Fail Demon King

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Book Title: [HP] Failed Demon King

Author: milk jug

Copywriting: Voldemort, the Dark Lord whose name is taboo.Merlin, apart from Owen, probably no one dared to choose "that character" as the topic of their graduation thesis.

This is Hogwarts in 2017.

Merlin!He turned into another person because of a damn self-stirring cauldron!Owen was dumbfounded: What the hell is going on!

A handsome boy with impassive dark eyes looked at him contemptuously: "Come on, Stubbs, you look like you don't know I'm in detention because of you."

This is a London orphanage in 1937.

Many years later, Owen didn't want to entangle with Lord Demon King anymore, he gritted his teeth: "This is a first-class magical accident, I want to complain to the Ministry of Magic!"

The Dark Lord looked at the "Daily Prophet" casually: "Very well, you can tell me directly if you have anything."

"..."

To be honest, this demon king is not up to the task of destroying the world.He was a good lover.

For the sake of conscience, Owen can only give a fair conclusion to the research results: he failed the Demon King.

The original work of this era does not involve much, and sometimes it is for the plot, so there may be deviations in the year, please treat it gently, welcome to tease╭(╯3╰)╮

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1 head-scratching paper

The heavy snow that has been falling for almost two days has finally stopped, and the New Year's Christmas is just around the corner.

On this gray afternoon, Owen Scott stood in the Hogwarts library, flipping through the pages of a hardcover book that was thicker than a brick.He could always feel something hot and burning on his back—you know, as if he had been hit by two blazing curses—and there was no doubt that it was Mrs. Pince's eyes .

Owen glanced at his watch, he had been here for almost three hours.His left hand, which is supporting the spine of the book, is now unbearably sore, while the fingertips of his right hand, which turns the pages, have long been dry.

He tried to lean the book against the shelf, who knew it was too heavy, and when it became unsteady, other books that were loose there fell to pieces with a clatter.Fortunately, here are some dull history books of magic, they can't do more than shake the cover and make a few faint protests-but that's unfortunate enough, Mrs. Pince's dry cough seems to be five feet closer.

Owen closed the book in a panic, looked around, and started to walk outside.However, the voice of the sharp-eyed librarian sounded at the right time: "Put it back—this is an out-of-print book, and no loans are allowed."

Owen stopped in despair, he looked back at the thin, pale woman: "Please..."

The blue veins on Mrs. Pince's forehead were protruding, and she showed a stern and solemn expression against the black robe: "No."

"I'll be able to find what I'm looking for tonight," he begged. "You know, I've spent an hour and 23 minutes on it, and I'll be able to find—"

Mrs. Pince's voice sharpened, a bit like an exasperated, overforced whistle: "As I said, no! Put the book back—you, get out now! Get out!"

"Merlin, I didn't intend to use it to research Horcruxes or anything else. I didn't find anything other than this word." Owen felt the tip of his nose sweating, and he tilted his head slightly, sarcastically Said, "Besides, the savior is still alive, even if I really become the second Voldemort, he can still save the world again, can't he?"

Mrs. Pince gasped.

— Well, it seems that this time he thoroughly angered the dedicated librarian.

It was only after Owen had been rather roughly thrown out of the library that he began to regret not casting a locating spell on the page just now, so that he could find it quickly next time, the alphabetical index on the shelf alone was too unreliable.

But in practice this is impossible.Try pointing your wand at those precious books by Mrs. Pince?

—Don't joke about Merlin's beard.

So now Owen feels like he has lost all hope: How the hell does his history of magic essay work?

It was a real embarrassment, and several portraits had figures looking down at him suspiciously.He leaned against the wall and thought for a while, then decided to go back to the common room and mess with it before writing a couple of papers.At this moment, he suddenly heard a familiar voice shouting his name from behind the corridor not far away: "Owen! Wait for me!"

He paused, waiting for the sound of hurried footsteps approaching him.A moment later, a panting William Harry Snape appeared in front of him.

"Hi, William." Owen greeted him dejectedly, "Good afternoon."

"Hey, buddy," William grinned at him, showing his white teeth. "You don't look very good. Why, still worrying about your dissertation materials? I guess it must be 'out of print books, no lending' or something, yeah Bar?"

Owen looked at him gloomily: "I know you're done writing, stop showing off, William."

"Come on, Owen," William put his hands on his shoulders generously, "take it easy, that old vulture will be cast with a full-body binding spell sooner or later. Actually, I knew it would happen, thinking about you The subject matter of—”

Owen stopped and looked at him with raised eyebrows.

William quickly changed his tune: "I mean - er, it's just right... except you know, even though it's been 20 years and the policy is much more open now, it's still a little bit of a seventh grader's coursework to study Voldemort." Son - I suppose they were just worried that someone would fall into a Dark Arts frenzy in the process. After all, there have been advocates in the Ministry of Magic until now for all records of that Dark wizard to be wiped from history."

"I know that the scars he has brought to our previous generations are too deep, and quite a few wizards worry that too much research into his life will produce more Dark Lords." Sex, that's what I'm talking about. And... don't you find it curious?"

"sorry?"

"I mean—how on earth did he instigate so many people to follow him, and how did he build a powerful empire in the 80s and [-]s? It's impossible to rely solely on absolute power and brutality, and absolute power of the individual. Worship - he had his childhood and teenage years too, and I don't believe he was the Dark Lord we think he was at that time. To be honest, I don't think most of the history about him now is true."

William looked at him helplessly: "I think you've really lost your mind, it's not good." They walked quietly side by side for a while, and William said again, "It's true that there is very little information on him, but in fact there are too many of them now. It’s not that you can’t do anything. I’ve wanted to suggest you write a letter to my family for a long time,” he gestured a few gestures, “You know, compared to your guardian, those two from my family… should be able to tell you something useful things."

"I know." Owen let out a long breath, and patted him on the shoulder gratefully, "I know. Thank you, William."

William's background is quite prominent.He has two fathers, one is the greatest potion master of our time, and the other is the savior who should be admired by all ages (there is no irony in such a title, at least not from a Slytherin point of view. Ryffindor sarcasm).

Come on, don't make a fuss, it's not a big deal to have two fathers-to be honest, Owen really admires William, not because of his status or anything, but because of his healthy and normal family.

He himself came from an old aristocratic family of long blood, his parents had died young, and he was brought up by a cousin who was twenty years his senior.And his name came quite perfunctorily—for commemorative purposes, it completely followed the full name of a missing uncle.Now there are two Irving R. Scots in the genealogy, and the other Irving who unfortunately disappeared has been completely lost since the 20s.

"Who knows." His cousin Ivan once said pointedly, "There are not a few people who disappeared at that time."

But according to his guess, his cousin didn't know anything about that uncle, because Ivan Sco was best at pretending to be deep.

"I know you have inherited the unique tradition of your family who likes to meditate and is not used to seeing the road, Owen." William's voice suddenly rang in his ears slowly, "But—"

They both stopped abruptly.

It was only then that Owen realized that the tip of his nose was about to touch a piece of cold, shining silver armor.The next second, there was a muffled voice: "Hey, kid, don't touch it, take two steps back. I just got oiled today."

William finished the sentence meaninglessly: "—we're going to run into it."

"..."

"You're a real Scott."

"Thank you." Owen squeezed out the words dryly, "Forgive me for wanting to say something at this moment: apart from your meanness, I don't see any relationship between you and Mr. Snape at all."

"You should know," William was somewhat embarrassed this time, "my potion talent is inherited from another core figure in my family." He seemed to suddenly remember something, "Oh no! Didn't write him back, tell him I'm not coming home for the holidays. Where have we been wandering?"

Owen looked around, and on his left was a narrow, rickety wooden staircase with bronze handrails, covered by a blue woolen carpet: "I think we're about to reach the Ravenclaw Tower." He said Glancing out of the window, thick clouds were hanging low, the sky was gloomy, and a heavy snow was about to come again, "If you want to send a letter, buddy, you'd better hurry up."

"Okay, see you tonight. I'll help you refer to that damn paper." William walked towards Sita, "By the way—Merry Christmas."

Owen smiled: "It's rare for you to be so considerate. It seems that Christmas has a great impact on people. Happy holidays."

After parting with William, Owen stood in the hallway for a while in silence.Then he turned around, as if he had suddenly decided on something, and strode towards another staircase on the right.The marble handrail he touched was smooth and cold, which somewhat calmed him down, and he jumped over a step that suddenly disappeared.

Now he's on the eighth floor of the entire castle.

The hallways before the festival were deserted.Soon he found the tapestry where the troll beat Barnabas with a stick, and opposite it was a solid stone wall that seemed to be the same as anywhere else.

A few years ago, he had wandered back and forth in front of this stone wall countless times, but he still found nothing.

This time Owen almost exhausted all his strength in stargazing in the divination class, and he broke out in a cold sweat in order to concentrate his thoughts.He closed his eyes and paced back and forth in front of the stone wall three times while flashing the secret information of Tom Marvolo Riddle (he also silently read Voldemort a few times) in his mind countless times.

Unfortunately, after he opened his eyes eagerly, disappointment hit him mercilessly again-it was still a stone wall, and nothing had changed.

Owen was completely discouraged, but fortunately, he himself didn't have much hope for it.Obviously, it would be unwise to waste any more time in this place.He rubbed his hair in despair, let out a sigh of relief, and prepared to leave.

However - in the next second, a door slowly appeared on the wall like a circle of ripples.The door appeared to be perfectly smooth, save for some black burn marks in the upper left corner.

The Room of Requirement appears.

Owen stood there dumbfounded, unable to believe his success.

This can't be blamed on anyone, this room was burned down by Fierce Fire during that holy war.And since it was repaired, it seems that it is not so sensitive to wishes.Most of the time, it seems to exist as a legend rather than an actual part of Hogwarts.

Only the desperate would try their luck on the opposite side of the tapestry on the eighth floor of the school—and in this regard, Owen Skoe was extremely lucky.

Holding his breath, he grasped the handle of the mysterious door, wondering if he would see a noseless, living Dark Lord (who was then listed as the most wanted man of the century by the Ministry of Magic) the moment he opened the door. …Oh no, no, maybe you just face a green light, so you don’t have to worry about the wanted criminals).

His heart was beating violently, as if he had a premonition that something was about to happen.Yet he couldn't help smiling again.It was an extremely strange feeling.

Then, Owen took a deep breath, pushed the door open a small crack, and walked in—

That door closed.

In less than a second, it disappeared mysteriously as it did when it appeared.

This was the last time seventh-year Owen Scooter appeared at Hogwarts in 2017.

Since then, no one has ever learned anything about him again, even by asking the most hidden, oldest, and most insightful portraits.

2 automatic stirring crucibles

The heavy curtains covered all the windows, and it was difficult for the slightest light to penetrate in.Numerous sticks of white wax burned on an old lamp hanging from the ceiling, and many candle tears clotted on it, making them into different shapes.A few dilapidated wooden tables and chairs were piled up by the wall, and there were some scraps of wallpaper that had peeled off from the corners, and the dust had accumulated very thickly.

Of course, there's no real Dark Lord here.

Owen looked at all this curiously as he walked forward, always careful not to trip over the wrinkled carpet.He thinks William will like it here, because the two of them had searched for the Room of Requirement together when they first entered school, but in the end William had given up on it altogether.

"I don't think we can find it, maybe it's asleep." William said wistfully in the second grade, "and I don't think it's really as magical as my dad and Professor Longbottom described-I am Say, shall we find it, go in, and I'll find a Quidditch team lined up for me?"

Anyway, for a while they completely forgot about it, and after so many years, Owen had a complete epiphany this time - and sure enough, Christmas comes every year, and every year brings joy to people.I have to say, this gift is really surprising.

The delighted intruder quickly noticed a red velvet curtain in the corner that seemed to hang almost from the ceiling to the floor.Owen lifted it carefully, and the curtain was so long that he had to take a few steps back to remove it completely from what it was covering.

A magnificent and tall mirror appeared in front of his eyes.

"Merlin," Owen stared blankly at the golden mirror frame, and for a moment was dazzled by the candlelight reflected there, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He could only take a quick glance at the talisman on it, and murmured. The first word, "Eris..." Then his eyes were completely drawn to the mirror.

There was an Owen standing there, who looked exactly like him, but that person was very strange, as if he was not himself.

The man in the mirror was smiling calmly, and seemed to have no worries about the history of magic papers at all - oh, and he was holding a wooden box in his hand.

Owen couldn't wait to get closer, wanting to see exactly what was there.In the mirror, he is slowly opening the lid of the box, but unlike what he imagined, there is nothing in it like "Things You Don't Know, The Legendary Life of the Man Who Can't Even Be Named" or The Secret Biography of Voldemort or something, not even a whole transcribed volume of homework (if that's the case, Owen thought, that would be nice), but a—

"A diary?" Owen looked at himself in the mirror incredulously, and he glanced roughly. The round one in the box looked like a badge, and there was a silver ornament in the shape of an apple, and other bits and pieces The little things in the store seem to be a bit old, and they are carefully placed and neatly collected.

Whose diary is it?Could it be—could it belong to the feared Dark Lord?

Owen began to try to talk to himself in the mirror: "I said—" he probed, "Can you—or me...can you open it and see?"

The brown-haired and blue-eyed boy in the mirror blinked, and slowly opened the old diary.

Owen noticed that there was a hole in the middle of its title page. The hole was so deep that it almost ran through the original diary.He tried his best to decipher the writing on it, and to be honest, most of them were illegible, especially the opening page, where a large number of obscure special spells were filled, and there were even many indecipherable symbols.In the mirror they are the opposite of reality, which makes reading them more difficult:

"...separation and...transfer..." Owen squinted his eyes for a while, and managed to pick out a few words.Obviously the original owner didn't intend to record anything complete at all. Compared to a diary, this is more like a spell class notebook, "Time is getting tighter, I still need the last three—" Here is the hole position, can only skip helplessly.Owen was about to continue looking down when he suddenly heard a rustling sound from above his head.

He raised his head vigilantly and looked around - there was nothing but the chandelier on the ceiling and a pile of discarded cauldrons on the large cabinet beside him.

He eagerly turned his gaze back to the mirror, and after a few minutes of browsing, Owen in the mirror turned a few pages back for him.The black hole still stubbornly lay across the center of the page, and this time Owen recognized another line of words:

"Extremely dangerous—try with caution. Hell Merlin! Of course I know. But—time is running out."

The letters were written with teeth and claws, as if angry.

Owen, who was still puzzled, continued to look down. It seemed that the owner of the diary had calmed down, and it soon became a spell note again.After more than ten pages, he finally found a familiar word—Triwizard Tournament.

All the text has no date, and it is impossible to confirm when the records here are recorded, but judging from this, could it be the Triwizard Tournament that was tried to be restored more than 20 years ago?Owen wasn't sure.There are many traces of obliteration in these words, each of which is roughly the same length, and looks like a person's name... Everything is a mystery, and it is impossible to guess.

Suddenly, the tooth-numbing sound above his head sounded again.But when he raised his head and glanced around strangely, the voice died down again.

--never mind.

He thinks he's being overwrought.

Owen simply sat down in front of the mirror and read down intently.But the hole in the middle of the page and the scribbled handwriting were too much of a hindrance for him, so big that he couldn't help cursing Merlin under his breath.Just as he cursed, a line of clear words appeared.

They were obviously no longer hastily written, and the original diary owner's handwriting was quite beautiful, but he wrote too hard this time, and the tip of the quill punctured the paper at the end:

"It's too late. It's all my fault."

Several pages behind this were completely covered in black ink, and a sentence was left in the last corner of the blackness.The letters looked so hopeless, each stroke seemed to tremble:

"forgive me."

The room is completely airtight, but the candlelight is shaking slightly, and the black hole on the diary seems to suck all the light in, which is simply horrifying.

The chilling, metal-gritting sound sounded again, but Owen was completely immersed in his own thoughts and didn't pay attention at all.

Separation, diversion and extreme danger, those deep, lengthy spells that I have never touched-

The hairs on Owen's back stood up suddenly!

At this moment, the crumbling heavy crucibles with automatic stirring function on the vertical cabinet slammed down on him!

※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※※

...a real headache.

Owen felt his temples pulsating back and forth, as if a dilapidated old clock was beating back and forth there.If his brain was really a clock, the damn thing must have been cursed with Incessantness, otherwise it wouldn't be buzzing like this.

Merlin's socks!He tried his best to open his eyes, but he still felt that his vision was blurred, and he could only vaguely hear a voice whispering in his ears: "...Okay, kid, okay. This is just an accident..."

--Accident?Owen swallowed, feeling his throat dry out.

It was indeed a surprise.Almighty King Arthur, he must have fainted for a long time.He didn't expect that the automatic stirring crucible also had a spoon with great lethality, and being hit on the head by this kind of thing was really unbearable.I don't know which weird wizards invented it, but it's so right to discard it——

The voice continued to ramble: "If you don't want to eat dinner, you can sleep for a while, you don't need to do evening prayers today..."

Owen still couldn't see clearly, what's going on, Madam Pomfrey hasn't cured him yet?And... Vespers?He almost thought it was William's new prank - if it wasn't a woman's voice:

"He's in solitary, forget about it. Honestly, uh... I don't think it's a big deal..." The voice was much clearer now, "Well, I'll tell Mrs. Cole, Just let you raise another rabbit after the new year... have a good rest, good night, kid."

He felt someone pat him on the back, and then the person left. After a while, the door was gently closed, and the footsteps in the corridor became farther and farther away.

In the silence, Owen suddenly trembled - his wand was no longer by his side!He rubbed his eyes anxiously, but was surprised to find that his face was wet and seemed to be full of tears.It took a while before he finally regained his sight—and then Owen was completely stunned.

——Where is this... Where is this? !

There were only two old wardrobes and three iron beds and two chairs in the empty room.The only decoration was a small faded portrait of a person hanging on the wall. Owen was horrified to find that the smiling woman in the painting neither spoke nor blinked. She kept an expression, staring quietly and lifelessly. he.Using his meager knowledge of Muggle studies, he judged that this could never be a place where wizards lived.

However, something more terrifying was waiting for him, and soon he found it in an oval wall mirror full of cracks, and for a moment he felt that he was going crazy: he became another person!And he—his body shrank!

Owen was sweating profusely.

It looked like he hadn't just been knocked unconscious by the cauldron in the Room of Requirement, there must have been some serious magical accident that turned him into a Muggle kid.He wasn't sure such a case was unprecedented, but it must be extremely rare—what should he do?

However, Owen soon found to his dismay that there was nothing he could do: he didn't have a wand, he didn't know where he was, and he didn't know how to get in touch with any wizards.It seemed the only way to go was to wait for Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic to find out about the accident and deal with it.

——He looked out of the window blocked by iron bars. There was heavy snow in the night sky, and there was not even a fireplace in the room, so it was extremely cold.

Owen didn't plan to stay here honestly anymore, he didn't trust the efficiency of the Ministry of Magic at all.He climbed off the narrow iron bed, opened the door softly, and slipped into the corridor.Soon he realized that he was being overly cautious, because the corridor was completely dark and there was no one at all.Owen walked slowly barefoot, and heard the melody of a joyous song coming from downstairs.After turning a corner, he found that a door not far away had opened a small crack, and there was a faint light inside.

He made his way there, and soon caught the scent of roasting meat—very torturing, especially for a poor soul who hadn't eaten his supper.

Owen tentatively pushed open the door and found that the light came from a brazier in the center of the floor.He asked softly: "Excuse me—"

Unexpectedly, the door suddenly snapped back and turned into a small gap again.

A child's voice came from the corner of the room, the ending was a little long, it sounded arrogant and cold: "You forgot to knock, Stubbs."

3 a poor rabbit

Such a greeting does not sound very friendly.Owen touched his nose in embarrassment, took a step back, and knocked on the door politely: "Excuse me—excuse me, can I go in now?"

He pushed the door a little wider, but it was not easy as if he met a resistance.Owen couldn't see the child in the room, but he seemed to be smiling, but it was obviously not out of good intentions: "What if I say no?"

Before Owen could answer, he heard the crackling of the flames suddenly louder, and a piece of red-hot charcoal jumped out of the brazier and rolled towards his bare feet.He stared at the piece of charcoal, not intending to burn himself at all—and sure enough, it stopped reluctantly next to his toe, stopped for two or three seconds, and rolled back to the edge of the basin, completely defying physics (numb Gua's so-called "science") jumped back in principle.

Now Owen is relieved.In the last twenty or ten minutes, he was afraid that he would really become a Muggle, but now it seems that there is nothing to worry about.

——The pressure on the door suddenly disappeared, and it opened wide as if it had consciously disarmed something.

Owen took a step towards the room with his head probed, and finally found the owner of the voice just now.

A boy was sitting on a thin blanket on the floor by the window, his long thin legs stretched forward.He was handsome, with black hair and a pale complexion.The boy pursed his lips tightly and stared at Owen for a while, his black eyes turned slightly red because of the reflection of the fire.

His voice raised at least an octave: "What were you doing just now?!"

Owen was stunned for a moment before he realized that in this world, his actions just now were definitely not normal.But—clearly, the kid was no ordinary Muggle, either.Owen didn't avoid his aggressive gaze, and said casually, "You did that just now, didn't you?"

The boy raised his chin haughtily: "I can, but you can't."

"Okay. I didn't know how I did it." Owen lied calmly. He shrugged. "Now I can come in?"

The boy straightened up a little, and he looked at Owen with an even weirder look, hesitant and defensive: "You—are you not afraid?" Then he waved his hand, as if to drive away some stupid thoughts , a little impatiently, "Forget it... Whatever you want - close the door."

Owen did so, and then he made his way to the bed, sat down against the iron bed, and stretched his feet near the brazier to keep warm.The boy kept watching his every move, until he saw Owen sniffing hard, and he snorted mockingly: "Are you hungry?"

"A little bit." Owen rubbed his stomach and frowned, "No, I think I'm very hungry."

"I thought you were too upset for dinner. But then again, if you go downstairs, there won't be much to eat there."

Owen, who couldn't figure out what he was talking about, pretended not to hear. In fact, the food rolling on the brazier almost completely attracted his attention: "What are you roasting? It smells so good."

The boy snorted again and ignored him.

Owen touched his nose, struggling to find a few words: "Then why...don't you go down to eat?"

He saw the boy look up at him, those dark eyes gleaming in the firelight—and then smirk with extreme sarcasm: "W-w-what? Yeah, thanks for asking me, Sta Booth, I just remembered: Isn't it because of you that I'm in detention here?"

"Because... because of me?" Owen gave him a surprised look, and then began to cough in embarrassment, "How could I—" He paused, he couldn't say that he was actually Owen Scott, not that one at all Unknown Stubbs, huh?

"You look like you're saying 'What? We're having a holiday?'" said the boy, drawn out in affected air. "Come on, how could it be? Tom Riddle and Billy Stubbs— —Me, you, we are the most harmonious couple in the world.” He paused, raised his eyebrows and looked at Owen, who was already completely stiff, “——what’s your expression?”

For a moment, Owen felt his eyes darken.

He numbly moved a little away from the brazier, feeling that he was scorching hot.

Is this really possible? !Or—is this just a wild dream?

He actually went back to Voldemort's childhood, and—Owen started to sweat again—and what was even more frightening was that, Merlin, he was still having a feud with the future Dark Lord!

Thanks to the information he researched for his History of Magic essay a while ago, he knew that this place should be an orphanage in London, so is it possible for him to find Diagon Alley by himself?Will anyone believe what he said?And how were they going to turn him from this Muggle kid back into himself, and send him back into the future?

In addition, even if the Ministry of Magic in [-] found him missing—or even found that he had gone to another time and space—how would they know which year he returned to?How can find him?Is there another law that restricts the behavior of shifting in time and space?Is his situation a violation?Will he be expelled from Hogwarts?

——He couldn't organize his thoughts clearly like a mess of hemp. Owen heard his heart beating rapidly, and a puff of blood rushed to the top of his head, and he was almost out of breath.

He couldn't have been more unfortunate!

Some things are not so easy to solve even if you know magic, but there is no doubt at all——

What happened to him must have been a first-degree magical accident!

While Owen was having a headache over his unfortunate condition, Riddle stared silently at the shelf above the brazier for a moment, turning it over.He glanced at the idiot next to him out of the corner of his eye, but the guy who was almost shocked by the rabbit hanging from the beam this afternoon is now indifferent to what he did, still with a dull expression .He frowned, and couldn't help but blurt out: "What the hell are you thinking?"

"It's nothing..." Owen's voice was as astringent as a dried nettle, "I'm just remembering, what did I... do to you..."

Riddle snorted, straightened up, knelt by the brazier, and began tearing open the food he had cooked.

Well—Owen admits defiantly, his attention has been drawn again.

Surprisingly, Riddle actually handed a piece to Owen, even though he put on a gesture of giving, with a very condescending expression: "Take it."

"Thank you." Owen took it, and he glanced at the brazier still burning on the ground, "This basin is—"

"I took it."

"Fire is—"

"I gave birth."

"The charcoal," Owen looked at curiously, "you also got it? But you are obviously locked in this room—"

Riddle's patience finally seemed to run out, and he coldly