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By now, Sagres had almost figured out everything he needed to know.
He tapped his wand lightly with his fingertips, his gaze sweeping over everyone in the room.
The situation felt grim. He suddenly realized that this group of Wizards—reputedly the finest in Britain—had let such obvious clues slip past them for fifty years. Was it arrogance? Or sheer incompetence?
The rhythmic tapping of his wand echoed sharply in the silent infirmary. More and more, Sagres felt as if his allies were utterly useless.
"Harry," he said, turning to the boy on the bed, his voice terrifyingly calm, "you have two choices now."
A faint blue glow shimred at the tip of his wand. "First, assist in finding the culprit. Second, let erase all your mories from tonight."
Harry noticed Sagres's pupils contract dangerously when he ntioned erasing mories.
"I-I choose the first one!" Harry blurted out, more urgently than he ant to. He instinctively touched the scar on his forehead and swallowed hard.
"A wise choice." Sagres nodded slightly, then turned to Dumbledore. "I also recomnd an imdiate screening of all faculty and students. Though Lord Voldemort may not repeat his old tricks... for safety's sake, everyone must be checked."
A chill swept through the room.
If Lord Voldemort had truly returned… who might he be hiding inside this ti?
Harry's gaze unconsciously shifted to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor—who, at that mont, was admiring his reflection in the glass of the dicine cabinet.
Noticing Harry's stare, he promptly flashed a dazzling smile, his teeth gleaming white in the candlelight.
Harry silently looked away; he felt that Lord Voldemort probably wasn't that desperate—yet.
"Professor Greengrass," Madam Pomfrey suddenly interjected, her voice trembling, "are you saying You-Know-Who might… possess a student?"
She clutched the corner of her robe tightly, her knuckles turning white.
"It's just a possibility. We'll know after checking." He looked at the silent Dumbledore. "Will you arrange the screening?"
The Headmaster slowly nodded, his silver-white beard trembling slightly with the motion. "Starting tomorrow. At the sa ti, other duties cannot be neglected." His voice was very soft.
Sagres gave a short snort, then raised his wand and pointed it at Harry. A green light burst from the wand tip, and Harry was surprised to feel sensation return to his arm.
"I think I'm better!"
Harry excitedly flexed his wrist, a faint click sounding as his bones healed. "Thank you so much, Prof—"
But Sagres had already turned and was walking toward the door. As he stepped over the threshold, he tossed out a remark without looking back:
"Rember your choice, Potter."
...
...
In the days that followed, Hogwarts underwent earth-shattering changes.
In the morning light, the entire Castle seed to shimr under enchantnt.
No—Hogwarts truly was under a spell.
Sagres transford Hogwarts into a mirrored world using Transfiguration—curved mirrors were embedded into corridor corners, prism ornants hung from ceilings, and even the suits of armor were polished until they glead.
When sunlight stread through the stained-glass windows, the entire Castle refracted a dreamy halo, and students walking through the corridors would see countless reflections of themselves moving in the mirrors.
But what the students didn't know was that behind this beauty lay cold, calculated precaution.
Professor McGonagall also introduced new regulations: every student was required to wear specially made glasses at all tis, day and night.
Even the usually rebellious Weasley twins, after hearing the rumour that "staring directly at the monster would turn you to stone," obediently wore those comical, specially made round-frad glasses.
A tense yet novel atmosphere now perated all of Hogwarts.
And in that atmosphere, the Castle was about to undergo a thorough screening.
Every single person—faculty and students alike—was to be examined. The Professors said it was to find out who had opened the Chamber of Secrets, and the young wizards were abuzz with speculation.
...
"Do you think they'll really find out who did it?" In the Gryffindor common room, Ron sat by the fireplace, talking with the others. "I an, how are they going to check? If it's Snape doing the screening, he'll definitely use it as an excuse for personal revenge..."
"Don't worry, Professor Greengrass is in charge," Harry cut in imdiately, his fingers unconsciously rubbing his newly healed arm.
Though he didn't reveal more, a determined light flickered in his eyes. He hadn't acted foolishly these past few days—he still knew what should and shouldn't be said.
George and Fred joined the conversation as Percy and Ginny gathered around the fireplace.
"Professor Greengrass will definitely catch the culprit—he has to! After all, he's… well, he's incredible!"
"Absolutely incredible," George echoed. "Snape's nowhere near his level!"
"Of course not," Ron added excitedly. "That greasy bat can't even beat Professor Greengrass's bird!"
"Yeah!"
"Who do you think it is?" Hermione set her book aside and joined in. "Who could've opened the Chamber of Secrets...?"
As a Muggle-born witch, she was deeply concerned about all the talk surrounding the Chamber. According to legend, she was exactly the kind of person ant to be purged.
"It has to be Malfoy!" Ron said firmly. "He's been way too quiet lately, and that's just not like him."
Malfoy had made such a strong impression before that now, with him laying low, everyone suspected he was up to sothing—even Crabbe and Goyle seed to think so.
"Hmph, I hope it is him. That way, Professor Greengrass can expel him on the spot."
"Expulsion?" Percy, for once, joined the conversation, his tone official and stern. "The culprit will likely be sent straight to Azkaban."
The group huddled closer, voices overlapping in animated discussion.
Ginny Weasley curled up in the armchair like a frightened chick.
When Percy ntioned "Azkaban," her fingers clenched tightly, digging four crescent-shaped marks into her pale palms.
The firelight from the hearth danced in her vacant eyes.
...
She had found the diary on the first day of school.
While sorting through her secondhand textbooks, it had fallen out from between the pages of Magical Theory—its black cover shimred with an eerie sheen, rising and falling subtly as if it were breathing.
It was a magical diary; it could talk to her and seed very thoughtful. It always responded with the gentlest words and comforted her whenever she felt down.
She confided a lot to it—how she liked the famous Harry Potter, the boy who had once defeated the Dark Lord. She also ntioned recent happenings at Hogwarts.
There had been a conflict between Professor Greengrass and Dumbledore.
She wrote that she wanted to take Professor Greengrass's class—because Harry Potter was in it.
And that Defense Against the Dark Arts professor—Lockhart—whom her mother adored, turned out to be completely useless after just a few lessons. She was sure of it.
No matter what she shared, the diary always gave her the perfect replies. Over ti, she ca to treat it as her closest friend.
Many nights, the quill would softly scratch across the pages:
[I saw Harry again today. He looks so handso on his broom…]
The ink imdiately spread into an elegant reply:
[He is indeed special, isn't he? Just like you, Ginny.]
...
[Mum says Lockhart is the best wizard, but his class is simply…]
[True power never needs to flaunt itself, like your Professor Greengrass.]
...
[I woke up in the corridor again, with chicken feathers on my robes…]
[Don't worry, sleepwalking is a Weasley family trait.]
...
What terrified her most were the missing fragnts of ti—blood-red writing on the corridor walls, rooster feathers clinging to her hands, mud caked on the hem of her robes, shoes that had disappeared...
When she saw Filch's cat petrified, a cold dread finally took root in her stomach.
And now, the screening notice felt like a final death knell.
It seed she had opened the Chamber of Secrets... It seed she had unknowingly beco the Heir, without even understanding how!
...Shatter!
"Ah.."
Ginny suddenly stood up, spilling her black tea onto the carpet. Under the startled gazes of the others, she stumbled toward the girls' dormitory.
Inside, her trembling fingers brushed across the yellowed pages of the diary. Tom Riddle's graceful handwriting slowly erged:
[Don't be afraid. I will always be on your side…]
She felt the diary heat up in her hands, burning like a red-hot iron.
"No…" Ginny's voice broke into fragnts. "I want to get rid of you… you devil."
But this ti, she didn't write it in the diary.
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