Marcel gripped "Fiendfyre Bottle No. 2," carefully dodging the basilisk's attacks.
He had no choice but to be careful.
The flaw of this thing still hadn't been solved. If it was shaken too much, it was likely to explode in Marcel's hand...
"...Now."
As the strong wind rushed towards him again, Marcel casually threw the potion bottle in his hand and then ran straight back.
"Marcel!"
"Hmm?"
Marcel's heart trembled. He opened his eyes wide and saw Hermione standing at the library entrance with a Ravenclaw girl, looking in his direction.
It was too late!
He hastily smashed a bottle on the ground. A cold, white mist suddenly rose, enveloping the entire corridor in a haze.
Looking closely, one could see faint, sparkling crystals within it.
In his haste, Marcel had used this as a smoke bomb.
But even though Marcel acted quickly, it still took time for the white mist to thicken.
Hermione and the other girl stood frozen on the spot. Their bodies gradually stiffened, and before long, they fell hard to the ground.
In the end, the basilisk still shrieked and fled, wounded.
More than half of the flames that had erupted from "Fiendfyre Bottle No. 2" had fallen on the floor and walls, extinguishing after a short while. But the remaining flames had attached themselves to the basilisk's head and body. Even as it rolled and fled at high speed, it didn't have much effect.
The flames seemed to be stuck to its body, burning continuously, showing no signs of diminishing.
And Marcel was now squatting beside Hermione, silently examining her.
"What's wrong with Miss Granger?" Lockhart suddenly leaned over. "Oh—heavens!"
Neither Marcel nor Vylie paid him any attention, but was Lockhart the type to shut up if no one responded?
"This is terrible—I was just about to ask Miss Granger to help me reply to the enthusiastic letters from my fans! You know, she's one of my loyal readers."
Lockhart babbled on, seemingly with no intention of stopping.
"Marcel," Vylie walked forward, looked at Hermione, and said softly.
"It's fine. They've just been Petrified..." he said, shaking his head, then muttered to himself, "Is this the compulsory force of fate?"
Suddenly, Marcel's eyes were fixed on Hermione's hand, his gaze filled with solemnity.
"...It seems the so-called 'compulsory force' isn't as strong as I thought."
He squatted next to Hermione, looked up at the library, and frowned in thought. He was connecting all possible links, trying to trace back to the source of the result before him.
After a good while, he raised his head slightly and glanced at Lockhart.
"You just said you were looking for Hermione to help you reply to your readers' letters?"
"Oh! Yes, yes... you know, teaching at Hogwarts, my free time has decreased," Lockhart said with a look of regret.
"You didn't ask Harry to help you reply?" Marcel squinted his eyes.
"I really wanted to, but Mr. Potter seems to have been busy with Quidditch training and what not."
"No wonder I haven't heard about Ron vomiting slugs—"
He then sorted out his thoughts and already had some answers in his mind.
"Since what's past is past, let's try to remedy it and see what effect it has..."
Muttering to himself, Marcel walked towards the library, but his hand was already on the wand in his sleeve.
"Obliviate!" "Protego!"
From behind Marcel, Lockhart's incantation was clearly heard.
As if he had long expected it, he unhesitatingly took a step back diagonally. A transparent shield appeared in the beam of the Memory Charm, erupting in a dazzling glow.
Marcel's angle was controlled with particular precision. The shield acted like a mirror, reflecting the Memory Charm onto the wall.
"Professor Gilderoy Lockhart," Marcel said calmly, looking at Lockhart, his expression unchanged. "Your Memory Charm is indeed very good. If it were a direct hit, my Shield Charm at this moment would probably not have been able to completely block this blow."
"But please remember, now, you owe me a memory," Marcel said faintly, pointing to his own head.
"You—"
"Or would you prefer I expose the 'creative process' of those novels you wrote?"
Marcel deliberately emphasized the words "creative process," looking at the flustered Lockhart with deep meaning, waiting for his final reaction.
"Er... hehe, hahaha... look at what you're saying," Lockhart said with an awkward laugh. "Actually, actually you've misunderstood—"
"Professor Gilderoy Lockhart, do you need me to explain the specific details to you?" Marcel stared into Lockhart's eyes, holding his wand in one hand, while taking out a small potion bottle with the other.
"This is called Veritaserum. It's very difficult to make. To be honest, I don't want to use this thing. But I think the reporters at the Daily Prophet might be very interested in your little stories."
Lockhart stared at the small bottle in Marcel's hand, the smile on his face completely frozen.
"Er, alright..." he sighed, spreading his hands helplessly. "What do you want?"
"Nothing that will trouble you, Professor," said Marcel. "Just remember, you owe me a favor. When I need it, you'll just have to do me a small favor that's within your power."
"...When?" Lockhart asked after a thought.
"Just in case," Marcel shook his head. "I just hope I'll never have to use you in my life."
"Then so be it! I'm leaving. I won't say anything about what happened today—" Lockhart turned around dejectedly, but before he could take a few steps, Marcel called out to him.
"Professor Lockhart."
"What else is there?" Lockhart said helplessly.
For him, having someone hold something over him was simply too much of a headache. Right now, he just wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible. Immediately! Now!
"If I really need your help with something, there will be a corresponding reward for you," Marcel said, looking at him. "A fresh and hot adventure story, how about it?"
"Re-really?" Lockhart's eyes suddenly lit up.
"I just think that a single piece of leverage might not be enough to get your full cooperation."
"You're welcome to come to me anytime!" Lockhart said, his face full of joy.
But after a pause, he quickly added, "But it has to be within my power."
Marcel nodded, then led Vylie towards the library.
"Why?"
Beside him, Vylie looked up at Marcel and asked.
"Why what?"
"The reward."
Marcel looked at Vylie and shook his head slightly.
"Didn't I just say? To get someone to do something sincerely, there must be a corresponding benefit, otherwise they won't give it their all."
Vylie nodded as if she half-understood, it was unclear how much she actually grasped.
As they spoke, the two of them quickly arrived at a certain bookshelf. Marcel glanced at the shelf, pulled out a book, tore a small piece from one of the pages, and wrote a few words on it.
Then, he walked back to Hermione, and stuffed the piece of paper into her stiff hand.
"Although many sheep have already run away, the pen still needs to be mended," he muttered to himself.
Even though Marcel didn't know what had changed, it was certain that "Ron and Malfoy did not have a conflict."
Perhaps because of this, Harry and Ron were not punished.
Harry did not help Lockhart reply to his letters, and Ron did not go to the trophy room to polish the awards.
And precisely because of this, Lockhart came to the library today to ask Hermione for help, resulting in him encountering Hermione's attack. And Ron, not having seen Tom Riddle's special contribution award in the trophy room, and Hermione, having no clue about the Chamber of Secrets, could only search blindly and had so far made no progress.
But what Marcel had not expected was that it was because he had taught Malfoy a lesson last term that Malfoy did not dare to insult Hermione with the word "Mudblood" again.
This was the true beginning of that series of changes!
"Even... it's very possible that Harry never even picked up Voldemort's diary..."
This was Marcel's incorrect speculation, but it was clear that he had already deduced the general changes in the entire event.
"...Yes, yes, over here."
Marcel suddenly looked up and saw Professor McGonagall and Lockhart hurrying over.
"Er, Marcel..." Lockhart looked at him, a hint of embarrassment on his face.
But then, Lockhart suddenly said to Professor McGonagall, "I asked Mr. Maclean to stand guard here."
Marcel shook his head helplessly.
Although this was clearly the result of Lockhart's eagerness to take credit, this fraud's ability to adapt to circumstances was still quite good.
"Professor McGonagall, this was a double attack."
"Oh—yes, thank you for your trouble," Professor McGonagall said with a sigh. "I know you and Miss Granger are on good terms, but right now, she must be sent to the hospital wing first..."
"Yes, I understand," said Marcel. "Do you need my help?"
"No, but you can come along."
After Professor McGonagall sent Hermione to the hospital wing, she hurried to the Quidditch pitch—for the students' safety, today's match had to be cancelled.
Marcel sat by Hermione's bedside, looking at her calmly, but no one knew what he was thinking. Vylie stood quietly behind him, staring at his back without a word. Her thoughts were also unknown.
On the other side of the bed, Madam Pomfrey was carefully examining Hermione's condition.
About ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall arrived at the hospital wing with Harry and Ron.
"Marcel!" Ron said, his eyes wide.
"...You're here," Marcel said, looking up at him and Harry with an expressionless face.
"Don't you have anything to say!"
Ron glanced at the stiff Hermione on the bed, then suddenly rushed over, grabbed Marcel by the front of his robes, and slammed him from the chair to the ground.
"Don't you have anything to say!" Ron's ferocious face was right in front of Marcel's as he shouted again.
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