The small compartment instantly fell completely silent, devoid of any sound of conversation.
The rumbling sound of the train wheels crushing against the tracks was magnified infinitely, becoming the sole background noise of the moment and making the look of astonishment on several faces all the more glaring.
Rodolphus froze in his seat.
Having immersed himself in the circles of Pure-blood aristocracy since childhood and thoroughly read all kinds of magical tomes, he had done so just to achieve outstanding grades at Hogwarts and rank among the top.
Yet even for him, he could only sporadically recite the preparation methods for a few potions learned in the first year.
A half-blood newcomer who had just stepped into the magical world at only eleven years old had actually recited advanced potion-making knowledge, which was systematically studied only in upper years, without a single error.
So precise it was as if she had brewed them personally!
The arrogance deep within the heart of Rodolphus was fiercely shattered in a corner, but what followed was not admiration, but an even more intense fury and unwillingness.
If she were a Pure-blood, that would be one thing!
What he could least tolerate was a half-blood whose background he regarded as “inferior”. crushing him mercilessly in the realm of knowledge he took the most pride in.
After a brief moment of stagnation, Rodolphus stared fixedly at Isolde, who stood calmly at the doorway.
His tone was sharp, full of sarcastic harassment:
“I have certainly underestimated you. I did not expect a half-blood like you to know quite so much.”
He was convinced that Isolde had merely rote-memorized the textual content and did not understand actual magical application at all.
He immediately lifted his chin, deliberate contempt surging in the depths of his eyes, and continued his provocation:
“No matter how well you memorize potion theory, it is completely useless. The true essence of magic lies in practice! Since you boast of extraordinary talent, let me test you once more.”
“Speak up, Winnier! How should Expecto Patronum be cast?”
Isolde Winnier stood at the doorway of the compartment, the hem of her clothes trembling slightly with the motion of the train.
Her fingertips casually twirled the wand in her hand.
Facing the sharp questioning of Rodolphus, there was not a trace of panic on her face; instead, she hooked the corners of her mouth into a smile carrying a hint of slyness.
Those blue eyes shone as if filled with shattered stars, completely unconcerned by the contemptuous tone of the other person.
“Potion theory is merely the foundation. Since Mr. Rodolphus is obsessed with practice, then so be it.”
Her voice was clear and crisp, carrying a trace of casual languidness, yet it clearly pierced through the dead silence in the carriage.
The next second, she raised her wrist and lifted her wand, her movements so fluid as if repeated thousands of times, without the slightest hesitation or stutter.
The wand spun a clean arc at her fingertips, and immediately afterward, a clear silver-blue light gushed forth fiercely from the tip of the wand!
That light did not burst open suddenly like any ordinary spell, but slowly unfolded and condensed, first turning into a soft cluster of clouds, then gradually outlining a clear silhouette.
The feathers of the lark were an extremely pale silver-blue, their edges suffused with tiny fragments of light, and when its wings spread, they carried iridescent ripples.
The crest on top of its head tilted up slightly, and its eyes were bright and lively.
The moment it appeared, it circled lightly within the narrow compartment; as its wings flapped, it actually shed a few wisps of starry silver-blue light motes before they dissipated.
“Ex—pec—to—Pa—tro—num.”
Isolde softly chanted the spell, her ending note carrying a trace of a smile.
She could clearly feel that the magic power within her body, which was originally not quite abundant, was flowing along the wand conduction, precisely injecting itself into the form of the Patronus.
The Patronus Charm, which was only systematically studied in the fifth year, might be an insurmountable threshold for others.
But for her, it was merely a little trick that could be easily cast by relying on the ultimate control over magic power.
This was the benefit of living a life anew.
The lark Patronus circled the compartment twice, finally landing on the shoulder of Isolde, and affectionately rubbed against her cheek.
The deathly silence in the compartment lasted for a full three seconds.
The first to break the silence was Bellatrix Black.
She had originally leaned against the carriage wall with her arms crossed, wearing a casual and arrogant expression, as if this confrontation had nothing to do with her.
But when that silver-blue light lit up and the figure of the lark slowly emerged, the casualness on her face vanished instantly, her signature gray eyes widening abruptly, filled with unbelievable shock.
She had thought that Isolde Winnier was not simple.
Based on the preparation process of the Draught of Peace just recited by the other party.
But she had never expected that Isolde was not just rich in theory.
At Hogwarts, even among the Pure-blood nobility of Slytherin, very few could successfully cast the Patronus Charm by the fifth year.
Let alone someone like Isolde, who completed it effortlessly at eleven years old, with even the form of the Patronus being so exquisite.
The mouth of Bellatrix curved up slightly, revealing a smile of stunned appreciation.
It was like encountering an opponent that interested her.
She straightened up, no longer maintaining her previous onlooker posture, but looked at Isolde seriously, a bit of genuine regard added to her eyes.
She murmured softly, her fingertips tapping lightly against her chin.
“This half-blood girl is much more interesting than those fools like the Lestranges who brag everywhere without any real strength.”
Rodolphus Lestrange froze in his seat, the arrogance and fury on his face instantly replaced by astonishment.
It was like being fiercely slapped across the face, his cheeks burning with pain.
Not only did Isolde know how to use the Expecto Patronum spell, she had even cast it.
She, she was clearly only a first-year!
Who had not systematically studied magical knowledge…
Rodolphus opened his mouth, the mocking words he had prepared all stuck in his throat.
His face turned alternately red and white, his fingers trembling as they pointed at Isolde and the Patronus on her shoulder.
His lips moved for a long time, only squeezing out a few intermittent words:
“You… how is that possible…”
“Nothing is impossible.”
Isolde looked at Rodolphus, a trace of faint amusement in her eyes, akin to a provocation.
“Magic is never measured by bloodline, Mr. Lestrange. Pure-blood heritage may bring convenience, but true power stems from the understanding and mastery of magic.”
“Oh right, I think I will become the strongest… half-blood of this year.”
Her voice was not loud, but every word was clear, like a heavy hammer smashing fiercely into the heart of Rodolphus.
Just then, the compartment door was gently knocked on, and a voice carrying a bit of surprise and heartiness came in:
“What is happening inside?”
Everyone looked towards the source of the sound, only to see a boy dressed in Slytherin prefect robes standing at the doorway, the prefect badge fastened on his chest, with obvious surprise on his face.
He was the Slytherin prefect and also Thomas Gore, who was responsible for the train patrol tonight, and at this moment he was peeking into the compartment.
When his gaze fell upon the Patronus of Isolde, his eyes widened instantly.
“Oh, Merlin’s beard!”
Thomas Gore could not help letting out a low gasp, walking quickly into the compartment, his gaze locked tightly onto that silver-blue lark.
He swept his gaze over the wand in the hand of Isolde, and finally landed on Rodolphus, whose face was ashen.
“What is this? A Patronus Charm?!”
He evidently also recognized this spell, and the surprise on his face was even greater.
An eleven-year-old student casting a Patronus Charm on the Hogwarts Express—this was simply monumental news!
Isolde: Mhm right!
I am a genius.
Thomas Gore suddenly slapped his forehead, as if remembering something important, his eyes lighting up, his tone full of excitement:
“I remember now! Professor Slughorn is also on this train! He specially came to chat with some new students today, and I never expected to run into such a scene!”
He turned around abruptly, looking at Isolde and her Patronus:
“Merlin above, this is definitely something worth letting the professor know!”