Chapter 322 Discussion In Dumbledore's Office
At dusk, everything on the ground was covered in a golden yellow hue.
The setting sun struggled to illuminate the last ray of light in the massive Hogwarts castle.
The same scene unfolded in Dumbledore's Office, where the sunlight shone through the rectangular windows, delicate tableware rested on the slim-legged table, silently revolving and emitting wisps of smoke. Not far off, the glass container with Godric Gryffindor's sword faintly gleamed.
Fawkes, the phoenix, perched on a massive shelf, emitting an eerie cry.
Other than that, the office was quiet.
Dumbledore, with a rare furrowed brow, sat in the oversized armchair, gazing inquisitively at what lay before him with his pale blue eyes.
On the surrounding walls, the successive headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts stared intently at the dark red name plate in front of Dumbledore.
This name plate was the one Evan found in the underground ruins, engraved with a ghastly monster pattern, along with human souls being drawn into it.
"Do you have any thoughts on this?" Dumbledore asked gently.
"Horrible monster, a nightmare incarnation, immortal being feeding on the souls of humans and other living creatures," lazily responded an elder, his voice tinged with mockery, "Oh, it is dreadful, this creature should only exist in mythology!"
It was Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius' great-great-grandfather, and the most unpopular headmaster of Hogwarts.
"But it appeared near Hogwarts, Phineas," remarked a cunning witch, brandishing her very thick wand and speaking sternly, "Albus has just briefed us all; this monster emerged in the Forbidden Forest not far from here, and the boy named Evan Mason encountered it."
"He's lying. Gryffindor House boys are not to be trusted, a bunch of snobs craving the limelight," Phineas sneered, "If he truly encountered this monster, how could he have come out alive? In my opinion, he's a consummate liar!"
"You're a disgrace. Just a few months ago, that boy saved your great-grandson's life and proved the Black family's innocence," shouted the portrait of Dexter Fortescue, a rotund wizard with a red nose. "How can you insult him in such a manner?"
"Now that you've brought up my useless grandson, I have to..."
"Alright, we should get back to the topic," Dilys Derwent interjected slowly.
She was an elderly witch with long silver curls, the most esteemed headmistress in Hogwarts' history. Her portrait adorned many prestigious institutions.
"This name plate and the monster above are clearly magical creations by ancient warrior wizards," Dilys continued, "They are distinct from contemporary wizards. We all know how terrifying those madmen were. For taboo magic, they could pay any price. It's not inconceivable that they created such an abomination."
"But with the changing times, they all vanished. For a thousand years, this world had not seen any of them, nor one of their creations," Phineas argued, "We are not in the foolish Middle Ages anymore, the old relics from a thousand years ago..."
"Not all, not all, they have not completely vanished," a feeble elder spoke slowly.
It was Quentin Trimble, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, author of the essential textbook "Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection."
"Those ancient warrior wizards delved into death, demons, and magic beyond the imagination of the common folk, and some of them may have evaded death's judgment," Quentin paused briefly before continuing, "Many methods are known, but only one has endured. We have discussed this matter many times before."
"It's all mere speculation. Don't think I'm unaware. You have always been biased against the prominent Slytherin House students," Phineas retorted disdainfully.
"It's not mere speculation. The Journal from the past semester has laid bare everything, and Evan's Medallion with a powerful magical reaction should also serve as evidence," said Dumbledore, crossing his fingers and speaking calmly. "The issue now lies in the quantity of them that remain. He must have made many of them. This is undeniable."
There was a silence in the office, and no one spoke.
Phineas bluntly remarked, "Alright, I fail to see why I brought up the topic again. Now we are discussing this cursed identification plaque."
"Indeed. To evade death, ancient wizards and dark sorcerers conducted extensive research. No one can guarantee that there are successful methods aside from creating Horcruxes," Quentin said slowly. "Based on the description, the creature is more of a fusion of Necromancy and Demonic Magic. It essentially fits all the characteristics. Perhaps it was some dark wizard who underwent a direct and malevolent transformation of his body..."
"Nonsense, this is absurd, I have never heard of such magic," Phineas whispered.
Murmurs filled the office, and the other directors doubted Quentin's reasoning as it sounded dreadful.
"I believe I have seen the pattern of this identification plaque somewhere," a dry voice suddenly sounded. The owner of the voice was a gloomy elderly man clad in a very ancient black wizard's robe. "In our time, due to the prolonged war in the Muggle world, dark magic was rampant, and many magic books were not destroyed. I must have seen this pattern in some magic book. But it has been a long time, I cannot recall..."
"This is nothing but empty talk!" Phineas said disdainfully. He raised his voice, overshadowing the voices of others. "Whatever this creature is, whether it truly exists or not, I do not think it's necessary to worry, because it was vanquished by the GREAT SALAZAR SLYTHERIN HIMSELF!"
He was jubilant and very proud of it.
Upon hearing the mention of Salazar Slytherin, the other Directors could not refute. They all held the Four Founders of the school in high regard.
Dumbledore gazed calmly at the identification plaque before him, his thoughts inscrutable to those around him.
Just then, the office door swung open abruptly, and Snape entered, dressed in a black robe with a somber countenance.
On the walls, the portraits of all the male and female directors returned to their usual positions, sitting solemnly in their chairs as if they had never moved.