Leaving Professor Slughorns office, an eerie quiet engulfed the room.
The remnants of the banquet had led to an inevitable disarray among the two round tables.
Nonetheless, Professor Slughorn showed no hurry in tidying up his space.
In fact, his expression abruptly shifted from the earlier amalgamation of smiles and unease to sothing altogether different.
Seated with a chilling composure, the air surrounding Professor Slughorn grew heavy, somber, and a deep, labored breath seed to fill the atmosphere.
He pondered montarily, then produced a piece of parchnt and dipped his quill into an inkwell.
Bent over, he started recording ticulously on the parchnt.
Throughout the office, the sole sound was the quill rustling across the paper.
After nearly a quarter of an hour, Professor Slughorn finally set down the quill and exhaled a heavy sigh.
Carefully enclosing the parchnt in an envelope, he sealed it shut.
Next, he fumbled in his pocket for a while before extracting an odd-looking lighter.
The nozzle of the lighter twisted and curved like a small, uncoiling serpent.
Its surface bore an engraving of a sinuous snake pattern.
With a slight twist, Professor Slughorn ignited a pale green fla that flickered before him.
The eerie green flas held a certain inexplicable quality.
Unhesitatingly, Professor Slughorn extended the envelope and its contents toward the fla.
As the bright fla danced, the entire letter rapidly consud, leaving nothing behindnot even a trace of ash.
A smile finally graced the corner of Professor Slughorns lips.
He stretched luxuriously, reclining in the armchair with a newfound ease, engaging in his usual enjoynt of life.
anwhile, as Matthew traversed the corridors from Professor Slughorns office back to the Slytherin common room, the office beca cloaked in silence.
The hour grew late, and the night sky was engulfed in darkness.
The pale blue moon outside the window glimred, suspended like a jewel against the black expanse.
Outside the scope of moonlight, the subterranean hallways of Hogwarts were draped in shadows.
The wall torches offered feeble illumination, preventing the darkness from becoming too overwhelming.
Matthew strolled, his countenance reflecting a sense of seriousness.
His thoughts continued to mull over the conversation hed shared with Professor Slughorn a few minutes earlier.
Is it truly possible for a powerful soul to be attached to soone? he pondered aloud.
As he neared a corner, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed from the other side.
Accompanying the footsteps was an unusual noise, resembling a hoarse voice appealing for assistance.
A flicker of alarm crossed Matthews face.
He took a few steps backward, simultaneously drawing his wand and training it on the corner ahead.
Within seconds, a contorted face erged from the corner.
In the torchlights glow, the face appeared abnormally red, its features distorted.
The man staggered as if barely able to maintain his balance, struggling to advance from the corners confines.
Dawlish! A familiar voice followed, sounding from behind the man.
It was Mr. Longbottom who followed not far behind.
Matthew finally recognized the individual behind the distorted visage.
Similar to Mr. Longbottom, the man was an Auror stationed at Hogwarts.
The Aurors often patrolled the school grounds and were a common sight at als in the Great Hall.
Dawlish wavered and collapsed into Mr. Longbottoms support, emitting a faint snore.
Dawlish has taken quite a liking to alcohol lately, often overindulging, Mr. Longbottom explained as he assisted the man.
I see, Matthew nodded, understanding. Its no issue.
I recall you, Matthew Wickfield, correct? Mr. Longbottom scrutinized Matthew, recognizing him as Nevilles close friend. Youre a good friend of Nevilles.
Yes, Matthew affird. Neville is my closest friend.
Head back now, Mr. Longbottom gestured to the corridor behind him. Its getting late, and theyll extinguish the torches soon.
Understood.
Matthew continued on his way past the two Aurors.
Hed taken just a few steps when he heard footsteps and the curious noise resu from behind.
A strange sensation gnawed at him.
It wasnt until he found himself once again within the warmth of the Slytherin common room, the crackling fire providing comfort, that Matthew released a relieved breath.
Tonight had been a series of unexpected occurrences.
Heading directly to his dormitory, Matthew opened the door only to find it unoccupied.
Draco, who was injured, was the sole presence in the room.
The others were all absent as well, their whereabouts unknown.
This was unusual Given the lateness of the hour, most students would be settling in for the night, and it was almost ti for the torches to be extinguished.
Matthew frowned, a faint sense of unease creeping over him.
However, his focus needed to be on confirming one specific matter.
Seated in his armchair, he contemplated for a mont before carefully opening the drawer.
The old, enigmatic book lay within the drawer, still resting in silence.
Matthew withdrew it and opened its pages, the paper feeling slightly warm to the touch.
Turning to a blank page, he picked up a quill and dipped it in ink.
He penned a query on the page:
Is it you?
The ink seed to shimr brightly for a brief mont before vanishing into the page as though absorbed.
Subsequently, the ink seeped from the paper, forming uneven green letters:
Yes.
Matthews brow furrowed.
He wrote again:
Why did you compel to attack Draco Malfoy?
Almost imdiately, the book offered its response:
Because he deserved it!
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