Chapter 161. Light Everlasting
Walking through the winding corridors of the castle, the portraits on the walls along the way cast curious looks at Lydia and murmured from time to time.
"Such a handsome young lady, don't you think she looks very much like that person?"
"Yes, yes, very similar indeed.
I wonder if their fates will be the same as well.
How pitiful!"
"By the way, that little fellow who lives in the castle seems to have gone out for a bit.
Do you know what he went to do?"
"Of course I know.
What could possibly escape my eyes?" said one portrait, pausing for a moment as it fixed its gaze on Lydia.
The words drifting to her ears were packed with information, constantly tugging at Lydia's heartstrings and teasing her curiosity.
But she pretended not to have heard anything, ignored the voices at her ear, kept her eyes only to the front, and focused on advancing toward her destination.
This was experience left by predecessors in blood.
For witches and wizards harbouring ulterior motives, this castle was peril at every step, like hell itself.
There had once been a self-styled clever man who trusted what the portraits said and tried to quietly wheedle some information about their master from them.
In the end, before he even left the corridor, his head was crammed full by the portraits' chattering.
He fell into madness and was torn apart by the stone statue at the corner.
But so long as you keep the rules—do not wander, do not eavesdrop, do not prattle—this castle will treat you gently.
Lydia reached the door of the study on the third floor without incident, raised her hand and knocked, and when the voice inside told her to come in, she pushed the door open and stepped in at a measured pace.
The furnishings inside were simple.
On both sides stood bookcases rising to the ceiling, crammed from top to bottom with ancient books.
Directly opposite the door sat a reddish-brown desk, with a stack of parchment on it and a quill stuck in an ink bottle.
An elderly wizard with greying hair was sunk into a soft armchair, sitting with his back to the door, his body bathed in sunlight falling through a half-shaded window, holding a book of magic in his hands.
On the book's cover a humanoid thing strained and writhed, as though someone had been sealed inside the book and now wanted to burst through the stiff paper and come out.
"Master."
Lydia stopped two steps from the desk, her eyes burning as she stared at the person ahead, and spoke softly.
"Lydia, if I'm not mistaken, the Christmas holidays don't end for another half-day.
Have you come to me now because there's something the matter?"
The old man curled in the chair turned a page of the book in his hands and spoke while reading.
"Master, I've received a message sent back by Charles.
He ran into someone suspected to be able to use the original magic."
Lydia dipped her head a little and looked at a sheet of parchment swaying in the draught on the desk, first delivering a piece of good news.
"Oh?"
The old man's finger moving along the lines on the page stopped.
"Who is it?
Go on."
Lydia replied, "His name is Duncan Scamander, the grandson of Newt Scamander."
"Another Scamander?"
The old man's tone seemed a little displeased.
"Is the reliability of the information confirmed?"
"There's no certainty, since our understanding of the original magic is still very limited."
Lydia gave that answer, and before the old man could speak added, "But there's something else.
Charles says he saw with his own eyes Duncan Scamander turning into a Fire-Dragon right in front of him!"
"Hmm?"
The old man's hand gripping the book suddenly tightened.
The joints of his fingers were squeezed pale by the force, without a trace of blood.
Even the humanoid creature writhing on the cover seemed to suffer great harm, let out a piercing wail, sank into the inside, and fell silent.
"Turning into a Fire-Dragon—a magical creature?"
The old man's wrinkled hand reached to the side and took a mask from the shelf to put on his face.
The armchair floated up and rotated.
Facing the desk, the old man set the book down and stared at Lydia as he said, "You know what this information means for us, don't you, Lydia?"
"Of course."
Lydia straightened her back, a fanatical light flashing in her eyes.
"It means our direction of research is correct!"
"It's just—how did that Duncan Scamander learn such marvellous magic?" the old man said, musing.
Lydia raised her voice and volunteered, "Master, you need not be troubled by this.
I will immediately have people bring him back.
Then you can interrogate him in person.
I'm certain that the moment he sees you, he will tell you all his secrets without reservation."
"No, no, Lydia, there's something more important I need you to do," the old man said with a slight shake of the head.
"More important?"
Lydia breathed, her pupils suddenly widening, even her breathing growing heavy, hot air puffing out of her high nose.
"Is that plan at last going to be set in motion?"
The old man gave a slight nod, and a smile appeared at the lips showing through the holes of the mask.
"The appearance of that child is a signal.
The time is about right.
The cold, bone-piercing darkness will be torn open, and warm, gentle light will be everlasting!"
"Light Everlasting!" Lydia shouted.
"Master, we will certainly not let you down!"
"Off you go.
Make haste with the preparations.
The other bishops will fully cooperate with you," the old man said with a wave.
Lydia nodded hard, turned, and strode toward the door.
Her hand closed on the doorknob and was about to open it when—
The old man suddenly called her back.
Smiling, he said, "What a dreadful memory I have.
Lydia, the information you brought back is useful.
Pick two books from the shelf and take them."
"Yes!"
Joy welled in Lydia's eyes.
The books in this study were all powerful works of magic, rarely seen elsewhere.
But when she was about to choose, she suddenly remembered something and, with unease, said, "Master, there is one more matter."
"What is it?"
The old man picked up the book on the desk with one hand, flipped to the place he had just been reading, and prepared to continue.
"The earlier plan failed," Lydia said in a lowered voice.
"We did not manage to kill Newt Scamander."
"Oh?
Didn't you say you had enough people and were sure of success?"
The old man found the mark he had made on the open page, nodded with satisfaction, and his voice was a shade colder than before.
"We were held up by Duncan Scamander.
He has a strange sort of power that can command those maddened magical creatures."
"So many of you, all stopped by a child?"
The old man's lips pressed a little tighter.
"No—there was also Dumbledore.
He brought the professors of Hogwarts to the gorge.
We were no match for them."
"Dumbledore?"
A subtle change entered the old man's voice.
"Didn't Lord Voldemort say he would hold them back?"
"Lord Voldemort is dead," Lydia said, head slightly bowed.
"He was toyed with half to death by that boy and could only flee the school, and in the end was killed by that boy in the forest.
That was why Dumbledore dared to bring all the professors to the gorge as reinforcements."
"Him again?"
The old man's voice held anger.
That seemingly omnipresent boy was getting on his nerves.
"Do you need me to act?" Lydia proposed.
"I have a way that guarantees he can be killed."
The old man drew a deep breath and went on, "No need.
That plan is the great matter.
Don't let him delay your time."
"Yes," Lydia nodded lightly.
"And Newt Scamander?"
"Keep looking for an opportunity to kill him," the old man said without the slightest hesitation.
Lydia was taken aback for a moment.
She had thought the old man before her would put a stop to the plan to murder Newt, but unexpectedly it would continue.
She hesitated and asked, "Master, why?
Newt Scamander doesn't seem that great a threat to us..."
"Because he makes me uncomfortable.
Every day he remains alive will only vex me more," said the old man.
A trace of bewilderment rose in Lydia's eyes.
That reason seemed a bit too simple...
"That's enough.
You may go," the old man said with a wave.
Once Lydia had vanished from the room, the old man did not continue reading.
He turned the chair again to face the window.
Basking in the sunlight, he raised his head and looked at the blue sky, and after a sigh murmured to himself, "Duncan Scamander..."
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