Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Voldemort—or rather, the remnant soul form he was barely maintaining at this moment—was experiencing an unprecedented torment.

This is not physical pain, but a deficiency in existence.

It's like a building having a load-bearing pillar removed; the entire temple of the soul is shaking.

"Hornets..." A hoarse, almost sobbing voice came from within the black mist, "My Hornets... were..."

The werewolves in the camp saw a distorted face vaguely emerging from the center of the black mist—no nose, scarlet eyes wide open to a terrifying degree, and a mouth open to emit a silent scream.

Then, something even more terrible happened.

The black fog began to flow backward.

Those forms, barely sustained by the life force of the sacrifices, are now uncontrollably dissipating outwards.

The fog thinned, vaguely revealing a darker, more fragmented core deep within—a deformed shadow the size of an infant, curled up and convulsing.

"Life force! Give it to me!" Voldemort screamed.

Greyback reacted quickly, grabbed a young werewolf servant next to him, slashed his wrist with a dagger, and splashed the gushing blood into the black mist.

The blood was swallowed by the mist, but like pouring water into a leaky bucket—the rate of dissipation only slowed for a moment.

"Not enough! More!" Voldemort's voice was distorted!

The camp descended into chaos.

The werewolves shoved each other, none of them wanting to become the next sacrifice.

A fierce glint flashed in Graybury's eyes, and he began to attack indiscriminately—not at his enemies, but at his own men.

Amidst screams, Voldemort barely managed to regain his footing.

In his current state, the destruction of each Horcrux would be a severe blow to him!

"Hogwarts..." he gasped, each word sounding like it was uttered with all his might.

"Master?" Graybury asked cautiously.

Voldemort fell silent.

He can't "feel" anything more!

The diary was his first Horcrux, and the soul inside was pitifully weak; it couldn't even send back its last message.

"Lucius!!!"

If Voldemort remembers correctly, this Horcrux was kept by Lucius!

He never expected that his "loyal" servant would betray him.

He promises!

Wait for him to come back!

You must give them a big surprise!

In Kane's dormitory, Dumbledore was already sitting in a chair.

The old headmaster looked at the charred mark on the table, left by the sword tip—a mark left by the residual dark magic that burned the wood when the Horcrux finally perished.

"Did you feel it?" he suddenly asked.

Kane stood by the window, his back to him: "What do you mean?"

"A ripple of the soul," Dumbledore said. "A Horcrux is not an ordinary magical object. Its destruction will resonate throughout all that is connected to it."

Kane turned around. His expression was calm, but there was a hint of scrutiny in his eyes: "For example?"

"Like other Horcruxes," Dumbledore's blue eyes were as deep as the night sky, "like... that scar that exists because of a Horcrux."

......

Monday's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was unusually eerie.

Sirius Black stood in the center of the podium, his signature leather jacket replaced by a dark gray professor's robe.

Although it was a temporary alteration, the cuffs still show that it was originally cut like an Auror uniform.

His grey eyes swept across the classroom, finally settling on the figure in black robes at the back of the classroom.

Snape sat in the corner of the last row, motionless like a stone statue.

His dark eyes weren't looking at Sirius, but rather at the lesson plan on the podium, a quill pen in his hand, ready to take notes at any moment.

"Ahem." Sirius cleared his throat, trying to regain his rhythm. "Today we'll start with the basics—the magical structure of the Ironclad Charm."

He waved his wand, drawing a standard protective spell rune in the air.

The silver magic lines shimmered in the air, their structure clear, even... quite standard.

"Now, can anyone tell me," Sirius tried to make his voice sound like he was lecturing, "what is the main weakness of the Ironclad Curse?"

Hermione immediately raised her hand. But Sirius's gaze passed over her and landed on Kane Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy?" There was a hint of tension in his voice.

Kane looked up from his notebook, his grey-blue eyes calm and unwavering: "It depends on the stability of the caster's mana output and the integrity of the rune structure. But for the standard Ironclad Spell, the main weakness is the connection between the seventh mana node and the third rune chain—there is a 0.3-second delay in mana flow there."

The classroom was completely silent.

Snape's quill drew a long straight line on the parchment.

Sirius's lips twitched slightly: "Tell me more."

Kane didn't even stand up; he simply gestured in the air with his wand.

The silver-blue dots outlined a three-dimensional structure of the Ironclad Charm, at least three times more complex than the one Sirius had just shown.

"Look here." His wand tip pointed to a certain point. "For safety reasons, the teaching method sacrifices the closing speed of the magic circuit. This means that if someone can precisely inject anti-spell magic within a 0.3-second delay window..."

He made a gesture, and the node in the three-dimensional structure suddenly "cracked," causing the entire protective spell to collapse like dominoes.

"...the protection will collapse from the inside." Kane finished the demonstration, and the light dissipated. "This is a theoretical flaw mentioned in the small print on page 147 of the textbook, but very few people have actually demonstrated it."

Ron secretly flipped through his textbook and found page 147. There was indeed a line of small print at the bottom corner of that page: [Note: This simplified version of the Ironclad Spell has a 0.2-0.4 second magic delay. For the advanced version, please see Chapter 89 of *Advanced Protective Magic*.]

"You've read 'Advanced Protective Magic'?" Hermione couldn't help but ask, her eyes shining.

"Turn it over," Kane replied casually. "The part about composite protection in that book is well written, but the anti-curse chapter is too conservative."

What an incomprehensible genius.

"Alright, Slytherin gets five points. Let's continue..."

Sirius took a deep breath and forcefully steered the class back to its rhythm:

"Very good. Now, practice the standard Ironclad Charm in pairs. Remember—" he emphasized, "master the basics first, then talk about improvements."

The students began practicing in groups.

The light of the incantation rose and fell in the classroom, mixed with shouts of "Protect yourself!" and the occasional sound of a failed explosion.

Snape stood up and silently walked to the front of the classroom.

He didn't disturb any students, but moved like a ghost between groups, his dark eyes sharply observing the flow of magic, the precision of his gestures, and the pronunciation of his spells.

He stopped when he reached Harry and Ron's group.

Ron's Ironclad Charm was barely taking shape, but the silver shield was as thin as paper, and its edges were still trembling violently.

Harry was slightly better, but his magical output was clearly unstable—the scar on his forehead had been throbbing all day, affecting his concentration.