Arriving in the Headmaster's office again, Marcel felt his scalp tingle as he looked at the smiling Dumbledore.
Occlumency was difficult to master, and his progress with it so far could only be described as average. But when facing Dumbledore, a master of Legilimency, he couldn't help but want to use it, even though Dumbledore had no intention of prying into his mind.
Of course, if he were to say something outrageous in front of Dumbledore, the Headmaster would certainly sense it. It had almost become an instinct for him.
Snape was currently staring at the Fae-Fade Potion, lost in thought, while Professor McGonagall was speaking excitedly to Dumbledore.
After a good while, Professor McGonagall left the office amidst Dumbledore's smiles. As she passed by Marcel, she smiled and nodded at him.
"Mr. Maclean, I see that the great amount of time you have spent absorbing knowledge has clearly paid off," Dumbledore said in a calm tone, the smile never leaving his face. "To achieve such a feat in your first year is unprecedented at Hogwarts. I believe no student can compare with you, neither in the past nor in the present."
"You're too kind, Professor Dumbledore, I'm afraid—"
"When it is time to be proud, you should express it. Suppressing it will only let that glory rot in your heart," Dumbledore said, giving Marcel a meaningful look. "I believe you understand what I mean."
Did Dumbledore know something? But what exactly did he know?
"Er, I think you're right..."
Marcel found that the old saying about wisdom coming with age was indeed true. In front of such a person, his own little cleverness had little room to maneuver. Right now, for instance, he had no idea what to say. It felt like anything he said would be wrong.
"Well then, Severus, what do you think of Mr. Maclean's potion?" Dumbledore turned to Snape, as if wanting to hear his assessment.
Snape stared at the potion vial in his hand for a moment before giving his judgment.
"In terms of the formula and brewing process, it cannot be said to be particularly brilliant," Snape said. "However, the creative idea of using fairy wings to achieve invisibility is indeed commendable. In the past, this ingredient was only used for cosmetic and entertainment purposes. No one had ever thought that the secret to a fairy's invisibility came from its wings."
"Indeed. Almost all wizards believed that a fairy's invisibility stemmed from its innate magical talent," Dumbledore nodded in agreement with Snape's assessment.
At this point, Dumbledore looked at Marcel again, his gaze becoming serious. "Mr. Maclean, I wonder if you would be willing to submit your research for judgment by the International Confederation of Wizards? This could earn you a place in the history of Potions, and more importantly, your invention would enjoy the protection and benefits of the Confederation for the rest of your life... Of course, after you pass away, the formula will be made public, but I personally don't see anything wrong with that."
Marcel had considered this question before. Hearing Dumbledore bring it up now, he naturally had no objections.
"Of course. Thank you for being willing to endorse my potion formula," he nodded immediately.
Any wizard's invention required the recommendation of a Confederation member to be accepted. With Dumbledore, the current Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, personally recommending it, nothing could be better.
Once the Fae-Fade Potion received the Confederation's approval, its fame would surely soar. It would be like getting a massive advertising campaign with an official seal of authority.
"This is a huge pile of Galleons," Marcel couldn't help but think.
This time, Dumbledore didn't say much more to Marcel. He told Marcel to go back and prepare three vials of the Fae-Fade Potion and then let him leave.
The next day at breakfast, Marcel was surrounded by Harry and the others. Harry and Hermione kept whispering their thanks, while Ron felt guilty for not being able to help much due to his injured hand. Hermione, in particular, had received a lot of help from Marcel in some of her advanced studies, and this incident made her feel incredibly grateful to him.
"Exams are coming up soon. We shouldn't keep bothering Marcel!" After chatting for a bit, Hermione shooed Harry and Ron back to the Gryffindor table.
Yes, without realizing it, the exams were almost upon them. It was only now that Marcel belatedly realized he had been at Hogwarts for nearly a year. Although his academic progress was there for all to see, he felt that apart from some decent achievements in Potions, his other subjects were quite average.
To put it bluntly, he wasn't measuring himself against the standard of a "first-year student," but that was hardly his fault.
In this final period, everyone was nervously preparing for the upcoming exams, but Marcel paid them no mind. It wasn't that he thought the exams were unimportant, but rather that his standards for himself were a bit too high.
Marcel had always felt that he probably hadn't even reached the level of a newly employed Auror, and a sense of crisis was his constant companion. When he thought about what might happen in the future, he had the urge to apply for a Time-Turner.
"And so far, there's been no progress at all in my research on the Scroll of Truth. It's so frustrating."
Marcel listlessly pushed a pile of draft paper aside. The wind from the open window gently blew past, flipping the pages. If anyone had been beside him, they would have been shocked—every page of the bound manuscript was crammed with all sorts of strange symbols.
After trying all sorts of deciphering methods without any success, Marcel had decided to try the stupid way: copying. But the thousands of times he had copied the script had brought him nothing but frustration.
"Rowena Ravenclaw called it the Scroll of Truth, but in this world, what exactly is truth?" Having gotten nowhere, Marcel began to let his mind wander.
But as he spoke, his heart suddenly jolted.
"Wait, I remember in the little bronze eagle's first few questions..." Marcel gradually retrieved the memories he had ignored. He murmured to himself, "'Of all things in the world, what is truth?' My answer at the time was—"
"Matter drives phenomena; mind enacts the laws... a complementary cycle, born together and destroyed together?" As he said it, he himself became a bit skeptical.
Frankly, it had been a complete guess at the time. In Marcel's mind, there was no foundational basis for it. It was just a conjecture based on the profound magical theories he had read in the Restricted Section.
But now, it had become a vague breakthrough point.
"Which is to say, if I can find the connection between spirit and matter, perhaps I can make a discovery!" Although he wasn't sure, Marcel was visibly excited.
In the days that followed, Marcel's state was such that people were a little hesitant to approach him. He was often in a daze, and when he was, he was completely deaf to anyone speaking to him. It seemed as if his whole being was immersed in the strange symbols on the Scroll of Truth, as if he had become a different person.
Fortunately, most people were a bit dazed themselves recently, as the exam date was drawing ever closer.
But just as everyone was busy with their own exam preparations, a long-overdue detention notice was delivered to Marcel.
"Oh, right, right. Although it seems I wasn't docked points, there's no way to avoid the punishment. I did set an example myself, after all," Marcel said, shaking his head with a wry face as he casually stuffed the slip of paper into his jacket pocket.
At eleven o'clock that night, Marcel arrived at the entrance hall and saw Filch waiting for him there.
Just as he and Filch were glaring at each other, Harry and Hermione arrived, followed by Neville. And, of course, Malfoy, who had been caught red-handed by Professor McGonagall that night.
"Follow me," Filch said, lighting a lamp and leading them out. "I think you'll think twice about breaking the rules in the future, won't you? Hmm?"
He squinted at them and continued, "Oh, yes... hard work and pain are the best teachers, if you ask me... It's a pity they let the old punishments die out—hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days. I've still got the chains in my office, keep 'em well oiled in case they're ever needed... Right, off we go, and don't think of running off, now. It'll be worse for you if you do."
Marcel paid no attention to Filch's complaints and ramblings. He was seizing every moment, trying to find some inspiration from his thoughts and speculations.
They strode across the dark grounds. Neville kept sniffing. Harry kept wondering what their punishment would be. It must be something terrible, or Filch wouldn't be so cheerful.
The moonlight was very bright today, but clouds would occasionally drift by, covering it and leaving the ground in darkness.
They could see the lamp-lit windows of Hagrid's hut, not hard to spot at night. Then, they heard a loud shout from the distance.
"Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started."
Harry's heart flooded with relief. If they were going to be working with Hagrid, it wouldn't be so bad.
His relief must have shown on his face, because Filch said, "I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Think again, boy—it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece."
At these words, Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.
"The forest?" he repeated, his voice not nearly as calm as usual. "We can't go in there at night—there's all sorts of things in there—werewolves, I heard!"
"Werewolves don't like living in the Forbidden Forest," Marcel suddenly spoke up. "There's no room for them to live safely there during their day-to-day lives."