Marcel had never imagined that a single, casual sentence from him could alter the course of history. It was something he should have expected, yet could not have predicted.
Because of him, Neville was not injured. Because of that, Malfoy never picked up the Remembrall. And because Harry never got on a broom to fight Malfoy for it, his talent as a Quidditch Seeker was never discovered by Professor McGonagall.
To everyone else, everything was normal. Even Harry, the person most involved, felt no sense of incongruity.
But Marcel was different. He didn't know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. It only confirmed that the world he was in was a real, tangible world—a truth he had already understood during his time in Plymouth. But it wasn't until this moment that he truly realized what that meant.
Should he try to maintain the world from his memories, or should he cast the past aside and experience this new reality with his own senses?
Thinking of this, Marcel couldn't help but shake his head.
Perhaps, from the moment he found himself here, he should never have bothered with these frustrating thoughts. A butterfly's wings always flap instinctively and unintentionally. It can never predict what consequences this slight change in airflow will cause. Rather than worrying about things beyond his control, it was better to face the unknown future with calm.
Marcel had never considered himself to be anyone special. He might achieve some small things, but that was all.
"Enjoying life is what really matters," Marcel sighed.
"That sounds like something an old man would say," Hagrid said, walking over. He had also been watching the match from the Gryffindor side.
"Yeah! Marcel's always saying things only old geezers would say," Ron added with a laugh.
"That's wisdom! You wouldn't understand!" Hermione had held Marcel in high esteem ever since he saved her from the troll.
"That's wisdom! You wouldn't understand!" Ron mimicked Hermione's tone to Harry, who burst out laughing.
"Hmph!"
Hermione, both embarrassed and angry, turned her head away from Ron. But Marcel was walking right next to her, and when she turned, her eyes met his.
"..." Hermione froze for a moment, then, her face slightly red, turned her head away again.
After the troll incident, the relationship between Hermione and the two boys was not as strained. This seemed to be because Harry and Ron were the first to arrive at the bathroom. Marcel didn't know the specific details, but it was a good outcome that the Gryffindor trio could remain friends.
A short while later, they returned to the gamekeeper's hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where the owner was making them a strong cup of tea. Marcel had come along this time with the clear intention of continuing his potion-making practice at Hagrid's place; he had already been here several times.
"It was Snape," Ron explained to the group. "Harry ran into Snape at Filch's office. One of his legs was badly injured."
"Snape's injured?" Hagrid asked curiously. "What was he doing?"
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Marcel exchanged glances, unsure how to tell him. In the end, Harry decided to tell the truth.
"I've found out something about him," he said to Hagrid. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween. It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."
Hagrid dropped the teapot with a clang.
"How do you know about Fluffy?" he asked grimly.
"Fluffy?" said Harry.
"That's the three-headed dog we saw."
"Yeah, he's mine. Bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub last year. I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"
"What?" Harry asked eagerly.
"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid roughly. "That's top secret, that is."
"But Snape's trying to steal it!"
"Rubbish," said Hagrid again. "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothin' of the sort."
"So why did he get bitten by... right, Fluffy?" Harry said loudly. "I heard him say it himself!"
"I'm tellin' you, you're wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "You listen to me, all four of you! You're meddlin' in things that don't concern you. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, and you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore and Nicolas Flamel—"
"Aha!" said Harry. "So there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"
Marcel gave Hagrid a helpless look. He had only been involved in one part of the whole affair, but he had pretty much figured out the overall situation.
Hagrid stood there, fuming—furious with himself.
The original plan would have to be canceled. With Hagrid in such a foul mood, he didn't think now was a good time to stay and brew potions.
…
Time flowed by, and the seasons turned. Although it hadn't snowed at Hogwarts yet, the weather had become very cold.
One thing had to be mentioned: through Marcel's relentless efforts, the new invisibility potion had been successfully developed. Not to mention the long hours of practical experimentation, the potion formula itself had been revised again and again. The hardships involved were truly difficult to put into words.
But thankfully, one way or another, it was finally complete.
That very night, Marcel drank the potion and plunged into the Restricted Section of the library. He could no longer wait to get his hands on those dangerous and mysterious Dark Arts!
He had already learned some curses involving dark magic from the books he ordered from Flourish and Blotts, but those were all materials that had been filtered through layers of approval by the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts professors. To truly understand the essential difference between Dark and Light magic, he had to take a look in the Restricted Section.
"Argh!"
The very first book Marcel opened displayed an unusual characteristic of dark magic. As the reader opened it, a terrifying face bulged out from its pages, letting out a soul-shaking, mournful scream.
He quickly tapped it with his wand to soothe the magical fluctuations. The face subsided, and the book returned to its original appearance.
"That scream seems to be a cry originating from the soul, not an actual physical sound wave," Marcel thought with a frown, then turned to the book's title page.
"The Weight of the Soul, stemming from the unbearable lightness of sin. —Ragnar Bastos"
He saw that beneath the word "Weight," someone had written a few small numbers and letters: "0.675 ocm".
"An old ounce unit?" Marcel had a theory. "Is this the weight of a soul? How was it measured?"
He quickly scanned the table of contents and found that it was a book on the in-depth study of soul magic. Although it was all theoretical research without a single record of practical application, it was undoubtedly a classic dark magic text.
After reading for a while, Marcel felt something was wrong. The book still emanated a subtle magical fluctuation that made him uncomfortable. It wasn't until he closed the book that this unsettling wave of magic abruptly vanished.
Afterward, he went through several more books, all of which delved into various dangerous and mysterious magical knowledge. Some of them were quite resistant to being opened, struggling to close themselves again.
"The deeper the dark magical knowledge attempts to touch the essence of magic, the more closely it is related to human nature and personality. What does this mean?" Marcel left the Restricted Section and sat down by a library window, relaxing his nerves, which had been constantly tense from the dangerous dark magic.
Filch seemed to have made a special inspection tour due to the earlier noise, but Marcel didn't even glance at him. He just took a step to the side as Filch passed to avoid being bumped into.
Mrs. Norris, however, looked quizzically in Marcel's direction, though she didn't spot anything.
In Marcel's view, the contents of those restricted books all questioned the reader's character and inner self. Some books were even enchanted with such effects, making the reader constantly feel a questioning from the depths of their soul.
"No, some of those books are not something I can casually read at my current level," Marcel wiped the fine beads of sweat from his forehead. He dragged his weary body back to the dormitory to sleep. He needed to clear his head and rest properly.
A few days later, having brewed half a dozen vials of his new invisibility potion, Marcel applied small, waterproof labels to each bottle. The labels clearly displayed the new name he had given them: Fae-Fade Potion.
It sounded quite nice, but in reality, he had just lazily combined the words "Fairy" and "Invisibility," his lazy nature on full display.
Then, he secretly made his way to the territory of the Whomping Willow outside the Forbidden Forest.
For some time now, at Marcel's request, Professor Sprout, his Herbology teacher, had often brought him along to care for this peculiar, human-hitting plant.
Professor Sprout was the Head of Hufflepuff House. She was a remarkably kind and optimistic person, and she always showed an undisguised favoritism toward the students of her own house.
And Marcel, with his outstanding grades, had definitely become her most beloved student. To this day, Professor Sprout had never refused to help with any of Marcel's requests.
This even included permission for Marcel to "borrow a section of Greenhouse Two" and to accompany her in caring for the Whomping Willow, which was off-limits to other students.
Of course, although part of the reason was his curiosity about the plant, what Marcel was really interested in was the secret passage to Hogsmeade located beneath its roots.
At this moment, standing in a spot the flailing Whomping Willow couldn't reach, Marcel made no attempt to rush in and find the so-called "knot" that was supposed to calm it down. There were so many knots on its trunk, he had no idea which one it was, nor did he have any interest in trying them one by one.
He took out a small, metal whistle, put it to his lips, and blew softly. A silent sound wave shot straight toward the Whomping Willow. It immediately trembled and went still.
"It looks quite beautiful, all green and leafy," Marcel said, looking at it, "as long as it doesn't move."