Hermione covered her face, letting out a desperate whimper. The sound didn't seem human; it was more like an injured little beast.
Her eyes had transformed into yellow, vertical slits, and a pair of long, pointed ears sprouted from the top of her head, twitching with her emotions. Worse still, a fluffy black tail poked out from beneath her robes, swishing anxiously and making soft thwack sounds against the bedsheets.
"Look at me!" Moaning Myrtle squealed joyfully, doing somersaults in the air, seemingly having finally found someone more pathetic than herself. "Look at me! This is absolutely brilliant!"
"This is the price." Rove stood there, gazing deeply at Hermione. There was no mockery on his face, only an expression of profound respect.
"What price?" Ron stared at Hermione's tail in horror, subconsciously touching his own behind. "Is she going to stay like this forever? I mean... what if she can only eat mice from now on?"
"This is the curse of the Skin-changer, and the trial of the Druid." Rove stepped forward and dropped to one knee, bringing himself level with Hermione's eyes.
> [Target Status Update: Feral Form]
> [Race: Catfolk / Khajiit]
> [Stat Modifiers: Agility +5, Night Vision Max, Charisma +10 (to specific furry demographics), Social Skills -20]
> [Passive Skills: Immunity to Falling Damage, Uncontrollable Urge to Pounce on Moving Objects]
"Hermione," Rove's voice was gentle and solemn, "do not be ashamed. In the distant East, or in the deserts of Elsweyr, the Catfolk are agile and noble warriors. You sacrificed your human form to infiltrate the enemy camp; what noble dedication! You are a hero who fights for intelligence."
Hermione peeked at him through her fingers, her yellow eyes brimming with tears. "What are you talking about? I just grabbed the wrong hair! It was Millicent's cat's hair! Polyjuice Potion isn't supposed to be used for this!"
"The process doesn't matter, only the result." Rove pulled a wooden comb from his pocket. "Here, let me help you tidy up. As a Ranger, I know how to soothe the soul of a beast. Do you need a little... Moon Sugar? Or catnip?"
He tentatively reached out, wanting to comb the fur on Hermione's ears.
"Don't touch me!" Hermione shrieked, backhanding him with a clawed swipe.
Snikt—
Rove jumped back nimbly, looking at the three torn gashes on his sleeve, and nodded in satisfaction.
"Excellent reaction time." He praised. "It seems your Agility stat has indeed increased significantly. With attack speed like that, even an Orc Berserker would have to think twice."
...
Madam Pomfrey wasn't too surprised by Hermione's appearance; after all, students turning themselves into all sorts of weird things was a common occurrence at Hogwarts. However, she severely reprimanded them for messing around with such dangerous potions. She pulled the curtains around Hermione's bed tight, preventing anyone from seeing her furry face.
"It will take a few days for her to recover." Madam Pomfrey told Harry and Rove sternly, holding a vial of potion that emitted purple smoke. "Don't just stand there gaping, get back to bed! If I catch you wandering around at night again..."
Stepping out of the Hospital Wing, the corridors were empty, moonlight spilling across the flagstones.
"Do you think she'll really be alright?" Harry asked worriedly. "I mean, what if she can't change back..."
"Then she'll be Hogwarts's only combat Druid." Rove shrugged. "But I'll protect her. Even if she can only eat cat food from now on, I can catch the best mice for her in the Forbidden Forest. Though I think Madam Pomfrey's healing skills are probably a bit better than Elrond's in Rivendell."
...
January had arrived, and Hogwarts was covered in thick snow every day, making it the perfect time to sleep in.
In a corner of the Hospital Wing.
"Open up." Rove held a medium-rare tuna sandwich, specially sourced from the kitchen house-elves.
"I won't eat it!" Hermione Granger, or rather, the currently "half-Catfolk" Gryffindor know-it-all, angrily turned her head away.
With her movement, the pointed ears poking out of her messy hair twitched, and her long black tail thrashed restlessly against the sheets.
> [Target Status Update: Feral Form]
> [Race Identification: Druid / Shapeshifter]
> [Current Phase: Heart of the Wild - Integration 85%]
> [Warning: Target emotionally unstable, risk of biting.]
"This is to keep your strength up, warrior." Rove advised patiently, maintaining his solemn respect for a comrade-in-arms. "In this form, your metabolism is three times faster than a normal human. You need high protein. Especially fish, it helps maintain the sharpness of your night vision."
"I am not a warrior! And I'm not doing some Druid training!" Hermione shrieked frantically, but when Rove brought the sandwich close to her nose, it twitched involuntarily, and her yellow vertical pupils dilated instantly.
It smells so good!
Biological instinct forced her to gulp.
"See, the body is honest." Rove nodded in satisfaction, seizing the opportunity to shove the sandwich into her hands. "Eat. In the deserts of Elsweyr, Khajiit caravans rely on this to cross the storms."
Hermione glared at him resentfully, but grabbed the sandwich and began wolfing it down anyway. She ate very fast, even showing a hint of tearing motion. Clearly, the Polyjuice Potion's side effects weren't just physical.
Sitting nearby, Harry and Ron tried hard to suppress their laughter, their faces turning bright red.
"Don't laugh, Sam, Pippin." Rove turned his head, sweeping a stern gaze over them. "This is the price paid for intelligence. Miss Hermione Granger sacrificed her human form to infiltrate the Slytherin den; such spirit is comparable to sneaking into Mordor alone. We should pay our highest respects, not laugh at her whiskers."
"I wasn't laughing at her whiskers!" Ron finally couldn't hold it back anymore, letting out a weird laugh like a deflating balloon. "But I swear, when she drank pumpkin juice earlier, she had barbs on her tongue!"
"Shut up, Ron!" Hermione yelled somewhat indistinctly. Before, this would have been very intimidating, but now, paired with those twitching ears, it just made her seem...
"A little cute." Harry commented honestly.
"That's 'Feral Charm'." Rove corrected.
A notification scrolled across the system interface: Determined Hermione's Charisma has increased by 10 points in this form. Especially when facing specific factions (Magical Creature Enthusiasts).
Until one night, while Rove was passing the second-floor corridor, he found the floor covered in water.
The water was flowing out of Myrtle's bathroom, flooding the corridor like a small river.
"Myrtle again." Rove frowned, drawing the frying pan from his waist. "A water attack? Is the Slytherin monster a giant octopus? Or... is this a recreation of the 'Dead Marshes'?"
He waded into the bathroom. Harry and Ron had also arrived, and they saw Rove standing in the doorway, looking vigilant.
Myrtle was hiding in a stall, crying loudly, her sobs echoing deafeningly between the tiled walls.
"What's wrong, Myrtle?" Harry asked loudly, trying to be heard over her crying.
"Someone threw something at me!" Myrtle shrieked, poking half her transparent head out of the toilet. "I'm already dead, and people are still throwing books at me! Who cares about the feelings of a miserable wretch dead in a toilet! I just wanted to be dead in peace for a while!"
"Who threw it?" Rove looked around warily, holding the pan across his chest. "This is a ranged physical attack. Is there a sniper here?"
"Right over there!" Myrtle pointed under the sink.
Rove followed her finger.
Lying on the soaking wet floor was a small, black-bound book. It looked completely ordinary, like the kind of old diary you could buy in a Diagon Alley second-hand bookstore for two Sickles; even the cover was worn.
But when Rove's gaze fell upon it, the System interface instantly erupted in flashing red light.
> [Warning: High-Risk Magical Item Detected]
> [Item Name: Whispers of the Dark Lord / T.M. Riddle's Diary]
> [Type: Soul Vessel / Curse Carrier / Memetic Contamination Source]
> [Danger Level: SSS]
> [Attributes: Indestructible, Mind-corrupting, Soul-devouring]
"Don't touch it!" Rove shouted, his voice so loud it made Ron jump. He even subconsciously pushed Harry back a step.
"What's wrong?" Harry stumbled, catching himself on the sink. "It's just a diary."
"It's not just a diary, Harry." Rove stared intently at the black cover. "Look at the water around it... it's avoiding the book. This is the mark of an evil object; even natural elements reject it."
Indeed, although the floor was flooded, the diary remained perfectly dry, as if protected by an invisible force field.
"Then what should we do?" Ron gulped. "Call a professor?"
"No, the professors might be corrupted by it. Like Saruman corrupted by the Palantír." Rove shook his head. "It must be handled by someone with an iron will."
"Pick it up with something." Rove unhooked the frying pan from his back and carefully used the edge of the spatula attachment to touch the diary's edge.
Rove took a deep breath, wrapped his hand in his sleeve, quickly scooped it up, and immediately—tossed it into Harry's arms.
"Hold this." Rove said, his movement as fast as passing a hot potato.
"Hey? Why me?" Harry scrambled to catch it, nearly dropping it on the floor.
"You are the Chosen One." Rove said righteously, stepping back two paces to maintain a safe distance. "These cursed artifacts usually have some mind-corrupting power. While my willpower is strong, I'm afraid I might not be able to resist throwing it into Mount Doom. But you... you have a natural resistance to Dark Magic. You are Frodo, Harry. You are the Ring-bearer."
"Ring-bearer? Not this again, Rove." Harry sighed helplessly, but he still flipped the diary open.
On the first page was a faded name: T.M. Riddle.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle." Harry read. "The name sounds familiar. I feel like I've seen it somewhere."
"Maybe a dead Necromancer, or some sealed Dark Lord." Rove leaned in for a look, maintaining a posture ready to bolt at any second. The pages were completely blank, not even a spot of ink.
"No words? That's even more suspicious." Rove narrowed his eyes. "Be careful, Harry. Some books are traps themselves. If you write in it, it might suck out your soul, or turn you into a punctuation mark inside the book."
"Don't scare me." Harry closed the diary. "But this might be a clue. Fifty years ago... if Riddle was a student fifty years ago, he might know about the Chamber of Secrets. This could be our only breakthrough."
"Then investigate it." Rove nodded, his expression grave. "But be careful. If this diary starts talking to you, or tries to teach you about 'great power'... remember, immediately throw it in the toilet and flush. Do not put it on... I mean, do not trust it."
> [System Settlement]
> [Mission Complete: Slytherin's Secret (Phase 1)]
> [Reward: Master of Disguise Lv1]
> [Key Item Acquired: Riddle's Diary (Unidentified / Extremely Dangerous)]
Watching Harry stuff the diary into his pocket reminded Rove of the scene where Bilbo stuffed the Ring into his waistcoat pocket. A faint sense of unease rose in his heart, as if a giant eye was watching them from the void.
"This is the One Ring." He told himself mentally. "It will seek its master, it will corrupt minds through temptation. And we... we are playing with fire. Let's hope Harry's plot armor can withstand this dark power."