Ch: 61-70
Chapter 61: Making a Move on Harry
Quirrell on the staff stand was going crazy. He tried several times to cast a spell on the fast-moving Harry.
But that "put-put-put" sound was like an electric drill, frantically churning in his head, making it impossible for Quirrell to concentrate.
"Damn it... it's too noisy..." Quirrell clutched his turban, his face even paler than before.
In his mind, Lord Voldemort's fury was almost tangible.
[From Lord Voldemort's resentment points +199!]
"Useless! You can't even do such a small thing..."
"Master... this, this isn't my fault... it's this noise... it's too, too loud!"
Just then, following the direction of the auto-navigation, Sig caught a glimpse of an inconspicuous glint of gold ahead.
The Golden Snitch!
It was at the very top of the Gryffindor stand, rapidly circling a flagpole emblazoned with a lion pattern.
Harry spotted it too. His eyes instantly lit up, and he leaned forward sharply. The Nimbus 2000 gave a soft hum and transformed into a swift streak of light, charging ahead with its unparalleled speed advantage.
The chance to win the game was right before his eyes!
"The Snitch! Harry! The Snitch is over there!"
On the stands, Ron jumped up from his seat in anxiety, pointing at a spot not far above his head and shouting at the top of his lungs. But his voice was completely swallowed by the deafening roar.
Harry couldn't hear Ron's shouting at all. He and the Nimbus 2000 were practically one now, leaving Signas far behind.
The fruit of victory seemed within reach.
However, just as Harry was about to get close, the Snitch's wings flapped hard, and it instantly changed direction at an unbelievable angle.
It traced a long arc and flew straight toward the nearby staff stand.
Harry cursed inwardly and immediately forced his broom to turn. With his wrists and waist working in tandem, the Nimbus 2000 responded like an extension of his own arm as he quickly gave chase.
On the staff stand, Quirrell's body trembled slightly with excitement.
The opportunity had come!
Harry was flying toward him, getting closer and closer, looking like a lamb to the slaughter in his eyes.
He stared intently at the red figure, his lips moving imperceptibly as a string of ancient and malevolent incantations poured silently from deep within his throat.
He could feel the master at the back of his head urging him on.
Just a little closer... just a little closer... and he'd succeed!
However, Snape, sitting not far from Quirrell, while seemingly watching the match, hadn't taken his eyes off Quirrell for a second.
He keenly sensed Quirrell's abnormality. His hand quietly gripped the wand beneath his robes, and his lips also began to move slightly, ready to act at any moment.
At this tense moment, a shadow loomed over the entire staff stand.
"Put-put-put... vroom—vroom—!!!"
Signas and his noisy Humble Cleansweep 9000 caught up.
This time, he flew extremely low, almost skimming the roof of the staff stand.
At such close range, the noise was amplified several times over. It was no longer just a roar, but a violent magical vibration that could strike the soul directly.
The wooden structure of the entire stand was humming. The teacups in front of the Professors rattled, and the pumpkin juice inside rippled in circles.
Everyone covered their ears, and Quirrell, at the center of the noise, felt it most directly.
The mental focus he had painstakingly gathered was shattered instantly, like glass struck by a heavy hammer, instantly Diffindo.
The string of Dark Curses he was about to complete got stuck in his throat. He felt as if countless bees were frantically crashing and buzzing inside his brain, giving him a splitting headache.
"Ugh..."
Quirrell let out a pained groan, his body going limp as he nearly tumbled from his chair.
[From Quirinus Quirrell's resentment points +89!]
[From Lord Voldemort's resentment points +299!]
Just then, the Golden Snitch seemed unable to bear the lethal noise as well. Its wings flapped again, and it flew toward the distant Slytherin stand.
Harry didn't hesitate for a second, immediately adjusting his broom and following it like a shadow.
The superior performance of the Nimbus 2000 was fully displayed at this moment, as he kept the distance between himself and the Golden Snitch within a highly threatening range.
Behind him were the Slytherin players following closely.
On the staff stand, Quirrell breathed a long sigh of relief as he watched the Golden Snitch fly away.
Although the sneak attack just now had failed, the opportunity was still there.
He rubbed his throbbing temples, secretly rejoicing.
As long as that damn Shalk followed Harry Potter away, he would find another chance.
This time, he would definitely succeed!
However, the joy on his face didn't even last three seconds before it completely froze.
He found that Signas hadn't flown away with Harry at all!
The first-year student on the broken broom was circling near the staff stand unhurriedly, like a ghost.
He held the broom with one hand and firmly clutched the red Quaffle with the other, as if he wasn't worried about Harry catching the Golden Snitch at all, but rather seemed to be waiting for something.
Quirrell's eyes nearly popped out of his head.
Why wasn't he chasing the Golden Snitch? What was he doing here?
Did he think the Golden Snitch would fly back to find him?
Next, the Gryffindor captain, Oliver Wood, flew over aggressively.
Behind him were the three Chasers—Angelina, Alicia, and Katie—like three red fighter jets, closing in on Signas from three different directions.
Their goal was clear—to take back the Quaffle!
For a moment, the players who should have been engaged in intense offense and defense on the pitch all gathered in the small airspace near the staff stand, launching a chaotic pursuit.
Worse was yet to come.
"George! Cover me!"
"Watch me, Fred!"
The Weasley twins also joined the fray.
They swung their heavy bats, turning the two Bludgers into deadly weapons.
"Whoosh—!"
A Bludger flew past Signas's scalp with a sharp whistling sound and slammed heavily into the railingnext to Quirrell.
"Bang!"
Wood chips flew everywhere, and the railing snapped.
Several Professors in the front row cried out in alarm, scrambling backward to avoid the debris.
Quirrell was completely dumbfounded.
He was now surrounded by a group of Gryffindor players, with Bludgers whistling back and forth overhead.
Forget about casting a Dark Curse on Harry in the distance; even his own safety had become an issue now.
"Whoosh!" Another Bludger came whistling, this time aimed directly at his face.
"Ah!"
Quirrell let out a feminine scream and scrambled down from his chair.
He didn't care about his dignity as a Professor anymore and crawled clumsily under the table.
[From Quirinus Quirrell's resentment points +99!]
[From Lord Voldemort's resentment points +399!]
Chapter 62: This Quidditch Isn't Very Authentic
The chaos in the staff stands continued.
The Weasley brothers were seeing red; although their target was Signas, the Bludgers were always mindlessly veering toward the Professors.
"Bang!"
Another Bludger whistled past Professor Sprout's pointed hat and slammed heavily into the wooden railing next to Quirrell, sending wood splinters flying.
Just then!
From the corner of his eye, Signas caught a sign of the Golden Snitch doubling back. The broomstick beneath him, following its pre-set "Auto-navigation," slightly adjusted its angle and was about to intercept it.
He immediately performed an action that left everyone dumbfounded.
Signas raised the hand that had been clutching the Quaffle and then, as if throwing a hot potato, hurled it with all his might toward the high sky in the center of the pitch!
This move was completely beyond everyone's expectations.
The three Gryffindor chasers besieging him, almost out of instinct, immediately abandoned their pincer movement on Signas. Like sharks scenting blood, they turned their brooms and charged toward the thrown Quaffle.
Was the game finally getting back on track?
Everyone thought so.
However, Signas's true purpose was not that at all.
At the moment everyone's attention was drawn to the Quaffle, the humble tail of the "Humble Cleansweep 9000" beneath him quietly lit up with a faint blue light.
The broom's noise grew louder, but it was like a bolt of lightning endowed with life. Without the interference of the Gryffindor players, it charged forward in a straight line.
At this time, Harry Potter was still near the Slytherin stands. He had just used a beautiful feint to shake off the Slytherin player Drian Pucey and was about to chase after the Golden Snitch.
But before he could even turn his head, a green afterimage flashed past the corner of his eye.
The speed wasn't fast, but it was perfectly positioned on the Golden Snitch's forward trajectory, even giving him the illusion that the broom had long been certain the Golden Snitch would fly there.
"How is that possible?"
Harry was stunned.
Looking in the direction the afterimage had flown—atop a towering pillar next to the Gryffindor stands, that golden light was leisurely flapping its wings.
It seemed to think it had escaped pursuit again and was enjoying a moment of peace.
Signas didn't even need to look with his eyes.
He pressed down hard on the broom, the wind pressure so strong he could barely keep his eyes open.
Guided by "Auto-navigation," the moment he neared the target, he reached out his right hand as a reflex.
His fingertips felt a slight, high-speed vibration, like holding a desperately struggling hummingbird.
He snapped his fingers shut.
Caught it.
Signas slowly stopped his broom and hovered in the air. He opened his palm; the struggling Golden Snitch lay quietly in his hand, its golden wings flapping in vain.
In the entire Quidditch Pitch, only the "putt-putt-putt" sound remained.
The spectators hadn't yet recovered from the sudden turn of events. They only saw a flash of green light, and then the Slytherin first-year seeker raised his hand as if displaying some kind of trophy.
A few seconds later, the Slytherin stands were the first to react.
"We won! We won!"
"Shalk caught the Snitch!"
Deafening cheers erupted from the Slytherin stands, instantly sweeping across the entire pitch.
Green banners waved wildly, and countless Slytherin students hugged each other excitedly, as if they had won the World Cup today.
Draco, Nott, Shabini, and Daphne all knew the game well, and at this moment, their eyes were wide open, their mouths agape in total disbelief.
Who knew Quidditch could be played like this!
That such a tactic even existed!
This was practically creating a whole new school of play!
Meanwhile, the Gryffindor stands were deathly silent, the sea of red seemingly frozen in an instant.
Oliver Wood complained loudly about the opponent's violation, calling it a hooligan tactic, but Madam Hooch ignored him.
As a veteran fan of the Chudley Cannons, Ron sat dazed in his seat, not even noticing that the butterbeer in his hand had fallen to the ground.
He considered himself a Quidditch expert, having watched for years and being able to recite every World Cup champion and Best Player, but today, his understanding of Quidditch was completely overturned!
Take away the Quaffle, freeze the score on the field, and then everyone chases the Golden Snitch?
What kind of devil came up with this tactic!
This doesn't fit the Quidditch spirit!
What made Ron even more devastated was that, upon thinking about it, this unorthodox tactic actually seemed particularly reasonable!
Since the score was frozen, catching the Golden Snitch decided the outcome!
Since the score was frozen, catching the Golden Snitch decided the outcome! And seven people catching the Golden Snitch together was clearly more efficient than one seeker.
This was an arithmetic problem he could solve with his toes!
In past matches, a seeker's opponent was usually only the opposing team's seeker, but the tactic Sigused turned the seeker's opponents into the entire opposing team.
This was also the reason for Harry Potter's failure today; he had been harassed by several Slytherinplayers the whole time!
It wasn't hard to break this tactic—either take back the Quaffle or follow suit and have the whole team catch the Snitch!
But no matter which you chose, was this still Quidditch? This was practically a hooligan playstyle!
Ron always felt this Quidditch wasn't very authentic!
Not a few people shared this thought, including even some young Wizards from Slytherin... [resentment points from Ron +39!]
[resentment points from Pansy +49!]
[resentment points from Ernie +29!]
[resentment points from Michael +59!]
[resentment points from... +39!]
...Hermione looked completely bewildered. She hadn't seen many Quidditch matches and wasn't sure if everything happening before her was normal.
But from the thunderous reactions of the surrounding crowd, Slytherin had won, and Gryffindor had lost!
On the pitch, Harry Potter stared blankly at Signas in the distance, his face written with disbelief. He lost? In his best field, he actually lost?
He clearly had a faster broom and more flexible skills, but why... Slytherin captain Flint was instantly overwhelmed by massive joy, letting out a beast-like roar and charging excitedly toward Signas.
In the staff stands, Professor McGonagall slumped back into her chair, her face filled with frustration and helplessness.
Under the table, Quirrell, who had just crawled out, looked at Signas surrounded by Slytherin players in the air and Harry Potter unharmed on the other side, his face contorted with extreme anger and humiliation.
The plan had completely failed.
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +89!]
[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +559!]
[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +559!]
...Signas slowly landed on the grass, looking at the numbers jumping wildly on the system panel, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
This game was well worth winning.
Chapter 63: When it Comes to Drawing Aggro, Snape is the Senior
Hagrid's Hut.
The fire in the fireplace crackled, and a giant copper kettle steamed over the flames.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in chairs that were clearly oversized for them, their faces still etched with the frustration of losing the match.
Especially Harry; he held a cup of hot tea, but his eyes were somewhat glazed over, clearly not yet recovered from the defeat.
"It must have been Snape," Ron said indignantly, stuffing a large piece of rock cakes into his mouth, his cheeks bulging high as he complained indistinctly. "I saw it clearly! While Flint was directing the team to surround Harry, Snape was staring fixedly at him, his lips moving the whole time—he was definitely chanting a Dark Curse! Only he could come up with such underhanded tactics!"
After the match, the trio of Harry and his friends received a warm invitation from Hagrid and came to his hut to talk about the match.
"No, no, Ron." Hagrid shook his massive head, waving a hand like a large fan, nearly sweeping the teacup off the table. "Professor Snape... well, he does make people uncomfortable sometimes, but he would never use such... such despicable means against a student."
"I know he went to the Fourth Floor in secret..." Harry said suddenly, recalling what he had seen on Halloween night.
Hearing this, the copper kettle in Hagrid's hand jerked violently, spilling a few drops of scalding tea that hissed as they hit the floor. "You mean you suspect him of stealing something? No, how do you know there's something on the Fourth Floor?"
"I didn't say there was something on the Fourth Floor!" Harry's eyes widened, feeling like he had caught onto some key information. "I just saw Professor Snape sneak off to the Fourth Floor alone during the Halloween feast. Later, I noticed his leg was injured. I bet he was bitten by that three-headed dog on the Fourth Floor!"
"You even know about Fluffy?" Hagrid was even more shocked. He felt his tongue get tied, and his massive frame shifted uneasily in the chair, making the poor wooden chair groan in agony.
Hermione keenly caught this piece of information, her eyes lighting up. "Fluffy? The dog's name is Fluffy?"
"Err... yeah, he's called Fluffy... I bought him off a Greek fellow and named him myself. Dumbledore had him placed in that room on the Fourth Floor..."
Mid-sentence, Hagrid suddenly realized he had let something slip.
Looking at the three pairs of eyes that had instantly lit up, he made a zipping motion over his mouth with his massive hand and shook his head vigorously. "I'm not saying another word! Not a single one!"
He tried to pull the conversation back. "Back to Snape—he's a very powerful Wizard and a Professor at Hogwarts. He has plenty of things to deal with every day; he doesn't have the spare time to specifically target a first-year student like you..."
"But whatever a Cerberus is guarding surely isn't a small matter!" Hermione said suddenly, her gaze sharpening. The three of them exchanged looks, seeing the same thought in each other's eyes.
Seeing this, Hagrid hurriedly waved his hands, trying to interrupt their train of thought.
He realized his mouth had been a bit too loose today, letting quite a few things slip. "Listen, kids! That thing has absolutely nothing to do with you! It's something Professor Dumbledore borrowed from Nicolas Flamel—"
"Nicolas Flamel?" Harry quickly noted down the unfamiliar name, feeling that this must be a very important person.
"Ouch!" Hagrid slapped his thigh in frustration, the sound echoing like a tree falling down.
He had intended to keep his mouth shut, but in just this short while, he had almost leaked everything about the Philosopher's Stone.
He clutched his bushy beard in agony, deciding not to speak another word.
Seeing Hagrid's mouth clamped shut, the trio knew they wouldn't get anything more out of him.
They exchanged a knowing look, deciding to find the answers themselves.
In the days following the Quidditch match, the atmosphere in Hogwarts Castle remained somewhat subtle.
When Slytherin and Gryffindor students met in the corridors, invisible sparks seemed to flicker in the air.
The Gryffindors looked down on Slytherin's "thuggish tactics," believing they tainted the spirit of Quidditch, while the Slytherins were smug, mocking their opponents for being sore losers.
This antagonistic sentiment reached its peak during Potion Class.
Professor Snape's mood was clearly quite good—although his sallow face remained expressionless, everyone could sense his pleasure from his lighter-than-usual step and the rare lack of sarcasm in his voice when critiquing assignments.
When he walked to the Gryffindor table, this good mood became even more apparent.
"Oh, Potter," Snape drawled, picking up the cloudy, foul-smelling Potion in Harry's cauldron with two fingers. "It seems that little 'talent' of yours from Flying Class hasn't carried over to Potion-making. I must say, even a Troll would find this batch repulsive."
"Five points from Gryffindor."
Harry's face instantly turned bright red. He clenched his fists tightly but didn't dare to talk back.
"And you, Weasley," Snape turned to Ron, poking the green slime that was nearly boiling over with the tip of his wand in disgust. "If I recall correctly, we are brewing the Forgetfulness Potion today, not some explosive concoction of your own invention."
"It seems that like your twin brothers, your head can't hold anything besides pranks."
"Another five points from Gryffindor."
Ron's ears were so red they looked like they might bleed.
Snape paced slowly, quite enjoying the expressions of the little lions who were fuming but dared not speak.
Finally, his gaze fell upon Signas Shalk.
"Shalk, show me the Potion you've brewed." His tone was flat, but everyone heard a hint of something unusual.
Signas calmly handed over a small vial of Potion as clear as water.
Snape took the vial and uncorked it. With just a light sniff, a faint, almost imperceptible glimmer of approval flashed in his bottomless black eyes.
"Perfect color, pure texture. Every step was impeccable."
Snape held up the vial, displaying it to the whole class. His voice wasn't loud, but it reached everyone's ears clearly.
"This is what a standard Forgetfulness Potion looks like. Ten points to Slytherin."
The Gryffindor students were about to explode with rage.
This favoritism was simply blatant!
Hermione was shaking with anger and raised her hand high. "Professor! That's not fair! My Potion is finished too, and the color matches the book's description perfectly!"
Snape didn't even glance at her, coldly spitting out two words: "Sit down."
"But..."
"Another five points from Gryffindor for your ignorant backtalk." Snape's voice now carried a clear note of displeasure.
Hermione's eyes instantly turned red. She sat down aggrieved, biting her lip hard.
[resentment points from Hermione Granger +89!]
[resentment points from Harry Potter +77!]
[resentment points from Ron Weasley +69!]
...Signas looked at the resentment points constantly refreshing on the system panel, feeling somewhat speechless.
When it comes to drawing aggro, Snape really is a senior!
"As for you two," Snape's gaze swept over Harry and Ron, "dispose of these two failed batches and then clean up all the ingredients."
"If there's so much as a single chamomile root left on the table when I return, you'll stay behind and scrub the entire classroom floor."
With that, he swept his black robes and turned to leave the classroom, leaving behind a room full of students staring at each other.
"He's just too much!" Ron said indignantly in a low voice. "He's looking for trouble on purpose!"
Harry didn't speak; he just silently began cleaning up the mess on the table, but his tightly pursed lips betrayed his inner anger.
Over on the Slytherin side, it was a different story.
"Oh, Potter..." Draco used an exaggerated tone, vividly mimicking Harry's embarrassed state when he was being scolded, causing the little snakes around him to let out a burst of snickering.
Chapter 64: Drawing Legends, Two in a Row
At night, the dormitory was deathly silent, save for the steady breathing of Draco and Goyle, occasionally punctuated by Goyle's dreamlike chewing noises.
Signas lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling as his mind whirled in a chaotic mess.
Over the past few nights, Quirrell had been unusually quiet; sometimes he wasn't even in his office at night.
As a result, Paozhang hadn't been able to bring back any intel these past few days. He wondered what news he could fish out tonight.
However, what truly occupied Signas's mind wasn't that, but the resentment points he had accumulated over the last few days.
During the last Quidditch match, the audience of over a thousand people, plus the players from both sides, had collectively contributed over twenty thousand resentment points.
Adding in what was left from his previous fifty-draw session, his current balance of resentment pointshad once again broken the thirty thousand mark!
It was time to test his lineage and see if he could pull out some legendary treasures.
After drawing so many times, he had roughly figured out the drop rates of this scammy system.
Around twenty draws usually yielded an Excellent-grade item, and fifty draws were about enough to touch the edge of Epic-grade.
Extrapolating from this pattern, a Legendary-grade item would likely require anywhere from a hundred to a hundred and twenty draws to appear.
Since the system awakened, he had drawn nearly a hundred times in total. This meant that within the next twenty to thirty draws, it was highly likely he would hit his first Legendary-grade item!
Thinking about the absurd power of an Epic-grade item like the 'Appearance Wand,' Signas's anticipation for a Legendary-grade item was instantly maxed out. Wouldn't that just be heaven-defying?
"System, give me twenty draws first!" Signas muttered in his heart.
Before his eyes, that incredibly tacky roulette wheel appeared once more. Golden light flashed, and colorful marquee lights spun wildly, accompanied by the same addictive, brainwashing BGM, 'Good Luck Comes to You.'
The pointer spun rapidly and finally slowed to a stop.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: A box of Booger-flavored Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans that never runs out!]
Signas's face darkened.
Though, this thing was somewhat useful; it would save a lot on snack expenses.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: A Toad that sings folk songs (Out-of-tune version)!]
Signas's eyes twitched. He could already imagine this toad straining its throat to belt out 'Hey-ha... the mountain roads here have eighteen bends...' in a deafening, demonic voice.
What kind of trash items are these!
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for obtaining: An Old whip from Mr. Filch's private collection (comes with original cat hair)!]
"Holy crap!" Signas almost couldn't stop himself from swearing out loud.
Does this system have a grudge against him?
It specifically produces these disgusting things!
He suppressed the urge to close the roulette and watched as the pointer spun a dozen more times, yielding nothing but junk like 'Self-knotting Shoelaces,' 'A Quill that Mocks its Owner,' and 'The Sock that Can Never Find its Pair.'
Twenty thousand resentment points, just down the drain.
Signas felt his heart bleeding.
Refusing to believe in bad luck, he gritted his teeth and decided to go all-in!
"System, draw everything I have left!"
"ten-draw!"
He didn't believe that with over thirty thousand resentment points, he wouldn't even see a golden light!
The wheel spun wildly again. This time, as if sensing the host's resentment, the marquee lights flashed even faster.
The first three draws were the same old recipe, the same old taste.
Stuff like 'Eraser specifically for the Obliviate Charm,' 'Potion recipe to turn snot into bubblegum,' 'Professor Lockhart's Signed Photo (Lipstick-mark version)'... Signas's face was now as black as the bottom of a pot.
He began to seriously suspect if he had been cursed by Lord Voldemort.
Just as he was on the brink of despair, the roulette pointer suddenly hitched, and then with a 'Bang!', a burst of dazzling golden light exploded!
Legendary-grade light!
Signas's breathing stopped instantly, his eyes glued to the screen.
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for drawing a Legendary-grade rare item: Felix Felicis * 1 bottle!]
Signas's eyes widened abruptly.
Another 'bottle'?
He impatiently clicked on the detailed description.
[Felix Felicis: Greatly enhances magic perception and total magic capacity, reaching a pinnacle level for a short period.]
[Note: Give me enough magic, and I can change the whole world.]
Signas felt his heart pounding wildly and his blood starting to boil.
If the 'Appearance Wand' was a specialized divine weapon, then this Felix Felicis was the real trump card!
One sip, and magic reaches the pinnacle!
Two sips, and wouldn't one just take off on the spot?
What did this mean?
It meant he could temporarily ignore the limits of his own magic level to cast powerful spells that originally only top-tier Wizards could master.
For example, the Killing Curse that Lord Voldemort was best at.
A first-year young Wizard, limited by weak magic, even if they knew the incantation and gestures, would at most produce a little trick that caused a nosebleed.
But if they took a sip of Felix Felicis, then that Killing Curse would be the real deal.
"Jie jie jie jie..." Signas could no longer contain himself and let out a laugh exclusive to villains.
In the next bed, Draco was startled by the eerie laughter and flipped over abruptly, mumbling incoherently, "Don't... don't eat my pudding..."
With this Epic-grade start, Signas felt his luck returning.
However, the next few draws returned to the previous slump, yielding nothing but scrap metal.
Just as Signas's mood was plummeting back to the bottom like a roller coaster, the final draw was like a surge of dying light, once again bursting with dazzling golden light!
Another Legend!
A double-yolk egg!
[Ding! Congratulations to the host for drawing a Legendary-grade rare item: Honesty Bean!]
A seemingly ordinary small brown bean appeared in the system space, with a small description next to it.
[Honesty Bean: An extremely rare magical plant seed. Mix it into food or drinks, and the consumer will become an honest person for the next hour.]
[Note: Being an honest person is actually quite simple!]
Signas was stunned for a moment, then sucked in a cold breath.
This bean was practically the ultimate weapon created to mess with people's mental states!
While Veritaserum could force someone to tell the truth, the person being interrogated would know they were being drugged and would have a psychological resistance.
But this 'Honesty Bean' directly twisted the consumer's cognition from the root, making them become an honest person with no sense of resistance.
And there didn't seem to be an expiration date on the effect!
This round of gacha was a total win!
Although the process was a bit rocky, the final result was explosive!
Signas closed the system panel with satisfaction.
He looked at the Honesty Bean he had taken out from the system space; it was only the size of a peanut, entirely golden as if made of pure gold, and it emitted an inviting aroma similar to roasted nuts.
One bean probably wouldn't be enough to go around; he needed to grow some more.
According to the description, as long as there was sufficient magic, he could have a bumper harvest in three months—roughly one month after New Year's Day.
When the time came, he'd give one to Quirrell... An image instantly appeared in Signas's mind.
In front of the entire school's teachers and students, Professor Quirrell would vividly recount how he worshipped the great Dark Lord, how he willingly offered the back of his head as a dormitory for his master, and how his plan failed on Halloween night because of a pile of crap...
Chapter 65: Plant an Honesty Bean, Reap an Honesty Bean
Herbology classroom.
Today, Professor Sprout was going to teach them how to fertilize magical plants, using dittany as the demonstration.
'In this lesson, we'll study fertilization. You must understand that magical plants differ from ordinary ones; the fertilizer they need must itself be magical...'
Signas flipped quickly to the chapter on dittany.
Dittany was a common herb, found not only in the Wizarding World but also among Muggles.
Yet the dittany of the two worlds was not the same thing.
The wizarding variety was a magical plant nourished by ambient magic.
Thus, Herbology taught how to fertilize these magical specimens, ensuring they received sufficient magical nourishment.
After outlining dittany's properties, Professor Sprout began explaining fertilizing technique and precautions.
Signas drank in every scattered detail with relish.
'Attention: the fertilizer provided is Dragon Dung. This highly potent manure must be diluted with soil and a reagent before use on dittany—ratio five-hundred to one...'
Signas: 'Professor, if we raise the proportion of Dragon Dung, will it grow faster?'
'Good question,' said Professor Sprout, turning to him. 'Magical plants have a limited capacity for magic. Over-fertilizing will most likely slow their growth. Herbology demands patience; too much is as bad as too little...'
Having carefully finished her explanation, Professor Sprout encouraged the young Wizards: 'All right—off you go!'
Every young Wizard set to work.
Signas pulled on dragon-hide gloves, scooped up his allotted dung, and weighed it to the exact gram.
He blended it with a second clod of soil, added the special fusion agent, and pressed gently.
With the agent's help, the dung fused completely into the soil; the mixture went into the pot, and the dittany was transplanted.
Job done.
Before starting, Signas had used the system to raise Basic Herbology to level thirty.
Thus he moved with practiced ease, finishing first as if he had done it countless times.
Soon the others were done as well.
But most had miscalculated the dung or failed to blend it thoroughly; once transplanted, their dittany drooped.
Nott's was worst: the moment it touched the new soil, it withered.
Anyone unaware would have thought it poisoned rather than merely over-fed.
Near the bell, Professor Sprout inspected their work. When she saw the vibrant, almost glossy dittany in Signas's pot, she beamed.
'Perfect ratio, perfect execution, Mr. Shalk. Slytherin—five points.'
Her gaze then fell on Nott's dead seedling and she sighed. 'Oh, poor little thing. Mr. Nott, Herbology wants patience and finesse, not brute force.'
Nott's handsome face flushed scarlet under the mingled pity and snickers of his classmates—especially Draco, whose grin stretched ear to ear.
[resentment points from Theodore Nott +68!]
Signas packed up, strolling past Nott just loudly enough for him to hear: 'I thought Pure-blood veins ran thick with the gift of talking to plants. Seems blood isn't always reliable.'
Nott stiffened, fingers whitening around the pot, nails nearly scoring the clay.
[resentment points from Theodore Nott +99!]
With a fresh haul of resentment, Signas left the greenhouse in high spirits.
Yet his mind was already on something else—the glittering Honesty Bean.
It was consumable; each use meant one fewer bean left. To achieve 'Honesty Bean freedom,' he needed a sustainable crop.
According to the system, the plant required a site saturated with undisturbed magic.
In all Hogwarts, only one place met that criterion: the Forbidden Forest.
That night, when the dormitory candles went out, Signas slipped from bed.
He crossed to Draco's four-poster and nudged him.
'Boss?' Draco sat up bleary-eyed.
'Wake Crabbe and Goyle. Change clothes and follow me,' Signas murmured, brooking no argument.
'Where... where to?'
'Less talk. You'll see.'
Ten minutes later, four shadows crept from the Slytherin Common Room.
Draco and the others followed, hearts thudding, with no idea what their leader planned after midnight.
'Boss, are we sneaking out? If Filch catches us, it's detention!' Goyle whispered, eyes darting for any sign of Madam Norris.
'Scared?' Draco taunted, though he too was jumpy.
Signas ignored them, leading the way past tattletale portraits until they reached the Castle doors unchallenged.
'Lumos,' he breathed; a soft sphere of light bloomed at his wand-tip, illuminating the path toward the forest.
'B-boss, we... we're really going into the Forbidden Forest?' Crabbe's voice cracked.
Headmaster Dumbledore's start-of-term warning still rang in their ears: dangerous creatures dwelt within, and first-years were barred.
'I need a rare herb that can boost our strength,' Signas said—half truth, half bait. 'Coming, or are you afraid?'
'W-who's afraid!' Draco blustered.
The taunt silenced them.
Yet once they reached the trees, trembling legs betrayed their bravado.
By night the Forbidden Forest looked like a primeval beast gaping to swallow them.
Towering trunks blotted out the moon; darkness reigned, broken only by eerie insect calls and distant growls that raised every hair.
Signas walked first, his Lumos globe leading the way, pushing back some shadows while making others twist even more menacingly.
Chapter 66: Omen in the Forbidden Forest
Draco and the other two followed closely behind him, almost sticking to him for fear of being left behind.
"Boss, what... what kind of herb are you looking for?" Draco asked tremulously, feeling like he could be dragged away by tentacles reaching out from the darkness at any moment.
"A type of bean that makes people tell the truth," Signas replied casually.
Draco and the others: "???"
Signas didn't explain further. Like an experienced old hunter, he led the three shivering rookies through the tangled forest.
His magic, like invisible tentacles, reached into the soil beneath his feet, sensing the energy of every inch of land.
Draco and the others had completely lost their previous bravado. At this moment, they wished they could shrink into a ball as they followed Signas, stepping in his footprints, not even daring to breathe loudly.
Finally, under an ancient oak tree that would take three or four people to encircle, Signas stopped.
The bark of this tree was cracked like an old man's wrinkles, and many gnarled roots protruded from the ground, forming eerie lumps.
Moonlight filtered through the branches and leaves, casting mottled spots of light. Instead of bringing light, this only made the surroundings seem even deeper and darker.
"This is the place," Signas said softly. He could feel the magic fluctuations beneath this land, like an underground river, much denser than in other places—it was a perfect spot for planting the "Honesty Bean."
He pulled the Honesty Bean from his robes. The golden bean emitted a faint, warm glow, like a captured star.
Sig knelt down, preparing to dig a small hole.
However, just as he was about to bury the bean, a line of red text suddenly popped up on the system panel.
[Planting Warning: The growth of the Honesty Bean requires a special catalyst—pure fear. Please collect at least three drops of tears shed out of extreme fear as nourishment for the first irrigation.]
Signas: "..."
His movements froze, and the expression on his face stiffened for a moment.
Tears of fear?
This planting requirement... was truly unique.
He slowly stood up, turned to look at Draco and the others, who were already huddled together, and a very kind—one could even say benevolent—smile slowly appeared on his face.
That smile looked exceptionally warm under the mottled moonlight, but it made Draco and the others shudder for no reason.
"Did you guys..." Signas lowered his voice, which seemed to come from deep underground with a hint of eeriness, "hear something just now?"
"W-what sound?" Draco's Adam's apple bobbed nervously. He felt a chill at the back of his neck.
"Shh—" Signas put a finger to his lips in a silencing gesture.
His gaze drifted toward the depths of the Forbidden Forest, as if something were lurking there.
He spoke slowly, each word sounding like it was wrapped in ice shards, "I think... I heard... a Werewolf's howl."
As soon as he finished speaking, as if to provide the perfect footnote to his words, a long, piercing, and hungry wolf howl truly echoed from deep within the forest.
"Awoooo—"
The sound pierced through the layers of tree shadows and echoed in the silent night, sounding as if it had exploded right next to their ears.
The hair on Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle's heads stood on end instantly, and the blood in their bodies seemed to freeze at that moment.
Their three faces, which had still possessed some color, instantly turned as pale as parchment.
"A W-Werewolf?!" Draco's voice shook the most, and his teeth were even chattering.
He felt his bladder tighten, and a warm stream almost went out of control.
"Not just that." The expression on Signas's face grew increasingly solemn. He continued to up the ante, pointing to a tree trunk not far away illuminated by moonlight.
Something sticky was hanging there, swaying slightly in the night wind like a tattered fishing net.
"Look, what's that?" Signas's voice was full of fear. "It looks like spider silk! With silk this thick, how big must that spider be..."
Various terrifying images instantly surfaced in Draco's mind.
A spider the size of a millstone, eight giant crimson eyes, fangs like daggers, and hairy, steel-like limbs... He seemed to see hundreds of such monsters swarming from all directions, wrapping the three of them into sticky webs like cocoons, and then... Fear, like icy lake water, completely drowned their reason.
"Waaa—" Crabbe was the first to break down.
On his chubby face, his features crumpled together, and two streams of hot tears gushed out like an opened sluice gate. His crying was as shrill as a pig waiting to be slaughtered.
Goyle followed closely behind. He was even more exaggerated than Crabbe, crying until snot bubbles popped out of his nostrils. He sobbed while shivering, "I... I don't want to die... I haven't had enough of my mom's apple pie..."
Draco held on to his last bit of dignity. He was a Malfoy; how could he cry like these two idiots?
He bit his lip hard, but his eyes turned red uncontrollably.
One drop, two drops... The bean-sized tears finally became too heavy. They swirled in his eyes before rolling down his pale cheeks.
Signas was quick. Using a previously prepared crystal bottle, he precisely caught those few "golden drops."
"Alright, stop crying." He patted the three on their shoulders, his tone as relaxed as if he were saying "the weather is nice today."
"That wolf howl just now was something I imitated with a spell. As for that silk," Sig pointed to the so-called "spider silk," "it's just a normal spider web dampened by dew."
Three people, six eyes, stared blankly at Signas. With tear stains still on their faces, their expressions shifted from fear to bewilderment, and finally settled on an indescribable anger.
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +59!]
[resentment points from Vincent Crabbe +69!]
[resentment points from Gregory Goyle +49!]
Signas satisfiedly poured the collected "nourishment" into the hole and then buried the golden bean.
The Honesty Bean disappeared the moment it touched the soil, as if a drop of water had merged into the ocean.
Signas knew the Honesty Bean had been successfully planted and could not be retrieved until it sprouted.
Having finished all this, he brushed the dirt off his hands and prepared to lead the group back.
Just then, the sound of rapid hoofbeats came from deep within the forest, getting closer and closer.
The four were startled and looked over together.
Under the moonlight, several agile figures passed through the gaps in the trees and appeared before them.
They were several Centaurs. Their upper bodies were human-like with knotted muscles and longbows in hand, while their lower bodies were powerful horse bodies.
The leading Centaur had jet-black hair and a beard, with eyes as sharp as an hawk's. He scrutinized these human foals who had broken into the Forbidden Forest late at night.
The Centaur scrutinized the human foals before him with a condescending gaze, snorting disdainfully. The history of Centaurs was written in stars and blood. They had witnessed the forest's life and death, and humans' rise from weakness to strength.
"Human foals, you should not be here." His voice was low and resonant, like an ancient bell tolling in an empty valley. "Mars is exceptionally bright tonight; this is an ill omen. The balance of the forest is being broken, and blood will stain the earth."
He paused, his sharp gaze sweeping over Signas and then landing on Draco and the others behind him. His face showed no expression, but the arrogance inherent to his ancient race was clearly visible.
"Leave this place and return to your Castle. It is... no longer safe here." After Ronan finished speaking, he ignored them, turned his horse body around, and prepared to lead his kin away.
Just then.
Chapter 67: The Blood of the Unicorn
At that very moment.
"Ah—!"
A shrill scream from some magical creature echoed without warning from the depths of the Forbidden Forest. The despair and pain contained in that sound were like a cold awl, stabbing fiercely into everyone's hearts.
"Rustle—"
Flocks of birds perched in the canopy were instantly startled, spiraling and wailing in the night sky like black fireworks exploding.
Immediately after, the entire Forbidden Forest seemed to be startled awake from its slumber. The roars, growls, and sounds of various beasts fleeing rose and fell, merging into a chaotic wave of sound that even faintly reached Hogwarts Castle in the distance.
Ronan and his Centaur tribe were instantly thrown into a commotion. They all faced the direction the sound came from, longbows drawn to half-string, muscles tensed, and eyes filled with wariness and anger.
Before everyone could recover from this sudden change, another even more shrill scream rang out.
This time, the voice carried a tearing sensation of life being forcibly stripped away. In the dead silence of the midnight Forbidden Forest, it made one's scalp tingle and their spine go cold.
Signas Shalk and Draco Malfoy's trio glanced at each other, their eyes reflecting each other's expressions of utter horror.
What on earth was happening in the Forbidden Forest?
Listening to this commotion, it was clear that someone was hunting some kind of magical creature!
But this was Hogwarts' Forbidden Forest, Dumbledore's territory. What blind madman would dare to run wild here?
Unless... unless it was a desperate criminal who even dared to provoke Dumbledore!
Signas's heart sank suddenly.
However, his first reaction wasn't fear, but worry for the "Honesty Bean" he had just planted.
Since those intruders dared to hunt magical creatures, who could guarantee they wouldn't take the opportunity to wipe out any valuable magical plants in the Forbidden Forest as well?
The Honesty Bean was a legendary magical plant. Once discovered by these people, they certainly wouldn't let it go.
Thinking of this, the expression on Signas's face instantly became grave.
"Let's go, we'll go take a look!" he whispered, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Draco and the other two hesitated.
They were, after all, eleven-year-old young Wizards. Forget their magical strength, even their mentalities weren't fully developed.
Despite their usual arrogance and domineering behavior, when they truly encountered problems and dangers far beyond their abilities, their childish nature was revealed for all to see.
"Boss, are you crazy?!" Draco's voice changed pitch as he grabbed Signas's robes, his face full of resistance.
Crabbe and Goyle shook their heads like rattles; they now only wanted to be as far away from this place of trouble as possible.
Signas saw through their hesitation. He shook off Draco's hand and swept his sharp gaze over the three of them: "The Professors must have noticed the situation here as well; they'll be here soon. We're just going to take a look, keep our distance, and there won't be any danger."
He paused, his lips curling into a mocking arc: "Besides, if you're so scared in the face of this little danger, how can you call yourselves the Sacred Twenty-Eight? What kind of Pure-bloods are you?"
These words were like a red-hot iron, searing fiercely into Draco's pride.
"Who... who's afraid!" Draco, provoked, stiffened his neck and roared with false bravado, "Go... let's go! I want to see which blind fellow dares to cause trouble at Hogwarts!"
With Draco taking the lead, although Crabbe and Goyle's legs were still shaking, they could only steel themselves and follow.
To the side, Ronan took all of this in.
When he heard Signas's remarks about "Pure-bloods," a subtle flash of emotion crossed his deep eyes.
In the ancient history passed down by word of mouth in the Centaur tribes, humans were not the original masters of this world.
Human Wizards went through a long and bloody struggle before they conquered the Goblins, drove away the Giants, and finally established the dominance of the Human race.
And leading this thousand-year war were precisely those ancient wizarding families who took pride in their bloodlines.
Their "Pure-blood" status was not originally capital used for showing off, but represented bravery and sacrifice.
This human hatchling before him, though young, had an understanding of "Pure-blood" that coincided with that forgotten history.
Watching Signas, who insisted on going deeper into danger, Ronan finally spoke to warn him, "Remember, human hatchling, sometimes the most dangerous thing is not the beasts in the forest, but the monsters wearing the skins of your own kind."
Having said that, he stayed no longer, leading his tribe away in a few bounds until they disappeared into the dark sea of trees.
Signas had no time to carefully savor the Centaur's warning. He followed the direction of the sound and carefully crept forward.
The further they went, the thicker the smell of blood in the air became.
However, Draco and the other two soon caught up. The expressions on their faces weren't as fearful anymore.
The atmosphere in Pure-blood families was mostly not great, even cruel, and coupled with the worship of power, they had more exposure to the dark side of the Wizarding World.
Compared to muggle-born young Wizards, Pure-blood young Wizards had a much higher tolerance for evil and were a bit more mature.
The four walked for nearly half an hour, going deeper and deeper into the forest. Later, the trees became extremely dense, and the path was almost impassable.
At this point, bloodstains appeared on the ground, seemingly left by that poor animal.
Finally, in a forest clearing illuminated by moonlight, they saw that tragic scene.
Sig recognized it; it was a beautiful Unicorn lying in a pool of blood.
It was snow-white all over, as if carved from moonlight, its spiral horn reflecting a holy radiance under the moon.
But now, its abdomen had been torn open with a hideous gash, and silver blood gurgled out, pooling on the ground and emitting a strange faint light.
Those eyes, originally as bright as obsidian, had completely lost their luster, staring hollowly at the pitch-black night sky.
And beside the Unicorn's corpse, a black figure was kneeling there, greedily sucking that warm silver blood.
The person wore a voluminous black robe with their head covered, making their face invisible, but the shadow looked rather thin.
Goyle whispered: "Boss, be careful, this isn't that simple. This doesn't look like an ordinary poacher!"
Sig nodded and said: "Ordinary people wouldn't dare hunt a Unicorn; it's said there's a curse..."
"What do we do now?"
At this moment, Draco was so nervous he didn't dare speak much, for fear of startling the mysterious Dark Wizard in the distance.
He felt they were lucky not to have been discovered by the dark figure in the distance.
The few of them had no ability to catch the opponent, and who knew if there were accomplices? It would be best to withdraw now; after all, the Professors would worry about these matters.
While he was thinking, a crackling sound came from the bushes opposite them.
Draco, Goyle, and Crabbe crouched low and looked at each other, extremely afraid, thinking it might be an accomplice.
Chapter 68: The Performance Charm Hits Quirrell
The constantly swaying bushes also startled the mysterious figure in black robes kneeling beside the Unicorn's carcass in the distance.
Quirrell jerked his head up, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes, having no time to wipe the silver blood from the corners of his mouth.
He glanced at the extent of the bushes' movement and immediately thought of Hagrid, that big oaf who was always patrolling the Forbidden Forest.
He wasn't afraid of Hagrid, but that big oaf was Dumbledore's loyal dog; once he discovered this place, Dumbledore would arrive soon as well.
Once cornered by Dumbledore in the Forbidden Forest, everything would be over.
Thus, he decisively gave up on drinking the blood, leapt up from the ground, scanned the surroundings, and prepared to sneak back to the Castle from the other side.
Seeing the man's actions, Signas and the others immediately lowered their bodies even further to avoid his gaze.
"He's coming! He's coming towards us! Run, Boss!" Draco's voice was as quiet as a mosquito's buzz, the color drained from his face, and he looked ready to cry from anxiety.
Crabbe and Goyle couldn't even speak; they just kept tugging at Signas's robes.
"Wait a bit longer! He might not be coming for us..." Signas's gaze was solemn as he stared at the constantly peering dark figure.
"Wait for what, Boss? If we don't run now..."
Before Draco could finish, the mysterious figure in black robes had already moved. The man's running posture was somewhat staggering, yet he was quite fast, charging toward their patch of bushes.
"Holy crap!" The same curse erupted in the minds of Draco and the other two.
What was this?
They couldn't understand why this weirdo didn't head deeper into the forest but insisted on running toward the Castle.
Wasn't he afraid of being caught?
But they no longer had time to ponder this question.
Signas's eyes widened as he secretly wondered: could this be a trap targeting Hogwarts students?
In the heat of the moment, he had no time for second thoughts. He pulled two small potion bottles from his robes with his right hand, and with his left, he drew the Appearance Wand, but immediately swapped it for his usual yew wand.
Now was not the time for jokes. If the opponent turned out to be a handsome guy, this wand would become nothing more than a fire stick.
He unscrewed the caps and tilted his head back, gulping down the Calming Draught and Felix Felicis in one go.
An indescribable warm current instantly surged from his throat into every limb and bone. Signas felt the magic within him like a bursting flood, roaring and racing.
Hiding behind the bushes, he cast a silent Levitation Charm at the charging dark figure.
Under the enhancement of the Felix Felicis, this basic spell displayed even greater power. A pillar of white light, thicker than a bowl, shot out with a sharp whistle like a bolt of lightning!
Quirrell, who was sprinting, was already highly tense. Seeing such terrifyingly bright light suddenly appear ahead, he was jolted with fright.
He instinctively slammed on the brakes, and the spell flew past his nose, crashing heavily onto the ground in front of him.
"Boom!"
With a loud crash, dirt and turf were blasted into the air, and a large pit over half a meter deep appeared on the ground.
Quirrell looked at the smoking pit with shock and horror, finally realizing there was someone in the bushes ahead!
Could it be... an ambush by Dumbledore?
The four of them began to retreat slowly, but they didn't dare to run away with large strides, fearing they would make too much noise and completely enrage the mysterious figure in black whose depth they didn't know.
In the bushes on the other side, Hagrid, carrying a lantern, was also startled into a halt by the loud noise and the soaring light.
He was secretly astonished.
More than one person?
Could it be a gang?
Hagrid immediately extinguished his lantern, his heart racing. Could a gang of Dark Wizards be after the Philosopher's Stone and have snuck into Hogwarts?
This was far beyond the scope of poaching magical creatures, and it wasn't something Hagrid could handle.
Hagrid quickly stopped, secretly sent a message to Dumbledore, and then watched the distance warily.
At this moment, Quirrell's mind was racing.
A ruthless glint flashed in his eyes. Since he had been discovered, he would strike first!
He jerked his wand up, pointing it at the swaying bushes ahead.
"Crucio!"
A light so green it was almost black shot out like a venomous snake's tongue!
"Ah!" Draco and the other two let out short gasps of alarm.
They quickly reacted, covering their mouths tightly, watching in terror as the green light flew past their scalps and hit a large tree behind them.
Quirrell paused slightly.
He heard it—the voices were youthful, clearly belonging to a few children.
Not an ambush?
Just a few little Wizards out for a night stroll who happened to stumble upon him?
He immediately began to sneer, his courage growing as he resumed his charge forward.
Hearing the commotion, Hagrid grew tense.
These Dark Wizards had actually kidnapped young Wizards?!
This was simply unforgivable!
He no longer cared about staying hidden and immediately charged forward like an enraged bull.
In this critical moment, Signas couldn't care less. He fired off several more Levitation Charms at the figure in black.
But Quirrell, now on guard, deflected the spells one by one.
Seeing that the opponent was about to burst into the bushes, Signas didn't have time to think. He waved his wand and used his ultimate move—the Performance Charm.
This time, it was "Avada Kedavra"!
A beam of sickly green light, pure to the extreme, tore through the night as if it were draining the very life from the forest.
Quirrell, who was sneering, felt a "boom" in his head when he saw that familiar green light, and his mind went blank for an instant.
Relying almost entirely on combat instinct, he rolled sideways in a disheveled manner, barely dodging the light of death.
At that moment, extreme terror gripped his throat.
His brain completely stalled; he never expected the opponent to use the Killing Curse.
Could it be that those ahead weren't night-strolling little Wizards, but Dark Wizards who had snuck into the Forbidden Forest?
There were actually Dark Wizards so audacious they dared to break into Hogwarts territory at night?
What did they want?
Were they poaching magical creatures?
Weren't they afraid of Dumbledore?
Immediately after, two more beams of light with terrifying auras shot toward him.
One made the soul tremble, while the other carried a sense of bewitchment.
Crucio? Imperio?
All Three Unforgivable Curses were present!
Quirrell's mind was filled with terror. He had no time to think and scrambled away with several more rolls, his posture pathetic to the extreme.
Only one thought remained in his mind—what kind of monster is this?!
To be proficient in all Three Unforgivable Curses?
And to use them so recklessly?
Even in rapid succession?
This was practically using Unforgivable Curses as if they were ordinary spells!
In the entire Wizarding World, there were many who could use the Three Unforgivable Curses.
But those who were truly proficient were few, and almost all of them were rotting in Azkaban.
Wizards who could master all three Unforgivables were truly few and far between.
Quirrell knew of two: one was inside his own body, and the other was in the Hogwarts Principal's office.
Of course, the Wizarding World was full of wonders, and there were also certain powerful reclusive Dark Wizards who could do it.
But the question was, what had he come to Hogwarts for?
What was worth the risk of offending Dumbledore to do such a thing?
Suddenly, a flash of insight struck Quirrell's mind.
The Philosopher's Stone!
Yes!
It had to be that, otherwise it wouldn't make sense.
Thinking of this, Quirrell's heart felt particularly heavy.
Now his enemies were not just Dumbledore, but also this mysterious and powerful Dark Wizard.
After rolling on the ground a few times and dodging these waves of lethal attacks, Quirrell lost his will to fight.
His current state was already poor, and his Master was extremely weak, which was why he had hunted the Unicorn, hoping its blood would help his Master recover some strength.
He naturally had no ability to deal with this powerful Dark Wizard right now.
Quirrell leapt up from the ground and fled for his life in another direction.
Just then, to be safe, Sig forced himself to maintain focus and fired another enhanced version of the Performance Charm.
This time it finally didn't miss, accurately hitting Quirrell's retreating figure.
The green light entered Quirrell's body, bringing neither death nor pain.
One could say it didn't produce the Unforgivable Curse effect that Quirrell was familiar with.
But he immediately felt a change in his body... "Pfft—"
A soft yet incredibly familiar sound came from beneath Quirrell's robes.
"Oh no!"
Quirrell, who was fleeing for his life, suddenly froze.
He felt a warm, thick, and moist current break through the final line of defense, racing wildly inside his trousers... he was familiar with this feeling...
Chapter 69 – Quirrell, a Naked Man, Diarrhea, and… Dancing?
"Holy crap!"
Quirrell's face changed; his gut gave a frantic gurgle as a torrential urge to relieve himself arrived without warning.
"Why does my stomach hurt again? I barely ate anything today…"
He tried to hold it, planning to dash back to his office first.
But the bodily impulse surged even stronger than last time—utterly beyond the control of willpower.
Watching the weirdo's staggering silhouette in the distance, Signas curled his lip, certain his target had taken the bait.
He was now sure this Performance Charm worked spectacularly, even against a real Dark Wizard.
Signas was elated.
Then came a muffled "pfft" from the black-robed figure, followed by a Niagara Falls-loud "splash," as if someone had wired an amplifier to the cataract.
What stunned onlookers even more was that the black-cloaked man didn't stop—he actually sped up.
Quirrell had no choice; in the late-autumn chill he could already hear Hagrid's heavy panting and footfalls closing in.
He absolutely could not pause—he had to run even faster!
So, steeling himself, he clenched his teeth and abandoned all resistance.
While uncontrollably voiding himself, he sprinted for all he was worth.
In the shadows of the Forbidden Forest he dashed a dozen metres into the biting wind; a dark arc traced a bizarre curve in the moonlight, leaving a slick, muddy trail across the grass.
Yet mid-flight a sudden, marrow-piercing cold wrapped around him.
"Huh? Why is it suddenly freezing?"
Quirrell shivered violently, feeling as if he'd been stripped and tossed into an ice cellar.
He instinctively looked down—and turned to stone on the spot.
There he was, stark naked, not a stitch on him.
Under the moon a pale, plump body pumped along, skin goose-bumped from the cold, flab bobbing with every stride—holy hell!
Whose snowy carcass was this?
This… this is me?!
Quirrell's mind detonated.
Where were his clothes?
The silk robe, chiffon shirt, even the satin underpants?
All gone.
Who did this?
Quirrell realised the powerful Dark Wizard must have cursed him.
Terror surged.
The man was unfathomable—master of the Unforgivables and able to slip such a vile hex onto him without a trace.
That strength, even if below the Dark Lord's, far outstripped his own.
But he could do nothing except run harder, as though the foulest monster snapped at his heels.
Teeth chattering, naked in the wind, Quirrell kept sprinting while still losing control of his bowels.
Yet that simple plan was brutally smashed.
His legs suddenly developed minds of their own, ignoring the order "faster!" and instead… starting to dance.
Left foot forward, tracing an elegant semi-circle; right foot following, a brisk twirl.
This was unmistakably a waltz!
At full sprint the loss of leg control threw him off balance instantly.
Thud!
Quirrell face-planted in perfect dog-eats-poop form, his whole mug buried in dirt and leaves.
The voluminous hood slid back, revealing both of his terrified, twisted faces.
Quirrell's soul nearly split in fright.
He finally understood: in mere moments the enemy had silently layered multiple Dark Curses upon him.
What terrifying power!
Even the Dark Lord might not accomplish something so flawlessly, he thought.
Scrambling up, too frantic to wipe the mud away, he whipped out his wand and jabbed at a fallen log.
"Vera Verto!"
The log twisted and flashed, becoming a raven with a three-metre wingspan.
Quirrell grabbed its thick talons and roared, "Get me out—now!"
Just then Hagrid burst through the bushes and witnessed the unforgettable sight, utterly dumbstruck.
Far across the sky the enormous raven lumbered above the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, flying as clumsily as if on its maiden voyage.
In the cold moonlight the naked man's pale outline stood out like a giant peeled turnip.
Even weirder, a constant jet of unidentified liquid trailed from his backside, drawing a long arc like a Muggle jet-plane.
And his legs beat the air in perfect waltz rhythm.
A bare body, spraying diarrhea mid-air while gracefully waltzing?
Hagrid's brain blue-screened.
He rubbed his eyes hard, suspecting hallucination.
But the perverted scene was real—he could even smell an indescribable stench.
Hagrid knew Dark Wizards were twisted, yet he'd never seen one who stripped naked to commit crimes and danced a waltz while escaping.
This wasn't mere perversion; it was performance art.
As every Wizard knew: not all Wizards are twisted, but the twisted ones are always mighty Dark Wizards—and the more twisted, the stronger.
The grotesque display frightened Hagrid into halting his pursuit.
Only when the naked flier dwindled to a speck and vanished did Hagrid exhale in relief.
His legs gave way; he plunked onto the ground with a dull thud.
"Terrifying… a Dark Wizard that powerful broke into Hogwarts tonight," he muttered, worried.
In the bushes Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had also watched the surreal scene.
Knowing it was Sig's handiwork, they were stunned he'd beaten the Dark Wizard.
In every tale they'd heard, not even You-Know-Who had displayed such power in first year… Signasexhaled a long, stale breath.
The mental drain of chaining Performance Charms plus the aftershock of Felix Felicis left him hollow.
He felt his magic nearly exhausted, barely able to stand.
Yet he was amazed: after amplification, the charm's multiple side-effects had all triggered at once.
Forcing himself alert, Sig called silently and opened the system panel.
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +99!]
[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +599!]
[resentment points from Quirinus Quirrell +99!]
[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +699!]
[resentment points from Lord Voldemort +799!]
…A cascade of maxed-out notifications scrolled like a waterfall, dazzling Signas.
By now he could be in no doubt about the stranger's true identity!
Chapter 70 – Seemingly Shocked by This Pervert
Hogwarts Headmaster's Office.
The flames in the hearth crackled softly, yet they could not dispel the chill that filled half the office.
On the walls, every portrait of past headmasters was wide-awake, pointing and whispering at the four unlucky brats standing on the carpet.
'Out of bed in the dead of night, into the Forbidden Forest, and nearly into danger…'
Dumbledore's voice was steady, betraying neither joy nor anger, but the blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles seemed to see straight through one's soul, making Draco's knees weaken.
'Had Hagrid not arrived in time, the consequences would have been unthinkable…' He paused, his gaze drifting toward Snape. 'I believe Slytherin has no tradition of night-time strolls.'
'So, gentlemen, shouldn't you offer an explanation?'
Signas, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle swallowed hard.
The office was surprisingly crowded for the middle of the night.
Professor McGonagall looked stern, Professor Snape radiated a stay-away chill, and gamekeeper Hagrid sat on a chair far too small for him, his face still pale with lingering fright.
They had meant to slip back to the dormitory unseen under cover of darkness, but the moment they crawled out of the shrubbery they ran straight into Dumbledore, lantern in hand.
Seeing Draco's trembling lips, Signas quickly stepped forward, schooling his face into just the right mix of lingering fear and youthful stubbornness.
'Headmaster, we… we only wanted to collect some rare Potion ingredients from the Forbidden Forest…'
Draco and the others blinked, then nodded frantically.
Exactly, that was it!
Strictly speaking, they had gone to 'plant' rather than 'pick',
but round it up and the end goal was still harvesting, right?
No problem at all!
Signas looked round and settled on his Head of House: 'I daresay we've been doing rather well in Potions lately, haven't we?'
Snape's face darkened another three shades.
[resentment points from Severus Snape +29!]
He glared at Signas. 'The school's communal stores hold ample ingredients for any first-year's studies.'
'But I want to research new Potions.' Signas remained unflustered, spreading his hands in helpless embarrassment. 'You know I haven't a spare Galleon to buy those expensive private supplies in Diagon Alley. When Draco and the others learned of my plight, they kindly offered to help.'
He spoke with such sincerity that he might have been a hardworking poor student, while Draco, Crabbeand Goyle were models of chivalrous Pure-blood generosity.
The three stared, dumbstruck—when had they ever been so noble?
Yet under Signas's 'encouraging' look they could only bob their heads like pestles pounding garlic.
Snape felt his temples throb.
The wretched boy was playing the pity card again; veins bulged on Snape's forehead.
'Nonsense!' Snape snarled, voice as cold as a winter wind. 'School rules forbid first-years from entering the Forbidden Forest; you also broke curfew—grounds for expulsion!'
Snape had finally caught his chance!
He could almost see the nuisance packing up and leaving Hogwarts for good.
'Really?' Signas smiled brilliantly, as if the threat had flown past unheard. 'And what of Draco, Crabbeand Goyle? Will the school expel four Slytherins at once, or does the rule apply only to a single muggle-born like me?'
He tilted his head, innocently shrugging. 'I trust Hogwarts's fairness would not discriminate so?'
'You—' Snape choked.
He wanted Signas gone, but not the other three.
Besides, he lacked the authority.
Lucius Malfoy, school governor, would never allow his son's expulsion.
Yet expelling Signas alone would invite accusations of prejudice against muggle-born students.
The brat had exploited the loophole again!
[resentment points from Severus Snape +55!]
The office atmosphere turned excruciatingly awkward.
'Enough, Severus,' Dumbledore finally said, voice softer.
A flicker of barely perceptible amusement danced in his eyes. 'I am delighted to see Slytherin students helping one another; such unity deserves praise. However, venturing into the Forbidden Forest at night is far too dangerous—let there be no repeat.'
Dumbledore waved lightly. 'The matter is closed. Off you go—and from tonight, the Forbidden Forest is strictly out of bounds.'
When the door shut again, Dumbledore's expression darkened and the air lost all levity.
'Now, Hagrid,' he turned to the still-shaken half-Giant, 'tell us exactly what you saw in the Forbidden Forest tonight.'
Hagrid drew a shuddering breath, bewilderment and dread written across his hairy face.
Clearly the night's pervert had revolted the gamekeeper.
He fumbled for words and began, stammering.
'I… I heard a scream and ran… and saw a poor Unicorn on the ground, its blood… silver, all over…'
His voice cracked.
'Then?' Snape prompted impatiently.
'Then… then I saw a… a weirdo!' Hagrid's voice shot up. 'He… wore black robes at first, but when he fled he stripped them all off!'
Professor McGonagall frowned. 'Stripped?'
'Yes! Stark naked! Like a freshly pulled white radish!' Hagrid gesticulated wildly. 'And—strangest of all—as he ran, stuff shot out behind him like a Muggle jet plane, drawing a trail across the sky!'
Snape, lifting his teacup, spewed tea in a spray and dissolved into coughs.
Unheeding, Hagrid pressed on: 'Most frightening of all, his two legs were dancing in the air—just like… like the dance you and Professor McGonagall do at Christmas—what's it called?'
'The waltz,' Dumbledore supplied, mouth twitching.
A perverted Dark Wizard, having slain a Unicorn, fled the scene naked, diarrhoea streaming behind, while performing an elegant waltz across the sky?
The office sank into dead silence.
Snape felt nauseated, as though he had swallowed a flagon of Flobberworm mucus instead of tea.
McGonagall adjusted her spectacles, lips parting but no sound emerging.
Even they were shocked by such perversion.
In the Wizarding World, over-immersion in magic leaves many Wizards far from normal.
Some mutate physically—Lord Voldemort, for instance, became the monstrosity he is after years of Dark Arts study.
Others warp mentally, sinking into gloom, distortion, even madness; the celebrated Seer Cassandra Trelawney, influenced by prophetic magic, lived in a half-lucid, half-crazed haze.
Thus, a simple brutal rule holds: the crazier, the stronger.
After the initial astonishment, Dumbledore's gaze turned graver than ever.