Chapter 161: The Violent Verdict of Physical Laws, The Invisible Wall Amidst the Smoke
"Stand up, Harry. What is this little bit of pain?"
The voice in his mind no longer pretended to be gentle, leaking a bone-chilling coldness.
Harry spat out a mouthful of bloody foam mixed with sand, gritting his teeth hard as his left hand gripped his completely deformed right wrist.
The agonizing pain caused cold sweat to break out all over his body, but he did not make a sound.
"He destroyed your wand and stepped on you like a bug. Do you want to be Malfoy's stepping stone for the rest of your life?" The voice of Tom Riddle's remnant soul continued to entice him with extreme penetration, "Give the rest of your blood to me. I will give you the power to tear him apart."
"Shut up," Harry roared in his mind, his eyes filled with terrifying bloodshot veins.
The sense of humiliation was more torturous than broken bones. The look in Cassius's eyes when he crushed the wand wasn't looking at an opponent at all, but at a bag of stinking garbage.
The night wind in the Forbidden Forest suddenly stopped.
The surroundings were extremely quiet. Then, a dense and tooth-aching 'clack-clack' sound came from behind the dark, withered trees.
Dozens of scarlet compound eyes, the size of flashlights, lit up in the bushes.
Acromantula.
The pure malice emitted by the Obsidian Sacrifice just now, combined with Harry's massive blood loss, had completely awakened these scavengers from the depths of the Forbidden Forest.
They smelled the scent of weak prey.
An adult Acromantula, the size of a jeep, was the first to crawl out of the shadows, its two huge black chelicerae rubbing against each other with a metallic scraping sound.
Venom dripped from its mouthparts onto the soil, giving off pungent white smoke.
They surrounded him in a fan shape.
In the past, Harry would have long since turned and fled or shouted for help. But now, leaning against a broken tree stump, he didn't retreat; instead, his lips curled into a cold sneer.
"Even lowly bugs dare to seek death," Harry's voice became hoarse and dry.
He had no wand and could not cast a normal Expelliarmus.
He directly raised his still-bleeding left hand, abandoning all rational restraint.
"Tear them apart." He opened up permissions to the remnant soul in his mind.
A dark red glow seeped out from under Harry's skin again. The blood that had been flowing out eerily flowed backward, mixing with the rampaging magic in his body. Extremely thick black magic manifested in his left palm, condensing into two half-meter-long solidified Black Blood Blades.
The nearest Acromantula lunged at his face.
Harry didn't even blink, his left hand tracing an afterimage from bottom to top.
Squelch.
The Acromantula's hard carapace was sliced open on the spot like a piece of rag.
Green, stinking body fluids erupted, splashing over half of Harry's face.
He didn't stop. Borrowing this violent external force, his whole body shot out, actively charging into the spider swarm.
Blood blades swung; there was no defense, only suicidal offense.
Severing spider legs, splitting abdomens, piercing compound eyes.
One Acromantula after another fell screaming, green blood and severed limbs covering the entire clearing.
"Die! All of you die!" Harry laughed manically.
This feeling of controlling slaughter was all too addictive.
He felt an infinite amount of power within him. What was Cassius? What was Malfoy? If he wanted to, he could trample all of Hogwarts under his feet!
A hundred meters away, behind a raised mound.
Seamus covered his mouth tightly, his legs so weak he almost knelt on the ground.
Looking at Potter in the distance, covered in green blood and slaughtering giant spiders like a madman, he felt his scalp tingle.
"Granger..." Seamus's voice shook violently, "Did you see that... that's Dark Arts... he's crazy! We have to find Dumbledore!"
Hermione lay flat on the edge of the pit, her finger hooked around a simple Brass Detonator.
She wasn't watching Harry's slaughter show; her gaze was entirely on the data needles jumping on the copper dial.
"There's no time to find the Principal. The erosion rate of the remnant soul is skyrocketing. In two minutes, Harry's personality will be completely erased, and he'll become a temporary vessel for the Dark Lord." Hermione's tone was cold, without a single ripple.
"Then what are you going to do?" Seamus's eyes widened, "You're not really going to press it, are you? That's Potter! That thing of yours could turn even stone to ash!"
"I've set up a voltage stabilization circuit; the explosion core won't cover his exact coordinates, it will only destroy the magic field around him." Hermione pulled the safety pin from the detonator, "Besides, I must get the actual test data tonight. Cassius's casting patterns are too perfect; this is the only chance for a benchmark."
"You're a lunatic!"
"I'm just stating facts. Grip the ground, Seamus." Hermionepressed the detonation button.
Three-second countdown.
In the center of the clearing, Harry sliced off the head of the last Acromantula.
He stood in a pool of green blood, panting heavily, the red light in his eyes growing brighter and brighter.
"Do you see?" Harry looked up and shouted at the night sky, "I am strong! I don't need anyone's pity!"
Countdown zero.
Silence.
An extremely eerie silence lasted for about half a second.
Immediately after, a ball of blindingly white light bulged out from three meters deep underground.
No fire, no smoke. What arrived first was absolute physical expansion.
Tens of thousands of joules of energy, collapsed to their limit within the deliberately reinforced brass shell, were released frantically without reservation.
A deafening roar tore through the night sky of the Forbidden Forest half a second later.
The air was forcibly pushed aside by temperatures of tens of thousands of degrees, forming a visible white high-pressure gas ring.
Soil within a hundred-meter radius was instantly flung into the sky. Old oak trees several people thick were uprooted and sent flying outward along with the airwave.
Harry didn't even have time to react.
He turned his head; that layer of dark red Dark Arts shield that had just shredded countless spiders and was claimed to be able to block the Avada Kedavra curse, the moment it came into contact with the pure physical shockwave...
Collapsed instantly.
The brutality of physics ignored the arrogance of magic. The high temperature and pressure difference tore apart the magic structure in an unreasonable manner.
Harry felt as if he had been hit head-on by a train traveling at two hundred kilometers per hour.
He flew back more than twenty meters like a rag doll, smashing through three protruding tree roots before finally falling heavily into a mud-filled pit.
His ribs were broken, and his internal organs were displaced. He vomited blood in large gulps, the illusion of being invincible just now completely blown away by this blast.
The remains of the Acromantula that hadn't quite died were directly burned to ash, shell and flesh alike, under the tens of thousands of degrees at the center of the explosion.
Thick smoke billowed.
The smell of charring was pungent.
The entire woodland was razed to the ground, and the soil at the center of the explosion melted under the extreme temperature, turning into reflective glass-like crystals.
Hermione climbed up from behind the mound.
Her forehead was scraped and bleeding.
She didn't care, pushing aside the blast-resistant earth wall pressing on her and immediately raising the measurement instrument in her hand.
Amidst the firelight, a set of extremely steady footsteps sounded.
Leather boots stepped on the newly cooled glass-like ground, making a crisp cracking sound.
Hermione suddenly looked up, her breath hitching. Seamuseven forgot to tremble.
The smoke slowly dispersed.
Cassius Malfoy walked slowly out from the very center of the explosion.
His shirt didn't even have a single wrinkle, let alone any damage.
A layer of extremely restrained, deep blue high-temperature magical armor clung to his body, the blue magical flow running smoothly like water ripples, isolating all shockwaves, high temperatures, and flying shrapnel.
He hadn't left at all.
After retreating into the darkness, he had sensed the things buried underground and deliberately stood at the detonation point, simply wanting to see how much of a commotion this thing called C4 could actually make.
Cassius stopped his pace and gave a casual wave.
Closing his five fingers, he forcibly squeezed the raging airwaves around him until they dissipated on the spot.
He tilted his head and glanced at Harry, who was lying in the mud pit, face covered in blood and filth, unable to even stand up.
Chapter 162: The Art of Yield and the Partners of Truth
"Waving a piece of rotten wood and slicing a few brainless spiders—is that what makes you think you've mastered life and death?" Cassius's voice was extremely cold, devoid of any emotional fluctuation. "Your ignorance is so shallow it's pitiable, Potter."
Harry gritted his teeth hard, tears mixing with blood as they flowed down. The sense of humiliation shattered his final mental defenses.
But he didn't even have the strength left to retort.
Cassius didn't bother to spare him another glance.
To waste even a second on trash of this level was a desecration of his computing power.
He turned his head, his gaze piercing through dozens of meters of thick smoke to lock onto the soot-covered but fanatical-eyed Hermione.
On his originally expressionless face, the corners of his mouth quirked up slightly in a rare, faint arc.
"To turn ridiculous wand-waving magic into pure yield-based demolition."
Cassius didn't raise his volume, but his voice reached everyone's ears clearly.
"Granger, I take back my previous evaluation."
"You are finally becoming somewhat interesting."
This affirmation, delivered with the condescension of a superior yet undeniable sincerity, made Harry shudder where he lay on the ground, his brain buzzing into a blank void.
Cassius had never looked him in the eye, not even when he had erupted with the Dark Arts.
But now, this arrogant Slytherin tyrant was actually praising Hermione?
Praising a physical bomb created by a Mudblood?
Hermione paid no attention to Harry's reaction.
She pushed Seamus's hand away and, clutching her notebook and measuring instruments, strode toward Cassius.
Seamus almost cried out in terror, but Hermione's gaze was frighteningly focused.
Ignoring the still-scalding ground beneath her feet, she walked straight up to Cassius and stopped less than three meters away.
"This is illogical." Hermione glanced down at the data in her hand, then looked up directly into those deep blue eyes, her tone filled with the stubbornness of academic inquiry. "The core temperature of the detonation just now reached forty-seven thousand degrees. But looking at your Magic Armor's magic reflux rate, there was no peak warning. Your energy consumption wasn't even ten percent."
"That is your illusion, Granger." Cassius had his hands in his pockets, his posture relaxed. "Because your detonation structure was too stupid."
"Stupid how?" Hermione felt no anger at the insult, only a thirst for knowledge.
"The brass casing." Cassius lifted his right foot and casually kicked a fragment of metal on the ground that hadn't finished melting. "You used a three-layer implosion array to suppress that Gryffindor boy's chaotic magic in an attempt to create a collapse. The idea was good, and the logic was sound. But the melting point of brass is too low, and its physical hardness is too poor."
Cassius paused, a hint of instruction appearing in his eyes.
"Before the magic could completely collapse to its limit, your shell failed to withstand the internal high pressure and ruptured prematurely. So while that explosion looked grand, at least forty percent of the energy dissipated into the surroundings the moment it broke, turning into useless hot wind."
Hermione's eyes suddenly lit up.
She quickly scribbled a long string of formulas on her parchment with a quill.
"Material stress limit lower than magic expansion rate..." Hermione muttered to herself as she wrote. "No wonder the shockwave's radius was twenty meters larger than my calculations. If I switched to a harder material..."
"goblin steel," Cassius provided the answer directly. "Add a bit of Mithril to increase magic conductivity. Ideally, etch a miniature gravity-binding array on the innermost layer."
Hermione looked up, her eyes burning with intensity.
"Use a gravity field to lock all explosive kinetic energy into an infinitesimal point during the final 0.1 seconds of detonation. Then release it the moment the gravity field collapses." Cassius coldly described a scene of ultimate destruction. "That way, your explosion won't just kick up a meaningless pile of dirt. It will concentrate all its penetrative power in one direction, melting the scales of an adult Dragon. That is a weapon."
Hermione's fingers trembled slightly. Not from fear, but from extreme excitement.
With just a few sentences, Cassius had completely cleared the research bottleneck she had been stuck on for half a month.
This approach of combining magic with pure engineering and physical destructive power perfectly aligned with her pursuit of truth.
"But goblin steel and Mithril are too expensive," Hermionesaid, quickly calming down to address practical difficulties. "Hogwarts laboratories can't apply for strategic materials of that grade. Even if I went to Diagon Alley to buy them, this budget wouldn't even cover a thumb-sized steel ingot."
Cassius let out a soft chuckle upon hearing this.
The sound of laughter was jarringly out of place in the bloody ruins.
He pulled his hand from his pocket and gave it a casual toss.
A heavy deerskin pouch traced a parabola through the air and landed accurately in Hermione's arms.
The pouch fell open, revealing thumbnail-sized ingots of high-purity goblin steel and even a small vial of shimmering silver Mithril powder.
"This is the deposit." Cassius's tone was as casual as if he were buying a cup of pumpkin juice.
Hermione stood stunned, clutching the pouch.
"The House of Malfoy's military industry has been stagnant for too long. My father has been obsessed with flashy political donations and forgot that capital needs force to be realized," Cassius said, looking at her. "I'm investing in your theoretical system. I will provide the materials and funding from now on. What you need to do is turn that scrap metal you just threw into a mass-produced standard weapon of mass destruction that can fit into the pocket of every Death Eater or Auror."
Cassius took a step forward, his tall frame blocking the firelight in front of Hermione.
"When your new version is built, bring it to Malfoy Manorto find me for testing. If you can blast through the defensive threshold of my Magic Armor, I guarantee you will become the wealthiest Mudblood in the British wizarding world."
He used the highly insulting term without the slightest concern.
But coming from his mouth, it didn't carry the stench of bloodline discrimination; it was merely a pure disregard for social labels.
In his eyes, there were only partners who could provide yield and destructive power; there were no classes.
Hermione took a deep breath. She didn't feel insulted; instead, she felt a most primal form of respect—respect for knowledge.
"Deal. The next version will be called C4-Modified. I'll give you the blueprints in a week." Hermione tied the deerskin pouch tight.
In a nearby mud pit.
Harry lay face down in the dirty water, his eyes wide enough to tear.
He watched as his former best friend accepted his enemy's investment without hesitation.
Right in front of him, they discussed how to create more terrifying weapons and how to subvert the common sense of the wizarding world.
And he—the Savior chosen by prophecy, the warrior who had sold his soul for power and was covered in blood—in their eyes...
He wasn't even worthy of joining the conversation. He was worth less than a wooden plank used for testing explosions.
Total disregard. A crushing defeat from a higher dimension.
"Hermione..." Harry's lips trembled as he squeezed out two weak syllables, blood choking his windpipe.
Hermione heard the sound. She turned her head and looked down at Harry on the ground.
There was no sympathy in her gaze, nor any anger, only the extremely rational indifference one might have toward a failed experimental product.
"Seamus, go inform Madam Pomfrey to bring a stretcher. He won't die, but he'll need his stomach pumped to clear out the Dark Arts toxins in his brain." After giving the instructions, Hermione turned and walked into the depths of the forest without looking back; she was in a hurry to revise her equations.
Cassius didn't look at Harry again either. He put his hands back in his pockets and walked unhurriedly toward Hogwarts Castle, stepping over the vitrified ground.
The night wind blew again.
Harry was left alone in the clearing.
The voice of the remnant soul had gone completely silent in his mind.
In the face of absolute physical explosions and Cassius's unreasonable dominance, even a fragment of Lord Voldemort could only choose to play dead.
Harry lay in the cold mud, watching Cassius's retreating back until his vision went black, and he finally succumbed to unconsciousness amidst extreme frustration and despair.
Just as Cassius was about to reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his footsteps suddenly stopped.
In his global perception web, an extremely deep signal with magic restrained to the limit had intruded.
In the shadows nearby, Snape stood silently in his pitch-black robes like a giant bat.
His gaze went past Cassius to the smoking crater in the distance. On his habitually expressionless face, the muscles were twitching slightly.
"Mr. Malfoy." Snape's voice was lower than usual, carrying a complex scrutiny.
Cassius stopped but didn't even turn his head.
"What is it, Professor Snape?" Cassius's tone was flat. "Are you out for a midnight stroll to mind my business as well?"
Chapter 163: Snape's Terror, the Tyrant Unscathed at the Center of the Explosion
"Mr. Malfoy." Snape's voice was lower than usual, carrying a complex, scrutinizing tone.
Cassius stopped, not even turning his head.
"What is it, Professor Snape?" Cassius said, his tone flat. "Are you going to meddle in my business just because I'm out for a midnight stroll?"
The corner of Snape's eye twitched.
His gaze crossed over Cassius's shoulder, staring fixedly at the scorched earth in the distance that had been flattened by violence.
A fan-shaped destruction zone spanning over fifty meters; the soil in the center had completely vitrified, and the trees at the edges were uprooted, their breaks as smooth as mirrors. The air was filled with a pungent smell of ozone mixed with high-heat sulfides.
This was not magic.
Snape made the judgment quickly in his mind.
He had seen the top-tier Dark Wizard duels, he had seen battlefields burned by Fiendfyre, but no spell could cause such pure, brutal physical destruction.
This was more like those high-explosives Muggles kept in iron shells.
"There lies a Gryffindor, and a Hufflepuff." Snape's words were squeezed through his teeth, referring to Harry, who had passed out in a mud pit in the distance, and Cedric, who was scared silly. "And there is one of your Slytherin." He pointed to Seamus, who was curled up in the dirt pit, almost scared to the point of incontinence.
"Your night stroll has caused quite a commotion."
"I was just watching some fireworks, Professor." Cassiusfinally turned around. The ghostly blue protective armor on his body had completely faded, as if it had never appeared. His white shirt didn't even have a single wrinkle under the moonlight, forming an absurd contrast with the chaotic battlefield around him.
"Fireworks sponsored by Miss Granger."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She didn't expect Cassiusto sell her out directly. She gripped the notebook in her hand, meeting Snape's black eyes, which seemed capable of piercing through the soul, and forced herself to calm down.
"It was me, Professor." Hermione spoke before Snapecould flare up, her speech rapid. "I was conducting research on the runaway derivation of high-level magic. Due to a calculation error, the magic power caused an unexpected chain reaction within the containment vessel."
"Error?" Snape's sneer echoed through the woods. "Miss Granger, you call this an error? An explosion of this magnitude is enough to send half of Hogwarts Castle into the sky. And you tell me this is your homework?"
Hermione bit her lip, her brain racing to come up with more complex theories to bluff her way through.
But Snape's attention was no longer on her.
The Potion master's gaze was locked, in disbelief, onto Cassius's boots. Those high-grade dragon-hide boots were stepping on the just-cooled, still sizzling vitrified ground, yet the soles didn't show the slightest trace of melting.
Snape as a top-tier duelist and Potion master, was extremely sensitive to the conversion of energy and matter. He could clearly judge that the instantaneous temperature at the center of the explosion definitely exceeded the scope of any known alchemical flame. Let alone dragon hide, even a full set of armor forged by Goblins should have suffered structural damage under this kind of energy impact.
Yet Cassius...
He not only stood unscathed at the center of the explosion, but his clothes weren't even torn.
This meant he wasn't relying on any magic shield to take the hit. He had used his own body, using that thin, seemingly fragile layer of magic wrapping his body, to completely isolate and even absorb this high temperature and shockwave capable of melting steel.
This completely overturned Snape's understanding of magic, and even of the "human" species.
Defensive spells had limits. Even Dumbledore, facing this level of purely physical explosion, would need to construct a sufficiently complex defensive formation in advance, rather than just "taking a stroll" with his body like the youth in front of him.
"How... did you do that?" For the first time, there was an imperceptible tremor in Snape's voice. He wasn't asking Hermione, but Cassius. This question had gone beyond the scope of teacher-student accountability and had become a top-tier spellcaster's instinctive inquiry and fear regarding an unknown existence.
Cassius looked at the expression of shattered worldview on Snape's face, feeling somewhat bored.
"It's simple, Professor." He raised a finger. "When your physical strength and magic output density both exceed the energy limit of the explosion itself, what is called an explosion is just a rather warm breeze."
A... rather warm breeze?
Snape felt as if his brain had been smashed by a giant hammer. He understood every word in that sentence, but completely failed to understand the meaning when they were combined.
Just then, hurried footsteps came from deep in the woods. Dumbledore arrived at the scene with Professor McGonagall and Lupin, who had just been woken up.
Seeing the tragic state like a meteorite crater before them, even the knowledgeable Principal was stunned on the spot.
"What happened?" Dumbledore's sharp gaze swept over everyone, finally resting on Cassius.
Cassius shrugged, leaving the stage to others.
Hermione immediately stepped forward, using a carefully rehearsed explanation to attribute everything to her own academic recklessness and an accident. Snape didn't speak throughout; he just stared fixedly at Cassius, as if trying to see the shadow of a god or a devil on him.
Dumbledore listened while checking the unconscious Harry with his wand. When he sensed that the tyrannical Dark Arts aura in Harry's body had been almost shaken away by the explosion just now, his eyes became extremely complex.
"Miss Granger, your actions have seriously violated school rules and endangered the lives of your classmates." Professor McGonagall was trembling with anger. "You must receive the strictest punishment!"
"I don't think that's necessary." A cold voice interrupted her.
It was Snape who spoke.
Everyone looked at him in surprise.
"Miss Granger was reckless, but this 'error' of hers objectively cleared the malignant magic power that was running out of control in Potter's body." Snape's gaze swept over the dimming scar on Harry's forehead, his tone cold. "Compared to letting him become a lunatic who only knows how to cast Dark Arts, a crater blown out is an acceptable price."
These words left both Gryffindor Professors stunned. They had never thought Snape would defend Hermione.
Only Cassius knew that Snape wasn't defending Hermione. He was just shocked by the pure, overwhelming power, temporarily losing the ability to think with house prejudice.
"Then this matter..." Dumbledore looked at the mess, feeling a bit of a headache.
"I will handle it." Cassius interrupted him impatiently. "Malfoy Family will pay for all subsequent site restoration and cleanup of magic traces. As for the medical expenses for Potter and that Hufflepuff, put them on my tab as well."
He spoke in an unquestionable tone, as if announcing a business decision.
"Now, may I go? Principal."
Dumbledore looked at him deeply, and finally nodded wearily.
Cassius turned and left, ignoring everyone else.
Hermione looked at his back, then looked down at the heavy bag of goblin steel ingots in her arms, her eyes becoming more determined. She followed him quickly, and before leaving, she said to Seamus: "Take my instruments and wait for me in the Room of Requirement."
Snape watched the two disappear into the darkness one after the other, then turned and began to carefully lift the unconscious Harry with a spell. The moment he touched Harry's body, he subconsciously looked up at the direction Cassius had left.
That monster's body... what on earth is it made of? Could it be that Lucius Malfoy really gave birth to a dragon in human skin?
Chapter 164: The Academic's Blank Paper Agreement and the Grease-Stained Ambiguity
"Open."
A cold voice echoed in the corridor of the Room of Requirement on the seventh floor.
Hermione had just finished silently reciting, "A workshop capable of precision alchemical processing," in her mind, when a heavy brass door covered in gears and runes appeared on the wall.
Cassius did not hesitate at all and pushed the door open to enter.
Hermione followed closely behind. The scene behind the door made her gasp.
This was no longer the crude demolition laboratory from before, but a precision workshop comparable to the top-tier workshops of the Goblins.
The air was filled with the smell of cooling oil and metal dust.
In the center was a workbench made from a single piece of obsidian, on which were neatly arranged various models of miniature magical carving tools, energy conduits of different calibers, and constant-temperature crystal arrays used for stabilizing runes.
This was a place Cassius had forcibly "customized" from the Room of Requirement using his will.
"Take out your blueprints." Cassius walked to the workbench and dumped the bag of goblin steel and mithril from Hermione's arms, the clashing metal emitting a crisp sound.
Hermione took a deep breath and pulled a scroll of parchment covered in dense drawings from her pocket. This was no longer the previous draft, but an engineering blueprint with rigorous logic and precise annotations.
"C4-Modified, I call it 'The Arbiter'." A glint of academic fanaticism flashed in Hermione's eyes. "I redesigned the shell structure. While a sphere can maximize implosion pressure, the energy release is uncontrollable. I changed it to a dodecahedral prism structure, with a miniature magical nozzle reserved on each face."
She pointed to an extremely complex structure on the blueprint and explained: "By precisely sealing eleven of the nozzles with external magic 0.01 seconds before detonation, we can direct all the energy to pour out from the only remaining nozzle. This can increase the penetrating power by 300 percent."
Cassius glanced at the blueprint and nodded, signaling his approval.
"I've figured out the runes for the gravity restraint array." Hermione turned another page, which featured even more daunting micro-carved runes. "I designed it as a nested three-dimensional structure that remains dormant during normal times, only activating the moment the internal energy exceeds the threshold, compressing all kinetic energy toward the core at an subatomic level."
"But there's a problem." Hermione frowned. "This rune is too complex; it requires engraving 1,200 energy nodes onto a goblin steel core the size of a fingernail. No alchemical tool at Hogwarts can achieve this level of precision."
"Tools?" Cassius let out a faint scoff. "Those things only slow down efficiency."
He picked up a fingernail-sized goblin steel core and placed it on the obsidian workbench. Then, he looked at Hermione.
"Stand over here."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, then walked to his side. They stood very close; she could smell the cold scent on Cassius, a mixture of Forbidden Forest fir and gunpowder, which made her heart beat faster uncontrollably.
Cassius extended his right hand, his index finger lightly tapping the goblin steel core. The next second, Hermionesaw a sight she would never forget for the rest of her life.
From the tip of Cassius's finger extended over a dozen faint blue magical threads, a hundred times finer than a strand of hair. These threads, like living creatures, began to dance on the surface of the hard goblin steel at a speed difficult for the naked eye to capture.
No tools, no incantations. Purely by will, he deconstructed violent magic into the finest carving knife.
"Zzz—" A faint sound rang out as the indestructible goblin steel was easily sliced open like soft cheese by the magical threads, leaving behind lines finer than spider silk.
Hermione watched blankly. The logic and calculations she prided herself on seemed so pale in the face of this unreasonable, absolute control before her.
"What are you staring at?" Cassius's voice rang in her ear. "Attach your magic to it and feel the direction of the nodes. You won't learn this kind of micro-carving even if you watch it a hundred times; you have to memorize it with your body."
Hermione's cheeks turned red in a flash. She had never been in such close contact with any boy before.
She hesitantly extended her right hand, trembling, wanting to place it on the back of Cassius's hand.
"Fool." Cassius frowned, his free left hand grabbing Hermione's wrist. His palm was dry and warm, carrying an unquestionable strength.
He pulled Hermione's hand and forcibly pressed her index finger onto the back of his own operating right hand.
Boom! Hermione felt as if her brain had been instantly overwhelmed by a massive stream of information.
Through the contact of their fingertips, she could clearly "see" how Cassius's vast, ocean-like magic was decomposed, compressed, and then micro-managed through over a thousand different nodes.
Every turn of the runes, every flow of energy, was branded into her perception.
This was more direct and brutal than any textbook or theory.
"Concentrate." Cassius's voice carried a trace of impatience. "Keep up with my circuits. Your magic is too scattered, like a pile of sand. Twist it into a rope."
Hermione gritted her teeth, forcing herself to ignore the scorching, uncomfortable physical contact, and immersed all her attention in the guidance of that massive magic. She began to try to imitate Cassius, mobilizing her own meager magic, attempting to touch those complex nodes.
Time passed minute by minute. Only the faint sound of engraving remained in the workshop.
Cassius focused intently on the micro-carving, while Hermione, like an apprentice, was dragged along by him, stumbling in the realm belonging to gods.
Fine beads of sweat seeped from her forehead, and her face turned pale from excessive magical exhaustion.
She didn't know how much time had passed, but Cassiusfinally stopped. The magical threads at his fingertips retracted instantly.
On that small goblin steel core, a complex, three-dimensional rune array as brilliant as a nebula was already fully formed.
"Done." He released Hermione's hand.
Hermione, as if drained of all strength, stumbled back a step and leaned against the workbench, panting heavily. Her right hand was still trembling slightly, her fingertips still retaining the tingling sensation of being penetrated by massive magic.
"Now, it's your turn." Cassius pushed another blank goblin steel core in front of her.
"What?" Hermione looked up, her face full of disbelief.
"I said, it's your turn." Cassius looked down at her, his eyes devoid of any pity. "I only teach once. If you can't do it, then our cooperation ends here. Malfoy Family does not keep useless trash."
This sentence was like a basin of ice water, instantly extinguishing all the romantic fantasies in Hermione's heart, replacing them with a strong sense of unwillingness at being looked down upon.
She stared fixedly at the goblin steel, then looked at her own trembling hand.
"I can do it." She squeezed these words out through her teeth.
She took a deep breath, imitated Cassius's posture, pressed her index finger onto the goblin steel, closed her eyes, and began to frantically recall the feeling that had just been forcibly instilled into her mind.
A faint, unstable trace of magic extended from her fingertip, crookedly marking a shallow scratch on the surface of the goblin steel.
Although rough, it was the first step.
Cassius stood to the side, watching her stubborn, unyielding appearance, and the faint, almost invisible curve at the corner of his mouth rose quietly once again.
He turned around, took a grease-stained wiping cloth from the lower compartment of the workbench, and began to maintain the alchemical tools that had just been "created" by the Room of Requirement.
He wiped them slowly and carefully, as if they were not tools, but works of art.
The entire workshop fell into an eerie harmony. On one side, Hermione was gritting her teeth to challenge her limits; on the other, Cassius was performing the most basic, tedious mechanical maintenance.
The sky outside the window had begun to turn white.
And just as they were immersed in their respective worlds, in the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, Harry Potter slowly opened his eyes.
Chapter 165: Harry's Bedside Defense and the Abyss's Lies
Pain.
The aching sensation of dislocated bones spread from his right arm to his chest like an ice pick; every breath carried a searing heat.
Harry opened his eyes. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, spilling onto the snow-white sheets with a piercing, cold brilliance.
"Harry! Good heavens!"
Ron was leaning over the edge of the bed, lifting his head topped with messy red hair.
There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was still clutching a torn twig from a broomstick tail, his nails digging into the wood.
He had clearly stayed by the bedside all night.
"Don't move. Madam Pomfrey said you broke three ribs and have a comminuted fracture in your right wrist." Ronstuffed the twig into his pocket and carefully pressed down on Harry's shoulder. He smelled of a sour mix of herbs and sweat. "You took skele-gro. It regrows bones. They're growing back now, so it'll be very itchy and painful."
Harry stared at the ceiling.
The Forbidden Forest, the black blood blade, the remains of the Acromantula, and Cassius's eyes that disregarded everything—these images flashed through his mind frame by frame.
Everything that happened last night was branded onto his heart like a hot iron. He suppressed the trembling in his arm, gritting his teeth and forcing down the bitterness in his throat.
"Where's Hermione?" Harry spoke, his voice like sandpaper on wood, hoarse and broken.
Ron turned his head away, avoiding Harry's gaze, and rubbed his reddened nose. "She... she went to the library early. To look up Ancient Runes. Said she needs to catch up. About last night... she didn't seem to care much."
A cold sneer curled at the corner of Harry's mouth.
The library?
More likely, she went to serve as an apprentice to her new master, searching through that pile of junk for power enough to blast everything apart.
He didn't respond, turning his head to look out the window. Sunlight hit his face, but he couldn't feel a hint of warmth.
The heavy friction of the Hospital Wing's door hinges echoed.
Dumbledore led the way, the hem of his robes brushing against the marble tiles, with McGonagall following close behind, her expression solemn.
Snape came last, his dark eyes coldly scanning the corners of the Hospital Wing as if searching for some filthy stain.
"Are you feeling better, Harry?" Dumbledore approached the bedside. His blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles were calm, yet they carried a weight capable of crushing one's will.
Harry's heart skipped a beat. He quickly withdrew the coldness in his eyes, replacing it with a look of post-disaster shock and lingering fear, his eyes turning bloodshot. He gasped heavily, matching the tremors brought on by his physical pain.
"I'm fine, Principal." He gripped the sheets, his fingers turning blue from the effort. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have gone to the Forbidden Forest alone. I just... I saw Malfoygive Luna something strange... I was afraid something would happen to her..."
"That's enough, Potter." Snape walked to the foot of the bed, his long fingers tapping against the iron frame in a rhythmic clicking. He looked at Harry impatiently. "Save that performance for the brainless Gryffindors. Do you think your clumsy lies can hide anything?"
"Severus, let him finish," Professor McGonagall interrupted sternly.
Dumbledore said nothing. His hand, hanging at his side, toyed with the knobbly wand. The tip of the wand lightly tapped his robe; every touch hinted at the shifting of power.
"Professor, it wasn't me!" Harry raised his voice, his shoulders trembling in sync. His body grew weak from the extreme performance, sweat trickling down his temples. "It... it was Lord Voldemort! He was talking in my head! He controlled my hands to kill the spiders; I couldn't stop! All that blood, those spiders..."
He curled up under the covers like a boy utterly destroyed by a nightmare, displaying a complete and helpless panic.
This was the tactic Riddle had rehearsed countless times in the depths of his consciousness. Show weakness, shift blame, and exploit the White Wizard's fear of the Dark Lord to cover up his own crimes.
"He wants to take my body!" Harry screamed hoarsely, his voice piercing the silence of the Hospital Wing. "He said he's coming back to kill everyone! Principal, help me..."
Dumbledore stopped in his tracks. He looked directly into Harry's eyes.
An invisible, cold probing force erupted from Dumbledore's gaze, piercing through Harry's defenses like a scalpel and plowing straight into the depths of his sea of consciousness.
Under the pressure of that force, Harry felt the agonizing pain of his soul being torn.
But he didn't resist. The remnant soul in his mind abandoned its defenses and proactively pushed out fabricated fragments: a dark swamp, a soul being pulled apart, and a boy desperately crying out to Dumbledore for help.
The image was terrifyingly realistic.
Dumbledore stood silently for five seconds.
He put away his wand, and his normally straight back slumped slightly. A sense of age truly surfaced on his face.
"You have suffered, child." Dumbledore reached out a withered hand and patted Harry's uninjured left shoulder. "I didn't expect him to awaken so quickly. This is my responsibility."
Harry lowered his head, biting his lower lip hard to hide the upward curve of his mouth.
He had gambled correctly. The old man still placed guilt before reason.
"I will find a way to suppress him." Dumbledore turned and nodded to McGonagall. "Professor Lupin will come to see you later. He is very experienced in these matters."
The Principal and Professor McGonagall exited the Hospital Wing.
Snape remained at the foot of the bed. He stared at the lightning scar on Harry's forehead—the brand left by darkness. His finger tapped the iron frame once more, producing a dull metallic ring, before he turned and strode away.
The door closed. The Hospital Wing returned to its original gloom.
"You must have been terrified, Harry." Ron sat in the chair, a hint of unconscious fear in his expression as he tugged at a frayed thread on his sleeve, looking quite at a loss.
"I'm fine." Harry turned his head aside.
He didn't look at Ron, but instead stared at the doorway, at the spot where Dumbledore had left.
His Holly wand, which he always carried, had been completely shattered last night; it was the foundation of his standing in the wizarding world.
But now, the voice in his head told him that in this world, only that one wand—the knobbly one that symbolized the power of death—could carry the supreme power he would master in the future, a power sufficient to tear everything apart.
He clenched his healthy left fist under the covers.
His nails dug into his palm. It was the other soul rejoicing at the impending seizure, as well as his own greedy desire for power.
In this ward filled with the scent of disinfectant, Harry was no longer the boy shrouded in the Savior's halo. He was like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows, flicking its tongue and staring at its long-coveted prey.