Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

The corpse’s flesh and blood had been completely devoured, leaving only a riddled skin and bones, so mangled it was impossible to tell who it had once been.

The residue of Dark Magic churned restlessly around the body. Even though the spell itself had long since faded, Evan could still sense the depth of its malice. He wasn’t familiar with this particular type of Dark Magic, but the brutality of its method was something he knew all too well.

The most forbidden Dark magic required life and soul as essential conditions for casting, but to devour a person’s entire flesh and blood was something only greedy and bloodthirsty monsters would do. Monsters … or flesh-eating evil gods and their creations.

This was Voldemort’s new magic; after mastering the power of the evil god, he had conducted wicked experiments on the original owner of this corpse.

Evan squinted, observing carefully. The corpse’s skin was full of riddled holes, as if countless tiny tendrils had pushed their way out from within. Many vital parts of the corpse were missing, and the lingering stench of Dark Magic was almost suffocating.

“Young Master Evan…” Dobby called softly, gripping Evan’s sleeve tightly, staring fearfully at the corpse on the floor.

“Hmm!” Evan responded absently. With a flick of his wand, the body flipped over, revealing a missing right arm. He examined the old wound. “Acromantula bite marks. Well, that makes things clearer. This unlucky fellow is an old acquaintance of ours. And now it’s obvious — he must have done something the Dark Lord couldn’t tolerate. That’s what triggered this… abomination.”

“D-Dark Lord…” Dobby stammered.

“Yes, we can deduce it simply. Harry was here, maybe just a few minutes ago. He saw Wormtail, and the two talked. Of course, there should have been a fight. Because of cowardice, pity, or something else, Wormtail spared Harry even though he could have killed him. I guess that’s it. He might have hesitated for a moment, but that would be unbearable for the Dark Lord. In his eyes, hesitation is betrayal. Then, the obvious thing happened: the magic the Dark Lord left on him took effect, and that Dark magic, or whatever creature it summoned, killed him,” said Evan. “What’s worth noting is the magic, or that… thing that killed Wormtail. It’s given me quite a bit of insight… Wait — what’s this?”

Turning the body over, Evan saw black lines writhing on the stone floor, like strangely colored maggots.

Evan leaned down. These writhing things were definitely not worms.

This was a magical creation!

Something entirely made of magic. Evan gently touched it with his wand.

Sparks flashed, and the thing on the floor convulsed even more violently. It struggled, emitting a terrifying wail — not loud, but exceptionally clear, as if it were screaming directly inside his skull. It writhed and rose, turning into a coil of black smoke.

The smoke swirled, contracted — then solidified into a skull.

It hovered for a beat, jaws gaping wide, and shot toward Evan.

The house-elf Dobby shrieked in terror.

Evan slashed his wand through the air, and the charging smoky skull burst apart instantly, fading into nothing, along with the wail.

“Master Evan, Master Evan!” Dobby exclaimed in terror. “Dobby is scared! That thing… Dobby is terrified!”

“I’m shocked as well, Dobby,” said Evan. “It’s a completely new kind of power, not traditional magic, nor the spell of an evil god. It’s magic we’re unfamiliar with, evil and powerful. He’s certainly gone much further than anyone else in the realm of Dark Magic. If he ever masters this power, we’ll be in serious trouble.”

“Dobby doesn’t understand, Master Evan.”

“Nobody understands. For now, all we can do is speculate…”

Dobby paused for a long time before saying, “We should leave here… Harry Potter…”

“You’re right, Dobby. Wormtail is dead, and the real question is, where’s Harry now?” Evan stood up. “That’s suspicious. Someone else must have been here, and that person took Harry away. We should speak to Lucius Malfoy — he must know something. Come on, Dobby. If anyone knows where Lucius is at a time like this, it’s you. Take me to him.”

In the study of Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy sat in his chair, deeply troubled. He stared at the exquisite emerald embedded in the opposite wall, his thoughts shifting between reminiscing about the family’s past glory and lamenting their current predicament.

Back when Voldemort had disappeared, Lucius often found himself longing for the days when he had still been in power.

He had never liked Voldemort, but he believed in the ideals he preached. Pure-blood wizards were the most noble; Mudbloods and Muggles were naturally meant to be ruled by them.

But with Voldemort’s return, the changes didn’t seem to go as he had anticipated.

To some extent, pure-blood wizards had indeed regained the upper hand, yet the Malfoy family’s situation was worsening.

Where had things gone wrong?

Lucius sighed. Perhaps now was not the best time to reflect on such matters… but they were important. During that miserable year in Azkaban, he had asked himself this question countless times. And he, of course, knew the answer.

It wasn’t that he had failed Voldemort, nor that the Malfoy family was no longer important.

The root of everything had been sealed the moment he handed over that diary five years ago.

Lucius had thought for a long time before understanding the crux of the matter, and only after the boy pointed it out. That diary wasn’t some ordinary magical object, nor some valuable keepsake for the Dark Lord; it was… something Lucius had always suspected but never dared to admit.

Damn it, what was the point of saying all this now?!

The current situation was that Voldemort was giving the Malfoys many punitive tasks, most of which were suicide missions.

Sending Draco to kill Dumbledore — it was truly audacious of him to even think of such a thing.

It was a brutal test, although many speculated that the Dark Lord wanted to see how the hypocritical Dumbledore would react to an assassination attempt by his student, and whether he would still maintain his feigned mercy.

But for Draco, wasn’t this also an ordeal from which there could be no return?!

Whether he succeeded or failed, neither outcome was anything the Malfoys desired.

And under Draco’s childish attempt at assassination, Dumbledore truly ended up dead, which was absolutely terrible.

Did Dumbledore’s death improve the Malfoy family’s situation? Probably not.

Now, Lucius Malfoy was being forced to seriously consider the possibility of fleeing, which was simply… utterly dreadful.