When the face saw Quirrell had fainted, it continued, "Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, that room on the eighth floor where things are hidden, and the sewer beneath the toilet where Moaning Myrtle stays. They are all good places to hide things."
Basil nodded and spoke together with the Diary. "Safe, but only safe. You and I both understand that you were allowed into Hogwarts entirely because of the tacit understanding between you and Dumbledore. Causing no casualties was one of its conditions."
"What do you mean?"
"You should understand."
"You're threatening me? You want to hunt outside and gain a physical form?" For the first time, the face—Voldemort—felt Killing Intent.
There could only be one Voldemort in this world!
He did not care if he had to destroy a Horcrux for that!
In fact, the Diary's absorption of life force had been so slow because of a restriction he had set himself.
Basil nodded. "Yes. If you refuse, I'll randomly choose a lucky person to be the blood cow used to shape my body. Then, you won't be able to remain in Hogwarts either."
"Oh?" Voldemort sneered. "Do you really think Dumbledore wouldn't know if something happened at Hogwarts?"
"Of course." Basil's reply was decisive. "Just like that room on the eighth floor. It isn't far from the headmaster's office, yet you still hid a Horcrux inside it—"
"How did you know?" Voldemort flew into a rage.
Silently, he changed the safe house with traps that he had planned to offer the Diary into one that was relatively harmless to it.
"Of course I know. Ravenclaw's Diadem, right? I never expected Helena to finally open her heart to me."
"Hmph!" Voldemort snorted. "Back when I still had that disgusting face, no woman could say no to me."
"And the address?"
"There is no address. A branch of House-elves in the kitchen has always belonged to Slytherin. I only discovered it shortly before graduation. Perhaps it also had something to do with the fact that I had not yet abandoned the lowly part of Riddle. So long as Slytherin's descendants do not harm the school, or the orders do not harm the school, they will obey." At this point, Voldemort became somewhat annoyed.
That branch of House-elves no longer obeyed his commands.
Was it because of Moaning Myrtle's death?
Or perhaps because he was now opposed to Dumbledore, Hogwarts's headmaster?
In any case, the most they would obey now were petty pranks, like putting salt in Dumbledore's desserts.
"Will they still obey 'my' orders?"
"Use this boy to issue commands in Parseltongue. They can understand Serpent Tongue. This boy is equivalent to a clean-blooded Slytherin descendant."
"What are they called?"
"They are all called Lyle. Just tell them you need something delivered to Safe House Number Seven. Oh, and you don't necessarily need to go to the kitchen. Call their names before the statue in the Chamber of Secrets, and they can hear you there too." Voldemort said this while forcibly suppressing his rage.
Lucius Malfoy had been completely sentenced to death in his mind.
At the same time, he felt somewhat regretful.
If only the boy before him had not been controlled, and he himself had recovered some of his strength.
Then he could have rested easy and spared the energy to inspect the boy's mind, to learn how he had been discovered.
"Lyle?" In Voldemort's eyes, Basil's gaze was vacant, and he was still being "controlled."
Little did he know that Basil was imagining how he would plunder the Galleons inside once Riddle had dealt with the safe house.
Basil barely suppressed his delight. "Then I'll leave first. I'll leave this boy with the memory that you answered his question about what an Archmage is."
"Hmph! It seems Lucius truly hates this brat. You can alter memories. When he sent you here, he must have provided quite a lot of life force." Voldemort sneered again. However, he did not stop Basil from leaving the room. Instead, he picked up a scarf nearby and wrapped it around his face.
After walking some distance from the room, Basil's figure vanished from the spot in a blind corner beyond the surveillance of portraits and ghosts.
The next second, Basil appeared in the washroom of the empty dormitory.
"Riddle, how was my performance?"
Riddle, who had already returned to the Diary and was gripping his wand, ready to fight at any moment, said, "My lord, your final point was somewhat unsatisfactory. Before I fully recover, I cannot manipulate the memories of someone I possess. The possessed person would only wake up with a blank look, knowing nothing. Fortunately, Voldemort convinced himself."
"He cannot imagine that there would be a second Diary Horcrux of his in this world."
"Other than that, you coordinated well with me through your keen insight. Especially when you noticed that he likes to use 'it' to refer to House-elves rather than 'he' or 'she.'"
McGonagall had been feeling very depressed lately.
Her office was a small study beside the second-floor corridor.
There was a roaring fireplace here, and a hidden door led to a bedroom whose floor was covered with gravel.
Yet from the windows of either room, she could see the Quidditch Pitch and the lawns outside the castle.
Those two places were where the various Houses trained their teams and held flying lessons.
During flying lessons, that Malfoy boy had performed no worse than Harry after correcting his grip.
But that was nothing.
The Gryffindor team generally trained much harder.
The Slytherin team merely went through the motions.
If not for their large builds, their families' money giving them generally excellent brooms, and their fondness for using their physical advantages to foul, she could not imagine how Slytherin ever defeated Gryffindor.
But this boy was different.
Even when the school team was not training,
he still practiced diligently.
If this continued, wouldn't her long-cherished wish—to see the Slytherin Quidditch team lose—be in jeopardy?
That was not the only thing troubling her.
Because of her position as deputy headmistress,
the teachers in her department usually also handled the inventory of the castle's assets.
Recently, they had discovered that the desks, chairs, and benches in many unused classrooms had been destroyed one by one.
Some had even gone missing.
They suspected Peeves.
Peeves had admitted it himself as well. (In reality, Peeves: So what if I did it? Nyah nyah nyah.)
Fortunately, the damage stopped occurring after that.
Besides that, two students in Transfiguration Class had given her particular headaches.
One was Seamus Finnigan, whose spells would explode if she let her guard down for even a moment.
The other, Basil Granger, was far too unpredictable.
Although he was exceptionally talented,
he always liked asking outrageous questions.
And coming up with ideas that were somehow logical as well.
For example, she had said that as long as something could be seen, Transfiguration could transform and combine it.
He then asked whether it was possible to use a microscope capable of seeing genetic material to observe his own genetic structure and that of a Magical Creature whose talents he wished to acquire.
Then conduct experiments, using Constant Transfiguration to insert fragments of the latter's genetic material into the former's.
After that, use potions with the modified blood as ingredients to refine a physical shell.
After repeated experiments, once both its appearance and Magic Field were harmonious, apply the result to himself.
But today, this child was unusually quiet.
After completing today's class objective—turning a quill into an iron spoon—he remained completely still.
Unlike before, he did not shamelessly come over, grab her hand, and ask question after question.
Thanks to reader Classical Bookworm for the reward, and to the other readers for their recommendations and continued reading!
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