svetikya Chapter 192 Silent Provocation
Chapter 192 Silent Provocation
Chapter 192 Silent Provocation
For the remainder of the Christmas holidays, Hogwarts was shrouded in an unusual tranquility. The castle was much emptier, and the few students who remained seemed hurried due to the martial law, chatting in small groups, their eyes involuntarily glancing out the window at the Forbidden Forest, covered in thick snow and eerily silent. Cullen received replies from her three roommates; the handwriting on the parchment was different, but all conveyed the same shock, concern, and worry.
Of the three letters, Fabian's was the longest, inquiring in detail about the safety situation and specifics, repeatedly urging Cullen to be careful; his handwriting revealed deep anxiety beneath his gentle nature. Wesley's letter was relatively brief and forceful, expressing his shock at the appearance of the basilisk and his absolute trust in Cullen, ending with the line, "Wait for me to come back, and together we'll get that reptile out!" Ernesto's letter, with his usual restraint, was overflowing with concern; he analyzed the basilisk's possible habits and warned Cullen that Voldemort might use the basilisk for psychological manipulation, urging her to be mindful of her safety.
Karen carefully kept these heartwarming letters; this concern from her companion was especially precious in the cold castle. However, this peace lasted only two days.
On the morning of the third day, Professor Sprout, pale-faced, burst into the auditorium, interrupting the few people having breakfast, including Karen and several senior students who stayed on campus.
"Albus! Minerva!" Her voice trembled almost imperceptibly. "The greenhouse! There's something outside my greenhouse!"
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall immediately stood up. Cullen's heart sank; she put down her pumpkin juice and followed almost instinctively. Several prefects also rose warily to accompany them.
Braving the cold wind, the group hurried towards the greenhouse area located on the edge of the castle. As they approached the outermost third greenhouse, the sight before them made everyone gasp.
Outside the greenhouse's massive glass walls, near the ground, several clumps of hardened permafrost had been roughly turned over, leaving behind several deep, parallel, deep scratches that stretched into the nearby bushes. The edges of the scratches were stained with a semi-solid, dark green, viscous substance that emitted a faint, fishy odor. Even more unsettling was that in the very center of the densest scratches, a small patch of bushes had been completely crushed, as if something extremely heavy had rested on it; the snow had been compacted, forming an irregular crater.
"I found these when I came to check on the plants' frost protection this morning!" Professor Sprout pointed to the marks. "This is definitely not an ordinary animal! The strength, the slime... and that... that feeling!"
Karen had already subtly activated his Eye of Truth. The scene before him presented a different picture: those massive scratches, like those he'd discovered before, bore the distinctive magical characteristics of the basilisk! And the slime emanated a powerful aura of life mixed with dark magic. What unsettled him most was the unusually concentrated, even deliberate, magical traces in the area of the collapsed bushes. It was as if that being had deliberately lingered there, exerting force, leaving behind its clearest "signature."
"It was here," Karen's deep, certain voice broke the silence. "Just recently. Traces of the basilisk."
Professor McGonagall gasped, immediately drawing her wand and warily scanning her surroundings. Professor Sprout covered his mouth. Dumbledore scanned the direction the scratch extended—directly towards the Forbidden Forest.
"Pomona, immediately seal off this area and forbid anyone from approaching." Dumbledore's voice was steady and powerful. "Felius,"
Have men inspect all the windows of the castle facing the Forbidden Forest and the ground floor entrances for similar signs of damage.
The order was swiftly issued and executed. Karen crouched down, examining the remaining magic more closely. He extended a finger, not touching the slime, but hovering it a few inches above the scratches, sensing the subtle differences in the flow of magic. His brow furrowed deeper and deeper.
"Headmaster," Cullen stood up, walked to Dumbledore's side, and lowered her voice, "I feel that these marks—something is not right."
"Oh?" Dumbledore turned his head to look at him, his eyes questioning.
"It's too 'new,' as if it was just left behind. But the intensity of the residual magic is weaker than the snake slough and the marks at the abandoned waterway entrance we saw in the secret chamber." Karen spoke quickly, her mind racing. "And look at the direction and distribution of these scratches. Although they look messy, it's more like they're 'performing' destruction? Especially this deliberately crushed bush; its location is too conspicuous, as if it's afraid no one will notice. And this slime, the placement doesn't seem like it was naturally rubbed on; it's more like it was deliberately dripped here as a mark."
Dumbledore's gaze returned to the marks, his eyes becoming unfathomable: "You mean he left these on purpose?"
"To attract us?"
“Very much so.” Karen nodded firmly, her tone grave. “Voldemort knew we were tracking him. He deliberately left these fresh, clearly identifiable tracks. I suspect he wanted to test if anyone else could track and identify the Basilisk or his tracks. Before, when we tracked him into the Forbidden Forest, the tracks were deliberately scrambled, perhaps because he realized someone on our side could trace his trail. And these tracks now might be his way of finding out who that ‘tracker’ is.”
Dumbledore was silent for a few seconds, snowflakes falling on his silvery hair and beard. He spoke slowly, his voice chilling: "Tom—he's not only cruel, but as cunning as ever. He's testing our cards."
Then Dumbledore said to Cullen, "Your speculation makes a lot of sense. In that case, let's temporarily—" Before he could finish, he was interrupted by another student who was rushing over from a distance.
A Gryffindor student rushed over, pale-faced and panting: "Headmaster! Professor McGonagall! There's something on the ice of Black Lake near the dock! Something huge!"
On the edge of Black Lake, near the small stone dock where small boats usually moored, a large, irregular hole, over ten feet in diameter, had appeared in the thick ice! The edges of the ice hole were jagged, as if it had been smashed or shattered by a tremendous force. Scattered on the ice around the hole were more of that dark green, viscous substance, reflecting an eerie luster in the morning sunlight. Even more unsettling, a small patch of extremely faint, almost imperceptible dark magical energy lingered on the smooth ice a dozen paces away from the hole, like a black ember about to be extinguished. If not for Karen's Eye of Truth, an ordinary wizard would not have been able to perceive it. "It went into the water from here?" Professor McGonagall stared at the enormous ice hole, her voice strained.
Karen's gaze, however, was fixed on the faint remnant of dark magic. He walked over, crouched down, and examined it closely. The remnant was extremely thin, as if deliberately diluted, but at its core lay a familiar, nauseatingly cold will—Voldemort's magic!
This remnant does not belong to the Basilisk, but to Voldemort's own dark magic! It was deliberately left behind, like a small signpost, or another lure.
“Not entirely.” Karen stood up, her face unusually grim. “The basilisk may have indeed entered the water from here, but the one who left the magical residue—was Voldemort himself. The residue was too faint, too deliberate, like the scratches over at the greenhouse—a decoy. He wanted to see…”
Besides tracking the basilisk, is there anyone else who can sense traces of his true magical power? A double test.
Dumbledore's eyes turned completely cold, like a frozen lake: "He's playing a dangerous game. He's confirming the tracker's abilities while also assessing our sensitivity to his own magical abilities."
Cullen took a deep breath of the cold air: "Yes. And—he seems quite certain that someone at Hogwarts possesses this tracking ability, but he's unsure of exactly who it is. He's narrowing down the possibilities."
"Then we mustn't let him have his way." Dumbledore's voice was resolute. "Cullen, you return to the castle immediately and stay in a safe area—the Eagle's Nest or the Library, wherever there are many people. Don't show any extra attention to these traces. I will personally lead a group to 'symbolicly' investigate the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just to make a show of it. Let him think that we are relying on conventional trace analysis or some kind of detection magic, rather than—some unique talent."
"Understood." Cullen nodded. He knew that Dumbledore's personal intervention, even if it was just for show, would be enough to deceive Voldemort for a while.
Karen returned to the castle and forced himself to sit by the window in the Ravenclaw common room, casually opening a copy of "Advanced Transfiguration Theory," but his gaze kept drifting to the white expanse of the Forbidden Forest outside. He could feel the invisible net tightening, and he wondered if the fish in this net was him or Voldemort.
Later that afternoon, Dumbledore returned, radiating a chill. He shook his head slightly at Cullen at the entrance to the common room, a hint of helplessness in his eyes.
"The traces disappeared completely less than half a mile into the Forbidden Forest, covered by more chaotic traces of magical creature activity," Dumbledore whispered to Cullen. The two stood in a secluded corner. "Voldemort is cautious and knows the Forbidden Forest well. He's like a drop of water merging into the ocean. We've temporarily lost track of him. However," he paused, his azure eyes fixed on Cullen, "your judgment is correct. Those traces were indeed bait. He was testing us. The castle's defenses, both inside and out, are at their highest level, but our real adversary..."
More dangerous than the basilisk itself, he lurked in the shadows, utterly patient.
Karen's heart sank. The absence of the Basilisk meant the threat remained ever-present. Voldemort's patience was more suffocating than any spell. Beneath the castle's surface calm, a chilling undercurrent surged. He knew Voldemort's probing would not end there.