Chapter 228

The sky gradually darkened, and at this tense moment, a witch suddenly appeared at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, instantly easing the tension in everyone’s hearts.

Beneath the beech trees, the pitch-black Forbidden Forest appeared even more menacing.

Professor McGonagall, tall and stern, wore a green robe; merely standing there, she caused the students’ anxious hearts to settle.

“Neville… you actually called Professor McGonagall—”

Hermione’s eyes sparkled as she watched the timid Neville.

“N-no… it wasn’t… it was…”

Neville flushed nervously, recalling the hallway earlier that afternoon:

“Mr. Longbottom, you shouldn’t deceive others with such nonsense—”

Professor McGonagall’s stern expression grew even more oppressive.

“N-no, not nonsense… everyone knows…”

Neville stammered.

“Who all knows?”

Professor McGonagall’s gaze swept across them, and Neville immediately exposed everyone.

Wizard Sean had never expected to meet Professor McGonagall here; he froze slightly, speechless.

“You’re fooling around.”

Only Wizard Sean heard it; the others showed no reaction—Professor McGonagall seemed to have spoken via silent transmission.

“You should have told me…”

Professor McGonagall’s stern gaze fixed on Wizard Sean.

A flicker of concern passed through her eyes.

She did not believe in mystical prophecies—they were no more rigorous or significant than Professor Trelawney’s annual death predictions;

Voldemort’s return was equally something she could not immediately accept;

but she trusted her child more than ever before.

“I will watch here for two nights. If I see nothing, I will put you and Neville in detention until the exams!”

Professor McGonagall’s stern words sounded sweet to the young wizards; they thought they would never again resist even a little Transfiguration.

Soon, Hagrid arrived wearing a mole-skin coat and began speaking with Professor McGonagall:

“Professor McGonagall… oh, yes… a unicorn has been badly injured—something unprecedented in the Forbidden Forest… the Centaurs’ prophecy… Mars is… very bright…”

Harry had said Hagrid hadn’t heard Firenze’s words—if he had, Hagrid could have testified for them long ago.

A cool wind blew through the Forbidden Forest; that night, they heard no strange sounds—the dark lord lurking within seemed to know someone had come and dared not make a sound.

Professor McGonagall’s face grew even more solemn.

She slipped away without a sound.

Just then, the eastern horizon began to lighten; they had, at last, seen the light of day.

“Day one—we made it! We’ll find him eventually, and drive him out of Hogwarts!”

Jia Jia Siting exclaimed excitedly.

Harry trembled with excitement; Hermione clenched her fist.

Ron, however, was utterly exhausted—he had been tense all night:

“Brilliant, Wizard Sean… and Harry… Jia Jia Siting… Neville… Hermione…”

With each name he uttered, his eyelids grew heavier,

“I’m going to sleep. Do you know how long we’ll get to sleep?”

Only then did the others feel their bodies collapsing under fatigue; they had never felt this exhausted before—almost collapsing the moment they touched their beds.

Neville was dazed, swaying on his feet; they dragged him, exhausted, back to the hut.

A large group of young wizards immediately collapsed into sleep.

Dawn broke, but the rain outside hadn’t fully stopped; the fireplace blazed fiercely. Wizard Sean did not sleep—he kept thinking, and thinking.

“Are you still worried… Wizard Sean…”

Jia Jia Siting sat beside him; he was just as exhausted, but he always made sure his friends rested first.

“Two days…”

Wizard Sean murmured to himself.

“Two days? You mean Professor McGonagall will stay for two days, then lock you up? Wizard Sean, you forgot what she said—detention is with Hagrid. And when Headmaster Dumbledore returns, Hogwarts’ safety will improve drastically.”

Jia Jia Siting reassured him.

Until he finally fell into deep sleep, before the afternoon class began, Wizard Sean showed an unusually anxious state.

Voldemort didn’t come to the Forbidden Forest? Why?

The Forbidden Forest is vast—even Professor McGonagall couldn’t monitor every corner.

In the original story, even with Professor Dumbledore present, Voldemort killed several unicorns over consecutive weeks.

He was greedy and cunning—his unauthorized intrusion into Hogwarts, guarded by Dumbledore, proved that.

So there was no reason for him to fear Professor McGonagall’s presence, let alone her patrolling the Forbidden Forest.

Think more… think more…

Wizard Sean kept reminding himself.

Night fell again; this time, the young wizards were far less panicked—Harry and Jia Jia Siting followed the Centaur Firenze, while Hermione, Neville, and Ron followed Hagrid.

Wizard Sean stood alone beside the wounded unicorn; he confirmed there had been no movement for a long time.

Suddenly, Wizard Sean seemed to grasp something—he bolted toward the castle.

The plan map trembled violently; Wizard Sean rode his broom, slicing through the night sky.

How could he have forgotten!

Quirrell and Voldemort could not touch the Philosopher’s Stone because what they desired most was the Stone itself.

Then—is Professor Quirrell still most desirous of the Philosopher’s Stone?!

Professor Quirrell had made the right choice—between his second despair and a new glimmer of hope.

Whether he saw Wizard Sean and the others guarding the Forbidden Forest or held his own squirrel biscuits, he no longer sought the Stone solely to serve Voldemort.

If Voldemort, seeing no hope in the Forbidden Forest, went to the fourth-floor room, under his coercion, Professor Quirrell might reach that state—

wanting to find the Stone, to find it, but not to use it.

This meant Voldemort would obtain the Stone; whether or not it could restore his body, it would not be good news.

A paper airplane sliced through the night, landing straight into Jia Jia Siting’s hands. Inside was only a short message—but it drenched him in cold sweat. He pulled out his hidden broom, mounted it, and flew swiftly over the Forbidden Forest toward Professor McGonagall.

Simultaneously, another paper airplane flew toward the distant International Alchemy Assembly.

Professor Taila’s paper airplane, awarded the groundbreaking gold medal, was nearly a perfect emergency communication tool—ignoring terrain, ignoring distance, moving at an unbelievable speed.

Having completed all preparations, Wizard Sean appeared on the fourth-floor corridor.

In a place he hadn’t expected, Mr. Owl appeared suddenly within a portrait on the corridor.

“You have been drawn by the dazzling, vast magic, yet you still perceive those faint, even impure lives. By experiencing both, you have measured the width a wizard’s life can hold.

This is Ravenclaw’s wisdom.

May you understand—Ravenclaw is forever proud of you.”

Mr. Owl bowed deeply; Wizard Sean saw the trapdoor open and stepped through.