Withered fingers tightly gripped the Willow Wand, knuckles turning white with exertion.
Filch felt something was amiss. As he stared into the darkness ahead, he seemed to hear something—a sound that was hard to describe, like a silky thread wrapping around the man's consciousness, trying to lure him into that unknown, pitch-black corridor—
"Come back! You old Squib!"
Peeves scratched his head, spinning anxiously in mid-air, his translucent body vibrating with impatience, "That direction is forbidden! Even I don't dare to go in after all this time. If you go in and uncover that Devil's secret, you'll definitely be slapped into a picture frame by him, losing all freedom forever!"
Clearly, freedom was more important to Peeves than life itself.
But the indistinct whispers at Filch's ears not only did not weaken due to Peeves' screaming, but became clearer and more enticing.
At the man's feet, the previously relaxed Mrs. Loris suddenly grew restless. She stopped trying to bat at the quill Peeves held and instead squeezed herself between Filch's legs, staring into the darkness with a low, warning growl, her light gray fur bristling.
However, whether it was Peeves' warning or Mrs. Loris' odd behavior, it was clear that neither could extinguish the flame of "courage" ignited by magic in Filch's heart at that moment.
He could do magic now. He was no longer the Squib who could only carry an oil lamp and a useless broom, raging impotently at students and ghosts alike; this newfound power was an unexpected joy, intoxicating him like the strongest liquor, clouding the man's once-cautious mind.
"Shut up, Peeves!"
Filch's voice carried a hoarseness and stubbornness he hadn't noticed himself, "I'm different now... I can do magic now!" With that, he clenched the wand in his hand, as if this could give him greater comfort.
However, Filch clearly had no correct understanding of his own strength.
Having said this, he shook off his leg, avoiding Mrs. Loris, who tried to bite his trousers. Before him, the luminous glow on the wand's tip seemed to give him endless confidence. The man took a deep breath and stepped into what Peeves had referred to as the "Hell" corridor, his pace trembling yet extraordinarily resolute.
But this seemed like just a normal corridor. Mrs. Loris even followed at his feet, while Peeves lingered at a corner, staring at him with a look of pitiful bewilderment. But Filch simply sneered at this—
Peeves? What does it understand? Let alone now that he had magic—
With this thought, Filch began to walk deeper into the corridor, the air growing increasingly thick. The faint glow flickered in the darkness, allowing him to faintly discern the path ahead.
Soon, Mrs. Loris was nowhere to be seen, and Filch could only hear his heavy breathing and the thunderous beating of his heart from anxiety.
Suddenly, he felt the sensation of stepping on something slippery on the stone stairs. Filch lowered the wand to see his surroundings. The corridor seemed to come to an end, and now, before him was a downward slope of slippery stone stairs, the wand's light illuminating only a few inches ahead, beyond which lay impenetrable darkness.
The man swallowed hard, but the urge to turn back vanished in the next moment. Taking a deep breath, he continued downward along the stairs.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, just as Filch grew accustomed to the darkness, he noticed the faint outline of a door ahead.
It was an incongruous, antique wooden door, devoid of decor and lacking even a lock.
Filch hesitated not at all—or rather, the breathy whispers in his ears had completely stripped him of any capacity for hesitation—he reached out and gently pushed it.
"Creak—"
The door opened in response.
And the scene beyond made Filch's eyes widen instantly, his murky pupils contracting in shock.
The cold, damp castle basement had vanished, replaced by a vista that was wide open and full of life.
In this moment, it seemed as if he had stepped into another world. Before him lay a gently rising, verdant hill under warm sunlight, beneath a sky blue as wash, the air filled with the fresh fragrance of grass and unknown wildflowers, so warm that Filch momentarily forgot that Scotland lay in the grip of deep winter.
Curiously, he turned his head; behind him were dense trees through which a brown deer bounded. Wait, where did the door go...
A realization of something amiss tried to surface but was quickly suppressed as Filch turned back, stepping forward two paces. Yellow-and-white flowers were scattered like stars through the tall grass swaying gently with the wind, and everything before him seemed so peaceful and beautiful, a stark contrast to the arthritis-inducing environment of the Slytherin Dungeon.
At this point, driven by an inexplicable force, Filch began to climb to the top of the slope, soft blades of grass brushing against his trousers with a faint rustle. The sunshine chased away the chill of winter, quelling the unease that had just arisen in the man's heart—
He soon reached the top of the hill.
The sight there took his breath away.
At the top of the hill stood a marble cross, brilliantly white. It rose from the center of the summit, reflecting a gentle sheen under the sunlight. On it were two rusted metal spikes, pinning a person—a woman.
Her hair was a radiant golden hue, magnificent even under the sun, though now it hung lushly, obscuring part of her face. Yet through the gaps, her stunningly beautiful contours could be discerned, while her curvaceous, pale figure was clad only in a tattered, off-white short robe barely covering her modesty.
The fabric was stained with dark red, congealed blood and dirt, but most striking were the woman's hands. The two long spikes pierced her left and right palms, with their ends embedded deeply into the cross. Dark red blood trickled down her alabaster arms, forming dark stains on the vibrant green grass below.
Instinctively, Filch swallowed, his dry throat moving slightly. He tightened his grip on the Wand of Magic, his heart thumping wildly. The allure of the scene had a feel of sacred eeriness, an untouchable beauty hiding danger, this juxtaposition left his mind blank.
At that moment, the woman nailed to the cross slowly lifted her head.