novelcrest Chapter 132 The Heir of Slytherin
Chapter 132 The Heir of Slytherin
Chapter 132 The Heir of Slytherin (Part 2)
Slytherin remained lost in his own mutterings for a while before turning his gaze to Sean.
Although his voice still carried that familiar hoarseness, Sean keenly caught a subtle change.
"I want to know everything that has happened in the last thousand years," Slytherin said slowly, his gaze as sharp as a hawk's, fixed on Sean's face, as if trying to read the marks of history from this young face.
Under that deep and unwavering gaze, Sean felt a strange sense of unease, as if all his secrets had been seen through by those eyes.
wrong.
It is soul-capturing and thought-stealing.
Slytherin is not most famous for his Parseltongue, but for his Legilimency.
Sean subconsciously used Occlusive surgery.
Sean believes his greatest strength isn't his storytelling ability, but rather his Occupational technique.
But it seems... it's still a bit slow.
When Sean saw the smile gradually appear on the Slytherin's face, he knew that the other party had succeeded.
Damn.
That treacherous old man.
Just as cunning and decisive as recorded in the history of magic.
He first used remorse to lower his guard, then asked a question, and while he was thinking, he used Legilimency.
However, the only thing that Sean could be thankful for was that all his memories of being a time traveler were sealed in the deepest layer of his brain, and a layer of false memories was built on top of them.
In such a short time, even Slytherin could not break through that defense.
"Oh." Slytherin nodded. "So many interesting things have happened over the years."
Upon hearing Slytherin's words, Sean gave him a subtle glare.
The Act of Secrecy played a landmark role in the development of relations between wizards and Muggles.
He had just been wondering how to explain the Statute of Secrets to Slytherin, but now that's easy.
Although Sean was unhappy, he was helpless. No one wants to let the other person freely enter their mind and look through their memories.
Taking without asking is considered theft, but he seemed somewhat hesitant when facing Slytherin, a notorious and long-established thief.
"They signed the Secret Service Act? No wonder..." Slytherin continued to mutter to himself.
The full name of the Law of Secrecy is the International Law of Wizardry Secrecy, which aims to protect the wizarding community from Muggles.
And hide its existence from the whole world.
Since the early 15th century, the persecution of wizards and witches has intensified throughout Europe. Many in the wizarding community felt that using magic to help their Muggle neighbors was tantamount to voluntarily gathering firewood for their own crematorium, a feeling that was quite justified. Many wizards and witches were imprisoned and sentenced to death for witchcraft.
Thus, the Act of Secrecy was enacted, and after its signing in 1689, wizards began to hide permanently. Perhaps, they naturally formed their own small communities within their neighborhoods. Many small villages and hamlets attracted several magical families, who united to support and protect each other.
The law stipulates that each ministry or commission has a responsibility to conceal the existence of the magical world within the country. Each ministry is also responsible for controlling magical animals, restricting the public use of magic by minors, and ensuring that magical games and sports remain undiscovered.
"Is there only one descendant left of me?" Upon hearing Slytherin's words, Sean glanced calmly toward the door, then wrapped his robe tighter around himself—inside his robe lay the diary containing Riddle's soul.
If things go wrong, we'll make a run for it.
"Don't be nervous, Phillips." Slytherin raised his head after reading the memory, his eyes filled with a playful and profound look. "I pose no threat to you. What stands before you now is merely a memory I left behind."
Sean was stunned.
Upon hearing Slytherin's words, his first reaction was that the old man was up to some trick to deceive him again.
What memory has such a high degree of autonomy? Furthermore, it can be used to manipulate the mind, and even... it was successful.
Seeing Sean's wariness, Slytherin simply smiled, as if he had anticipated Sean's reaction.
Then, he slowly pointed to his own body, indicating that Sean should observe carefully.
Sean's gaze followed Slytherin's finger and was surprised to find that Slytherin's body was indeed gradually becoming transparent. It was just that the light in the dark room was not strong, and Slytherin had been sitting in the shadows, so it was difficult to notice.
"Speaking of which, I should thank you," Slytherin said softly. "I thought this memory of mine would remain dormant forever, the scent of you... and you even showed me the wizarding world a thousand years in the future."
This is the second time Slytherin has mentioned his scent.
Now, even Sean himself is starting to wonder if he smells bad.
But none of that mattered. Hearing Slytherin's next words, Sean became extremely attentive. "As an 'old thing' who's over a thousand years old," Slytherin paused deliberately here.
He gave Sean a meaningful look and said slowly, "I can't just take your gift for nothing, you little thing."
Sean felt a little uncomfortable under the Slytherins' gaze.
The most embarrassing thing in the world is when you're cursing someone behind their back and that person hears you... But luckily, he's thick-skinned and automatically ignored what he said before. What he cared about was the "gift" that Slytherin mentioned.
Slytherin continued, "I have nothing to give you right now, but let the little snake outside stay with you."
Sean's eyes lit up. With the Basilisk around, his trip today hadn't been in vain. And judging from Slytherin's expression, it seemed he hadn't finished speaking.
"And the things in this room," Slytherin continued, "are all yours. There are some of my insights into dark magic that I left behind, as well as some alchemical tools I collected in my younger years. They might be of some help to you."
For some reason, when they said the last few words, "helpful," Slytherin laughed, a laugh that seemed somewhat abrupt.
Sean didn't care about that; if Slytherin dared to give it to him, he dared to take it.
The timid starve, the bold feast.
Just as the polite girl was about to thank her senior, Slytherin spoke again.
"As for my descendant, he was less skilled, so his failure is simply a failure."
"I believe things will turn out well if he stays with you, won't they?"
Sean opened his mouth slightly, wanting to make a sound, but before the words could reach his lips, a strange premonition suddenly surged in his heart, as if the whole world tightened in an instant, tightly enveloping him.
This oppressive feeling did not come from any external force, but rather was like an invisible giant wave crashing towards us.
It carries a fierce and destructive aura.
Immediately afterwards, a peculiar fluctuation began to ripple in the air, a fluctuation that clearly possessed magical characteristics.
Each one was as sharp as a blade, piercing Sean's senses.
He instinctively clenched his hands, as if trying to grasp something to steady himself.
In that instant, two scrolls appeared out of thin air in Sean's hands: one was a teleportation scroll shimmering with golden light, and the other was a destruction scroll radiating deep purplish-black energy.
However, just as his fingers were about to touch the edge of the reel, the scene before him changed dramatically.
The Slytherin who was standing opposite him suddenly lost his physical touch, like a grain of sand that had been weathered and vanished into thin air.
No, to be more precise, he seemed to have become a string of shimmering bubbles, which quickly burst in the interplay of light and shadow, leaving only a trace of magical fluctuations lingering in the air.
MD.
Damn old man.
Before leaving, we should give him a hard time.
However... looking at the dark room filled with books and magic, and now that he was all alone, Sean smiled knowingly.
He should now be considered a true Slytherin successor, personally certified by Slytherin himself, right?
"That old man, he knew some of these magical alchemy items were unusable, wasn't he doing it on purpose?"
Sean finally understood where Slytherin's sudden smile had come from, and he forcefully moved the long-ineffective alchemical artifacts aside.
"And there's this huge collection of books, damn it, hardly any of them are useful." Sean casually flipped through them until he saw one, then suddenly stopped. "How come there's a Liu Bei novel by Rowena Ravenclaw and Godric Gryffindor in here? What genius author wrote that?"
"Could it be... that Slytherin wrote this himself to ruin Gryffindor's reputation? That old man... he's really bored."
Sean believed that, given Slytherin's insidious nature, this was not impossible.
He would even secretly wonder if Slytherin had stolen his underwear if a wizard's diary from that era had been passed down.
After all, that old guy wasn't a good person.
After Sean spent several hours moving all the books and magical artifacts from the dark room, he stood in the center of the empty room and looked around.
The space, which had been filled with dense bookshelves and mountains of books, now appeared spacious and quiet. His gaze slowly swept across the walls and floor, as if searching for any corners he had overlooked.
As the last item was carefully moved out, Sean felt an indescribable sense of accomplishment.
He raised his arm and gently wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, a relieved smile appearing on his face.
Finally, the move is complete.
Sean thought to himself.
Even waste has value in recycling.
During this time, Sean summoned the basilisk and gave it some instructions in a snake-like voice.
Before leaving, Sean took one last deep look at the secret room, then turned and walked away.
What Sean didn't know was that at the very moment Slytherin vanished, the diary pressed tightly against the inside of his robes suddenly made a strange sound.
On the cover, the originally dull and dark leather suddenly shimmered with a subtle light, which slowly flowed across every inch of the diary's surface...
Back in his office, Sean collapsed into his chair, utterly exhausted.
Tonight was quite fruitful.
As he was getting ready to take off his clothes and go to sleep, something suddenly occurred to him.
He sniffed his robe hard.
It doesn't smell at all.
Since Lockhart became the professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, he has been receiving more and more letters from his followers.
He enthusiastically invited Harry to help him reply to the followers. Harry wanted to refuse, trying to give this "hard-won" opportunity to Hermione, but Lockhart happily said that the two of them could come together.
So, on Saturday morning, Harry and Hermione walked down the third-floor corridor toward Lockhart's office. Harry's face was full of reluctance, his brow furrowed, as if he were carrying a heavy burden; in stark contrast, Hermione's eyes sparkled with excitement.
Hermione never imagined that one day she would be writing replies to readers on behalf of the famous Lord Ruffalo...
Does that mean that after a while she'll also be qualified to reply to more readers on Professor Sean's behalf...?
If Professor Sean has this kind of trouble, she is definitely the best choice to take on this task, given her experience in this area.
At the end of the corridor, the door to Lovett's office was tightly shut.
Fu Fen took a deep breath, and despite her reluctance, she still forced herself to reach out and knock on the door, but Hermione beat her to it.
She is already eager to accumulate experience for her future work.
The loud knocking echoed through the empty corridor.
The door opened with a click, and Professor Lowford appeared in the doorway.
He was wearing a gorgeous robe, and his beaming smile revealed his enthusiasm and exuberance.
Upon seeing Fryn and Hermione, she warmly greeted them: "Welcome, welcome! I'm so glad you could help me with these letters."
The office walls were covered with photos of Lovett, the various frames gleaming in the candlelight.
Several of the photos even bear You's autograph. A large stack of photos on the table stands out prominently.
"Fufen, you can help me write the envelopes." Loft seemed to be bestowing a great honor upon Fufen. "Write the first letter to Ms. Gladys Gugion, may God bless her—she is my loyal fan."
"Hermione, come and help me put these letters into envelopes and seal them with sealing wax." Seeing Hermione's expectant eyes beside him, Lowford casually gave the order, and as if afraid that Hermione might be dissatisfied, he added, "Don't be discouraged, this task is also very important."
Hermione was indeed very disheartened.
She wasted a lot of her study time here today, and Gui didn't come here on her behalf.
Out of respect for Professor Lovett, she didn't say much, but comforted herself—she could learn about Professor Lovett's communications with his fans through this project, and perhaps even learn something useful from it.
Thinking about this, Hermione felt a little better.
She took the pile of letters that Hafen had finished writing and handed over, and began to carefully put them into envelopes one by one, sealing them with sealing wax.
Time seemed to slow down dramatically, as if it were under a magical tickling spell.
Fry listened absentmindedly to Loft's endless chatter, occasionally responding perfunctorily with "uh," "ah," or "yes," while Hermione remained silent.
Some of Lofter's words occasionally drifted into Li's ears, such as "A celebrity is a fickle friend, Lofter," or "Remember, a celebrity should have the airs of a celebrity."
As the candles burned out, the flickering flames shimmered on the countless vivid faces in Lovett's photographs.
With aching hands, Fu Fen wrote Veronica Smesley's address, feeling that this was already the thousandth envelope he had written.
He painfully longed for time to pass, pleading, "Please, let it end quickly!" Suddenly, a strange sound broke the long silence—it was the crackling of a dying candle.
The incessant, completely unprofessional sound of Loft's discs.
It was a voice, cold, vicious, and chilling, so powerful it could make you stop breathing.
"Come here—let me tear you apart, rip you apart—kill you—"
Fu Fen was startled, and the pen in her hand left a conspicuous lilac stain on the street name of Veronica Smesley's address.
"What's that sound?" he asked loudly again.
Fizz's loud shout startled Hermione, causing the sealing wax on her hand to drip onto the table.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I know!" Lovett misunderstood. "You're talking about my book being at the top of the bestseller list for six consecutive months the year before last, right? That's unprecedented!"
"No," Furley protested urgently, "I'm talking about that voice!"
"Excuse me," Lovett said, looking confused, "What was that sound?"
Hermione looked very confused; the only sound in the room had been Loveford's voice.
"That—that voice—didn't you hear it?" Hafen's voice was filled with anxiety and unease.
Loft and Hermione stared at Fryfen in astonishment, seemingly unable to comprehend what he meant.
"Fu Fen, what are you saying? Are you tired? Good heavens—look at the time! We've been here for almost four hours! I can't believe how fast time flies, can I?"
Hafen did not answer, but continued to listen intently to the mysterious voice, but apart from Loft still ringing in his ears, there was no other sound.
Full of doubts, Fryn and Hermione had no choice but to leave the office.