The Prisoners of Hogwarts

Chapter 292 That "Ironclad Evidence"

Chapter 292 That "Ironclad Evidence" (4.8K) (2/2)

The stone house deep in the Forbidden Forest stood like a silent giant rock in the night, with only the door opening silently as Lin Qi approached, letting out a steady and cold light from inside.

He stepped inside, the door behind him closing completely, shutting out everything from the outside world, including the lingering chill and despair.

At this moment, Lin Qi's face was paler than usual, not from physical exhaustion, but from an indescribable gloom and fatigue that originated from the depths of his soul.

The direct confrontation with the Dementor Chieftain on a conscious level, especially the active absorption of the black smoke mixed with despair and blood, was like immersing one's soul in the most filthy ice water, leaving clear traces of "frostbite".

He felt an inner “emptiness,” as if part of his vitality and emotional foundation had been permanently stripped away, leaving only cold rationality to support his body.

Without hesitation, he went straight to the alchemy room.

Several items were already prepared on the stone platform in the alchemy room, clearly indicating that he had anticipated the consequences of this trip.

First was a small silver incense burner, its body engraved with intricate ancient runes, believed to have calming and purifying properties. He opened the lid, picked up a small pinch of translucent moonstone powder with his fingers, and dropped it into the burner. Next, he added a few dried flower petals with an unusual silvery-blue hue.

A surge of magic caused the mixture inside the incense burner to ignite silently, sending up a wisp of extremely faint, cool, silvery-white smoke.

The smoke didn't spread; instead, it seemed to have a life of its own, swirling around Lin Qi and being slowly inhaled with his breath.

A gentle, soothing coolness began to permeate every part of my body, slowly neutralizing the piercing chill in my soul and calming the restless ripples of my spirit caused by contact with extreme negative energy.

But this is merely a superficial reassurance.

Lynch took off his suit jacket and sat on the stone bench in front of the worktable.

He took a translucent crystal bottle, inside which sloshed a viscous potion that resembled liquid jade.

This was crafted by him using his profound understanding of the soul realm, supplemented by a variety of precious materials—including a small portion of the essence he had left behind from the previous basilisk materials—specifically for repairing damage and depletion at the soul level.

He uncorked the bottle and, without hesitation, drank the medicine in one gulp.

The medicine had no taste upon entering the mouth, but once it went down the throat, it seemed to transform into an invisible, warm flame. It was not scorching, but it carried a powerful vitality and cohesive force, directly penetrating the "texture" of the soul.

He could clearly "feel" that the "frostbite" marks on his soul caused by the Dementor's power were being slowly repaired and healed by this power, and that inner "emptiness" was being filled little by little.

Solidify.

The whole process was accompanied by a strange tingling and slight throbbing pain, as if the soul was growing and mending itself.

He closed his eyes, guiding the medicinal power through his body, while simultaneously using introspection to observe the subtle changes in his soul's state. The silvery smoke from the incense burner continued to swirl, working in tandem with the medicinal power within his body to dispel the ominous chill.

Time passed in silence.

When Lin Qi opened his eyes again, the weariness and gloom in his eyes had faded, and he had regained his usual depth and calmness.

Although his face was still pale, it was no longer the pallor of someone who had been injured, but rather the cold, marble-like complexion that was inherent to him.

The damage to the soul has not been completely eliminated; such a deep erosion will take time to truly heal.

But the most dangerous phase has passed, the cracks have been initially repaired, and what remains is to rely on time and one's own powerful soul essence to slowly nurture it.

He glanced at the incense burner, where the incense was still burning, filling the entire alchemy room with fragrance.

Lin Qi stood up and stretched his slightly stiff neck.

Inside the stone house, only his steady breathing could be heard.

The price has been paid, and the contract has been concluded.

Minor damage to the soul is merely a necessary and controllable consumable in the process of achieving one's goal.

As for the agreed-upon soul-stealing ritual, it can only be paid for after the unbreakable oath is broken. Hopefully, the Dementors won't mind this delay.

He thought calmly, his eyes showing no emotion.

He walked to the window, looked out at the deep night, his gaze seemingly piercing through layers of dense forest, landing in the direction of London.

The price I paid was no small one, Sirius. You must become a hero in the wizarding world!

Almost a week has passed.

That afternoon, on the cold grass, huddled in the pocket of Ron's old robe that smelled of candy and parchment, every word Peter—or rather, Banban—heard was like a poisoned icicle, repeatedly pounding against his already fragile nerves.

At first, there was an indescribable panic.

When the man named Lynch, who was actually the executioner, began to dissect events from twelve years ago, Peter felt as if the blood in his body was freezing.

An explosion curse? A performance? A deliberately left finger? Every word precisely punctured the carefully woven shell of lies he had created years ago.

He was almost—almost touching the truth!

Especially that damned little witch, with her hateful little brain, she actually came to the conclusion that "Peter is the traitor"!

At that moment, he huddled in the dark pocket, his heart pounding wildly, almost shattering his small,...

The breastbone of a rat.

He was so scared he wanted to scream, to tear open the pocket and run away, to escape anywhere, as far away from that terrifyingly sharp-eyed man.

But he dared not.

Even the slightest unusual movement could give you away.

He could only desperately suppress his trembling, shrinking his body even tighter, praying that the stupid Ron wouldn't notice his abnormality, and praying that this damned conversation would end as soon as possible.

Then, things took a turn for the better.

Lynch mentioned Fudge.

That arrogant, foolish new Minister of Magic.

He said Fudge claimed to have "conclusive evidence" proving that Sirius Black was the real culprit, and even Lynch himself was shaken, believing that there was a "90 percent" chance that Black was guilty!

Hope, like a faint flame, reignited in Peter's cold heart.

The panic was gradually replaced by a cautious, malicious elation.

Yes, although we don't know what the evidence is, the official conclusion is irrefutable!

Twelve years have passed, who would actually try to overturn the case?

This Lin Qi might just be a little clever and prone to overthinking.

He will eventually succumb to "authoritative evidence," just like everyone else back then.

And Lupin—my dear, easily swayed Remus—his "heartfelt outpouring" in front of Harry.

His performance of hatred reassured Peter quite a bit.

Lupin hated Sirius Black so much that he wanted to kill him with his own hands. This meant that Lupin had no doubt about him—or rather, about the "heroic sacrifice" of Peter Pettigrew.

He remains the same Remus who can be blinded by emotions and appearances.

As for Harry—Peter listened to that declaration filled with confusion, which ultimately turned into powerless anger, and could only sneer inwardly.

Harry hated Black, yet Lynch's words unsettled him. But this state wouldn't last long; once the "ironclad evidence" was confirmed, Harry's pitiful illusion about "another possibility" would be shattered completely.

He will become even more determined to hate Blake, which will be to his advantage.

Over the past few days, Peter has been observing and savoring things carefully.

He pretended to be docile, pretended to be sleepy, and became even more inconspicuous than before.

He hid in Ron's pocket, listening to Ron, Harry, and Hermione's sporadic conversation in the common room.

Hermione still seemed curious about what the "ironclad evidence" actually was, but Harry and Ron, especially Harry, after the initial confusion, seemed to have gradually accepted Lynch's later statement that it was just his "erroneous over-interpretation" and that the truth was likely what the authorities had determined.

good very good.

Let it continue like this.

Peter once again enjoyed the sense of security that came from being in the dark.

The most dangerous place is the safest place. Who would have thought that the "heroic" recipient of the Order of Merlin, a first-class medalist, would hide in a pocket as an old and ugly rat, eavesdropping on their conversation about how to hunt him down?

This was a brilliant irony, giving Peter a twisted sense of pleasure amidst his fear.

Another afternoon has passed.

The Gryffindor Tower was warm and cozy, filled with the noisy laughter of teenagers. Peter was curled up on the cushion next to Ron, pretending to doze off—Ron had been keeping Scabbers with him all semester to prevent Crookshanks from eating his pet—and was wondering if he could get some more cheese from Ron's snack bag that night.

Suddenly, the portrait of the fat lady opened, and a young girl peeked in: "Is Potter here? Professor Lynch is looking for you outside."

Harry looked up abruptly from a pile of history of magic notes, and put down his quill with some confusion.

"Professor Lynch?" He exchanged a glance with Ron and Hermione, then quickly got up and walked towards the cave entrance.

Peter immediately became alert, all sleepiness vanished.

The hangman is here!

He pricked up his ears, trying to catch any sounds outside.

Ron and Hermione couldn't sit still either, and curiously followed to the cave entrance, but they didn't go out immediately. They just peeked out from the door frame.

Standing outside the door was naturally Lin Qi.

He was still wearing that sharp gray suit, standing in the dim light of the corridor.

"Harry," Lynch's voice came through, "would you mind if we spoke in private? There's a result regarding that matter I mentioned before."

Harry's expression instantly turned serious and tense: "Of course."

Lynch's gaze passed over Harry and landed on the two heads peeking out from the doorway.

He showed no displeasure, but instead waved: "Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, come on over. I think you know that too."

Ron and Hermione paused for a moment. Ron's face lit up with excitement, and he was about to step out.

Just then!

"squeak--!"

A sharp, mournful squeal suddenly rang out from the lounge, filled with extreme terror.

Ron whirled around and saw that Spotty, who had been "sleeping" on the cushion, had somehow woken up and was now huddled in a corner, its fur standing on end and trembling. Not far away, Crookshanks, the ginger-colored, flat-faced ugly cat, was arching its back, its amber eyes fixed on Spotty, emitting low, menacing growls, clearly preparing to pounce.

"You bad cat! Get away! Stay away from my Scabbers!" Ron immediately flew into a rage, ignoring Professor Lynch outside the door, and rushed back, waving his arms to drive Crookshan away.

Crookshan let out a disgruntled cry and nimbly jumped away, but still lingered not far away, his eyes fixed on Banban.

Hermione quickly ran over, picked up Crookshanks, and said to Ron apologetically, "Ron! It's probably just curious—"

"Curious? It wants to eat Spotty as a snack!" Ron interrupted her angrily, carefully and almost tenderly picking up the still trembling Spotty. Spotty curled up into a small ball in his palm, its squeaking mournful sounds weak and pitiful.

"Alright, alright, it's alright now, Scabbers, don't be afraid." Ron reassured it, then without hesitation and gently tucked it into the pocket of his wizard's robe, patting the outside of the pocket. "Stay with me, it's safer. Hermione, keep an eye on your cat!"

Peter's terror subsided slightly the moment he fell into the dark pocket.

That scream just now was half acting, and half real fear!

He heard Lynch's call and sensed that he was about to hear crucial information. He was anxiously trying to follow, but that damned cat almost ruined his plans!

Being cornered in the lounge by Crookshanks and missing Lynch would be a hundred times worse than being caught by him!

Fortunately, Ron, that idiot, "protected" him as always.

"I'm sorry, Professor!" Ron finished treating Scabbers, then remembered Lynch was waiting outside. He quickly grabbed Hermione and ran out, his face filled with apology and urgency. "We're done!"

Lin Qi watched this little incident with no particular expression on his face, simply nodding.

"Follow me," he said without further ado, turning to lead the way. "It's not convenient here."

The three children looked at each other and silently followed.

Ron instinctively protected the bag containing Banban and jogged after him. Peter was jostled around in the bag, inwardly cursing Ron for his recklessness, but feeling mostly relieved and increasingly nervous.

He can finally go with them!

Lynch clearly had something important to say to Harry, most likely the Ministry of Magic's evidence!

I obviously can't miss this important news.

Lynch led them through several corridors, up a spiral staircase, and finally pushed open a heavy wooden door, leading them to a spacious tower platform.

A chilly air instantly enveloped them, with the surface of the Black Lake and the Forbidden Forest stretching out against the gray sky. The wind grew strong here, making the hems of their robes flutter loudly.

"No one should bother us here." Lin Qi walked to the center of the platform, turned around, and faced three children whose cheeks were red from the wind and whose eyes were full of tension and anticipation.

Peter could clearly feel the changes in temperature and the howling wind from inside his pocket.

The open environment made him feel extremely insecure, as if those sharp eyes could see right through him at any moment.

"I just got back from the Ministry of Magic," Lynch said, getting straight to the point. His voice was still clear in the wind. "There's a result regarding the 'decisive evidence' I requested access to earlier."

Harry's heart seemed to leap into his throat; he stared intently at Lynch. "You—you saw it?"

"Yes, I saw it." Lynch nodded, his expression grave. "Minister Fudge kept his promise and showed me the evidence they had kept for twelve years."

"What is it?" Harry, Ron, and Hermione asked almost simultaneously, holding their breath.

Lynch paused for a moment, as if organizing his thoughts, before speaking slowly against the wind, his voice clear and certain: "It is a memory. A memory submitted in 1986 by Mr. Barty Crouch, the then Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, from Sirius Black himself."

Peter's heart skipped a beat, and even in the howling wind, he could almost hear his blood cooling.

Blake's memories?

"Because it was supplementary evidence, and it happened five years after Sirius Black went to prison, that memory was very—chaotic, filled with intense emotions, anger, madness," Lynch continued, his brow furrowing as if recalling that unpleasant viewing experience. "But in those fragmented images, several key pieces are clear and coherent: the memory shows that Black stopped Peter Pettigrew on the Muggle street, and they had a heated argument. Then, the memory clearly records Black raising his wand and attacking Peter, the blinding light engulfing the spot where Peter was standing, and—and the splattered blood and flesh, and the severed finger that belonged to Peter on the ground."

The wind on the platform seemed to intensify instantly. Harry's face turned deathly pale, and his hands clenched unconsciously. Ron's throat bobbed, and he shifted his feet uneasily. Hermione hugged her arms tightly, her lips pressed together, turning white.

"I must emphasize," Lynch's gaze swept over the three shocked children, his tone extremely solemn, "I have repeatedly verified this memory; it is real, not fabricated or altered. It truly originates from Sirius Black's mind, recording everything that happened from his perspective."

Memory is real!

It originated from Blake himself!

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