Chapter 94

"Damn, this room is something else," Albert muttered, strolling ahead.

Walking past an aisle lined with a profusion of crystal orbs and weathered tomes, the hushed whispers amplified and grew more insistent. They had this weird pull, like they were practically begging him to heed their call. Before he knew it, thoughts not originally his own slipped into his mind, blending with his own in a strange mind-meld.

'What's the harm in picking up the tiara? From what we've heard, Quirrel is a rubbish teacher, and if our memory serves me correctly, when he comes back, he's going to be even worse. And he's going to teach Defence. We bet Voldemort could be a better teacher. And unlike him, we know what I'm getting myself into. And he could help us level up all our skills. We could become the second coming of Merlin.'

As he thought that, another thought blasted into his mind.

'We could also become the next Voldemort. We don't know what power his Horcrux could have on us. The Horcrux might twist us into another version of him. And since when did we want to become the Second Coming of Merlin? We thought we were going to go to Wall Street, make the big bucks, and live our lives in luxury. We thought we were going to retire our parents and watch our children grow. And how are we going to explain it? How did we, as a muggle, get so powerful that we could stand on level footing with Dumbledore?'

The other voice inside fought back and came back swinging.

'Why do we need to explain ourselves to Dumbledore? The old man is nearing his end. If we had to, say we read it in a book. We found it. We found this power just like he found one of the Deathly Hallows. There are more mysteries in this world than he could possibly comprehend. If he wants to know our source of power, just give him an object in this room. He couldn't possibly know what some of these artefacts do. He couldn't even find a Horcrux that's been living under his nose.'

'What if he knows we're lying? What if he wants to know? What if he uses Legilimency on us?'

'We make sure it never happens.'

'How?'

'We teach the boy.'

'We cripple their minds.'

''We make them our slaves'

'We corrupt…' 'We pillage…' 'We loot…' 'We…' 'We…' 'We…'

'We kill…'

CLATTER!

Albert woke up from his trance to find his outreached hand clasping a shattered crystal ball. Once he regained his bearing, the fragments slipped through his fingers like ethereal sand, and he let them smash into a million pieces. The fractured pieces flickered in the ambient light, before they lost their shine. He looked over to the source of the clatter and saw a metal helmet rolling towards his feet. Albert scooped it up, the cool metal familiar against his palm. As he examined it, the details emerged—etched patterns that looked like Nordic Runes faintly glowed, dents that hinted at how the wearer died.

"Thank you for waking me up, helmet," he said as he put it under his arm and moved towards the rest of the armour.

He put the helmet back on its stand and said, 'Thank you' once again. After he looked around the armour stand, he saw a table behind it. The table had stacks of books piled up on it. He walked closer and saw an open book near a broken saucer. He closed the book to see that it was a book about potions that he'd never seen before. He turned to the cover to check who the author was. That page had almost all of its writing faded. What shocked Albert was when he turned it over; it read, 'The Property of the Half-Blood Prince'.

It belonged to Professor Snape. Albert picked up the book to see if it was in a good enough condition that he could use the repaired charm on the book and keep it. He flicked through it and saw some pages missing, some pages with drink stains, and some pages that had burned to a crisp. He carefully put the book back, and a small piece of paper fell out. Albert picked it up and saw a smiling redhead and an emo-looking boy laughing under what seemed to be a willow tree.

'This must be Lily Evans, and they must have been around my age when the picture was taken,' Albert thought as he put the picture back in the book. 'I reckon Snape would kill me if I ever told him I found this.'

Albert turned around and looked around, and he spotted it: a weapons rack with weapons on it. He made his way towards him. One weapon that caught his eye was an axe. It was a battle-hardened axe with a handle that demanded two hands for use. The blade, once keen and formidable, now betrayed signs of a muted splendour, dulled by countless battles. Rust crept along its edges, a testament to the passage of time, staining the once-gleaming surface.

Yet, despite the signs of wear, the axe retained a haunting allure. Traces of crimson, long since dried, lingered as sinister imprints on the metal, silent echoes of the battles it had witnessed. The shaft was engraved in what appeared to be Old English and, like the helmet, had a faint glow on it. Albert jumped back as he saw something moving in his peripheral vision.

His hand instinctively went to his wand, fingers closing around the familiar hilt. The enchanted wood warmed in response to his touch. With a subtle flick, the wand was drawn, and Albert scanned the dim expanse around him.

A flutter of wings to his left seized his attention. Albert swivelled in that direction, his wand held at the ready. The sound shifted, now echoing from the right. His eyes darted to the opposite side, ever watchful. The eerie glow from the engravings on the axe and helmet cast flickering shadows.

Then, a soft flutter manifested right in front of him. Albert's eyes widened as he lowered his wand, realising it wasn't a threat. A golden snitch hovered inches from his face, its tiny wings beating rapidly. The metallic gleam reflected the ambient glow, creating an illusion of ethereal radiance.

He chuckled, the tension dissipating, and pocketed his wand. The golden snitch, seemingly delighted by his reaction, continued its whimsical dance before darting away into the hidden recesses of the Room of Hidden Things. He turned to look at the axe again before moving on.

He walked along the aisle and saw shelves upon shelves of useless clutter. He walked past old furniture, old broomsticks, old newspapers, worn robes, and some used clothes. Seeing that it was mostly corsets and socks, Albert swiftly moved on. He reached an intersection and continued straight. On this aisle, there were cauldrons, broken bottles, and small heaps of potion materials. There were some glass bottles with liquid inside with no labels sealed with a cork. He again reached an intersection, and what he saw in front of him shocked him.

In the dimly lit chamber, three imposing metal cages loomed, each containing a troll frozen in time by a potent Stasis Charm. The air hung heavy with the metallic tang of the enchanted bars, and a damp earthiness clung to the surroundings.

The first troll, massive and brawny, stood at least twelve feet tall. Its leathery, moss-green skin bore scars and scrapes, a testament to past battles. Jagged, yellowed tusks jutted from its lower jaw, emphasising the brutish and primal nature of these creatures. The troll's matted, coarse hair cascaded down its shoulders, a tangled mess that hinted at a life spent in the wild. Despite the imposed stillness, its gnarled fingers, each one tipped with a claw capable of tearing through solid stone, twitched involuntarily.

In the second cage, a slightly smaller troll, yet no less formidable, bore greyish-blue skin that seemed almost luminescent in the enchanted gloom. Its facial features were more humanoid, with a pronounced brow and a pair of yellow, unblinking eyes. The troll's stony fists, each the size of a small cauldron, were caught mid-swing, frozen in the midst of some long-forgotten assault. A faint ripple of muscle beneath its skin hinted at the raw power that lay dormant.

The third troll, a hulking creature with mottled brown and black skin, possessed a series of bony protrusions along its spine. These spikes, reminiscent of a mediaeval weapon, added an extra layer of menace to its formidable presence. The troll's snout, which was elongated and pointed, spoke of a predatory nature. Despite its imposing stature, a vulnerability lingered in the downturned gaze of its closed, cat-like eyes.

The cages themselves, fashioned from cold, unyielding iron, bore intricate runes etched into their surfaces, enhancing the efficacy of the Stasis Charm. Heavy chains, wrapped in a lattice pattern, hung from the ceiling, securing the cages in a meticulous arrangement. Each cage was padlocked with multiple layers of magical wards, creating a layered defence against any accidental release.

As Albert observed them, he heard a familiar chime ring in his ear. It was a new mission.

Gladiator

Mission Description: You have found three trolls locked up in cages with a potent statis charm on them. One of them will almost kill a fellow Gryffindor in the future; one will be used for a test, and the other will remain. Your mission is to slay one of these creatures and show your Gryffindor bravery. There is no time limit for this mission.

Mission Objective: Kill a Troll (0/1).

Mission Reward: 3000 experience points.

Albert was bewildered by the mission objective. What was the system doing? Was it trying to kill him? Gryffindor bravery? More like Gryffindor stupidity! The only good thing was that there was no time limit, and the mission did not specify which troll to kill. All he had to do was wait two years and kill the troll that Quirrell would let loose.