A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 91 Fiery Curse

Owen lowered his eyes to look at the potion boiling over, white steam swirling up from the cauldron as if something was leaping and dancing within it, before finally transforming into a sweet aroma that permeated the air.

The scent wafting through his nostrils was pleasant enough, reminiscent of a slightly sour lemon cake. But after smelling it for a while, Owen felt a warm current slowly flowing through his body. This feeling was somewhat suffocating, yet so comfortable that it made him feel a little dizzy, and even a slight flush appeared on his pale cheeks.

"Professor, the Fiendfyre spell isn't actually that hard to master. I don't think it's necessary to waste your time," he said slowly, raising his head. Spending too much time in this potion gave him the unsettling feeling of being slowly cooked.

While the Fiendfyre curse possesses terrifying power, it is not inherently a particularly complex form of dark magic. Like the three unforgivable curses, it can be used by any wizard who is ruthless enough. If the Fiendfyre curse didn't have an antidote, it would likely be classified as an unforgivable curse as well.

"Can I take that you're still rejecting dark magic?" Voldemort looked at him thoughtfully, his gaze deep and unfathomable.

"No, in fact, I find dark magic incredibly fascinating." Owen looked at his palm, a bright smile slowly spreading across his face. He said softly, "It's diverse, unpredictable, and incredibly powerful. It can easily inflict pain, give people wounds that are difficult to heal for a lifetime, and even kill them..."

Ever since that night at the black market when he misused dark magic, Owen has found that learning and using it has become an extremely enjoyable and fulfilling experience. He has become increasingly indifferent to things he once found cruel, and if not for the restraint of reason, he feels he might do terrible things.

Normally, the influence and erosion of dark magic on wizards should be a long, gradual process, with the wizards' inner malice slowly increasing, meaning the power of dark magic would grow stronger. However, the Dark Guardian, being a cutting-edge form of dark magic, greatly accelerated this process, significantly increasing Owen's learning efficiency and mastery of dark magic. This means that if he focuses on studying dark magic, he will undoubtedly achieve great success quickly.

Of course, this isn't exactly a good thing either.

"I just think your health is more important, Professor. I'll go back and practice. You can test me next time," Owen said with a smile, his gaze deep and dark.

"I still have that much strength," Voldemort waved his hand. "I'm glad you realize your talent shouldn't be wasted. However, Fiendfyre is a dangerous spell; a beginner who doesn't control it well will only harm themselves and others, especially since this is Hogwarts... In this respect, I do have some experience."

He gazed deeply into Irving's eyes, his voice captivatingly magnetic: "You know what? I have high hopes for you, Irving. Exceptionally talented, incredibly intelligent, and audacious, you possess many outstanding qualities that others lack. I think you will become an indispensable helper for me. I await the day you pledge your eternal loyalty to me, Irving."

Owen was taken aback. The man in front of him exuded confidence and composure, which seemed to remind him of how the young and handsome Dark Lord had used his extraordinary charm to attract a large number of followers.

So, is the Dark Lord trying to bewitch me? If you hadn't secretly added fire to the cauldron just now, I would have truly believed your lies!

Owen stared speechlessly as Voldemort casually reached out and fanned the flames beneath the cauldron, a few dark lines appearing on his face. Then, a look of surprise and emotion crossed his face, his tone tinged with shame and admiration: "Professor, do you mind that I was previously unwilling to give my life for you, and even presumptuously questioned your ideals?"

It's just acting, right? Who's afraid of who?

"I'm not that petty, or is there someone else besides me who is more worthy of your loyalty?" Voldemort said leisurely. "For example, do you think Dumbledore would accept your surrender? A complete dark wizard in their eyes... Only I can help you reach the top, and even if you don't ultimately choose to pledge allegiance to me, we won't be enemies."

Owen's lips twitched. "Thanks for reminding me that I'm a dark wizard. I wouldn't have realized it if you hadn't said so!"

But it must be said, he has now truly lost the basis for Dumbledore's trust. Rejected by white magic, unable to cast a Patronus, a murderer, and possessing extremely dangerous dark magic… it seems very dangerous for him to stay near Harry! If he's exposed, will Dumbledore humanely eliminate him…?

"We've really been led astray." Owen rubbed his temples, staring at the prehistoric crater in front of him with a hint of resentment.

The prehistoric giant pit, completely unaware of Owen's inner thoughts, added some more ingredients to the potion and continued speaking: "It's getting late, let's get back to the Fiendfyre curse."

Owen's expression returned to seriousness, and he pulled his wand out of his pocket.

Fiendfire allows the user to summon an extremely hot, cursed flame, which grows stronger the more it burns. Fiendfire can mimic the forms of monsters, and if out of control, it will indiscriminately hunt down anything that can be burned.

Fiendfire inflicts damage on people with a curse of dark magic. Even if a lucky person survives the Fiendfire, their burns are difficult to fully heal, and many victims die in agony after a period of time. It cannot be extinguished by water, but it can be stopped by the strongest antidote, "All Curses End." Of course, the larger the Fiendfire, the more difficult it is to stop.

"When you unleash the Fiendfyre spell, you need to have a desire to destroy everything," Voldemort said softly. "But that's not the most important thing. The first thing you should master about this spell is how to control it."

He drew his wand and waved it in the air. A small, eerie green flame emerged from the tip of the wand, instantly making the surrounding air scorching and ominous. The small green flame seemed to be alive, leaping and struggling on the tip of the wand, desperately stretching out its fiery tentacles. It looked extremely restless, yet it was firmly bound to the tip of the wand and could not run wild.

"Look, what a restless little thing, always thinking about how to break free from its master's control," Voldemort said softly, looking at the flames as if he were examining a cute little creature. He waved his hand and threw a few parchments into the flames. The parchment turned to ashes almost instantly, while the Fiendfire grew a little stronger, faintly taking on the shape of a small animal.

"When you can control it, Fiendfire will take the shape you desire to attack your enemies, and you can control it at will." Voldemort shook his wand slightly, and the green flame flickered unwillingly for a moment before going out with a "poof".

"But when you lose control of it, it becomes a monster that can't distinguish friend from foe, devouring everything around it. At that point, the only way to stop it is to try the Curse of Destruction." He said admiringly, "Of course, the most powerful thing about Fiendfire is that after it loses control, its endlessly expanding greed and cunning are enough to burn everything you want to destroy."

Owen listened attentively to the explanation, thoughtfully waving his wand slightly as he memorized the key points of the Fiendfyre spell.

"I can't let go of my control..." he muttered to himself.

Without any effort to cultivate it, the desire for destruction arose naturally in his mind. Irving only tried a few times before he successfully found the knack.

The wand trembled slightly as it was waved, and a bewitching purple flame burst forth, dancing wildly in the air and illuminating everything around it with flickering light.

Through the wand's connection, Owen felt an extremely restless force, like pulling a fish on a fishing rod in the water. The fish was still struggling and swimming desperately, trying to break free of the invisible fishing line and escape his restraint.

Irving focused his attention intently, but fortunately, the nascent flames were not struggling too hard, and he was still able to handle them with relative ease.

"Try to see where your limits are," Voldemort said with a chuckle, waving his hand and sending a bunch of useless junk flying out from the corner of the room and into Owen's Fiery Blaze one after another.

As each item was burned to ashes, Owen's purple flames grew larger and larger, eventually coalescing into the shape of a Chimera Beast, which leaped restlessly in the air, its fiery eyes greedily and menacingly observing everything around it.

Even after the flames had expanded to the size of half an office, Owen still didn't feel much strain. His willpower and mental strength were already comparable to those of an adult wizard, and coupled with his excellent affinity and talent for dark magic, this greatly enhanced his control over Fiendfire.

Voldemort stopped what he was doing, and said without any surprise, "Looks like we won't be able to test your limits tonight. Take it back."

Owen waved his wand, stirring up the bewitching purple flames. The chimera formed from the flames raised its head and let out a silent, unwilling howl before quietly extinguishing itself. The surrounding intense heat slowly receded, leaving only a few scorch marks on the walls and ceiling.

Owen stroked his wand with a smile, feeling a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment filling him, making him so happy that he wanted to set it on fire.

"Oh dear, this is bad. I'm getting better and better at casting dark magic," he thought to himself. The wand in his hand always faithfully carried out his will. It wasn't a unicorn hair wand core that was inherently averse to dark magic; a phoenix feather wand core could adapt well to any kind of magic, and the walnut wand was no exception.

"Well then, I must take my leave, Professor." Owen glanced at the clock that was almost pointing to nine o'clock, then at the crucible that was no longer emitting steam, and said with a smile.

Voldemort nodded slightly, then took out a roll of parchment and handed it to him, saying with a deep smile, "This is the reward I promised you last time."

"I know you're interested in my self-created flight spell," he said in a slightly hoarse voice.

Owen's eyes lit up, and he reached out to grab the roll of parchment. Wow, is the Dark Lord so thoughtful? He's actually offering kindness! Using this method to bewitch him… But he had to admit, this Dark Lord was damnably charming.

Unfortunately, this is only when the opponent is weak. Once they respawn and become arrogant, their brains will become useless...

"However, this spell is not as simple and brutal as the Unforgivable Curse." Voldemort, completely unaware of Owen's inward disapproval, patiently instructed, "It is a very complex and profound spell, involving dark magic transformation of the body, making it extremely dangerous and difficult to master, and requiring a profound understanding of dark magic theory as a foundation."

"In fact, I have also rewarded some followers who have made contributions with this spell, but in the end only Severus has been able to master it," he said softly. "I don't expect you to master it anytime soon, and I don't want to see you rush into things and cause any accidents... I don't think you're that stupid."

"Of course, I've always been self-aware, Professor." Owen smiled elegantly and said "Goodnight," then put the parchment in his pocket and walked out the door with light steps.

In the office where only one figure remained, Voldemort squinted as he cleaned the potion from the cauldron. He was growing increasingly fond of this young wizard. Fortunately, Quirrell's body could hold out for a while longer. If he could obtain the Philosopher's Stone before this body collapsed, bringing Owen under his wing would be an excellent option.

On his way to the common room, Irving thought, "The Dark Lord is actually quite charming now; I almost can't bring myself to deal with him. It's a shame he's after my body and has tricked me so many times… Would I be human if I didn't get my revenge?"

"At most... maybe this school year will make his deaths more rhythmic?"

As Owen descended the stairs, he came face to face with a dark, shadowy figure. Professor Snape stared at him with a gloomy expression, silent like a ghost, his sallow face looking somewhat eerie in the darkness.

"You went to see Quirrell?" His cold face held a mixture of disdain and seriousness.

"Ah, good evening, Professor Snape." Owen patted his still flushed cheeks and greeted him with impeccable manners. "Yes, I went to ask Professor Quirrell some questions about Defense Against the Dark Arts. You know, what he says in class is always vague and hard to understand."

Snape frowned, scrutinizing Owen's expression. After a long while, he said sarcastically in a smooth voice, "I think it's difficult for Quirrell to explain some things to you clearly..." He paused, then continued, "You can come to me."

"Thank you, Professor Snape," Owen said with a broad smile, then added, "Actually, Professor Quirrell's theoretical knowledge is quite good; I've certainly benefited a lot from him. It's just that he lacks confidence and isn't very suitable for teaching... If only he could pull himself together."

Snape nodded slightly, his expression inscrutable, then strode past Owen. Suddenly, he stopped, took a deep breath, and asked, "What's that smell on you?"

"Hmm?" Owen sniffed his sleeve, catching a faint, almost fading, sweet scent. "That's the smell of the potion Professor Quirrell brewed in his office, isn't it? Can the professor tell what kind of potion it is?"

He looked at Snape with some anticipation, hoping to get some clues from the Potions Master.

Snape frowned, deep in thought. He discerned the scents of many herbs, some quite precious, yet he couldn't recall the corresponding potions. It must be a secret recipe. However, based on the combination of herbs he identified, and according to the principles and properties of potions, it should be a valuable potion with health-enhancing effects. As for any other effects, that couldn't be simply discerned from the faint, almost imperceptible scent emanating from Owen.

While speculating about Quirrell's purpose in brewing this potion, he slowly said, "A potion that is beneficial to the body."

Owen blinked, let out a soft sigh, and said, "I see. Professor Quirrell does seem to need to replenish his body." Even if the potion is harmless, Voldemort's motives are still impure.

With curfew approaching, Irving said goodbye to Snape and returned to the common room in time.

"But Professor Snape saw me go to Quirrell, so he'll definitely notice me now," Owen thought nonchalantly, pulling Melett, who was curled up in the armchair, into his arms and stroking her fur.

(End of this chapter)