Voldemort's Probing

As if answering Harry's expectations, a Bludger came flying in from the entrance.

"Who?"

Harry swung his fist on instinct, and with a loud crack, the Bludger shattered.

"Harry seems happy," Neville suddenly said.

"No, even though it's a smile, that's an unhappy expression," Draco Malfoy—Harry's current chief lackey—retorted.

"Maybe you're both right," Ron said, his mind blank as he ate, answering casually.

"What nonsense are you talking about?" Hermione, the Bunny-Toothed Grand Scholar, snapped Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) shut. The first afternoon class was Charms.

In fact, Ron was right.

Harry realized the Bludger that attacked him, while indeed no accident, also had nothing to do with the Slytherin students.

That was House-elf magic.

—Dobby?

—No way, Lucius Malfoy defecting to Dumbledore was all over the Daily Prophet.

—The Hogwarts elves are even less likely.

Harry's eyes flickered with uncertainty.

"What a shame, the Bludger didn't hit you."

Flint, wearing silver-and-green robes, strode into the Great Hall under the terrified gazes of the Slytherin students.

"Slytherin loses 10 points!"

Then came Snape's cold, harsh voice.

Sirius, who had been about to stand up, shot Snape a glare.

"Professor, you can check—this wasn't us," Flint said, revealing his true confidence. He believed that as long as he was innocent, he'd be fine.

"One week of detention, one hour after Quidditch practice."

"That's not fair, you didn't even look."

Flint's complaint was ignored. Snape couldn't care less about so-called fairness.

The Slytherin students lowered their heads even further.

Harry, who had been about to show a genuine smile, darkened his eyes—Snape, you meddler!

Harry's low pressure carried over into Charms class.

He still finished his work early and took the initiative to help his classmates.

But today, his pace was much faster.

"Lift your hand five centimeters higher."

"It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' long and clear."

"Shut up, not 's,' you want to summon a wild buffalo like Wizard Rufio did?"

Almost every student got corrected by him.

Even Hermione.

"The incantation isn't that important, Miss Granger. Your level is different from theirs. Try to grasp the feeling—the light, airy feeling—and impart it to the feather, like when you use the Transfiguration Charm, but fuzzier, more indulgent. Imagine you're lying on a soft bed..."

"Well said, Harry! Three points!" Professor Flitwick, standing on his desk and still needing to look up at Harry, said. "And Granger, one point for Gryffindor!"

He glanced cautiously at Harry.

"Everyone's progress is already fast enough. According to my original lesson plan, we wouldn't get to the Levitation Charm until Halloween."

—Why am I the only one pushing so hard!

Harry instinctively retorted in his mind, but on his face, he wore a proper smile. "It just shows everyone has the potential, doesn't it?"

That was a lie—a synergy of [Diplomacy]'s persuasiveness, [Grooming]'s charm, and the invisible force of [Healing Fist] driving away physical fatigue.

"You're absolutely right," Professor Flitwick wavered. "Then next class, we'll study the Unlocking Charm and the Locking Charm together."

After class, on the way to the library.

"Once class starts, Harry becomes ruthless—he doesn't even call me Ron, he calls me Mr. Weasley," Ron complained, having already arrived at the library while Harry was temporarily away.

He didn't notice at all that his complaint was off—he was actually heading to the library.

"Why doesn't anyone listen to me?" Hermione said gloomily.

"You're just a classmate of the same year, while Harry is Harry." Draco clasped his hands behind his back, deliberately speaking in a cryptic tone.

Crabbe and Goyle said nothing.

"Harry means well for us—I even successfully used the spell," Neville said, a hint of confidence appearing on his round face as he kept rubbing his father's wand.

This was also wisdom from his father's otherworldly knowledge. Harry incorporated the technique of using specimens—specifically pufferfish jerky—to craft a wand, and reforged it with Neville's hair.

From this, he gained 1 proficiency point and 10 experience points.

Otherwise, Neville's magic would still be unreliable.

"Every time I see Harry's wand... I find it hard to believe it can actually cast spells." Ron stopped walking; he had already reached the library entrance.

Above the dense rows of bookshelves, Harry hung upside down from the ceiling, waving his metal wand as open books orbited him like planets around a sun.

Meanwhile, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Office.

A mass of pitch-black mist, seemingly capable of devouring even light, swirled around Quirrell.

"Harry Potter is growing more dangerous by the day. You must find a way to eliminate him early!"

"Master, me?"

The resistance from Slytherin that Harry had been anticipating was brewing.

Except this Slytherin had graduated nearly fifty years ago.

And had even lost his physical body.

"Of course you can't. But if..."

The moment the words fell, Quirrell felt a splitting headache.

"Master... Master, have mercy..."

He curled up on the floor as a complex rune appeared on his bald scalp.

"Fool, I'm not trying to kill you."

"You're lucky. Lucky enough to temporarily possess Slytherin's Signature Ability."

"To receive an honor no other Death Eater has—to step into the Chamber created by the greatest of the four founders."

"I want you to awaken the sleeping Millennium Basilisk. It will complete the task for me."

"Perhaps..."

Voldemort did not continue.

The reason was tied to what was happening in the Headmaster's office.

Dumbledore was writing in a diary.

Strangely, he kept his distance from it, wearing a Bubble-Head Charm like an upside-down fishbowl on his head, while a quill hovered above the Silver Diary.

It wrote his signature loopy script on its own.

[Tom, what do you think your main self will do? After discovering I haven't touched the Chamber]

[Professor Dumbledore, he will attempt to use the Basilisk. Its target will most likely be Harry Potter—to test his strength, and to test whether you have destroyed me. My main self created too many Horcruxes; he lacks the confidence to sense my demise]

Another set of elegant handwriting, in a browner and much thicker ink, appeared on its own.

The reason Dumbledore wasn't writing by hand became clear.

Part of Peter Pettigrew still lived within the diary, churning along with the ink.

[I think I understand why you insisted on killing Peter. It truly is a great humiliation]

[%^&($@)...]

The elegant script suddenly turned messy, forming a string of garbled code.

"Poor Tom."

Dumbledore clasped his hands together. The quill burned to ash on its own, and the diary snapped shut with a bang, landing precisely in a basin of Dark Green Ink.

"I hope this helps you."

He strode toward the spiral staircase at the exit, his steps much lighter.

On the other side, at Harry's location.

--The Chamber of Secrets, the Forbidden Forest, the Black Lake, even the Room of Requirement—all searched, down to every coordinate.

--Where exactly is Ravenclaw's Diadem?

He was indeed reading, even reading over a dozen books at once.

None were books a normal first-year could read; a few of them even Hermione would have to study carefully.

But even so, he had time to think.

To think about how to find Ravenclaw's Diadem, which had been moved.

This shouldn't have been this difficult.

As long as he was within a certain distance, the Horcrux he had created—the Sith Sword Hilt—would resonate.

--Perhaps... a new talent trait will help me?

The Savior Training Manual appeared, flipping pages on its own.

His gaze fell on a glint of gold—the reward he had yet to claim.