anger. What she needed was an explanation, even a flimsy one, just to give her anger a place to land.

He took a step forward.

"Professor, sorry—"

Before he could finish, the door was pushed open again. Filch stood at the door panting, dragging Neville by the arm. Neville was in pajamas and slippers, his hair as messy as a bird's nest, his round face full of innocence.

"Caught another one, Professor." Filch's tone carried a near-smug excitement. "Wandering the corridors, saying he was looking for his Gryffindor classmates."

Neville's eyes lit up when he saw Harry and Ron. "I've been looking for you! I heard you were going to—"

Harry coughed loudly. Ron's foot lightly nudged Neville's shin. Neville's mouth hung open as he looked at Harry, then at Ron, and swallowed the rest of his sentence. His expression changed from "found you" to "did I say something wrong?"

"Fine, fine, fine." Professor McGonagall took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. "One night, eight people, all caught near the Astronomy Tower." She put her glasses back on, her gaze scraping over everyone's faces. "What on earth were you trying to do?"

Rhys reached into his pocket and felt the Star chart. He had tucked it in his pocket earlier that afternoon while teaching Anthony how to draw one. The edges were a bit crumpled, but it was still usable. Luckily, he hadn't used it up and had stuffed it away, otherwise, he wouldn't have known how to talk his way out of this tonight. He pulled out the Star chart and unfolded it.

"Professor, I'm sorry," he said, his voice steady. "We went stargazing. For our Astronomy Class homework."

Professor McGonagall took the Star chart and looked down. On it were Jupiter and its four moons, their positions accurately marked, with the time, angles, and orbital inclinations of each moon clearly written. She looked at it for a few seconds without speaking.

Hermione stepped forward. "Harry and Ron were with me." Her voice was a bit tight but steady. "Their homework was too poor, and I was afraid they wouldn't pass the finals."

Professor McGonagall glanced at her.

Malfoy's voice came from behind, not loud, but clear. "I followed Rhys on my own initiative. For the homework."

Professor McGonagall's gaze lingered on Malfoy's face for a moment. Malfoy stood there with his chin slightly raised, but his eyes did not waver. Neville hadn't realized what was happening yet, but seeing everyone nod, he followed suit and nodded too.

Professor McGonagall returned the Star chart to Rhys. Her expression softened slightly, but her brow was still furrowed.

"I will speak with Aurora Sinistra about extending class hours to give everyone enough time for stargazing for Astronomy Class." She took off her glasses, wiped them with her robes, and put them back on. "However—night wandering is still unacceptable. Even for homework, you cannot leave your dormitories in the middle of the night. You should be resting in your beds."

She stood up, leaning her hands on the desk.

"Therefore, I shall issue the following punishment." Her gaze swept across everyone. "Ten points will be deducted from each of you, and you will serve Detention. Wandering at night is very dangerous; you should learn your lesson."

No one spoke.

"Alright." Professor McGonagall waved her hand. "Now get back to your dormitories and go to sleep."

Everyone looked at each other.

"Thank you, Professor." Someone said first, and then a chorus of "Thank you, Professor" echoed in the office. The eight of them filed out, their footsteps gradually fading in the corridor.

Professor McGonagall stood behind her desk, watching the closed door. She stood for a long time, then sat down, picked up a quill, and wrote a line on a piece of parchment. She wrote it, crossed it out, and wrote another. She folded the parchment, set it aside, and extinguished the lamp on the desk.

The next morning, as the students passed the large hourglasses recording the House Cup, they all stopped in their tracks.

Slytherin lost ten points. Ravenclaw lost thirty points. Gryffindor lost forty points. Only Hufflepuff remained unchanged, not a single gemstone missing, quietly shimmering in the morning light.

Whispers were everywhere in the corridors.

"Thirty points? Ravenclaw? Don't they never lose points?"

"Forty points for Gryffindor! Who did it?"

"I heard they were night wandering together—eight people, caught at the Astronomy Tower."

"Eight people? How much noise must they have made?"

The news spread quickly. Before breakfast was over, all of Hogwarts knew: the top students of Ravenclaw, for the sake of their Astronomy Class homework, had taken Gryffindor and Slytherin students on a night stargazing trip. Details were constantly embellished as the story spread—some said they brought Telescopes and Star charts, some said they even had a picnic on the tower, and others said they were still arguing about which of Jupiter's moons was the largest when they were caught.

Most people just sighed: Ravenclaw's thirst for knowledge was truly well-deserved. To see a few stars, they even dared to wander at night.

The eight of them weren't much affected. Rhys, Anthony, and Cho gained points in class every now and then; although losing thirty points hurt, they had made most of it back in less than a week. Gryffindor had Hermione to hold things up, so it wasn't a crippling blow. The Slytherinstudents didn't say much about Malfoy losing points—in their view, as long as their score was higher than Gryffindor's, it was fine. And with Gryffindor losing forty points while Slytherin only lost ten, no matter how you calculated it, it wasn't a loss.

The days passed in revision. Exams were getting closer, and the library became more crowded. Madam Pince had to stand up and "shush" every half hour. Malfoy would occasionally come to the Ravenclaw table to chat with Rhys, no longer walking over with his head held high as before, but standing nearby for a moment until Rhys looked up at him before speaking. They didn't talk about anything important—homework assigned by Professors, Quidditch, or some embarrassing story about a Slytherinclassmate. He would leave right after chatting, without lingering.

He no longer went looking for trouble with Harry and Ron. If they met in the corridor, they would even nod to each other. The first time Malfoy nodded to Ron, Ron froze for a moment, then nodded back. After nodding, he couldn't quite believe it himself and looked back at Harry. Harryshrugged, also looking a bit awkward.

A week before the exams, Harry and Ron found Rhys in the library.

"We heard Snape threatening Quirrell again." Harry's expression was serious. "Are the two of them about to make a move?"

Anthony put down his quill and adjusted his glasses. "Then we should go to Headmaster Dumbledore."

"There's no evidence." Hermione's voice came from behind her book. "Would Headmaster Dumbledore believe an accusation without evidence?"

The group fell silent. Rhys leaned back in his chair, looking at the sky outside the window. They were right. Without evidence, Dumbledore wouldn't suspect a Professor just because of what a few students "heard." Moreover, Dumbledore probably already knew Quirrell was problematic; he was waiting—waiting for Quirrell to show his hand, and for Harry to walk the path he was meant to. Rhys nodded: "Let's wait and see."

On the last weekend before the exams, an owl landed on the Ravenclaw table while Rhys was drinking Pumpkin juice.

A letter from Professor McGonagall. The parchment was folded neatly, the handwriting meticulous:

Mr. Black:

Your Detention begins tonight at eleven o'clock. Find Mr. Filch in the Entrance Hall.

M. McGonagall

Rhys folded the letter and put it in his pocket. Cho leaned over from across the table: "Detention?"

"Yeah." Rhys finished the last bite of his fried egg. "You should have received one too."

Cho looked down at the unopened letter by her hand, opened it, and sure enough, it had the same content. Anthony's letter arrived as well. At the Gryffindor table, Hermione, Harry, and Ron opened the letters brought by the owls almost simultaneously. Neville's letter arrived a few minutes late; the delivery owl had probably flown in the wrong direction.

At eleven o'clock that night, the eight of them met in the Entrance Hall.

When Rhys arrived, Cho was already there. Anthony stood next to Cho, still holding a notebook, probably having come directly from the library. Hermione and Ron arrived together, with Harry and Neville following behind. Malfoywas the last to arrive, wearing a dark coat, his hair combed neatly—even for a late-night Detention, his hair was combed perfectly.

The eight of them stood in the Entrance Hall, looking at one another.

Then someone laughed. It wasn't clear who laughed first—it might have been Ron, or perhaps Anthony—the laughter was light, like a suppressed giggle. Then a second person laughed, then a third, until all eight of them stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall, unable to stop laughing.

Rhys laughed too. After laughing, he thought to himself that tonight wouldn't be peaceful. Quirrell needed Unicornblood to sustain his life—the body Voldemort was possessing couldn't last much longer. He subconsciously touched the wand in his robe pocket.

Cho noticed.

She didn't speak, she just looked at Rhys. Not at his laughter, but at his eyes. Rhys's expression was calm, no different from usual. But his eyes—those grey eyes flickered slightly in the dim light of the Entrance Hall, like the surface of water ruffled by the wind. That flicker was very slight, so slight that others wouldn't notice it at all. But Cho noticed. Every time Rhys was thinking about something major or preparing for something, his eyes would be like this. It wasn't nervousness, but focus—he was withdrawing his attention from the things in front of him, drawing it inward, to a place only he knew.

Cho reached into her sleeve and touched the hilt of her wand.

"I can't believe you can actually laugh."

Filch's voice came from the end of the corridor, like a bucket of cold water thrown onto a fire. He walked over carrying an oil lamp, the light casting deep shadows in the wrinkles of his face, every stubble on his chin countable.

"You should be glad that Hogwarts has abolished the old forms of punishment." His voice was slow, as if he were savoring every word. "Otherwise, shackles would fasten your wrists and hang you from the ceiling for days on end."

He paused, the corners of his mouth twitching downward.

"Those torture devices are still kept in my office. I maintain them well every day. Who knows, maybe one day they'll be put to use."

No one spoke. Filch's gaze swept across everyone's faces, he gave a satisfied grunt, and turned toward the main doors.

"Follow me."

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid was already waiting there.

He stood outside the shadows of the first row of trees, holding a larger oil lamp, with Fang crouching by his feet—the cowardly hound was shrinking behind his legs, ears drooping, nose sniffing the ground. Hagrid's expression wasn't good, not because of his attitude toward the eight of them, but because Filch had put him in a bad mood.

"It's about time," Hagrid said. "I've been waiting for you for half an hour."

Filch raised his oil lamp, the light hitting Hagrid's chin. "You shouldn't be so polite to them."

"So that's why you're late, is it?" Hagrid frowned, his voice dropping. "To give them a lecture?"

Filch did not answer.

"They're with me now." Hagrid took a step forward, shielding the eight of them behind him.

Filch's gaze went over Hagrid's shoulder, scanning the eight of them. He lowered the oil lamp, the light hitting his face from below, making his wrinkles look like they were carved by a knife.

"There's everything in the Forbidden Forest." His voice was slow, as if savoring every word. "Werewolves, monsters, Vampires. You'd better hope you come out in one piece."

He paused.

"I'll be back at dawn. To pick up your remains."

He turned and left. The light of the oil lamp grew smaller and smaller in the darkness, finally disappearing toward the Castle.

Malfoy's hand reached out from behind, clutching the edge of Rhys's robes. Neville's hands both grabbed Harry's arm. Ron's hands were in his pockets, his expression more serious than usual. Hermione's lips were pursed, one hand in her robe pocket—Rhys guessed she was clutching her wand. Anthony stood next to Hermione, his breathing a bit faster than usual.

Cho stood next to Rhys, not grabbing anyone's arm. She was just looking at Rhys.

Hagrid raised his oil lamp and shone it on everyone's faces.

"There are some things in the Forbidden Forest," he said, his voice lower than usual, "but as long as you stick close to me and don't wander off, you'll be fine. Fang will help us too."

Fang poked his head out from behind Hagrid's legs, wagged his tail once, and then shrank back.

Hagrid took the first step.

"Let's go. Keep close."

Rhys walked in the middle of the line. In front were Hagridand Fang, and behind were Cho and Anthony. His right hand was in his pocket, gripping his wand. The Holly wood of the wand was warm against his palm.

Tonight would not be peaceful. He simply followed the line, step by step, into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest.

Chapter 47: Mars is Bright

At the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, Hagrid stopped.

He held his oil lamp high, its orange light flickering between the tree trunks and illuminating a small patch of damp ground. Eight people stood in a semi-circle behind him, while Fang huddled by his legs, nose to the ground, letting out faint sniffing sounds.

"What we're doin' tonight is very dangerous," Hagrid's voice was much deeper than usual, lacking its typical boisterous cheer. "I don't want anyone gettin' hurt. Everyone, listen closely."

He pointed the oil lamp to the left. The light fell on the ground a few paces away, revealing a small patch of silvery reflection—not dew, not moonlight, but a thicker, colder sheen, like molten silver spilled on the earth.

"Unicorn blood," Hagrid's voice dropped even lower. "Second time this week. Found one last Wednesday... already dead."

No one spoke. Rhys stared at the silvery-white liquid, shimmering slightly in the lamp's light like something that didn't belong to this world. Unicorn blood was silvery-white, he knew—he'd read about it. But words on a page were one thing; seeing it with his own eyes was another. The liquid seeped into the soil, staining the surrounding grass a pale grey, as if the life had been drained out of it.

"We're gonna try an' find this Unicorn," said Hagrid, "to help it out of its misery."

"And what if we run into whatever hurt the Unicorn?" Malfoy's voice came from the back, half a tone lower than usual.

"As long as you're with me or Fang, the creatures in the Forbidden Forest won't hurt you," Hagrid lowered the lamp slightly, illuminating each of their faces. "Don't leave the path. We'll split into two groups and follow the trail of blood."

Malfoy was silent for a moment. "Then... then I'll take Fang."

Hagrid glanced at him and handed over the leash. "Right then. But I'm warnin' you, Fang's a coward."

Fang was handed over to Malfoy, looking up at him with a wag of his tail before tucking it back between his legs. Malfoy looked down at the cowering hound with a complex expression, but he gripped the leash tightly nonetheless.

Hagrid organized the groups. He took the four Gryffindors—Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville—with him. Rhys took Ravenclaw's Cho and Anthony, along with Malfoy and Fang.

Upon hearing this arrangement, Malfoy's shoulders visibly relaxed. He glanced at Rhys with a look that said, "At least you're here."

"If you find the Unicorn, send up green sparks with your wand," Hagrid gestured. "If you're in trouble—send up red sparks. Got it?"

Everyone nodded.

Hagrid gave Rhys a nod, then turned and led the four Gryffindors into the darkness on the left. Their footsteps rustled through the fallen leaves, quickly fading into the distance.

Rhys raised his wand. "Lumos."

A ball of light glowed from the tip of his wand, dimmer than the oil lamp but enough to light the path beneath their feet. The path was narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side, flanked by dense thickets of shrubs and tree trunks. The canopy overhead was woven together, blocking out most of the sky, with only the occasional gap letting through a glimmer or two of starlight.

"Let's go," Rhys took the first step.

The four of them walked in silence. Cho followed Rhys, Anthony followed Cho, and Malfoy brought up the rear with Fang. Fang walked slowly, nose glued to the ground, tail tucked tight. Malfoy didn't rush him.

It was too quiet. It wasn't that the Forbidden Forest was silent—there were owls hooting in the distance, the rustle of wind through the leaves nearby, and the crisp snap of dry twigs underfoot. But that quiet wasn't an absence of sound; it was an oppressive atmosphere, like the sweltering heat before a thunderstorm, making one feel as if something could leap out of the darkness at any moment.

Malfoy spoke first. "Could it be a Werewolf that hurt the Unicorn?" His voice wasn't loud, but it sounded clear in the quiet forest. It was likely because it was so quiet that one felt the need to find something to say.

"I doubt it," Anthony replied quickly, with the certainty of someone who had just read about it. "Unicorns are very hard to catch. I saw it in 'Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them'—Unicorns are highly magical; they can sense danger and flee in advance. There's never been a record of a Unicorn being harmed in The Daily Prophet."

"Unicorn hair, wand core materials, and Unicorn horns," Cho's voice came from behind Rhys, soft but clear, "are all collected by Wizards after they've fallen off naturally, or are given willingly by the Unicorn."

Malfoy looked down at his wand and said nothing more.

They walked a bit further. The blood trail was intermittent on the path, silvery spots splashed on fallen leaves, tree roots, and the occasional stone. Rhys knelt to examine one spot—the blood wasn't completely dry yet, its edges shimmering slightly like freshly hardened wax. He stood up and was about to continue when he suddenly heard a rustling sound in the bushes to the left.

It wasn't the sound of the wind. Something was moving, approaching.

Rhys raised his wand, pointing the light at the bushes. "Who's there?"

Cho's wand lit up as well. Then Anthony's. Then Malfoy's. Four beams of light simultaneously illuminated the thicket, showing every leaf clearly. Fang huddled behind Malfoy's legs without a sound.

The bushes parted.

Human from the waist up, horse from the waist down. Red hair and beard, a chestnut horse body, with a long red tail trailing behind. His upper body was bare, with strong arms and amber eyes that glowed slightly in the wandlight.

A Centaur.

Rhys lowered his wand. He gave a slight bow—not a deep one, but a solemn gesture.

"We didn't mean to disturb you," he said, his voice steady. "We are students from Hogwarts, here to investigate the attack on the Unicorn."

Cho, Anthony, and Malfoy were taken aback for a moment, then followed his lead, lowering their wands and bowing slightly. Malfoy's movement was the stiffest, but he still lowered his head.

The Centaur—Ronan—looked at them, his gaze sweeping over each of their faces before settling on Rhys. He tilted his head, something moving in those amber eyes.

"Ah, Hogwarts foals, I see," his voice was low and slow, like the wind blowing through a hollow valley. "Do you learn much at your school?"

The four of them exchanged looks.

"Well," Rhys thought for a moment, "we learn some. Knowledge is as vast as the ocean."

Ronan nodded, offering no comment on the answer. He looked up, gazing at the sky through the gaps in the canopy. His neck was long, and as he looked up, his red mane slid off his shoulders, revealing the strong muscle lines beneath. He looked for a long time, long enough that Malfoy began to shift his feet uneasily.

"Mars is bright tonight," Ronan said.

Rhys frowned and looked up at the sky as well. A small patch of night sky was visible through the canopy; there weren't many stars, but one was exceptionally bright—reddish, with an ominous hue.

"Are you speaking of the stars?" Rhys asked.

Ronan didn't answer immediately. He let out a sigh, a long, heavy breath that seemed to well up from deep within.

"The innocent are always the first victims," he said. "It has been so for centuries."

Cho took half a step forward. "Have you noticed anything unusual then?"

Ronan looked at the sky again. "Tonight, Mars is bright."

That phrase again. Rhys looked up, once more focusing on the red star. Mars. The god of war in Roman mythology, Ares in Greek—representing war, bloodshed, and violence. Astronomically, Mars's brightness is related to its distance from Earth and its phase, but in Astrology, a bright Marsmeans—

"Do you mean," Rhys said, choosing his words carefully, "that the brightness of Mars foretells an act of violence? Its position in the heavens—if I'm not mistaken, it's currently in the direction of Scorpio. Scorpio represents death and rebirth; with Mars here, it means violence and death are very close."

Ronan drew his gaze back from the sky and looked at Rhys. Something flickered in those amber eyes.

"You are a very unusual foal."

Rhys didn't respond.

The bushes moved again. A second Centaur emerged—black hair, a black horse body, sturdier than Ronan, with harder lines on his face. He held a bow in his hand, a quiver slung over his back, and he looked far more dangerous than Ronan.

"Are these foals lost?" His voice was lower than Ronan's, with an impatient rasp.

"No, Bane," said Ronan.

"We are students from Hogwarts, here to investigate the attack on the Unicorn," Malfoy's voice came from behind, a bit higher-pitched than usual, likely intimidated by Bane's presence.

Bane glanced at him but said nothing.

Ronan pointed at Rhys. "Mars is bright tonight. He knows."

Bane's gaze turned to Rhys. Those black eyes lingered on his face for a long time, scanning him from head to toe and back again. Rhys stood his ground, neither flinching nor intentionally meeting the gaze. He simply stood there.

"Polaris Black," Rhys said.

Bane didn't respond. He and Ronan exchanged a look. It was a look Rhys couldn't decipher—not an exchange of information, but more like a confirmation of something. Then, both Centaurs withdrew their gazes simultaneously.

"The black foal," Bane said, his voice slightly lower than before. "Very clever. You are special."

He didn't explain what "special" meant. Both Centaurs gave Rhys a deep, searching look before turning and disappearing into the bushes. The leaves closed behind them, and their hoofbeats gradually faded, vanishing into the depths of the Forbidden Forest.

The four of them stood there, watching the thicket return to stillness.

Anthony spoke first. "Why were they talking in riddles?"

"I don't know," Rhys shook his head. "Let's keep looking."

He raised his wand, the light once again illuminating the path. The four of them continued onward, heading deeper into the Forbidden Forest. Fang's tail was tucked even tighter, and Malfoy's pace slowed slightly. No one spoke again.

Rhys walked in front, the light from his wand cutting a small opening in the darkness. He thought about Ronan's words. Mars is bright; violence and death are close. The way those two Centaurs had looked at him—it wasn't how you'd look at an ordinary student. What were they seeing? He didn't know.

He held his wand a little higher. The ball of light fell on the leaves ahead, revealing another small patch of silvery blood. The trail was getting thicker, leading toward the heart of the Forbidden Forest.

Chapter 48: Shadows in the Forbidden Forest

After walking for another half hour, the trees grew denser, and the path became like a squeezed line, gradually vanishing among twisted roots and thickets. Polaris had to use his wand to push aside low-hanging branches and squeeze through sideways. Cho's robes got caught on thorns twice, and Anthony helped her untangle them. Malfoy walked at the back leading Fang, clutching the leash tightly; Fang's nose was pressed against his leg, refusing to take a single extra step.

The bloodstains were becoming more obvious. No longer just scattered spots, they were splashed in large patches over fallen leaves, roots, and low shrubbery. There were marks on the tree trunks as well—silvery liquid splattered on the dark bark like frozen trails of tears.

"How tragic," Malfoy's voice came from behind, somewhat tight. "Even though silver blood doesn't look as scary as red, it's everywhere here." He paused and shuddered.

No one replied. Polaris knelt to examine the nearest bloodstain; the edges weren't fully dry yet, and the silvery luster shimmered slightly in the light of his wand. He stood up and continued forward.

The trees ahead interlaced to form a natural archway, their ancient branches gnarled and twisted like a living wall. Polaris looked through a gap in the branches—beyond was a clearing, not large, barely as wide as a classroom. In the center of the clearing, something white lay on the ground.

A Unicorn.

It lay on its side, its slender legs stretched out weakly, its mane scattered over the fallen leaves like a piece of discarded silver silk. Its body was still rising and falling slightly—it was still alive, but every breath seemed like its last. Silvery blood seeped out from beneath it, forming a small, shallow puddle on the soil.

Polaris stopped and raised his hand. "Don't move."

The three behind him all stopped. Fang cowered behind Malfoy's legs, letting out a faint whimper.

"I'll go check its condition," Polaris lowered his voice. "Watch for my signal; only fire the flare when I've confirmed it's safe."

Cho frowned. "By yourself?"

"It's fine." Polaris glanced at her, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment before he gently squeezed her hand. Her hand was cold but steady. "Don't worry."

Cho didn't say anything more. Polaris let go, squeezed through the gap in the branches, and stepped into the clearing.

The light from his wand illuminated the Unicorn's body. It was larger than Polaris had imagined—standing up, it would probably be over a person's height—but curled on the ground now, it appeared fragile and pitiful. Its eyes were half-open, pupils dilated, and its silver eyelashes trembled slightly. There was a deep wound on its belly from which the blood flowed; it wasn't red, but silvery-white, like molten moonlight.

Polaris knelt down, just about to reach out and check its breathing—

A rustling sound came from behind him.

It wasn't the wind blowing leaves, nor was it a small animal running past. It was a slithering sound—something heavy and soft dragging across the ground, crushing dry twigs and brushing against fallen leaves. The sound came from the darkness at the edge of the clearing, getting closer and faster.

Polaris stood up abruptly, his wand tracing an arc.

"Protego!"

A transparent barrier expanded around him and the Unicorn. A silvery-white film of light flickered in the air for an instant before becoming nearly invisible. Almost in the same second, a dark shadow crashed out of the darkness—with a thud, the barrier shook, and Polaris took half a step back, but it didn't break.

The shadow was repelled, landing at the edge of the clearing like a formless mist. It quickly reformed, wrapped in a tattered Black cloak with the hood pulled low, hiding its face. The hem of the cloak dragged on the ground, making that skin-crawling friction sound.

Polaris gave it no chance to breathe.

"Incendio!"

A tongue of gold-red flame shot from the tip of his wand, lunging straight for the shadow. The shadow didn't dodge—the flames passed through its body like passing through smoke. It had no physical form, or its physical form was not where the flames could reach. The edges of the cloak caught fire, but there was nothing beneath the cloth.

The shadow moved forward a step. Polaris could feel its gaze—shooting out from under the hood, it wasn't the light of eyes but something colder and heavier, pressing against his skin like touching iron with bare hands in winter.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

The gray beam of light hit the cloak; the cloak stiffened for a moment then continued to move. The Full Body-Bind Curse was ineffective against something without a physical form.

"Stupefy!"

The red light passed through the shadow and hit a tree trunk behind it, blasting off a piece of bark. The shadow did not fall.

"Incarcerous!"

Ropes flew from the wand tip and wrapped around the cloak, but the shadow merely twitched. The ropes acted as if they were binding a mass of air, falling loosely to the ground.

"Impedimenta!"

An invisible wall rose before the shadow, which was momentarily blocked and stopped. But only for an instant. It bypassed the obstacle—no, not bypassed, but passed through. Its body dispersed like mist and reformed on the other side of the barrier.

Polaris gritted his teeth. Ordinary spells were almost useless against this thing. He took a deep breath, switched his wand to his left hand, and spread the fingers of his right hand, aiming at the shadow.

Wind Demon.

A current of air surged from his palm, not a scattered wind, but a condensed beam as sharp as a blade. It sliced through the shadow's position; the cloak was torn open, but there was no blood, no scream—only the cloak, that tattered rag.

The shadow accelerated. It lunged at Polaris, the cloak billowing behind it like a giant bat.

Polaris did not retreat. He pressed both hands to the ground.

Mountain Demon.

The ground vibrated. Dirt and gravel at the edge of the clearing surged up as if alive, building a low wall in front of the shadow. The shadow crashed into the wall, sending gravel flying, but the wall held. Polaris took the opportunity to stand up, bringing his hands together before slowly pulling them apart.

Water Demon.

Moisture in the air condensed in his palms, forming a thin stream that thickened into a rope of water. The water rope lashed around the shadow's cloak, dragging it back. The shadow struggled, and the rope loosened slightly, but Polaris immediately increased the power, and the water rope tightened again.

The shadow let out a low hiss. It wasn't a human voice, nor an animal's—it was more like wind whistling through a narrow rock crevice, or water surging up from the bottom of a deep well. The sound wasn't loud, but it made Polaris's chest feel heavy.

"Polaris! You can't hit it like this!" Cho shouted from the edge of the barrier. She didn't enter—she was waiting for his signal. Her wand was raised, the tip glowing, her eyes locked onto the shadow's movements.

Polaris knew she was right. Although spells and elemental attacks could harm it, they couldn't hit a vital point. It had no physical form, or rather, its physical form wasn't where they could see it. He needed to see it clearly.

He needed the mask.

A dark purple, exquisite mask with mysterious patterns began to condense in Polaris's hand—the mask of ninja. He looked at it for a brief second, then placed it squarely over his face.

A cold sensation spread from where the mask touched his skin, like a frigid current surging into his veins. His mind instantly became incredibly clear—not the clarity that comes from thinking, but the pure rationality left behind after all emotions are stripped away. No anger, no fear, no hesitation. Only the objective and the method.

The eyes beneath the mask changed. They were no longer gray, but a temperatureless color, like the surface of ice.

Cho saw the change. Her fingers tightened on her wand, but she didn't make a sound.

Polaris moved.

Rabbit Talisman. His body was like a bolt of light, leaving afterimages in the dark. Before the shadow could react, Polaris appeared behind it, the power of the Ox Talismanchanneled into his fist, and he punched it squarely in the spine. The shadow was sent flying, snapping three small trees before landing at the other end of the clearing.

The shadow crawled up. Its movements were much slower than before, but it was still moving. It glanced in Polaris's direction, then turned and fled into the darkness.

Polaris didn't give chase. He stood where he was and raised his right hand. His fingers spread, then slowly closed into a fist.

"Pursue."

The voice wasn't loud, but it was cold. Cold as a winter stone.

In the darkness around the clearing, shadows began to surge. Not the shadows of trees, nor the shadows of people—it was a deeper, thicker blackness seeping from the cracks in the ground, from behind the tree trunks, and out of the air itself. They condensed into humanoid forms, holding ninja swords, and silently pursued the direction the shadow had fled.

The shadow vanished into the darkness. The Ninja Shadowkhan vanished into the deeper darkness.

Polaris stood there, the mask hiding his face, the jawline visible at the edges looking cold and hard. His eyes stared at the direction the shadow had disappeared, motionless.

Cho crossed the barrier and walked up to him.

She didn't speak, just reached out and gently removed the mask from his face.

The moment the dark purple mask left his skin, Polaris's shoulders trembled slightly. Those gray eyes were revealed—no longer cold and heartless, but dazed, like someone who had just surfaced from very deep water and hadn't yet seen where the shore was.

"It's okay." Cho's voice was very soft, so soft only he could hear. She held the mask in her hand, her other hand resting on his arm. "It's okay. It's over."

AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite

Polaris looked at her face. Her face was very pale, and her eyes were a little red, but she was smiling. That kind of smile wasn't happiness; it was the kind of smile that said, "You're still here, and I'm still here." He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but his throat felt like it was blocked by something.

Cho Chang pulled him into her arms and hugged him.

"It's okay now," she said in his ear, her voice trembling slightly, but every word was clear. "It's over. It's all over."

Polaris stood there, his body as stiff as a taut string. Then that string slowly loosened. His head drooped, resting on Cho Chang's shoulder, his arms hanging at his sides; he didn't hug her back, but he didn't push her away either. The aftereffects of the Ox Talisman began to manifest—his muscles felt weak as if his strength had been drained, his legs were trembling, his fingers were shaking, and his whole body felt like a house about to fall apart. After the mask was removed, the suppressed emotions flooded back—anger, fear, sadness, all mixed together, clogging his chest and making it hard for him to breathe.

Cho Chang felt his weight press against her; she didn't pull back, she only held him a little tighter.

In the distance, Anthony was running for his life toward Hagrid's hut.

Branches whipped across his face, thorns tore his robes, and his boots sank into the mud, only to be pulled out and sink in again. He tripped, his knee hitting a stone, the pain causing his vision to go Black, but he didn't stop. He scrambled up and kept running.

Polaris was still there. Polaris was facing that thing all by himself.

He remembered how Polaris looked lying in the Hospital Wing after the Troll incident, and he remembered the expression on Madam Pomfrey's face when she said "tendon tear." He remembered that dive Polaris made on the Quidditch Pitch—diving from such a height to catch Harry, his shoulder ruined on the spot. He remembered how Polaris always said "it's fine," and every time it was fine, but what if? What if this time it wasn't "fine"?

He ran even faster. His lungs felt like they were about to burst, his throat was full of the taste of rust, but he didn't dare stop. Stopping for a second could mean being a second too late. A second too late could mean it was too late.

Hagrid's hut appeared in his line of sight. That broken broomstick was leaning against the outer wall, its handle bent and half the twigs at the tail bald; he didn't know which student had discarded it. Anthony grabbed the broom and mounted it, kicked off with both legs, and the broom wobbled into the air, nearly throwing him off. He didn't know how to fly—he had never flown before. His legs were shaking, his hands were shaking, and the broom zigzagged in the air, nearly hitting branches several times.

But he didn't look back.

Malfoy stood at the edge of the clearing, holding Fang on a leash, watching Polaris rush into the darkness.

His legs were going weak. He wanted to run. Not the kind of running to find Hagrid, but running to escape this place. To leave the Forbidden Forest, to leave this place filled with silver bloodstains everywhere, to leave that Blackshadow that he didn't know what it was.

Fang was trembling beside his legs, letting out faint whimpers. Malfoy looked down at it—this dog was more afraid than he was, but it hadn't run. It just cowered there, tail tucked, but it hadn't run.

Polaris was still there. Polaris was his cousin. He was one of the Blacks. He was that name he had heard of since he was little—Polaris Black, Uncle Cepheus's child. When his mother mentioned him, her tone was always complicated: "What a pity for such a good child," "His mother is Oriental, but she is a very good person," "You must be polite when you see him."

He had never taken those words to heart. Until today. Until Polaris stood before him, facing that Black shadow all alone.

Malfoy gripped the leash tightly. "Let's go." His voice trembled a little, but he stepped forward. Fang was dragged along by him and followed. Not in the direction of the Castle—but in the direction of Hagrid.

He started running. His robes got caught on branches, he tore them free with force, and kept running. Fang followed at his heels, its four legs running faster than his. He didn't know where Hagrid was, but he knew Hagrid would hear the red signal. He just needed to run over and bring Hagridback.

Anthony finally flew to the Castle. When he jumped off the broom, he fell to the ground, his knees scraped and the skin on his palms grazed. But he didn't stop; he scrambled up and rushed into the Castle gates.

Where was Professor Flitwick's office? Where was Professor McGonagall's office? His mind was in chaos, the corridor spinning before his eyes, the light of the torches making his eyes ache. He bumped into someone passing by—it was a ghost, he almost passed through it, but he dodged it and kept running.

"Professor! Professor!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the corridor. Finally, a door opened, and Professor Flitwickpoked his head out, his short body showing only a head in the doorframe.

"Mr. Goldstein? What happened—"

"The Forbidden Forest!" Anthony's voice was almost a scream. "Polaris is in the Forbidden Forest—something is attacking a Unicorn—Polaris is dealing with it all alone—Cho Chang and Malfoy are there too—"

Professor Flitwick's face changed. He didn't ask any more questions and turned to rush into his office; Polaris heard him shouting something, but he couldn't hear it clearly anymore. He leaned against the wall, gasping for breath, the blood from his knees streaming down his calves.

Polaris was still in the Forbidden Forest. He buried his face in his palms, his shoulders trembling. Please, hurry.

In the clearing of the Forbidden Forest, after Cho Chang took off the mask, she smelled a bitter scent. It wasn't the bitterness of leaves, not the bitterness of herbs—it was the kind of bitterness that seeped out from deep inside, pressed to the bottom of one's heart for a long time. Polaris's hair brushed against her cheek, his body was still trembling, and that bitter scent grew stronger, like a bottle of long-stored Potion that had been overturned. Cho Chang didn't let go. She just held him tighter, patting his back gently with one hand. Then the bitterness began to fade. It didn't disappear; it dispersed, like mist blown away by the wind, revealing the scent of grass underneath—the kind after the rain, damp and quiet. Polaris's breathing slowly steadied, the weight of his body shifted from tense to relaxed, and his entire aura slowly became calm.

When Malfoy was searching for Hagrid with Fang, he smelled the scent of blood, the smell of something burnt, and another indescribable thing—cold, metallic, like the air before a storm. The smell made his scalp tingle, but he didn't stop. He kept running, leading Fang.

When Anthony fell off the broom, his knee hit a stone, causing a sharp pain, and the air was filled with the smell of his own blood, the taste of rust. But he didn't stop.

When the Professors arrived at the clearing, they smelled the scent of burnt trees and upturned earth, along with the distinct sweet, fishy smell of a Unicorn's silver blood. But on Polaris, there was only the scent of grass after the rain.

Polaris stood in the clearing, his body still trembling slightly. He heard footsteps in the distance—the footsteps of many people. Professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice was shouting something, and Hagrid's heavy footsteps made the ground tremble.

He closed his eyes and called out to the system deep in his consciousness.

"Ninja report."

[The Black shadow has been lost. It disappeared in the marshland north of the Forbidden Forest. The traces were erased by magic, unable to be tracked.]

Polaris opened his eyes.

Lord Voldemort had escaped.

He turned his head and looked in the direction the Professors were coming from. Hagrid was the first to rush into the clearing, followed by Professor Flitwick, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Sprout. Snape appeared last, his Black robes billowing in the night wind.

"It ran in that direction." Polaris pointed in the direction where the Black shadow had disappeared. "No need to chase it. It's already too late."

Snape glanced at him but didn't move.

Professor McGonagall crouched down to examine the Unicorn's injuries. Professor Flitwick ran to Polaris's side, and the small man cast several detection spells on him. Polaris stood there, letting the light of those spells scan over him, not dodging.

Hagrid gently lifted the Unicorn, his large hands supporting its body as if it were a fragile piece of porcelain. "It's still alive... it's still alive..." his voice choked with emotion.

Malfoy stood at the edge of the clearing, holding Fang. He had run back. He had really run back. Fang was panting heavily beside his legs, its tongue lolling out. Malfoy's hair was a mess, his robes were covered in mud, and there were red marks on his face from being scratched by branches. He looked at Polaris—Polaris was standing there, covered in burn marks and mud, but still standing. Malfoy's nose suddenly felt a bit sore, he sniffed hard, and suppressed that sour feeling.

Polaris felt Cho Chang's hand still resting on his shoulder. That scent of grass after the rain permeated between him and Cho Chang, quiet and reassuring.

"Let's go," he said.

Cho Chang nodded. The two of them walked toward the edge of the clearing together, with the burnt trees, upturned earth, and the silver-white blood of the Unicornbehind them. Polaris walked very slowly, his legs still trembling, but he didn't stop. He walked step by step, Cho Chang walking beside him, a half-step distance between them, neither too far nor too close.

Polaris thought of his parents and his grandparents, remembering how they were struck by the green light in his dreams. He had not avenged his parents. Lord Voldemort had escaped, and he was still alive. Polaris clenched his fists, then slowly loosened them. One day, he would settle all the scores.

Chapter 49: Exams and Plans

The ceiling of the Hospital Wing was light green. Reece stared at it for a long time. This was his third time lying here this semester, and he was so familiar with every line on the ceiling that he couldn't be more so.

Anthony was lying on the bed to his left, his knee wrapped in thick bandages and his palm also circled with them, holding that notebook that never left his side and turning pages with his uninjured fingers. Malfoy was lying on the bed to his right, with two plasters on his face and several scratches on his hands. His hair, however, was combed neatly—combing his hair even while lying on a hospital bed was probably his last bit of stubbornness.

The three of them opened their eyes at the same time and glanced at each other.

Then they laughed. It wasn't the kind of restrained, quiet laughter; it was real, heartless, unstoppable laughter. When Anthony laughed, the notebook slipped from his hand and hit him in the face. Malfoy tried to hold it in but couldn't; his mouth twitched, pulling at the plasters on his face, making him grimace in pain, yet he continued to laugh. Reece's laughter was the quietest, just his mouth and eyes curving, but his shoulders were shaking from the mirth.

Cho and Hermione came out of Madam Pomfrey's dispensary, each holding a stack of medication instructions. They saw the three of them lying on their beds laughing like three idiots and exchanged a look.

"You three," Hermione's tone sounded like she was correcting a classmate's pronunciation in class, "laughing like this while lying in the Hospital Wing."

Cho didn't say anything; she just gave Reece a white look, then walked to Anthony's bedside, picked up the notebook he had dropped on the floor, and put it back in his hand.

"Madam Pomfrey said the dressing should be changed every four hours." Hermione distributed the medication instructions to the three of them, repeating Madam Pomfrey's instructions word for word. "The bandages on the knees must not get wet, and the wounds on the hands should be coated twice a day. And you—" she looked at Malfoy, "the plasters on your face cannot be peeled off by yourself; let them fall off naturally, otherwise they will leave scars."

Malfoy touched the plaster on his face and said nothing.

Harry, Ron, and Neville stood at the door, looking at the three of them lying on their beds, completely unable to understand what they were laughing about. Nevillewhispered to Harry, "What are they laughing at?" Harryshook his head. Ron shrugged.

Dumbledore stood at the foot of Reece's bed, his half-moon glasses flashing in the light.

"Reece," his voice was very soft, "your magic—"

Reece knew what he was asking. From the moment he used those abilities in the Forbidden Forest, he knew this question would come sooner or later. He had already thought of an answer.

"Bloodline Magic," Reece said, his voice not loud but very clear. "Innate, from my mother's side."

Dumbledore looked at him and said nothing.

"Grandmother thought so too when I was a child," Reece added. This was the truth—Cassiopeia had indeed taken his Rabbit Talisman speed as an ability of his Eastern bloodline, and the invisibility of the Snake Talisman as a legacy from Long Meixiu. He just hadn't corrected her.

"A very miraculous power," Dumbledore finally spoke. "Your mother used it too. It seems her talent has been fully inherited by you."

Reece froze for a moment. Mother used it too?

"Alright." Dumbledore's voice pulled him back to reality. "We will handle the rest. You all stay here and rest for the night. Otherwise, if Poppy sees the Hospital Wingcrowded with people, she'll kick us out."

He turned and walked toward the door.

Reece lay on his pillow, looking at the ceiling. Mother used it too. What she used wasn't Talismans or Demons, but real Eastern Magic—yet the effects of those abilities were so similar to the Mountain Demon and the Wind Demon. Was it a coincidence? Or was the essence of Eastern Magicand demonic power originally from the same source?

He didn't know. But he remembered this matter.

Harry, Ron, and Neville stood at the door for a while before leaving.

Cho stood by Reece's bed for a while before she left. She pushed the water glass on his bedside table further in and pulled his wand out from under his pillow, placing it next to the water glass.

"Don't press on your wand," she said.

Reece didn't speak. Cho glanced at him and turned to leave. Hermione followed, but when she reached the door, she looked back and said to Anthony, "Don't read your notebook in bed; it's bad for your eyes."

Anthony gave an "oh" and closed the notebook, placing it by his pillow.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor gradually faded away. The Hospital Wing became quiet, with only the occasional crackle of the fire in the fireplace.

Reece turned his head, looked at Anthony on the left bed, and then at Malfoy on the right bed.

"Thanks, brothers," he said. His voice was not loud, but very clear.

Anthony turned a page of his notebook without even looking up. "As long as you're okay."

Malfoy was silent for a while. He reached out to touch the plaster on his face and then let go.

"A Malfoy would never abandon family," he said, his voice a bit awkward, as if squeezed through his teeth, but every word was very clear.

The three of them looked at each other and laughed again. This time the laughter was very light, and they fell silent after laughing. The fire in the fireplace was still dancing, and the stars outside the window were lighting up one by one. Reece closed his eyes, listening to the sound of Anthony flipping through his notebook and the slight creak of the bed frame when Malfoy turned over.

"System," he murmured in his heart.

[Present.]

"What's the deal with my mother? Dumbledore said she used similar abilities too."

There was a moment of silence.

[Unknown. Perhaps similar abilities were mistaken for one another. After all, your mother did come from the East, and it is not strange for her to use Eastern Magic.]

Reece frowned. He wasn't satisfied with this answer, but he didn't have the energy to press further. He closed his eyes, and his consciousness gradually sank into darkness.

The days that followed were for revision. Day and night revision.

Hermione drew up a countdown plan accurate to the hour and distributed task lists for the day at the Gryffindor long table every morning. Reece, Cho, and Anthony also received them—Hermione had Yarnball deliver them, and Yarnball now reflexively wanted to turn around and fly away whenever it saw her. Harry and Ron were plucked into the revision team by her; the two of them were like escorted prisoners, appearing in the library on time every day, being questioned by Hermione on time, answering incorrectly on time, and being stared at on time by Hermione with that "do you really want to fail" look.

Malfoy didn't join their revision team, but he didn't disturb them either. Occasionally, he would come to the Ravenclaw long table to ask Reece a Potion question and leave after asking. Once, he ran into Harry also asking Reece a question; the two looked at each other, Malfoynodded, and Harry nodded back. No arguing, no sarcasm. Ron watched this scene from the side, his mouth hanging open for a long time.

Exams week finally arrived.

The weather was incredibly sweltering. There was no wind in the large classroom, and the heat wave wafted in through a crack in the window. Anti-cheating charms had been placed on the students' quills. The tips of the quills rustled on the parchment, and occasionally someone would stop to shake their wrist before continuing to write.

Reece answered the questions very quickly. It wasn't carelessness; it was because he knew the content by heart. The dates of History of Magic, the recipes of Potion Class, the theories of Transfiguration, the details of Charms Class, the plant characteristics of Herbology Class, and the star chart coordinates of Astronomy—Hermione's revision plan had precisely targeted everyone's weaknesses. By the time of the exam, Reece even felt some questions were simpler than the mock papers.

Anthony sat diagonally behind him, his answering speed similar to his, occasionally stopping to think, frowning for a while, and then relaxing. Cho sat a few rows ahead, and Reece could only see her back and the ponytail hanging over her shoulder. Hermione sat in the front row, and her quill almost never stopped.

Harry and Ron sat on the other side. Reece occasionally looked up and could see Harry biting his quill, staring at the exam paper in worry; Ron would write for a bit and then stop to look at the ceiling as if waiting for the ceiling to give him the answer.

The practical exams were a bit more relaxed than the written ones.

In Professor Flitwick's examination room, students entered the classroom one by one to make a pineapple tap-dance across a desk. Reece's pineapple danced the best—it not only did a tap dance but also spun around the corner of the table. Professor Flitwick was so happy he almost jumped off his stack of books. "Outstanding! Outstanding!" he shouted several times.

AI Model: gemini-3.1-flash-lite

Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration exam involved turning a mouse into an exquisite snuffbox. Rhys's snuffbox was silver, engraved with delicate vine patterns, and the lid could even open. Professor McGonagall held it in her hand for several seconds, nodded, and said only one word: "Good."

Professor Snape's Potions exam was to brew a Forgetfulness Potion. Rhys followed the steps, processed the ingredients, controlled the heat, stirred clockwise, then counter-clockwise; the solution turned from cloudy to clear, from colorless to pale silver. When Professor Snapepassed by his desk, his footsteps paused for a moment. He glanced at the color in the cauldron, offered no comment, and walked away.

The last subject was History of Magic. Professor Binnswas still his emotionless self; after reading the questions, he floated behind the podium, waiting for the students to finish writing.

When Rhys wrote the last character, the sunlight from outside the window broke through the clouds, shining on the edge of his parchment. He put down his quill and leaned back in his chair.

The bell rang.

The large classroom was silent for a second, then exploded. Some cheered, some threw their quills into the air, and some slumped over their desks, letting out a long sigh of relief. Rhys stood up, handed his exam paper to Professor Binns, and walked out of the classroom. The corridor was full of people, and sunlight poured in from the windows, shining on everyone's faces. Everyone had the same expression—that look of relief that "it's finally over."

That afternoon after the exams, the eight of them gathered on the lawn by the lake.

The sun was hot, but it was much better than the sweltering heat of the previous few days of exams. The breeze blew in from the lake, carrying the scent of water and fresh grass. Rhys spread a blanket on the grass. Cho sat beside him, Anthony sat opposite Cho, and Hermionesat next to Anthony, holding a book in her hand.

"Still reading after the exam?" Ron lay on the ground, hands behind his head, squinting at the sky.

"It's not a textbook." Hermione turned the book cover to show him—it was a novel, "Legends of the History of Magic.

Ron said "Oh," and closed his eyes.

Harry sat next to Ron, holding a sandwich in his hand, took a bite, and chewed for a long time before swallowing. Malfoy sat on the edge of the blanket, a little further away from the others, but not so far that he wasn't in the circle.

"It was much easier than I thought," Harry said.

Malfoy scoffed. "That's because Granger taught you well. Without her propping you up, could you have learned it? Scarhead?"

The corner of Harry's mouth twitched, but he wasn't angry. "What did you call me?"

"Scarhead." Malfoy repeated it, but his tone lacked its usual sharpness; it sounded more like a nickname he'd gotten used to saying and hadn't changed.

"Your hair isn't combed well today, Asparagus Head," Harry said.

Malfoy subconsciously touched his hair, then realized Harry was joking, hummed, and didn't reply.

Hermione and Anthony were whispering about something on the side—not revision content, but a logical loophole in a plot point in "Legends of the History of Magic. The two of them went back and forth, their speaking speed astonishingly fast.

"Are you two serious?" Ron lifted his head from the grass. "Do you have to discuss novels too?"

Hermione glanced at him, ignored him, and continued discussing with Anthony.

Cho leaned against Rhys, her shoulder brushing his arm. Her hair was blown onto her face by the wind; she brushed it away and tucked it behind her ear. The two of them didn't speak, just watched Fred, George, and Lee Jordanteasing the giant squid sunbathing in the shallows by the Black Lake. Fred drew circles on the water with his wand, and the squid's tentacles followed his wand; George threw a piece of bread into the water, and the squid caught it with a tentacle and put it into its mouth. Lee Jordan was laughing uncontrollably on the side.

"Why has my scar been hurting?" Harry said suddenly.

Several people turned to look at him. Harry's brow was furrowed, his fingers pressed against his forehead, and the lightning-shaped scar was slightly red in the sunlight.

"Scarhead, why don't you go see Madam Pomfrey," Malfoysaid, his tone rarely devoid of sarcasm. "Our Dean's medicine, if you endure it, you can still swallow it."

Everyone knew he meant Professor Snape's medicine was hard to drink, and they laughed. But Harry didn't laugh.

"It's not that kind of pain." Harry's brow furrowed even tighter. "It's a feeling of insecurity. It's been hurting from time to time since we came back from the Forbidden Forest. I think this is some kind of danger signal."

Ron sat up, patting the grass clippings off his robes. "Relax, Harry. There's no evidence that Snape and Quirrell know how to get past Fluffy. Hagrid wouldn't say it either."

Malfoy shrugged. He only learned about the Philosopher's Stone after the Forbidden Forest incident—Rhys had told him, in a corner with no one else around, briefly. He didn't ask further, just nodded. Since then, he would occasionally help Harry keep an eye on Snape's movements, although he hadn't found anything.

"No." Harry's face turned pale. "The Dragon egg."

Several people went quiet.

"We must go ask Hagrid to clarify." Harry stood up. "He wanted a Dragon egg, and a stranger just happened to lose it to him? How could such a thing happen? Risking violating wizarding law?"

Rhys nodded. Harry's brain was turning faster than he had expected. He thought Harry wouldn't string these clues together until the last moment, but Harry had figured it out himself.

A group of them hurried across the lawn toward Hagrid's hut.

Hagrid was sitting at the door sunbathing, Fang lying at his feet, ears drooping. He saw a group of people walking over and grinned.

"Exams over? Want to have some tea together?"

"Hagrid," Harry didn't enter the house, standing at the door. "What did you say to the person who lost the Dragonegg to you?"

Hagrid was stunned for a moment. "Huh? Just... small talk, daily life? He bought me a drink, bet on the Dragon egg. He was afraid I couldn't handle a Dragon at first, afraid it would run out and cause trouble. I told him—I told him I had even Fluffy under control."

Harry's voice tightened. "Was he very interested in Fluffy?"

"Of course." Hagrid said as a matter of course. "Three-headed dogs aren't common. So I told him, if you want Fluffy to be obedient and quiet, just play him some music, and he'll fall asleep immediately—"

He suddenly stopped, the smile on his face frozen.

"Oh, no." Hagrid's voice sank. "This isn't something you should know. Forget it. Forget it!"

But Harry and Rhys and the others had already turned and left.

On the way back to the Castle, the atmosphere was heavy.

"What should we do?" Harry's voice was a bit tight.

"Tell Professor Dumbledore." Anthony and Hermione said in unison.

Several people quickened their pace toward the Headmaster's office. But the gargoyle at the entrance of the Headmaster's office wouldn't let them in, saying "The Headmaster is not here."

Cho went to find Penelope Clearwater, the Prefect. The Prefect said that the Professors and the Headmaster had received an urgent letter from the Ministry of Magic and had gone to London. Before leaving, they had asked the prefects to maintain order, and they would be back tomorrow.

Several people stood in the corridor, looking at each other.

"Merlin's pants." Ron's voice cracked a little. "That is to say, Professor Quirrell is the one with the most problems? Will he act tonight?"

Harry turned and walked away. Rhys reached out and stopped him.

"Don't think about going by yourself," Rhys said, his voice not loud, but very firm. "I'll go with you. I still have some ability."

He looked at Harry. Harry looked at him, his lips moved, but he didn't say any words of refusal.

"We'll go together," Cho said.

"I'm going too," Anthony pushed up his glasses.

"Of course." Hermione had already reached into her pocket and gripped her wand.

Ron rolled up his sleeves. "Count me in."

Malfoy stood on the outermost edge, not speaking. He looked at Rhys, then at Harry.

"I'll help you watch Filch," he said, his voice not loud, but very clear. "Someone has to keep watch outside."

Rhys looked around at everyone.

"Stop," he said. "There can't be that many people. Seven people, all going isn't realistic. We need to make a plan."

The light in the corridor dimmed. The sun had already set, and there was a last trace of orange-red on the horizon. The distant Black Lake was as calm as a mirror, reflecting the color of the sky on the surface of the water.

Chapter 50: Breaking Through

The division of labor was finalized in the library. Reese took out a piece of parchment and drew a large square in the middle, representing the fourth-floor corridor. Then, he drew several small circles around it, writing names next to each circle.

"Malfoy, guard the outside of the corridor and be ready to meet any Professors who come rushing over," Reese said, writing the word'Support' next to that circle. "Bring healing Potions."

Malfoy nodded.

"Hermione, Anthony, Ron—" Reese wrote the three names in another circle. "You are responsible for researching information. I'll have Cho Chang contact the Professors at the school and ask them to help get in touch with the Deanand the Principal. If we encounter anything that needs to be deciphered while breaking through, we will contact you via the wooden slats."

Hermione had already opened a thick book on magical mechanisms, with her quill tucked behind her ear. Anthonysat beside her, his notebook spread open in front of him. Ron's expression was a bit nervous, but he was listening attentively.

"Cho Chang is responsible for finding the Professors," Reese wrote the word 'Contact' next to that circle. "Find them one by one; someone will surely know how to get in touch with Dumbledore."

Cho Chang nodded.

"Finally," Reese looked at Harry, "I will break through with you."

Harry's hand was in his pocket, clutching that small flute. His expression was calm, but Reese noticed his fingers trembling slightly inside his pocket.

"Okay," Harry said.

Reese took four thin wooden slats from his pocket, each about two fingers wide and one finger long, with fine magical runes carved on the surface and the edges coated with a layer of silver powder. He handed one to Malfoy, one to Cho Chang, one to Hermione, and kept one for himself.

"This is called a Chatterboard," Reese said. "A little alchemy gadget I made. It can transmit messages, effective for two hours, starting from when magic is input. No character limit."

Malfoy examined the wooden slat back and forth; the runes were carved very finely, and the silver powder was applied evenly. "You made this?"

"Yeah."

Malfoy didn't ask any further and carefully tucked the wooden slat into his inner pocket. He then pulled three bottles of Potion from another pocket and handed them to Reese. "Blood-Stanching Potion, Blood-Replenishing Potion, and Pepperup Potion. Three bottles of each. I prepared these."

"That's enough."

The three of them walked into the corridor. The torchlight danced on the walls, stretching their shadows, making them flicker and change length. There was an indescribable smell in the air, sweet and rotten mixed together, making one feel quite uncomfortable.

In the middle of the corridor, something hung upside down from the ceiling.

Red hair, pointed hat, with that smile on his face that made one want to punch him.

"Yo, yo, yo—" Peeves hung upside down from a torch bracket, his arms crossed over his chest, "Three little Wizards, not sleeping in the middle of the night, are you going to—"

Malfoy stepped forward, his voice not loud but very cold. "Peeves, get out of the way."

Peeves grinned, revealing two rows of uneven teeth. "And what if I don't?"

"If you don't move," Malfoy's voice grew colder, his chin slightly lifted, "I'll call The Bloody Baron to punish you. I won't even need to report to Filch; Mr. Baron still gives face to Slytherin students."

Peeves's smile froze. The Bloody Baron—the only existence among all the ghosts at Hogwarts that could make Peeves behave. Silver blood, the sound of chains, the taciturn Slytherin ghost. Peeves's mouth opened and closed, then he zipped back into the ceiling and disappeared.

Harry glanced at Malfoy. Reese also glanced at Malfoy. Malfoy lifted his chin a bit higher, saying nothing.

"I'll keep guard here," Malfoy leaned against the wall at the corner of the corridor, taking the Chatterboard out of his pocket and holding it in his palm. "Call me if anything happens."

Reese nodded and walked with Harry toward the door at the end of the corridor.

The door was locked. Reese drew his wand and tapped it lightly. "Alohomora." The lock clicked open.

Orange light shone through the door gap, along with snoring—the kind of massive snoring that came from the chest cavity, shaking the floor slightly. Reese pushed the door open.

Fluffy was lying on the floor, all three heads drooping, noses twitching, with snoring coming from all three noses simultaneously. A harp was placed by its feet, its strings still vibrating slightly, automatically playing some hypnotic melody. The air was filled with a hot, doggy smell and a faint scent of blood.

Reese looked at the harp, then at Harry. Harry mouthed two words: "Quirrell." Reese nodded. Only Quirrell would have already gone in before they arrived.

Harry took the small flute from his pocket, put it to his mouth, and blew a note. The intonation wasn't very good, like a leaky bellows. The ear of Fluffy's middle head twitched, the snoring stopped for a moment, then continued. Harry blew another note, this time steadier than before; the melody was intermittent but finally formed a tune. Fluffy's left head tilted, the right head leaned toward the middle, and the three heads huddled together, the snoring gradually sinking lower.

Reese did not hesitate. He stepped over Fluffy's leg—that leg was thicker than his entire body—crouched down, and felt for the ring of the trapdoor. The iron ring was cold, covered with a thin layer of dew. He pulled hard, the trapdoor sprang open, and below was pitch black, nothing could be seen, only a damp, cold wind smelling of soil surged up from below.

"Come here quickly," Reese lowered his voice, "Let's jump down."

He braced himself on the edge of the trapdoor and jumped down first. The wind rushed past his ears, and very quickly—about two or three seconds—his feet stepped on something soft, and his whole body was coiled by that thing. It wasn't a rope, not a vine, but some living thing, wet and slippery, wrapping around his ankles, calves, knees, and still climbing up. Reese lit up his wand with Lumos and saw clearly—Devil's Snare. Deep green, snake-like vines reached out from all directions, wrapping him tighter and tighter.

Harry jumped down from above, landed next to Reese, and was also coiled. He struggled a bit, and the vines wrapped even tighter.

"Don't struggle!" Reese shouted, "Devil's Snare likes dark and damp places; the more you struggle, the tighter it wraps."

"Then what should we do?" Harry's voice was a bit tight; he had already been wrapped up to his waist.

"Relax. And then—" Reese drew his wand, "Incendio."

A tongue of golden-red fire spewed from the tip of his wand, not aimed at the Devil's Snare, but at the darkness above their heads. The firelight illuminated the entire space, and the vines of the Devil's Snare, as if scalded, recoiled violently, loosening from Reese's ankles, calves, and knees, and shrank back into the darkness. Harry also broke free, crawled out of the pile of vines, and panted heavily.

Reese took the Chatterboard out of his pocket and tapped it lightly with his wand. The wooden slat warmed up slightly, and he wrote on it: "Fluffy and Devil's Snare cleared."

Soon, a line of small characters appeared on the wooden slat, in Hermione's handwriting: "Received."

Reese stood up, brushed the dust off his robes, and looked ahead. A stone staircase extended upwards, ending at a half-open wooden door. The moment he pushed the door open, a massive sound of flapping wings surged over.

Hundreds upon hundreds of keys were flying around under the ceiling, silver, gold, bronze, their wings shimmering with fine light in the candlelight. Some flew fast, like bullets; some flew slowly, like falling leaves; some circled in the air, while others dashed in straight lines. They had no purpose, just flying, densely packed, buzzing, like a hive of disturbed bees.

Several old broomsticks leaned against the wall. Reese took one and tested the feel—the handle was a bit bent, and the twigs at the tail were a few bald spots, far worse than his Star-Flash, but it would do. Harry also took one, straddled it, and kicked off with both feet.

"Look at that door." Reese pointed to the wall opposite—a heavy wooden door, with no doorknob, only a keyhole. The shape of the hole was very special, not round, nor square, but some kind of ancient, angular shape. "Antique-looking, probably silver, shaped like a doorknob."

"Found it!" Harry's gaze had already locked onto that key. It flew slower than the other keys but was craftier, always turning suddenly.

The two of them split up to flank it. Reese from the left, Harry from the right. The key slid past Harry's fingertips and flew toward Reese's direction. Reese reached out to grab it, but it grazed the back of his hand, made a right-angle turn, and dashed toward the ceiling. Harry swooped down from above, closed his palm—and caught it.

The key struggled twice in his palm and then went still. The two of them landed in front of the door. Harry inserted the key into the keyhole and turned it. Click. The door opened. Reece took out the chatterboard and wrote: "The key level is cleared."

The new room was larger than the previous ones. The light was very dim, with only a few torches burning on the walls, casting the entire room in a half-light. The floor was not stone, but black and white squares—a chessboard. Huge, human-sized chess pieces stood in their respective squares, made of stone, standing there silently and motionless. There was a sense of oppression in the air, like walking into a room where no one was speaking, yet you could feel all eyes watching you.

"Wizard's Chess." Harry's voice was a bit tight.

Reece looked across the chessboard—the door was right behind the black King. To pass, they had to win.

He took out the chatterboard and wrote: "Ron, Wizard's Chess. We are standing in the white pieces' position; we need to win to get through."

In the common room, Ron had already set up the chessboard. Hermione sat beside him, clutching the chatterboard, reading the message Reece sent word for word. Anthony sat opposite, with the white pieces in front of him—he was responsible for simulating the opponent's moves. Ron played the black pieces; his fingers moved the pieces on the board, with almost no hesitation for every move.

"White moves the pawn in front of the King." Hermioneread.

Ron moved the black piece. "Black moves the Knight."

"White moves the Castle."

"Black moves the Bishop."

After several moves back and forth, Ron's fingers stopped. He stared at the chessboard for a few seconds, then said: "Tell them to sacrifice the Knight for the Bishop."

Hermione looked down and wrote on the chatterboard: "Sacrifice Knight for Bishop."

On the board, Reece was standing in the position of a Castle. He glanced at Harry, then moved according to Ron's instructions. The stone Knight slid slowly past him, crashing into the white Bishop. The sound of the stone statues colliding shook the entire room. The white Bishop shattered, and stone fragments littered the floor. Reece stood in his position, watching the fragments, his palms sweating.

After a few turns, Ron sent another instruction. "Harry, move two squares diagonally forward to the right."

Harry moved. He stepped onto that square, and the stone slab beneath his feet sank slightly, making a click. The white Queen opposite turned—a stone Queen, taller than a person, her scepter gleaming coldly in the torchlight. She looked at Harry, then raised her scepter and brought it down toward him.

"Harry!" Reece shouted.

The scepter stopped in front of Harry. An inch short—one more inch and it would have smashed his face. The Queen withdrew her scepter and returned to her square. Harry's face was pale, but he stood there, not moving.

"Check." Ron's instruction arrived again. "Reece, move the Castle, straight to the end."

Reece took a deep breath and took a step. The stone slab under his feet clicked, and the white King opposite moved slightly, then stopped. It looked at its own position, then at Reece's position, and then slowly knelt, placing its crown on the ground. All the white pieces simultaneously lowered their weapons.

The door opened. Reece took out the chatterboard and wrote: "The chessboard level is cleared."

The next room had no door. Only a nauseating stench poured out from inside—the pungent smell of rotting meat, blood, and some kind of chemical Potion. Harry's eyes immediately watered from the fumes, and Reece felt his nasal passages sting as if pricked by needles. He raised his wand and tapped it on his own head and Harry's. "Bubble-Head Charm." A layer of transparent bubbles covered their heads, blocking out the smell, though their vision became somewhat blurred.

A Troll lay in the center of the room. It was even bigger than the one at Halloween; its grayish-brown skin had turned black, its tongue was lolling out, and its eyes were rolled back. It had been dead for at least some time; there was a deep wound in its abdomen, and the blood had long since dried, turning into a black, hard mass.

"Merlin's beard." Harry covered his nose—although the Bubble-Head Charm had blocked the scent, seeing this thing still made one instinctively want to cover their nose. "Why is there a dead Troll here?"

Reece circled around the Troll's body and walked toward the door on the opposite side. He looked at the wall by the door—there were no markings on it, but a faint, burnt smell lingered in the air.

"This might be Professor Quirrell's challenge," Reece said. "Fluffy is Hagrid's, the Devil's Snare is Professor Sprout's, the keys are Professor Flitwick's, and the Wizard's Chess is Professor McGonagall's."

He glanced at the Troll on the ground. "The Troll—it has to be Professor Quirrell. Didn't he bring the first news of the Troll that time at Halloween?"

Harry paused for a moment, then nodded.

The next room was very quiet. No monsters, no traps, no strange smells. Only a huge stone table stood in the center of the room, on which were seven bottles of various shapes. The bottles were lined up, different in size and color; some had round bellies and thin necks, some were square, some were shaped like teardrops, and some like inverted bells. Beside them was a small piece of parchment with writing on it.

At the other end of the room, a door was sealed by black fire. The black fire danced on the stone door, making no sound and emitting no heat—but Reece knew that kind of fire was more dangerous than ordinary fire. At the other end, purple fire sealed another door.

"Professor Snape's Potion test." Reece walked to the table and read the words on the parchment.

He took out the chatterboard and wrote: "Hermione, Potionpuzzle. Seven bottles, one black fire, one purple fire. We need to pass through the black fire."

In the common room, Hermione took the chatterboard, read the message Reece sent, and closed her eyes to think. Then she opened her eyes, drew a table in the air with her finger, listed the positions, sizes, and colors of the seven bottles one by one, and began to deduce. She wrote and drew for a while, then looked down and wrote on the chatterboard: "The smallest bottle can pass through the black fire. The largest one can pass through the purple fire."

When Reece received the message, Harry was already standing at the table, holding that smallest Potion in his hand. The bottle was only enough for one mouthful, and the Potion inside was transparent, shimmering slightly with a silvery light in the candlelight.

"Reece, let me go." Harry's voice was softer than usual, but steady. "Since it's You-Know-Who, I escaped once last time, I can do it this time too—"

"Of course you're drinking it," Reece interrupted him. "I'm naturally immune to fire magic anyway. Have you forgotten Norbert?"

Harry paused.

Reece took the Potion from his hand and shoved it into his mouth. Harry didn't have time to react before the Potionwas poured in. Reece turned and walked toward the black fire, reached out, and probed his fingertips into the flames. The fire licked his skin—warm, scorching, but without pain. It felt the same as when Norbert breathed onto his palm, and the same as the fire in the fireplace burning his fingertips.

"Hurry up and go," Reece stepped into the flames. "It won't be good if your Potion wears off in a while."

Harry watched as Reece was swallowed by the black fire, then looked down at his own hands. The transparent Potion was already taking effect in his veins; his fingertips began to turn cold, and that chill spread from his fingers to his palms, and from his palms to his arms. He took a deep breath and stepped into the flames. The fire slid over him like water, like wind, like nothing at all. No burning, no pain. Only the chill, seeping in from his skin, mixing with the cold of the Potion, making it impossible to tell which was which.

He walked out of the flames and saw that Reece was already standing on the other side.

The two of them exchanged a look, said nothing, and looked ahead together.

The last door. The door was unlocked, half-ajar, and a dark green light shone through the crack—not candlelight, not firelight, but something colder and heavier.

Reece reached out and pushed the door open.

In the corridor, Malfoy leaned against the wall, holding the chatterboard in his hands, reading the messages Reece sent word by word. Fluffy passed. Devil's Snare passed. Keys passed. Chessboard passed. Troll passed. Potionpassed. With each level cleared, his brow relaxed a little, but the force with which his fingers gripped the chatterboard did not loosen at all.

He took the healing Potion out of his pocket and checked them again. Blood-stopping Potion, Blood-replenishing Potion, Pepperup Potion. Three bottles of each. They were lined up neatly in his palm.

Then he leaned against the wall and continued to wait.

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