After speaking, Quirrell took the lead and stepped into the passage, his boots making a dull thud on the stone steps.
Gori followed half a step behind him, the hem of her black robe brushing against the rough stone surface, making a slight rustling sound.
The passageway extended downwards for a while, then suddenly opened up into a bright and spacious area.
The main space of the dungeon was much larger than Herman had seen at the entrance; it resembled a hollowed-out mountain belly.
The ceiling was so high that the torchlight couldn't reach it; all you could see was a thick darkness hanging overhead.
The air temperature was a few degrees lower than in the corridor, carrying a musty, rusty smell and some indescribable sour odor.
In the center of the hall stood several enormous stone tables, their surfaces thick and their edges worn smooth.
Scattered on the stone table were various metal utensils, including long, thin pliers, curved scrapers, hooks with forked tips, and some irregularly shaped metal blocks whose original purpose was unclear.
The surfaces of those utensils were covered with a layer of dark red rust, or something else, which gleamed with an unsettling sheen in the dim torchlight.
Quirrell walked to a stone table, glanced down at the utensils, his expression was unnatural, and the smile on his lips froze for a moment.
He looked away, glanced around, and tried to find a suitable topic of conversation.
"To prevent riots by the test subjects, some magical protective measures have been designed here." He pointed to the faint patterns on the wall, the same style as the serpent patterns Snape had activated at the entrance. "So magic isn't very effective here. It's also inconvenient for House-elf to come here to clean."
Quirrell subtly explained why he arranged for Gori to stay here: magic couldn't be used here, ensuring Gori's "safety."
He nodded in the Gori, his expression unchanged.
His gaze swept over the utensils on the stone tables one by one, as if he were identifying each item, before moving to the rows of metal shelves piled up in the corner of the hall.
The shelves varied in height, some standing upright and others leaning against the wall, forming a complex structure with movable joints connecting the beams and columns.
Their surfaces were also covered with that dark red mark, and in some places, you could even see obvious scratches and dents.
Looking at those shelves in the Gori, a faint, almost nostalgic feeling suddenly surfaced in his eyes.
Quirrell didn't recognize any of this. He was too young. The Middle Ages he had read about in his Hogwarts History of Magic textbooks were vague and distant concepts. The illustrations of witch hunts, stakes, and escaped wizards were several layers of comprehension away from these silent iron objects before him.
But I recognized them all in the Gori.
Those shelves are medieval torture instruments.
Gallows, stretchers, and some more sophisticated small instruments for specific parts of the body.
When he was still an ordinary nobleman, he had a similar set of equipment in the dungeon of his castle.
He was young then, and his emotions were much richer than they are now. He almost vomited the first time he saw his father torture him. Although it was a bad memory at the time, now it seems that at least he was a person then, with rich emotions.
But that was a long time ago.
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze shifting to the depths of the other side of the hall.
There was a row of rooms, or rather, prison cells.
Divided into rooms by metal pillars as thick as an arm, the gaps between the pillars were just big enough for a hand to stick out, but not big enough for a whole body to squeeze through.
Some cell doors were open, and the stone beds and benches inside were still there, covered with a thick layer of dust. In several other cells, one could see white bones scattered beside the stone beds or in the corners of the walls, no longer recognizable as human figures.
"Has this place been unused for a long time?" the Gori asked casually, as if in a casual conversation.
Quirrell immediately replied, "Never used it. It was sealed off after the medieval witch hunts ended, or more precisely, after the Founders Slytherin left the school."
As he spoke, he glanced at the cells, his gaze carrying an uneasy avoidance. "The other three Founders felt that Hogwarts, as a school, shouldn't have such a place. Later, when students occasionally misbehaved, they were only locked up in the solitary confinement cells over in the tower."
In the Gori, he turned his head and looked at the row of dark, deep prison cells.
He nodded, as if agreeing with Quirrell.
But his nostrils twitched slightly, and his eyes were fixed on the deepest part of the passage, at the end of the rows of cells, his pupils slightly contracting in the torchlight.
There was a smell, different from the stale smell on the table; it was a fresh, faint, bloody smell mixed with the smell of old rust and mold.
It was very faint, undetectable to humans, but to him it was as clear as someone speaking in his ear.
It doesn't taste medieval; it's much fresher, no more than fifty years old.
He didn't reveal this discovery.
There's no need to tell Quirrell, nor is there any need to let Dumbledore know.
Perhaps this will be my opportunity.
The perspective shifts to Herman's side.
After following Snape away from the vicinity of the dungeon, Herman climbed several more flights of stairs and turned two corners before finally letting out a sigh of relief.
The air in the corridor was still cold, but at least it no longer had that oppressive feeling that made the back of my neck tingle.
The candlelight burned quietly on the wall lamp, casting a warm yellow glow on the stone wall.
He finally had time to complain to himself.
How did Dumbledore end up placing the Vampire next door to him?
Both are located in the underground area. The Slytherin Common Room is at one end of the corridor, and the dungeon is at the other end, separated only by an abandoned staircase and a distance of a couple hundred meters.
Living underground was already cramped enough—poor lighting and poor air circulation—and now there was this Vampire elder who could cause trouble at any moment. The living conditions had been reduced from " Slytherin " to " Azkaban."
No, I need to become stronger quickly.
Herman quickly went through the plan in his mind.
Dumbledore was right: only by becoming strong can one control one's own destiny.
Why did he dare to smile at himself on the podium, Gori why did he dare to call himself "the best little wizard" in front of Snape? Because he had lived for hundreds of years, possessed profound magic, and was cunning and experienced. He was not afraid of a first-year wizard at all.
Why was Dumbledore able to lock Gori the dungeon? Because he was the most powerful wizard of his time, and Gori had to obey whatever he said.
No way, I'm not sleeping tonight. They've come to bully us right at our doorstep, how can I possibly sleep?
I'll read the book Dumbledore gave me first, as much as I can manage.
I need to see Professor Malin tomorrow. We also need to get on with the magic arm thing; it's more efficient to improve strength that way. Marlene's magic made my arm much easier to use. Magic is such a fast-paced thing, even for those who practice evil magic!