At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Chapter 64 The Eve of the Storm

The night at Hogwarts was so dark it seemed to drip ink. The cold wind from the edge of the Forbidden Forest, carrying the bitterness of pine resin and the faint fishy smell of unknown wild beasts, quietly climbed the cliff and pounded against the castle's glass windows again and again.

For the young wizards on the list of those to be confined to the Forbidden Forest tomorrow night, and for those who care about them, it is destined to be a sleepless night, filled with their own worries.

In the boys' dormitory in the Gryffindor Tower, there was no oppressive atmosphere of impending doom; instead, the atmosphere was as lively as if they were preparing for a Quidditch Cup victory celebration party.

The stove crackled and popped, and the golden-red curtains swayed slightly in the heat.

"So, you really looked that old hag Umbridge straight in the eye? Merlin's beard, Harry, you were so cool!"

Seamus Finnigan sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, clutching a handful of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, waving his fist excitedly as if he too had participated in the midnight standoff.

"Of course! You didn't see it, that toad was swaggering around talking about Azkaban and the law, but then Dumbledore came out and casually mentioned a teaching experiment!"

Ron sat smugly on the bed, directing his Wizard Chess game.

His knight was brutally smashing the opponent's pawns. "With Dumbledore backing him up, what is the Ministry of Magic?"

Fudge is just a useless bum who only knows how to stamp documents!

Dean Thomas burst into laughter in agreement.

Amidst the commotion, only Neville Longbottom stood out. Wearing striped pajamas, he nervously twisted the hem of his shirt and moved guiltily to Harry's bedside. His eyes were still red; he had clearly been secretly crying.

"I'm sorry, Harry—" Neville's voice was faint and nasal. "If I hadn't been so clumsy that night and hadn't let the box hit the wall and attract Filch's cat, we might not have been caught. It's all my fault—or—or should I lend you Rafer tomorrow? It's just a toad, but maybe it can help you scout the Forbidden Forest."

"Don't be silly, Neville!" Harry sat up from the four-poster bed, patting Neville's trembling shoulder with a smile, and said confidently, "We're going for a walk, not to our deaths. Hagrid will be with us, bringing Babbler. Besides, we've even moved Norwegian Ridgebacks, what's so dangerous about the edge of the Forbidden Forest?"

Harry lay back down on the bed, hands behind his head, a relaxed smile on his lips. In his view, the Ministry of Magic's documents were nothing but waste paper, and Malfoy's schemes were nothing but a joke.

That night, Dumbledore's gaze and his comment that courage and recklessness are often separated by a fine line were like a get-out-of-jail-free card, deeply imprinted in his heart.

He was an orphan who lost both his parents, and at the top of that tower, he felt shelter and acceptance.

This blind optimism completely enveloped the two boys in a dream of the inevitable victory of justice.

They were simply looking forward to seeing Malfoy terrified and running away in the Forbidden Forest the next day.

In stark contrast to the carefree clamor of the boys' dormitory, Hermione Granger sat alone in a corner of the Gryffindor common room under a kerosene lamp that was about to burn out.

The fire in the furnace had gone out, leaving only a few embers.

The lounge was as cold as an icebox, but Hermione seemed oblivious.

She was draped in a thin blanket, and a book titled "The Evolution of Modern Magic Acts and the Hogwarts Charter of Autonomy" was open in front of her.

Just half an hour earlier, her roommate Lavender Brown had tried to drag her to deliver some "garlic cross amulet" to poor Parvati, but she politely declined with an excuse.

Hermione stared intently at the legal text on the page, the quill pen tip unconsciously split from her biting. Her gaze wasn't focused on the words at all; her mind was filled with Ron's boastful words from the Great Hall earlier that day: "The Headmaster signed some kind of report—probably some document proving the school has dragons."

"How could they laugh—how dare they laugh!" Hermione murmured in anguish, tears finally streaming down her face and splashing onto the parchment, leaving a wet patch.

Tomorrow night's Forbidden Forest adventure is not a simple exploration for her, and even the punishment itself is not the point.

The key point is the "Campus Security Risk Assessment Report" that Dumbledore was forced to sign. She knows all too well the administrative bureaucratic systems of Muggles and the wizarding world.

Hermione forcefully wiped away the tears on her cheeks.

No, now is not the time to despair. Closing her eyes and waiting for death or lamenting on the sidelines has never been her style.

She slammed the heavy book shut, pushed it to the corner of the table, and turned to pull out "Defense Against the Dark Arts" from the pile of books next to her.

Since the noose has already been put on and she can't do anything about it, she at least has to make sure that the two idiots can walk out of that forest full of XXXXX-level creatures unharmed by tomorrow night!

"Lavender's garlic is useless—if they encounter werewolves or giant spiders, they need powerful repelling spells and scent-dissolving agents—" she muttered to herself as she flipped through the pages of the book.

In this towering Gryphon House, filled with blind courage and passion, only she was aware of the approaching abyss.

No one understood her; Hermione had to bear this fear alone.

But before the abyss truly opens its jaws, she must do everything in her power to weave a final shield for her reckless friends.

In the cold, damp cellar.

The Slytherin common room was filled with the faint, fishy smell of the Black Lake. A ghostly green flame burned in the fireplace, casting a play of light and shadow on Draco Malfoy's pale, sharp face. He was lounging in a sofa, leisurely applying conditioning oil to his dragon-skin windproof gloves with a velvet cloth.

"Draco, do you really have to go to that disgusting place?" Pansy Parkinson leaned closer, her face full of concern, holding a heavy, high-scented windproof cloak. "I've heard the Forbidden Forest is full of mud, werewolves, and spiders bigger than carriages! Maybe I should go to Owl's Barn right now and have my dad write to Professor Snape, or put pressure on the Board of Governors—"

"Stop your fussy act, Pansy." Draco haughtily raised his chin and disdainfully pushed the cloak away.

Crabbe and Goyle stood like two mountains of flesh to the side, cracking their thick knuckles as they gruffly pledged their loyalty: "We can go for you, Malfoy. Just say the word, and we'll raze that Forbidden Forest to the ground."

"Use your brains, stuffed with crucible slag, to think about whether this is a normal punishment?" Draco chuckled, carefully placing his well-maintained gloves into the inside pocket of his robe.

He closed his eyes, and the words from his father Lucius's letter flashed through his mind again—"It's just a little hardship—we've taken away the power of the future."

The thought of stepping into that muddy, foul-smelling forest tomorrow did indeed trigger his obsessive-compulsive disorder.

But he didn't care. The thought of the political web woven by his father that had driven Dumbledore into a corner of compromise still filled him with dread and ecstasy.

"What's a trip to the Forbidden Forest?" Draco opened his eyes.

"Porter thought he had won that crude smuggling game, but little did he know that he had long since become a lamb on the altar. I can't wait to see the look of despair on his smug face as he steps into the mud of the Forbidden Forest and faces the unknown horrors in the darkness."

This was not a period of confinement at all; it was a pilgrimage for him, the heir of the Malfoy family, after achieving a partial victory in the power struggle that overthrew Dumbledore's rule.

Meanwhile, in two other corners of the castle, the Petit twins were enduring psychological torment.

This unexpected disaster left them speechless with grief.

In the Gryffindor girls' dormitory, it looked like a farcical funeral was taking place.

Lavender Brown was crying his eyes out while hugging Parvati: "Oh, Parvati! If you get eaten by the giant spider or bitten in two by a werewolf, who am I supposed to sit with in get out of class?! You have to take this with you, it's some kind of magic powder my grandmother gave me, it's said to ward off all evil creatures!"

While sobbing, Lavender shoved a packet of suspicious powder that reeked of a mixture of dead fish and moldy garlic into Parvati's hand.

Parvati forced a smile that looked more like a grimace. Not wanting to disappoint her roommate's good intentions, she reluctantly stuffed the stinking powder into her pajama pocket. After Lavender finally cried herself to sleep, Parvati shrank into the covers like a frightened quail, tightly burying her head under the blankets.

In the darkness, she clutched the red and gold nebula glass orb Lucien had given her. The faint light emanating from the orb barely dispelled some of her fear. She desperately tried to convince herself with the Gryffindor creed: "This is an adventure—Parvati, you're a brave Gryffindor, you weren't even afraid of Potter, what are you afraid of—"

But when the night wind howled, making a sound like the howl of a wild beast, she still trembled with fear, tears silently soaking her pillow. She was terrified, not only of the shadows that might pounce from the depths of the forbidden forest, but even more terrified of the resentful and reproachful look in her sister Padma's eyes the following night. She had personally dragged her sister into hell.

Meanwhile, in the Ravenclaw Tower, the situation presented a different kind of suffocating atmosphere.

Padma Petit wrapped herself tightly in the blankets, not daring to let a single hair out.

What broke her even more was the indifferent attitude of her Ravenclaw roommates.

Mandy Brocklehurst and Sue Lee were sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at Padma, who was trembling under the covers, with the kind of eyes that would examine a potion specimen.

"You really don't need to panic like this, Padma. According to the hidden appendix of 'A History of Hogwarts' and the statistics of the archives over the years, the probability of students surviving the Forbidden Forest Confinement is actually as high as 87.5%."

"As long as you don't provoke a crazed centaur, or are extremely unlucky and get bitten on the carotid artery by a werewolf in heat, there's still a good chance you'll recover with all your limbs intact."

"However," Mandy added abruptly, flipping through a thick "Guide to the Defense Against Dark Creatures," "in case that 12.5 percent chance event happens—Padma, have you written your will? If there are any belongings that need to be passed on to your parents, let's help you sort them out while we still have time."

"Shut up! Sue! Shut up, Mandy!" Padma screamed desperately and devastatedly from under the covers.

Her rational mind had become the ultimate torture device. Her brain was racing uncontrollably, listing every possible way to die: dissolving in venom, being torn apart by claws, being cocooned by spider silk—she was filled with extreme remorse.

Why? Why did she have to wade into the Gryffindor mess? That should have been the punishment for a brainless brute, but now she, the unlucky girl who couldn't solve the door knocker riddle, has to bear it!

"I hate Gryffindor! I hate adventure!" Padma cried in her bed, secretly vowing that if she could come back alive this time, she would sever all ties with that madwoman Parvati.

As the young people of the entire castle were tossing and turning, overwhelmed with mixed feelings of joy and sorrow due to the aftermath of this power struggle and the unknown fears, our protagonist Lucian was standing in front of an arched window at the top of the Ravenclaw Tower.

The night breeze lifted the hem of his robe as he leaned against the windowsill with one hand, casually toying with a Galon in the other.

His gaze passed over the shimmering black lake, over the dim, solitary lamp in front of Hagrid's cabin, and landed on the rustling leaves of the forbidden forest.

"What a fascinating panorama of humanity," Lucien remarked with a touch of emotion.

On this night, some dream of heroism, some tremble with fear, some rejoice at the transfer of political power, and some weep alone over the law.

They all thought they were participating in an adult political game, or a fairy tale of heroes defeating evil.

But Lucian knew what was truly lurking in that forest.

That wasn't a powerless document from the Ministry of Magic, nor was it a calculated scheme by Lucius Malfoy, nor was it a gentle trial deliberately left by Dumbledore to cultivate a savior.

At this very moment, deep within the forest, a dying Dark Lord clung to the back of Quirrell's head, dragging his mangled body as he greedily drank the unicorn's blood.

"Go, be arrogant, revel, and fear to your heart's content." Lucien tossed a Galleon, which tumbled in the moonlight before falling back into his palm.

"The Ministry of Magic's parchment couldn't stop the Killing Curse, and Gryffindor's courage couldn't dull the fangs."

Only when death, carrying its stench, truly brushes past their noses—the flowers in the Hogwarts greenhouse—will they understand the most real cruelty of this world, stripped of its fairytale veneer.