"After I hand you over to Professor McGonagall and the others, Madam Pomfrey will definitely heal you."
Deviro slowly walked toward the dying Marcus, toying with Marcus's new wand in his hand.
"Eleven point eight inches, wisteria wood, phoenix feather…" he muttered, carefully examining the wand. "Well, not bad, not bad. Mr. Ollivander's craftsmanship is truly top-tier."
As a Born Wand Maker, Deviro could naturally tell at a glance who had made a wand.
"But since it was bought by a Death Eater, it's best to get rid of it."
His eyes narrowed. A fierce Fiendfyre suddenly ignited in his palm. The ghostly green flames instantly enveloped the wand, the scorching fire writhing like venomous snakes and emitting subtle hissing sounds. Deviro could even vaguely hear the wand wailing in misery, as if it were resisting the power of destruction. But he showed no mercy.
He wasn't Ollivander—he wouldn't enshrine every wand.
Recalling Snape's lesson, Deviro remained vigilant. He would never give Marcus another chance to cast a spell. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the charred wand into the dark, lake-like pool of the washroom. The Fiendfyre flared one last time, a terrifying green light flashing through the water—then disappeared without a trace.
Deviro withdrew his hand indifferently and coldly watched the battered Marcus—like a predator eyeing its prey after the hunt, oppressive and unforgiving.
"Huff… huff… You think… you'll get any information about the Master from me?" Marcus gasped weakly. Though his breath was faint, his eyes still glinted with ferocity, glaring stubbornly at Deviro.
Deviro scoffed, his tone dripping with contempt.
"Oh? Still so stubborn? That's fine. I'll hand you over to Professor Snape. I'm sure he'll get the truth out of you."
He clearly remembered there was a large bottle of Veritaserum in Snape's storage room. In the original books, even a tough guy like Barty Crouch Jr. spilled every secret after drinking it.
Just then, Marcus's body trembled. He raised his only movable left hand, revealing a bleak but determined smile.
"Is that so?" His voice was low and hoarse, but filled with resolve.
Deviro's eyes widened in alarm. He raised his wand, ready to cast a restraining spell.
"Obliviate!"
Before Deviro could react, Marcus's index finger jabbed his temple and twisted violently.
In an instant—his gaze turned blank and hollow.
His will seemed to vanish, leaving behind only an empty shell.
"Damn it!" Deviro cursed, furious. He was still a step too late!
He hadn't imagined Marcus would dare to use a Memory Charm on himself, without a wand. That spell required extreme precision. One misstep, and you'd end up like Lockhart—an idiot who didn't remember anything.
Deviro rushed forward and pressed his wand against Marcus's temple.
"Legilimens!"
He frantically tried to dig into Marcus's recent memories, hoping for a clue about Voldemort.
But what met his mind was a pale void. A few fragmented images drifted by—a mirror, a door, and a tail feather from some unknown creature. Blurry and incoherent.
"Damn it, are you insane?" Deviro snarled, knocking Marcus's head with his wand in frustration.
But Marcus was completely unresponsive—like a puppet with its strings cut. No reaction at all.
Deviro stared at the blankness in his eyes, heart filled with frustration and helplessness. But there was nothing he could do.
He sighed, shaking his head.
"Forget it. I've captured him. I'll hand him over to Dumbledore—maybe he can restore some of the memories."
He crouched down and pointed his wand at Marcus's chest, softly chanting a healing spell. He planned to stabilize Marcus's condition first before taking him to Madam Pomfrey for full treatment.
But as Deviro leaned in, his gaze caught something in Marcus's chest—something black, pulsing slowly.
His heart skipped a beat.
He leaned closer and was startled to find a black heart, beating in an eerie rhythm.
Deviro's expression changed. He quickly pulled up Marcus's entry data in his mind.
Name: Marcus Flint
Age: 15
Spell Library: Avada Kedavra (Proficient), Fiendfyre Serpent Curse (Proficient), …
Entries:Devotee of Defective Desire (Purple)Damage Restorer (Purple)Magical Potential (Blue)Devotee of Defective Desire (Purple):
Devoured and distorted by desire, yet also chosen by it. The body and soul are reshaped by the torrent of desire, gaining immense—but costly—power. Loyalty is mandatory; betrayal leads to death.
Damage Restorer (Purple):
You possess a rare talent for magical damage restoration. With practice, you could become a skilled restoration healer.
"Desire? Devotee?" Deviro frowned. A new term again.
But something clicked in his mind.
He'd seen the word "Defective" in an entry before. Not just once—on several people or objects.
Especially… Voldemort's Dark Lord entry!
Deviro's eyes sharpened.
That entry had described Voldemort's immense charm, the ability to gather countless followers.
"Are these the kind of supporters he attracts? His so-called 'devotees'?"
Deviro couldn't help but be shaken. In his understanding, only gods had devotees.
Was Voldemort's level of influence really that high?
He then glanced at Marcus's Damage Restorer entry and fell silent.
Complicated feelings surfaced.
After a pause, he sighed and gently patted Marcus on the shoulder.
Then, he loaded the entry.
Ding!
Loading and copying entry: Damage Restorer (Purple)…
Copy complete!
Suddenly, Deviro felt a deeper understanding of damage restoration spells—especially the ones he had learned from Madam Pomfrey. Everything became clearer.
"If you can't carry out this duty in the future… then I'll take it on for you."
With those words, Deviro waved his wand and performed another round of healing, closing all of Marcus's open wounds.
As for the black heart… Deviro decided to report it to Dumbledore. Let the adults handle such matters.
Just then, a strange sense of urgency prickled at the back of his mind.
His eyes snapped toward the end of the corridor.
"…Strange. Why haven't Professor McGonagall and the others arrived yet?"
Suddenly, he heard faint explosions in the distance.
His expression turned grim.
"Something's wrong."
FOR MORE CHAPTER
patreon.com/Jackssparrow