Hermione's Intuition

Wednesday, October 16.

Zhang Wen found Hermione during breakfast.

He did not call her over from the staff table—that would have been too deliberate. He chose a more natural approach: "running into" her on her way to the library.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione stopped, hugging a stack of books to her chest. The stack nearly reached her chin. Zhang Wen estimated there were at least eight books.

"Professor Zhang!"

"Are you heading to the library to return those?"

"No, I'm going to borrow books."

Zhang Wen glanced at the books in her arms. "These are—"

"To return," Hermione said. "And I still need to borrow six more."

Zhang Wen decided not to comment on her reading volume.

"There's something I'd like to talk to you about." He slowed down to walk alongside her. "About Ginny Weasley."

Hermione's steps faltered.

"What's wrong with Ginny?"

"Have you noticed anything unusual about her lately?"

Hermione frowned. She thought for a while, speaking more slowly than usual—which meant she was carefully choosing her words rather than blurting them out.

"Sometimes she seems perfectly normal. She talks and laughs when she does homework with me. But sometimes, it's like she isn't really there." Hermione lowered her voice. "Last Wednesday night, I saw her sitting alone in the corner of the common room, writing something. When I walked over, she immediately closed the notebook and hid it in her schoolbag."

"A notebook?"

"A little black notebook. It looked like a Diary," Hermione said. "I didn't press her about it. I thought it was private. But the expression on her face—"

She paused.

"It was like she'd been caught doing something she wasn't supposed to do."

Zhang Wen's heartbeat quickened for a moment, but his voice remained calm.

"Miss Granger, I have a request."

Hermione looked at him.

"Could you find an opportunity to talk to Ginny as a friend? You don't need to ask what that notebook is. Just show ordinary concern—ask whether she's been sleeping well, whether anything has been bothering her, that sort of thing."

"You think there's something wrong with Ginny?" Hermione's eyes sharpened.

This girl was far too clever.

"I think she may be having trouble adjusting to life at Hogwarts." Zhang Wen used a vague but truthful reason. "First-year students sometimes go through an adjustment period, especially someone like Ginny—the youngest daughter in her family, away from home for the first time. Her brothers all have their own circles of friends. She may feel lonely."

Hermione nodded. She accepted that explanation.

"I was already planning to talk to her," Hermione said. "The last time I taught her the Automatic Sorting Charm, she picked it up very quickly. But halfway through, she suddenly drifted off and stared out the window for quite a while. I had to call her twice before she came back to herself."

Distraction. Staring blankly. Dull responses to outside stimuli.

Those were all symptoms of the Diary's erosion. Tom Riddle was drawing Ginny's mental strength through the Diary, and Ginny's attention and willpower would gradually weaken over time.

"If she's willing to confide in you, just listen," Zhang Wen said. "Don't criticize her, and don't press her for answers. Make her feel safe."

"I understand," Hermione said seriously. "I won't force her."

Zhang Wen believed her. Hermione Granger was like a precision machine in many ways, but when it came to caring for her friends, she was sincere.

"Thank you, Miss Granger."

Hermione walked away with the stack of books in her arms. After taking a few steps, she looked back. Her lips moved as though she wanted to say something, but in the end, she said nothing.

Zhang Wen knew what she was thinking.

She suspected things were not that simple.

Hermione's instincts were never wrong. But this was not yet the time to tell her the whole truth.

That afternoon, during the second-years' lesson.

Zhang Wen noticed that Theodore Nott was acting somewhat strangely today.

This quiet Slytherin boy normally had almost no presence in class—he sat in the last row, never raised his hand, never spoke, and always handed in his homework on time without ever writing a word more than necessary. His grades ranked fourth among the Slytherin second-years: neither high nor low. He was the sort of person who deliberately kept himself in a position where he was "not worth noticing."

But today, his right wrist was wrapped in bandages.

Zhang Wen observed him for ten minutes while teaching. Nott held his quill differently than usual—he was taking notes with his left hand. His right hand had not moved at all.

During the break, Zhang Wen walked over to Nott's seat.

"Mr. Nott, what happened to your hand?"

Nott looked up at him. His eyes were dark, like two black stones without any light.

"I fell."

Zhang Wen looked at the bandages. They had been wrapped very neatly, by Nott himself—not treated by Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing.

If he had merely fallen, why had he not gone to the Hospital Wing?

"Do you need Madam Pomfrey to take a look?"

"No. It's already better."

His tone was flat. It was not the stubbornness of "I'm fine, leave me alone," but something deeper—"this sort of thing isn't worth making a fuss over."

Zhang Wen did not press him.

But he filed that information away in his mind.

After class, he told Artoria about it.

"You suspect the injury wasn't from a fall," Artoria said.

"The way he wrapped the bandage was too practiced. A thirteen-year-old boy shouldn't be so skilled at bandaging himself. Unless he often has to do it."

"Family problems?"

"Nott's father is a Death Eater," Zhang Wen said. "Among pure-blood families, some 'methods of education' aren't fit to be discussed openly."

Artoria fell silent.

Zhang Wen knew what she was thinking. She had absolutely no tolerance for "disciplining children through violence." In Camelot, if any knight abused his own child, she would personally pay him a visit.

"Don't act rashly," Zhang Wen warned her in advance. "We don't have evidence. And even if we did, Snape is his Head of House. Snape should handle it."

"Does Snape know?"

"Snape knows everything," Zhang Wen said. "The question is how he chooses to deal with it."

"What if he chooses not to?"

"Then we'll find another way. But this isn't the time. Our priority is the Chamber of Secrets Incident. Nott's problem is important, but it isn't urgent."

Artoria did not argue. But her jaw tightened.

Zhang Wen knew she had taken the matter to heart. Artoria Pendragon would never forget anyone who needed protection.

Thursday.

Zhang Wen received Lucius Malfoy's second letter.

The letter was more polite than the first, but its underlying meaning was far more direct:

"Professor Zhang, on behalf of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, I wish to express our interest in your teaching innovations. The Dueling Club is an interesting experiment, but we have concerns regarding its safety. I propose that the matter be discussed at the Board's November meeting. I hope you will attend and provide an explanation."

"Additionally, my son Draco mentioned that he took part in the Dueling Club's exceptional assessment. This pleases me. I hope he will achieve even better results under your guidance."

Zhang Wen read the letter twice.

The first paragraph was a threat. Lucius intended to challenge the Dueling Club at the Board meeting and make trouble for Zhang Wen.

The second paragraph was a probe. Lucius was trying to confirm just how close Draco's relationship with Zhang Wen was.

"He's putting pressure on you." Artoria stood behind Zhang Wen and finished reading the letter.

"Standard procedure. Lucius is that kind of man—he doesn't strike directly. He uses rules and authority to squeeze you. By questioning me at the Board meeting, he wants me to know that he can make trouble for me whenever he likes."

"How do you plan to respond?"

"I'll reply normally, welcome the Board's attention, and say that I look forward to reporting on my work at the meeting." Zhang Wen picked up his quill. "Be friendly, lower my stance, and let him think I'm afraid of him."

"You aren't afraid of him."

"Of course not. But if he thinks I'm afraid, he won't increase the intensity of his attacks too early. Buying time benefits me—once the Chamber of Secrets Incident breaks out, Lucius will have too much on his own plate to bother with my Dueling Club."

Artoria thought for a moment.

"You're betting that the Chamber of Secrets Incident will erupt before the Board meeting."

"In the original story, the first Petrificus Totalus incident happened on Halloween. The Board meeting is in mid-November. There should be enough time."

"What if this world's timeline differs from the original?"

Zhang Wen's quill paused.

That was a question he had been avoiding all along. The butterfly effect. He had made so many changes—mirrors, roosters, training students, building Ginny's social network. Would those changes shift the timeline of events?

What if the Chamber of Secrets Incident was delayed? What if Lucius successfully drove him out at the Board meeting?

"Then I need a backup plan." Zhang Wen began writing again. "If the Board meeting comes before the Chamber of Secrets Incident, I need enough leverage that Lucius can't touch me."

"What leverage?"

"The students' support," Zhang Wen said. "The Dueling Club has become more popular than expected. If Lucius proposes shutting it down at the Board meeting, the backlash from students and parents will make him look very bad."

"You're going to let the parents know about the Dueling Club."

"Next week, I'll send a letter to the parents of every student participating in the Dueling Club. The contents will be: Your child has participated in the school's extracurricular defensive training program and performed excellently. Their report card will be enclosed."

The corner of Artoria's mouth twitched slightly.

"Once the parents see their children's progress, they'll support the activity. If Lucius wants to cancel it, he'll be picking a fight with a whole group of parents fiercely protective of their children."

"His own son is participating too."

"Exactly. That's the best irony—Lucius wants to get rid of the Dueling Club, but his own son is one of its members."

Zhang Wen finished his reply. Its wording was humble and courteous, every word carefully chosen.

"Your letter reads like a diplomatic document," Artoria remarked.

"Corresponding with Lucius Malfoy is diplomacy."

Friday night.

As usual, Artoria patrolled the castle. Zhang Wen joined her today.

They walked along the Third Floor Corridor. When they passed the row of Safety Mirrors, Zhang Wen stopped to inspect their surfaces. No cracks, no stains, and their reflective angles were normal.

"The marks at the pipe entrances are still there." Artoria pointed at the floor at the end of the corridor. Zhang Wen had used invisible ink to draw marks on the floor near several pipe entrances—marks visible only when a wand was aimed at them from a specific angle.

"Good." Zhang Wen put away his wand. "Let's keep going."

They turned the corner and entered the fifth-floor corridor.

Few people normally passed through this stretch of corridor. Empty classrooms and storage rooms lined both sides. The lights were dim, and only the torches on the walls flickered faintly.

Zhang Wen suddenly stopped.

"Did you hear that?" he asked in a low voice.

Artoria stopped as well.

She tilted her head and listened closely.

"Water," she said.

It was not the sound of water flowing normally through pipes. It was lower and heavier, a sound with weight behind it. Like something enormous moving through the pipes.

A chill ran down Zhang Wen's spine.

He could not understand Parseltongue. He was not a Parseltongue speaker. But he could hear the physical sound—the scraping of a massive creature forcing its way through narrow pipes, pressing against the walls as water rushed around it.

"It's moving," Zhang Wen said quietly.

Artoria's hand was already gripping the wooden staff at her waist.

"Which direction?"

Zhang Wen closed his eyes and focused, trying to determine where the sound was coming from.

"Downward," he said. "From the fifth floor down. It may be heading for the fourth floor or the third."

"Should we follow it?"

Zhang Wen hesitated for a second.

Follow it—chase a Basilisk inside the pipes while remaining outside them? They could not see it, but it could emerge from any pipe outlet. If the Basilisk suddenly burst out from a toilet or a sink drain—

"No." Zhang Wen made his decision. "Back to the office. I need to mark its route on the pipe map."

They hurried back toward the office.

Zhang Wen's mind raced. The Basilisk moving through the pipes meant Ginny had already begun communicating with the Diary—but she had not yet given it a clear command to attack. The Basilisk might simply be "patrolling," sensing the living creatures in the castle.

It was a warning sign.

The countdown to the first Petrificus Totalus incident had begun.

Back in the office, Zhang Wen spread out the pipe map and marked the place where they had heard the sound—the eastern section of the fifth-floor corridor—with red ink. Then, following the direction of the pipes, he drew several possible routes.

"If it goes down from the fifth floor, the most likely nodes are—" His finger traced along the pipe lines. "The girls' bathroom on the fourth floor, the utility room on the third floor, the washroom on the second floor, the first floor's—"

His finger stopped at one spot.

"Moaning Myrtle's bathroom."

The girls' bathroom on the second floor. The entrance to the Chamber of Secrets.

The Basilisk was going home.

"It won't come out tonight." Zhang Wen set down his quill. "It was only moving, and it didn't linger near any exits. But this means Ginny's connection to the Diary is deepening. The Diary has started controlling the Basilisk through Ginny to perform simple actions—such as roaming through the pipes."

"The next step is an attack."

"Yes." Zhang Wen leaned back in his chair. "Going from 'roaming' to 'attacking' requires a trigger. In the original story, that trigger was the emotional surge of Halloween—the excitement of the holiday allowed the Diary to break through Ginny's mental defenses when they were at their weakest."

"Two weeks."

"Two weeks," Zhang Wen repeated. "There are three things we need to do during those two weeks."

Artoria waited.

"First, speed up the construction of Ginny's social network. Have Hermione talk to her properly as soon as possible. If Ginny can confide her confusion to anyone before Halloween, the Diary's control will weaken."

"Second?"

"Deploy roosters near the pipe exits in every high-risk area. Don't keep them in storage rooms waiting to be used—place them directly where they're needed. If the Basilisk emerges from any outlet, the nearest rooster must crow within thirty seconds."

"We'll need more roosters."

"I'll ask Hagrid for three more tomorrow. Six should be enough to cover the main areas."

"The third?"

Zhang Wen fell silent for a moment.

"Tell Dumbledore."

Artoria looked at him.

"You've always avoided telling him the exact timeline."

"Things have changed," Zhang Wen said. "The Basilisk has already started moving. If I keep this from Dumbledore and things get out of control—I can't handle it alone."

"You're not alone," Artoria said.

Zhang Wen looked at her.

"You have me." Her tone was as steady as if she were stating a fact. "You also have Snape, McGonagall, and Filius Flitwick. What you built wasn't just Ginny's social network—you built your own support network too."

Zhang Wen opened his mouth.

She was right. He had been weaving a safety net for Ginny all this time, yet he had forgotten that he, too, was being held up by one.

"But Dumbledore still needs to be told," he said.

"Agreed." Artoria nodded. "The headmaster needs to know the threat exists. You can be vague about the source of the information—you don't need to explain why you know these things."

"Won't Dumbledore press for answers?"

"He will," Artoria said. "But you can choose not to answer. Dumbledore himself is full of secrets. He understands that others have secrets too."

Zhang Wen considered it. That made sense. Dumbledore was not the sort to force someone to reveal everything—he was more like someone collecting puzzle pieces, patiently waiting for every piece to fall into place on its own.

"I'll find him tomorrow," Zhang Wen decided.

"I'll go with you."

"No. It'll be better if I go alone. If we go together, it'll seem too formal, and Dumbledore will become more cautious."

Artoria considered it, then accepted his reasoning.

"Then I'll continue training Neville Longbottom tomorrow," she said. "His blocking form is still far from adequate."

"How long is your training plan for Neville?"

"Until he can reliably block five consecutive attacks."

"At his current rate?"

"Probably another month," Artoria said, then added, "But Halloween is two weeks away. If the Chamber of Secrets Incident breaks out early, he'll have to take the field at his current level."

"Neville doesn't need to take the field."

"In war, no one can decide beforehand who will take the field and who won't." Artoria's tone was calm. "Opportunity, like disaster, does not choose its victims."

Zhang Wen did not argue.

Because she was right. In the original story, it was Neville who drew the Sword of Gryffindor—not in his second year, but in his seventh. Yet that sword had chosen him.

If fate in this world chose Neville too—

Zhang Wen could only make sure he was ready.

Ready sooner than he had been in the original story, at least.

Late at night.

Zhang Wen stood by the window for a long time.

The moon was hidden behind clouds. The direction of the Black Lake was pitch-black, with only the faint glow of fireflies along the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

There were still too many unfinished items on his preparation list. Deploying the roosters, meeting with Dumbledore, the conversation between Hermione and Ginny, letters to the parents, final confirmation of the pipe map, the second Dueling Club event—

He took a deep breath.

One thing at a time.

Zhang Wen closed the window. The candle on his desk was nearly burned out, its light casting wavering shadows across the walls.

He suddenly noticed a cup of tea sitting at the corner of the desk.

It was still steaming.

Zhang Wen looked at the teacup, then toward Artoria's room. Her door was closed, and there was no light beneath it—she had already gone to sleep.

But she had made him a cup of tea before going to bed.

Zhang Wen picked up the cup and took a sip.

Black tea. The temperature was just right. There were slightly more tea leaves than he would have used himself—stronger, more invigorating.

Artoria knew he would be staying up late tonight.

Zhang Wen set down the teacup and spread out the pipe map again.

Fourteen days.

It was enough.