Hogwarts: Even Voldemort Can't Stop Me From Studying-Chapter 638 - 29: Beech and Oak

The beech tree came to the side of the man in black, burrowed into the moist soil, and planted its roots, then, as if with a sigh of relief, its entire body of branches and leaves shook for a moment before settling down again.

The man in black pointed his magic wand at the spruce tree in front, chanting a long spell in a low voice, his words drowned out by the pelting rain, making them inaudible even to someone standing nearby.

Yet the spruce ahead seemed to hear him, its branches trembling unnaturally, and then, its once straight trunk bent as if stretching lazily.

The ground nearby began to tremble, surge, and split, as if some massive beast was about to burst forth from the underground, causing surrounding shrubs and grasses to topple and insects to scurry out in panic.

But before the surface soil could completely fracture, the man in black patted the spruce’s trunk, and everything calmed down again.

It was then that another shadowy figure sneaked out from the depths of the forest, timidly approaching the front of the spruce, and started drawing a circle of magic patterns on its surface.

The man in black watched silently, and after those patterns were completed, he pointed with his magic wand once more, and the black patterns emitted a faint, dark-green glow before fading away.

"Continue," he said in an icy tone, "Before the rain stops, you need to finish marking all the trees that require more than three men to encircle them with their arms."

The other person made a wretched face and nodded compliantly, grabbing his pen and bucket to find other large trees, the rain dripping onto his face without respite, looking like a man living a tormented life.

Golden strands of hair slipped from the edge of his hood, sticking wetly to his face, and the man shivered with cold hands and feet, not daring to utter a single complaint.

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, suddenly illuminating the dark forest and the relatively handsome face beneath the hood.

Lockhart had grown much thinner than before, with a few dreadful scars on his neck. Hunched over, he wearily made his way towards another very sturdy oak tree.

Watching him from behind was Barty Crouch Jr, whose cold, contemptuous eyes made Lockhart shiver uncontrollably. He wanted to run, but just the thought of Voldemort’s methods made him too terrified to even consider rebellion.

Besides, there was no way for him to escape.

Voldemort had placed an extremely vicious curse on him so that if Lockhart attempted to flee, betray Voldemort, or leak information, the curse would kill him.

—In hindsight, perhaps it would’ve been better to just stay in Azkaban!

Lockhart couldn’t help entertaining such thoughts.

But then he recalled the terror of the Dementors, remembering the despair, loneliness, and emptiness of prison life, causing him to tremble slightly.

For a moment, Lockhart was at a loss to determine whether the Dementors were more frightening, or Voldemort more fearsome.

All in all, both inflicted endless torment on him.

Thinking back now to his days as a bestselling author adored by countless fans, and the times when he was surrounded by many teenage girls at Hogwarts, it all felt so idyllic, like a dream.

Lockhart tearfully drew magic patterns on the trees, his vision blurred by tears, accidentally drawing a few symbols incorrectly.

Panicking, he forgot to cry, stealthily glancing over his shoulder to find Barty Crouch Jr casting spells on another large tree, unaware of his error, allowing him to finally breathe a sigh of relief.

He dared not let Barty Crouch Jr discover his mistake—most of the materials used for this bucket of magic potion were illegal substances, painstakingly gathered from all corners of the earth by Gall.

If that cold-hearted devil learned of his error, at the very least he would suffer a Crucio, and perhaps even be fed to Nagini...

Accursed Death Eaters, who have not an ounce of human kindness, not even towards their own!

Lockhart cursed Barty Crouch Jr to die soon while carefully covering his mistake with his hand, straining his Magic Power until his face turned red, finally watching those symbols gradually fade away.

—Driven by extreme fear, he had actually managed to perform a Wandless Spell successfully!

Lockhart didn’t have time to celebrate, fearing that Barty Crouch Jr would notice the amount of time he had spent on this tree, he quickly finished drawing and set off to find the next tree.

Yet another yew tree came alive, only to gradually calm down again.

Barty glanced aside and saw Lockhart looking furtively around the forest as though he were a thief, letting out a disdainful "tsk."

He was about to walk away when suddenly a corner of his robe was tugged. Barty frowned and looked over to see that it was a lowly beech tree, its wayward branch snagging his robe.

This was their first test subject.

It wasn’t clear whether its young age left it childlike after awakening, or because its trunk was too thin for the full pattern, but this tree simply couldn’t blend in quietly like the others.

This little tree liked to run around and was as clingy as a little chick, always following on Barty’s heels, unable to be driven off or shaken loose.

Barty tugged his robe free, circled around it, and headed towards another big tree. He hadn’t walked far when he heard a rustling behind him.

Jerking his head around, he saw the beech tree cautiously following him on tiptoe, pausing hastily as he turned, pretending to be just another ordinary tree.

Barty furrowed his brows and continued forward; after a moment, the beech tree indeed crept up again.

Perhaps the nighttime forest stirred silent fears and loneliness, but he found such companionship relatively comforting, even cozy with a desire to confide.

"Do you even understand what I’m doing? Of course not—because you’re just a brainless tree."

The beech tree swayed its branches, pleased by his acquiescence to its following, glad even for his conversation.

As for Barty’s words, they naturally meant nothing to it, nor could they be conveyed to anyone else.

So Barty felt more at ease pouring out his heart—those burdened with many secrets always needed a "tree hole," and Barty was no different.

"The magic potion, the father’s bones, the servant’s flesh, these things are ready—all that’s left is the blood of the enemy. All that’s left... is Harry Potter."

Barty whispered:

"But that boy is too well-protected. I need an opportunity... We need to create an extreme chaos to snatch him out of the safety circle, and before the master is fully resurrected, we mustn’t be tracked by Dumbledore."

"This tournament is a great opportunity... In a few days, the field will gather a hundred thousand wizards, Harry Potter among them, you’ve seen him too, right?"

Barty turned his gaze towards the oval field, murmuring, "Traitors, dissenters, and those cluelessly protected fools, they all need to pay a dreadful price!"