Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Kane's wand suddenly turned towards Draco, and the same silver light swept over his brother's entire body.

As the light swept across Draco's left hand, a wisp of black smoke drifted from his fingertips, only to be instantly swallowed by the silver light.

(Contact tracking spell...low-level but insidious...)

Kane's gaze grew even colder.

(Just like a dog marking its territory...)

He then bent down and picked up the box.

The box was much lighter than he had imagined, and it was not made of wood or metal.

It is a peculiar type of bone with a surface covered with tiny pores.

"Click".

The box popped open automatically.

It was completely empty inside.

Draco gasped, "How is this possible? How can it be empty—"

Kane has already turned the box upside down.

There was nothing inside.

"What?"

"The Dark Lord is still alive."

Kane raised his eyes, his grey-blue pupils showing some surprise as he looked at Draco: "The Dark Lord is still alive?"

Could it be that Voldemort was exposed in front of Draco?

How could that be? Isn't he afraid of being discovered by Dumbledore?

Draco's face was paler than a ferret's fur, his fingers gripping the hem of his robe tightly. "He... his face is on Quirrell's head! He showed me Father's hair and said if I didn't obey..."

Kane suddenly sneered and pulled a letter from his inner pocket.

The ink on the parchment still gleamed fresh: "Father just sent it from France yesterday. Do you want me to read it to you? 'Just finalized the import permit for a batch of Fire Serpent eggs. Those idiots at the Ministry of Magic...'"

Kane deliberately imitated his father's haughty tone.

"Furthermore, do you think Dobby would let his master be taken hostage without rushing to Hogwarts?"

Draco's lips trembled: "But... I was like that..."

"What do you see?"

Kane grabbed his brother's wrist. "A moving face? A memory? Or..."

His wand suddenly touched Draco's temple. "Leech!"

A flash of silver light, and Draco's memories came flooding back.

A headscarf wriggling in Quirrell's office, a pale face appearing, a hoarse, threatening voice...

There was even footage of their father, Lucius, being in danger.

But Kane keenly noticed that all the images of "his father in danger" were shrouded in an eerie green mist.

It's like a tampered Pensieve memory.

"He showed you fabricated memories." Kane put away his wand, his voice low.

"The ring on my father's right ring finger—in the image you 'saw,' he was wearing a family heirloom emerald, but in reality..."

He turned to the end of the letter, and a photograph slipped out: Lucius's silver snake ring was clearly visible on his hand, which was holding a glass of red wine.

Draco slumped into the armchair as if his spine had been removed: "Then...why did he...?"

"That's the key."

Kane held the empty box up to the candlelight. "What does he want you to do?"

Voldemort exposed himself just to threaten a junior wizard?

In Draco's memory, Voldemort only asked Draco to keep the box safe.

However, Kane looked at it for a long time, and the box was as clean as it could possibly be.

"W-nothing was said." Draco shook his head blankly. "He just told me the Dark Lord has returned and asked me to keep this box safe..."

"Listen up, Draco."

Kane's voice was deep and sharp, each word like a nail hammering into his brother's ears.

"The Dark Lord won't reveal himself for no reason, nor will he waste his time on a first-year student—unless he has ulterior motives."

Draco's Adam's apple bobbed, and a lingering sense of panic remained in his grey-blue eyes: "But the box is empty..."

"That's precisely why it's even more dangerous."

Kane grabbed Draco's wrist, the tip of his wand drawing a silver line across his palm.

"If there are any problems..."

Kane gently pressed his fingers against Draco's palm.

The silver runic symbol flickered slightly before disappearing completely beneath the skin.

"This mark will last until the end of the semester."

His voice was deep and sharp, “If you feel anything unusual—your heart racing, your fingertips getting cold, or even just suddenly smelling something rotten—go find Professor Snape immediately.”

Draco instinctively curled his fingers: "What if the Dean isn't here?"

"Then let's go straight to the principal's office."

Kane's grey-blue eyes gleamed like icy blades in the dim candlelight.

"Even if you see your father standing in the hallway waving at you, you must inform the professor first. Understand?"

Draco swallowed and nodded.

Kane grabbed the black box from the table.

"I'm taking this with me."

Draco could only nod at that moment.

The history of magic is the final exam.

As Kane stepped into the History of Magic classroom, a strange sense of tranquility washed over him.

Professor Alder—or rather, Gellert Grindelwald, disguised as a professor of the history of magic—was standing by the window with his back to the students.

"Put all your textbooks away."

He didn't turn around, but his voice clearly reached everyone's ears: "Today we won't test on the fairy rebellion, nor on international secrecy laws."

The classroom erupted in commotion.

Hermione Granger's hand hung in mid-air, her face filled with disbelief.

Professor Old turned around at that moment.

With a gentle wave of his hand, the classroom walls suddenly became transparent, revealing countless flowing historical scenes: the burning Notre Dame Cathedral, the tower of Nurmagomedov, the dueling arena of 1945...

"I want each of you to answer one question."

His wand traced a golden path in the air, forming an ancient runic character.

What is the 'greater good'?

The entire classroom was completely silent.

Hermione was the first to raise her hand: "Professor, this isn't in the syllabus—"

"Of course not, Miss Granger."

Professor Olde's smile sent chills down everyone's spine.

"Because true history is never in textbooks."

With a light tap of his wand, dense text suddenly appeared on Hermione's parchment.

Those were some real correspondence between Dumbledore and Grindelwald during their youth that she had never read before.

Hermione shut up immediately.

Ron's mouth dropped open: "But that's against the rules..."

"rule?"

Professor Olde suddenly burst into laughter, a laughter with a dangerous allure.

"The rules are set by the victors."

He snapped his fingers, and different questions appeared on everyone's test paper:

Harry was presented with the question: "If sacrificing one person could save a hundred, what would you do?"

Before Draco lay the question: "The glory of purebloods, or the game of thrones?"

The simplest, yet most complex, question Kane faces is: "What will you fight for?"

The quill pens in the classroom automatically stood up, waiting to be used.

Professor Olde strolled to the window, the sunlight gilding the edges of his hair.

"Answer with your true feelings, not textbook platitudes. Remember—"

His pupils glowed slightly. "The history of magic is not the past, but a mirror of the future."