Tongue-Locking Charm! Malfoy!

And just as Dumbledore had said—Christmas was approaching.

Glenn didn't know about the other houses.

But in Slytherin, the vast majority had no intention of staying at Hogwarts. According to them, a hard-won holiday like this needed to be maximized—for socializing, for instance.

"We're going to have a grand party over the Christmas holiday. Guess who's not invited?"

First thing in the morning, Malfoy was already saying things that were hard to stomach.

Of course, when I say "hard to stomach," I'm not referring to Glenn.

I'm referring to Blaise Zabini, standing behind Malfoy.

Though his face still wore an indifferent expression, the veins bulging slightly on his neck and the vase he was toying with in his hands told a different story.

If Malfoy said one more word, he really couldn't guarantee that the vase in his hand wouldn't end up on Malfoy's head.

Because the "party" Malfoy was talking about was actually the funeral of Blaise's father—or rather, his stepfather.

Almost every attendee privately joked that it was a party, and even Blaise himself didn't really care—this was his fifth stepfather, after all, and he had no emotional attachment to him, having barely met him a few times.

But to rub it in his face like that, right in front of him, was really quite rude.

Fortunately, Malfoy was in a good mood because he'd become the Slytherin Seeker, so he didn't keep going. Humming a tune, he left with Pansy and his two hangers-on.

Judging by the way Blaise put the vase down, it seemed this loose-lipped Slytherin had narrowly avoided a bloody disaster.

"With a mouth like Malfoy's, has he really never been beaten up?" Blaise said to Glenn beside him, watching Malfoy's retreating back.

"I've beaten him."

"Well done."

Blaise's mood improved considerably. Knowing the classmate beside him, he figured Malfoy's lesson had probably been anything but light.

And indeed, that was the case. Though months had passed, Malfoy still often recalled the "wonderful" taste of Every-Flavour Beans in his dreams, jolting upright in a cold sweat. It had only gotten better recently, after he became a Quidditch player.

"Won't it be boring staying at Hogwarts? We've got seven more years here anyway. If you're not going home, you might as well go out and have fun. If you really can't find a place, come to my house. We can take the chance to beat up Malfoy again—I can provide a sack." At this, Blaise couldn't help the corner of his mouth twitching.

He could already picture the scene—no prefects there to stop them.

Though it was tempting, Glenn still declined.

Seeing this, Blaise didn't insist.

After chatting a little longer, they headed to the Underground Classroom for the last lesson before the holiday—Professor Snape's Potions class.

In this joint lesson with Gryffindor, Draco Malfoy once again displayed his talent for running his mouth.

When Harry and Ron walked into the classroom, he looked at them and said loudly, "I really feel sorry for those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because their families don't want them."

"Blaise, got that sack?" Glenn said, but he'd already drawn his wand and cast a Tongue-Locking Charm.

"Mmph, mmph..." Malfoy turned around, his face full of disbelief.

As for what he said, no one could understand.

Because the Tongue-Locking Charm forced him to play the mute.

"I'll try to prepare one next time." Blaise shrugged.

After the last class before the holiday ended, the once-lively Slytherin common room suddenly became much quieter.

For Glenn, though, that was a good thing.

On normal days, students came and went, with too many eyes around, making many things inconvenient.

During this holiday, he could properly take care of those matters.

The giant squid in the Black Lake slapped against the common room's floor-to-ceiling windows, and the fire crackled in the hearth, driving away the winter chill.

Glenn sat in an armchair, recalling his conversation with Professor Dumbledore.

Everyone said this professor was the greatest wizard of the 20th century, who had defeated the dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945, crushed his followers, and studied the twelve uses of dragon's blood with Nicolas Flamel...

Though his methods were gentle and subtle, Glenn could still tell—this senior had used Legilimency on him.

But the name "Legilimency" was indeed a bit frightening. In reality, the magic wasn't really harmful.

Its main function was to listen to people's thoughts.

And it had considerable limitations. For example, when someone's mind was racing, extraction became harder.

And when the target's mind was calm, it was difficult to find what you needed.

Not to mention wizards who knew Occlumency.

To use Legilimency on them, you'd need a magical power advantage from a higher level to get anything.

As for Glenn himself, he had used such magic since the Sorting Ceremony.

Not even Dumbledore, nor the Sorting Hat that had existed since the founding of Hogwarts Castle itself, had managed to discover that he had sealed away a portion of his memories.

"Should I call it caution, or suspicion—or are they just two sides of the same coin?"

Sitting in the rocking chair, Glenn made a preliminary judgment in his mind about Dumbledore, his contemporary junior from school.

If he could go to such lengths even for a newly enrolled student.

Then it was essentially certain that Professor Quirrell, who was already blatantly obvious to the point of being impossible to miss, was already under his surveillance.

Judging by the performance during the Quidditch match, Professor Snape was most likely the one tasked with monitoring him.

Only—if any professors or students knew about this, they would probably be somewhat disappointed.

Thinking of this, Glenn inexplicably felt like laughing.

Compared to Dumbledore, who kept danger close at hand, the tasks Professor Figg sometimes assigned were almost outright saying: Go, child, take out that nest of Dark wizards.

Of course, that was a bit of an exaggeration.

But if you needed to investigate something from a den of Dark wizards or a goblin nest, the end result wasn't much different from that.

Thinking about it this way, it was really hard to say which one was more malicious...

With that thought, Glenn felt that after this time at Hogwarts, he had more or less gained a foothold.

He could start investigating how exactly Harry's scar came to be—of course, the Blood Protection Charm was definitely cast by his parents.

But the important question was: where did his parents learn it?

Regarding this matter, Glenn didn't plan to ask Harry—mainly because he already had, and it turned out Harry knew even less about his parents than he did. At least Glenn knew that the scar was a trace of an ancient magical mark.

"So it seems, if I want to investigate this, I'll have to start with those who lived through that time back then."

However, the prerequisite was not to be too obvious—since there were signs of someone surfacing, he would wait for the fish to bite a little harder.

There was no reason to wait another hundred years.

With this thought, a flicker of red suddenly flashed in Glenn's eyes.

The fire in the hearth gradually burned down to embers, seemingly about to die out, but a gust of wind blew through, and a single flame reared its head once more.