While Hermione was facing the cruel and vicious Voldemort, a smile of excitement was spreading across Marcel's face.
"Ha! Finally—finally got it!"
He was sitting in the Room of Requirement. On the table in front of him lay a piece of parchment, on which a single character was shimmering with a wondrous, ice-blue light. Even more surprisingly, the entire sheet of parchment was emitting a faint, cold aura, and frost was even spreading and solidifying on its surface.
"It really is like this," Marcel marveled. "How magical! This is a rule. It represents the rule of cooling for matter! This is the connection between spirit and matter!"
He carefully took the Scroll of Truth out from his robes. It was kept in a cylindrical case. As he slowly unrolled it, a stream of various kinds of information flowed from each symbol.
"These—does each one represent a rule?" Marcel moved his gaze slowly, looking at the magical symbols one by one, continuously sighing in admiration. "It's truly unimaginable who discovered them one by one and recorded them on this scroll... This really is the 'Scroll of Truth.' What it records are the immutable truths of all time!"
Although he was still unable to decipher all the rule-runes on it, with a good start, he believed the difficulty would be much lower from now on.
"Mmm, it's getting late. I should go to sleep," he said casually, rolling up the Scroll of Truth again and carefully placing it back in his robes.
Marcel casually drew a line across the rune representing cooling. The rune immediately lost its effect, and the ice crystals stopped forming. But in that short time, a small half of the entire table had been eroded by the cold, and icicles were hanging from its edges.
From this, it was clear that the effect of the rune was slow, but as long as the rune itself was not destroyed, it would continue to work, and its power was considerable.
He packed everything up, then took a sip of Fae-Fade Potion and left the Room of Requirement.
Hogwarts at night was as dark as ever, but Marcel was long used to it. He moved lightly downstairs, his speed swift as he followed the familiar path, without making a single sound.
Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide as if he had seen something incredible.
"Quirrell!" Marcel stared at the figure running out from the fourth-floor corridor and quickly heading downstairs, a look of disbelief on his face. "What's that in his hand? The Philosopher's Stone? Could it be—"
Marcel knew he had missed something. The Philosopher's Stone was revealed when Quirrell's sleeve fluttered, faintly glowing with a golden light that was particularly striking in the darkness.
"How is this possible!" Marcel quickened his pace and followed. He was currently invisible and wasn't worried about being discovered by Quirrell.
Quirrell was fast, but Marcel was faster. The dark times he had spent in Topoint had not been for nothing. His speed was extremely swift, and he steadily followed behind Quirrell, who had no idea he was there.
After the two of them rounded a corner, Marcel was shocked again.
"Hermione?"
Perhaps he had been too focused on the golden glow of the Philosopher's Stone, or perhaps the angle had been wrong. It was only now that he noticed Hermione, held in Quirrell's hand.
She seemed to have been bewitched, held motionlessly by Quirrell's side, yet as light as air.
"What should I do?" Marcel hesitated. He couldn't act rashly; the other party had a hostage.
Encountering this situation again, although Marcel had prepared countermeasures after the lesson he learned with Luna, at this critical moment, he hesitated once more.
No matter how effective the method, there was always the fear of a one-in-a-million chance of failure. He decided to wait a little longer.
Although he didn't know why Dumbledore hadn't appeared yet, Marcel believed that the unfathomably great white wizard surely still had everything under control.
Following along, both parties moved quite fast. Before long, they had reached the main entrance of Hogwarts.
Quirrell's goal was to leave Hogwarts, but he couldn't Apparate within the castle grounds. He had to get outside the boundaries. There was still a chance!
But even after passing Hagrid's hut, there was still no sign of Dumbledore. He couldn't wait any longer.
Marcel reached into his outer robe, then with a sudden flick of his wrist, threw a pink bottle straight at Quirrell. Following that, with a point of his wand, the bottle suddenly shattered, and a pink mist enveloped Quirrell.
"Incendio!" Marcel waved his wand in a swift motion, precisely controlling the flames to form a circle on the ground, trapping Quirrell and the pink mist in the center.
"Hold your breath!" a deep voice rang out, followed by another sentence. "Fool! You still need me to waste extra energy and act myself."
It was Voldemort!
As he spoke, he controlled Quirrell to step over the circle of fire without even scorching a corner of his robe. That must have been the effect of a Freezing Charm.
Quirrell, emerging from the flames, had a terrifying crimson glint in his eyes.
"The atomizing effect of the Sleeping Draught is still too low," Marcel said, staring at him calmly, his hands not stopping for a moment.
"Protego." "Reducto!"
The two spells were cast almost simultaneously, but Marcel seemed to be a fraction of a second earlier. Voldemort's spell was blocked. Not only that, but Voldemort's spell was even reflected back by the magical shield that had appeared in front of Marcel. Voldemort hastily dodged. The light of the Reductor Curse grazed past him, shredding his sleeve.
"Looks like he really is still very weak," Marcel thought, carefully assessing Voldemort's condition while once again waving his wand. He had to suppress Voldemort and not give him a chance to use Hermione as a threat.
"Expelliarmus!" "Protego!"
Again, the incantations were shouted almost at the same time. On the surface, it seemed there wasn't much difference in their practical application, but Marcel knew in his heart that Voldemort's stamina was a major issue. He was currently hunched over, clearly lacking the strength to match his will.
Expelliarmus was just a low-difficulty spell, but the power of a spell always varied with the user's strength. A thin, crimson beam of magical energy shot from the tip of Marcel's wand, directly breaking through the magical shield in front of Voldemort. Quirrell's wand spun in the air, having left his grasp.
"Stupefy!"
Casting another spell, Marcel moved like the wind, unleashing his top speed. He had to get Hermione back as soon as possible to secure the advantage he had fought so hard to gain.
"Three steps... two steps... almost there... got her!" Marcel counted the distance in his mind. After grabbing Hermione, he used all his strength to throw her backward.
Just as Marcel was about to relax, he caught Hermione's terrified gaze.
The next moment, a large hand reached out from behind Marcel and viciously grabbed his neck. The force was so great that the fingernails dug into his skin.
Another hand snatched Marcel's wand, taking it from him.
"Good, very good! This is excellent!" Voldemort's voice came from behind Marcel, filled with fury. "It's been a long time since I've seen such a talented young wizard."
"You must be Marcel Maclean. Quirrell mentioned you to me..." he said sinisterly. "A first-year, to be able to do so much in just your first year is truly unbelievable."
"Heh," Marcel gave a dry laugh. "How could I compare to you? I thought your power was supreme, my great Dark Lord!"
"Hmph," Voldemort sneered. "Such insincere words. I have rarely heard them."
"No, I'm telling the truth!" Marcel's neck was being squeezed, making it hard for him to breathe. He struggled to get the next words out. "I just wanted to save my friend, but I have no hostility towards you, it's true! I swear it on Merlin!"
"Good then. If you become my hostage and behave, then—" Voldemort's disdainful words were cut short as he noticed a sudden movement.
"Dumbledore," Voldemort frowned, staring intently at a spot not far away, where a figure was materializing.
"It seems I am a little late," Dumbledore said, also staring at him, his eyes glinting with what could be either regret or guilt.
Marcel looked at Dumbledore's figure and knew he had been trying for a surprise attack by using a Disillusionment Charm. But unexpectedly, he was still a step too late, and Marcel had been captured by Voldemort first.
Just my luck!
Marcel thought to himself, but he opened his mouth again. "Dumbledore, I've already pledged my allegiance to the Dark Lord! Did you know? I don't need your help. The great Dark Lord is right! The Dark Arts are the ultimate magic that every wizard should pursue. A stubborn old man with a long beard like you would never understand!"
While Marcel was flattering Voldemort in every way he could, he was secretly giving Dumbledore a look, signaling him to take Hermione away as soon as possible.
Dumbledore frowned, looking at Marcel without a word, as if he were truly provoked by Marcel's words.
"Heh heh," Voldemort sneered. "It seems you really do think so. I can understand. I experienced the same thing at your age. Especially since you are also clever and have a deep desire for powerful magic..."
"In your spells, I can feel that craving for ultimate destructive power. Good. If you help me leave, I will grant you a place among the Death Eaters."
Being a child had its advantages and disadvantages. How to flexibly use them, to turn disadvantages into advantages, depended on personal ability. For example, being underestimated. At this moment, Voldemort was as arrogant as ever, which prevented him from seeing the truth of things as Dumbledore could.
Marcel had just spewed a stream of slander against Dumbledore, and it had already earned him Voldemort's favor. Whether this favor was genuine or not was yet to be seen, but at least he had secured his temporary safety.
He cooperated with Voldemort and began to move away. Dumbledore shifted his feet but remained where he was. Behind Dumbledore, Hermione, lying on the ground, stared fixedly at the retreating Marcel, not blinking once, her vision blurring with unshed tears.