Chapter 46: Plunder! Forcibly Suppressing the Blood Curse
Daphne pulled her younger sister's wrist.
Her fingers were trembling, and her palms were slick with cold sweat.
The moment she stepped into this single dormitory room, her legs completely lost all strength.
"Thud."
The sound of a body slamming against the floor.
Even though the ground was covered with a thick woolen carpet, Daphne's knees still ached fiercely from the impact.
She couldn't care about the pain at all.
She gripped Astoria tightly, pulling her younger sister down to kneel on the floor together.
Astoria's body was as limp as a puddle of mud.
She couldn't even maintain a kneeling posture.
And slumped directly onto the carpet.
The girl's breathing was extremely rapid, like a fish about to die of thirst.
Her skin was frighteningly pale, almost turning into transparent waxed paper.
What was most terrifying was her neck.
Those cyan blood vessels had now all turned pitch black.
Like lines of black venomous bugs, frantically crawling up towards her face beneath her skin.
The blood curse had fully erupted.
And it was more violent than any time before.
Daphne lay flat on the floor.
Her forehead pressed against the fuzz of the carpet.
"M-Master..."
As soon as she spoke, her voice took on a distorted crying tone.
She was too terrified.
Her teeth bit into the tip of her tongue, and a bloody taste filled her mouth.
"I beg you... save her..."
She stammered, unable to even speak a complete sentence properly.
"St. Mungo's... St. Mungo's healers said she won't survive tonight."
Astoria lay on the floor.
A gurgling "heh-heh" sound came from her throat.
She suddenly began to cough violently.
Her chest thrust upward abruptly.
With a "waah" sound.
A mouthful of dark purple foul blood spewed out from her mouth.
Spitting directly onto the expensive handmade carpet in front of Arthur's desk.
The foul blood exuded an unpleasant, fishy stench.
Like a dead mouse soaked in a muddy pond for half a month.
Carrying strong corrosiveness.
The wool of the carpet sizzled from being burned by the blood, emitting white smoke.
Daphne was scared out of her wits.
She knew how brutal the blonde boy before her was.
If they dirtied his territory, she and her sister might not even leave behind intact corpses.
She panicked and reached out with both hands.
Directly using her fair palms to wipe up the pool of black blood on the carpet.
The bloody water smeared all over her hands.
Even smudging onto the hem of her thin pajamas.
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'll clean it up right away..."
Daphne apologized incoherently.
Tears smashed onto the back of her hands, mixing with the black blood.
She completely lost the airs of the Slytherin iceberg beauty now.
She was just a cornered, stray dog.
Behind the desk.
Arthur's gaze shifted away from that roll of ancient parchment.
He frowned.
The unpleasant smell of dead blood in the air made him feel very uncomfortable.
He didn't speak.
He merely tossed the parchment in his hand onto the desktop.
The paper rubbed against the surface with a rustling sound.
Hearing this sound, Daphne's body shuddered violently.
She thought Arthur was about to kill someone.
She despairingly closed her eyes, opening her arms to shield her younger sister.
Arthur leaned against the back of his chair.
His gaze crossed over Daphne's trembling shoulders and landed on Astoria's neck.
The grey mist deep within his right eye slowly began to swirl.
The world lost its color in his eyes.
Turning into a grey-and-white negative.
He saw the condition inside Astoria's body.
That wasn't any kind of illness at all.
That was the most vicious foundational rule curse in the wizarding world.
A ball of black energy carrying ancient resentment was entrenched right at the girl's heart.
Like an octopus, extending its tentacles into every single one of her blood vessels.
This clump of energy was frantically devouring the girl's vitality.
To strengthen itself.
The curse law.
And a very ancient one at that.
The indifference in Arthur's eyes dissipated slightly.
Added with a trace of a plunderer's interest.
To him, this thing wasn't trouble, but a delivered feast.
The system's cold mechanical voice rang out in his mind.
[Detected high concentration of ancient blood curse.]
[Contains life deprivation and soul corrosion laws.]
[Can forcibly plunder and analyze this law.]
Arthur stood up.
The legs of the chair scraped a very light sound against the stone floor.
He walked around the wide mahogany desk.
Leather boots stepped onto the carpet, walking step by step toward the two sisters kneeling on the floor.
Hearing the footsteps approaching,
Her heart was about to jump out of her throat.
She bit her lip tightly, not daring to raise her head.
Arthur stopped in front of them.
"Get lost."
He spat out two words.
His voice was very flat, without any emotional fluctuations.
Daphne froze for a moment.
She hurriedly scrambled two steps to the side.
Making way.
Her fingers dug a few marks into the floor.
Arthur lowered his head, looking at Astoria lying on the floor.
The girl had completely lost consciousness.
The black blood vessels spread to her cheeks, looking extremely hideous.
He didn't take out a wand.
He slowly squatted down.
And reached out his right hand.
Slender fingers directly pinched Astoria's slender neck.
The touch felt like a stone just taken out of an ice cellar.
Without a shred of living warmth.
Daphne covered her mouth.
Suppressing that scream tightly in her throat.
She thought Arthur was going to strangle her younger sister to death directly.
Arthur didn't care at all what the girl beside him was thinking.
His fingers tightened slightly.
The pads of his fingers pressed against those black blood vessels.
A trace of pure black spark darted out from his fingertips.
Fiendfyre.
But this time it didn't erupt with the high temperature that burned everything away.
Arthur used the Soul Law to suppress the physical destructive power of the Fiendfyre.
Preserving only its characteristic of devouring and destroying magic.
The black fire followed Astoria's skin, drilling directly into her blood vessels.
"Ah!"
Astoria, who had been unconscious all along, suddenly burst into a miserable scream.
Her body twitched violently on the ground like she was electrocuted.
It hurt too much.
Two overbearing magical powers treated her blood vessels as a battlefield inside her body.
Daphne cried and lunged forward.
"I beg you, be gentler... She'll die..."
Arthur didn't even glance at her.
His left hand casually waved outward.
An invisible wave of air directly slammed into Daphne's chest.
Knocking her flying two meters away, crashing into the bookshelf by the wall.
The bookshelf shook slightly, dropping a few thick books.
Arthur's attention was entirely on the curse beneath his hand.
The blood curse sensed the external threat.
The clump of black energy entrenched in the heart completely rioted.
It abandoned devouring vitality, turning its direction to counterattack toward Arthur's fingers.
A vicious chill crawled up from Arthur's fingertips.
Attempting to drill into his body.
"Is this all you've got?"
Arthur sneered.
The grey mist in his right eye instantly flared up greatly.
The Soul Law transformed into an invisible large net.
Directly catching this chill.
The Fiendfyre bit and tore frantically within the net.
On Astoria's neck, those black blood vessels began to wriggle violently.
As if bugs were about to break out of cocoons beneath the skin.
The skin was pushed high and bulging.
Arthur's fingers abruptly lifted upward.
His five fingers spread open into a claw shape.
"Squelch."
A sticky sound like mud being pulled out.
A clump of thick, unmelting black fog was forcibly pulled out of Astoria's neck by Arthur.
The black fog twisted frantically in midair.
Morphing into the shapes of venomous snakes, emitting a silent roar.
The temperature in the room plummeted drastically.
A thick layer of frost instantly formed on the window glass.
This blood curse had entrenched itself in the bloodline of the Greengrass family for hundreds of years.
Never had anyone been able to uproot it.
But now, it was caught bare-handed in midair by an eleven-year-old boy.
Arthur looked at this twisting black fog in his hand.
His palm clenched abruptly.
The Fiendfyre erupted thunderously.
Burning this clump of black fog directly into nothingness.
The curse laws inside were crudely stripped away by the system.
Transforming into a pure stream of information that drilled into Arthur's brain.
[Plunder successful.]
[Acquired ancient life curse law.]
[Host soul resistance greatly increased.]
The system's mechanical voice rang through his mind.
Arthur let go of his hand.
He stood up.
He took out a handkerchief and wiped off the slight cold sweat stained on his fingers.
On the carpet.
Astoria's screams stopped.
She collapsed weakly on the ground, breathing heavily in fresh air.
Those black blood vessels on her neck and face faded away at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Although her skin was still very pale, it already revealed a trace of a living person's rosy flush.
That aura of death that had entangled her for over a decade completely vanished.
Daphne crawled up from the corner of the wall.
Disregarding her bruised back.
She scrambled clumsily to hurl herself beside her younger sister.
Reaching out to touch Astoria's cheek.
Warm.
Breathing, heartbeat.
Daphne's tears fell like a breached dam.
A terminal illness that generations of St. Mungo's Hospital healers were helpless against.
The wizarding world's recognized death warrant.
In just under five minutes like this.
It was caught bare-handed and crushed by the boy in front of her.
Daphne slowly turned her head.
Looking at Arthur standing by the desk.
The boy looked down at them condescendingly.
His gaze remained that unmelting indifference.
As if he had just casually crushed an ant a moment ago, not worth mentioning at all.
That fear in Daphne's heart.
At this very instant, underwent a complete qualitative change.
She once thought Arthur was just a brutal Dark Wizard.
A tyrant who ruled the school through violence.
But now she understood.
This wasn't human at all.
This was a deity who held the power of life and death.
It was a supreme existence overriding all magic and rules.
Daphne let go of her younger sister.
She turned around and knelt before Arthur again.
This time without trembling, nor stammering.
She straightened her back.
Then knocked her head heavily against the carpet.
Even though there was still that foul-smelling dead blood on the carpet.
She didn't care at all.
"The Greengrass family."
Daphne's voice was very clear, carrying a morbid loyalty that was fanatical to the extreme.
"From now on, we are your most loyal dogs."
She raised her head.
In her originally icy blue eyes, unreserved fanaticism was now burning.
As long as Arthur told her to kill someone right now, she would pick up her wand without hesitation.
Arthur looked at this girl kneeling in the bloodstain.
His gaze had not the slightest fluctuation.
Just a dog picked up casually.
He turned around and walked toward his desk.
The night was already deep.
The torrential rain of Hogwarts was still pouring.
Striking against the glass window and making a dull sound.
Those Professors and students in the Castle had no idea that in this pitch-black basement,
Yet another pure-blood family had completely fallen at the feet of the Dark Lord.
Chapter 47: The Ice Beauty's Personal Allegiance
Daphne's forehead was pressed hard against the tip of the black leather boot.
The surface of the boot was stained with a bit of blood smeared from the carpet.
The icy leather touch transmitted through her skin, freezing her forehead numb.
She didn't dare to move away at all.
The bloody stench of rotting rats in the room had not yet dissipated.
Astoria lay beside her, her breathing gradually stabilizing.
Arthur sat behind the mahogany desk.
His gaze passed through the dim light, falling on the girl kneeling and prostrate on the ground.
"Greengrass."
There was no temperature to be heard in Arthur's voice.
"Put away that aristocratic allegiance act of yours."
"I don't lack tail-wagging dogs around me, and Malfoyknows how to bark much better than you."
Daphne's shoulders trembled slightly.
She swallowed a mouthful of dry saliva, her throat scraped painfully.
She knew what Arthur said was the truth.
In front of this Dark Lord, the title of a pure-blood family was worth even less than a piece of waste paper.
She had to pull out substantial chips.
"I... I can be your blade."
Daphne slowly raised her head.
Her knees had been kneeling on the ground for too long, leading to insufficient blood supply, aching like needle pricks.
Her face, which usually always wore an arrogant and cold expression, was now stained with dust and a few drops of dried blood marks.
But the fanaticism in her blue eyes had no concealment.
"Draco is too cowardly, he only dares to tremble in front of you."
Daphne spoke very fast, afraid of being interrupted.
There were still many unconvinced upperclassmen inside Slytherin. On the surface they were afraid, but privately they were writing letters to their elders in the Ministry of Magic.
"I can help you dig out all this noise... and crush it bit by bit."
Arthur looked at her.
The gray mist in his right eye stopped swirling.
This proposal aroused a little bit of interest in him.
He really couldn't be bothered to manage those buzzing flies hiding in the dark.
Having a ruthless housekeeper to clean up the trash could save him a lot of reading time.
"Clean this place up."
Arthur stood up.
The leather boot moved away from in front of Daphne's forehead.
"Get back to your dormitory with your sister."
"Tomorrow morning, I want to see no second voice in Slytherin ever again."
Daphne gasped heavily.
"Yes."
She scrambled up flusteredly.
Her thigh muscles went into a spasm, and she almost fell back to the ground.
She hurriedly grabbed the wall beside her to barely steady herself.
Gritting her teeth, she picked up Astoria, who was still unconscious, and limped out of the room.
The next day.
Slytherin common room.
The water of the Black Lake outside the window was gloomy, letting in hardly a few rays of sunlight.
The fire in the fireplace burned very brightly, but it couldn't suppress the low pressure in the common room.
A few sixth-year boys sat on the green leather sofa in the corner.
The leader was a tall guy named Warrington.
His face was pale, and he was clutching a piece of parchment in his hand.
"My father said the Ministry of Magic is already putting pressure on them."
Warrington lowered his voice, muttering viciously.
"No matter how arrogant that brat is, he's just a second-year. Does he really take us as a House-elf to boss around?"
Several boys next to him nodded along, their eyes revealing grievance and malice.
They didn't dare to provoke Arthur, but the aristocratic temper deep in their hearts had been fermenting.
"Snap."
A thick book smashed onto the glass coffee table in front of them.
The sound was very loud.
Rattling the cups on the coffee table to jump around.
Warrington was startled and looked up.
Daphne Greengrass stood in front of the sofa.
She had changed into a tightly tailored black robe.
Her face was as cold as an ice cube, holding a wand upside down in her hand.
"What are you barking about, Warrington."
Daphne's voice was not loud, but her enunciation was very clear.
Everyone in the entire common room heard it.
Warrington was stunned for a moment.
He felt he couldn't hold on to his face.
He, a sixth-year, was scolded publicly by a third-year girl.
"Greengrass, are you crazy? Do you think that by being a lackey to that madman, you can..."
His words weren't finished.
Daphne flicked her wrist.
A dazzling red light from the tip of the wand directly slammed onto Warrington's face.
Without even chanting a spell aloud.
This was a simple punishment curse that Arthur had forcibly instilled into her with magic last night.
"Ah!"
Warrington let out a miserable scream, flipping backward off the sofa.
He covered his face with both hands.
Fresh blood poured out crazily from between his fingers.
The spell just now directly tore his lips and the skin and flesh of a small piece of his cheek.
He rolled on the ground in pain, kicking his heels wildly and knocking over the coffee table.
Glass shattered all over the floor.
The few boys nearby turned pale with fright, hurriedly reaching for their wands.
Daphne took a step forward.
Her leather shoes stepped on the shattered glass, making a clacking sound.
There was not a shred of pity in her eyes.
"Draw them and try."
She stared at those boys.
"Master said, if I let me hear another word of nonsense, I'll pull out your tongues."
Pansy Parkinson shrank in a chair not far away.
Watching that usually arrogant ice beauty, now acting like a cold-blooded executioner.
So scared she didn't even dare to breathe heavily.
The common room was dead silent.
Only the muffled groans of Warrington rolling in pain on the ground.
Daphne bent down.
She grabbed Warrington by the collar, forcibly dragging him halfway up from the ground.
Blood dripped onto the back of her fair hand.
"Take out all those letters of yours, and your father's replies, all of them."
Her voice was chillingly cold.
"Missing one, and I'll open another hole on your face."
Warrington shivered in pain, tears and snot mixing with blood streaming down.
How could he still dare to be stubborn.
Shiveringly reaching his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of crumpled letter paper.
Daphne snatched it away.
Casually throwing him back to the ground like trash.
She stood straight and scanned the common room.
All the Slytherins who made contact with her gaze unconsciously lowered their heads.
The seeds of fear were completely planted.
She became the bloodiest blade in the Dark Lord's hand.
Late at night.
The underground dormitory.
Arthur sat in front of the desk, flipping through the parchment brought out from the Chamber of Secrets.
Two extremely light knocks came from outside the door.
"Come in."
Daphne pushed the door open and walked in.
She held a silver tray in her hands.
On it was a freshly brewed cup of black tea, and a stack of sorted letters.
Her walking posture was very light, for fear of making noise and disturbing Arthur's reading.
She walked to the desk.
Bending down, she steadily put down the tray.
The cup made contact with the tray without making the slightest sound.
She did it carefully.
"Master."
Daphne stepped back half a step, her hands crossed in front of her.
"Those little actions inside Slytherin have already been cleaned up."
"These are the letters confiscated from them."
Arthur didn't even raise his head.
His gaze was still fixed on the complex ancient symbols on the parchment.
"Throw them into the fire."
"Yes."
Daphne didn't have any hesitation.
She picked up that stack of parchment, walked to the fireplace, and threw it directly into the ghostly green fire.
Watching the paper curl and burn into ashes.
She turned around and took two more steps forward.
Her expression became somewhat solemn.
"There's one more thing."
Daphne lowered her voice, a hint of vigilance leaking in her tone.
"My informant on the Ravenclaw side said that recently there have been rumors circulating in the Castle about the second-floor bathroom."
Arthur's fingers turning the parchment paused for a moment.
The paper pages made a slight rustling sound.
He raised his eyelids.
"Speak."
Daphne swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
"It seems someone deliberately leaked the word, saying that a secret to defeating you is hidden there."
"A few seventh-year students from Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are planning to sneak in tonight to investigate."
She looked at Arthur's complexion.
"It's obvious someone is instigating them from behind. It might be Dumbledore, or it might be someone else restless."
"Do you need me to go deal with them?"
Daphne clenched her fists, ready at any time to execute the order of slaughter.
Arthur leaned back against the chair.
He sneered.
The laughter sounded extremely grating in the quiet room.
Exuding a kind of contempt for the boring struggles of the weak.
"No need."
Arthur stood up.
He threw the parchment in his hand onto the desk.
He really didn't expect that Dumbledore and his group would actually be stupid to this extent.
Not daring to contend head-on, they let a few upperclassmen go explore the Chamber of Secrets.
Wanting to find Salazar Slytherin's relics to deal with him?
Simply laughable.
"A few rats running into the mousetrap by themselves."
Arthur reached out his hand and adjusted his collar.
"Just right, my new magic needs a few living test subjects."
Daphne hadn't had time to speak yet.
She saw the edges of Arthur's body begin to distort.
Without chanting, nor using the cracking sound of Apparition.
That black robe and Arthur's body melted directly.
Turning into a pitch-black mist that was thick to the extreme.
The mist exuded a chilling coldness that made Daphne's soul tremble.
The black mist spun in mid-air.
Like a silent viper.
Following the crack of the door, it drilled straight into the dark corridor outside.
Disappearing without a trace.
Chapter 48: Chamber of Secrets - Unilateral Slaughter
From deep within the thick pipes came a muffled sound of fabric rubbing against the pipe walls.
Interspersed with stifled gasps caught in their throats.
"Bang."
A tall boy slid out from the pitch-black pipe opening.
Smashing heavily onto the mud-covered stone floor.
He let out a muffled grunt of pain, and his shoulder joint clicked.
Immediately following that were three more muffled thuds in succession.
The four of them tumbled into a heap.
Three seventh-years and one sixth-year.
Two wearing Gryffindor robes, two Ravenclaw.
Muddy water splashed onto their faces and clothes.
They didn't care about the filth at all, scrambling up from the ground in a panic.
A Ravenclaw girl got up too hastily.
Twisted her ankle.
She gasped sharply, biting down hard on her lower lip, terrified of making too much noise.
The soles of their shoes stepped on the animal bones scattered all over the ground.
Producing crisp crunching sounds.
The air in the underground tunnel was atrocious.
The fermented stench of the sewers mixed with the smell of dead rats rushed straight to their heads.
Making people's stomachs churn with sour bile.
"Lumos."
The leading Gryffindor boy raised his wand.
His wrist was shaking violently, and the ball of light at the tip of his wand swayed along with it.
The light illuminated a dozen meters ahead.
The walls were covered in damp green moss and unidentifiable slime.
"Here... Is this the Chamber of Secrets?"
He swallowed his dry saliva, his throat tightening.
"Professor Dumbledore said there is a secret here to defeat that Dark Lord... We need to hurry."
Another person looked around nervously.
Grip on the wand making his hands sweat.
They had caught wind of rumors, thinking that finding Salazar's relics would save the school.
And sneaked in with a bit of foolish wishful thinking.
They had walked less than ten steps forward.
A sudden change occurred in the darkness ahead.
No incantation was heard.
A wall of eerie green fire rose from the ground without warning.
The flames leaped two stories high, directly licking the arched dome of the tunnel.
This fire had no temperature.
Instead, it carried a chilling cold that could freeze bone marrow.
The wall of fire quickly formed a circle.
Trapping the four students tightly in the open space in the middle.
Their retreat was completely cut off.
The leading boy panicked.
"Aguamenti!"
He waved his wand at the wall of fire.
A thick stream of water sprayed out.
The moment it touched the eerie green flames, the water current was instantly frozen into ice shards.
Falling onto the stone slabs and shattering to pieces.
Arthur didn't show himself at all.
The ball of black mist he had transformed into floated in the shadows at the top of the tunnel.
Quietly watching the four reckless mice below.
Truly thinking the magic world was a hero's fairy tale written on parchment.
Running into the Dark Lord's lair to look for treasure.
So foolish it was laughable.
A slithering hiss sounded in the darkness.
Parseltongue.
The sound pressed in from all directions, making it impossible to tell its exact location.
From deep within the tunnel immediately came a teeth-gritting, massive grinding sound.
Rumble.
The stone slabs on the ground began to tremble.
Ripples shook across the standing water in the puddles.
The bat bones spread on the ground were crushed into white powder.
"What is that sound..."
The girl with the sprained ankle took on a crying tone.
She clutched tightly at her companion's sleeve, her nails digging into their flesh.
The four people's wands were raised mid-air, pointing aimlessly at the surrounding shadows.
A huge green snake as thick as a bucket slithered out from the shadows outside the wall of fire.
Moving at an astonishing speed.
Its scales scraped harshly against the stone slabs with a harsh rustling sound.
The Basilisk did not open its eyes.
It now obeyed Arthur's commands absolutely.
Without using those lethal yellow eyes, it hunted purely with physical strength and venom.
The huge snake head directly smashed through the eerie green wall of fire.
Flames burned on its dark green scales.
It couldn't feel pain at all.
Its bloody maw opened abruptly.
Four fangs thicker than an adult's arm were exposed to the air.
Murky yellow venom dripped from the tips of the fangs.
"Ah!"
A Ravenclaw boy screamed.
He forgot even to chant a spell, turning around and wanting to charge out of the wall of fire.
The Basilisk's tail swept horizontally across.
Stirring up a strong, foul wind.
The boy's legs were directly snapped by the thick snake tail.
The crisp sound of shattering bones was exceptionally clear in the tunnel.
His entire body was whipped away, slamming into the eerie green wall of fire.
The flames instantly engulfed him.
The scream lasted only half a second.
His flesh was directly burned into a blackened mummified corpse, even his struggling movements freezing mid-air.
The leading Gryffindor boy waved his wand like a madman.
"Reducto! Diffindo!"
The red spells hit the Basilisk's scales.
Bursting into a few weak sparks.
Not even leaving a white mark, the spells were directly deflected by the hard scales.
The Basilisk's massive head slammed down.
Two fangs easily pierced through his chest cavity.
Just like cutting through a piece of soft butter.
Before his blood could even spurt out, it was corroded by the fatal snake venom.
A large amount of white smoke billowed from the wound.
Sizzling.
The flesh rapidly melted under the potent venom.
He opened his mouth wide, his alveoli burned through by the venom, unable to even make a sound.
He collapsed limply onto the ground, turning into a puddle of foul-smelling bloody water.
The remaining two people completely collapsed.
Their wands fell into the muddy puddles.
They knelt on the ground.
A large patch of the girl's crotch was wet, urine mixing with the muddy water on the ground flowing everywhere.
"Help... Save me... I don't want to die..."
She kowtowed frantically toward the darkness ahead.
Her head slammed against the sharp bone fragments, smashing it until she was bleeding.
Blood blurred her eyes.
The Basilisk didn't give them any chance to beg for mercy at all.
Its massive body coiled over.
Directly crushing the two of them in the middle of its thick body.
Its muscles flexed and contracted.
The sound of bones shattering burst densely like stepping on crushed biscuits.
Two bloody, mangled bodies were forcibly squeezed into a mass of minced meat.
Fragments of internal organs squeezed out from the gaps in the scales.
The Basilisk opened its big mouth.
And swallowed this mass of minced meat in one gulp.
Its throat rolled once, making a satisfying swallowing sound.
The entire process took less than a minute.
Four senior students full of wishful thinking.
Died completely clean without even seeing a corner of the Dark Lord's robe.
On the ground remained only that mummified corpse and a pit corroded by the venom.
The eerie green flames were still burning quietly.
Arthur dispelled his mist form in mid-air.
His black robes carved an arc in the air.
He landed steadily on the dry stone slabs.
Avoiding the puddle of blood on the ground.
Smelling the stench in the air mixed with snake venom and cooked meat.
He frowned in extreme disgust.
This place was truly filthy and stinky.
Arthur raised his right hand and casually snapped his fingers.
"Snap."
Those eerie green walls of fire instantly shrank inward.
Turning into a ball of high-temperature Fiendfyre.
Directly burning the mummified corpse and tattered clothing fabrics on the ground into white ash.
With a gust of wind, nothing was left.
The Basilisk obediently lay prone in the puddle.
Its chin pressed against the ground, not daring to move at all.
"Get back and sleep."
Arthur dropped a cold sentence of Parseltongue.
The Basilisk immediately turned its body around.
Quickly retreating back into the depths of the shrine along the tunnel.
Its tail swept across the water's surface, kicking up a flurry of hurried splashing sounds.
Arthur took out a handkerchief to cover his mouth and nose.
This bloody smell was truly unbearable.
He turned around, preparing to head back up to the Castleabove along the pipes.
Those few reckless idiots had been dealt with.
Consider it a straightforward warning to Dumbledore and his little tricks.
Just as he stepped out in his leather boots, ready to leave.
The oppressive underground air around him suddenly fluctuated without warning.
Not the cold, oppressive feeling of Dark Arts.
But a bright, warm magic.
Directly piercing through Hogwarts' ancient barrier.
Arthur stopped in his tracks.
His heterochromatic pupils narrowed slightly.
His gaze locked onto a patch of dark void above the tunnel exit.
That void was forcibly torn open with a crack by external force.
A ball of golden-red flame burst open without warning.
The firelight was extremely dazzling.
Instantly illuminating the mottled stone walls covered in moss.
Accompanied by the appearance of the flames.
A high-pitched, clear bird song echoed through the passageway of the Chamber of Secrets.
The sound was very piercing, directly piercing through the chill of the underground.
Dumbledore's Phoenix.
Fawkes.
It dragged its long golden tail feathers.
Drilled out from the spatial crack, circling above the Chamber of Secrets.
A pair of pitch-black bird eyes stared fixedly at Arthur below.
Chapter 49: Plucking the Phoenix Fawkes Bare
Golden-red flames danced in mid-air, illuminating the damp stone tunnel brightly.
Fawkes beat its massive wings, hovering ten feet above the ground.
Its tail feathers trailed long ribbons of golden light.
This legendary divine bird opened its beak.
A string of crisp, ethereal song drifted from its throat.
This song carried a soothing magic, attempting to disperse the thick, unshakeable stench of death and blood in the air.
The Phoenix's song could bring hope to people.
But to Arthur, this sound was like a rusted iron nail scraping hard against a blackboard.
Harsh, nauseating.
His brows furrowed deeply.
His mood was at rock bottom.
Dealing with those few rats just now hadn't made him feel this annoyed.
That old bee Dumbledore, sending his own pet into the sewers to sing in the middle of the night.
Truly sickening to the core.
Fawkes circled half a turn in mid-air.
Its beady bird eyes saw the pool of pits corroded by venom on the ground, as well as the lingering scent of Dark Artsin the air.
The Phoenix was sensitive to evil.
It immediately stopped singing, and its wings beat fiercely.
Fawkes let out a sharp, hostile screech.
Opening its sharp beak, a scorching golden-red fireball spewed toward Arthur's direction.
This was the Phoenix's wrath, capable of burning through most Dark Arts.
Arthur stood in place, without even glancing at that fireball.
"Noisy beast."
He spat out a few words, his voice as cold as ice.
He raised his right hand, without chanting a spell.
With his five fingers aimed at Fawkes in mid-air, he casually made a grasping gesture across the air.
"Hum."
A dull sonic boom rang out in the air.
That golden-red fireball flying halfway crashed into an invisible steel wall, instantly compressed into a wisp of a spark, extinguishing in the darkness without leaving even a hint of heat behind.
Immediately after, the spatial laws around Fawkes were directly drained away.
The air turned into a solid harder than granite.
This divine bird's wings froze in mid-air, maintaining the flapping posture.
The Phoenix had an extremely high immunity to ordinary magic.
Even if a Killing Curse hit it, it could be reborn through nirvana.
But what it was facing now was the most fundamental spatial law.
An invisible giant force pressed in from all directions, tightly jamming every single bone in its body.
A trace of human-like panic flashed in Fawkes's mung-bean-sized eyes.
It desperately wanted to struggle.
It tried to ignite the flames all over its body to activate the nirvana mechanism.
But it discovered with horror that the magic circuits in its body were completely locked down by that overbearing abyss aura.
As soon as the flame reared its head, it was abruptly snuffed out.
It had become an ordinary fat bird frozen in an ice cube.
Arthur's toes left the ground.
Defying gravity, his body slowly rose into the air supported by magic, rising all the way to the height level with Fawkes.
He looked at this stupid bird desperately rolling its eyes in mid-air, the hem of his robe swaying gently in the cold wind.
"Just right."
Arthur's voice was very calm.
"I've been reading that book 'Bloodline Stripping and Reshaping' recently. There's a potion formula inside that just happens to be missing a few Phoenix tail feathers as the main material."
He reached out his hand, and his slender fingers directly grabbed Fawkes's long, golden-shining tail.
It felt very hot to the touch, carrying a warmth unique to high-level magical creatures.
Fawkes's body shivered violently as it felt the threat of death.
Arthur didn't stand on ceremony with it at all, exerting a sudden force with his wrist.
"Rip."
This was the tearing sound of feathers being forcefully pulled out along with flesh and skin.
Beads of blood splashed out, scattering in mid-air.
"Squawk——!"
A crack-voiced miserable scream exploded in the tunnel.
This sound was extremely ugly, much like a fat duck being plucked with boiling water, leaving no majesty of a divine bird whatsoever.
The Phoenix's tail feathers were the place where the magicon its body was densest.
To be raw-plucked just like that, that heart-piercing excruciating pain directly tore Fawkes's nerves.
It rolled its eyes in pain, and tears gushed wildly from its black pupils.
Usually these tears were a panacea that could heal wounds, but now it was purely a physiological reaction from the pain.
Arthur glanced at the three long golden-red tail feathers in his hand.
The base of the feathers still carried a bit of fresh blood, with pure fire-type magic circulating upon them.
Good quality.
He casually stuffed the tail feathers into the leather pouch inside his robe, then looked at Fawkes in front of him.
This bird was now a miserable sight to behold.
Its originally gorgeous tail was bald, revealing a large patch of pink skin and flesh, with blood spots still oozing on it.
It was in so much pain that it even forgot the instinct of nirvana rebirth, only caring to tremble within the spatial confinement, making intermittent wails in its throat.
"Go back and tell your master."
Arthur looked at its pair of eyes filled with fear.
"Reach your claws into my territory again, and the next thing I pull out will be his tongue."
He loosened his right hand, and the spatial pressure constraining Fawkes vanished instantly.
Gravity acted on the bird once more, and Fawkes fell straight down.
It barely fluttered its wings less than two feet from the ground, its posture wretched, with a few tiny down feathers flying randomly in mid-air.
It didn't even dare to turn its head back; the instinct for survival overwhelmed everything.
A cluster of golden flames ignited again in mid-air, and space was torn open.
Fawkes plunged headfirst into the rift, using the Phoenix's unique spatial jumping ability to run for its life.
The firelight flashed, and the tunnel plunged back into darkness, with the unpleasant odor of charred feathers still lingering in the air.
Arthur landed on the ground, took out a handkerchief, and wiped off the few drops of blood stained on his hands, casually throwing the handkerchief into a puddle.
He turned around and walked toward the pipe passage.
At the highest point of Hogwarts Castle, in the Principal's office, the night was already very deep.
The portraits of past Principals all over the walls were dozing, and various silver alchemical instruments on the desk made slight ticking sounds, spitting out wisps of white smoke.
Dumbledore sat behind the desk, with a report on the missing students placed in front of him.
The old man's face was ashen.
He had just sensed the location of the Chamber of Secretsand sent Fawkes to investigate the situation, hoping to save those students.
The air suddenly twisted for a moment, and a weak flash of fire lit up above the perching pole.
"Bang."
The sound was very small, like a damp Squib.
Fawkes fell out of the firelight.
It failed to land steadily on the golden perching pole, its claws slipping, crashing directly onto Dumbledore's desk and knocking over a copper bottle filled with ink.
Black ink spilled all over Fawkes, staining its originally pretty feathers dirty.
It was in too much pain to stand up, and could only lie on the desk, emitting weak whimpers.
Its bald bottom faced Dumbledore, and that bleeding patch of skin and flesh was very glaring under the light.
Dumbledore stood up abruptly, the chair beneath him sliding far backward.
His wrinkled hands braced against the edge of the desk, staring fixedly at the pet on the table.
Fawkes didn't even have the strength for nirvana anymore, and the spiritual light in its eyes had dimmed to the extreme, leaving only a lingering, inescapable fear.
Dumbledore's breathing stagnated.
He had known Fawkes for almost a century.
This divine bird had accompanied him through Grindelwald's war and through Lord Voldemort's dark period.
It had never suffered such humiliation: physical plucking, plus that kind of fright that directly crushed the soul.
"Even Fawkes..."
Dumbledore's throat was dry, and the sound he made was like two pieces of sandpaper rubbing together.
He looked at Fawkes's bald tail, as in his mind emerged the indifferent, different-colored pupils of that blonde youth.
That was a suffocating sense of powerlessness.
Four senior students disappeared right under his nose, and his own Phoenix had its feathers forcibly pulled out and fled back.
All of this happened too fast, too fast for him to have time to make any reaction.
Dumbledore's shoulders slumped, and he slowly loosened his hands gripping the edge of the desk.
Both hands hung limply at the sides of his body, and the wide sleeves of his robe swung emptily for a moment.
This greatest white Wizard of the century at this moment looked just like an ordinary, candle-in-the-wind old man.
The glow in his eyes that had always maintained the light of the magical world was completely extinguished.
The wind outside the window howled past the spires, battering against the glass and bringing a bone-deep chill.
Chapter 50 Hogwarts, I Call the Shots!
Dumbledore sat behind the wide desk.
His back was hunched.
He lowered his head, looking at the blood-stained gold-red feather on the desk.
Fawkes was hiding in the innermost shadows of the shelf.
Refusing to come out.
Its usually glossy and brilliant feathers were all rumpled, and its bare tail was oozing blood.
It tucked its head under its wings and didn't even dare to cry out.
A short, muffled whimpering occasionally came from its throat.
Dumbledore reached out his withered fingers.
The pads of his fingers touched the broken tail feather.
The temperature on the feather had long since dissipated, leaving only sticky, cold blood.
The bloodstains smeared in the crevices of his nails, exuding an unpleasant, fishy stench.
He let out a sigh.
The sound echoed in the empty circular office.
Carrying an aura of dusk that was heavy to the extreme.
He was old.
An unshakeable sense of exhaustion leaked from the cracks of his bones.
The portraits of past headmasters on the wall were all feigning sleep.
No one dared to make a sound to disturb him.
The silver instruments on the desk emitted a monotonous ticking sound.
It sounded like it was counting down the remaining lifespan of this school.
Four senior students died.
They died in the pipes beneath the Castle.
He couldn't even retrieve their bones, only smelling the lingering stench of Dark Arts in the air.
And he didn't even dare to question that boy sitting at the Slytherin long table.
Hogwarts had completely slipped out of his control.
This was no illusion.
He watched with his own eyes as pure-blood families smashed tons of Galleons into the Ministry of Magic.
That fool Fudge took the money and investigated the forces of the Order of the Phoenix upside down.
Arthur Weasley was suspended for investigation.
The Slytherin students had become that boy's private army.
Even the Professors under him were trembling.
Snape hadn't even taught Potion Class these past few days, locking himself in the dungeon.
McGonagall walked along the base of the wall in the corridors.
He, the Principal, had now become a hollowed-out empty shell.
Sitting in an office piled high with sweets, waiting to die.
After a few days of gloomy rain.
It was approaching the end of the term.
Hundreds of candles were lit in the Great Hall.
The air was filled with the smell of roasted potatoes and onion thick soup.
But no one had any appetite.
Hundreds of students sat on the benches.
Only the sounds of chewing and swallowing could be heard in the entire space.
So oppressive that it made people want to go crazy.
Arthur sat right in the middle of the Slytherin long table.
A plate of sliced roast meat was placed in front of him.
He didn't touch his knife and fork.
His gaze looked straight ahead.
Daphne stood nearby, holding a silver wine pitcher.
She wanted to pour wine for Arthur.
Her wrist felt sore from excessive tension.
The spout of the pitcher bumped against the rim of the glass.
Producing a crisp clinking sound.
Daphne's face turned pale.
She hurriedly used her sleeve to wipe the moisture on the outside of the glass, and her cuff brushed against the edge of the plate.
"Lord... Sorry..."
Her voice got stuck in her throat, and her teeth clicked together.
Arthur didn't pay attention to her.
His gaze swept across the long table and landed on the four scoring hourglasses next to the door.
The hourglasses were filled with gems of different colors.
Representing the so-called honor of the four houses.
This was the rule since the founding of Hogwarts, using points to domesticate these fools.
"A boring game."
Arthur spoke.
The voice wasn't loud.
But in this dead silent Great Hall, everyone heard it clearly.
He raised his right hand.
His five fingers pointed towards the wall in the direction of the door.
Without a wand, nor chanting any spell.
The four huge glass hourglasses simultaneously emitted a muffled thud.
The laws of gravity inside were forcibly reversed.
The gems loaded in the lower half began to float upward against common sense.
Immediately afterwards, the space inside the glass containers was brutally squeezed.
Clack, clack, clack.
The gems squeezed and rubbed against each other, making a harsh shattering sound.
Rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and topaz.
Under the crushing weight of invisible magic, they all turned into fine powder.
The glass at the bottom of the hourglasses could not withstand this pressure.
And burst directly.
The four hourglasses exploded simultaneously.
Shattered glass mixed with the four colors of powder, pouring down onto the floor tiles like a waterfall.
Smashing out a chaotic noise.
Dust rose up, choking several Hufflepuff students in the front row into continuous coughing.
Over one million house points.
Hogwarts's thousand-year scoring tradition.
In the instant Arthur raised his hand, it turned into a pile of garbage that even brooms couldn't sweep clean.
The Great Hall was dead silent.
Harry on the Gryffindor side gripped his fork.
The fork dropped onto the porcelain plate.
His stomach twitched, and he tightly covered his mouth.
Ron buried his head between his legs, not even daring to look.
He felt a trace of warm wetness again.
Arthur put down his hand.
He tugged down the cuffs of his robe.
"From today on, don't let me see these irritating glass jars again."
His gaze swept over the staff table.
"The rules here, I call the shots."
The tone was indifferent.
Completely stating an established fact.
Dumbledore sat in the high-backed chair.
He looked at the glass shards and gem powder all over the floor.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
The elder wand was placed right beside his hand, but he didn't even touch it.
He closed his eyes.
The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes were as deep as if carved by a knife.
No rebuttal.
No reprimand.
The Principal of Hogwarts, in front of hundreds of students, used silence to acknowledge the death of the old rules.
Snape sat beside, lowering his head to look at the empty soup bowl in front of him.
Professor Flitwick covered his face with both hands, his body shrinking into the large chair.
Absolute violence crushed all resistance.
No one dared to say a single word of dissent.
Time passed quickly.
The gloomy and oppressive term finally dragged on to the last day.
The morning before leaving school.
Sunlight rarely penetrated through the clouds.
Shining on the surface of the Black Lake.
The atmosphere in the Great Hall relaxed a little bit.
Students were all looking forward to quickly boarding the train and escaping this Castle that had turned into a prison.
Halfway through breakfast.
A dense sound of flapping wings came from above the sky.
Hundreds of owls flew in from the open high windows.
The air was instantly filled with a fishy smell of bird feathers and the ink smell of newspapers.
The owls dumped parcels and letters onto the tables.
Knocked over several cups of milk.
White liquid dripped down the edge of the table.
A gray barn owl tossed a copy of The Daily Prophet next to the jam plate in front of Harry.
Harry picked up the newspaper.
The paper of the newspaper was somewhat damp.
He just glanced at the front page.
His breathing suddenly stopped.
His fingers trembled, and the newspaper dropped onto the table.
The front page didn't publish the various official bureaucratic articles of the Ministry of Magic as usual.
Instead, it printed a huge black-and-white moving picture that occupied half the page.
The photo showed a scrawny man.
His hair was long and matted, like a mess of withered grass.
In his sunken eye sockets, those eyes exuded a mad, dead aura.
The man roared silently in the photo, revealing yellowish teeth.
Constantly slamming against the iron bars.
Above the photo.
Printed with a line of bold black font.
The ink was printed very heavily, and some places even soaked through to the back of the paper.
"Azkaban Breakout!"
"Sirius Black at Large!"
The Great Hall instantly exploded.
Exclamations and gasps rose one after another.
Panic like a plague.
Spread rapidly among hundreds of students along with this newspaper.
Chapter 51: Azkaban Breakout Incident
The Black-and-white photo on the newspaper was moving.
Sirius Black was crashing frantically behind the iron bars.
Filthy hair was stuck to his sunken cheeks.
That shriveled mouth was wide open, revealing yellowed teeth, letting out a silent roar.
His eyes revealed a madness that wanted to tear living people to pieces.
The Great Hall exploded into an uproar instantly.
Panicked whispers rippled across the water's surface like waves, spreading outward circle by circle.
Linking together into a noisy jumble of sounds.
"H—He escaped?"
A Ravenclaw girl's voice was trembling.
The butter knife in her hand dropped onto the silver plate with a crisp clang.
"Hasn't no one ever been able to escape from Azkaban? Those Dementors..."
Over at the Gryffindor table.
Ron stretched his neck, staring fixedly at The Daily Prophetin Harry's hand.
The freckles on his face looked particularly conspicuous.
"Thirteen people... Back then, he used a single spell to directly blow up a whole street of Muggles."
Ron swallowed a large mouthful of saliva, his throat dry and tight.
"My dad said that he is the most cruel mad dog under You-Know-Who."
Harry looked at the skeleton-like man on the newspaper.
A wave of nausea churned in his stomach.
The newspaper paper was somewhat damp, carrying a thick ink smell and the fishy stench of owl feathers.
He only felt that the entire magical world was full of madmen and monsters everywhere.
There was simply no safe place.
The Slytherin table.
The air pressure here was still frighteningly low.
Arthur leaned back against his chair.
An identical newspaper was also tossed on the tabletop in front of him.
Just now, a grey owl dropped the newspaper down, knocking over the pumpkin juice beside it.
The yellow juice dripped down along the edge of the table.
Arthur didn't bother with that puddle of juice.
He glanced at the wanted criminal occupying half the page on the newspaper.
In his heterochromatic pupils intertwined with paleness and pitch-Black, there was not the slightest ripple.
A mad dog locked up for twelve years.
A piece of trash that couldn't even bite through the rust on the cage.
Even if it ran out, it would only hide in a stinking ditch to find leftover bones to eat.
Such boring breakout news was simply not worth him wasting time to take a second look.
Daphne stood behind and to the side of him.
Holding a white linen napkin in her hand, she was carefully wiping the pumpkin juice on the table.
She glanced at the wanted poster on the newspaper, and the goosebumps on the back of her hands stood up.
"Lord..."
She just wanted to open her mouth to say something, her throat tight.
Arthur stood straight up.
The chair legs scraped out a short, sharp noise on the stone slab floor.
"Pack your things, back to London."
He spat out a few words, his voice flat.
He didn't care about the shivering students all over the Great Hall.
Stepping in Black leather boots.
He walked straight toward the Great Hall doors.
The hem of his robe stirred up a cold wind, blowing that newspaper on the table directly onto the ground.
Black's roaring face pressed against the floor tiles stained with mud and ash, and was stepped on by a passing student.
Draco hurriedly dropped the fork in his hand.
Without even wiping his mouth, he flurriedly ran out following behind Arthur.
The summer vacation passed very quickly.
London rained heavily for more than half a month continuously.
The cold and damp water vapor rotted the underground corridors of the Ministry of Magic until they grew moldy.
A layer of slick green moss grew in the gaps of the wall bricks.
The atmosphere in the Minister's office was even more suffocating than the rain outside.
Cornelius Fudge sat behind the spacious mahogany desk.
His forehead was covered in sparkling beads of sweat.
He pulled out a striped handkerchief, vigorously wiping his cheeks and neck.
The handkerchief was soaked with sweat, exuding a sour, spoiled smell.
Sirius Black escaped from prison.
The citizens of the entire magical world were writing Howlers to the Ministry of Magic.
The pure-blood families were secretly holding back the Ministry of Magic's funding allocations again.
Fudge felt that his official position was like sitting on a crater.
Beneath was all boiling magma, which could blow him to pieces at any moment.
He had to do something to redeem the face of the Ministry of Magic.
If he couldn't catch Black, at least he had to put on a posture of protecting the school.
On the eve of the third-year term start.
Outside Hogwarts, it was pouring cats and dogs.
The surface of the Black Lake was battered by dense raindrops like a boiling pot.
The howling wind blew the branches at the edge of the Forbidden Forest swaying wildly back and forth, making a shrill wailing sound.
Fudge brought a team of elite Aurors.
Braving the heavy rain, stepping heavily and lightly on the muddy path leading to the Castle.
The expensive pinstripe suit on his body was drenched by the rain.
Clinging heavily to his body.
His trouser legs were covered in Black mud.
His leather shoes stepped into puddles, making ugly slushing sounds.
The cold wind poured into his neck, freezing him so that he sneezed loudly.
Two Aurors walked in the front to clear the way.
Their faces were ashen, and their fingers gripping their wands were frozen red.
Because Fudge issued a crazy administrative order.
He transferred the Dementors of Azkaban over, preparing to have them stationed at all entrances and exits of Hogwarts.
This kind of monster, even battle-hardened Aurors felt nauseated when approaching it.
The Principal's office.
The fire in the fireplace burned very brightly.
The thoroughly dried pine wood crackled in the fire.
But this bit of heat simply could not dispel that irritability in the room.
Fudge stood in front of Dumbledore's desk.
He placed his soggy greenish dome hat on the corner of the desk.
The rainwater on the hat dripped patter-patter onto a few clean sheets of parchment.
Blurring a large patch of water stains.
"Impossible, Cornelius."
Dumbledore sat in the high-backed chair.
His voice was very deep, carrying a rare kind of toughness.
"I will never allow those soul-sucking monsters to approach Hogwarts by half a step."
Fudge became anxious.
He turned around twice in place, his soaked shoe soles rubbing harsh squeaking sounds on the stone slabs.
"Albus... you must understand the current situation!"
He waved his chubby arms, panting heavily with anxiety.
The buttons on his chest were strained tightly.
"Black is a complete madman! He's a murderer!"
Fudge tripped under his feet.
His waist slammed heavily against the silver instrument shelf beside him.
A precision astrolabe was bumped and swayed a few times.
With a clang, it fell to the ground, denting a corner.
He simply had no time to pick up the things on the ground.
"The Ministry of Magic must show the public that we are protecting the students."
Fudge stepped closer.
Spittle sprayed out, falling on the mahogany desktop.
"Dementors are the only things that can find him. They just need to guard the doors, not enter the Castle."
Dumbledore looked at the sweating Minister for Magic in front of him.
Deep exhaustion was revealed in his blue eyes.
The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes seemed to have deepened by a few more lines.
"They cannot tell the difference between prey and students."
The old Principal sighed, his voice revealing powerlessness.
"As long as they smell the happiness and scent of living people, they will lose control."
Besides, when is it Dementors' turn to protect Hogwartsnow?
Dumbledore, halfway through his words, abruptly stopped.
He wanted to say that sitting in this school right now was a Dark Lord ten thousand times more terrifying than all the prisoners of Azkaban combined.
But those words stuck in his throat.
No matter what, he couldn't speak them out.
He didn't dare to pierce that crumbling window paper.
Fudge grabbed the top hat at the corner of the desk.
Because of using too much force, the brim of the hat was squeezed out of shape.
"The Minister's order has already been issued!"
He shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice splitting and cracking somewhat.
"Albus, I am the Minister for Magic. There is no negotiation on this matter. The Dementors will take over all passages tonight."
The air in the office froze.
Two Aurors stood by the door, their hands pressing tightly on their wands.
The atmosphere was taut as a bowstring.
The portraits of past Principals on the wall all closed their eyes pretending to sleep, even holding their breath.
Right at this moment.
A steady sound of footsteps came from outside the quiet corridor.
Leather boots stepped on the marble steps.
The sound was unhurried.
Clack. Clack.
The tightly closed heavy oak doors suddenly let out a sour friction sound.
The door handle didn't turn at all.
The two doors seemed to be forcefully pushed open from the outside by a pair of invisible giant hands.
"Bang."
The door panels slammed heavily against the stone walls on both sides.
Shaking the dust on the door frame to fall off in flurries, hitting the carpet.
A cold wind mixed with the fishy stench of rain and piercing chill.
Directly poured into the stuffy Principal's office.
The orange-red flame in the fireplace was blown abruptly dim by this wind, turning into a spooky, ghastly green.
The temperature in the office instantly dropped to freezing point.
Arthur walked in.
He wasn't wearing his school uniform robes today.
On him was a flawlessly tailored pure Black knee-length trench coat.
The trench coat fabric slightly fluttered in the cold wind, without even a trace of rain touching it.
Underneath was a dark gray shirt, with the collar casually open.
He didn't look at the two Aurors by the door.
Stepping directly across the threshold.
Leather boots stepped on the silver astrolabe on the ground that Fudge had just knocked off.
"Crunch."
The fragile silverware was directly stepped into several pieces of twisted scrap metal.
The sound was very crisp.
Arthur's gaze crossed half the office.
Landing on Fudge, who was standing in front of the desk and tightly clutching his top hat.
In those heterochromatic pupils intertwined with paleness and pitch-Black, there was no emotion whatsoever.
Just like looking at a pile of stinking rotting meat.
Fudge turned his head.
The fat on his face was still slightly twitching because of the quarrel just now.
But when he saw clearly who the person walking in was.
His wide-open mouth instantly froze.
Fudge saw Arthur.
The words in his throat prepared to continue coercing Dumbledore.
Were tightly blocked as if by a lump of ice.
Not a single syllable could be uttered.
Chapter 52 Minister for Magic in a Panic
Fudge's wide-open mouth froze in mid-air.
A cold wind poured down his throat through the doorway.
He instinctively swallowed, his teeth accidentally bumping against the tip of his tongue.
A trace of a faint metallic taste spread in his mouth.
His fat-laden face began to twitch.
The skin on his face, which had originally flushed from arguing with Dumbledore, now looked as though it had been brushed with a layer of white lime.
Without a shred of color.
He struggled to pull the muscles on his cheeks, forcing out a smile that was uglier than crying.
His overlapping chins squeezed together, looking both comical and rigid.
"Ah... Mr. Grindelwald."
Fudge's voice was trembling.
The tail-end of his voice split, like a rooster whose neck had been stepped on.
He wiped his hands frantically on his damp suit jacket twice.
Wanting to grab the greenish-blue bowler hat at the corner of the table.
His wrist slipped, and the bowler hat dropped straight onto the floor, rolling to the leg of Dumbledore's chair.
He didn't have the guts to bend down and pick it up at all.
Arthur stood in the shadow cast by the doorframe.
Not answering.
The collar of his dark grey shirt was slightly open, revealing cold white skin.
Those heterochromatic pupils calmly looked at this chubby politician.
Fudge felt his heart creeped out by this kind of gaze.
He felt like a fat pig laid out on a chopping board.
Ready to be sliced open with a single knife at any moment.
He hurriedly turned his head to look at the two Aurors nearby.
Hoping that these few people could give him a bit of backbone.
The two Aurors stood in the corner of the wall.
Their wands were still clutched in their hands.
But their palms were covered in cold sweat, the wand handles slick and slimy.
One of the Aurors' knees lightly bumped against his trouser legs, producing a soft, fragmented sound of fabric friction.
No one dared to take half a step forward.
Fudge despaired.
He could only bite the bullet and go up himself.
He rubbed his hands, struggling to put on the pompous bureaucratic tone of the Minister for Magic.
"What a coincidence... I am just discussing school safety issues with Headmaster Dumbledore."
He stuttered, his tongue knotting in his mouth.
"The Ministry of Magic... the Ministry of Magic has always cared deeply about Hogwarts."
Arthur still didn't make a sound.
Took a step forward.
His leather boots crushed the fragments of the astrolabe on the ground.
The shattered silver parts made a tooth-aching crunching sound.
This sound stepped on Fudge's nerves.
Scared, he stepped back half a step, his lower back hitting the edge of the office desk.
Hitting him with a muffled groan.
"Lucius... Mr. Malfoy." Fudge was struck by a sudden thought, hastily throwing out what he considered a useful bargaining chip.
"He is the father of your... good friend. We are allies."
Fudge wiped the cold sweat from his face.
The sweat stung his eyes, making them ache.
"The House of Malfoy recently donated a large sum of funds to the Ministry of Magic."
He lowered his voice, his tone carrying ingratiation and probing.
"If you are also willing... to provide some support to the Ministry of Magic."
"I can guarantee that the Auror Office will grant you the greatest convenience."
He thought that this kind of monetary transaction between politicians could move this young master born of an ancient family.
After all, who didn't need the privileges of the Ministry of Magic.
As long as enough money was given, anything could be negotiated.
Arthur stopped in his tracks.
At a distance of less than a meter from Fudge.
He did not sit in the guest chair opposite Dumbledore.
"Support?"
Arthur finally spoke.
His voice was very cold.
The completely flat vocal line stirred up a chill in the stuffy office.
"Do you think those bones I threw to Lucius were used to buy dog food for you guys?"
The fake smile on Fudge's face froze completely.
He opened his mouth wide.
His brain was completely blank.
He understood the meaning of these words.
The heavy handfuls of Galleons that the House of Malfoysmashed into the Ministry of Magic were all the intention of this young man in front of him.
The Ministry of Magic had been bought by him long ago.
The grey mist deep inside Arthur's right eye slowly swirled.
He did not use Fiendfyre.
He only released the purest soul coercion.
The air in the office was instantly drained dry.
Like a huge lead plate, it smashed directly onto Fudge's chest.
Fudge's breathing suddenly halted.
He felt like he was about to be crushed flat.
His feet left the ground, and his body was pushed backward by an invisible giant force.
"Bang."
Fudge, like a tattered sack filled with sand, slammed heavily against the stone wall behind him.
A portrait of a former Principal hanging on the wall.
The old man in the painting was so scared that he scrambled and fled out of the picture frame.
Fudge was pinned tightly to the wall.
His feet were suspended in the air.
It was as if an icy iron ring had been placed around his neck, tightening more and more.
The fat on his face was strained into a purplish-red color.
His eyeballs protruded from their sockets, covered in bloodshot veins.
His hands clawed wildly in mid-air.
His fingernails scratched against the stone wall, scraping out a sharp sound.
His nail beds even rolled back, oozing blood threads.
He couldn't emit even a tiny sound for help.
The two Aurors were scared out of their minds.
One of the Auror's wands dropped to the ground with a clang.
He didn't even have the courage to go pick it up.
His legs went weak, and he directly knelt on the marble floor.
The other Auror kept his eyes tightly shut, pressing his head against the corner of the wall, trembling all over like a sieve in the wind.
Dumbledore sat behind the desk.
His withered fingers clutched the armrest of the chair.
The elder wand was placed right beside his hand.
But he did not move.
He closed his eyes and sighed deeply.
His aged face was full of powerlessness.
Arthur looked at the Minister for Magic hanging on the wall with his eyes rolled back.
His gaze was calm.
Like looking at a fat bug that could be pinched to death at any time.
"A dog has run out of Azkaban."
Arthur's voice penetrated Fudge's buzzing eardrums.
"How you want to grandstand outside, I don't care."
Arthur leaned forward a little closer.
"But listen well."
"If tomorrow morning, a single Dementor dares to step across the gates of Hogwarts."
The cold air drilled through Fudge's pores into the crevices of his bones.
"I will let that group of brainless rotten rags suck your soul clean."
Arthur looked at Fudge's purplish-strained face.
"Changing the Ministry of Magic to a submissive Ministerwouldn't even take me a minute."
This was not a threat.
This was a higher-dimensional life form pronouncing sentence on lower-dimensional rules.
Arthur cut off the magic power.
The pressure in the air vanished instantly.
Fudge fell off the wall.
Slamming his buttocks heavily onto the floor.
His tailbone made a crisp cracking sound.
He wept tears of pain, but didn't even dare to let out a scream.
Lying on the ground and vomiting in big mouthfuls.
The buttered bread eaten in the morning was all vomited onto the expensive Persian carpet.
A sour, foul smell permeated the air.
Arthur frowned with disgust.
Taking out a dark grey handkerchief, he wiped his fingers.
Casually dropping it next to Fudge's vomit.
Turning around and walking out of the Principal's office.
The hem of his black windbreaker disappeared outside the door.
The sound of leather boots stepping on the floor tiles came from the corridor.
Getting further and further away.
Fudge lay flat in the vomit.
After a full five minutes, he barely managed to recover the rhythm of his breathing.
He lifted his head, drenched in sweat.
Looking at Dumbledore, who sat silently in his chair.
Fudge did not go pick up the bowler hat that had dropped on the ground.
He scrambled up from the ground using hands and feet.
His suit trousers were stained with stomach acid and muddy water.
Without even saying goodbye, he scrambled and rushed out the office door.
The two Aurors stumbled and followed closely behind to flee for their lives.
The majesty of the Minister for Magic was shattered until not even dregs remained.
September 1st.
The holiday ended.
The sky over King's Cross Station was gloomy.
It was raining heavily.
Raindrops smashed onto the iron roof of the train, producing a dense pattering sound.
The Hogwarts Express puffed white steam.
Roaring forward in the curtain of rain.
Outside the train windows was entirely grey water mist, and nothing could be seen clearly.
After Fudge fled back to the Ministry of Magic, he indeed canceled the order to have Dementors station themselves in the Castle.
He had been frightened out of his wits.
Hiding in the Minister's office every day, not even daring to step out the door.
But the Ministry of Magic was a massive, bloated machine.
Those bureaucrats at the bottom and the deputies of the Auror Office had not seen that dark lord with their own eyes.
They were still step-by-step executing the search contingency plan formulated a few days ago.
A bunch of fools who didn't know what was good for them.
The train sped across the wilderness of the Scottish Highlands.
The carriage was somewhat stuffy.
Harry sat in a compartment by the window.
Ron sat opposite him, munching on a Chocolate Frog.
Hermione, for once, was not reading a book, but had her eyes closed and was leaning against the back of the chair to sleep.
She had been dragged away by Arthur to do Potionexperiments during the summer vacation, carrying heavy dark circles under her eyes.
Students occasionally walked in the aisle.
But no one dared to make a loud commotion.
Everyone knew that the blonde-haired boy from Slytherinwas also on the train.
"Clang—"
A harsh screech of steel friction came from the bottom of the train.
The carriage shook violently.
The Chocolate Frog box on the table dropped to the ground, and the candies rolled under the seats.
Ron's head hit the glass, and he let out an 'ouch' in pain.
The train decelerated.
Then, in the deserted, rainy night, it abruptly came to a stop.
The sound of the rain became exceptionally clear.
"What's going on?"
Harry rubbed his bruised arm, pressing against the train window to look outside.
Outside there were only pitch-black woods.
Not even the shadow of a station.
Before they could figure out the situation.
The magical illumination lamp overhead suddenly flickered twice.
With a crackle.
It completely went out.
The entire carriage plunged into a dead-silent darkness.
The temperature plummeted off a cliff.
The air, which had just been stuffy, suddenly became as bone-chilling as winter.
Harry shuddered.
He exhaled a breath, turning into a white puff of water mist.
On the window glass, a layer of ghastly white frost crawled upward at a speed visible to the naked eye.
The ice crystals scraped against the glass, producing a tooth-aching, fragmented sound.
A heavy, dragging sound of footsteps came from outside the corridor.
Accompanied by a decrepit, soul-sucking breathing sound.
The water stains under the door gap froze into ice.
A musty smell of rotting meat drilled in through the door gap.
The Dementors had boarded the train.