Chapter 65: Rufus Scrimgeour
2 a.m.
“Huff… huff…”
A mass of orange-red flames hung in the air, burning fiercely. The heat waves caused some visual distortion in the space. The bright firelight left bluish-black shadows in the vision—that was the complementary color reaction from the retina stimulated by strong light.
Fiendfyre（Fiendfire）, etymologically meaning demonic flames from hell, a transfiguration summoning branch spell, forbidden dark magic on the same level as the Unforgivable Curse, its invention and origin untraceable.
The casting difficulty is similar to ordinary summoning spells; even underage wizards can quickly get the hang of it.
But Fiendfyre’s terrifying power is completely mismatched with the simple casting difficulty. After the caster summons Fiendfyre, flames will pour endlessly from the wand tip. The explosive flames spread at extreme speed, igniting everything they touch, quickly burning out a sea of fire in a short time.
Due to its unique dark magic principle, only magic power can slightly block the flames. Ordinary water and freezing spells will only fuel the fire.
Fiendfyre is easy to release but extremely hard to control. If the summoner cannot contain its spread, the magic power that burns everything will destroy all nearby things, and the caster is no exception. In a sense, releasing Fiendfyre is equivalent to suicide.
Melvin previously could only barely summon and dispel Fiendfyre, but now he can fully control it, manipulating it flexibly. The explosive magic power in the Fiendfyre completely follows his will.
“Heh… heh…”
The burning flames suddenly surged up, transforming into a bat with spread wings. Its bones were clustered flames, its membranous wings rolling flames. The insubstantial bat opened its mouth and let out a shrill screech.
The orange-red firelight flushed Melvin’s cheeks with heat. With a slight mental command, the flames quietly dissipated.
Only the room’s air, heated to high temperature, was still surging, creating an unreasonable convection wind that made the parchment on the desk rustle.
Melvin returned to the desk, sat down, and slightly narrowed his eyes, resting while pondering.
There are thousands of offensive hexes, but only a very few are classified as dark magic because this type of magic requires the wizard to cast it with negative emotions or strong malice. Anger, hatred, and contempt are the emotions of dark wizards; torture, killing, and destruction are the purposes of dark magic.
This is also why dark magic is prone to losing control.
It’s unclear whether the soul or magic power is more easily affected by dark magic. As normal wizards delve deeper into dark magic, their souls and views gradually twist, their personalities become extreme, and they slowly turn into reclusive, shadowy, irritable dark wizards.
Wizards with violent tempers are suited to Fiendfyre, bloodthirsty wizards excel at the Killing Curse, wizards who love torturing others to create pain favor the Cruciatus Curse… If a wizard’s dark magic level advances by leaps and bounds in a short time, it means their mindset may have changed.
Melvin examined his own emotions; there were no bad thoughts. The unicorn’s magic was like a barrier, isolating the negative emotions that erode the soul, thereby achieving control over dark magic.
“On the contrary, those magics that require positive emotions…”
Melvin exhaled lightly and flicked his wand.
【Patronus Charm】
Bright silver light sprayed from the wand tip. The scattered light mist gathered together, threads like silk ribbons, floating and rotating, gently rippling.
Because it’s not required curriculum content, and it’s quite troublesome to practice, Melvin actually hasn’t fully mastered the Patronus Charm. He stopped practicing after he could stably summon the silver mist that counters dark creatures, without spending more energy to condense it into a corporeal form.
This is also the choice of many wizards.
The layered rippling silver-white glow created ripples, filling the entire room with silver-white light mist, still without a corporeal form.
There was just a slender horn added in the mist.
……
“Youth is truly wonderful…” Dumbledore said with emotion.
Last night, after leaving the Forbidden Forest Hut and returning to the castle, it was already late at night. The little wizards could go back to the dormitory and sleep, but the professors still had to handle follow-up affairs. Minerva had talked with him until dawn, and Melvin had gone to Professor Kettleburn for unicorn materials, surely not sleeping early either.
Both had stayed up late, but Melvin, who got up early, looked spirited, with no signs of staying up late on his face. The aged headmaster sincerely envied him.
At the high table in the Great Hall, Melvin carefully looked at Dumbledore: “Headmaster, you look spirited too, no dark circles under your eyes.”
“Still not as good as you young people.”
“…”
Not far away, Snape was expressionless, with two dark circles under his eyes. His movements cutting the fried egg with cutlery, paired with his expression, seemed somewhat cruel.
Quirrell was still absent.
At the Gryffindor long table, the three little ones huddled their heads together, whispering about last night’s matter.
“Firenze told me, the desperado is willing to pay a heavy price to attack the unicorn, to prolong life, waiting for a chance to get the Philosopher’s Stone…” Harry’s voice was very low, “And this desperado is very likely Voldemort, or his subordinate.”
“I think this person is lurking inside the school.” After a night of thinking, many things became clearer to Hermione. “I suspect it’s Snape.”
Ron stuffed bread into his mouth, his voice muffled: “Then the Philosopher’s Stone is still safe now. Snape tried last Halloween, he couldn’t get past Fluffy, and Dumbledore is at the school.”
Harry’s brows were tightly furrowed; he always felt something was off.
Hermione also sighed; Hagrid was hatching a fire dragon, and no one could persuade him otherwise.
“…”
Today was Saturday; breakfast was served until 9:30, and it wasn’t yet 9 when a commotion came from the Great Hall entrance. Seven or eight people pushed the door and walked in.
“Director Scrimgeour, this way.” Professor McGonagall walked ahead, her face also somewhat tired.
Last night, she had handled the most matters: comforting several Slytherin students, reporting the Forbidden Forest incident to the Ministry of Magic, communicating with on-duty personnel until dawn, and coordinating with the Auror’s Office in the morning. She had only slept three or four hours.
Walking behind the deputy headmaster was a middle-aged male wizard, tall and thin, with tea-brown hair and thick eyebrows streaked with gray, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, sharp eyes, slightly limping, but still striding forward with a forceful posture like an old lion.
His attire was slightly unusual: a wide wizard robe outside, but a suit vest and white shirt inside, tie tied impeccably.
Melvin had dealt with Aurors from the Woolworth Building multiple times and knew this was the Aurors’ special attire, or rather the Department of Magical Law Enforcement’s style. They often went out on field duty to handle cases; if needing to contact Muggles, they could remove the outer wizard robe to become Muggle attire, convenient for hiding identity.
Following behind were the Auror members who came to connect.
Because of the projection mirror matter, Melvin had also exchanged with many retired Aurors in Britain, plus Borgin and White often mentioned them, so he had some understanding of Ministry officials.
This Rufus Scrimgeour was the Director of the Auror’s Office, a rare independent figure in the Ministry of Magic, neither siding with Dumbledore nor Minister Fudge. He performed outstandingly during the last Wizarding War, with an extremely tough attitude.
Dumbledore set down his cutlery, wiped his mouth, and walked down from the high table to greet: “Truly unexpected, Rufus. I didn’t expect you to lead the team.”
Scrimgeour’s dissatisfaction with Dumbledore stemmed from his excessively powerful influence, which seriously undermined the independence of the Wizengamot and the Ministry of Magic, but he still held due respect for this legendary wizard: “Sudden incident, urgent situation, Minister Fudge is visiting Ireland and can’t return.”
Dumbledore smiled mildly, not minding whether Fudge was really away on a visit, and turned to Melvin at the seat: “Let me introduce, this is Hogwarts’ new Professor of Muggle Studies, Melvin Levent.”
He paused slightly: “Melvin, this is Rufus Scrimgeour. You should have heard of him.”
Scrimgeour looked at Melvin with a strange expression, raised an eyebrow, and proactively shook hands: “Professor Levent, I’ve seen your name on the newspaper front page more than once. Good luck.”
“Good luck to me?”
Melvin was somewhat surprised. Do British wizards greet like this upon first meeting? Strange.
Scrimgeour was also a Hogwarts graduate. His small talk with the other professors was fairly amicable, except for Snape. This Auror Director had devoted his life to fighting dark wizards, charging at the forefront throughout the last Wizarding War, nearly dying several times, and had no goodwill toward former Death Eaters.
Snape didn’t mind Scrimgeour’s expression either, snorted twice, and left the Great Hall.
After a brief exchange, the school headmaster and Auror director connected, preliminarily discussing last night’s specific situation. They walked side by side toward the Forbidden Forest, talking en route and discussing the search plan.
Melvin watched them leave the Great Hall from afar, many thoughts flashing in his mind.
What did Scrimgeour’s strange blessing mean?
Shouldn’t Dumbledore find a reason to leave and give Professor Quirrell a chance to act? Why bring the Aurors into the school? How could Professor Quirrell act now—his weakened body couldn’t hold out much longer…
In the next half day, Scrimgeour learned the full situation from Hagrid. The Aurors sealed off the Forbidden Forest edge, conducted on-site investigation, and tried tracking the mysterious dark wizard along the traces.
The result was, of course, nothing gained.
