In the days that followed, everything seemed a bit chaotic and frustrating.
At Christmas, Hermione's Polyjuice Potion was finally ready. Ron and Harry transformed into Malfoy's two idiotic cronies and managed to get some information of little value from Malfoy.
But Hermione, because she had mistaken a cat hair for a human hair and put it in her Polyjuice Potion, ended up turning into a cat-girl and had to stay in the hospital wing for several weeks.
After Hermione was finally discharged, they found a faded, black-covered diary. A date was faintly written on the cover, probably from about fifty years ago.
And on the first page of this old diary, only one name could be made out, written in faded ink—Tom Riddle.
The three of them stared at the diary, but they couldn't figure anything out. In the end, Harry had to put it on his bedside table, to be studied when he found a way.
He always felt that this old diary looked very suspicious.
After that, Valentine's Day arrived.
This Valentine's Day was clearly not very pleasant.
Lockhart had, from somewhere, found twelve sullen-looking dwarves. And they were not ordinary dwarves; Lockhart had them all fitted with golden wings and carrying harps.
The little dwarves went around delivering cards, sometimes even belting out a hoarse and unpleasant tune. It was really something to be avoided.
Later, the diary went missing, but Harry didn't notice it at first.
When he woke up the next morning, the weather was clear and sunny, with a pleasant breeze.
"Perfect Quidditch weather!" said Oliver Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, adding a large helping of scrambled eggs to each team member's plate. "Harry, cheer up, you need a good breakfast."
As Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the Great Hall to get his Quidditch things, another very heavy worry was added to his already troubled mind. Because just as he stepped onto the marble staircase, he suddenly heard that voice again.
"Kill this time... let me rip... let me tear..."
He shouted, and Ron and Hermione jumped back in alarm.
"That voice!"
Harry said, turning his head to look back. "I just heard it again—did you hear it?"
Ron shook his head, his eyes wide. Hermione also listened with a puzzled expression, but she still heard nothing.
"By the way, Harry! What did you say happened to Hagrid's roosters?" Hermione's eyes widened, and she suddenly asked.
"Roosters? What about them?" Harry said, puzzled. "Hagrid just said... um, the roosters were all killed by something..."
"Oh! I think I need to check something!"
She said, and hurried away, heading upstairs.
"What has she figured out?" Harry said, flustered, still looking around, trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.
"I don't know," said Ron, shaking his head.
"But why is she going to the library?"
"Because that's what Hermione does," said Ron, looking a little glum. "I don't want to go..."
…
Half an hour earlier, in the Room of Requirement.
"What you need to help me with is, when I call your name, use this knife to cross out this symbol."
Marcel carefully instructed Vylie, who was squatting on the floor.
"Mmm."
"Good, then let's begin."
Marcel said, and walked to the center of the room.
On the floor in the middle of a wide-open space conjured by the Room of Requirement, some special symbols were drawn. Between these symbols, neat lines connected them, forming an irregular diagram.
It looked very much like the circuit diagrams invented by Muggles.
The ink used to draw these symbols and lines looked very special. It was a purplish-black mark that would occasionally flash with a faint blue light, exuding a sense of mystery.
Marcel stood barefoot at a certain position in the diagram. His left and right feet were each on a breakpoint in the lines, using his body to connect the entire diagram.
Instantly, the purplish-black lines and symbols burst with a surprising blue light, enveloping Marcel completely.
Marcel, who had already conducted numerous experiments, was not surprised by this. He stood quietly, as if waiting for something.
Suddenly, Marcel felt a wave of nausea, a feeling of wanting to vomit.
At the same time, a lot of faint black smoke suddenly erupted from around his body. Before long, a huge black mist skull formed behind Marcel.
The skull looked extremely ferocious. It suddenly opened its mouth and let out a silent roar at Marcel.
"Ugh..."
Marcel was in great pain, but he didn't show it. His face remained calm.
But this feeling was as if something wanted to shake his soul out of his body. As his strength gradually drained, he became weaker and weaker.
"No, I have to wait a little longer..."
Marcel thought calmly, maintaining his standing posture, but his slightly trembling knees and palms showed that this was not easy at all.
A second time! The black mist skull let out a second roar!
Marcel grunted, his eyes wide, the blood vessels in the whites of his eyes almost clearly visible.
But this endurance was not in vain. Soon, a faint shadow "protruded" from Marcel's body. Although its head and feet were still firmly connected to Marcel, the body part had been "blown" out of its shell by the skull's silent roar.
Marcel stared intently at the translucent, blurry shadow—he was using his own eyes to confirm the integrity of his soul.
After a short while, he finally couldn't hold on any longer and weakly called out, "Blois."
Hearing this, Vylie immediately made a sharp cut on the floor with the small knife.
With a grating sound that set one's teeth on edge, the magical glow was instantly cut off and disappeared, and the black mist skull also quickly dissipated. Marcel's soul returned to his body, and he himself was half-kneeling on the floor, panting heavily.
"The Phoenician magic runes are still too crude. The precision is really difficult to control, resulting in excessive fluctuations."
Marcel thought, and then lay flat on the floor, his chest heaving violently.
"..." Vylie walked over to Marcel, squatted down beside him, and quietly looked at his face.
"Are you okay?" she asked in a low voice.
Marcel shook his head slightly. After recovering a little, he sat up again.
"Help me get that notebook on the table, thank you."
After this risky attempt, a lot of important experimental data had been generated, which needed to be recorded immediately.
After a good while, he slowly stood up and, with Vylie's help, left the Room of Requirement.
If it were in the past, Marcel would have been very surprised by Vylie's actions. But now, he was just a little curious about it.
At this time, the students and professors had all gone to the Quidditch pitch to watch the match. The castle was somewhat empty. But just as they neared the library, they ran into Lockhart.
"Er," Lockhart was taken aback, then put on a smile. "Oh, isn't this Marcel? What's wrong with you, do you need my help?"
Marcel glanced at him and shook his head slightly.
"Oh—alright, but I think you'd better—"
Before Lockhart could finish, Marcel suddenly drew his wand.
"Heavens! What are you doing?" Lockhart also hastily took out his own wand and said to Marcel in a panic.
"Get aside."
Marcel forced himself to stand up straight, waved his wand quickly, and sent Lockhart flying into the corridor next to them. At this time, his eyes were already tightly closed.
"Miss Blois, close your eyes and go to the corridor over there too," he said seriously, standing in front of Vylie. "Professor Lockhart, you too—if you don't want to die."
With that, he paid no more attention to Lockhart, but muttered something under his breath.
"Focus... Swiftness."
These were the assassin abilities he had learned from Al-Ani.
Instantly, Marcel's perception was greatly enhanced, and his body's agility also increased a lot.
But since he was already in a weakened state, these enhancements were just a drop in the bucket.
But no matter what, he had to act.
"Why would the basilisk appear..." Marcel thought, then paused. "Hermione?"
"Hiss—"
Marcel tilted his head, capturing every movement.
He could feel the basilisk's approach—he could even hear the faint sound of its scales slithering on the ground—but his lack of stamina forced him to take a defensive stance.
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind came from his front left. He retreated a few steps without hesitation.
BOOM!
The basilisk slammed heavily onto the corridor floor, creating a small pit. The stone slabs cracked, sending stone fragments flying.
In an instant, Marcel thought of many solutions, but he eliminated them one by one.
The most difficult part of dealing with a basilisk was that you absolutely could not look into its eyes. A direct gaze was instant death, and even an indirect look would cause petrification.
Thus, the "Conjunctivitis Curse" was the perfect remedy, but to aim it would inevitably mean meeting the basilisk's gaze, making it difficult to avoid being hit. As for other powerful offensive spells, Marcel didn't have the strength for them right now, not to mention the basilisk's almost full-body magic-resistant scales were no joke.
And as for using potions to deal with the basilisk...
"I can only try."
Thinking this, Marcel put away his wand and took out a pure black potion bottle from his robes.
This was an unexpected product he had obtained after last Christmas while researching wandless attack methods—the Fiendfyre bottle.
Now, the Fiendfyre bottle had been updated to the second generation. Facing a magical creature like a basilisk, which had extremely strong magic of its own, how effective would it be?
To be honest, Marcel was also very eager to know.
The full story is available on Patreon!
now at 40% OFF!
patreon.com/Zefyrus