Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

The light and shadow were hazy, everything before him dominated by a somber, cold hue.

A vast darkness hung heavy in the sky, the black curtain slowly swirling, seemingly sucking away all life.

Below the stone platform, the witches and wizards of the Ravenclaw family did not halt their ritual despite the sudden intruder.

They chanted spells in strange, lilting intonations, a sound that sent chills down Harry’s spine.

“For death is no boundary, the dead shall never truly rest. Even the wondrous eternal cycle does not find its end in death.”

As the chanting continued, a wind of unknown origin stirred the Veil hanging over the Gate of Death.

The Veil trembled slightly, and a cold, bone-piercing sound echoed from within the door.

These were the voices of the dead, answering the wizards’ summons, coming from hell itself.

The Dark witch’s shrill laughter, the voices from within the door, and the wizards’ incantations all blended together, making Harry’s head spin.

And…it was so cold!

So incredibly cold!

He felt the temperature around him plummeting.

Strange — why was this happening?

This was supposed to be a memory: a memory of the Ravenclaw family opening the Veil of Death long ago.

Could the falling temperature within a memory make the viewer feel cold as well?

The Dark Witch was here, but where was the statue of the evil god?

Where was Evan? He should be here already, why hadn’t he come yet?

One question after another, mixed with the chaotic noise, flooded into Harry’s mind all at once.

His head started throbbing again!

The cold also made his whole body ache terribly.

Harry didn’t have time to think about those questions. For some reason, this time he seemed to understand the voices inside the door. The last time he encountered the Veil of Death at the Ministry of Magic, he had heard only meaningless murmurs. He had even suspected they were his parents speaking to him; they had sounded so similar.

But now he understood clearly: the voices inside weren’t his parents or his loved ones, but the chilling voices of the dead.

The dead were cursing, swearing, and wailing in the most vile language. They wanted to break free from the door.

As the incantation continued, a low rumble began to emanate from within the Veil of Death, signaling its imminent opening.

“No!” Harry cried out, using his last ounce of strength.

“Ha ha ha, Harry Potter, witness death’s arrival!” the Dark Witch screamed maniacally, turning to glance at Harry.

Her face was now completely distorted, like a monster from a nightmare. Her skin was a grayish-blue, like that of a dead person; her once-prominent nose had collapsed, her eyes were at unnatural angles, her mouth was crooked, and a constantly shifting black mist shrouded her face, making her unspeakably terrifying.

Meeting her gaze, Harry couldn’t help but shiver, as though he had fallen into an icy abyss.

Despair followed the chill; Harry helplessly watched everything unfolding before him, awaiting the opening of the Veil of Death.

The only thing he knew was that if the Veil of Death opened, an overwhelming terror would descend.

Even if this was just a memory, the impending terror was undeniably real.

At this very moment, Evan was also completely bewildered, sensing something was very wrong.

Since arriving at Ravenclaw Castle, many questions had been troubling him.

He could sense the Dark Witch’s magic at the center of the lake suddenly intensifying; he could even sense the aura of an evil god — the power of the evil god’s statue. This power was devouring everything in the air: magic, emotions, hope, even the magic that had restored Ravenclaw castle and the ghosts within it was being consumed.

The blue light and shadows became unstable, and the illusion that had just seemed so real began to dissipate.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

A series of strange cracking sounds suddenly rang out from the garden below.

Evan peered out through the enormous arched window and saw the stone sculptures below crumbling, chunks breaking off and falling away.

No, not crumbling, they were coming back to life!

The power of the evil god had resurrected them!

Evan’s eyes widened; this was truly terrible.

There were over a hundred monsters below, and they all became fully real — not to mention many of them looked extremely hard to deal with.

“No, no — death, the power of death is descending, the cursed power is awakening!” the ghost Marcus cried, snapping Evan’s attention back to him.

Marcus himself was becoming increasingly strange. His form grew ever more insubstantial, as though he might dissipate at any moment.

“Hurry to the library, Master, cast the spell to bring peace to the dead,” he urged haltingly. “Hurry, or it will be too late.”

Evan thought for a moment, then quickly sprinted forward along the path Marcus pointed out. He seemed to have no other choice now. The enemy’s strength was rapidly increasing; if the stalemate continued, those stone effigies — creations of the dark god — would all come to life, creating a huge problem.

And charging straight to the center of the lake might not fare any better: facing two evil gods, a Dark witch, and a whole bunch of Dark wizards head-on was hardly a winning prospect. As for hoping that The Book of Abraham would suddenly appear to save him — that was nothing but wishful thinking, with no certainty at all.

Suddenly, the castle began to shake. The blue light was rapidly compressed and gradually dissipated, replaced by a ghastly green glow.

That light carried a chillingly terrifying aura, spreading outward from the ruins of the Veil of Death at the center of the lake.

Amidst the shattered walls and fallen stones, Evan could still see it, even from a distance. He could still make out the floating statue of the evil god, for it was so conspicuous. Above the statue, a phantom shape was coalescing — the very same dreadful evil god he knew all too well.

Its enormous body, indescribable form, countless writhing tentacles, and festering, ravine-like furrows…

Opposite the evil god, directly above the ruins of the Veil of Death, another phantom shape was also gradually coalescing.

It was a cold, unblinking eye! It looked like the eye of a Basilisk!

But Evan only needed one glance to confirm that the phantom was the same eye he had seen on the dark crimson plaque he had taken from Aragog’s lair — the Eye of the evil god, the Eye of Death, the emblem of Herpo the Foul after he had transformed himself into an evil god.

Evan had obtained a total of three such dark crimson plaques, each corresponding to Herpo’s eye, body, and brain.

The enormous eye coalesced in midair, facing the tentacle-covered evil god from afar.

Their magical auras were completely different: one embodied devouring, the other death.

“What a spectacle!” For a moment, Evan hoped the two monsters might turn on each other.

But they didn’t. After a brief exchange, they seemed to get along quite well.

The powers of death and devouring intertwined, inflicting irreversible destruction on everything around them.