Chapter 67: Voldemort

Before Dumbledore emerged, the unicorn had already returned to the wand, so he saw nothing of what had transpired there.

The only thing that puzzled him was Voldemort's recent cry of agony—a scream even more horrific than the one when Quirrell had turned to ash.

What exactly had happened here… Dumbledore glanced at Silven stuffing bottles into his pocket, hesitated a moment, then asked nothing, only told him to take Harry to the infirmary later.

"Actually, nettle wine isn't bad either," Dumbledore added.

"Can't fit any more," Silven said, feigning calm, while unconsciously touching the pocket of his robe where his wand lay.

Somehow, a thin layer of frost had formed around his pocket.

Fortunately, the school robes were dark, and Dumbledore seemed not to have noticed this subtle change.

But Silven had understood another thing from his demeanor—he was now certain the three bottles contained no poison, just pure false advertising.

But it didn't matter; the only use the thing had now was to block his pocket, and perhaps later he could repurpose it—trade it in Diagon Alley for some gold. After all, even if discovered, it would only damage Snape's own reputation.

"It's time to return," Dumbledore said, pointing his wand backward; a stretcher floated out steadily, with the unconscious Harry lying upon it.

"Then I leave Harry in your care," Dumbledore said.

Though Silven desperately wanted to know what was on the unicorn's head, since Dumbledore had said so, he couldn't refuse—he nodded in agreement.

Then Dumbledore transported them both back to the fourth-floor corridor; this time faster than before—Silven didn't move at all, only felt a blur before his eyes, and when he opened them again, he stood atop the trapdoor.

Apparition? Or a Portkey? Silven glanced at the stretcher beside him.

But he quickly shook his head, dismissing both guesses.

First, Dumbledore hadn't touched him before, so it couldn't be Side-Along Apparition; second, he hadn't felt the characteristic tug of a Portkey.

Could it be Fawkes?

Silven instinctively searched the surroundings for Fawkes, but accidentally noticed the trapdoor beneath his feet had vanished, replaced by a solid floor.

How could this be? He had clearly seen it just moments ago…

A bold suspicion suddenly struck him—had he never moved at all, and had all the trial rooms simply disappeared?

"Hogwarts is a very magical place—even I cannot claim to know all its secrets."

Dumbledore now appeared on the other side, whispering: "I suggest you take some Dreamless Sleep Potion—it will let you sleep well tonight."

He glanced at Silven once more, then hurried away down the corridor.

Silven stood there staring at the floor for a while, and only after confirming no trace of the trapdoor remained did he push Harry toward the infirmary.

On the way, he saw Professor Flitwick soothing the portraits, and Professor McGonagall just restoring the staircase to its original state; Hermione and Ron were absent—likely sent back to their dormitory by McGonagall.

Upon seeing the unconscious Harry, Madam Pomfrey grew frantic, immediately laying him on a bed and carefully scanning him with her wand; she soon determined he had collapsed from extreme exhaustion.

"I've never seen anything like this at school," Madam Pomfrey blurted out. "His strength and spirit are both utterly drained—did he fight Death Eaters for three days and nights?"

Silven shrugged, saying nothing.

It hadn't been three days and nights, but he had indeed fought a Death Eater—and the leader of them all.

Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey showed no intention of probing further; she immediately poured two different potions down Harry's throat, then hurried off to prepare a third.

"Silven… Silven…"

No sooner had Madam Pomfrey left than Fred and George in the same ward asked: "What happened to Harry?"

"And Ron—he was brought here too, but McGonagall told us nothing."

"Ron?" Silven had only just noticed another bed nearby, its curtains drawn, from which faint, intermittent snores drifted.

It must be Ron.

"He didn't tell you?" Silven asked, puzzled.

Ron must have been brought here while delivering the message—back when he and Dumbledore were still in the entrance hall.

He didn't believe Fred and George had asked nothing during all that time.

"Don't mention it," Fred grumbled. "Madam Pomfrey was always here—we had to pretend to sleep."

"Just when she finally left for a moment, that idiot Ron fell asleep!" George hissed, his bandaged body trembling slightly—he was clearly furious.

"Well, they went up to the fourth floor and tackled the trials," Silven said casually.

"What trials?"

"I told you there'd be a surprise!"

The Weasley twins' eyes lit up.

But before Silven could say more, Madam Pomfrey returned.

"No loud talking—it disturbs others' rest," she glared at Silven.

"Do you have anything else?"

"No, nothing, Madam Pomfrey," Silven said, then immediately turned and left, ignoring Fred and George's protests.

The Weasley twins were stunned.

Their curiosity had just been sparked—and it was over already?

That's not how you treat people. Not how you treat wizards either!

Even if you told half—or a third—of it…

Too bad Silven couldn't hear their silent screams; he firmly left the infirmary—not because he was targeting the Weasley twins, but because he truly had other matters.

And they were important.

"You two… if you don't sleep… I'll pull the curtains… and no more visitors…"

Madam Pomfrey's scolding faded into silence.

Silven returned to the castle, this time without pausing, rushing as fast as he could to the eighth floor.

The common room lights were on; when he entered, Hermione was apologizing to Neville, saying she shouldn't have used Petrificus Totalus on him.

Poor Neville—he'd lain on the floor so long.

Seeing Silven, Hermione shot up from her chair and fired off a barrage of questions:

"Silven, are you with Professor Dumbledore? How's Harry? What about the Philosopher's Stone?"

"Harry's fine, he's in the school hospital wing right now," Silven said. "Sorry, Hermione, I'm really exhausted — can we talk about it tomorrow?"

Without waiting for Hermione's reply, Silven had already gone upstairs, returned to his dormitory, and turned to lock the door the moment he was inside.

After doing all this, he tossed aside the potion bottle in his pocket and carefully drew out his wand, Silver Mane.

Unlike before, the surface of the wand now had a thin layer of grey mist over it, and when held in the hand it was bitingly cold.

"Silver Mane Star Fall."

The unicorn appeared once more. The instant it took shape, it began shaking its head in obvious disgust, trying to fling off the "dirty thing" hanging from the horn on its forehead.

"Wait, don't move yet…" Silven soothed the restless unicorn, but his eyes never left that clump of grey mist, and his heartbeat grew faster and faster.

There was a reason Voldemort had screamed so miserably — this thing had basically been torn off him by the unicorn…

Does this count as a loot drop?

A Voldemort fragment?

……

(End of chapter)