Chapter 65

Silven followed behind Dumbledore, the two of them walking in silence through the night-shrouded grounds.

Hagrid did not follow; he believed that since Dumbledore had returned to the school, there was nothing to worry about, and the thief coveting the Philosopher’s Stone would be dealt with soon enough.

He was needed more at Fluffy’s side—poor little thing must be in so much pain—Hagrid’s heart clenched again and again, and tears welled up once more.

All because of that shameless, despicable thief—once Professor Dumbledore caught him, he would make sure to give him a proper beating.

While Hagrid tended to Fluffy, Dumbledore and Silven had already entered the castle and stopped in the entrance hall.

The castle was in utter chaos from the three-headed dog: twisted, warped staircases hung suspended in midair, trembling and on the verge of collapse; broken marble railings lay scattered everywhere; the portraits on the walls screamed in panic, scrambling frantically into safer frames.

The professors, alerted by the commotion, all emerged—Professor McGonagall was the first to approach.

“I know everything, Minerva,” Dumbledore said before she could speak. “Were any students injured?”

“Thankfully, none,” Professor McGonagall replied, her tone sharp. “I’ve always said putting a three-headed dog inside the castle was asking for trouble. At least no students were caught in this mess.”

“Actually, there was one,” Dumbledore said.

“What?” Professor McGonagall tensed instantly, her voice trembling. “Who? What’s their condition?”

“They should be fine—or you can ask them yourself,” Dumbledore said, stepping slightly aside.

Only then did Professor McGonagall notice Silven behind him.

“Ollivander? You… how?” Her face darkened. “Why aren’t you in your dormitory at this hour?”

“I didn’t sneak out—I can prove it with Madam Pomfrey!” Silven hurried to say. He glanced at Dumbledore, who showed no urgency, so he decided to explain patiently.

“I went to visit Fred and George. On my way back, I suddenly heard noise from the fourth floor…”

Silven recounted the entire sequence.

Besides Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore listened intently as well.

“I must thank you, Mr. Ollivander,” he said solemnly. “You lured the three-headed dog out of the castle and assisted Hagrid in subduing it, preventing a far greater disaster.”

“But it was far too dangerous—he’s only in first year,” Professor McGonagall said sternly. “When facing a large beast, the stupidest thing you can do is run into open space. You should have used the castle’s layout to wait for professorial support.”

“I just happened to see Hagrid at the time,” Silven said.

Professor McGonagall’s expression softened slightly, and another thought occurred to her.

“You said someone entered the room on the fourth floor? Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Silven shook his head. “I didn’t see him.”

“Professor McGonagall! Headmaster Dumbledore!”

At that moment, a scream came from afar—two more figures ran over.

“Granger? Weasley?” Professor McGonagall nearly choked.

Not two more Gryffindors again?!

“Headmaster, Harry… he…” Ron gasped for breath, pointing frantically upstairs.

“Harry went to track him down, is that right?” Dumbledore asked.

Both nodded vigorously.

Dumbledore immediately sprinted toward the fourth floor; Silven hurried after him.

Professor McGonagall was still speaking with the other two and didn’t notice Silven’s subtle move—allowing him to successfully follow Dumbledore up to the fourth-floor corridor.

Most of the railings and staircases damaged by the three-headed dog had been repaired, but the door still lay on the ground.

When they arrived, Professor Flitwick was about to leap through the trapdoor.

“Leave it to us, Filius,” Dumbledore said.

Hearing this, Professor Flitwick looked slightly disappointed but nodded and stepped away from the trapdoor, continuing to repair the railings and walls.

“Why don’t you go down first?” Dumbledore extended his hand in a gesture of invitation.

Silven immediately leapt through the trapdoor.

The passage was long; cold, damp air rushed past his ears. His descent slowed, his body grew light—as if something were supporting him from behind—until he landed gently on the ground, like a feather.

Beside him was a massive tangle of vines, thick tendrils gently writhing like a dozen entwined octopuses.

Strange—he had passed right through the plant without feeling a thing.

“Devil’s Snare,” Dumbledore appeared beside him. “I’m sure you could handle this small problem, but we’re pressed for time.”

“Come on, follow me—this time I’ll lead.” Dumbledore quickened his pace.

They pushed open the next door, revealing a room filled with countless birds, each glowing like precious gems, darting about in flight.

These birds were all keys—but only one could unlock the door across the room.

Yet Dumbledore made no effort to search; he walked straight to the opposite side, pulled out a key, and unlocked the door.

“Filius just gave me this,” he said, smiling as he held up a large key. “Hurry up.”

Next came the enormous magical chessboard, but when they entered, the pieces had not yet fully recovered from their damaged state.

“How lucky—I’ve never been good at wizard’s chess,” Dumbledore said, speeding through the room again.

They reached another door—behind it lay Quirrell’s trial.

But inside was not the troll Silven expected, only several red hats, all motionless, sprawled haphazardly on the floor.

This time, Dumbledore said nothing and walked straight through.

He pulled open the next door; as soon as they crossed the threshold, purple flames erupted behind them, while black flames surged forward at the entrance ahead.

“Do we need to solve a riddle?” Silven glanced at the long table and the bottles arranged upon it.

This was Snape’s trial—only by drinking the correct potion could one pass through the flames.

“The correct steps are indeed those, but as I’ve always said—we’re running out of time.”

In Dumbledore’s hand, a wand had appeared—without warning, he flicked it lightly.

The black flames instantly split apart, leaving a wide, clear passage in the center.

Silven did not notice this miraculous act—his gaze was locked firmly on Dumbledore’s hand holding the wand.

[Laurel wood, dragon heartstring, thirteen and a quarter inches]

[Status: Broken, Stagnant]

[Properties: Spell range -10%; Magic concentration speed -10%; Fire magic effect +3%]

(End of Chapter)