Hogwarts: Legacy of the Necromancer

What a true man, a paragon of the century—willing to drink a bowl of poisoned pumpkin soup for the sake of love.

Whether it was the passersby or Milla Jovovich watching the footage from home, they all had the same opinion.

Alan McMichael drank the pumpkin soup, which greatly reassured Lucille Sharpe. This time, she had added several times the usual dose to the soup—not to kill him on the spot, but to keep him there. That way, she could deal with him slowly.

But what she didn't know was that Alan McMichael had already alerted the police before coming. He was simply waiting for the snowstorm to end.

As for the poison he had just ingested, as long as he didn't die immediately, Alan was confident he could neutralize it later. After all, he had been a top student in medical school, with a perfect score in pharmacology.

And by drinking it, he would add further charges to the Sharpe siblings' crimes. What if they managed to evade other accusations? Poisoning was still a fact, wasn't it?

Anyone reading the original novel by Regulus Black would have seen this described clearly. In the movie adaptation, however, Alan expresses his confidence in a more understated, almost inexplicable way. This kind of slow-acting poison? Nothing serious.

Red Soil Corpse Rot—it really wasn't anything special in the wizarding world. It was an ordinary material, easy to obtain: all it took was a patch of red soil and the buried corpse of any animal. Give it some time, and that was it.

Compared to ingredients like "berries crushed under the feet of dancing elves under the moonlight," red soil corpse rot was downright cheap.

When Regulus Black began writing Crimson Manor, he had this ingredient in mind. While common in the wizarding world, introducing it to the world of Muggles gave it a novel, refreshing twist.

Though Lucille Sharpe had relaxed a little after Alan drank the soup, his overly intimate behavior with Edith Cushing was something Thomas Sharpe couldn't tolerate at all. It was like the next-door neighbor coming in to steal your wife.

Jealousy flared up like flames in the fireplace, and Thomas Sharpe kept stoking the fire. The once-chilly hall had grown noticeably warmer.

What feels best in winter? Naturally, it's sleeping—nestled under warm blankets, so cozy that even waking up doesn't make you want to get out.

Snow fell in the center of the hall, while near the kitchen, the fireplace made it feel like spring. Edith Cushing had fallen asleep there, lying down, and Alan McMichael had also dozed off on a nearby sofa.

"What now? If this Alan made it here through the snow, he must have discovered something."

Lucille Sharpe twirled a knife in her hand as she questioned her brother, her gaze fixed on the two sleeping figures.

"Clearly, my dear Thomas has fallen for that woman. The original point of marriage was to get her money. He's been married four times already, and still hasn't figured that out?"

Lucille lifted the knife and gently traced it along Thomas's neck. She could never allow her brother to fall in love with another woman.

"Lucille! Please don't hurt Edith. We've already done enough wrong. Let it end here!"

It seemed Thomas Sharpe had truly fallen in love this time. Otherwise, he would never have said such things.

"If I weren't waiting for her to sign the papers to transfer her assets, I would've killed her already."

Lucille Sharpe shouted furiously, waving her knife and startling the two sleeping people, who began to stir.

"I won't let you do that. And I won't agree to any asset transfer either."

Thomas Sharpe finally stood firm, taking the stance of the head of the Sharpe family and flatly rejecting Lucille's intentions.

He walked over to Edith Cushing and behaved with tender care.

"My love, let me carry you back to bed. Sleeping on the sofa like this isn't comfortable."

As he spoke, he reached out to pick up his wife.

"Mr. Sharpe, I suggest you don't move Edith right now. She's not in a condition to be moved."

Alan McMichael had also woken up. Though he'd only caught parts of the siblings' argument earlier, how could he let Edith out of his sight?

However, when Alan tried to stand up to stop them, he realized he had no strength at all. His whole body felt weak—the slow-acting poison from the pumpkin soup was beginning to take effect.

"Get lost! Edith is my wife."

Thomas Sharpe shoved Alan away hard, sending him crashing into the kitchen counter. It was a thick, solid wood surface, and the impact made Alan feel like his back had broken.

Lucille Sharpe had just been rejected by her brother. Whether it was her plan to kill Edith and Alan or to transfer Edith's assets, Thomas had opposed her. He was her only family—how could he do this to her?

Like a heartbroken girl, Lucille's overwhelming hatred needed an outlet—and she found it in Alan.

It was all his fault. Everything had spiraled out of control the moment he arrived. He was to blame for everything.

"Go to hell!"

"Aaah!"

Lucille Sharpe suddenly slashed Alan from behind with the knife. It wasn't a shallow cut—it tore right across his back.

"No! How could you do this?!"

Slumped on the sofa, Edith Cushing watched the scene unfold, her heart gripped by the fear of death. Thomas had pushed Alan. Lucille had stabbed Alan. And Alan—Alan was gravely wounded.

It's all my fault! It's all my fault! It's all my fault! Edith Cushing was consumed by overwhelming guilt.

Alan McMichael also felt like he was dying. The wound on his back was bleeding heavily, and it was long.

Yes, it was a long wound, but fortunately, it was shallow—it hadn't reached the muscles or bones.

He had initially hoped to buy some time. Yes, delay things—if he could just get out, the Sharp siblings would definitely come looking for him. That would buy quite a bit of time.

His thoughts were in disarray, but Alan McMichael forced himself to leave, dragging his injured body slowly toward the front door.

The door had been left open earlier and hadn't been closed because of the accumulating snow. By now, the snow at the entrance had piled up to a meter high.

"If he just leaves like this, we'll all be in serious trouble. Things have already reached a point of no return for Thomas. No—there was no turning back ever since we were children."

Lucille Sharpe handed the bloodied knife she had just used to attack Alan to her brother.

"All these years, I've been the one protecting you. I've done all the dirty work. It's time for you to get your hands dirty too."

Yes, Thomas Sharpe had once protected his sister from harm—but he did it by staying away from the affairs of the Jewel Association.

Lucille Sharpe, on the other hand, protected her brother through far more brutal means. She killed with her own hands, eliminating every obstacle in their path.

This time, Lucille Sharpe had decided to force her brother Thomas to walk down the same path of no return with her.

"No! Don't do this, Thomas! I'm begging you—spare him."

Edith Cushing pulled herself up with the help of a chair. The brief rest had restored some of her strength, and when she learned that Thomas was being forced to kill Alan, all she could do was plead for his life.

"Don't go running off. There are still documents that need your signature."

Lucille Sharpe grabbed Edith's blonde hair and yanked her back onto the sofa.

Thomas Sharpe slowly walked toward Alan. He was hesitating. The man before him was like a rival in love—should he really kill him? But no matter how slowly he moved, he would eventually reach Alan, and he would eventually have to face him.

"You studied medicine. Tell me—where should I stab you so you won't die? I don't want to kill you, but if I don't do this, Lucille will come back and kill you for real."

As the cold wind blew in, a sudden idea struck Thomas Sharpe. Given the distance, his sister and wife couldn't hear what he was saying. So he shared the only plan he could come up with.

Alan McMichael wasn't sure if he could trust him, but at this point, he had no choice but to take the risk. After all, Thomas hadn't attacked him outright—that alone showed his sincerity.

"Take care of Edith. Once she signs the papers to transfer the assets, it'll be the end for her. Stab me here—don't pull the knife out afterward."

Alan McMichael grabbed the knife in Thomas's hand, leaving just a short length of the blade exposed. He then positioned the tip against a specific spot on his abdomen—one that would avoid most of the vital organs. With some luck, even the intestines would remain unharmed.

Thomas Sharpe played along, driving the knife in to exactly where Alan's hand stopped it. Then he dragged him to the doorway, tossing him face-up outside—without removing the blade.

"Why? Why?"

Edith Cushing screamed in anguish. From where she and Lucille stood, they could see the two men struggle over the weapon—but in the end, Alan still lost. Thomas Sharpe had killed him.

Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon

https://patreon.com/Glimmer09