prynovel Chapter 226 Reasons for Perseverance
Chapter 226 Reasons for Perseverance
Chapter 226 Reasons for Perseverance
After speaking with Dumbledore, Lynch returned to the Chamber of Secrets and disposed of Lockhart's body as planned.
By the time he finished doing all this and returned to the stone house, it was already late at night.
The fire in the fireplace had long since died out, and the stone house was filled with a chilly atmosphere.
He did not relight the fire, but stood quietly by the window, the bright moon peeking through the dark clouds.
Lockhart's death had no negative impact on him—in fact, it might have had some positive effects.
With that thought in mind, he sat down at his desk and lit an oil lamp.
The parchment gleamed softly under the dim light.
He picked up his pen to write a letter to Reggie, the pen scratching softly on the paper.
The letter detailed Lockhart's death and emphasized the need to take advantage of the announcement of this "hero's" death to vigorously promote the various products that the Stone Tower Merchant Guild had collaborated on with Lockhart during his lifetime—Floo Powder, message boards, and the hair care product that Lockhart himself had been painstakingly promoting.
"The hair conditioner must be rigorously tested," he wrote. "If it passes quality inspection, put it into production immediately."
We must maximize our interests at the height of public opinion.
After finishing the letter, he summoned an owl and watched it disappear into the thick night with the letter.
He slept unusually soundly that night.
As someone who was already accustomed to life and death, Lockhart's death didn't even leave a trace in his dreams.
However, before dawn the next day, Lin Qi suddenly opened his eyes.
He wasn't awakened by a sound, but rather by an almost instinctive alertness that pulled him from his sleep.
The room was pitch black; there was still at least an hour until sunrise.
He did not get up immediately, but lay quietly, feeling some indescribable fluctuation in the air.
Then, his gaze shifted to the floor, as if he could see through the thick wooden planks to the uninvited visitors downstairs.
He changed his clothes and washed up unhurriedly, maintaining his usual composure in every movement.
When he finally came downstairs, he saw a figure in a gray robe sitting in front of the fireplace—it was Reggie.
Lynch's gaze swept quickly across the room. Reggie's gray robe was covered in fresh soot, and there was a speck of dust on his fingers. The fireplace, which should have been cold, was now filled with wisps of very faint smoke, carrying the aftertaste of magic, and the air was filled with the faint sulfurous smell unique to the Floo Network.
Clearly, Reggie used some kind of high-level FlooNet access, which allowed him to forcibly establish a one-way teleportation channel even when the fireplace at the receiving end was not lit.
"Good morning, Lynch." Reggie stood up, his hoarse voice devoid of any inflection.
Seeing Reggie greet him first, Lynch felt a slight sense of relief—this wasn't some imminent crisis. In an emergency, Reggie would have gotten straight to the point.
"Good morning, Reggie," Lynch replied, his tone as calm as if it were any ordinary morning.
Instead of asking Reggie's purpose, he went to the cupboard and slowly began preparing the tea set.
The kettle hummed softly on the stove, and the tea leaves slowly unfurled in the boiling water. Throughout the entire process, Reggie sat quietly, showing no sign of urging anyone on.
Lynch placed a steaming cup of tea in front of Reggie: "Now, tell me, what brought you here so early?"
Reggie didn't touch the tea; his gaze was fixed on Lynch's face. "Now that everything at Hogwarts is settled, are you going to start testing that magic?"
Lin Qi raised an eyebrow slightly.
He had expected Reggie to try to dissuade him, but he hadn't expected him to be so direct.
"Yes." He gently blew away the steam rising from the teacup. "I'll do a few more days of preparation, and then I'll begin."
Reggie leaned forward: "Then you'll need to postpone the test. We've completely identified and figured out the information on all the hidden guards surrounding Nurmengard, their patrol routes, and their shift changes. Now, we're confident we can safely reach the foot of that tower without alerting anyone."
Lin Qi's gaze sharpened instantly, and he gently put down his teacup, which made a crisp sound as it hit the table: "I've said before, this investigation must prioritize the safety of our personnel. It's better to go slowly than to take risks. There's no need to rush."
“There were no casualties,” Reggie said with absolute certainty. “And no one was alerted. I did it myself, lying in wait like a shadow for weeks before finally getting the definite answer.”
Upon hearing that Reggie had personally taken action and ensured the safety of the personnel and the secrecy of the operation, the sharpness in Lynch's eyes softened slightly, but was replaced by a deep sense of helplessness.
He finally sighed softly and shook his head: "Reggie, this won't change anything."
Reggie leaned forward slightly, his gray robes billowing like solidified mist in the dimly lit room before dawn.
"Gellert Grindelwald is your Plan B, isn't he?" His flat voice revealed a stubborn determination. "Maybe after meeting him, you'll get the answer you want and change your mind." He paused. "Or—give you even the slightest chance of survival when you conduct that insane test."
Lynch did not immediately refute.
He picked up his teacup, took a sip of the warm tea, and his gaze fell on a non-existent point in the void.
Silence fell over the stone house, with only the barely audible breathing of the two people.
Reggie waited patiently. He knew Lynch was weighing the options, not the risks, but the order and value, and he hoped Lynch would make the right choice.
After a long while, Lin Qi gently placed the teacup back on the tray, making a crisp "click" sound.
“Your point of view is very persuasive, Reggie. I also appreciate your concern.” He raised his eyes, his gaze calm and unwavering. “But my purpose in going to Nurmengard and my upcoming magic test are two parallel lines. They may be related, but they will never replace each other. The Soul Armor test must take priority.”
A hint of bewilderment flashed in Reggie's gray eyes. He rarely questioned Lynch's decisions, but this time, he couldn't fully agree with them.
"I don't understand, Lynch. Why must we take the magic test first? Why must we take that—more dangerous path? Your safety should be our top priority."
"Safety?" Lynch repeated the word, as if savoring its meaning.
Finally, he shook his head: "For us, security is a tempting but false word, Reggie. This is the path I chose myself; it's there, and it won't disappear or change because of who I meet."
His gaze swept across the brightening sky outside the window: "The development of the Soul Armor magic is not armor prepared for me personally, but a shield I hope to forge for all the brothers and sisters who fight alongside us. It also means that ordinary wizards who are unable to fight against dark magic may also have a glimmer of hope."
He looked at Reggie again, his gaze deep and resolute: "Precisely because this power is so important, carrying the hopes and lives of so many, I cannot afford to run away. The terror of this path—the backlash from the unknown, the shudder of having one's very soul touched—is an obstacle I must personally confront and overcome. This is my inescapable responsibility, and a necessary tempering."
"I went to see Grindelwald solely for my personal advancement."
"In comparison, the successful creation of the Soul Armor spell is of even greater significance."
Reggie's lips twitched slightly, as if a thousand words were stuck in his throat, but in the end, they turned into a barely audible sigh.
He understood that at this point, any advice regarding his personal safety would be futile and inappropriate.
However, wasn't this resolute determination to do the impossible precisely the reason he chose to follow Lin Qi and embark on this thorny path? It was because this person always dared to be ahead of everyone else and touch those seemingly impossible boundaries that he was willing to gamble everything on a future where hope could truly be realized.
"I understand." Reggie's voice grew even hoarse. He slowly stood up, his gray robe brushing against the chair. "So, what do you need me to do?"
"Just do what you've always been doing," Lynch said. "Help me manage the affairs of the First Order and the Chamber of Commerce, and wait patiently for my news."
Reggie nodded silently, without saying anything more.
He turned and walked toward the cold fireplace, drew his wand from inside his grey robe, and gently tapped it against the cold hearth.
"Flames are raging."
A small flame ignited and quickly spread, soon dancing merrily in the fireplace, dispelling some of the chill in the stone house. The orange-red firelight illuminated Reggie's scarred face and Lynch's calm, expressionless face.
Reggie reached into a small bag next to the fireplace and grabbed a handful of shiny Floo Powder.
Just before he was about to sprinkle the powder into the flames, Lynch's voice rang out again, as calm as if discussing tomorrow's weather, which froze Reggie's arm in mid-air.
"Reggie," Lynch added, watching Reggie's retreating figure disappear into the flames, "in case—I mean, in case the worst happens and I don't return from the test—then you know what to do."
The figure standing in front of the fireplace paused slightly.
Reggie didn't turn around, nor did he change his posture as he prepared to unleash Floo Powder. His hoarse voice, however, pierced through the crackling of the flames and came through clearly: "I'll be in the Stone Tower Merchant Guild office," he paused, his flat voice devoid of any inflection, yet carrying an undeniable certainty, "waiting for you."
As soon as he finished speaking, he didn't give Lin Qi any more chance to speak. With a flick of his wrist, the glittering powder traced an arc and was thrown into the flames.
"Whoosh—"
The flames shot up instantly, turning a dazzling emerald green.
Reggie stepped inside, his figure engulfed by the swirling green flames, disappearing along with the firelight in the next second, leaving only the ordinary orange-red flames in the fireplace and the faint smell of ash rising in the air.
Inside the stone house, only Lin Qi remained, along with the words "Waiting for you," which seemed to still echo in the air.
Lin Qi stood there, gazing at the flickering flames. After a long while, the corners of his mouth seemed to twitch slightly upwards—a fleeting curve.
He then headed to his alchemy room, where some preparations still needed to be made.
Early morning, Hogwarts Great Hall.
The students whispered among themselves during their meal, discussing the loud noise that had echoed throughout the castle the previous night.
There were noticeably empty seats among the faculty members. Professor McGonagall was unusually pale, but she still sat upright next to Dumbledore.
Dumbledore stood up, his face more solemn than usual, and the whispers in the Great Hall quickly subsided when he raised his hand.
"I must deliver some heartbreaking news," he said, scanning the room and lingering on each young face. "Last night, another attack occurred within the castle. That extremely dangerous dark magic artifact that caused Lady Lorris to turn to stone, the one we have been so vigilant against, has been triggered once again."
A collective gasp filled the auditorium; needless to say, the source of last night's loud noise had been found.
"Professor Philius-Flitwick suffered a severe magical backlash from the item while attempting to control it, and was unfortunately seriously injured and fell into a coma. He is currently receiving treatment at the university hospital."
"No—" A suppressed gasp came from the Ravenclaw table, and many students' faces were filled with shock and worry.
Although Professor Flitwick was short in stature, he was the best dean in their hearts and the undisputed master in the field of spells. Even he was seriously injured, so how terrifying must that dark magic item be?
Dumbledore paused, then continued, his voice growing increasingly somber: "Even more unfortunately, Mr. Harry Potter, who happened to be nearby at the time, was also affected by this out-of-control object, and was injured and unconscious, currently under the care of Madam Pomfrey."
The Gryffindor table erupted in chaos. Ron turned pale, Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes filled with terror.
Dumbledore continued somberly, "And in this incident, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart stepped forward to protect Harry and Professor Flitwick, and ultimately—heroically sacrificed himself. It was his sacrifice that ensured that the source of the danger was completely contained and could no longer harm anyone."
Dead silence.
This time, it was a deathly silence, as if even breathing had stopped.
Lockhart? Sacrifice? Heroism?
The absurdity of this combination of words was no less than that of another magical attack. The younger students, especially the girls who had once idolized him, were filled with bewilderment, tears silently streaming down their faces. Among the older students, a complex mix of emotions silently swirled—doubt, absurdity, and a slight sense of guilt arising from that doubt. They recalled Lockhart's awkwardness in class, his evasive stories, but the weight of the word "sacrifice," and Dumbledore's authority, choked all their questions.
Of course, there were also many Hufflepuff students whose eyes were filled with simple sadness.
At the Slytherin table, however, the atmosphere was much more subtle. After the initial shock, whispers resurfaced.
"What a pity," Draco Malfoy murmured in his usual drawn-out tone, a malice gleam in his gray eyes, "Potter wasted a golden opportunity to make headlines." A few snickers echoed in agreement from his inner circle.
He then turned the conversation to the deceased, his tone flippant: "Was Lockhart trying to sign that thing, but got too close?" Crabbe and Goyle let out muffled laughter, but some students around them simply looked away in silence, not joining in the sarcastic joke.
At the teachers' table, silence took many forms.
Professor McGonagall sat beside Dumbledore, her back straighter than ever, her lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.
When the words "heroic sacrifice" came from Dumbledore's mouth, her jawline tightened abruptly, and the knuckles of her hands, resting on her knees, turned slightly white from the force.
She knew the whole truth—the true fate of the liar in the Chamber of Secrets, and how ironic this so-called "heroism" was. But she also knew better than anyone how crucial it was to make this lie a fait accompli for stabilizing morale, protecting Harry, and preserving Hogwarts' crumbling reputation.
So she sat there, gazing firmly into the distance, avoiding eye contact with any potentially questioning eyes in the audience.
At the other end of the long table, Snape's reaction was quite different.
When Dumbledore began to mention "dark magical items," an almost tangible sarcasm spread across his dark eyes. When he heard Lockhart "step forward," the corner of his mouth turned down almost imperceptibly, forming a cold arc.
He lowered his eyes slightly, staring at the gleaming gold plate in front of him, as if he could see on it the whole process of Lynch coldly disposing of that good-for-nothing's body last night, and Dumbledore subsequently making this "necessary arrangement." He knew every dirty detail.
In his eyes, the entire performance was like a poorly choreographed farce that he had no choice but to continue.
He felt no sympathy for Lockhart's "sacrifice," only annoyance at the lie he had to participate in, and a habitual irritation at Potter getting into trouble once again.
Therefore, the low-pressure aura emanating from him was even colder and more piercing than usual.
Other professors, isolated from the secret, such as Professor Sprout, had genuine grief and worry written on their faces. She looked at the students sobbing at the Ravenclaw table and then at the empty seats in the faculty section, her eyes glistening with tears.
The entire faculty was enveloped in a somber atmosphere of shared sorrow.
In this oppressive atmosphere, Lynch seemed out of place.
He was dressed in a well-fitting, exquisite suit, his movements quiet and elegant. He was using a silver knife and fork to put a small piece of bacon into his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately, his expression calm to the point of indifference.
It was as if the undercurrents around him, the sacrifices and serious injuries of his colleagues, were merely background noise, unable to disturb his enjoyment of breakfast. He didn't even participate in any possible hushed conversations among the professors, but simply focused on finishing the food on his plate, then gently wiped his mouth with a napkin.
After breakfast, the students left the auditorium one after another, and the professors also got up.
Unlike the others, Lynch did not go straight back to his office or to the classroom to prepare for the lesson.
He walked steadily through the foyer, out of the oak gate, and onto the path leading to the hunting grounds.
The morning sun shines on the grass, carrying the fresh scent of dew.
His goal was clear—Hagrid's cabin.
He reached the wooden door with bows and crossbows hanging on it and knocked. Immediately, loud barking and heavy footsteps came from inside.
Hagrid opened the door, his massive body blocking the entrance, his eyes red and swollen, clearly heartbroken over what happened last night.
"Professor Lynch!" His voice was muffled and thick with a nasal tone. "What brings you here? Oh, Merlin, last night was truly horrible!"
Lynch looked up at Hagrid, a perfectly measured hint of regret on his face: "Good morning, Hagrid. I'm also very sorry about what happened last night."
Hagrid immediately bent down, his huge, bearded face close to Lynch's, knowing that Lynch was the one primarily responsible for these matters.
So he lowered his voice and asked anxiously, "Harry! And Professor Flitwick! How are they? What did Madam Pomfrey say? I—I went to the school hospital this morning, but she wouldn't let me in, saying I needed absolute quiet!" His voice trembled with worry.
Lynch maintained a calm tone, reassuringly saying, "I understand your concerns. Their conditions are all stable. Harry's injuries aren't serious, but Madam Pomfrey believes he needs rest. Professor Flitwick's situation is more complicated; he'll probably need some time to recover. However, with Headmaster Dumbledore's help, and with Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape's potions, I believe he'll get better."
Hagrid breathed a sigh of relief and wiped his eyes with his hands, which were as big as small mops. "Oh, that's good, that's good—thank goodness—" But his face was quickly filled with anger and sadness again. "It's all because of that damned dark magic artifact! And Professor Lockhart—he—he actually—" He seemed to not know how to evaluate Lockhart's "sacrifice" and finally just sighed heavily.
Lynch waited until Hagrid calmed down a bit before naturally getting to the point: "Also, I wanted to ask about that rooster you promised to send me—I remember you said you'd pick the strongest one for me..."
The loudest cry. I've been waiting, but it hasn't been brought over yet, so I stopped by to see what was going on.
Hagrid paused for a moment, then slapped his large, furry head hard, his face showing annoyance and even more distress: "Merlin's beard! Look at my memory! I've completely forgotten about him!" He stepped aside, "Come in, come in."
Lin Qi calmly walked into the cabin, his gaze quickly and imperceptibly sweeping across the room.
Hagrid rubbed his enormous hands together apologetically. "I'm so sorry, as you know, Mr. Lynch. Things haven't been peaceful at the castle lately, and I've been so busy patrolling and worrying about Harry and the others that I completely forgot about you! That rooster—well, it was fine a few days ago, but somehow it seems a bit listless lately, and its crowing isn't as loud as it used to be. I was just thinking I should probably take it to a doctor."
Lynch's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Was this a backup plan Riddle had laid while controlling Lockhart? — But this subtle expression vanished in an instant, and his face quickly returned to its usual gentle expression.
"I see." His voice was calm and steady. "It's alright, Hagrid. Your most important task now is to take care of it, and yourself."
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He paused, then added casually, "Also, just give me a healthy rooster that can crow normally."
"No problem!" Hagrid quickly assured him, "I'll deliver it to the stone house for you in a bit!"
"Thank you in advance." Lynch nodded, and without lingering any longer, turned and left Hagrid's cabin.