Back at the attic, the first thing Evan did was head toward the corner where various cages were stacked.
The “dinner ingredients” he bought today were waiting for him.
After a quick succession of strikes, his experience bar rose another level—Level 12.
Evan wiped the blood off his knife and headed upstairs.
In the second-floor partition, Vivian and Tom had already settled Marcus in.
The wound had been re-dressed, and he had been fed a potion.
His breathing was steady now; he was fast asleep.
Evan took a quick look from the doorway and returned to his bedroom without entering.
He looked at the hundred bottles of Mana Restoration Potion in his bag.
This was the total amount acquired today.
Because of the trouble with Marcus, the exchange and procurement had been significantly delayed, and the quantity was half of what it had been yesterday.
Evan unscrewed the caps and began chugging them one by one.
After his body had been reinforced, he even had the illusion that his bladder had been strengthened as well.
Previously, he couldn’t drink more than ten bottles at a time, but this time he reached the thirtieth bottle before feeling full.
It took him two hours to finish the hundred-plus bottles.
He checked his panel, but it was still the same listless, unchanging mess.
“Just how much do you need to eat!” Evan wiped his mouth, feeling like he was filling a bottomless pit.
While the panel yielded nothing, the experience bar provided some consolation.
This made him think back to the five people he had killed today.
The experience value from a wizard was ridiculously high.
It was far higher than killing chickens or sheep, and even higher than magical creatures.
“As expected…
people are the highest-tier experience packs.”
What if…
what if he killed a more powerful wizard?
An Auror?
A Dark Wizard?
A Death Eater?
Or even…
Dumbledore?
He shook his head, quickly suppressing the thought.
It wasn’t time yet.
***
Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office.
10:17 PM.
Professor McGonagall was once again jolted awake by the alarm charm.
This time, she didn’t even change out of her dressing gown; she grabbed her wand and rushed straight into the room housing the Book of Admittance.
The door flew open, and the room looked as though it were enduring a storm.
The Book of Admittance was frantically flipping through its pages on the stone pedestal, while the Quill of Acceptance hovered in mid-air, twitching as if having a seizure, splattering ink all over the room. The source of this chapter is g.com.
“Merlin’s beard…” She quickly waved her wand.
“*Quietus!*”
A forced silencing charm blanketed the room.
The noise stopped, but the pages continued to flip, and the quill continued its erratic trembling, looking like it had gone mad.
Professor McGonagall approached the pedestal for a closer look.
On the pages of the Book of Admittance, a name was repeatedly flashing—or rather, the first half of the same name was flashing.
*E·V…
E·V…
E·V…
E·V…*
It would appear for two strokes and then vanish.
A second later, it would reappear.
Then vanish again.
It was as if an invisible hand were holding the quill, writing on the page and then erasing it, over and over.
“What on earth is going on?” McGonagall frowned.
She had worked at this school for over thirty years and had never seen the Book of Admittance behave like this.
This object was an alchemical creation left by the four founders, and its operating principle was quite simple.
When a wizarding child within the British Isles reached a certain threshold of magic, the Quill of Acceptance would automatically write their name in the Book of Admittance.
But now…
both the book and the quill were having a fit.
It was as if the child’s magic were jumping back and forth between “meeting the standard” and “falling short.”
“Is it starting again?” A voice came from the doorway.
McGonagall turned.
Dumbledore was standing there in a dressing gown patterned with stars and moons, holding a steaming cup of honey tea.
“It’s been like this every night since Wednesday,” McGonagall said, rubbing her temples.
“Especially around midnight; the fits are extremely frequent.
Last night, between ten and three in the morning, this name flashed over two hundred times.”
Dumbledore entered the room and leaned in to examine the pages.
*E·V·A…* Flash.
Vanish.
*E·V·A·N…* Flash.
Vanish again.
“Evan?” Dumbledore murmured.
“The problem is quite strange.
Why would a child’s magic be so unstable?
It defies common sense.
Magic awakening is a gradual process; once you reach the threshold, you’ve reached it.
Unless something extraordinary is happening to that child—something causing his magic levels to fluctuate violently and frequently.”
The two remained silent for a moment.
“Should we investigate?” McGonagall asked.
Dumbledore thought for a moment.
“Not for now.
Let’s continue to observe.
If this phenomenon continues, or becomes even more frequent, we might have to intervene.” He walked to the stone pedestal, his finger mindedly tapping the pages.
“A child whose magic level rises and falls like they’re riding a broken broomstick.
Interesting.”
“I don’t find it interesting at all!” McGonagall sighed and pulled over a chair to sit down.
“I’m staying here tonight to record the frequency and duration of these fits.
Perhaps we can find a pattern.”
“Thank you for your hard work, Minerva,” Dumbledore smiled, walking toward the door with his tea.
“If you need tea, the pot in my office is always warm.”
“Albus.” Dumbledore turned back.
“Do you think this has anything to do with that prophecy?
The one regarding fate?”
Dumbledore stood in the doorway.
Moonlight from the corridor window shone in, casting half-light and half-shadow across his face.
“Knockturn Alley has never been peaceful, Minerva, but this summer…
something there is indeed different.”
He left.
Professor McGonagall sat alone in the room, watching the Book of Admittance continue its erratic performance.
The quill traced messy trajectories in the air, and the parchment rustled loudly.
She took out her own quill and parchment and began recording:
*10:23 PM—Flashed E·V·A, duration 0.8 seconds.* *10:26 PM—Flashed A·V, duration 0.5 seconds.* *10:29 PM—Flashed A·V·A·N, duration 1.2 seconds.*
Having written this, she paused and looked out at the dark night sky.
“This summer break will likely not be a quiet one.”
In Knockturn Alley.
The child whose magic was jumping back and forth across the “standard line” suddenly downed the last two bottles of potion.
The quill in front of Professor McGonagall gave a violent jerk.
Several letters were written in rapid succession:
*R·O·S·I·E·R*
*Evan Rosier*
It was complete.
But the name remained on the page for less than 0.1 seconds before vanishing again.
By the time McGonagall snapped back to attention, the Book of Admittance was flapping its pages as if nothing had changed.
(O_o)??
Professor McGonagall: *Did I just miss something?*