Quirrell gazed in the direction Dumbledore disappeared; the white-robed figure had long since melted into the depths of the night, and even the sparks on Fawkes's wingtips had been extinguished.
He turned around, his gaze falling on the distant mountainside, a corner of which had been sheared off by a landslide. In the moonlight, the collapsed rock resembled a dark scar, stretching across the end of the railway tracks.
Dumbledore left, completely entrusting the task of restoring passage to Professor Marlene.
Quirrell couldn't help but mutter to himself, "Magic has its limits. Even the most powerful wizard can't move an entire mountain by himself."
Professor Marlene was not a native Hogwarts wizard, and Quirrell had worked with her for nearly a year, still knew very little about her. She had never attended Hogwarts and rarely participated in the professors' gatherings. Apart from spending time in the library reading those dusty ancient books, she would wander around the school castle alone, as if she had some kind of obsessive curiosity about the architectural structure itself.
Madam Pince once mentioned that Professor Marlene seemed to be studying the magical structure of Hogwarts Castle itself, but no one knew what she had actually accomplished.
Quirrell stood at the train door, gazing into the distance at the figure darting up and down the mountainside. Professor Marlene's figure appeared exceptionally agile in the night, sometimes skimming swiftly along the rock face, sometimes landing atop a protruding boulder, as if measuring something.
The surfaces of the rocks she touched faintly shimmered with silver light, like fireflies dampened by dew on a summer night.
Perhaps I should lend a hand, Quirrell thought to himself. Even if we couldn't completely clear the entire mountain, we could at least work together to clear a narrow passage that a train could barely pass through.
If all else fails, the only option is to have all the students get off the carriages and have Hagrid arrange for Thestral carriage to pick them up. Just imagining that scene is chaotic—a group of eleven-year-old wizards crammed into a carriage, bouncing along towards the castle. By the time they arrive, the soup at the dinner party will probably be cold.
Just as Quirrell was considering alternative plans, the figure that had been flying up and down in the distance suddenly stopped.
Professor Marlene hovered in mid-air, her arms slowly opening as if embracing the entire mountain. Suddenly, she pushed her hands forward, and a beam of silvery-white light extended from her palms, like a slender thread, precisely piercing into the mountain.
Immediately afterwards, one point of light after another lit up the mountainside. At first, these points of light were scattered, but they quickly connected with each other in a way that Quirrell could not understand, outlining complex and regular geometric patterns, like a giant net woven from light covering the entire collapsed rock wall.
The patterns have a peculiar rhythm, as if they were not randomly placed magical nodes, but a blueprint so precise that it unfolds according to a certain Alchemy order.
The air began to move, first a gentle breeze, then a sudden surge of wind that howled from all directions towards the mountain covered in light patterns, whipping up pebbles and dust that swirled in the moonlight. Quirrell instinctively squinted, feeling the increasingly intense magical vibrations in the air, even the train beside him trembled slightly.
Then, a blinding white light exploded from the center of the mountain.
The light was so intense, like liquid mercury gushing forth, that it illuminated the entire wilderness as if it were daytime.
Quirrell had to shield his eyes with his arm; even through his tightly closed eyelids, the bright white light still stung his eyes. He heard a muffled rumble, as if something deep inside the mountain was cracking, collapsing, and being forcibly twisted, followed by a brief but violent tremor in the ground.
A few seconds later, the white light finally began to dim.
Quirrell lowered his arm, squinted, and looked again at the mountainside that had blocked the path. Then he froze.
The entire mountain appears to have been pierced through by an invisible giant pillar, with a large chunk disappearing in the middle, leaving behind a nearly perfectly smooth, rounded gap.
The railway track extended perfectly through the gap, the rock walls on either side so smooth they looked as if they had been cut by a knife, without a single crack remaining. The boulders, soil, and trees that had once piled up on the track had all vanished completely, as if they had never existed.
Quirrell opened his mouth, taking a long time to find his voice. He couldn't help but mutter in admiration, "With that kind of skill, why didn't you go and deal with those Werewolf and Vampire earlier?"
Professor Marlene, whom Quirrell was secretly criticizing, was now lying on a section of broken wall at the edge of the gap, her face so pale it was almost transparent.
Her breathing was noticeably more rapid than usual, fine beads of sweat appeared on her forehead, and the hand holding the wand hung limply at her side, her knuckles trembling slightly. The Alchemy she had just performed had consumed far more magic than she had anticipated, almost draining her entire body of its power.
She gazed at the perfectly rounded notch, silently contemplating that even a wizard's magic has its limits.
As wizards age, their magical power does indeed gradually accumulate, but each person's upper limit depends on their talent, and the body itself also ages irreversibly.
Even Alchemy Master like Nicolas Flamel, who lived for hundreds of years, could not escape the aging of the physical body.
She let out a long breath, raised her other hand, and waved it gently.
The cube-shaped magic boxes scattered throughout the mountain floated up, like weary birds summoned, flying back one by one to her sleeve and disappearing into the folded space.
After retrieving the alchemical tools used as magical nodes, Marlene took out a slender-necked crystal bottle from her sleeve, uncorked it, and drank it all in one gulp. The pale blue liquid slid down her throat, and she felt her depleted magical power begin to recover, her complexion slowly regaining some color.
She put away the empty bottle, turned around, and landed in the direction of the Hogwarts Express. Her black robes fluttered in the night wind as she landed steadily beside Quirrell, her tone calm and composed, as if the earth-shattering Alchemy she had just performed was merely a casual turn of a page.
"Alright, the mountain is cleared, it's time to go." She glanced at her watch and frowned slightly. "We're already quite late, and if we delay any longer, Professor McGonagall will probably get worried."
Quirrell quickly reassured her, "It's alright, Headmaster Dumbledore just came by; he should explain to Professor McGonagall."
Professor Marlene's expression visibly softened upon hearing this. " Dumbledore came? That saves me the trouble of writing a report. But please tell McGonagall that I'm quite tired tonight."
After she finished speaking, she turned and walked towards the front of the car, clearly not intending to linger any longer.
Quirrell watched her retreating figure. Although he didn't want to report to McGonagall, he recalled the spectacular scene of the light net covering the entire mountain and finally replied, "No problem," without daring to utter a single extra word.
Before long, the Hogwarts Express let out a long and steady whistle, and the wheels rolled back onto the tracks, carrying a train full of terrified young wizards steadily toward the brightly lit castle.