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Gossip about the violent attack in the corridor spread like wildfire, quickly flying throughout the entire Castle overnight. By the time breakfast was served, the whispered rumors had easily become the hottest topic of concern among all the students leading up to Valentine's Day.
Attentive students noticed a distinct shift in the castle's atmosphere. The faculty and staff had significantly strengthened campus security management. The heavy oak doors were locked earlier, and Professor McGonagall had even readjusted the positions of several magical portrait paintings to monitor blind spots.
For example, the large oil painting of Sir Cadogan and his fat, grazing gray pony, which originally hung quietly on the seventh-floor landing, was specifically moved directly to the gloomy corridor where Mary had been ambushed.
Many curious students ventured down to that specific hallway to inquire about the physical details of the attack, but most found themselves immediately entangled by the overly enthusiastic Sir Cadogan.
This particular knight, who was fanatical about battle, spent at least half of his waking hours aggressively challenging passing students to sword duels. He clanked around his painted frame, swinging his oversized broadsword and shouting challenges, so much so that the bright sound of students' laughter now often echoed in what was once a terrifying corridor.
And Mary Macdonald herself experienced the intoxicating taste of "fame" for the very first time. Even just walking down the drafty corridors between classes, older classmates she had never spoken to before would actively stop to greet her, or curiously ask all sorts of dramatic questions about the dark magic used.
In the past, Mary had always felt like a quiet foil to her more brilliant friends. But this time, she was actually the undeniable focus of everyone's attention. This sudden spotlight made her feel both unfamiliar and deeply joyful.
What made her heart flutter with special happiness was that even Sirius—the rebellious little male god she had always paid quiet attention to—seemed to look at her with a little more genuine interest during their Gryffindor common room meetings.
After a hearty dinner, Mary pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Magical Knitting Club. As soon as she stepped inside, she was immediately surrounded by a tight circle of excited, chattering little witches.
"Mary, did you really duel Peeves and chase him away?" a young Hufflepuff witch asked, her round eyes wide and full of sheer curiosity. She was clutching a thick ball of gold and red yarn in her lap, clearly a loyal, unofficial member of the Sirius Fan Club.
"Pfft—" Mary couldn't help but laugh, a genuine, bright sound. "How could that be..."
"But Peeves was really there, right? We heard him screaming!"
Mary nodded gently, a modest smile playing on her lips.
"Wow!" The surrounding little witches immediately let out loud exclamations of surprise and awe.
"Mary, my Ravenclaw roommate swore on her wand that you used the ultimate, forbidden version of the 'Sonorus' charm that night to blast the attacker away," another little Witch leaned in close, whispering mysteriously. "I bet you secretly opened a smuggled Howler as a weapon, right?"
Mary smiled and shook her head, pressing her lips together without speaking to keep the HP syndicate's alarm ring a secret.
"So what exactly happened?" they pressed, leaning closer.
"Professor McGonagall still won't let me tell anyone..." Mary replied shyly, lowering her gaze. She had repeated this exact sentence so many times in the past few days that it was almost second nature.
Seeing that they couldn't squeeze any more juicy information out of her, the little witches, gently urged by the club president, finally picked up their wands and began their difficult, frustrating struggle with the tangled balls of colorful yarn.
The flames in the large stone fireplace danced merrily, casting a warm, orange-yellow light over the room. The rhythmic tapping of knitting needles and the soft scent of wool and woodsmoke made the atmosphere incredibly cozy.
For some reason, as Mary held her wand over her lap, she felt that her complex knitting charms were exceptionally smooth tonight. The magical thread flowed effortlessly, obeying her every mental command.
"Confidence can actually enhance magical power."
She suddenly remembered the profound sentence Regulus had once casually mentioned during a study session. Her back straightened slightly unconsciously, and a shy yet undeniably proud smile appeared on her face.
The Gryffindor witch focused entirely on waving her wand in precise, small arcs, carefully outlining the complex lion pattern in her mind. Soon, she smoothly bypassed the difficult section she had been stuck on for days. The thick, warm scarf she was dedicating to Sirius was finishing up surprisingly quickly.
"Mary, you're amazing today!" The little Witch sitting beside her looked enviously at the intricate pattern rapidly forming in the air and couldn't help but exclaim.
Mary gave an embarrassed, glowing smile. Under the gaze of curious eyes around her, she unzipped her canvas backpack and pulled out a massive pile of colorful yarn balls—enough to knit thick winter scarves for an entire class of students. She sorted them into neat piles: gold, red, silver, green, blue, yellow, and deep graphite.
"Huh? Mary, why are you starting to use silver and green too?" A little Witch nearby paused her own work, looking in surprise as Mary actively turned to pick up the Slytherin-colored yarn.
"Ah..." Mary blinked shyly, her cheeks warming slightly in the firelight. "I want to knit a scarf for Regulus too."
Another little Witch across the circle, who was currently wrestling with a pair of silver and green gloves, looked up and gave her a knowing, supportive smile.
This way, both Black brothers would have one.
Nowadays, her absolute favorite romantic ship was the Black Family brothers. In fact, after his calm, heroic rescue in the corridor, she found herself favoring Regulus's steady demeanor a little more—
But she was clearly a veteran, dedicated fan of Sirius, so she had to be fair!
In that case... James, Remus, Severus... she should treat them equally too. After all, they were all loyal syndicate companions who had gone through danger together.
But could she realistically knit so many complex patterns by herself before the holiday?
She suddenly remembered another piece of CEO wisdom Regulus had once shared:
"As long as you repeat the process enough times, anyone can become a genius in the eyes of others."
Mary pursed her lips, her eyes locking onto the massive pile of yarn. She was determined to challenge her own magical limits.
She would knit a personalized scarf for absolutely everyone in the group!
Hmm! Where there's a will, there's a way!
She picked up the next yarn ball with great ambition, her wand glowing warmly.
Valentine's Day Scarf Knitting Multithreading Mode—Activated!
...
...
Down in the freezing, damp Potions classroom in the dungeon.
After the afternoon's grueling Potions class finally ended, Regulus deliberately took his time tidying up his brass scales and crystal phials. He lingered by the sink, washing his equipment slowly until the heavy oak door clicked shut, leaving only him and Professor Slughorn in the dim classroom.
"Hurry up, Regulus, you should be going to dinner soon. The house-elves are serving roast beef," Slughorn reminded him kindly, his plump fingers working to fasten the heavy golden clasp on his dragon-hide briefcase.
"Professor, I have a theoretical question for you," Regulus said with a polite, aristocratic smile. Looking at the older man's balding head, he couldn't help but think of the timeline involving the future Harry Potter and a certain memory vial.
"Go ahead and ask, my dear boy..." Slughorn replied genially, turning to face his favorite student.
"Actually, Professor Dumbledore specifically recommended that I ask you for your expertise." Regulus blinked his grey eyes innocently and reached into his leather satchel, pulling out a large, heavy book with a torn black cover.
It was precisely that book, Soul Power, which the Professor had desperately hoped was rendered harmless in the Headmaster's office.
The kind, grandfatherly smile on Slughorn's round face froze instantly. The color drained from his cheeks, and his voice became tight and unnatural: "Ah... Albus?"
"Professor Dumbledore said you are incredibly proficient in ancient Latin and uniquely well-versed in complex soul magic." Regulus blinked again, his expression a mask of extreme, eager sincerity.
"Albus said that? Alright... what is your specific question then?" Slughorn secretly let out a shaky breath of relief, a hint of his usual smug pride reappearing on his face at the academic compliment. He pulled a silk handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and gently dabbed the sudden layer of sweat from his forehead.
"Professor, have you read this book before?"
Slughorn nodded stiffly, silently deciding that he definitely needed to retreat to his office and drink a large glass of aged mead to calm his frayed nerves.
The black-haired student in front of him quickly opened the haunting, leather-bound book, the old parchment crinkling in the quiet dungeon. He flipped directly to Chapter Four—"The Window of Vision." The next second, Regulus fluently recited a passage in flawless Latin:
"Oculi fenestrae sunt animae, Magia per oculos attingere potest animam. (The eyes are the windows to the soul; magic can reach the soul through the eyes)."
This clearly showed immense academic effort. Despite his anxiety, Slughorn couldn't help but nod in genuine approval at the boy's pronunciation.
"Professor, according to the theories in this book, the human soul is entirely distinct from the physical body. So why can some specific dark magic actively harm the soul directly through the body?"
"Hmm—" Slughorn's academic vigilance was immediately triggered. He pondered the dangerous question for a tense moment before treading carefully. "Where exactly did you encounter this idea, Regulus?"
"I've recently been researching 'Magical Conductivity of Light and Distortion of Magical Fields,' which is a private research assignment the Headmaster gave me. I learned from a bestiary that a Basilisk's gaze can petrify people instantly, so I was logically wondering if this is an example of lethal magic contacting the soul directly through the optic nerve?"
Hearing the question framed around magical creatures rather than Horcruxes, Slughorn visibly relaxed, his shoulders dropping. He smiled broadly and shook his head. At this moment, his expression shifted back into the confident, booming demeanor of lecturing in a Potions class, completely different from his terrified caution just a minute ago.
"Not quite, not quite. The soul and the body are indeed closely connected, but there is a real, fundamental distinction. A Basilisk's lethal gaze doesn't actually harm the soul itself, but violently attacks the physical body."
Saying this, he stepped forward, casually flipped back a few pages in the ancient book, and tapped a stubby finger on a certain paragraph for Regulus to see:
"Look what the author notes here—The human soul is a simple entity; it can understand certain things, feel some things, and desire other things. As for the human body, merely because the shape of some of its parts changes, it is no longer the same body."
Slughorn continued to explain, his tone rich with academic authority. "The soul is the fundamental basis of what makes a person human, and it is rarely truly changed by external kinetic forces. A Basilisk's gaze only petrifies the biological body; it doesn't fundamentally change the immortal essence of the soul..."
He immediately flipped the heavy pages to Chapter Seven, pointed firmly at the title "Immortality of the Soul," and continued his lecture:
"The soul is inherently immortal, indestructible by normal means, while the fragile physical body is much more like a—"
Slughorn suddenly clamped his mouth shut, his eyes widening slightly as he realized he might have led the metaphor a bit too far into dangerous territory.
"—A container?" Regulus added helpfully, maintaining a perfectly innocent expression. He immediately followed up with a flattering compliment, "Professor, you truly know so much about magical theory!"
The Professor immediately broke out in a fresh layer of cold sweat, sighing heavily inward. Sweet Merlin, how could this young child's analytical mind be so terrifyingly sharp?
Soul magic was indeed an incredibly dangerous conversational minefield. He quickly picked up his silk handkerchief to wipe his gleaming forehead again, grabbed the brass handle of his briefcase, and mentally prepared to make a hasty getaway to the Great Hall.
However, Regulus smoothly changed the subject before the man could escape, throwing out his next tactical question:
"Professor, theoretically speaking, do you think there's any alchemical way to physically block the transmission of a Basilisk's magical gaze?"
Without waiting for the sweating Professor to answer, Regulus tapped his chin thoughtfully and added:
"I was thinking... maybe we could use a polished mirror to reflect the magic and make the Basilisk stare at itself?"
Hearing this classic, youthful Gryffindor-style logic, Slughorn couldn't help but let out a booming laugh. The sound echoed off the dungeon walls, and most of his previous tension evaporated.
"Now that you mention it, the Basilisk is indeed a fascinating academic subject. For example, a rooster's morning crow is instantly fatal to a Basilisk; this specific vulnerability must logically be related to the disruption of magical sound fields."
He stroked his walrus mustache, pondering the theory for a moment before continuing. "To my extensive knowledge, there has never been a documented historical record of two adult Basilisks appearing simultaneously and staring at each other until death. Just as Acromantulas do not succumb to their own venom—their native magic is likely completely ineffective against their own biological kind. Therefore, extending that logic, I speculate that the Basilisk's very own eyes might be harvested as a precious, highly potent alchemical ingredient capable of warding off or completely blocking a Basilisk's gaze."
Slughorn shrugged his heavy shoulders, his tone becoming relaxed and entirely casual. "Of course, Regulus, these are strictly my academic speculations. The specific practical situation would naturally require an actual Basilisk corpse to confirm the hypothesis."
"It would be truly great if there were a Basilisk available to study and harvest," Regulus looked up at the arched dungeon ceiling, sighing wistfully with an entirely innocent expression. The loot drops would be incredible.
"Yes," the Head of Slytherin House nodded in deep, profound agreement. A look of sheer, unadulterated greed and longing appeared on his face. "A Basilisk... from head to tail, every single scale and drop of venom is an absolute treasure..."
The little snake from the Noble House of Black also nodded along in perfect agreement, his mind calculating the market value.
Hehe.