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Having decided not to embrace being a troublemaker for the time being, Harry saw no need to rush into matters.
Even if Cassandra had released the basilisk, accidentally killing or petrifying a few unlucky souls at Hogwarts, what did that have to do with Harry? The idea that "great power comes with great responsibility" was nothing but manipulative rhetoric to him. As far as Harry was concerned, power meant greater authority, not responsibility. Responsibility? No one at Hogwarts was paying him protection fees, so why should he care about anyone else's fate? Helping others was out of camaraderie, not obligation, and nobody should expect it as a given.
Expecting a chaotic prankster to become a saint tirelessly putting out fires was as futile as hoping he'd simply start fewer.
Unnoticed, October arrived.
The damp chill hung over the grounds and seeped into the castle walls. A sudden flu outbreak had Madam Pomfrey scrambling to manage the influx of students. Although the infirmary was well-stocked with potions, most of those were reserved for treating serious injuries. Snape's brews were potent but unpalatable, so Madam Pomfrey avoided them unless absolutely necessary.
For minor ailments like colds, she brewed her own potions. Energizing elixirs, effective for combatting sleepless nights, also proved useful for colds, albeit with a peculiar side effect: hours of smoke puffing from the ears. Aside from that quirk, they were harmless.
For over two weeks now, Harry had been covertly monitoring Cassandra's movements using the Marauder's Map. While it wasn't exactly thrilling, it was oddly entertaining.
Cassandra didn't visit the Chamber of Secrets often. Most of her trips occurred on weekends, from 1 PM to 10 PM, as punctual as clocking into a job. She never missed a session.
Interestingly, Cassandra skipped Professor Flitwick's dueling club gatherings that term. Flitwick mentioned she had opted out of participating, which he found unfortunate since he considered her a promising duelist. However, with Harry's steady presence, Flitwick's disappointment was minimal.
While keeping an eye on Cassandra's routines, Harry's focus shifted to a mysterious senior from his own house.
By late last year, Harry had stumbled upon a new line of thought. But before he could investigate further, he was sent home for the holidays. Upon returning, the idea had nearly slipped his mind.
Harry's decision to remain at Hogwarts had nothing to do with Voldemort, Dumbledore, or a deep-seated love for the school. It was because of a murderous alumnus. Unlike the ancient ruins dating back centuries or millennia, this awakened predecessor had left traces a mere hundred years ago. So far, Harry had uncovered two, but he was certain there were more.
Harry was particularly curious about the peculiar spells used by this awakener. In the Forbidden Forest and Paradise Isle, Harry had encountered two such incantations. One summoned black storm clouds and lightning, forming a thunder pillar that obliterated hundreds of wizards. The other, used by an archer-like ancient sorcerer, conjured a massive tornado that swallowed the storm clouds.
The magic these awakeners wielded was unlike anything Harry had seen in mainstream wizardry. Their spellcasting seemed to resonate with the forces of nature, bypassing wands altogether. The wizard became a colossal transmitter, emitting a force so potent it commanded nature itself.
No teenage boy could resist the allure of such an awe-inspiring power. Even just showing off would make him the ultimate showstopper, with onlookers screaming in amazement, "Incredible! That's insane!"
Since Harry could understand these cryptic incantations without effort, it suggested he had the potential to master this power. He suspected that his mother, Lily, another awakener, might have left some clues during her time at Hogwarts. After all, Harry's power was inherited from her.
Last year, Harry overlooked an important clue: the stout friar of Hufflepuff, with his X-shaped chest straps adorned with 20mm cannon shell belts. This portly ghost had lingered at Hogwarts for at least 200 years. From his attire, Harry could roughly deduce his era, as even subtle differences in ecclesiastical garb provided temporal clues.
On a rare sunny afternoon, Harry found the friar chatting with Gryffindor's ghost, Sir Nicholas.
"Am I interrupting?" Harry approached the two spirits.### Chapter 163: The Darkest Yet Brightest Three Years at Hogwarts
Having decided not to embrace being a troublemaker for the time being, Harry saw no need to rush into matters.
Even if Cassandra had released the basilisk, accidentally killing or petrifying a few unlucky souls at Hogwarts, what did that have to do with Harry? The idea that "great power comes with great responsibility" was nothing but manipulative rhetoric to him. As far as Harry was concerned, power meant greater authority, not responsibility. Responsibility? No one at Hogwarts was paying him protection fees, so why should he care about anyone else's fate? Helping others was out of camaraderie, not obligation, and nobody should expect it as a given.
Expecting a chaotic prankster to become a saint tirelessly putting out fires was as futile as hoping he'd simply start fewer.
Unnoticed, October arrived.
The damp chill hung over the grounds and seeped into the castle walls. A sudden flu outbreak had Madam Pomfrey scrambling to manage the influx of students. Although the infirmary was well-stocked with potions, most of those were reserved for treating serious injuries. Snape's brews were potent but unpalatable, so Madam Pomfrey avoided them unless absolutely necessary.
For minor ailments like colds, she brewed her own potions. Energizing elixirs, effective for combatting sleepless nights, also proved useful for colds, albeit with a peculiar side effect: hours of smoke puffing from the ears. Aside from that quirk, they were harmless.
For over two weeks now, Harry had been covertly monitoring Cassandra's movements using the Marauder's Map. While it wasn't exactly thrilling, it was oddly entertaining.
Cassandra didn't visit the Chamber of Secrets often. Most of her trips occurred on weekends, from 1 PM to 10 PM, as punctual as clocking into a job. She never missed a session.
Interestingly, Cassandra skipped Professor Flitwick's dueling club gatherings that term. Flitwick mentioned she had opted out of participating, which he found unfortunate since he considered her a promising duelist. However, with Harry's steady presence, Flitwick's disappointment was minimal.
While keeping an eye on Cassandra's routines, Harry's focus shifted to a mysterious senior from his own house.
By late last year, Harry had stumbled upon a new line of thought. But before he could investigate further, he was sent home for the holidays. Upon returning, the idea had nearly slipped his mind.
Harry's decision to remain at Hogwarts had nothing to do with Voldemort, Dumbledore, or a deep-seated love for the school. It was because of a murderous alumnus. Unlike the ancient ruins dating back centuries or millennia, this awakened predecessor had left traces a mere hundred years ago. So far, Harry had uncovered two, but he was certain there were more.
Harry was particularly curious about the peculiar spells used by this awakener. In the Forbidden Forest and Paradise Isle, Harry had encountered two such incantations. One summoned black storm clouds and lightning, forming a thunder pillar that obliterated hundreds of wizards. The other, used by an archer-like ancient sorcerer, conjured a massive tornado that swallowed the storm clouds.
The magic these awakeners wielded was unlike anything Harry had seen in mainstream wizardry. Their spellcasting seemed to resonate with the forces of nature, bypassing wands altogether. The wizard became a colossal transmitter, emitting a force so potent it commanded nature itself.
No teenage boy could resist the allure of such an awe-inspiring power. Even just showing off would make him the ultimate showstopper, with onlookers screaming in amazement, "Incredible! That's insane!"
Since Harry could understand these cryptic incantations without effort, it suggested he had the potential to master this power. He suspected that his mother, Lily, another awakener, might have left some clues during her time at Hogwarts. After all, Harry's power was inherited from her.
Last year, Harry overlooked an important clue: the stout friar of Hufflepuff, with his X-shaped chest straps adorned with 20mm cannon shell belts. This portly ghost had lingered at Hogwarts for at least 200 years. From his attire, Harry could roughly deduce his era, as even subtle differences in ecclesiastical garb provided temporal clues.
On a rare sunny afternoon, Harry found the friar chatting with Gryffindor's ghost, Sir Nicholas.
"Am I interrupting?" Harry approached the two spirits.
"Of course not, child," the Fat Friar said cheerfully, smiling warmly at Harry. Few people took the time to converse with ghosts, as the separation between life and death made many feel uneasy. Most visitors approached them with strange or frivolous questions. Take Sir Nicholas, for instance—many mischievous students deliberately asked him, "Nearly Headless Nick, what exactly caused you to be nearly headless?"
In those moments, Sir Nicholas would angrily tug at the sliver of skin still holding his head to his body, scaring the kids into shrieking before they scampered off, much to his satisfaction.
"I have some questions for you," Harry began. "Last year, I scoured the library but couldn't find anything on the subject. Back then, it didn't even cross my mind that you, more than the books, are Hogwarts' living history. But now that I've realized it, I hope it's not too late to ask."
"Hahaha!" The Fat Friar chuckled heartily upon being referred to as Hogwarts' living history. Even Sir Nicholas seemed pleased. As ghosts, they often felt overlooked, so Harry's recognition of their value struck a chord.
"Go on, child. What do you want to know? Although I haven't been a ghost for as long as some others, Hogwarts is home to spirits that have been with the castle for nearly a millennium. When it comes to this school, we know more than anyone else about its secrets."
The Fat Friar's enthusiasm was palpable. "If I don't have the answers, I can always ask around for you."
"That's fantastic! I knew I came to the right person," Harry said, flattery in his tone. Seizing the opportunity, he continued, "I've heard that about a hundred years ago, a very powerful wizard attended Hogwarts—a Hufflepuff. He was around 5 foot 9, had wavy, brownish-golden hair, and carried a wand that resembled a Browning M1935."
To clarify, Harry pulled out a piece of parchment with a sketch of a handgun. He worried that simply naming the model might confuse the Friar, as wizards didn't seem to have precise names for wands shaped like firearms. Instead, they categorized them broadly as pistols, shotguns, and the like.
When Harry looked up, he caught a fleeting expression of panic on both the Fat Friar's and Sir Nicholas's faces.
The two ghosts even drifted several feet back, clearly startled.
"I—" The Fat Friar stammered, struggling to find his words. "That wizard… he… I…"
The two ghosts exchanged uneasy glances, falling into a heavy silence.
"There are certain names at Hogwarts that mustn't be mentioned," the Friar finally said.
"And it's not some childish trick like Voldemort's taboo," Sir Nicholas added gravely.
"Take my advice, child," the Friar said, his tone a mix of urgency and caution. "Some things are beyond your control."
"Those three years," he concluded, "were Hogwarts' darkest... and yet, its brightest."
(End of Chapter)