"Unblemished lamb, please raise your right hand."
In a daze, Harry heard a peaceful voice. He inexplicably raised his right hand, and the next moment, a sharp pain in his wrist made him instinctively want to cry out, but the sound was forcibly suppressed by an even more bizarre magic before it could leave his throat.
Another sound, like a hymn with indecipherable lyrics…
.....
"What's going on…?" Harry sat up from a cold stone slab, grimacing. He instinctively rubbed the back of his head, which was aching from being pressed against the stone, with his right hand, and suddenly realized there was something hard on his wrist.
He quickly looked at his wrist, only to see a small, silvery-white fissure there. Just as he was wondering, his wand suddenly shot out from his wrist.
"Oh, my god!" Harry blurted out a curse in his haste.
Although he didn't know why his wand had been inserted into his wrist, somehow, a small red strip connected the end of the wand to the inside of his wrist, and it didn't hurt.
However, now was not the time to think about such things. The best news was that his wand was still in his hand. He looked around: a stone room, a stone bed, an old wooden table that needed a leg propped up, and a chair with half an armrest missing.
There was a dilapidated-looking door, the kind that felt like it could be kicked open with one blow.
But that would make too much noise, so Harry chose a more discreet method.
"Ara…" Halfway through the incantation, a piercing pain suddenly shot through his wrist, making him instinctively flinch. As a result, his wand accidentally touched the wooden door.
The next moment, the wooden door creaked open.
"Hiss… Now I know why they're not afraid of me running away." Harry looked down at his wrist. His wand had already slipped back into that silver fissure, and the sharp pain just now seemed like an illusion.
After flexing his wrist, he tiptoed out the door and saw a black-robed man reading a book by the entrance.
The man looked up at Harry after hearing the sound, offered a smile that was objectively quite kind, and then continued reading his book.
"…You're not going to capture me?" Harry asked this idiotic question as if his left and right brains were fighting.
"Keep walking straight." The man looked at Harry somewhat strangely and pointed forward with his hand, using fairly standard English.
"…Uh… Thank you." Harry nodded awkwardly. The situation was clearly beyond his control, and because of the severe pain from casting spells, he likely couldn't use magic, unless the wand in his wrist automatically transformed into a hidden blade to strike the man's neck.
He must learn Transfiguration well once he got out. Harry muttered to himself as he walked forward.
Along the way, he passed many ordinary stone houses, until he reached the end, where he saw a stone house that looked larger than the others, and sounds were emanating from within…
Besides that, he also needed to learn French.
This was Harry's second inner thought. He was now standing in front of the stone house, pondering whether to go in or turn and run. However, the second thought was quickly abandoned. This was a forest, and he couldn't use magic right now. He probably wouldn't get a hundred meters before being caught again.
"Aren't you coming in, child?" An old voice came from inside the house.
"Now I have no choice but to enter…" Harry sighed and walked into the house.
"What do you think magic is?" An old man wearing a coarse, date-red robe sat on the ground, without much regard for his appearance.
"What… an innate talent?" Harry paused for a moment, then answered casually.
"Close, but would fate be so selfless? Granting you such powerful magic for no reason?" The old man twisted his neck and said.
"Oh… you… you know the answer?"
"I don't know. I just think that since the gods have given us this power that transcends ordinary people, do we not also need to bear corresponding responsibilities?" The old man countered.
"Oh… What responsibility?" Harry instinctively scratched the back of his head.
"Many. Protecting Muggles, preserving nature, self-restraint and propriety, showing gratitude, and believing in the gods."
"…Including kidnapping children?" Harry asked a sharp question.
"God will forgive us, for we are redeeming you."
"Wow, religious-themed redemption… So, stuffing my wand into my wrist is also for my own good?" Harry understood the reality that circumstances were stronger than him, but he just wanted to spout some trash talk, even if it meant enduring a few Cruciatus Curses.
"magic is a gift from the gods. As such, we naturally cannot use magic indiscriminately. Any use of magic for personal convenience, to gain profit, to unreasonably harm the weak, and using magic without believing in the true owner of magic, are all forbidden." The old man explained.
"Uh… sounds like you're a sect that believes in the gods… May I ask, are you perhaps the Holy Temple Brotherhood?" Harry probed.
"Oh, I thought they had erased us from history books." The old man said in surprise.
"Uh… Actually, they did." Harry muttered softly.
"That means they're afraid."
"Really? I mean, can you really defeat them?" Harry looked at the old man's arm, which was exposed from his sleeve, clearly seeing a silver mark on his wrist, and asked again.
"Just a bunch of insignificant people." The old man shook his head.
"You mean you used this thing to defeat them and make them insignificant?" Harry exposed his wrist. After all, he highly doubted whether this painful spell-casting method could truly defeat normal Wizards.
"Naturally, it can."
"..."
"Are you very doubtful?" The old man extended his hand, and an aged wand slid out from his wrist, from which a small flame emerged.
"Oh… my classmate can do that too." Harry felt embarrassed for the old man in front of him.
"This is a difference in understanding." The old man stood up on his own accord, walked to an oak wine barrel in the corner of the room, filled a rusty goblet with wine, and then placed it on a table.
Then, blood strangely seeped from the tip of his wand, flowing into the wine glass and mixing with the wine.
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