Chapter 70: Overload

After shaking off the Weasley brothers, Silven continued walking outward.

At the door, he encountered Snape, who looked as if he had been waiting there specifically.

Probably Harry—he’d be the only one, since Hogwarts was on break, and after today, he wouldn’t see the boy again for two months.

Preoccupied with other thoughts, Silven walked past without noticing Snape’s gaze fixed on him.

He didn’t even notice Harry hurrying up behind him.

Snape’s lips moved, just as he was about to speak.

“Severus, I’ve been looking for you,” Dumbledore said, approaching from the other side. “I’d like to visit a few old friends during the break—will you come with me?”

“Anyone could do that. Why me?” Snape narrowed his eyes.

“You know what happened last night.” He lowered his voice suddenly, gripping his wrist tightly. “I wouldn’t mistake that face—but you swore he escaped from the dungeons!”

“Severus, I swear I didn’t lie,” Dumbledore said.

“I believe you—I do believe you…” Snape’s eyes shifted constantly. “But Ollivander went into the dungeons too. Perhaps he knows something we don’t!”

“He didn’t enter the final room,” Dumbledore said after a pause.

“But—”

“Severus, we cannot assume Ollivander was involved in what happened that night based on speculation,” Dumbledore interrupted.

The next moment, Harry reached the door and glanced curiously at the two men standing there.

It was truly astonishing—the Headmaster of Hogwarts personally seeing a student off.

Harry smiled at Dumbledore. “Goodbye, sir.”

“Goodbye, Harry,” Dumbledore smiled back.

“Now, Severus, the most important thing right now is finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” he turned and said. “Will you help me?”

“Of course, Headmaster. Don’t you think finding a new Potions professor would be simpler?” Snape said flatly.

“I doubt I could find a better Potions professor than you,” Dumbledore said.

“Is that so? I hope you’re right,” Snape sneered, turning and walking back into the castle.

…

The return train was livelier than the one coming to Hogwarts, especially for the Muggle-born first-years.

After nearly a year at Hogwarts, most first-years had lost their initial confusion and nervousness; they had truly come to understand and accept magic.

They now eagerly anticipated the train’s arrival, so they could tell their families about the wonders of the past year.

The only thing that dampened their spirits was the notice issued before break—warning them not to use magic during vacation.

What was the point of going to the beach if you couldn’t wear a swimsuit!

Some fiercely opposed the rule, but it was useless—this was a notice, not a request, because the Ministry had no intention of consulting the students.

It was clearly stated: anyone who used magic would be expelled.

First-years grumbled as they accepted the notice; students above second-year already knew it was coming. Though they disliked it, they accepted it quietly.

The Hogwarts Express passed through Muggle towns, where people gathered in small groups, discussing their holiday plans.

With friendships formed, the carriages were far less tense than on the way here. Silven even found an empty compartment and sat down alone.

He wasn’t without friends to talk to—he had more than enough. He simply didn’t feel like it.

The train passed through another stretch of forest.

Then someone knocked on the compartment door. Neville walked in.

Silven glanced up at him.

“Actually… I saw everything,” Neville said suddenly, then realized something and quickly shut the compartment door.

“What?” Silven looked at him.

“The unicorn,” Neville sat down beside Silven. “Last night I couldn’t sleep—I saw it come out of your dorm window. And there was… another…”

As if recalling something horrific, Neville grew tense again, his face pale, his teeth chattering.

“Don’t force yourself. That thing truly wasn’t pleasant,” Neville’s words stirred Silven’s memories—he couldn’t help but return to last night.

Silven never imagined the shard contained a “resident.”

Voldemort probably wanted to hide himself, to lower Silven’s guard—but clearly, he hadn’t anticipated Silven’s true intent.

So when Silven tried to grind the shard into a wand core and embed it in dragonwood, he inevitably forced Voldemort’s consciousness out… and that’s when last night’s scene unfolded.

Unicorn versus Voldemort—half the castle’s windows were destroyed.

As for the outcome… well, since he was now sitting on the return train, no further explanation was needed.

Unicorns were natural enemies of all dark magic, and Voldemort’s soul fragment was smaller than a Golden Snitch—he stood no chance.

It was terrifying to think about: a soul fragment with consciousness—wasn’t that the very prototype of a Horcrux?

But wasn’t a Horcrux supposed to require murder to split the soul?

Silven couldn’t understand.

Then again—if so, hadn’t he accidentally discovered a way to destroy a Horcrux?

In its soul form, the unicorn not only retained its innate power to counter all dark magic, but also overcame its inability to attack souls directly—it was clearly designed to hunt Voldemort.

Could it be that the curse activated the moment Voldemort drank unicorn blood?

Silven turned to the window, for the umpteenth time grateful he’d reacted quickly enough—upon seeing that familiar face, he’d summoned the unicorn immediately.

Too bad his dragonwood wand was completely shattered.

Silven was lost in thought, completely unaware that Neville, who had come to warn him not to blow up his dorm again, had given up, slumped his shoulders, and was rising to return to his own compartment.

“Oh, by the way—there’s something in your hat,” Neville said as he stepped out.

Silven turned his head but saw nothing, and didn’t care.

The hat was new, bought from the Weasley brothers—he rarely wore it, usually just hanging from the back of his school robe.

“Probably fell in last night,” Neville walked over, reached behind Silven’s robe, and pulled out two slivers of wood, each about a finger’s length.

“These… they’re kind of pretty.”

Dragonwood? How could it not be?

Seeing the shattered dragonwood again, Silven’s heart ached—he reached out instinctively to take them.

But the moment his fingers touched the broken pieces, the magical runes on his wrist—visible only when crafting a wand core—flared to life without warning.

As if completing a crucial step, the two fragments snapped together, forming a complete… wand.

[Dragonwood (Snake Wood), Dark Wraith, 2 and 1/5 inches]

[Status: Chaotic, Critical]

[Trait: Unique: Automatically triggers Avada Kedavra upon contact with magic;

Overload: Instantly burns the core, drains all magic to amplify Avada Kedavra; excess magic transfers to the next target.]

…

Silven

(End of Chapter)