Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way, Christmas is here.
The Great Hall of Hogwarts was still decorated magnificently. Twelve giant Christmas trees were laden with glittering holly berries and singing magical snowmen. Warm, dry snow fell from the ceiling, and the air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of roast turkey and Christmas pudding.
"Eat more, Sam." Rove stuffed roast potatoes into his mouth while speaking seriously to Ron. "Once we cross that line and enter enemy territory, there will be no hot food. Only cold rocks, moldy bread, and Orc whips. The place we're going, even rats wouldn't want to spend the night there."
Ron, cheeks stuffed like a hamster with pudding, asked muffledly, "You mean the Slytherin dungeons? Heard it's pretty cold down there, right under the Black Lake. But I heard their food isn't bad..."
Rove didn't answer. Instead, taking advantage of Professor Flitwick conducting the choir, he swiftly grabbed a still-dripping roast turkey leg, wrapped it in oil paper, and skillfully stuffed it into a specially made pocket inside his robes.
> [Item Acquired: Advanced Marching Rations x1]
> [Attributes: Restore Stamina +50, Boost Morale +10]
> [Evaluation: A true Ranger never refuses any food source.]
"What are you doing?" Hermione leaned over, asking in a hushed voice. She looked extremely nervous, pale-faced, clutching the last ingredient for the Polyjuice Potion—powdered skin of a boomslang.
"Strategic reserves." Rove patted his bulging chest, acting as if it were obvious. "If we get trapped down there, or need to wage a protracted war behind enemy lines, this could save lives. You never know when famine will strike."
After the feast, while other students returned to their common rooms to open presents, Harry, Ron, and Rove slipped into the second-floor girls' bathroom under the cover of night.
Myrtle was sitting on the cistern, swinging her transparent legs, looking at them with schadenfreude. "Oh, planning another prank? If you die, I don't mind sharing this toilet with you."
Hermione ignored her, walked straight to the furthest stall, and lifted the cauldron's lid.
A puff of black smoke rose. The substance looked like boiling mud or cursed asphalt, bubbling ominously.
"Alright." Hermione's voice trembled, partly from nerves, partly from excitement. "It's done."
Rove leaned in for a look and pinched his nose.
> [Item Analysis: Polyjuice Potion]
> [System Judgment: Orc Transformation Elixir]
> [Ingredients: Leeches, Fluxweed, Bicorn Horn... and a dash of dark determination.]
> [Effect: Racial Disguise / Gene Recombination]
> [Side Effects: Extreme nausea, possible permanent psychological trauma]
"It smells like rotten cabbage boiled in smelly socks." Ron covered his nose and took a step back, his face turning green. "Are we really going to drink this? I think even poison smells better."
"This is inferior Orc grog." Rove said without changing expression, though his stomach churned, forcing himself to stay calm. "In Isengard's underground factories, Uruk-hai grow up drinking this stuff. It grants us savage strength and a cruel appearance, letting us blend into the darkness. Drink it, and we become part of the abyss."
He took out three glass tumblers and carefully ladled out the cement-like potion.
"We need to add the 'essence' of the transformation target." Hermione's hand shook as she took out two hairs. "This is Millicent Bulstrode's... I got it from her robes during the Dueling Club. That girl's strong as an ox."
Harry took out Goyle's hair, coarse as bristles; Ron took out Crabbe's, which had some unknown crumbs stuck to it.
Rove looked at the black hair in his hand—he'd swiped it from a senior Slytherin's broomstick. The guy was named Blaise Zabini, looked thuggish with gloomy eyes, fitting Rove's image of an "Uruk-hai Captain."
"For the Shire." Rove raised his glass. "For Frodo. For those who can't return."
"To find the truth." Harry took a deep breath, like a man going to his death.
The three tilted their heads back simultaneously and downed the viscous, disgusting liquid.
In that instant, Rove felt like he'd swallowed burning coals or a razor blade.
> [Warning: Gene Recombination Initiated]
> [Overwriting biological signatures...]
> [Pain Level: Severe]
> [Loading Skin Texture: Rough... Adjusting Bone Density... Generating Fangs...]
His insides twisted, his skin felt like a million ants were biting it, every nerve screamed. He doubled over, gripping the edge of the sink tightly, watching himself transform in the mirror.
His face elongated like melting wax. Bones cracked. His delicate features became rugged and ferocious. His shoulders broadened, muscles bursting through shirt buttons, robes becoming tight.
When the pain finally subsided, standing before the mirror was no longer Rove Baggins, but a burly, thuggish Slytherin student with fierce eyes. His skin became dark and rough, a natural sneer at the corner of his mouth.
> [Disguise Complete]
> [Current Identity: Uruk-hai Berserker]
> [Strength +3, Intelligence -2, Charisma -5]
> [Passive Acquired: Slytherin Pass]
Rove tested clenching his fist, intoxicated by the feeling of power. He turned to see Harry had turned into Goyle, blankly touching his short hair, looking like his IQ had dropped by at least 50 points; Ron had turned into Crabbe, belly big as a beer barrel, trying to hike up his pants.
"Whoa." Ron looked at Rove, his voice gruff. "You look... like you really want to punch someone. If you walk out now, even Snape would give you points."
"This is the power of darkness." Rove said gruffly, his voice low and raspy. "Remember, we are Orcs now. Walk with a swagger, speak rudely, show disgust at anything beautiful. Think like those villains."
"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, adjusting to Goyle's clumsy body.
The door to Hermione's stall remained shut.
"I... I'm not going." Hermione's voice came from inside, sounding strange, as if she had something in her mouth or like some animal call. "You go... hurry, don't waste time."
"Hermione, are you okay?" Harry asked worriedly, trying to push the door.
"Go!" Hermione screamed. "That's an order! Leave me!"
Rove frowned. The System showed Hermione's vitals were stable, but the race field was garbled, and a [Feline] icon flashed.
> [Warning: Teammate Status Abnormal]
> [Non-human trait reaction detected]
> [Speculation: Failed Transfiguration? Or... Druid Form Shift?]
"Leave her." Rove made a snap decision, showing captain-like decisiveness. "Since she is our tactical commander, we must obey orders. Perhaps she is undergoing a deeper Druidic transformation to cover us. We only have one hour. Time is tight, move out!"
So, three menacing-looking "Slytherins" walked out of the bathroom, each step thudding heavily on the floor.
Rove still carried his frying pan on his back—though now it looked somewhat petite on his broad back, like a comical ornament or a heart-protector mirror.
"Wait," Ron pointed at the pan. "You're taking that while transformed? That's too weird. What Slytherin runs around with a pan on their back?"
"It's my totem." Rove glared at him, the fierce look making Ron shrink back. "Like an Orc war banner. I don't feel safe without it. Besides, if anyone asks, I'll say it's loot I just grabbed from the Hufflepuff kitchen. Fits our identity, right? Greed, gluttony."
They descended the stairs, the air getting colder and the light dimmer. Portraits in the corridors pointed at them, but this time out of fear, not curiosity.
"Remember the password." Harry whispered, trying to mimic Goyle's mumbled tone. "Pure-blood."
Rove sneered, a genuine disgust from his heart.
"What an arrogant password. Like writing 'I am a racist' on your forehead."
They stood before a damp stone wall. Harry cleared his throat and said in Goyle's thick voice: "Pure-blood."
The stone wall slid open slowly with a heavy grinding sound, revealing a long, low dungeon. The walls and ceiling were made of rough stone, and round green lamps hung on chains from the ceiling.
> [Environment: Fel Radiation (Mild)]
> [Mission Objective: Infiltrate and gather intel / Find Dark Lord's secrets]
Rove took a deep breath and stepped into the green gloom first, swaggering in.
"Dinner time, boys."