“The things in Paris are proceeding according to plan,” Reggie said. “Now, I need to deal with the Chamber of Commerce first. Just some evidence of embezzlement and corruption isn’t enough to kick those guys out. Their shamelessness is far beyond that level.”
“I have a suggestion,” Lynch said, excitedly.
Facing his long-time friend, coupled with the joy of soon being freed from his cage, made his spirits high and his thoughts a bit erratic.
“If anyone doesn’t cooperate, you cut off a horse’s head and put it in his bed while he’s sleeping. When he wakes up, he’ll do everything you say.”
“What kind of method is this? Some kind of Dark Arts ritual?” Reggie asked, a bit confused.
“...No,” Lynch’s excitement subsided somewhat. “It’s an idea from a Muggle movie plot.”
Reggie: “...You are basically the most feared existence for Dark Wizards in the last decade or so, the embodiment of fear on earth. Sometimes just saying your name can make Death Eaters flee with their tails between their legs. Cutting off a horse’s head and putting it in a bed—that’s your idea? How did you manage to make those Dark Wizards so terrified?”
“I was just joking, Reggie. Sometimes we need to relax our tense nerves.” Lynch’s lips curved slightly. “As for your second question, it’s simple: just summon a large mist at night, then quietly kill them in the mist, and finally use the Soul-Stealing Charm to summon invisible ropes to wrap around their necks, hanging their bodies in mid-air, leaving them there to be discovered. Repeat this process a hundred times, and that’s it.”
Looking deeply at Lynch, Reggie spoke the last sentence of their meeting, “The things you need have been found. The cost was considerable. They will be delivered exactly at 6:00 PM tonight. Remember to check for them.”
Reggie turned and transformed back into a gray wolf, then drill ed into the bushes.
Watching Reggie’s gray shadow disappear into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, the expression on Lynch’s face gradually faded.
He calmly scanned the invisible opening Dumbledore had left, turned, and walked into the Stone house. The heavy oak door closed behind him.
Inside the Stone house, the fire in the fireplace had died out, and the faint scent of green tea still lingered in the air.
Lynch walked to the center of the room and saw the two single sofas facing each other in front of the fireplace.
He extended his left hand, fingers slightly spread, covering the sofa Dumbledore had left, then, maintaining this gesture, he swung his left arm to the right.
As he moved, the left sofa swiftly flew towards the right sofa. During its flight, the sofa’s golden-red patterns faded, and its backrest returned to its original height.
The two sofas collided without making any sound, merely overlapping like phantoms.
The next moment, only the original sofa remained in place, as if no change had ever occurred.
He pointed his right hand at the teacups left on the table, and they flew into the sink by themselves, beginning to self-clean.
Lynch walked to the dining table and sat down. He shook the brass bell, and a plate of honey mustard roasted pork loin and a plate of seasonal vegetable salad appeared on the table.
After lunch, Lynch sat on the sofa, with a freshly brewed cup of tea on the square table beside him.
Lynch held a book in his hand, its cover adorned with intricate patterns forming the title— “Essentials of Uagadou Gesture magic.”
He turned the pages with one hand, while the other occasionally lifted to gesticulate in the air.
Time flowed in silence, and the light and shadows outside the window subtly shifted. When the afterglow of the setting sun pierced through the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, painting a corner of the desk golden, Lynch looked up.
He closed the book and then stood up.
Lynch walked towards the desk, pushing the book into the air with one hand as he walked, making it slowly float back to the bookshelf.
He stopped by the desk, reached out, and pulled open the middle drawer. It was empty. Then he stared at the hourglass on the corner of the table, watching the sand fall like a tiny waterfall.
When all the quicksand in the hourglass had fallen, Lynch reached out and opened the desk drawer.
In the previously empty drawer, a dark gray fabric bag appeared, about the size of a child’s head, with black strings tightly tied at the opening.
Lynch gently hooked the bag with his index finger.
The bag, as if pulled by an invisible thread, steadily rose and hovered two feet in front of him.
The desk drawer automatically closed.
Lynch turned and walked towards the stairs, the bag maintaining its distance, swaying gently behind him.
Reaching the back of the staircase, Lynch tapped a slightly darker colored floor tile three times with the tip of his foot.
“Dong” “Dong Dong”
As the three rhythmic taps sounded, one by one, inverted steps emerged from the back of the staircase.
Lynch lifted his leg and stepped. The next moment, the gravity of the earth seemed to invert. Lynch stood on the steps that had appeared on the back of the staircase.
He stood straight on the steps, or rather, below the steps, without anything seeming out of place about him.
But from the ground, he appeared to be standing upside down.
Lynch moved his feet, walking step by step, inverted, up the steps from the back of the staircase to the second floor.
When he reached the end of the stairs, he gently pushed and walked into a small room.
The room was small, only half the size of Lynch’s bedroom.
In its center stood a huge black stone table, occupying nearly half of the room’s space.
Upon closer inspection of this black stone table, one would find some well-hidden seams on its surface, proving that the table was assembled from many pieces of stone.
At this moment, in the center of the stone table, stood the black raven wood carving that was Lynch’s confidence in promising Dumbledore he would not step out of Hogwarts.
This was a lifelike carving of a raven. The texture of each feather, the curved arc of its large, thick beak, the demarcation of the scales on its legs and talons—all seemed as if a real raven had been solidified within the wood grain.
Lynch walked to the table. The hovering bag silently descended, the black drawstring withdrew, and the contents of the bag were revealed.
A transparent bottle containing half a bottle of silvery-gray metallic liquid.
Three fiery red bird tail feathers, their surfaces occasionally gleaming with golden light.
Shaking the bottle, Lynch sighed, “Just this half-bottle of Mithril Essence requires melting and extracting from the Mithril ingots of three Goblin forges. It truly is a considerable cost.”
He put down the bottle, extended three fingers, picked up the three tail feathers, and examined them closely in front of his eyes.
“I wonder if one of these three Phoenix feathers belongs to Fawkes, Dumbledore’s Phoenix.”
He shook his head, dispelling the sudden distracting thoughts.
Lynch took a deep breath, his eyes becoming sharp as knives.
With a light tap of his left fingertip, the bottle’s cap opened, and the silvery-gray Mithril Essence floated out, flowing in the air, then pouring down onto the head of the raven wood carving.
His left hand transformed into a claw. Lynch spread his five fingers, grasping vaguely in the air.
The silvery-gray Mithril Essence was evenly applied to the surface of the wood carving.
His right hand, with fingers held together, gripped the three Phoenix tail feathers and pointed them at the wood carving.
Blazing flames erupted from the tail feathers, scorching the wood carving on the stone table.
The flames spewing from the tail feathers were astonishingly hot. The air in the room became dry, and the temperature rapidly rose.
Soon, large beads of sweat dripped from Lynch’s chin.
But Lynch’s gaze remained sharp and firm, and he continuously chanted obscure and unintelligible incantations.
Time passed minute by minute. The wood carving, encased in Mithril Essence, remained unharmed in the flames, but its originally silvery-gray Mithril Essence began to turn fiery red.
When the color of the Mithril Essence completely turned red, and the entire raven wood carving seemed to glow in the flames.
Lynch’s gaze sharpened. Keeping his right hand still, his left hand quickly clenched into a fist, his thumb extended, and he sharply jabbed it at the center of his chest, over his heart.
Then he sharply withdrew his thumb, opening his palm and aiming it at the glowing wood carving in the flames.
Lynch felt his vision go black, and a sudden sharp pain gripped his heart, as if an invisible pair of large hands were tearing his heart in two.
A drop of crimson blood emerged from the location of Lynch’s heart, shooting through the gap between his left index finger and thumb towards the wood carving.
This drop of blood, like an arrow released from a bowstring, struck the wood carving unaffected by the Phoenix flames.
The next moment, the flames spewing from the Phoenix tail feathers vanished, and the fiery red metallic liquid on the wood carving’s surface permeated into its interior.
Lynch stumbled, reaching out with his right hand to cover his chest over his heart.
Ignoring the sweat on his face, he looked at the raven wood carving on the table.
In just a second or two, the raven wood carving returned to its previous black color, as if the fiery red glow had been an illusion.
Then, Lynch saw the raven’s head turn slightly, its eyes suddenly opening and looking at Lynch.