The seed of the curse fell to the ground, and as the altar fragments were buried, it delved deep beneath the soil. It took root and sprouted at a speed visible to the naked eye, turning into an ordinary-looking weed in the blink of an eye. After the cursed seed had taken root, flowers and grass gradually grew on the surrounding ground, and everything returned to normal, showing no trace that a dark ritual had just been performed here.
Of course, all of this only looked normal on the surface. In reality, any wizard with a bit of ability could sense the faint aura of Dark Arts that lingered. His grandfather's notes had also recorded this, and Sean had prepared potions that could remove the tell-tale signs.
Taking out the last two bottles of potion he had with him, he sprinkled some on the surrounding ground. Then Sean sprinkled a little on himself to remove the aura he had picked up. Only then did he cast the Disillusionment Charm again and run back towards the Shrieking Shack.
Meanwhile, in the Slytherin Common Room, Tarquin was lying on his bed, already fast asleep. He tossed and turned, his breathing becoming heavier and heavier. Looking closely, a layer of cold sweat had appeared on his body, dense beads covering him entirely.
At this moment, an evil and mysterious silver-white rune suddenly appeared on Tarquin's chest, directly over his heart. Soon, the rune gradually shrank, becoming the size of a thumb, and like a seed, it drilled into Tarquin's flesh. It silently and deeply embedded itself within his body.
In that instant, Tarquin suddenly opened his eyes. His eyes were filled with blood-red veins, his lips were dry and cracked, and large beads of cold sweat streamed down his cheeks.
"Damn it," he muttered, "Am I sick?"
Throwing off the covers, Tarquin got out of bed, feeling the sticky sweat on his body. He went directly to the washroom, washed his face, and looked up at himself in the mirror. At this sight, Tarquin was almost startled by his own reflection.
Deep dark circles under his eyes, a sallow complexion, lips covered in dry skin—he looked even worse than the time he had been slapped several times before.
"This is…"
"I'll go to the school hospital tomorrow morning," he muttered to himself.
Feeling extremely tired, Tarquin returned to his room. He ignored the dampness of the bedding, lay down, and fell back into a deep sleep.
Early the next morning, Tarquin opened his eyes, feeling incredibly energetic, as if the sickly person from last night wasn't him at all.
After a slight stretch, Tarquin, feeling in excellent physical condition, immediately dismissed the idea of going to the school hospital. He changed his clothes and left the Slytherin Common Room. Yesterday, both Phineas Burke and Hector Rook had been defeated by Sean. It must be said that Tarquin was quite surprised, so he was preparing to take action himself.
If that Squib's son was still so ungrateful, Tarquin felt he could use some more radical methods. A Hogwarts diploma was not essential for him. He was the future heir of his family and didn't need a Hogwarts diploma to find a job. Even if he were expelled, it wouldn't matter.
Sitting in the Great Hall, Tarquin ate with Dorian. He glanced at Sean in the distance, sneered, and lowered his head to continue drinking his oatmeal.
After breakfast, Tarquin attended some classes that he considered unimportant. As the afternoon wore on and the sun began to set, Tarquin suddenly felt extremely tired. Without thinking much, he returned to his room to rest. But when he lay down on the bed again, he never got up.
Dumbledore, Snape, and Madam Pomfrey from the school hospital stood together by Tarquin's bed. Madam Pomfrey examined Tarquin in detail, finally shaking her head helplessly and regretfully. She said, "Dumbledore, it's a pity, but this child died of illness. He is like an old person whose life has reached its end. His physical appearance seems unchanged, but his internal organs have aged to a very serious degree, especially his heart, which has aged particularly severely. Because of this, I believe this child died of heart failure, just like those middle-aged or elderly people with irregular lifestyles."
Listening to Madam Pomfrey, Dumbledore carefully looked at Tarquin's body. Finally, his eyes rested on Tarquin's chest area. He then looked at Madam Pomfrey and said, "Madam Pomfrey, are there any traces of magic on Tarquin?"
Madam Pomfrey immediately understood Dumbledore's meaning when she heard this. Therefore, she replied, "Dumbledore, I have been at Hogwarts for a long time, and I have seen all kinds of injuries. I cannot guarantee that there is absolutely no magical cause, but at least within my capabilities, I have indeed not found any traces of magic."
"I am aware of your capabilities, and I trust your judgement."
Nodding slightly in acknowledgement to Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey thought for a moment and spoke again, "Dumbledore, in the magical world, there are actually often children who die young. They are often due to problems with their internal organs, especially the deterioration of the heart. In fact, in the Muggle world, there are even more such cases, so I think this child…"
She didn't finish her sentence, but both Dumbledore and Snape had already understood her meaning.
"Madam Pomfrey, thank you very much. Let's take this poor child away for now; otherwise, keeping him here isn't very appropriate. At the same time, we also need to notify his parents. I will handle the follow-up matters."
"Alright, Dumbledore."
Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey took Tarquin's body away, while Snape stayed in the common room to comfort the students, although the Slytherin students weren't exactly eager for his comfort.
The matter came to an end.
Snape stood in Dumbledore's office.
"Severus, how is Mr. Hunter usually?" Dumbledore asked. Hunter was Tarquin's surname.
Hearing Dumbledore's words, Snape immediately said, "Mr. Hunter is an extreme pure-blood supremacist and usually studies Dark Arts extensively. If Voldemort were at school, he would likely have become a complete Death Eater."
"Furthermore, to my knowledge, he also greatly admired Voldemort and had previously secretly used curses on Muggle-born wizards from other houses."
"Severus, you seem… not to like Mr. Hunter very much."
Snape looked at Dumbledore. A certain fluctuation seemed to appear in his dead eyes, but it quickly vanished without a trace. He said, "I indeed don't like him very much, just as I don't like the other pure-blood fanatics who followed him."
Looking at Snape, Dumbledore's face showed a hint of a smile. He said, "Alright, thank you, Severus. You can leave the rest to me."
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