Ch: 81-90
Chapter 81 – I refuse to believe any Wizard can resist a temptation like this!
"unicorn blood?" Draco and the other two exclaimed in unison.
"Exactly." Signas nodded calmly, his tone turning solemn. "Pure unicorn blood, brimming with potent life energy. Add it in and how could this 'weight-loss Potion' be anything less than top-tier?"
Draco and the others stared, eyes wide, throats bobbing.
Top-tier!
It had to be top-tier!
If this wasn't top-tier, then nothing was.
Malfoy Manor's vault held countless rarities—from armour forged by ancient Goblins to out-of-print Dark Arts tomes—yet not a single vial of unicorn blood could be found.
In the Wizarding World, the stuff simply couldn't be bought with Galleons.
Nearly every Unicorn was guarded by the Ministry's Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures; anything produced was carved up the moment it reached Ministry level.
High-ranking officials and Pure-blood houses behind the scenes would fight tooth and nail for even a single drop of silvery blood.
On the open market, unicorn blood was permanently priced but never available.
With so few Unicorns left alive, Britain held only a few dozen, counting the old and infirm.
A natural death? The Ministry might not see one in decades.
Consequently, Britain's Magical World received a laughably tiny supply.
Many ancient formulae that required it languished, their core ingredient missing.
Either recipes were rewritten with vastly inferior substitutes, or the precious parchment was left to moulder in some study until lost forever.
Yet now Signas had produced such a pinnacle ingredient—
and planned to use it in a rather ordinary Potion?
Draco felt his worldview shattered by a giant hammer.
"Boss—no, big brother!" Draco yelped, snatching the crystal vial from Signas and cradling it like a newborn while he examined it.
"You're really adding unicorn blood? It's a supreme Potion ingredient, unobtainable out there..."
He'd spent plenty of time in Diagon Alley's apothecaries lately and knew exactly what such rarities were worth.
Draco was certain that, once word got out, this small flask of silver liquid would shake all Britain.
"No market price?" Signas raised an eyebrow. "What could this sell for?"
The question electrified Draco.
He pulled Signas close and whispered conspiratorially, "Big brother, you don't know! In the Wizarding World, the truly good stuff never reaches shop shelves."
Draco explained that resource circulation was split into three completely separate circles.
The first were the mass-market shops of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade—ordinary goods, thin margins, hard-earned coin.
"The second circle is the real core," Draco said, chin lifting. "It's made up of Ministry bigwigs, ancient Pure-blood families like ours, and craftsmen such as Ollivander and Slughorn. Inside, we trade not Galleons but favours, power, and knowledge or resources that never go public."
He tapped the vial. "Treasures at this level only move inside that circle, usually bartered or used as chips in major deals.
"Trade it for a lost grimoire or for some life-extending rare resource a decrepit old codger hoards—no problem!"
"As for the third circle..." Draco frowned, "it's the rats in the gutters of Knockturn Alley, almost monopolised by the Burkes, backed by big names. Prices are crushed and back-stabbing common."
"So," he concluded with Pure-blood pride, "if you walk in alone, even if the rats don't strip your bones, you'll never reach real buyers.
"But the Malfoy Family's channels are different! My father can reach the Minister himself or some centenarian desperate to prolong life. Forget Galleons—swap for a lost spell-book or an equal treasure, no problem!"
Signas listened quietly, his smile slowly vanishing.
"You mean an ordinary Wizard, even if stupidly lucky, can only get value through you so-called Pure-blood families?"
His voice was calm, like a mid-winter lake. "Isn't that just a bloody monopoly?"
Draco froze, catching the unmistakable irritation.
[resentment points from Draco Malfoy +15!]
Signas took the unicorn blood back.
With a silver spoon he dipped a single drop into the half-empty vial of improved Soothing Potion.
He pressed his wand-tip to the neck, intoned an unfamiliar fusion spell, and stirred in a precise pattern.
A soft hum filled the dormitory.
The pale-blue liquid sprang to life, boiling violently.
Countless silver motes formed, collided and burst, compressing an entire galaxy into the crystal flask.
The Potion's hue shifted from light blue to sky, then to deep azure.
Finally all colour drained away, stabilising into pure, flowing silver—lucid and flawless.
A calming fragrance and vibrant life-energy wafted out, instantly banishing Goyle's body-odour and Crabbe's foot-stink.
The small measure of Potion now looked like nothing but unicorn blood.
Signas' voice rang out: "Now, besides weight-loss, it grants a touch of longevity, refreshes the body and beautifies the skin!"
"Refreshes and beautifies..." Draco murmured.
"Exactly!" Signas nodded approvingly. "Now it's a Potion that slims, invigorates, and beautifies all at once.
I refuse to believe any Wizard can resist a temptation like this!"
Chapter 82 – Felix Felicis and unicorn blood Hit the Shelves
Draco and the other two were dumbfounded.
It felt as though their worldview was being overturned again and again.
With a single drop of unicorn blood, Signas had transformed nearly half a bottle of a flawed Potion into something completely new.
That godlike fusion technique, that perfectly timed channeling of magic, had caused the suppressed power within the Potion to boil over, which in turn catalyzed the drop of unicorn blood and released such a vigorous surge of life force.
This could no longer be called a Soothing Potion; it was an entirely new longevity elixir.
It not only calmed the mind and soothed the spirit, but also held the miraculous effect of prolonging life and nourishing both body and soul.
Side effects?
Diarrhea?
In the face of the glittering promise of "longevity," those were trivial!
'Such a flawless Potion…' Draco murmured in awe as he cradled the silver-gleaming vial.
Though he still felt using unicorn blood was wasteful, he had to admit that, thanks to its life-extending property, the Potion was destined to be extraordinary.
'Prepare more ingredients and brew a huge cauldron of it,' Signas instructed, spreading his arms to indicate a tub big enough for Hagrid to bathe in. 'I'll stir in a ladle of unicorn blood when it's ready…'
Signas took the vial from Draco's hand and shook his head. 'These bottles won't do. Make them smaller—just a bit bigger than a finger—and fill several thousand of them…'
Health products and luxury goods never look premium in large packaging. Only those tiny, delicate vials can arouse desire and a sense of preciousness.
'S–several thousand?' The three boys thought they'd seen enough surprises for one day, yet Signas's casual remark drew a collective gasp.
While the Magical World did brew Potions by the cauldron, those cauldrons were only slightly larger than household soup pots.
An eleven-year-old Wizard could carry one onto the Hogwarts Express, so a single batch yielded a dozen vials at most.
For Signas to demand a Hagrid-sized tub and then fill thousands of tiny vials meant a volume greater than Diagon Alley's apothecaries sold in an entire year!
Draco's mind stalled; he stammered, 'W–will it still extend life?'
'That's not the point,' Signas said with a wave of his hand, as if stating the obvious. 'What matters is that it really contains unicorn blood, right?'
Draco:???
Crabbe:???
Goyle:???
Six clear, foolish eyes stared at Signas in unison.
His logic… seemed airtight.
True, the Potion did contain unicorn blood, but with only one small vial diluted in a giant tub, the effect was no different from dropping a single vial of Felix Felicis into the Black Lake.
Even if the life-extending property remained, it would be so negligible it might as well be zero.
Wasn't this outright fraud?
Reading their struggle, Signas smiled and clapped Draco's shoulder. 'Even if the effect is tiny, it exists. As long as it's present, it isn't cheating. Any potioneer could analyze it and find no fault. Could they produce unicorn blood and add it themselves?'
'Besides, this is unicorn blood—how could we add too much? Imagine if one vial granted several extra years of life; how would we keep earning?'
'Only by stretching the regimen so customers must drink dozens of vials before noticing results can we make them buy more, long-term, persistently… that's sustainable business!'
As expected!
Draco knew his boss had something up his sleeve; here it was!
This way, the enterprise would yield a steady stream of Galleons.
Moreover, the Potion was mildly addictive; after prolonged use, Wizards would grow ever more dependent.
'B–but boss, what if customers complain about the weak effect?' Draco felt cold sweat on his neck.
'Then they pay extra for the upgraded version,' Signas replied matter-of-factly. 'Later we'll offer one-drop, two-drop, three-drop blends—whatever strength of longevity they want, they can buy.'
The Malfoy Family was an old Pure-blood house with businesses throughout the Magical World and a lineage steeped in the Dark Arts.
As heir, Draco had grown up surrounded by such talk and believed himself more mature and worldly than most peers.
Yet before Signas, for the first time, he felt like a naïve Hogwarts first-year.
'How do we price it?'
'Standard blend: fifty Galleons per small vial.'
'Pfft—' Draco nearly choked.
He feared Signas, raised among Muggles, had no grasp of Wizard incomes and prices.
'Boss, you may not realize,' he hurried to explain like a manager warning his employer, 'fifty Galleons! An average Ministry employee earns that much in half a month—who'd spend half a month's salary on this?'
Signas remained unmoved, wagging a finger. 'Draco, you're mistaken. From the start, this Potion was never meant for common Wizards who worry about their next meal.'
He paused, a meaningful smile curving his lips. 'Our targets are those clutching more Galleons than they can spend in generations, idle, terrified of every new wrinkle—Pure-blood aristocrats.'
'What do you mean?' Draco was utterly lost.
Sell only to Pure-bloods?
That sounded ominous.
He recalled Signas's once-jested grand plan to revise the pure-blood directory.
Suddenly the Potion venture and that scheme seemed linked—and terrifyingly feasible.
'I… I understand, boss!' Draco nodded vigorously, blood racing with a newfound sense of mission. 'Fifty Galleons a vial! I'll line up buyers at once!'
'Not yet.' Signas stopped him, a mischievous grin appearing. 'Good merchandise needs hype. Only after we build buzz will people treasure it.'
He christened the new Potion the elegant name "Felix Felicis."
Yet what Signas planned to hype was not "Felix Felicis."
Looking at the excited Draco, he said leisurely, 'Write to your father at once. Tell him a batch of top-quality unicorn blood will be available at Hogwarts next month.'
'Have him spread the news, as discreetly and swiftly as possible, through every upper-crust circle in Britain…'
Chapter 83 – Beast Division Office
Hogwarts, Quirrell's office.
At that moment the air in the office congealed like aged cheese, reeking of decay and despair.
Worthless! You utterly worthless waste!
A hoarse voice exploded inside Quirrell's mind, every syllable ice-cold, stabbing his nerves like frozen needles.
Agony flared at the back of his skull as though a red-hot iron had been pressed against it.
Quirrell's body went rigid; a stifled whimper escaped him as he curled into a ball, writhing on the frigid stone.
His already bloodless face now looked like parchment fresh from a vat of bleach.
M-master… I… I… His lips trembled, unable to form a coherent sentence.
What else would you say? That you failed again? That a simple trapdoor stopped you? Lord Voldemort's will lashed Quirrell's fragile soul like an invisible whip. The little strength I've regained is almost exhausted by your stupidity!
Now, at once, bring me unicorn blood!
B-but… Master… Quirrell blubbered; terror briefly cured his stutter. The Forbidden Forest… we can't enter it now…
After the last incident Dumbledore tightened security. That oaf Hagrid is with the Centaurs almost every day, and patrols have doubled—
I don't want excuses! Voldemort's voice crackled with impatience.
Quirrell, scared out of his wits, pressed his face to the cold floor and screamed, There—there is a way, Master! A friend in Diagon Alley says the Malfoy Family has obtained a batch of superb unicorn bloodand will soon put it on the market!
To placate his master he clung to this unverified rumor like a lifeline.
Malfoy? A sneer tinted Voldemort's tone. He always manages to acquire the finer things.
Yes, Master! If we have the money— Quirrell's words were brutally cut short.
Money? The voice laughed. You garlic-addled imbecile…
Then… what do we do?
No coin? Rob someone! Pick any wealthy fool—one Imperio solves everything. Surely even you can manage that?
Quirrell muttered compliance; however weakened, Voldemort still ruled him completely.
His body and soul were already shackled by the dreadful presence.
Yet he clung to a last hope and ventured, Master, why not approach Lucius Malfoy directly?
He was one of your most loyal servants and is now immensely rich. At your word he would deliver every drop of unicorn blood and pour his fortune into your resurrection!
Lucius? Voldemort's cold laugh made Quirrell's soul shiver. After my fall, how many of those loyal dogs were tossed into Azkaban?
Most wailed that they had been under my Imperio, cutting ties faster than knives. Lucius was the cleverest, the slipperiest of them all.
He's too busy distancing himself to gamble on a bodiless, powerless ghost. If even an idiot like you can see it, do you think I cannot?
Without me you are nothing. But Lucius is head of a Pure-blood house; he won't stake his family's honour on a precarious former master.
Voldemort's fury turned again into searing pain that raked Quirrell's nerves.
Aaah! Clutching his head, Quirrell rolled across the floor.
Remember: do only what I command. Until the Philosopher's Stone is mine, don't let your feeble brain attempt anything else!
Quirrell sobbed, curled on the stones, begging until the soul-rending agony slowly ebbed.
Silence returned to the office.
Meanwhile, the Ministry of Magic was in an uproar.
Ministry for Magic, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Beast Division.
Director Elmer Pratt paced frantically inside his cramped office; his polished dragon-hide boots rapped an urgent tattoo on the floor.
For the thirteenth time, Pratt—listen—thirteen! a shrill woman's voice shrieked through the handset. Every Unicorn under our watch is safe in its reserve. None missing, none harmed. Understand?
But Bertha! Pratt bellowed back at the antique receiver, spraying spit. The entire Wizengamot—and the International Confederation's British branch—are asking me about unicorn blood!
They claim superb-quality blood has appeared on the market! That's more absurd than my wife turning into a Veela last night!
That's your problem, not mine, Bertha snapped. My job is monitoring Unicorns, not pandering to fat old Wizards!
My reserves are secure. Harass me again with this rumour and I'll recommend the Director transfer you to the Centaur Liaison Office.
The line clicked dead.
Pratt slumped into his chair and yanked loose his tie.
A rumour? If it were, how could it spread so fast and so far?
An hour earlier the tale had circulated only at private Pure-blood gatherings.
Now, like ink in boiling oil, it had stained every upper circle in Britain's Magical World.
unicorn blood.
To doddering magnates clinging to life with fat wallets, those two words were irresistible.
They swarmed like sharks that smelled blood.
House-elves sent by powerful families had nearly trampled the threshold of his office.
Pratt rubbed his throbbing temples and glanced at a report delivered moments earlier.
Informants in Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley agreed: no shop had received unicorn blood.
Which made it stranger still.
Source unknown, route untraceable.
The phantom blood existed only in whispered gossip, yet it convulsed the whole Ministry.
Pratt sensed something far more sinister.
Either a daring Dark Wizard band had slaughtered a Unicorn.
Or someone was staging a stupendous fraud.
Whichever proved true, the Beast Division would be roasted over the fire.
Chapter 84 – Let the White Lord see House Malfoy's efforts
Malfoy Manor.
In the study, Lucius Malfoy leaned against a high-backed chair carved from snakewood, fingertips drumming the letter his son Draco had just sent.
The letter was written by Draco, every line brimming with the breathless excitement only a teenager desperate to impress could muster.
It described a muggle-born classmate of his named Signas—first he improved a Potion, then he got his hands on a batch of "top-quality" unicorn blood.
Lucius's long fingers tapped the desktop in a steady rhythm.
Without doubt, another prodigy had been born at Hogwarts.
For centuries the school had coughed up such wonders every few decades; it was nothing remarkable.
To an ancient house like Malfoy, a muggle-born genius was still far from overturning the innate superiority of pure blood.
What truly concerned him was the person standing behind this genius!
Lucius was almost certain the boy was nothing more than an old glove Dumbledore had slipped on.
He had already checked Mr. Shalk's background—
muggle-born!
Exceptionally gifted!
Highly valued by Dumbledore!
He even had frequent access to the Headmaster's office; the two were plainly close.
In other words, the man behind him is Dumbledore!
Well—imagine that!
The so-called strongest white Wizard, who daily preaches "justice," "protecting Muggles," "love and courage," secretly set his sights on sacred Unicorns and dabbled in—well, rather wicked but hugely profitable trade.
Lucius, however, loved it—and was delighted.
Dumbledore had actually used young Shalk to open a line to his son Draco.
Since the last wizarding war, Lucius had dodged Azkaban but not the decade of pressure from every side.
Now the moderate faction led by Dumbledore seemed ready to end that stalemate.
Dumbledore reaching out through Draco, wanting Malfoy channels to market unicorn blood—that was the clearest signal of all!
He leaned slowly back; grey eyes glinted with shrewd light.
Lucius had lived through the first war and spent years navigating the magical elite; he smelled something unusual.
Some cause must have forced Dumbledore to shift his stance toward the Malfoys.
Though he could not yet see it clearly, Lucius was sure this was a chance—an opening for House Malfoyto throw its lot in with Dumbledore's camp.
With that, the outline of the coming deal sharpened: take no profit, satisfy every demand!
No—"try" was too weak; it had to be total commitment, so the White Lord would see House Malfoy's sincerity!
Therefore Lucius resolved not only to let the whole British Magical World know, but to let the news cross the seas to the United States, France, Germany, even the Nordic countries... Decision made, he lifted an opulent peacock-feather quill, dashed a few lines on fresh parchment, then pressed the Malfoycrest ring into molten sealing wax.
"Dobby!"
A sharp crack, and a House-elf in a ragged pillowcase appeared, tennis-ball eyes wide with dread.
"Take this letter to the Pure-blood clubs in America, France, Germany, the Nordic lands," Lucius said evenly. "Tell the old codgers I'm buying them a drink. Topic? A sip of something that lengthens life—unicorn blood."
Trembling, Dobby took the letter, bowed low, and vanished with another crack.
Lucius rose, walked to the window, and gazed out at the gloomy manor grounds, a tremor of excitement in his chest.
He finally understood.
Pure-blood supremacy? Muggle acceptance? Did the slogans even matter?
Look at the Weasleys, Longbottoms, Potters, Prewetts—under Dumbledore's wing, though short on gold, their influence equalled any.
The moderate path had not stopped them reaping benefits and privilege.
And the wide-eyed muggle-borns revered them—was that not another form of "pure-blood supremacy"?
Age had brought Lucius insight; he now saw Dumbledore as craftier than Voldemort!
The Weasleys and Prewetts have love and courage; House Malfoy has love and courage!
If Dumbledore will only give the chance, Lucius Malfoy can overflow with love and courage and play the moderate as well as any.
Better, even—for Malfoy knows the weak spots inside the pure-blood bloc...
Hogwarts, Headmaster's office
Albus Dumbledore, acknowledged mightiest Wizard of the age and current Headmaster of Hogwarts, was in a foul mood.
The deranged Dark Wizard in the Forbidden Forest had still not been caught despite increased patrols.
Today, hundreds upon hundreds of owls swarmed above the Castle, a noisy thundercloud circling the tower outside his office.
They shrieked, collided, fought to thrust letters through the window.
Feathers, parchment scrolls, and a few already-smouldering Howlers drifted down like sinister snow; the scene was apocalyptic.
Inside, Dumbledore opened the box of bizarre-flavoured beans Sig had given him, munching while he read the latest paper.
The beans tasted of nothing until bitten; then the true flavour struck.
Dumbledore's mouth twitched as the flavour of bogey exploded; he nearly dropped The Daily Prophet.
He had no time to wonder why every bean he'd eaten lately tasted of bogey, for the front-page headline caught his eye—
Hogwarts' Dark Secret? Exclusive Inside Story of unicorn blood!
Below the sensational title ran a moving photo of Hogwarts Castle serene in dawn light, ironically at odds with the accusation.
The article claimed, citing "international sources" from America, France, Germany, etc., that a batch of unicorn blood from Hogwarts was about to hit the market, and pointed the finger squarely at the Headmaster.
Such pieces were hardly new—The Daily Prophet lives for sensation.
A dull, truthful report would have been the real surprise.
The problem was how wildly far-fetched this one was!
The source was "the international community"?
Hogwarts selling unicorn blood had reached foreign shores?
Dumbledore suspected British interests were hiding behind foreign names to smear the school.
But the mud thrown was so precise!
From Unicorns living in the Forbidden Forest, to a partnership with the Malfoy Family, to analyses of Dumbledore's shifting politics and Ministry attention—yet he remained unruffled.
What truly worried him was the way the story turned public eyes toward long-taboo life-extending Potions that relied on Dark magic.
Such brews used fouler, far more dangerous ingredients.
He could already picture pure-blood heads of families reading The Daily Prophet and eagerly digging out perilous, long-buried recipes...
Chapter 85 – Dumbledore: Who's messing with me?
"Albus!"
A flash of light burst in the fireplace; Dumbledore looked up to see a long white-bearded head emerge from the flames.
Every bristle of that flushed, excited face trembled.
"Cassbert?" Dumbledore recognised the visitor, his eyebrows twitching almost imperceptibly.
Cassbert Morag, internationally renowned Potion Master, First-Class member of the Order of Merlin.
His field of research, however, was the forbidden Potions the mainstream Wizarding World preferred to ignore.
Truth be told, Cassbert always felt a little uncomfortable facing Dumbledore.
Decades ago he had been the celebrated prodigy tipped to become the greatest Wizard of the age.
Then fate placed a rival in his path: Dumbledore's sudden rise eclipsed every field, including the Potionsscholarship Cassbert prided himself on.
What stung most was that after discovering the twelve uses of dragon blood Dumbledore seemed to lose interest in Potions entirely, moving on to other pursuits, while Cassbert himself never produced a comparably decisive achievement.
In the eyes of the world, that alone proved Cassbert's inferiority.
The Potions theories Dumbledore advanced became orthodoxy, while the other side of "truth" lay in the forbidden Potions Cassbert championed—life-extension elixirs among them.
Dumbledore once declared that life-extension Potions were a dead end, leaving Cassbert to endure years of doubt and quiet suppression.
"It's been a long time," Dumbledore greeted mildly.
"Indeed it has, Albus!" the head in the flames boomed. "So you're finally interested in life-extension draughts? I knew it! Perhaps… we could collaborate?"
"I only need the unicorn blood in your possession…" Cassbert hesitated, voice tinged with entreaty. "Together we could perfect a side-effect-free life-extension Potion. Our achievement in Potions would equal—no, surpass—Nicolas Flamel's in Alchemy…"
In the Headmaster's office Dumbledore lowered his newspaper at last.
"I regret," he said, tone still gentle but eyes unyielding, "that Hogwarts will not pursue research into life-extension Potions, nor will I. As for the unicorn blood you mention, I fear it is merely another irresponsible rumour from The Daily Prophet."
The head in the fire tried to speak on, but Dumbledore waved a hand and the flames died, cutting off that eager face.
Yet the next instant the hearth roared anew, larger than before, singeing the hem of The Fat Friar's robes in a nearby portrait and making him yelp.
A head sporting a monocle and slicked-back hair protruded, bureaucratic and brusque: "Headmaster Dumbledore! Percival Bixby from the office of the Minister for Magic! Regarding the unicorn blood—"
Dumbledore waved again.
The fire went out.
It flared up once more.
A wrinkled, gravel-voiced elderly woman appeared: "Albus! It's Enid Slughorn! My brother Horaceasked me to inquire—"
Wave.
Extinguish.
Re-ignite… All day, no matter how often Dumbledore gestured, the flames burned as though cursed to endure. He felt less Headmaster of Hogwarts than a Floo-network operator.
To say nothing of the blizzard of owls growing fiercer outside the windows.
Only well past midnight did he wearily return to bed.
But lying there, his blue eyes showed no trace of sleep, only bloodshot red.
Outside, the swirling owls had not diminished; if anything they increased, while the hearth blazed higher, as though intent on setting the whole tower alight.
The storm was fiercer than he had anticipated.
At midnight a Howler tore free of its owl, slipped through a window crack, and a rough male voice bellowed: "Dumbledore! Trond of the American Wand Association here! I want ten pints of unicorn blood—ten! Galleons are no object! Fail and I'll pluck your beard strand by strand to feed the Hippogriffs…"
Dumbledore massaged his throbbing temples, feeling a century of cultivated composure crumbling before his eyes.
He sat bolt upright, drew the Elder Wand and, in an ancient, difficult cadence, pronounced an arcane incantation.
Hum—
A soft resonance spread outward.
In an instant the hundreds of owls outside seemed to forget their purpose, circled in bewilderment, then scattered.
The blaze in the bedroom grate, which had burned all day, reluctantly died at last.
Silence returned.
Dumbledore exhaled, lay back, yet his deep eyes remained open, glinting with thought in the dark.
He could not help suspecting some Dark Wizard behind it all… while, unbeknown to him, the instigator of the storm was once more slipping deep into the Forbidden Forest, entirely unperturbed.
Signas's mood was excellent—buoyant, in fact.
Moments earlier, crossing a mossy hollow, he had chanced upon a patch of not-yet-fully-grown moonlight mushrooms.
The faint blue-glowing fungi were a favourite of many herbivorous magical creatures, including Unicorns, and a key ingredient in several advanced Potions.
Even better, in a hidden ditch nearby he had located a Doxy nest.
Though the winged, black-furred little beasts were irascible and aggressive, their eggs were indispensable for Felix Felicis.
A doxy could lay some five hundred at a time; following the principle of not fishing a pond dry, Signasselected just over two hundred prime specimens for his pouch.
The rest he left to breed, a restocking site for future harvests.
Marking the valuable spot, he continued contentedly deeper into the Forest.
Pushing through the last patch of frost-laden ferns, he spotted the great oak he had chosen as his marker.
Yet as he stepped closer a sharp whistle cut the air.
A black shadow streaked past his nose and thudded into the snow at his feet.
It was a yew arrow, its fletching stained with the blood of some unknown creature, exuding a raw, perilous aura.
Signas halted and slowly raised his eyes.
From the shadows ahead several lithe figures bounded out, landing between him and the oak.
They were Centaurs.
The foremost was exceptionally tall and powerful, muscles like carved bronze beneath his hide.
His great bow was drawn, arrowhead gleaming coldly in the dim light, aimed unerringly at Signas's brow.
"Halt, outlander!" the Centaur growled, voice low, hoarse, arrogantly commanding.
Chapter 86 – So you're not planning to be reasonable?
Signas narrowed his eyes.
He swept his gaze over the Centaurs who had suddenly burst from the trees—those long, haughty horse faces. None of them looked like the group he'd met before.
"Outsider?" Signas almost laughed aloud at the word.
These boarders on Hogwarts land actually had the gall to call a Hogwarts student an outsider. Their hide was as thick as the Castle walls.
Instead of obeying, he flourished his wand and conjured a soft sphere of light that threw the silver-and-green Slytherin crest on his robes into sharp relief.
"Open your horse eyes and look—I'm a Hogwarts student." His voice rang clearly through the silent forest.
"So what?" Bane, the Centaur in the lead, didn't lower his longbow; his gaze only sharpened. "What are you doing here? This is no place for you."
Signas was thoroughly amused by that lecturing tone, as though he were a wayward colt. "What I do is none of your business. This is Hogwarts land, I'm a Hogwarts student; I come and go as I please—why should I report to you and wait for permission?"
He stepped forward, the snow crunching beneath his boot, scorn dripping from every word. "And who gave you the nerve to aim arrows at someone from Hogwarts?"
Bane clearly wasn't listening. His deep eyes swept the surroundings in wary arcs.
Confirming there was only one human child, he advanced a pace, his towering frame blocking the path between Signas and the oak like a wall of knotted muscle.
"Whoever you are, this is our tribe's territory. We won't harm a foal, but we will escort you back to the Castle."
At his signal, several younger Centaurs fanned out in a half-circle, longbows taut, cold arrowheads glinting. The air crackled with tension.
Now Signas understood.
After all their mystical posturing, these fellows had spotted the Honesty Bean seedling and meant to seize it outright.
Centaurs revere nature, excel at astronomy, and trust the stars' revelations.
A magical plant brimming with pure magic, like the Honesty Bean, is to them a sacred gift of the forest, a shard of starlight fallen to earth.
Of course they would claim it.
"So you intend to steal what's mine?" The smile faded from Signas's face, replaced by frost.
"Yours?" Bane snorted, as though hearing the grandest joke. "Everything in the forest belongs to the forest itself. When did it become the private property of Wizards? This sacred plant was born under stellar guidance; those who read the stars should guard it."
"Stellar guidance?" Signas was tempted to applaud. "Did those stars happen to mention I planted it with my own hands?"
"Nonsense!" A younger Centaur pawed the snow. "A sacred plant could never be cultivated by humans—it descended because it sensed our tribe's devotion!"
Signas couldn't be bothered arguing with minds star-charted into mush.
He saw now: reasoning with Centaurs was harder than discussing sonnets with a Troll.
Proud, stubborn, arrogant, they followed a logic all their own—like stones in a cesspit.
Since words were useless, he would speak in a tongue they understood.
"So… you're not planning to be reasonable."
Signas drew the Appearance Wand. To him these rough-featured Centaurs were downright ugly.
Contempt twisted Bane's face; he drew his bowstring until it groaned, seconds from snapping. "Human foal, you misread the signs. I am the tribe's mightiest warrior, and you have chosen wrongly—foretold long ago among the stars…"
Just as he prepared to loose the arrow—
Signas raised the wand and aimed at Bane.
"Performance Charm!"
A sickly green light flared without a sound, carrying soul-freezing dread straight at Bane.
That… that was an Unforgivable Curse!?
The Killing Curse?
That tell-tale green terror was branded into every Wizard and magical creature's bones.
The young Centaurs' eyes bulged; in panic they released their bowstrings, arrows whistling wildly and thudding into trunks.
Bane's soul nearly fled. His powerful frame froze; instinct screamed at him to move.
But how could he outrun light?
In an instant the green blaze struck his chest.
Bane's mind detonated into blankness.
He knew what that green meant—irrevocable, instant death!
How could this human child know such a forbidden spell?
How dare he?
Terror clutched his throat like an icy hand; his brain crashed, his body refused to obey.
A warm flood gushed from the base of his thighs, coursing down his hind-legs, reeking in the cold air.
The Centaurs behind were petrified; shrieking, they tumbled into the underbrush, peering out with only half their faces.
[resentment points from Bane +99!]
[resentment points from Wade +99!]
[resentment points from Hassan +99!]
…Then, one second, two, three…
Only the wind's mournful sigh and Bane's ragged gasps broke the clearing's silence.
Nothing had happened.
Trembling, Bane pressed a hand to his chest—muscle solid, heart thundering—utterly unharmed.
He looked down: all four hooves still planted in the snow.
Alive.
"I… I'm not dead?"
He stammered, dazed by survival.
First bewilderment—then a volcanic surge of shame and fury.
He'd been duped.
Of course!
How could a brat cast the Killing Curse?
He had soiled himself over a cheap trick?!
[resentment points from Bane +55!]
Centaurs are proud—and stubborn.
Recalling his own piss-soaked terror, Bane felt every drop of blood rush to his face.
[resentment points from Bane +75!]
His bronze cheeks turned liver-purple, nostrils blasting hot breath.
"You… you dared… dared mock me!" His roar shook the trees, thick with rage.
[resentment points from Bane +83!]
Chapter 87: Only Shame and Fury Remained in His Eyes!
The longbow in Bane's hand was drawn to its limit once more, the string groaning in agony under the immense force, with the arrowhead aimed directly at Signas's throat.
This time, only shame and fury remained in his eyes.
Several Centaurs hiding in the bushes also reacted. The sound of hooves grew more urgent, and soon they kicked up the snow as they surrounded him again, bows and arrows clutched tightly in their hands.
"Attack!" Bane roared, as if blowing a battle horn. "For the glory of the tribe!"
Before he could finish his sentence, a strange sound echoed through the silent Forbidden Forest.
"Gurgle... gurgle-gurgle..."
A soft but exceptionally clear sound of intestinal rumbling came from his own abdomen, as if something had awakened inside his belly.
Bane only froze for a moment, not paying it much mind.
He assumed he was just too tense earlier, causing some gastrointestinal discomfort.
He forced himself to pull the bow, intending to teach this audacious human cub a proper lesson.
"Pfft—!"
A long, loud sound of escaping gas suddenly erupted from behind him.
The sound was melodious and lingering, like a horn sliding from its highest note all the way to its lowest, finally ending with a dull "pop" that echoed endlessly in the silent Forbidden Forest.
The air froze instantly.
Immediately following, a pungent stench, like an invisible wave, instantly filled every corner of this part of the forest.
The smell was so intense it felt as if a Heating Charm had been cast on a Troll's toilet, hitting the top of one's skull directly.
Sig wasn't sure if it was an illusion, but at that moment, even the snowflakes on the ground seemed to be stained a faint yellow by the fumes.
Clearly, the Performance Charm had worked, and the effect was particularly strong. If they hadn't been outdoors, every single person standing there would likely have been knocked unconscious by the stench.
But he didn't know if it was because the Centaur's digestive system was too powerful, or if it was an effect amplified by the Appearance Wand because the Centaur was too ugly.
The other Centaurs froze in place, looking at their leader in disbelief. Their eyes seemed to say: Chief, did you just... blow the horn with your backside?
At that moment, Bane's face turned the color of spoiled pig liver, shifting from red to purple, and then from purple to black in a spectacular display.
"Blegh..." The other Centaurs turned their heads away one after another, a flash of disgust in their eyes.
"I... I didn't..." Bane still tried to defend himself, wanting to explain that it was just an accident.
Slap-slap—slap!
But the horse's rear gave him no chance to explain. The sound was particularly strange, sounding exactly like someone being slapped across the face repeatedly.
After the duet, a dense barrage of sounds exploded in quick succession, to the point where the air itself seemed to vibrate.
"Slap!"
"Slap!"
"Slap-slap!"
"Slap-slap-slap!"
At this moment, let alone launching an attack, Bane couldn't even draw his bow, and his hooves wouldn't move.
He felt that if he exerted even a little force, his backside would lose all defense.
His originally accumulated anger and strength were drained completely along with those uncontrollable "slap-slap-slap" sounds.
The surrounding Centaurs no longer cared about surrounding Signas; they retreated one after another, some covering their noses and mouths with their hands.
Then, with complex looks mixing astonishment and disgust, they stared at their once mighty and majestic leader.
Bane finally realized something was wrong. This wasn't an accident; this had to be that boy's magic!
[resentment points from Bane +48!]
But before he could figure it out, the "gurgling" in his belly suddenly intensified, turning into a violent, churning cramp.
An unprecedented urge to evacuate, like an avalanche, slammed against his final line of defense!
No, it's... it's coming out!
"Chief, what should we do?"
The young Centaurs were all looking at Bane now, waiting for him to make a decision. Although they were dazed by the stench, the tribe's discipline remained.
Bane had no time to make decisions now. His entire focus was concentrated on his rear, every muscle trembling to protect his last shred of dignity.
He could even clearly feel that an avalanche had reached the floodgate and was frantically battering that fragile door.
He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of his subordinates, he absolutely couldn't!
"We're leaving!" Bane squeezed these three words through his teeth, his voice trembling.
He then pretended to be calm and composed, clenching his four legs together and keeping his back straight as he moved toward the depths of the Forbidden Forest with an extremely awkward and hilarious waddle.
His posture was like a penguin that had just learned to walk, every step taken with extreme caution, fearing that a large movement would trigger an irreparable disaster.
However, just at this moment, someone was not pleased.
"Wait!"
Bane's penguin-like, comical posture froze instantly.
[resentment points from Bane +42!]
He didn't dare make any large movements, not even to turn his head, fearing that the final floodgate behind him would completely give way the moment he turned.
"What... what else do you want?" With his back to the other, Bane's voice was squeezed through his teeth, every word carrying a tremor.
"Nothing much." Signas folded his arms and strolled in front of him.
He even waved his hand in disgust, fanning away the thick, foul stench. "I just want to talk to you about the ownership of this plant."
He pointed to the golden seedling. "Now, do you still think it belongs to your tribe?"
Bane's face turned a deep purple; he felt like his lungs were about to burst with rage.
[resentment points from Bane +58!]
What a humiliation!
He, the strongest warrior the Centaur tribe had seen in a hundred years, was actually defeated by a human cub using such underhanded tactics!
"You... you despicable, shameless human!" he roared, trying to regain a sliver of dignity with his voice.
"CRACK!!!"
A world-shaking explosion, like a sudden thunderclap on level ground, shook the snow off the trees in flurries.
Bane's body shuddered violently, and in those fire-spitting eyes, anger was instantly replaced by terror.
Because it finally came out!
The line of defense had completely collapsed.
The other young Centaurs were like little Wizards hearing the bell for the end of class at Hogwarts Castle, immediately scattering and staying far away!
Their movements were faster than a Quidditch Chaser dodging a Bludger.
"I... I..." Bane was completely broken.
He stood there as a torrent gushed from his rear, excreting like a common beast.
Although it felt quite relieving, as a proud Centaur, he found it unacceptable, feeling only humiliation.
Furthermore, the majesty and glory he had built up over decades were gushing out along with that hot stream, leaving a shocking, foul-smelling trail on the snow.
"Chief..." The young Centaur stood far away, swallowed hard, and called out cautiously, "When... when will you be finished? Do you need some paper?"
"Get out!" Bane let out a suppressed roar.
Chapter 88: Are Centaur Warriors This Brave?
Though his body was weak, the Centaur's mouth remained stubborn.
"Despicable human, you only know how to use magic to plot against us. My tribesmen will arrive soon, and they won't let you off. Don't even think about taking this magical plant..."
This wasn't a lie, as Signas could already hear the dense sound of galloping hooves in the distance, rolling like muffled thunder.
However, Bane didn't look particularly happy, as he didn't want his tribesmen to see him in such a wretched state.
"I just love how you're clearly so weak, yet you always maintain such an arrogant and conceited front!"
Signas's gaze was cold as he raised his wand and tapped lightly on the arrow stuck in the snow.
"Since you like the magical plant I grew so much, then leave your hooves right here!"
A bone-chilling cold surged up Bane's spine: "What are you trying to do?"
As soon as he finished speaking, the arrow transformed into a cold, gleaming steel cleaver amidst the screeching sound of twisting metal, whistling as it hacked toward him.
Ignoring his urgent biological needs, Bane instinctively tried to dodge to the side with all his might.
But just as his muscles tensed and he prepared to exert force, another thunderous "gurgle gurgle" erupted in his stomach.
The strength in his body felt as if its core had been pulled away, rushing through his intestines straight to his horse-rump, before venting out entirely from behind.
What should have been a powerful leap covering ten paces turned into a disaster.
Bane's hooves went soft, his body tilted, and he failed to jump at all. Like a decorative piece that was all show and no substance, he collapsed completely into the snow.
Swish!
The cleaver aimed at his horse leg was barely avoided, yet it still carved a deep, bone-deep gash into his thigh.
As sharp pain hit him, Bane bared his teeth in agony.
However, the "drums and gongs, firecrackers blaring" commotion at his horse-rump didn't lessen at all. The sense of relief was so intense that the moment his scream left his mouth, it turned into a nasal, incredibly pleasurable moan... "Mmm-hnh~"
Holy crap!
Are Centaur warriors really this brave?
To moan like that after being hacked?
Their pleasure points are so weird!
And very perverted!
Signas's eye twitched in shock, and the expressions of the young Centaurs hiding in the distance were much the same.
They were astonished that Bane truly lived up to his reputation as the tribe's greatest warrior; he didn't cry out in pain after being cut, but even let out a pleasurable hum.
No wonder the other Centaurs in the tribe couldn't beat him. It turned out Bane wasn't afraid of pain at all; he actually enjoyed being hurt.
Perhaps hearing the commotion, the sound of hooves in the distance became even more urgent. Soon, a group of even taller and more robust Centaurs kicked up a cloud of snow as they burst from the trees, longbows gripped tightly in their hands.
The robust Centaurs in the front saw Bane lying on the ground with blood flowing from his leg and his rear... well... in a pitiable state. Their eyes instantly turned blood-red, and they immediately raised their bows.
"Stop!"
A voice came from behind the group of Centaurs, sounding aged and authoritative.
Signas looked toward the sound and saw an older Centaur with deep, profound eyes.
The moment the group approached, Signas immediately slid back a distance, while simultaneously pouring a small vial of Felix Felicis down his throat.
A surging torrent of magical power exploded within him, and he felt an unprecedented resonance with the surrounding magical elements.
At this moment, a realization dawned on Signas.
He finally understood why Snape held such a transcendent position at Hogwarts, second only to Dumbledore and McGonagall.
Potions was indeed a craft that turned the mundane into the miraculous.
Soothing Potions could resist magic, Felix Felicis could amplify magical power, and even his own failed "Soothing Potion" could have life-extending effects after adding unicorn blood.
Not to mention miraculous Potions like Felix Felicis and Veritaserum that operated almost on the level of fundamental rules.
Beyond these, there were Potions with even more miraculous effects, like the Elixir of Life, Felix Felicis, and Veritaserum.
Theoretically, as long as the materials were right, a brewed Potion could even achieve things that many advanced spells could not.
The Centaurs before him also had deep ties to Potions. They were not just masters of Astronomy, but natural herbalists who possessed countless ancient secrets of herbology.
Currently, the arrows of the newly arrived Centaurs were coated in a sap that glowed with a faint green light, clearly possessing some sort of magic-breaking effect.
This was why Sig didn't dare act rashly and instead pulled back.
"Magrey, it was this despicable Wizard who hurt me, and he even cast a Dark Curse on me..." Banestruggled to accuse, but before he could finish, he was hit by that sense of relief again and let out another uncontrollable moan.
Seeing Bane's miserable state, the Centaurs who had come to support him turned their heads one after another, glaring at Signas with fury.
"Is it some kind of Dark Arts?"
"Dastardly human!"
"Such a small hatchling and already so evil..."
Although the old Centaur named Magrey had stopped the attack, the other Centaurs in the tribe clearly weren't going to let it go.
He arranged for his tribesmen to bandage Bane's wound while he raised his hand, signaling everyone to lower their bows.
But a muscled, particularly aggressive-looking Centaur raised a different opinion: "Magrey, he hurt our tribesman. According to the rules, he must pay in blood!"
"Ronan, I know," Magrey growled, his voice carrying suppressed anger, "but he is a human hatchling from Hogwarts. If we act against him, it would be an insult to Dumbledore. Our tribe cannot withstand his wrath..."
Dumbledore's name acted like a Soothing Potion, calming everyone down.
Not just Ronan and the other arriving Centaurs, but even the injured Bane shut his mouth, though the resentment and shame in his eyes were almost tangible.
Seeing that the situation was under control, Magrey looked back at Signas, his weathered face full of gravity: "Hogwarts hatchling, I am Magrey, the leader of the Centaur tribe."
He paused, his voice deep as thunder: "Shouldn't you give me an explanation! Why did you hurt my tribesman?"
"If you cannot give me an account, I will go to Dumbledore and demand he expel you."
Sig didn't want to engage in a pointless fight either, as the Honesty Beans were planted within the Centaurs' range of activity.
Unless he truly dealt with all these Centaurs, they would cause damage when he wasn't around, which would affect his big business of unicorn blood.
Therefore, the best outcome was naturally to be able to negotiate!
"I am Cygnus Sharke! A student of Slytherin..." Sig briefly explained the situation from beginning to end.
The more Magrey listened, the darker his expression became!
Chapter 89: The Powerful Dumbledore
"I came tonight to check on the magic plants I planted earlier, but who knew your people would occupy this place, claim it as theirs, and try to drive me away!" Signas's voice wasn't loud, but it was clearly audible in the silent woods.
"I identified myself to him, but he seemed to have no regard for Hogwarts students at all. He even threatened that if I didn't get lost immediately, he would 'escort' me back."
"So, I fought back in self-defense!"
The Centaur named Ronan couldn't hold back anymore. Blue veins bulged on his muscular arms as he roared, "Self-defense? Bane only wanted to drive you away, yet you used such a vicious curse on him!"
Signas sneered and tapped his wand lightly. A breeze blew away the snow on the ground, revealing several arrows.
"These are the arrows your clansmen just fired from their bows. If my reactions had been half a second slower, I would have been turned into a pincushion by your arrows! Compared to that, my counterattack was quite restrained!"
Strictly speaking, the Centaurs were indeed in the wrong.
Magrey's face was grim as he glared fiercely at the still weakly groaning Bane. His gaze seemed to say: Look at what you've done!
As the Chief, he knew the nature of his own kind better than anyone—proud, stubborn, and possessing an inexplicable sense of superiority.
He fully believed what Sig said; these were things Bane was absolutely capable of doing.
More importantly, they were living as guests on Hogwarts territory. Offending Dumbledore would be a disaster for the entire tribe.
"Hogwarts human cub," Magrey spoke in a heavy voice, needing a graceful way out that would allow both sides to save face, "What evidence do you have to prove that you planted this magic plant?"
Signas raised an eyebrow; this old horse had some brains after all.
"Evidence?" He shook the spatial bag in his hand. "I came here today specifically bringing the freshest Dragon Dung, intending to fertilize it. You Centaurs should understand fertilization, right?"
He then changed the subject: "Besides, this entire Forbidden Forest belongs to Hogwarts. What does my planting something here have to do with you? Do I need your approval?"
These words were like a loud slap across the faces of all the Centaurs.
"You!" Several young Centaurs were so choked by his merciless questioning that they snorted heavily, their grips tightening on their bows.
[resentment points from Ronan +99!]
[resentment points from Bane +99!]
[resentment points from Wade +99!]
[resentment points from Hassan +99!]
..."Enough!" Magrey raised his hand to stop them. He stared at Signas and said solemnly, "Dumbledoretrusts us, which is why we guard this forest. Now, we will watch you fertilize this magic plant with our own eyes. I guarantee that if you are telling the truth, this matter ends here."
Signas looked at Magrey; the other party clearly didn't fully believe his story and wanted on-site verification.
Signas glanced at the surrounding Centaurs who were watching him like hawks. Seeing that they had finally cleared a path, he walked unhurriedly to the oak tree.
The Honesty Bean seedling was growing well, already reaching his waist. It was entirely emerald green, radiating vitality in the snow.
He took a small bag of finely ground Dragon Dung powder from his spatial bag, and the stench with its hint of sulfur instantly wafted out.
Yet he treated it like the most precious Potion ingredient, carefully and evenly scattering it on the soil at the base of the seedling.
After doing this, he drew his wand. The tip traced mysterious arcs in the air as his magic, like a tamed stream, precisely guided the energy of the Dragon Dung to slowly seep into the soil and nourish the roots of the magic plant.
The Centaurs present, especially Magrey, all stared intently at Sig's movements.
They were natural herbalists and could naturally see how exquisite and superb Sig's magic-guiding technique was.
The ground did indeed show visible ripples of magic following Sig's spellcasting.
At this, the last trace of doubt in the hearts of all the Centaurs vanished.
This magic plant was likely truly planted by this seemingly frail human cub.
By now, Bane was almost finished with his bout of diarrhea.
Even with a constitution as strong as a Dragon, he had nearly reached the point of collapse in this short time.
When he was helped up by his companions and saw Sig's smooth, flowing fertilization technique, his already pale face lost every last bit of color.
He had previously been patrolling the forest and noticed that the Unicorn herds often ran to this spot.
When he came to investigate, he unexpectedly discovered this plant containing powerful magic.
Bane initially thought it was a mysterious species formed under the influence of Astral Power and was quite delighted. Since magic plants often have many mysterious uses, he planned to wait for it to bear fruit before taking it back to the tribe for proper study.
Signas finished his work and clapped his hands, estimating it would be ready for harvest in another month.
He stood up and, without even looking at the group of Centaurs with their complicated expressions, turned and left.
As expected, the Centaurs were sensible enough not to block him.
It wasn't until Signas's figure had completely disappeared that Ronan growled indignantly, "Magrey! We can't just let this go! I'll go find Hagrid tomorrow and have him take us to see Dumbledore. That boy must be punished!"
"And then?" Magrey sighed wearily. "Let Dumbledore see that we tried to forcibly seize his student's 'plant,' only to fail and be sent into a chaotic mess by him instead?"
He paused, his voice dropping even lower. "And do you think Dumbledore will punish his student then, or will he kick our entire tribe out of the Forbidden Forest?"
All the Centaurs fell silent.
Bane, supported by two clansmen, stood shakily. His voice was weak but still full of resentment: "But... are we really just going to let it go?"
Magrey turned back and glared at him, frustrated by his lack of sense. "What else do you want to do? Lead a group to attack Hogwarts Castle?"
On the way back, Bane was still unsatisfied. He panted heavily and whispered to Magrey, "Magrey, that magic plant is not simple! When I observed the stars, I saw extraordinary omens. I suspect... using its fruit, one might be able to create... an elixir of Immortality!"
Bane's words were like a giant boulder dropped into a calm lake, stirring up a thousand waves.
An elixir of Immortality!?
These few words were filled with irresistible magic for any intelligent race. Although Centaurs lived far longer than humans, they ultimately could not escape the erosion of time.
Magrey stopped abruptly and turned back in surprise. "What did you see, Bane?"
Centaurs were skilled in stargazing, and Bane was one of the best in the tribe.
"Mars is dim, circling Venus in the vault of heaven, which symbolizes eternity and rebirth. This foretells strife and bloodshed. And the location of that magic plant corresponds exactly to Venus!"
Magrey's brow furrowed.
He understood the second half of the sentence, but he couldn't make sense of the first half.
With Dumbledore guarding Hogwarts, what kind of strife and bloodshed could there be?
Chapter 90: Slug & Jiggers Apothecary in Diagon Alley
Midnight.
When Sig slipped back into the Castle, the entire place was fast asleep.
Not a soul was in sight along the way, but as he reached the first-floor corridor, a suppressed conversation drifted from around the corner, making him instinctively press himself against the wall.
"Professor, you said, if... report... just now in the library..." It was the rasping, duck-like voice of Argus Filch, the school caretaker, his tone dripping with fawning sycophancy as he sought credit.
Immediately after, a cold and familiar voice spoke; it was Snape.
Fortunately, however, they were heading upstairs, and Sig took the opportunity to slip back to the Slytherin dormitory underground.
Back in the Slytherin dormitory, he let out a long sigh of relief and dove into his green bed, which bore the snake emblem.
Though the bedding was school-issued, the quality was surprisingly good—soft, warm, and feeling as smooth and sleek as a young girl's skin.
Signas felt that his sleep quality had improved significantly because of it.
But for now, he wasn't feeling sleepy yet.
It wasn't because he had bumped into Snape and Filch; most likely, some unlucky soul had been caught red-handed wandering the halls at night.
Nor was it fear that the Centaurs would actually go to Dumbledore to complain; wandering the Forbidden Forest at night wasn't some heinous crime—at worst, some House points would be deducted.
Slytherin had plenty of points, far ahead of the other three houses, many of which he had "earned" from Professor Quirrell himself, so spending a few felt perfectly justified. If Dean Snape felt the sting later, he'd just go farm some more from Quirrell... No, he was simply shocked by Dumbledore's power.
He had only heard of his title as the "Greatest White Wizard of the Age" before, but today was the first time he had felt the weight of that reputation firsthand.
Just mentioning Dumbledore's name had caused those violent and bellicose Centaurs to calm down instantly, not daring to act out at all.
No wonder rumors outside called Dumbledore the White Dark Lord. This kind of deterrent force was almost identical to the fear ordinary Wizards felt upon hearing Lord Voldemort's name.
But when would he be able to reach such a level?
Lost in thought and filled with infinite imaginings of the future, Signas drifted into a deep sleep... Diagon Alley, Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.
This little shop, originally inconspicuous in the depths of the alley, had become the focus of the entire Magical World after nearly a month of vigorous hype by Lucius Malfoy.
After all, this was the only place in the last decade to publicly announce it would be selling unicorn blood.
Quirrell pulled his tattered cloak tight around him and stared, dumbfounded, at the long queue snaking from the shop entrance all the way to the steps of Gringotts Bank.
The line was a motley crew of all sorts. There were haughty stewards of Pure-blood families in fine clothes, shifty-eyed Dark Wizards peeking from the shadows, and even a few House-elves clutching their masters' purses, anxiously standing on tiptoe to look ahead.
He had still underestimated the allure of the words "unicorn blood" to Wizards. To ensure success, he had specially arrived from Hogwarts two days early, only to find the place already packed to the brim.
"You garlic-soaked brain! Don't you know how many people covet unicorn blood?" From the back of his head, that cold, rasping voice pierced his nerves mercilessly. "If you can't even handle a small task like coming early to queue, what use do I have for a piece of trash like you!"
Quirrell's body trembled slightly under his cloak. He forced a smile that looked worse than crying, repeatedly begging his master for mercy in his mind while desperately eyeing the long line.
Judging by the situation, let alone buying it, he might not even be able to squeeze through the shop door.
But Lord Voldemort's will was not to be defied, and he didn't even dare imagine the consequences of failure. Quirrell gritted his teeth, his gloomy gaze beginning to scan the crowd in the queue.
If he couldn't buy it, he'd have to steal it.
Following his master's orders, he had already robbed several unlucky wealthy Wizards using Imperio, amassing a large bag of Galleons. If he couldn't spend this money, his only fate would be to have his life force drained by his master, turning into a dried corpse.
Just then, the creaking wooden door of the apothecary finally opened. A shopkeeper, as fat as fermented dough, stepped out, cleared his throat, and announced a piece of news that caught everyone off guard in a rhythmic tone.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Thank you for coming! However, this shop will not be selling unicorn blooddirectly today!"
The crowd instantly erupted in an uproar.
"What?"
"If you're not selling unicorn blood, why have we been queuing for so long?"
"Cheats! The Malfoy Family and Dumbledore are both cheats!"
The shopkeeper seemed to have anticipated this reaction. He calmly raised his hands and pressed them down, signaling for everyone to be quiet.
"But!" he drawled. "Gaining the eligibility to purchase unicorn blood is very simple! As long as you purchase ten bottles of our latest Potion—'Felix Felicis'—you will receive one entry into a lucky draw for the chance to buy a portion of pure unicorn blood!"
This news was like a bucket of cold water poured over the heads of all the expectant Wizards.
Quirrell was completely dumbfounded.
Felix Felicis? What on earth is that?
This was not only Quirrell's question but also the confusion of everyone present.
Soon, two shop assistants brought out a massive promotional board with an introduction to 'Felix Felicis' written in fancy script, and a bottle of silver Potion was placed next to it as a sample.
"Pure natural plant extracts, brimming with life energy! Lose weight easily and reshape your body! Calm the mind and rejuvenate your spirit! Plus, it contains rare unicorn blood components to provide nourishment from the inside out, extending life, enhancing beauty, and keeping you young forever!"
"Price: Fifty Galleons per bottle!"
After a brief, deathly silence, the crowd completely exploded.
"Merlin's beard! This is robbery!"
"Product bundling! I should have known! When has Lucius Malfoy ever done business at a loss!"
"Fifty Galleons a bottle? Is this Potion made of gold? Ten bottles is five hundred Galleons, just for a vague chance at a lucky draw?"
Angry curses rose one after another, and some hot-tempered Wizards had even drawn their wands.
Quirrell's heart also sank to rock bottom. Five hundred Galleons for one draw? The money he had would only allow for three or four draws at most—how was that any different from throwing money into the wind?
"Quiet!" the fat shopkeeper shouted again, his voice infused with magic to drown out the noise. "To give back to our earliest supporters, the first five customers to place an order today will receive a lucky draw entry directly, regardless of how much they buy!"
These words were like a drop of water in boiling oil, instantly making the atmosphere tense and subtle.
Even though this was clearly a scam, what if? What if they were the lucky one?
After all, that was unicorn blood!
"I want ten bottles!" a squat Witch suddenly shrieked, waving a bulging purse and desperately pushing forward.
"Move! I was here first! I want twenty bottles!"
"Everyone, get out of my way!"
The crowd was like a powder keg that had been lit, spiraling completely out of control. The barriers maintaining order were instantly smashed, and the Wizards, like a pack of starving Griffins, brandished their wands and purses as they surged frantically toward the counter.
"Bang!" "Crack!"
Several spells exploded in the crowd, and the scene instantly devolved into a free-for-all.
The Aurors seemed prepared, rushing in while blowing shrill whistles, finally managing to separate the brawling Wizards and forcibly restore order.
In the end, under the supervision of the Aurors, everyone reluctantly rejoined the queue.
Quirrell exerted every ounce of strength he had, but he only managed to squeeze from the back of the line to around the thirtieth position. He was surrounded by burly Wizards and witches, sandwiched in the middle like a piece of low-quality ham.
Many of those queuing ahead were acting on behalf of high-ranking Ministry officials or Pure-blood families; people were bringing them water and bread, looking determined to succeed. Some even conjured tents, looking as if they were setting up camp.
Quirrell certainly didn't believe 'Felix Felicis' was as miraculous as the advertisements claimed, but since his position was relatively near the front, it wasn't impossible for him to obtain the unicorn blood.
So he didn't dare leave; instead, with an empty stomach, he pulled his coat tight and queued outside for the entire night...