A New Prophecy

"Don't... don't hit him anymore! If you... if you keep hitting him, he'll die."

Quirrell peeked out from behind a suit of armor in the corridor, cautiously sticking out half his head.

The suit of armor trembled slightly. Peeves was hiding inside, hands clamped over his mouth, daring not to make a sound.

Charles finally stopped and walked away without a word.

Peeves waited until his footsteps had completely disappeared, and then waited for a while longer before daring to emerge from the armor.

Quirrell nervously walked over and removed the sack. Seeing the pig's head that even Lucius and Narcissa wouldn't recognize, he instinctively flinched.

Peeves had never imagined he'd be the one to send a student to the Hospital Wing, but he and Quirrell, one carrying the arms and the other the legs, headed straight for it.

Voldemort had used too much power during the Quidditch match to disrupt Harry's broom. He had been in silence recently, and seeing this scene, he could only sigh.

A disused classroom was pitch black, with only the sound of the wind. The cold wind of the winter night poured in through the window, as cold as a freezer.

The desks and chairs in the classroom were piled against the wall, covered in dust. Charles casually found a chair and sat down directly, regardless of whether it was clean or not.

Malfoy hadn't dared to return to the Slytherin common room for three days and nights. He rested in the abandoned classrooms scattered throughout the castle, only daring to run to the kitchens for meals, entering classrooms at the last possible moment and leaving immediately.

But this was useless in front of the Marauder's Map. When Charles finally had free time to settle the score with him, he found him immediately.

It was only after he had finished hitting Malfoy that he realized he had intended to vent his anger, but he got more and more excited as he hit, eventually becoming a little too engrossed.

The cold air cleared Charles's mind a bit. Recalling the past, it wasn't that he hadn't hit anyone before, but he had never felt this way. This made him realize that his mind had been influenced by Dark Magic.

He remembered a few years ago, when he was traveling in Hangzhou, the old man and the old man from the Xu family were bragging by the West Lake. Old Man Xu had mentioned the relationship between magic and human nature, emphasizing the importance of early detection and intervention for negative influences.

The method for early detection was not complicated; it was "self-reflection three times a day," recalling what one had done and reflecting on it.

There were many methods for intervention, the simplest of which was to clear negative influences and prevent quantitative changes from accumulating into qualitative changes.

Charles sat there motionless, emptying his mind, thinking of nothing, to see if he could clear that emotion and prevent it from accumulating.

He looked like he was just sitting quietly, like a statue.

After an unknown amount of time, the door of the abandoned classroom opened, and Dumbledore walked in, followed by a tall mirror.

Dumbledore said there should be light and waved his wand, and there was light.

"Ah!"

The classroom suddenly became bright, and Charles almost earned an achievement: scaring Dumbledore to death.

Dumbledore patted his chest, gasping for breath, his long beard twitching.

Even with his vast experience, being startled by a living statue appearing less than half a meter away when caught off guard, with its fish-like eyes constantly rolling, was enough to frighten him.

Dumbledore instructed the mirror to stand in the innermost part of the classroom and looked at the young man before him strangely, asking, "Charles, why are you here? Did someone bully you?"

Based on his many years of teaching experience, first-year students hiding alone in dark, deserted classrooms were usually being bullied, while older students were mostly heartbroken.

"Like sunshine through the night... dawn quietly streaks across the sky..."

Charles suddenly began to mutter as if in a dream.

Dumbledore's expression turned serious. Recalling that this boy had a talent for Divination, he held his breath, afraid of disturbing him.

"A new storm has appeared... the death knell glitters in the sky..."

Charles's voice rose and fell. Dumbledore listened carefully, but sometimes he could only see his lips move slightly without hearing a sound.

When Charles finished speaking, his lips stopped moving. A few minutes later, his whole body suddenly shivered, as if he had been tapped on the shoulder while engrossed in playing with his phone during class. Then, his eyes gradually regained their clarity.

"Ah!"

Charles was startled by Dumbledore, who stood before him with a serious expression. He jumped up and asked nervously, "Professor, what are you doing here?"

He was a little worried that Dumbledore would say Malfoy was beaten to death and was about to take him to Azkaban.

"Charles," Dumbledore asked him very seriously, "do you remember what you just did?"

Charles shivered, breaking out in a cold sweat. He thought, I'm done for this time, I can only hope for leniency. "Professor, I'm very sorry, I'll never do it again."

Seeing how scared he was, Dumbledore thought he had been too stern and had frightened him. So, he said kindly, "It's alright, it's not a bad thing. If possible, tell me next time."

Charles was relieved. It seemed Malfoy hadn't been beaten to death, and there wouldn't be any lingering consequences.

He then thought that Malfoy had been beaten by him this time for damaging school property. The Headmaster must have been very angry and wished he could have done it himself, which was why he was being lenient and saying it wasn't a bad thing. However, he had gone too far this time, and it was a bit difficult to handle, so the Headmaster wanted him to report it immediately so he could deal with it.

"I understand," Charles nodded in agreement. "If there's a next time, I'll definitely tell you right away."

Dumbledore nodded slightly and asked, "I'm not very clear about what happened just now. Can you tell me the details?"

Charles thought the Headmaster wanted a better way to wrap things up, so he said, "Tonight I found the classroom where Malfoy was hiding. I happened to see him come out, so I went over, put a sack over his head, and beat him up."

"He didn't see me, and I didn't say anything. He definitely has no evidence to prove it was me."

"However, Professor Quirrell and Peeves saw it. As long as they don't say anything, it will be fine."

The classroom fell silent for a long time.

Dumbledore: "You beat Malfoy?"

Charles: "Huh?! You weren't asking about that?"

His cold sweat broke out again.

As a result, Gryffindor lost 20 points, and Charles, having just finished his second month of detention with Quirrell, was to start his third month: cleaning the Castle with Filch every night for a month.

Charles accepted his fate, but was completely bewildered by Dumbledore's next question.

"I just... divined again?" Charles frowned, "I don't remember it at all."

"Grandpa said this has happened three times. Each time I didn't remember it afterward, but in hindsight, it was correct, and more accurate than when I was in a trance."

He listened to some of the things Dumbledore relayed that he had just said. Even he found it nonsensical, interpretable as Dumbledore or Voldemort dying, or the Soviet Union collapsing soon, or civil war in Yugoslavia next year. No one could figure out what it meant.

"I'm sorry," Charles said apologetically, "I don't remember anything I just said, nor can I be sure what it refers to."

Dumbledore had no choice but to accept his statement.