Marcel was dragged by the neck all the way to the main entrance of Hogwarts by Voldemort. By now, the grip had loosened slightly, but there was no intention of letting him go.
Standing before the enchanted main gates, Voldemort paused. He pointed Marcel's wand at the gate, but there was no reaction.
"Damn it! It's resisting me—" Voldemort said hatefully. "You, open the gate with it. I shouldn't have to tell you how, should I?"
Marcel took the wand, but his neck was still in Voldemort's grasp. Although the other party hadn't said anything like "don't move," the sense of threat was still palpable.
He waved his wand, testing the gate, and a barrier immediately appeared on it.
"Finite Incantatem."
Marcel swung his wand in two arcs, and a beam of magical light struck the center of the barrier. But Marcel's counter-spell was clearly weaker than the caster's. It took a good while for the barrier to completely disappear.
The main gate of Hogwarts was opened by Marcel.
"Well done—" a terrifying smile suddenly appeared on the face of the Voldemort-controlled Quirrell. The hand gripping Marcel's neck tightened slightly.
But before he could finish his sentence, Marcel flipped his hand and cast a stunning spell. This time, he didn't even say the incantation—it was a nonverbal spell! Caught completely off guard, Voldemort was sent flying, and even the Philosopher's Stone he was holding fell to the ground.
"Accio Philosopher's Stone," Marcel said, summoning the Stone to his hand with a wave of his wand.
But before he could cast his next spell, he saw Voldemort lunge towards the gate. With a crack, the space immediately began to distort.
"Damn!" Marcel turned around, but someone else was a step faster.
A jet of red light shot out like lightning, striking the center of the area distorted by Apparition with the force of something tearing through space. It was Dumbledore!
Marcel faintly heard Voldemort grunt. In an instant, the spatial distortion subsided.
"How did it go?" Marcel asked hurriedly.
Dumbledore walked over, shaking his head slightly.
"He's definitely injured, but he may not be dead."
Marcel frowned at these words. He hadn't expected that even under his close-range stunning spell, Voldemort would still have the strength to move. His vitality was as tenacious as a cockroach's.
It was a pity that Marcel's nonverbal spells weren't yet strong enough to cast more powerful magic. Otherwise, he might have been able to keep the Voldemort-possessed Quirrell at Hogwarts.
Just then, Dumbledore walked over, patted him on the shoulder, and said softly, "Fortunately, you recovered the Philosopher's Stone. Otherwise, the consequences would have been much more severe."
Marcel nodded at his words. He held up the Philosopher's Stone in his hand, his mood becoming unusually heavy.
"Voldemort must hate me now, but more importantly—"
For Marcel at this moment, the most terrifying thing was not Voldemort's escape, but that everything was veering off onto an unknown trajectory. Although he didn't remember everything, he could at least remember some key points. But now, his own memories had become unreliable.
Most importantly, he knew with certainty that he himself was the one who had caused this series of huge changes.
"The butterfly effect."
Marcel whispered to himself, his gaze never leaving the spot where Voldemort had disappeared. Reflected in his eyes were the twinkling stars in the distant sky. They looked unusually deep and serene, yet seemed to be filled with a deep gloom.
Marcel stood there silently, lost in thought...
But no matter how Marcel's state of mind had changed, what needed to continue continued. Time would not stand still for him alone.
Marcel had no interest in following up on how Dumbledore considered the incident or how he arranged for its aftermath.
As he hurried past Hermione, who had already been freed by Dumbledore, the teary-eyed little girl was smiling at him with joy. But he didn't even glance at her. He just walked past her, his steps heavy as he headed towards Hogwarts Castle.
"Marcel—" Hermione called out, but Marcel didn't seem to hear.
Knock, knock!
Standing in front of the door to the Ravenclaw Tower, Marcel knocked rudely.
"Caw? What's wrong? You look like the world is about to end," the little bronze eagle on the door knocker blinked, flapping its wings and landing on his head.
"It's nothing. I've made some progress with the runes on the Scroll of Truth, so I came to talk to you," Marcel said, not wanting to talk about what had just happened.
"Caw? Really? So soon?" the little bronze eagle said in surprise, immediately taking Marcel back to the Ravenclaw secret chamber.
In the secret chamber, Marcel showed the little eagle the effect of the cooling rune.
The little bronze eagle nodded. "Yes, you are now qualified to seek the next trial! If you pass the trial correctly, you will have the opportunity to witness the true charm of the rule-runes—"
At this point, the little bronze eagle suddenly landed on the table in front of Marcel and said solemnly, "—and the danger of touching the rules!"
"Danger?" Marcel was stunned for a moment, then nodded.
Although his understanding of the rule-runes was still only scratching the surface, he knew that if such a profound thing were used improperly, unforeseen dangers would surely occur. It was something one could figure out with their butt. Now that the bronze eagle had mentioned it, he naturally had some speculations.
"What is the next trial?" Marcel asked after a moment of contemplation.
The little bronze eagle tilted its head and cackled a few times. "This trial will take a lot of time, because you need to enjoy a long sea voyage."
"Er, how long?" Marcel frowned.
"However long it takes you to get from here to Albania, that's how long this journey will be," the little bronze eagle said. "On the way, you also have to go to a place... Bookshelf No. 1. Take down the Logbook of Elis's Voyage from the top shelf—"
Marcel waved his wand to move the bookshelf aside. From a distance, he saw an unusually large, thick-bound book lying horizontally on top of the others.
"Caw, that's the one, the biggest one!" the little bronze eagle squawked.
Marcel waved his wand again, and the large logbook floated over to him. He placed the large, heavy book on the table and gently opened the cover.
"You can read the rest on the way. First, flip to the end. There's a nautical chart tucked inside," the little bronze eagle said. After Marcel had unfolded the chart, it continued, "The route marked in red ink is your journey this time. Take a good look! See that little cross halfway? That's an island, and also—"
At this point, the little eagle paused before continuing, "—the place where Rowena and Ravenclaw met."
"What?" Marcel's face showed astonishment, and all sorts of conjectures immediately flashed through his mind.
"It's a secret that's not really a secret," the little bronze eagle said, shaking its little head. "To be honest, this matter isn't important to you. But if you want to know more, you can have a look around when you get there."
"Alright, we'll talk about everything else after you get back. For now, I wish you a pleasant journey! Caw caw caw!" The little eagle's sharp laughter gave Marcel a headache.
"I say, when I get to this... Lake Rëku in Albania? What then? What should I do?" Marcel asked hurriedly, looking at the unfamiliar place names on the map.
He didn't want to get there and have to figure out what to do next.
"Dive in, of course! What do you think?"
Marcel nodded in understanding and muttered to himself, "I wonder if a summer holiday is enough. I hope there's enough time—"
"Wait," he said, his tone suddenly changing, a complex look flashing across his face. "Since I have this opportunity, why not..."
After his conversation with the little bronze eagle, Marcel continued to browse through the vast number of books on the shelves. He even planned to take a few useful ones with him to read carefully on the way.
Not all the books here were records of magical theory; there were also many records of experiments, both successful and failed. Although a lot of time had passed, and much of the research had lost its timeliness, using them as a reference for ideas could still provide Marcel with an extremely rich harvest.
After all, these were the books of the famous witch of her time—Rowena Ravenclaw!
This time, Marcel stayed there for almost three whole days. Every day, apart from necessary matters, he spent all his time in the secret chamber.
By the way, because no one could find him, he missed Hufflepuff's last Quidditch match.
Surprisingly, although Ravenclaw had been leading in house points from the beginning, it was Hufflepuff's great beauty, Charlotte, who ultimately caught the Golden Snitch to end the match. This couldn't help but draw enthusiastic cheers from the teachers and students in the stands.
When Marcel came out again, Harry had already been in the hospital wing for three days, mending his bones. Madam Pomfrey's potions were very effective, and his bones had long since healed, but Madam Pomfrey insisted on observing him for a few more days before letting him go.
That day, when Marcel arrived, he found that Dumbledore was already there. Not just Dumbledore, but Hermione and Ron were there with Harry as well.
The moment Marcel stepped into the hospital wing, Hermione was the first to spot him.
"Marcel! You—"
She had just started to speak when she immediately recalled the scene from three days ago. It wasn't just the experience of battling wits and courage with Voldemort; what had left the deepest impression on Hermione was the moment Marcel had walked past her at the end.
Marcel himself couldn't remember what kind of expression he had been wearing at that time, but Hermione still remembered it vividly, as if that moment were still right before her eyes.
Thinking of that gloomy face, a mixture of anger, astonishment, and regret, Hermione couldn't help but close her mouth. She didn't know what Marcel was thinking, but being as clever as she was, she could vaguely understand that it was not something others could easily touch upon. She didn't want to, and didn't dare to, casually touch upon it.
No matter how clever Hermione was, she was still just a girl in her early teens. She had no idea how to handle the vague and complex state of her own heart.
"Hmm?" Marcel looked at her. "Oh, Hermione. Were you okay that day? Were you hurt anywhere?"
"N-no..." Hermione stammered, answering in a low voice.
"That's good. As long as you're fine," Marcel said with a smile and a nod, then walked over to Harry's bed.