Hogwarts.
Office of Advanced Charm Theory and Practice.
The office was dimly lit, with only the cold fla of a silver candelabra providing illumination. Towering bookshelves lined the walls, cramd with all sorts of magical books, interspersed, of course, with so Muggle volus.
Slytherin's Locket lay on the desk, glinting with an ominous sheen in the cold light.
Sagres stood before the desk, gazing at the evil creation. A mont later, he raised his wand.
"Open!"
As the somber hiss faded, the locket's clasp clicked open and the lid sprang up.
A wave of icy magic instantly filled the room, making even the candlelight flicker.
A blurry, distorted black shadow struggled upward from within the locket.
"I told you that you would regret it…" Voldemort's voice held a hint of amusent.
Sagres, however, gave it no chance to speak further.
The magic of Legilincy, like invisible thorns, pierced the chaotic soul.
In an instant, countless fragnted images flooded Sagres's mind—fanatical worship, the pleasure of killing, the greed for immortality, the fear of death… However, when he tried to delve deeper for specific information about the other Horcruxes, he slamd into an impenetrable, icy wall.
Voldemort's soul fragnt let out a short, contemptuous sneer.
The sneer was full of mockery and triumph. "Legilincy? Trying to peer into my thoughts? Hmph! Foolish fool! Did you think I would be unprepared for this?"
Sagres frowned slightly, then decisively withdrew his magic.
He had anticipated resistance, but this soul's defenses were far stronger than expected; clearly, Voldemort had made protecting his thoughts from intrusion a top priority when creating the Horcrux.
Of course, it was also possible that Voldemort had intentionally stripped away clues about the other Horcruxes when he created this one.
From Sagres's limited understanding of Voldemort, while the Dark Lord was arrogant and conceited, his magical abilities were indeed excellent, and he was cautious enough in certain aspects.
Forcing a breakthrough was not entirely impossible, but the fragile soul would inevitably collapse completely—which was not the result he wanted, at least not right now.
"It seems you understand."
Riddle's soul fragnt sounded triumphant. "You cannot forcibly seize knowledge you are not worthy of knowing. But perhaps we can make a deal? You give sothing, and I can give you sothing…"
"Your madness and paranoia have, ironically, created the strongest prison for yourself," Sagres replied, his voice showing no hint of disappointnt.
"Hahahaha, in those uncultured words, I only find fear! Submit! The Dark Lord is immortal!" the soul fragnt shrieked with a sinister laugh.
A flicker of impatience crossed Sagres's face. He waved his wand again.
"Close!"
Snap!
The lid slamd shut, sealing the clamoring soul once more. The oppressive pressure in the room suddenly eased, leaving only the faint crackle of the cold fla burning steadily.
Sagres watched the now-silent locket, his finger unconsciously tapping on the desktop.
A frontal assault on the mories seed unfeasible; he would have to think of another way.
He slipped the locket into his robe pocket for the ti being, then let his gaze fall on the book lying on the desk—*Bloodline Grafting and Purification*—which he had temporarily borrowed from Sirius.
This was one of the few volus he had found deep within the Black family library that truly piqued his interest.
The knowledge it contained was sowhat obscure, even touching on many forbidden areas of magical ethics, yet it offered many intriguing perspectives.
Since a breakthrough on the other Horcruxes was not imdiately possible, he might as well change his approach.
He reached for the ancient text filled with forbidden knowledge, his fingertips tracing the raised crimson script on its cover.
The pages opened by themselves, revealing obscure and complex ancient runes, magic circles, and dangerous treatises on the transfer, fusion, and enhancent of magical power drawn from various magical creatures.
So of these theories and hypotheses coincided with his own explorations of the essence of magic and even provided him with entirely new ideas.
He beckoned to Noctis, who was dozing on the windowsill. The raven imdiately flew over and landed on the desk.
"It's ti for you to do your part," Sagres murmured, stroking the raven's smooth feathers.
The next day, he set up a small alchemical magic circle in a corner of his office.
Following the obscure instructions in the book, he attempted to graft a feather taken from an Augurey—containing a faint prophetic trait—onto the base of the raven's wing through a complex alchemical ritual and magical guidance.
The process was not smooth sailing.
The book's vague details on critical points led to several failed attempts. On multiple occasions, the collapse of magical circuits caused small sparks to erupt in the air, and the raven let out pained cries, its feathers singed in a few places.
However, since it was already black, it looked no different than before.
Sagres expressionlessly recorded the details of each failure, adjusted the structure, and started again.
For him, a little pain was a trivial price to pay in the pursuit of truth—especially when he didn't have to pay it himself, making it even more negligible.
Although Noctis suffered a great deal during this period, it didn't matter; the raven liked to suffer.
After several days of continuous tornt, when the last rune finally lit up steadily and slowly faded into the raven's skin, Noctis let out a slightly ethereal cry.
It instinctively tilted its head, as if listening to so distant sound.
Sagres hadn't expected the results to co faster than anticipated—though this was largely due to the weak characteristics and simple structure of the grafting material.
Nevertheless, the core principles described in *Bloodline Grafting and Purification* had received initial validation.
A few days later, the Bronze Feather eting took place.
This was the first gathering since Lupin had left Hogwarts.
When Sagres, as usual, inquired about the mbers' recent situations, almost everyone's gaze turned to Lupin, who had just taken his seat.
He was a bit thinner than when he had been at school, with the fatigue of long-term outdoor surveillance etched on his brows, but his eyes were remarkably bright, indicating he was in excellent spirits.
"I tracked a Dark Wizard selling illegal potions in Knockturn Alley," Lupin said directly. "His destination surprised —not so dark underground bar or ruin, but a desolate, remote highland in northern Scotland."
He paused, organizing his thoughts. "I observed him secretly for three days and can confirm that it is a temporary gathering place for a werewolf pack."
His tone deepened. "They are very vigilant; I haven't been able to gather more information yet. But what I do know is that they are extrely vicious, because I recognized at least two faces among them—both notorious criminals who have been on the Ministry of Magic's wanted list for a long ti, having committed multiple heinous attacks on Muggles and wizards."
He looked at Sagres at the head of the table. "They seem to be planning sothing, but there are many magical alarms and sentries set up around the camp. The security is tight. I couldn't get closer without exposing myself."
Sagres listened quietly, his finger unconsciously tapping lightly on the table.
"Very valuable intelligence. Well done."
He affird the results Lupin had risked so much to obtain, then asked about another matter. "Speaking of which, how effective is the Wolfsbane Potion Nightingale provided?"
"Excellent!"
Lupin showed a relaxed smile. "I thought that even if normal Wolfsbane Potion didn't taste too bad, it wouldn't be much better, but I really didn't expect such a huge difference."
He had only ever drunk the Wolfsbane Potion brewed for him by Professor Snape, so he didn't know what normal Wolfsbane Potion should taste like.
Sagres smiled. "To make it even 'more unpalatable' while ensuring the potion's efficacy isn't diminished, it seems Professor Snape truly poured a lot of effort into it."
His words drew a few suppressed chuckles, and even Lupin shook his head helplessly, slightly easing the atmosphere.
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