Chapter 263: How Should We Handle It?
Shrinking beside the sofa, Marcus stood with his head bowed, doing his best to make himself invisible. It didn't seem to help.
"Master Flint, would you allow me to borrow your seat for a moment? Don't worry, I won't be long." Evans asked lightly, eyeing the big, burly boy who had curled up like a quail.
"You must be joking, Professor." Marcus forced his knees to hold steady and managed a smile that looked worse than tears.
"Stay as long as you like. I'll leave at once and won't disturb you!"
Seeing that the boy was on the verge of crying, Evans decided not to press him further. "Go and brew me a cup of coffee."
"Yes, Professor!"
At that, Marcus looked newly blessed and tried to spin and sprint away. His legs were already jelly. He turned too hard, stumbled, and dropped to his knees as if about to kowtow right there.
Evans watched him struggle up and limp away at speed, then shook his head helplessly.
Egypt was one thing—but why were so many students at school afraid of him?
Was he really that frightening?
Letting Marcus flee, Evans turned his attention to the painting beside him.
It looked utterly ordinary: a sky of deep blue, a lush green meadow, and a figure in grey robes standing in the middle with his back to the frame.
Back in school, Evans had studied this painting countless times because of the House rumours. He had never gotten anywhere.
Perhaps this time he'd find a new clue.
As he examined the frame, a cool prickle brushed the back of his left hand.
He raised it quickly. A pale blue mark lit his skin like spring water, flickered for a few seconds, and twisted slowly into a line of text.
"I learned something just now. I'm planning to give you a surprise in a couple of days. As for what it is, I'll tell you then."
Evans arched a brow at the letters fading from his skin.
Since when had she started playing the Riddler? A surprise to be revealed in a couple of days, mysterious as you please, as if he were desperate to know.
Still, he couldn't help but smile at the light-blue script.
Sothia had left him this mark before she fell asleep last time. She'd said she developed it based on his own mark to create something with a similar effect.
When he saw it light up in Egypt, he knew she had woken up.
Like his own mark, though, this water-blue seal couldn't carry much content. It was more than enough to point a direction or issue a warning, but sending actual text drained it. A few minutes of writing meant a long pause to recover.
Even so, it was far better than the old days when contact had been one-way.
Evans scratched a brief reply across the back of his hand and let it fall.
He had already been on leave for several days. Even if he wanted to visit Sothia, it would have to wait until around Christmas.
And the Christmas holidays meant the Great Lake in the Forbidden Forest. After finishing that, there wouldn't be much time left for France.
Perhaps he could bring Sothia along. The place was riddled with curses, after all. Bringing her would be perfectly reasonable.
Yes. Settled.
With that, he turned back to the business of the day.
That evening, he needed to go to Dumbledore's office for Fawkes's rebirth. With the last tail feather shed, all the prerequisites were complete. The sooner the phoenix burned, the better for it.
He only hoped this painting would yield something useful before nightfall.
He already had a rough plan, with room for improvisation.
Evans looked at the painting once more and spoke softly. "Can we talk?"
His voice wasn't loud, but the figure in the frame would have heard it. The back did not respond. It stood exactly where it had been. If not for the slight ripple of the robe in the breeze, anyone would have taken it for a fixed print.
Evans had not expected a few words to do the job anyway.
He gathered his thoughts and spoke again. "Most wizard portraits are just rigid little programs that answer by rote. I don't think you would leave something like that at a school."
"So I believe you have thoughts of your own."
"Would you be willing to hear my story?"
He glanced at the unmoving back and, with a shrug, began.
"I don't know how much you already know, but I think the best place to start is my first day at Hogwarts."
"That was the day I looked forward to most in this life."
Evans's voice flowed through the common room. He spoke for a long time, from his years at Hogwarts to his time in America and Egypt.
At the end, he looked at the figure in the frame and asked quietly, "If you really are Merlin, can you tell me what I should do?"
"Or why did you give me this gift in the first place?"
He waited a long time after finishing—and received no answer.
Disappointment crept onto his face. Perhaps there was nothing to be had here after all. He rose, clearly intending to leave.
Just as he turned, something shifted at the edge of his vision. The figure in the frame moved, turned, and showed him a faintly playful smile.
In the next instant, the figure vanished. Only the beautiful meadow remained, and a single line floated against the clear blue sky, fading slowly.
"Rare sincerity. Keep at it. Break that seal. You do not yet have the power to end this."
Evans stared for a heartbeat, then let his expression ease. He almost laughed.
Leave a line and disappear—very good. It fit neatly with his carved-in-stone impression of riddlers.
Dumbledore did this sort of thing all the time.
In any case, knowing this truly was Merlin's portrait was enough.
A razor smile tugged at his lips. Evans slipped a hand into his pocket, felt around, and drew out a sphere.
The moment it appeared, the wind in the painting seemed to halt. Even the sky paled, and the line of text vanished at once.
Evans didn't care. He brought the sphere closer to the frame and, like the man in the painting, let a faint, playful smile touch his face.
"Your Majesty, I've got the lead. This is definitely Merlin's portrait."
"How do you want to handle it?"