Chapter 508: Beech and Oak
Chapter 508: Beech and Oak
Beech approached the black-robed man, dug into the moist soil, and rooted itself down. It seemed to sigh with relief as its branches and leaves trembled, then settled back into stillness.
The black-robed man pointed his wand at the spruce ahead and murmured a long incantation. His voice was drowned out by the pattering rain, making it hard to hear even from close by.
But the spruce seemed to hear him. Its branches twitched in a way that defied nature, and its previously straight trunk bent as if stretching lazily.
The ground nearby began to tremble, surge, and crack as if a massive beast were about to emerge from beneath. The surrounding shrubs and weeds leaned and fell, and insects scrambled out in panic, scattering in all directions.
Just as the earth hadn't fully split, the black-robed man patted the spruce's trunk, and everything calmed down again.
Only then did another stealthy figure emerge from the depths of the forest, timidly approaching the spruce. He pulled out a quill and began drawing a circle of rune symbols on the tree.
The black-robed man watched silently. When the symbols were complete, he pointed his wand again, and the black runes glowed with a faint, dark green light before fading away.
"Continue", he said in a cold, icy tone. "Before the rain stops, you must mark all trees that are more than three people can encircle with their arms."
The other man’s face fell, and he meekly agreed, taking his quill and bucket to find the other large trees. The rain pelted his face, and he had no way to shield himself, looking utterly miserable.
Golden strands of hair slipped from the edge of his hood, dripping wet and clinging to his face. The man shivered from the cold, his hands and feet icy, but he dared not complain.
A lightning bolt illuminated the dark forest, casting a harsh light on the face beneath the hood—still somewhat handsome, but gaunt and marked with several terrible scars. Gilderoy Lockhart hunched his back and trudged toward another massive oak, his movements listless and weak.
The black-robed man watching him from behind was Barty Crouch Jr. The cold, contemptuous eyes made Lockhart shudder with fear. He longed to run, but the thought of Voldemort’s methods paralyzed him with terror, leaving no room for resistance.
Besides, there was no way he could escape.
Voldemort had placed a particularly cruel curse on him. If Lockhart tried to escape, betray Voldemort, or leak any information, the curse would kill him.
—He should have stayed in Azkaban!
Lockhart couldn’t help but think this.
But then, he remembered the terror of the Dementors, the despair, loneliness, and emptiness of the prison, and he shuddered again.
For a moment, Lockhart couldn’t decide whether the Dementors were more terrifying or if Voldemort was more fearsome.
In any case, both had tormented him beyond measure.
Thinking back to his days as a best-selling author, adored by countless fans, and the time he spent at Hogwarts, surrounded by teenage girls, seemed like a beautiful dream.
Lockhart sniffled and wiped away tears as he drew the runes on the tree. In his blurred vision, he accidentally drew a few symbols incorrectly.
He was terrified, forgetting to cry, and cautiously glanced behind him. Seeing Barty Crouch Jr. casting a spell on another tree and not noticing him, he breathed a sigh of relief.
He dared not let Barty Crouch Jr. discover his mistake—most of the ingredients for the potion in the bucket were forbidden, and he had flown far and wide to gather them.
If that cold-hearted devil found out he had drawn the symbols incorrectly, at least a Cruciatus Curse would be in store, and he might even be fed to Nagini...
Those despicable Death Eaters, showing no shred of humanity even to their own kind!
Gilderoy Lockhart, cursing Barty Crouch Jr. under his breath, carefully covered the mistake with his hand, straining to muster his magic power. His face turned red as he finally saw the symbols gradually fade and disappear.
— In his extreme fear, he had actually managed to cast a wandless spell!
Lockhart didn’t stop to celebrate. Afraid that Crouch would notice he had spent too much time on this tree, he hurriedly finished and moved on to the next one.
Another yew tree began to stir, then gradually calmed down.
Barty Crouch Jr. noticed Lockhart looking around furtively in the forest, like a thief, and sneered in disdain.
He took a step to leave, but suddenly felt his robe tugged. Frowning, he looked down to see the small beech tree, its branch caught on his robe.
This was their first experimental subject.
Perhaps because of its young age, it behaved like a child after being awakened; or maybe its thin trunk made it impossible to complete the runes, but it simply couldn’t remain as quiet and well-disguised as the other trees.
This little tree liked to run around and always followed Barty like a chick, impossible to shake off.
Barty pulled his robe free and walked around the beech, heading towards another large tree. He hadn’t gone far when he heard rustling behind him.
He turned around sharply to see the beech tiptoeing after him, as if on cat’s paws. When it saw him turn, it hurriedly stopped, pretending to be just a normal tree.
Barty frowned and continued walking. A moment later, the beech indeed crept up again.
Perhaps the silent forest at night invoked a sense of fear and loneliness, and he found this company not so bad, even feeling a desire to confide.
“Can you understand what I’m doing? Of course not—because you’re just a mindless tree.”
The beech shook its branches, delighted that he had allowed it to follow and even spoke to it.
Barty’s words, of course, were incomprehensible to the beech, and it couldn’t convey them to anyone.
Thus, Barty felt more at ease to pour out his heart—those with too many secrets always need a “tree hole,” and Barty was no exception.
“The potion, my father’s bone, and the servant’s flesh are all prepared. Only the enemy’s blood remains. Only... Harry Potter.”
Barty lowered his voice.
“But the boy is so well-protected, I need an opportunity... We need to create a scene of utter chaos to snatch him from his protectors and ensure Dumbledore doesn’t track us before the master’s complete resurrection.”
“This tournament is a perfect opportunity... In a few days, the arena will be filled with ten thousand wizards, and Harry Potter will be among them. You saw him, didn’t you?”
Barty turned to look at the oval-shaped arena, muttering, “Traitors, opponents, and those ignorant, protected fools—all will pay a terrible price!”
(End of Chapter)
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