Upon hearing that it was a plague virus, Sylas almost threw the black vial away on instinct. His hands trembled, and he even felt the urge to step back.
After all, this was a plague.
He quickly cast several layers of protective spells around the black vial, then fired cleansing charms at Peeves and the unconscious student. Even if contact had only been with the outside of the bottle, he wasn't willing to take any chances.
Gandalf stared at the vial, his expression grave as he let out a deep sigh.
"I remember this plague. It blew in from the East on a black wind. The Black Death that swept across Middle-earth. Those infected all died, entire populations vanished.
King Telemnar of Gondor and all his children perished. The White Tree of Gondor withered. Osgiliath became a ghost city.
More than half the people and livestock of Rhovanion died, crippling the kingdom. The Kingdom of Cardolan? Almost everyone perished. The land died with them."
Gandalf's voice was thick with disgust and anger.
"I thought this Black Death had long vanished. I never imagined it still existed, let alone that someone brought it here, into Hogwarts."
He turned to Sylas, tone heavy.
"This is clearly Sauron and Saruman's scheme. They want to spread the plague through the castle, infecting everyone.
This illness is cursed. Even we would grow weak if exposed… or die outright."
Sylas felt his blood run cold. Then fury surged through him, raw, murderous.
Saruman and Sauron were truly merciless.
If this had been poured into the kitchen's food or drinks, the entire school, professors, students, staff, would have been infected.
Even if wizards survived with potions, the castle would fall into panic.
And in that chaos, the hidden infiltrator could move freely.
But the worst part;
If the plague spread outside, through students returning home…
A second catastrophic pandemic could sweep Middle-earth.
Sylas did not dare be reckless.
After layering the vial with dozens of isolation spells, he placed it inside a sealed mithril container, then locked that inside several more containers. Only then did he feel safe enough to breathe.
He finally turned to Peeves, who, for once, actually looked helpful. It felt surreal.
"Peeves, you did well this time," Sylas said seriously. "You prevented a catastrophe. Think about a reward, nothing too outrageous. I'll grant it later."
Peeves lit up like a firework, giggling wildly at the thought of "rewards."
Sylas, however, shifted his attention to the three unconscious students.
Two had been stunned by a spell.
One had a huge bump on the back of his head, clearly courtesy of Peeves's bat.
A few healing charms later, all three students groggily awoke.
The two stunned boys blinked around in confusion, then recalled what had happened.
"Amon, why did you attack us?! Uh… Professor? What are all of you doing here?"
They had only just sat up when they noticed the circle of professors surrounding them, looking utterly bewildered.
But Sylas, Gandalf, and Galadriel were no longer focused on the boys' confusion.
Their eyes were locked on Amon's hand.
More specifically, the ring on his finger.
A gold band set with a diamond. Plain, ordinary… except for the unmistakable presence of a vile, corrupting aura that only seasoned magic wielders could sense.
"Mr. Amon," Sylas said calmly, though his expression was hard, "can you tell us where you got the ring you're wearing?"
Amon's eyes widened in panic. He instinctively curled inward, yanking his hands behind his back as if trying to hide them.
Sylas, Gandalf, and Galadriel exchanged grim looks.
Gandalf stepped forward, tone gentle but firm.
"Mr. Amon… that ring is deeply corrupted. If you continue wearing it, it will harm you severely. Please take it off and let us handle it."
But Gandalf's gentle words only made Amon more defensive.
He clenched his hands even tighter, backing away like a frightened animal.
Gandalf activated the power of the Ring of Fire, letting its calming warmth radiate outward. He slowly stepped closer, voice soft, trying to persuade Amon to remove the ring peacefully.
Amon kept his head buried, body curled into itself, muttering under his breath, frantic, broken whispers no one could understand.
Just as Gandalf finally reached him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder;
Amon snapped.
He suddenly jerked his head up. His face twisted with feral madness, eyes wide, pupils dilated, consumed by greed and obsession.
With a guttural snarl, he lunged at Gandalf.
"My treasure! This is my treasure! Nobody can take it from me!"
Before he could get anywhere close, Sylas flicked his wand.
A blast of petrification magic struck Amon mid-air.
He froze instantly, locked in a twisted, grasping pose, his face still contorted in madness.
Expression hardening, Sylas walked up to the immobilized boy.
He pulled on thick dragon-hide gloves, then leaned forward.
Under Amon's wide, terrified, and resentful gaze, Sylas pried the ring off his finger.
The moment the ring left his skin, the frenzy in Amon's eyes evaporated. Clarity washed in like cold water.
Confusion. Disbelief. Realization.
Then terror.
Tears welled up as Sylas released the petrification spell. Amon collapsed to the ground the moment he could move.
He stared at his own trembling hands, still shaking with lingering greed, but now overwhelmed by fear and revulsion.
"W-waaah… Headmaster, I...I didn't mean to!
I don't know why I did it! Please don't expel me!"
Amon's voice cracked in pure despair.
Sylas didn't answer immediately.
He was staring at the ring.
Even through dragon-skin gloves, he could feel it. A seductive pull, a whispering lure urging him to wear it.
He forced his will down hard, suppressed the temptation, and threw the ring onto a nearby table, stepping back quickly.
Only when the connection was broken did he breathe properly again.
Gandalf and Galadriel both moved closer, eyes fixed on the ring with grim recognition.
Gandalf spoke first.
"This is Thrór's Ring…the last of the Seven Rings of the Dwarves."
Sylas inhaled sharply.
The Ring of Thrór, the ancestral treasure of Durin's line, passed down to Thráin II, father of Thorin Oakenshield.
Thráin had been captured by Sauron's servants on the road to the Lonely Mountain. Imprisoned, tortured, drained of strength…
And the ring had been taken.
Gandalf's voice deepened.
"Sauron recovered this ring long ago.
For him to send it here, to Hogwarts, means the enemy is desperate… and bold."
Sauron had forged the Seven Rings of the Dwarves with corruptive power, intending to subjugate the dwarves as he had enslaved the Nine Kings of Men.
But he had made a critical miscalculation.
Dwarves, sculpted from stone by Aulë, were too stubborn, too resilient for domination.
The rings could not twist their spirits the way they twisted Men.
So instead of enslaving the dwarves, the rings only magnified their natural greed.
But in the hands of a human?
A dwarven ring was second only in danger to the One Ring itself.
Left on long enough, it would consume the wearer, devour their will, corrupt their mind, and eventually transform them into a Ringwraith, just like the Nine.
...
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