Professor McGonagall's Troubles and Doubts

That face then continued, "Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, the storage room on the 8th floor, and the sewer where Moaning Myrtle's toilet is. They are all good places to hide things."

Basil nodded, speaking in unison with the diary, "Safe, but only safe. You and I both know that you were only allowed into Hogwarts because of the understanding between you and Dumbledore. Not causing casualties is one of those terms."

"What do you mean?"

"You should understand."

"Are you threatening me? Do you want to hunt outside and gain a physical form?" That face, Voldemort's, felt killing intent for the first time.

In this world, there could only be one Voldemort!

To achieve this, he needed to destroy a Horcrux, and he didn't care!

In fact, the slow absorption of life force by the diary was also a limitation he had set.

Basil nodded, "Yes. If you don't agree, I'll randomly pick a lucky person to be the blood bag for my physical form. At that time, you won't be able to stay in Hogwarts anymore either."

"Oh?" Voldemort sneered, "Do you really think Dumbledore wouldn't know about anything that happens at Hogwarts?"

"Of course," Basil replied decisively. "Just like the room on the 8th floor. It's not far from the Headmaster's office, yet you hid a Horcrux in it—"

"How do you know?" Voldemort roared.

He silently changed a safe house he had planned to provide to the diary, which was trapped, to one that was relatively harmless to the diary.

"Of course, I know. Ravenclaw's diadem, right? I didn't expect Helena to finally open up to me."

"Hmph!" Voldemort snorted coldly. "When I still had that disgusting face, no woman could say no to me."

"Then the address?"

"There's no address. There's a lineage of house-elves in the kitchens that has always been loyal to Slytherin. I only discovered this near graduation. Perhaps it's also related to the part of me, Riddle, that I hadn't discarded before. As long as Slytherin's descendants do not harm the school, or their orders do not harm the school, they will be very obedient." Voldemort sounded a little annoyed at this point.

This lineage of house-elves no longer obeyed his commands.

Was it because of Moaning Myrtle's death?

Perhaps because of his current opposition to Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore?

In any case, at most, they now followed orders for minor pranks, like putting salt in Dumbledore's desserts.

"Do they still listen to 'my' orders?"

"You issue commands to them through this boy using Parseltongue. They understand Serpent Tongue. This boy is equivalent to a clean Slytherin descendant."

"What's its name?"

"They are all called Lyle. You just need to tell it that you need something sent to Safe House Number Seven. By the way, you don't have to go to the kitchens. You can also call them by name at the statue in the Chamber of Secrets, and they will hear you," Voldemort said, suppressing his anger.

Lucius Malfoy had been completely sentenced to death by him.

At the same time, he felt a bit regretful.

If only this boy in front of him wasn't controlled, and he himself had recovered some of his strength.

Then he could have peace of mind and the energy to examine the boy's mind and find out how he was discovered.

"Lyle?" In Voldemort's eyes, Basil's eyes were vacant, still 'controlled'.

Little did he know, Basil was daydreaming about how to pilfer the Galleons from the safe house once Riddle had it sorted out.

Basil suppressed his joy, "Then I'll be going. I'll leave you the memory of what this boy answered when you asked him what an Archmage was."

"Hmph! It seems Lucius truly hates this brat. You can alter memories. When he sent you over, he probably provided a lot of life force," Voldemort sneered again. However, he didn't stop Basil from leaving the room. Instead, he picked up the scarf beside him and wrapped it around his face.

After walking a distance out of the room, in a blind spot of the portraits and ghost surveillance, Basil's figure disappeared from his spot.

The next second, Basil appeared in the empty dormitory's washroom.

"Riddle, how was my performance?"

Riddle, who had returned to the diary and was holding his wand, ready to fight at any moment, said, "My Lord, your final performance was a bit unsatisfactory. Before I fully recover, I cannot control the memories of the person I'm possessing. The possessed person will just wake up in a daze, knowing nothing. Fortunately, Voldemort convinced himself."

"He can't imagine that there's a second Horcrux of his diary in this world."

"Besides that, you cooperated well with me, relying on your keen insight. Especially since he likes to use 'it' to refer to house-elves, rather than 'he' or 'she'."

McGonagall was very frustrated recently.

Her office was a small study located along the second-floor corridor.

There was a roaring fireplace and a hidden door leading to a bedroom with a floor made of gravel.

But from either room, one could see the Quidditch Pitch and the lawn outside the castle from the window.

These two locations were where the Quidditch teams trained and flying lessons were held.

In the flying lesson, the boy from the Malfoy family performed no worse than Harry, after he adjusted his grip.

But that was nothing.

The Gryffindor team often trained harder.

The Slytherin team just went through the motions.

If it weren't for their large build, wealthy families providing generally good brooms, and their tendency to rely on physical advantage and fouls, she couldn't imagine how Slytherin could have beaten Gryffindor.

But this boy was different.

Even though the school team wasn't training.

He was still practicing diligently.

If that were the case, wouldn't her long-cherished wish—to see the Slytherin Quidditch team fail—be in jeopardy?

These weren't the only things bothering her.

Because of her position as Deputy Headmistress.

The professors in her department were usually responsible for auditing the castle's assets.

Recently, they discovered that the desks, chairs, and benches in many vacant classrooms had been destroyed one by one.

Some were even missing.

They suspected Peeves.

Peeves also admitted it himself (in fact, Peeves said, "So what if I did it? Teehee.").

But fortunately, these acts of destruction stopped after that.

In addition, in Transfiguration class, there were two students who gave her a particularly hard time.

One was Seamus Finnigan, who would cause spells to explode if you weren't careful.

And the other, Basil Granger, was too unrestrained.

Although he was very talented.

He always liked to ask outrageous questions.

And some logical ones too.

For example, she said that as long as something could be seen, Transfiguration could transform and combine it.

He then suggested combining a microscope that could see DNA with the DNA structures of oneself and magical creatures whose talents one wished to obtain.

Then, experiment by using Constant Transfiguration to insert the latter's DNA fragments into the former's.

Next, use Potions, with the modified blood as the raw material, to refine a physical shell.

After multiple experiments, once the appearance and magic field were harmonious, apply the result to oneself.

But today, this child was unusually quiet.

After completing today's class objective—transforming a quill into an iron spoon—he remained motionless.

He wasn't like before, shamelessly coming up to her, grabbing her hand, and asking endless questions.

Thanks to the reward from classical book friend and the recommendations and continued support from other classmates!