Jinchuriki Harry

The origami crane is Harry.

Combining the Gravity Scroll, he had taken the Basilisk away in advance.

Through the [Poké Ball].

Only...

The [Poké Ball] wasn't a physical object—or rather, it needed an object to bear its form in order to manifest.

And Harry had chosen himself.

The thousand-year-old Basilisk—or more accurately, one that had already been overlaid with the [Arbok] template, drastically transformed, its scales turned purple, its once-instant-death glare now controllable, possessing skills like [Wrap], [Poison Sting], and [Acid], with the potential to evolve into [Arbok]—had truly become a living Basilisk.

It now resided in the space within Harry's abdomen.

Harry could borrow its abilities, even transform into its likeness.

—Tailed Beast Mode?

—Does this make me a Jinchuriki now?

Harry joked to himself, unable to resist recalling the sensation of controlling the Basilisk.

It was like having another perspective, another physical body.

The power of Parseltongue was truly not just about conversing with snakes.

It was about granting them [Virtual Spirit] and dominating them—that was the truth behind ordinary snakes possessing human-like intelligence in dialogue.

This domination wasn't limited to snake-like magical creatures; snake-shaped magic was the same.

And for someone with the [Diplomacy] skill, he was no longer confined to snake shapes.

"Ron, the incantation for the [Locking Charm] is really interesting—[Quickly Imprison] and the [Binding Spell]'s incantation [Quickly Bind] are so close."

Within the [Diplomacy] skill, [Human Language] was shimmering with a silvery light.

[Virtual Spirit] transmitted through sound, and a thought appeared in Ron's mind.

The content of the open book Harry had pushed in front of him suddenly seemed interesting.

"Bloody hell! I, the great Ron, am definitely a genius—even a spellbook can be fun!" Ron grew more confident.

—Interesting.

Harry watched the pages through another perspective from Ron until the [Virtual Spirit] faded.

—Is controlling a wizard harder than a thousand-year-old Basilisk?

—Or is it because of the existence of a self?

Harry continued reading with interest.

He didn't know that because of the Basilisk's disappearance, he had lost the reward for suppressing a Slytherin rebellion once, and had also led both Dumbledore and Voldemort to wrong conclusions.

"Tom is testing—testing whether I know about the Chamber of Secrets, whether I've already destroyed you. He must have discovered my tailing of Quirrell through some means; this is his warning to me."

"Dumbledore has destroyed the Basilisk; I've permanently lost a precious [Horcrux]. He's warning me!"

One was conversing with the [Diary], the other with Quirrell.

The two began to fear each other.

And so...

The two troublemakers held each other in check, leaving only Harry and the Dogskin Book. Harry's long-awaited peace finally arrived.

Until Thursday came, and it came to an abrupt halt.

Right on the Flying Lesson that all the first-years had been eagerly awaiting.

"Who was it? Who sabotaged Harry's broom!" Sirius was still shaken. "So close..."

"Even if I fell headfirst from the top of the tower, I'd come out unscathed." Harry remained unflappable, his usual smile in place.

"No one would make such a stupid mistake," Draco chimed in. "Could it be wear and tear?"

After his father had sided with Dumbledore, and through his mother's cousin relationship with Sirius, Draco had grown much closer to Sirius.

Now only he and Harry dared to interject.

The Flying Lesson's professor—the same incompetent one from the original timeline who would only wail and forget to pull out his wand when Neville fell, and also the school's Quidditch referee, Madam Hooch—was inspecting the other brooms.

"No, only Mr. Potter's broom was sabotaged."

"But..." Ron frowned. "How did that person know Harry would use that broom?"

"Positioning!" Hermione's eyes lit up. "Harry always stands in the front row."

"This magical aura... a House-elf."

Harry crouched down to sniff, his fingers seeming to trace some intangible substance from the cracks.

Ron's eyes went wide. "Harry, you'd better not wash those dishes—the kitchen elves are so bored they're already attacking you!"

Hermione glared at Ron. "It's a good thing Harry wants to help with their unpaid slave labor!"

Ever since she'd learned about House-elves, she loved Harry even more.

"No, it's Slytherin!" Sirius was furious. "It must be Marcus Flint—the Flint family has House-elves, and he's the only one who's been openly targeting Harry with words."

"I'll have him expelled!"

"Right! My father's on the board!" Draco chimed in again.

After the Malfoy family sided with Dumbledore, Lucius Malfoy had regained his seat on the board.

The two of them moved fast.

In just five minutes.

Snape dragged Marcus out of Transfiguration Class.

"I'm innocent, Professor Snape!"

Marcus's troll-like face was full of grievance, his eyes rimmed red.

"You can ask the Prefect. Every time I say something bad about Potter, she lectures me."

Sirius, who'd been wondering why Gemma was getting involved, suddenly perked up. "I told you Harry's way more popular than James was—just like me back in the day! First my Auror niece, now another girl, and a Prefect at that! A beauty!"

Gemma's ears flushed slightly, her ice-blue eyes flickering. "Maybe that's exactly why you've got ill intentions toward Harry."

"Unfair! This whole place is Harry Potter's people!" Marcus shouted. "His mistress, his lackey, his godfather—and you, Head of House, you're his too. I've heard about it, you like Li—"

"Silencio! Slytherin loses 50 points! Detention!"

Snape's hand moved like a blur, his wand pointing at Marcus's throat faster than lightning.

Marcus clutched his throat, and at that moment, he cried from sheer grievance.

Inside the Transfiguration Class, Professor McGonagall was crying too. She quickly turned to face the blackboard.

Gryffindor winning the House Cup—victory was truly in sight!

That excitement cooled again on Wednesday of the following week.

Because...

In Potions Class, Snape once again displayed his shameless knack for adding and deducting points, clawing back the losses.

He had indeed promised Harry to be a proper professor.

But that didn't mean Gryffindor had no points to lose.

Seamus and his explosive potions made a huge contribution to that.

"I've said it before—our Gryffindor losses aren't because Slytherin is any good, but because Snape has no shame."

The speaker was Gryffindor's resident ghost, Nearly Headless Nick.

He glared fiercely at Slytherin's resident ghost—the Bloody Baron. "Look at that deadpan face of his. Gryffindor can't lose again this year!"

"But... I..." Seamus hung his head. "Slytherin still has Harry."

"You haven't learned the Explosion Curse yet, have you?" Nearly Headless Nick said. "You might be just as talented at it as Tussell. Once you master it, your other spells won't go wrong anymore."

"The one on the Chocolate Frog card? The 1430 All-England Wizards' Dueling Championship winner?" Seamus got excited. "But that curse is more powerful than a lot of hexes—where can I even practice it?"

Nearly Headless Nick responded with an inscrutable smile. "That's where a certain mysterious room comes in. Behind the blank wall opposite the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls ballet... You just need to walk past it three times, thinking of the room you want..."

Neither the man nor the ghost noticed a red shadow flash past the corner.

"Harry, Harry, I have something to tell you!"