Chapter 71: The Notebook
The lighting for dinner was warmer than for lunch.
The crystal chandelier was dimmed by half, and the fire in the fireplace was burning brightly, casting orange-red light onto the dark wooden walls and emerald velvet curtains; the entire dining room seemed to be enclosed in an amber bubble.
The long table had been relaid with a deep blue tablecloth, embroidered with the House of Black's silver star crest along the edges. The candelabras had been replaced with shorter ones, and the candlelight flickered on the silver, softening everyone's features.
The mead brought by Malfoy was finished. Kreacher stood beside the dining table, holding a tray with several bottles of different colored wine—pale golden peach wine, amber cider, and a bottle of deep red cherry wine that Reese had never seen before. He placed them on the table one by one, bowing slightly after setting down each bottle, his movements as standardized as if they had been copied from an etiquette textbook.
"These fruit wines are low in alcohol, very suitable for children and young ladies to have a little," Cassiopeia said, sitting at the head of the table. Her silver-grey hair was pinned up meticulously, and a silver star brooch was pinned to the collar of her deep purple robe. Her gaze swept over everyone's faces, lingering on Cho Chang for a moment, then she nodded slightly. "It's Reese's birthday today, everyone can indulge a little."
"Thank you, Grandmother Cassiopeia," the five of them said in unison. Hermione's voice was the crispest, Draco's was the most drawn-out, Anthony's was the quietest, Cho Chang's was the softest, and Reese's was in the middle—neither too loud nor too quiet. The corners of Cassiopeia's mouth curved up; the arc was very slight, but everyone saw it.
Aunt Lyra sat next to Cassiopeia, having changed into a deep red robe, her hair let down. She picked up a glass of peach wine, took a sip, squinted her eyes, and leaned back in her chair, her posture uncharacteristically relaxed.
"Bangbang, bring the camera," she said.
Bangbang poked his head in from the kitchen doorway, his eyes shining, and ran off after responding.
A while later, he ran back clutching an old black camera. The leather case was polished until it shone, and the strap was new—woven recently by Kreacher, deep blue with fine, tight stitches.
Bangbang handed the camera to Lyra and then stood beside the dining table, twisting the corners of his tea towel with both hands, unsure of where to stand.
"Bangbang, stand over here," Reese patted the empty seat beside him.
Bangbang's eyes widened, his ears twitched, and he looked at Cassiopeia, then at Lyra. Lyra nodded at him. Bangbang walked over cautiously, stood still beside Reese, his back straighter than even Kreacher's.
Kreacher stood on the other side of the dining table, still holding the bottle of unfinished cherry wine. Hearing Reese say "Kreacher, come too," the wine bottle in his hand wobbled. He looked at Cassiopeia, and Cassiopeia also nodded. Kreacher placed the bottle on the table and walked over to stand beside Bangbang. His hands hung at his sides, his knuckles clenched white, but the corners of his mouth were trembling slightly—that trembling wasn't from nervousness, it was something else.
Lyra raised the camera. "Look here. Three—two—one."
Click. The flash went off, and after the white light passed, everyone squinted for a moment. When their vision cleared, a photo slid out from the bottom of the camera. Reese reached out to catch it. The people in the photo were moving—Bangbang was waving frantically, his ears twitching like leaves in the wind; Kreacher stood next to Bangbang, motionless, but the slight trembling at the corners of his mouth was clearly visible in the photo, quivering frame by frame; Anthony gave a thumbs-up, Hermione made a heart shape, and Draco made a—what was he making? Reese looked closely; Draco's gesture was somewhere between an "OK" sign and a "six," not sure if he meant to make a gesture but got it wrong; Cho Chang sat next to Reese, not waving or making a heart shape, just smiling quietly, but that smile remained in the photo, like a painting that would never fade.
Reese looked at the photo twice and put it into his pocket.
They were three rounds into the drinks. Two bottles of peach wine had been finished, one bottle of cider, and the cherry wine had just been opened.
Draco's face was the reddest, flushing from his cheekbones all the way to his earlobes. Strands of his pale blonde hair were scattered across his forehead, not combed back. His eyes were half-open, his gaze somewhat unfocused, but the corners of his mouth kept curling up.
"Reese—" Draco's voice was more drawn-out than usual, the tail end dropping, "I'm really happy to be able to come and hang out with you."
He leaned back against the chair, one hand resting on the edge of the table, his fingers unconsciously rubbing the edge of the tablecloth. "My home is super oppressive right now, it's choking me." He paused, blinked, "If it really doesn't work out, I'll just stay at your place until school starts."
Reese's face was also flushed—he had drunk the peach wine too quickly. He didn't have much of a tolerance for alcohol to begin with, and he hadn't paced himself well during the second bottle. Now his head felt a bit light, but his mind was still clear. He tilted his head to look at Draco, resting his chin on the back of his propped-up hand. "What happened?"
"God—" Draco lifted his hand from the edge of the table and drew a large circle in the air. "The Ministry of Magichas stepped up its search for Dark Arts items recently. My father has to dispose of these things urgently. I advised him to just get rid of them all at once, since they're all useless things anyway, and he ended up scolding me." Draco's voice rose a little, carrying a kind of aggrieved, puzzled indignation.
Aunt Lyra's face was also flushed—she had drunk more than half a bottle of cider, leaning back against the chair, her posture much more casual than usual.
"Why is Lucius so angry? All pure-blood families have some remnants of Dark Arts items, more or less; that's normal. Just get rid of them."
"Aunt Lyra, I don't know—he yelled at me about 'Pure-blood,' 'Honor,' 'Trust.' " Draco frowned, poking the table with his finger. "I understand 'Pure-blood' and 'Honor,' but what is 'Trust'? Trust whom?"
Cassiopeia's hand holding the cherry wine paused. She didn't drink the wine, just held it, her gaze falling on Draco's face from over the rim of the glass.
"What other Dark Arts items do you have at home?" Her voice wasn't loud, but the temperature in the dining room seemed to drop by a degree.
Draco thought for a moment, his fingers tapping unconsciously on the table. "Uh—I took a look, necklaces, daggers, earrings, candles, playing cards—and a notebook? Just these. A pile of junk."
Reese's fingers tightened slightly. A notebook. His pupils trembled, but his expression didn't change.
He picked up the peach wine and took a sip, suppressing that tremor. "How did Uncle Lucius handle it?"
"Huh? He kept hesitating. I thought he was being too indecisive, so I called the family attendants and sold them all to someone in Knockturn Alley at once." Draco waved his hand. "Just because of this, my dad threw a huge tantrum at me."
Reese's heart skipped a beat. Oh no. The notebook was a Horcrux. Lord Voldemort's diary, containing the memory and soul fragment of sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle. In the original story, Lucius Malfoy slipped it to Ginny Weasley, leading to the opening of the Chamber of Secrets and the Basilisk running amok. Now Draco had sold it—the fate of the Horcrux had changed. How was the second-year story supposed to unfold? Reese put down his wine glass and tapped his finger lightly on the table, the rhythm a beat faster than usual.
"Who did you sell it to?" he asked.
"Borgin and Burkes, of course." Draco picked up his cider, took a sip, and wiped the corner of his mouth with his sleeve. "They're the only ones who buy Dark Arts items in bulk. But he didn't want the notebook, saying he couldn't tell it was a Dark Arts item and it must have been a mistake. I figured he shouldn't be wrong—so when I went to buy things in Diagon Alley, I just sold it to a second-hand book dealer."
Reese nodded, mentally crossing out the words "second-hand book dealer." Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alleydidn't accept it, which meant the Dark Arts aura on that notebook was very well hidden—as expected of Lord Voldemort's handiwork. But the second-hand book dealer—who knew who they would sell it to? Reese put this matter at the very top of his "must-handle-before-school-starts" list. He'd try his luck in Diagon Alley tomorrow.
Cassiopeia put down her wine glass and looked at the sky outside the window. The sky was completely dark, and the garden lights had turned on automatically, casting orange-yellow light onto the rose bushes, dyeing the red petals a warm orange. "It's not safe at night." Her voice wasn't loud, but carried an unquestionable certainty. "You all stay here tonight. Go home tomorrow."
She stood up, walked to the fireplace, took out a stack of parchment and several quills from the drawer, and placed them on the table. "Everyone write a letter home to let them know you're safe. I'll have the owl send them." She paused and glanced at Draco.
Draco's eyes lit up. He sat up straighter in his chair, his drunkenness mostly gone. "Grandmother Cassiopeia—Aunt Lyra—" His voice carried a deliberate, but not entirely deliberate, sweetness, calling her Grandmother and Aunt one after another. "This last holiday—can I spend it all at Star-Swirl Manor?" His eyes shone in the candlelight.
Aunt Lyra leaned back against the chair, took a sip of cherry wine, and looked at Draco with a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth. "If your mother agrees, you can stay as long as you like." She put down her wine glass, her tone becoming a bit more serious. "But you cannot 'run away from home' unilaterally. Narcissa must agree to it in person."
Draco had already sprung up from his chair. He ran toward the living room, his steps a bit unsteady—the alcohol hadn't fully worn off—shouting as he ran: "Yarnball—where's Yarnball? Reese, lend me your owl—" Reese pointed toward the windowsill in the living room, where Yarnball was standing on its perch preening its wings. Draco pounced over, almost tripping over the carpet, and after steadying himself, began writing the letter with the parchment and quill.
The dining room was quiet for a while, and then Anthonylaughed first. Hermione followed, and Cho Chang laughed too. Aunt Lyra laughed the loudest, and Cassiopeia shook her head, but the corners of her mouth were curved.
Reese leaned back against the chair, watching Draco's back as he wrote the letter in the living room, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.
His mind was still on that notebook. A Horcrux. Lord Voldemort's diary. The core plot of the second year.
If it hadn't been bought by Ginny Weasley, would the Chamber of Secrets still be opened? Would the Basiliskstill be released? He thought about it—maybe not. Maybe the second year would be much calmer. But he couldn't gamble. That notebook had to be somewhere he could find, otherwise he didn't know what track the plot would veer off onto, a track he couldn't see.
"Reese." Cho Chang's voice came from beside him, very soft.
Reese turned his head. Cho Chang was looking at him, her gaze lingering on his eyes for a moment. She saw that look again—the look where his pupils trembled slightly when he was thinking about things.
She didn't ask "What are you thinking about," just said one sentence: "Going to Diagon Alley tomorrow?"
Reese nodded. "Going. Go early."
Cho Chang didn't ask any more, picked up her cider and took a sip, her gaze moving back to Draco, who was engrossed in writing a letter in the living room. Amber slid down from her wrist, crawled along the dining table to Reese's hand, and rubbed its head against his fingers. Reese tapped Amber's head with his finger and wrapped it around his wrist.
The garden lights outside the window were still on, and the rose bushes were blooming quietly in the warm orange light, a few flowers having already closed their petals, preparing to sleep.
Chapter 72: A Chance Encounter in Diagon Alley
The next day, Diagon Alley was scorched by the August sun. The cobblestone pavement reflected a glaring white light, making the soles of one's shoes feel soft upon stepping on them. The street was more crowded than Reese had expected; Wizards were squeezed in front of shop doors, owls flapped their wings in cages, and children dragged their parents' hands toward Quality QuidditchSupplies. But the densest crowd was in front of Flourish and Blotts—the queue snaked out from the bookstore entrance, rounded a corner along the street, and stretched all the way toward Gringotts.
"Why are there so many people?" Draco Malfoy frowned, shading his eyes with his hand and squinting toward the bookstore entrance. He was completely sober now, his hair combed meticulously, and his brooch pinned perfectly straight, looking like a completely different person from the Draco who had almost tripped over a carpet the night before.
Aunt Lyra walked at the front, her gaze sweeping over the heads of the crowd—her adult height giving her the advantage of seeing further. She narrowed her eyes, her lips moving slightly as if she were identifying something. "A queue at Flourish and Blotts... it must be Lockhart's new book signing?"
"Oh my god, does it have to be this crazy?" HermioneGranger rolled her eyes. She rolled them so hard it looked like she was doing eye exercises. Ever since they had pieced together the conclusion last night that Lockhartmight be a fraud, Hermione's attitude toward him had been downgraded from a 'young and promising author-Professor' to a'suspicious individual requiring further investigation.' For someone who might commit academic fraud, Hermione found it hard to accept. In her worldview, knowledge should be serious, verified, and written in books that don't lie. If someone used fake knowledge to deceive people, it was more detestable than using fake Galleons.
Lyra didn't respond, only quickening her pace. "Let's go to Gringotts to withdraw money first. There will be even more people later."
The marble hall of Gringotts was much cooler than outside. Goblins were busy behind high counters, the clinking of scales weighing coins and the scratching of quills across ledgers blending together like a melody-less ensemble. Lyra led the five children to an older Goblin and pulled a gold key from an inner pocket of her robes. The Goblin took it, looked it over, bowed slightly, and led them through the familiar small door to the cart heading for the underground vaults.
The cart sped through the maze-like tunnels; the wind blew Hermione's hair upright, Anthony Goldstein gripped the handrail tightly, while Draco looked quite at ease, even reaching out to touch the rock walls as they flew past. Cho Chang sat next to Reese, and Amber poked its head out from her collar before shrinking back from the wind.
Arriving at the vault entrance, the Goblin opened the door and stepped aside. Lyra walked in, took several leather bags from the shelves, and began filling them with gold coins. Her movements were swift, clearly not the first time she had done this.
After filling the bags, Lyra turned and handed a large pouch to Reese, then pulled out five smaller leather bags from her pocket, each containing fifty Galleons. She walked up to Hermione and pressed a small bag into her hand. Hermione froze for a moment, instinctively trying to decline. "Aunt Lyra, this is too—"
"Take it." Lyra's tone was calm but left no room for refusal. She then walked to Anthony and gave him one, then to Cho, and finally to Draco.
Draco took the bag, weighed it in his hand, and his lips curled into a smile. "Oh, just take it." He glanced at Hermione, his tone carrying the maturity of someone thinking 'you're still too young,' "Reese's family has even more money than the Malfoys." He stuffed the bag into his pocket with a practiced motion, "Save the House of Blackmoney? Forget it; better to help them spend it. Otherwise, the House of Black will really have to open a second vault just to store their wealth."
Lyra didn't know whether to laugh or cry as she poked Draco's head with her finger. "Although Draco is exaggerating, he has a point." She looked at Hermione, Anthony, and Cho, her voice softening slightly, "Accept it with peace of mind. Since you've called me Aunt, giving you pocket money is nothing."
Hermione opened her mouth, looked at the bag in her hand, and then at Reese. Reese nodded to her. She tucked the bag into her inner robe pocket, her movements much slower than Draco's, as if she were putting away something very heavy. Anthony also accepted, whispering a "Thank you, Aunt Lyra." When Cho took the bag, her fingers brushed the back of Lyra's hand and she said "Thank you" softly but earnestly. Lyra looked at Cho, her lips curling into a smile, before turning back toward the cart. "Let's go, to Madam Malkin's."
Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was even cooler than Gringotts. Deep inside the shop, several large garment-making machines were humming, and the air was filled with the scent of fabric mixed with incense. Madam Malkin herself came out to greet them; her eyes lit up when she saw Lyra, and they lit up even more when she saw the five children following behind. "Miss Lyra! This year... that's big business!" Her voice carried an irrepressible excitement.
"Five children, all need new robes." Lyra walked to the fabric rack, her fingers sliding across a row of dark fabrics. "Hogwarts school uniforms, three sets each. Everyday robes, three sets each. Winter cloaks, three each. And—" She thought for a moment, "I'll decide the rest later; you measure them first."
Madam Malkin's quill was already flying across the parchment. "Of course, of course, the measurements—I'll take them right away."
The five were called to the mirror one by one. Measuring tapes flew in from all directions, circling their bodies and calling out strings of numbers. Madam Malkin's assistant recorded them quickly, occasionally looking up to confirm which size belonged to whom. Hermione stood very straight while being measured, motionless like a soldier undergoing a physical exam. Anthony was reading the copy of 'A Study of the Origins of Magic' he had borrowed from Reese's house; he flinched when the tape went under his arm, but his eyes never left the page. Cho was the quietest, standing there like a newly planted sapling; even as the tape wrapped around her again and again, her breathing remained steady. Draco was the most cooperative, even proactively raising his arms for the tape, his movements as elegant as if he were participating in a ceremony. Reese was measured the fastest—Madam Malkin already had his measurements and was just confirming if there were any changes.
"All done." Madam Malkin tucked away the recorded parchment and looked at Lyra.
Lyra took a black card from her purse and handed it to Madam Malkin. "Send the clothes to Star-Swirl Manoronce they're finished. You decide the measurements and materials; the style should be suitable for students but not too plain." She paused, "Good materials last longer."
"Understood, understood." Madam Malkin took the card, her smile deepening.
Lyra turned to the five. "You go buy your other supplies. I'll handle the clothes."
Hermione opened her mouth to say something but was tugged by the sleeve by Anthony. The five walked out of Madam Malkin's shop and stood at the entrance as the sunlight flooded over them again.
"Reese, this is really far too much expense." Anthony's voice wasn't loud, but it was serious. Hermione nodded beside him, and Cho nodded as well.
"It's fine." Reese smiled. "Aunt Lyra likes you all anyway. To her, it's not much money, so don't feel burdened." He paused, "My aunt's way of being good to people is to spend money on them."
Draco chimed in from the side, his tone intentionally drawn out. "Exactly, exactly—everything today is on the young master of the House of Black's tab!" He said in an exaggerated voice, like a stage actor reciting lines, "If not now, then when? We're good friends; if I don't have a good place to go after graduation, I'll be counting on Reese to support me for the rest of my life."
Reese rolled his eyes in annoyance. "So the Malfoys are going bankrupt? If Aunt Narcissa heard that, you'd be finished."
Draco shrunk his neck, a smile still on his face, but the name 'Narcissa' clearly made him restrain himself. Cho and Hermione laughed, and Anthony joined in. The atmosphere among the five shifted from the awkwardness of receiving a large sum of money to the ease of 'there's no need to be polite between friends.'
They walked along the main street of Diagon Alley toward Flourish and Blotts. Draco walked at the front, Hermioneand Anthony walked side-by-side in the middle, and Cho and Reese were at the back. Amber poked its head out from Cho's collar, looked around, and shrank back again.
The crowd in front of Flourish and Blotts was even larger than before. The queue had backed up onto the steps of several nearby shops; most were witches ranging from teenagers to those in their dozens, some clutching Lockhart's books, others showing off homemade support signs. Reese caught a glimpse at the very front of a man with curled blonde hair and bright blue robes signing books, his smile as brilliant as a toothpaste advertisement. Just as he was about to look away, his peripheral vision caught two figures at the edge of the crowd.
One was very, very tall, two heads taller than everyone around him. The other was very short, looking dusty and disheveled with messy hair and robes covered in soot.
Hagrid and Harry.
Hagrid was looking down and saying something to Harry; Harry's expression was somewhat bedraggled, as if he had been blown over by a gust of dust on the roadside.
Hermione recognized them first and jogged over. "What a coincidence, Harry! Why do you look like this?"
Harry looked up and saw Hermione, then Reese, Cho, Anthony, and Draco walking up behind her. His expression shifted from bedraggled to embarrassed. "I was using Floo powder at the Weasleys' and mispronounced the name—" He paused, his voice dropping, "I ended up in Knockturn Alley. I just happened to run into Hagrid, and he brought me back."
Hagrid pulled a small bottle from his coat and handed it to Reese. The bottle was transparent, containing a gooey, green liquid that shimmered with an emerald luster in the sunlight. "Kelpie mucus." Hagrid's voice was booming; after people nearby glanced at him, he lowered it slightly. "I found it while I was in Knockturn Alley; I thought you might be interested."
Reese took the bottle and held it up to the light. The mucus flowed slowly against the glass, leaving a thin green trail like a snail's trail but colored.
"Thank you, Hagrid, this is a huge help." He carefully tucked the bottle into his pocket. "In the future, if you have any magical creature materials, send them all to the Black shop in Knockturn Alley. They buy directly and will give you a fair price. It's better than selling them shop-to-shop in Knockturn Alley where others will try to lowball you."
Hagrid nodded cheerfully. "Alright, that'll save me some trouble then."
Harry stood next to Hagrid, his gaze moving back and forth between Reese and Draco several times. His lips moved, closed, and then moved again. That hesitant look was as if he had words stuck in his throat that he couldn't swallow or spit out.
Draco frowned. "Scarhead, if you have something to say, just say it. Why are you hesitating?"
Harry took a deep breath. "Reese, Draco—do you have house-elves at your houses? Do they ever go out on their own?"
Reese's fingers twitched slightly. He glanced at Draco, whose expression shifted from a frown to 'what kind of nonsense are you asking.'
Reese spoke first, his voice flat, but his pace a bit faster than usual. "Yes. But house-elves are not allowed to go out without their master's permission." He paused, "Besides—yesterday was my birthday, and everyone was there." He said the words 'everyone was there' with a balanced weight, neither emphasizing them nor glossing over them. Harry's gaze rested on his face for a moment, then moved to Draco's, and then back again.
Reese didn't specify who 'everyone' was. Harry would likely interpret it as 'we were all at Star-Swirl Manoryesterday'—which was true, but not the whole truth. He didn't mention the House-elf from Malfoy Manor, nor any details that might lead Harry to associate 'there was a House-elf present.' He wanted things to develop normally—Dobby should still go find Harry, still warn him not to return to Hogwarts, still try to intercept letters, seal the platform, and cause accidents on the Quidditch Pitch. Those things would happen because that was Dobby's choice. But Reese didn't want Draco to know in advance.
He needed Draco to experience those things—to experience Dobby's betrayal, the impact of 'I thought it was loyal but it chose freedom.' Reese wanted Draco to grow. If Draco were forever protected within the perception that 'house-elves should be loyal,' he would never think about 'why it would betray.'
A flash of disappointment crossed Harry's eyes. It was so faint that one wouldn't notice it without looking closely. Harry thought of his own birthday on July 31st, the same day as Reese's. But he had spent a terrible birthday at the Dursleys', and by the time Ron and the Weasley twins rescued him and brought him back to The Burrow, it was already evening. Harry had probably imagined what his birthday would be like if his parents were still alive. But imagination was just imagination. He withdrew his gaze and nodded.
"Alright then," he said softly.
Hagrid's massive hand patted Harry's shoulder, nearly knocking him over. "Let's go, I'll take you to find Ron and the others."
Harry followed Hagrid away. After a few steps, he looked back at Reese once more. Reese nodded to him. Harrynodded back and then disappeared into the crowd.
Hermione watched Harry's retreating back, looking thoughtful. "Why did he ask about house-elves?"
"He probably saw something in Knockturn Alley," Reese said. "There's everything in Knockturn Alley."
The group didn't ask further and continued toward Flourish and Blotts. The queue was still there, Lockhart was still signing, and the smiles were still flashing. Reese touched the bottle of Kelpie mucus in his pocket, then touched his other pocket—inside was the replica of the Snake Talisman. The second year hadn't started yet, but the story of the second year was already in motion. What he needed to do was keep it turning in the direction it should, but not so fast that he couldn't keep up.
Chapter 73: Night Talk
After purchasing all the items on the list, Cho, Hermione, and Anthony bid farewell to Rhys and Draco—Amber reluctantly poked her head out from the crook of Cho's neck, licking her earlobe with its flicking tongue and nuzzling her jaw, looking every bit the clingy pet that "didn't want to leave." Cho, helpless against its affection, had no choice but to carry the little snake over to Rhys and ask if she could take Amber with her and return her when school started. Looking at Amber's round red eyes and then at the subtle look of anticipation on Cho's face, Rhys nodded, stuck between laughter and tears, wondering just who this snake had recognized as its master. He told Cho, Hermione, and Anthony that he would bring the newly made robes with him when school started so they wouldn't have to worry about it, and the three of them finally waved goodbye.
Once the three figures disappeared into Diagon Alley, Rhys immediately grabbed Draco and ducked into the narrow-fronted second-hand bookstore in a side alley of Diagon Alley—Draco stumbled a step as he was pulled along, his mind full of confusion, but out of trust in Rhys's judgment, he asked nothing. He simply tightened his cloak collar and followed him through the creaking wooden door.
The bookstore was filled with a mixture of old parchment and musty smells; the bookshelves reached the ceiling, each level packed tight like rows of jagged teeth. Rhys went straight to the counter and described the notebook Draco had sold earlier to the shopkeeper, who wore half-moon glasses and had only a few wisps of white hair left on his head.
The shopkeeper flipped through the purchase records, his withered fingers tracing several lines along the yellowed pages. He then looked up and said the notebook had been bought by the Weasleys—their youngest daughter was starting Hogwarts this year, and while picking out old first-year textbooks, she had taken that one as well, saying the beautiful cursive signature on the flyleaf made it perfect for use as a notebook. Rhys nodded, thanked him, and pulled Draco out the door.
Draco raised an eyebrow, looking at Rhys with a "what on earth are you up to" expression, asking what was so worth investigating about a tattered old notebook.
Rhys kept his voice very low, saying that Uncle Luciuswouldn't be so careless as to let an ordinary item get mixed into a pile of Dark Arts objects. Since that notebook had been specifically singled out as "not a Dark Artsobject," it actually suggested there was something wrong with it—truly harmless things wouldn't have appeared in that shipment at all.
Draco's eyes went wide, his face turning pale for a moment. He stammered, asking what they should do now that the Weasleys had already bought it. Rhys patted his shoulder, his tone light, saying that perhaps he was just overthinking it and there was no need to be so nervous. Then, the two of them went to Madam Malkin's to find Aunt Lyra, who was discussing fabric patterns with Madam Malkin, and they all Apparated back to Star-Swirl Manortogether.
At night, Rhys lay in bed staring at the star map on the ceiling, mentally retracing the whereabouts of that diary—though the path was completely different from the original story, Ginny Weasley had ended up with Tom Riddle's diary after all. The main plot of the second year shouldn't deviate too much. Just as he was thinking about getting up for a drink of water, there was a knock at the door, three moderate raps.
He said "come in," and the person who pushed the door open was neither Bangbang nor Kreacher, but Draco, dressed in pajamas with his hair still half-wet—evidently, he had just finished bathing and had come over before even drying his hair properly.
Rhys was slightly startled, then smiled, asking Draco if he was perhaps afraid to sleep alone and had come looking for company.
Draco gave him a sharp, annoyed look, walked to the bedside, and sat down against the cushions. He pulled a corner of the quilt over his legs and remained silent for a long time before speaking, saying it wasn't fear, but that he felt his father was becoming stranger and stranger—so strange that he didn't want to be near Lucius. Hearing this, Rhys sat up straight and propped his pillow against the headboard, listening seriously—Draco rarely spoke in this tone, stripped of his usual deliberate arrogance and the sugary sweetness he used when acting spoiled before adults; he was just stating things flatly and slowly.
"I feel like he's afraid of something, and also like he's compromising with someone." Draco's gaze fell on the back of his hand resting on the quilt, his voice dropping lower. "Sometimes he stares blankly at a tattoo on his arm. I secretly asked Mother, but she wouldn't tell me—so I looked it up myself. That tattoo is called the Dark Mark; it's the sign of the Death Eaters, the mark of the Dark Lord's followers." He looked up at Rhys for a moment, then looked away. "The more I research, the more terrifying it feels. Setting aside what happened to your parents, just his hatred for half-blood and Muggle-born Wizards is something I can't understand—Hermione is different; she's smart, brave, and responsible. I can't compare to her. I don't think there's anything wrong with half-bloods or Muggle-borns. But my father is always at home calling those people 'mudbloods.' I used to think that too, but now I know better."
Rhys didn't rush to respond, simply listening quietly—what Draco needed wasn't an answer, but a place where he could say these things without being laughed at. "I want to persuade my father, but he never listens to me," Dracofinally said, his tone carrying a sense of helplessness rarely seen in him.
Rhys thought for a moment and said that this wasn't something that could be changed overnight unless Dracohad the ability to make Uncle Lucius take him seriously. And the most direct way to make an adult take you seriously wasn't through words, but through what you produced.
He asked Draco if he had tried starting with Aunt Narcissa, as a mother is usually very willing to listen to her son. Draco nodded, saying his mother would listen every time, but as soon as she spoke to his father, the two of them would start arguing again. Leaning against his pillow, Rhys's gaze fell on the star map on the ceiling, and he suddenly asked Draco if he remembered the chat board.
"I remember, that communication wood chip you made." Draco didn't know why he was suddenly bringing this up.
"I want to manufacture it—to optimize communication in the wizarding world." Rhys's speaking speed quickened slightly, carrying the specific excitement of a plan taking shape. "I learned many types of alchemical items from Master Nicolas. Before, the Black family business only supplied materials, and even Star-Swirl Brooms were sold on consignment in specialized broom shops; the family only had one small trading stall in Knockturn Alley. I've discussed it with my aunt, and she has already bought a new shop in Diagon Alley. Any alchemical items I research in the future will be sold exclusively there—the shop's operations will be handled by a professional manager, but what is sold, the pricing, and the direction of research will be entirely decided by me. My aunt said that besides the initial capital, I'm responsible for the profits and losses; she wants to train me."
Draco caught the meaning in his words, and his eyes gradually lit up.
"You come and help me directly—study Alchemy while making the Potions needed for alchemical items." Rhys reached out his hand, palm up. "Haven't your Potion Classgrades always been excellent? Potions are one of the foundations of Alchemy. You'll be responsible for preparing and optimizing Potion formulas, and I'll handle the engraving and formation designs. We can even invite Cho, Hermione, and Anthony; everyone can put their fun creations in the shop for sale—I want to make this shop famous in Diagon Alley." He paused, his lips curving upward. "This way, we can not only earn our own money but also make Uncle Lucius take you seriously—he's been graduated for so many years, yet you're starting your own business and participating in the wizarding world's commercial activities at only twelve. That's more persuasive than any verbal argument."
Draco looked at the outstretched hand, silent for two seconds, and then grasped it. Their hands met briefly in the candlelight, not heavy, but very steady—like two stars that hadn't yet grown up, promising to shine together.
The night breeze outside made the curtains billow slightly. Most of the lights in the garden had been extinguished, leaving only a few low lamps still lit, casting warm orange spots of light at the base of the rose bushes. Rhys let go and picked up the unfinished bottle of peach wine from the nightstand, pouring a glass for himself and Draco. The two of them leaned against the cushions and clinked glasses, the amber liquid shimmering in the candlelight, reflecting two faces that were still very young, but had already begun to think about the "future."
Chapter 74: Star Core
Time finally reached September 1st amidst a blend of anticipation and reluctance.
As Rhys and Draco pushed their loaded luggage carts through the invisible brick wall of Platform 9 3, thick steam was billowing from the bottom of the crimson Hogwarts Express, gathering into a shifting white mist above the platform.
Cho, Hermione, and Anthony had already arrived and were waving at them from a window in the middle of the train—Cho had her hair tied in a high ponytail today, revealing her slender neck, and a silver bracelet identical to Rhys's shimmered on her left wrist; Hermione was still holding her open copy of History of Magic, its pages rustling in the wind; and Anthony was clutching a stack of blank notebooks, likely preparing for the new semester's notes.
The five of them finally managed to find an empty compartment in the middle of the train. After stowing their luggage in the overhead racks, they practically collapsed into the soft leather seats at the same time. The train began to move slowly, the platform outside gradually receding as the waving crowds and steam blurred into a shifting mosaic of colors.
Rhys and Draco exchanged a look—a tacit understanding they had practiced many times during the final days of the holidays. Draco gave a slight nod, and Rhys cleared his throat, laying out the plan they had spent days refining at Star-Swirl Manor to the other three.
"Oh my, that sounds wonderful, but can we really do it?" Hermione's eyes lit up, but her brow furrowed at the same time—her signature expression when hearing a good idea, combining excitement with an instinctive need to question its feasibility.
"I don't think it'll be much of a problem," Anthony said, pushing up his glasses with a tone of rational analysis characteristic of a Ravenclaw. "We can make Alchemyitems according to our own ideas. Even if we can't produce a finished product, we can just work on specific components. That way, we learn and practice at the same time, and even if we fail, it's not a loss."
Cho leaned against the window, her finger absentmindedly tracing circles on the glass. "But we need to solve the problem of an experimental site—a fixed location is necessary for efficiency." As she finished, she noticed a meaningful curve at the corner of Rhys's mouth.
"Hogwarts has a place that's absolutely perfect," Rhys said, leaning back in his seat with a proud 'you'll never guess this' tone. "The Room of Requirement—located on the eighth floor of the Castle, specifically opposite the tapestry of 'Barnabas the Barmy' trying to teach Trolls to dance ballet. It can understand and satisfy the true needs of any seeker; as long as people truly need it, it will appear and provide all the necessary equipment and space."
Draco raised an eyebrow. Although he had spent a year at Hogwarts, he had never heard of this legendary room.
"Then that will be our R&D base," Anthony said, tearing a page from his notebook and already beginning to sketch out a plan. "I'll be responsible for the R&D logic and direction—Hermione, you'll be in charge of recording experimental data, product upgrade suggestions, and physical operations. Is that all right?" Hermione nodded, her fingers tapping lightly on her knee, clearly already listing experimental procedures in her head.
Draco leaned back and crossed his legs, stating that he would naturally be responsible for the Potion brewing. "Your Alchemy items will require quite a few Potionsolutions. Without high-quality reagents, no matter how well you engrave them, they won't activate."
Cho said she would handle the product design and packaging. She could work on the aesthetics of the Alchemy tools, making them both useful and beautiful.
Rhys finished by saying he would handle the core Alchemyproduction—the engraving, the drawing of arrays, and the final activation. He would take on these most delicate and dangerous parts.
After the five of them finished discussing their division of labor, they suddenly realized they were missing one thing—a name for the shop.
"We can't just call it the 'Alchemy Items Shop,' can we?" Cho tilted her head, her gaze lingering for a moment on the fields passing outside before returning to Rhys's face. "That would be quite tasteless."
They brainstormed several names. Some were too blunt ('Black magic Workshop'), some too ordinary ('Alchemyand Potion Union'), and some too nonsensical ('The Eagle, the Snake, and the Lion' was immediately vetoed by Draco). Suddenly, Cho looked at Rhys and said, "How about calling it the Star Core Workshop?"
The others paused, asking her if there was a specific meaning behind it.
Cho smiled and said that Rhys is called Polaris—the north star, which serves as both a guide for direction and the core of the Alchemy workshop. "So calling it 'Star Core' is both beautiful and meaningful. If you don't mind, I could also design the logo?" Her gaze rested on Rhys for a moment with a playful look that said 'you have to agree.'
Rhys nodded, rarely mimicking Draco's playful tone as he said, "Of course, my beautiful Miss Cho." Draco rolled his eyes nearby but didn't object—likely because Cho's aesthetic sense was indeed better than his.
Hermione raised her hand and quickly performed a task confirmation, as organized as if she were answering a Professor's question in class: "I'm in charge of experimental data, product optimization, and physical operations; Anthony handles R&D logic and direction; Draco handles Potion brewing; Cho handles design and packaging; and Rhys handles core Alchemy production—no objections?" No one had any objections.
The five of them stacked their hands together, exchanged a look, and said in unison, "For Star Core!" After saying it, they felt it was a bit too formal and couldn't help but laugh.
Rhys went to the trolley lady and bought a pile of snacks—fizzing whizbees, Chocolate Frogs, pumpkin pasties, Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, and several bottles of fruit juice, piling them on the compartment table like a small mountain. They discussed their plans for the new term while they ate. Anthony drew a rough timetable in his notebook, making a preliminary division for weekly training, homework, and workshop R&D time, while Hermioneconstantly made revisions, refining the schedule down to the precision of "two hours after class every Tuesday and Thursday."
Just as they were arguing heatedly over whether Wednesday night should be for Potions or Charms review, Draco suddenly pointed out the window, nearly spitting out his fizzing whizbee. In the sky outside, a dark shadow was wobbling through the air, rising and falling like a drunken tin bird. He rubbed his eyes and exclaimed, "Merlin's underpants, what on earth is that?" The other four pressed their faces against the window glass simultaneously.
Cho squinted for a good while before saying uncertainly that it looked like a car, "But how can it fly?"
Hermione's mouth formed an 'O' shape as she said it was indeed a car, wondering if the wizarding world had such advanced things as flying cars. Anthony shook his head repeatedly, pushing his glasses up as he explained that it couldn't be; it looked like an illegal modification—Wizards weren't supposed to use Muggle electronic products too much, let alone put a car in the sky. If the Ministry of Magiccaught them, it would be a huge problem.
Rhys looked at the pale blue Ford Anglia flickering in and out of the clouds, silently thinking to himself that things were progressing well—Harry and Ron had still managed to fly that car according to the original trajectory.
Hermione suddenly slapped her thigh and cried out that it was over, it was Harry and Ron—she had recognized the two blurry figures behind the car windows, one with messy Black hair and the other with conspicuous red hair.
"I feel like the House Cup will be out of reach for Gryffindor this year," she sighed, her tone filled with the helplessness of someone already worrying on their behalf.
Aside from Rhys, the others only then noticed that the two troublemaking Gryffindors were indeed in that car. Dracocuriously asked why they were driving a car instead of taking the train, but everyone shook their heads; no one could understand the logic behind such a move.
Since there were no Professors on the train, Hermione had to get up to find the Gryffindor Prefect to report the situation. When she returned, her expression was somewhere between "I've done my best" and "they're probably used to it anyway."
The train continued north, the scenery outside changing from city brick walls to rural fields, then from fields to rolling hills and silver-glinting lakes. As dusk began to creep up from the horizon, the train finally pulled slowly into the Hogwarts station.
Second-year students no longer needed to take boats across the lake. They followed the Prefect's guidance toward a long line of carriages waiting outside the platform, which moved on their own without horses.
Hermione curiously circled a carriage, touching the shaft of the vehicle, and asked what principle allowed the carriage to move by itself without a horse.
"It's not that there are no horses; Thestrals are pulling the carriages," Rhys said with a frown, looking at the skeletal, Black winged horses with dragon-like heads and bat wings—they stood quietly between the shafts, occasionally flicking their hairless tails.
He clearly hadn't witnessed death, so why could he see Thestrals?
[Have you forgotten how you came to this world?]
The System's voice suddenly rang in his mind, cold and carrying a matter-of-fact tone as if the answer were obvious.
Rhys was slightly stunned, then gave a bitter smile in his heart—it turned out that the moment he fell from the roof in his previous life counted as witnessing his own death.
The carriages stopped before the Castle gates. The five of them jumped down and followed the crowd through the Entrance Hall, up the marble staircase, and into the Great Hall, which was brightly lit by thousands of candles.
The Sorting ceremony was about to begin. Professor McGonagall lined up the first-year students at the front. That ragged Sorting Hat sat quietly on a four-legged stool, waiting to sing its song once more.
Rhys found a seat at the Ravenclaw table, with Cho and Anthony sitting on either side of him. Not long after they sat down, they saw the side door of the Great Hall creak open—Harry and Ron crept in, their hair as messy as wind-blown bird nests, their robes covered in dust and leaves, and their faces wearing expressions of 'we're late but we hope no one notices.' Unfortunately, their hopes were quickly dashed as Professor Snape drifted down from the staff table like a Black shadow, placing one hand on Harry's shoulder and the other on Ron's, wordlessly ushering them out of the Great Hall.
At the Slytherin table, Draco raised an eyebrow at Rhys, a hint of 'I knew this would happen' schadenfreude hanging on his lips.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione watched her two classmates being taken away from afar and let out a deep sigh—a sigh so long that even Neville, sitting next to her, couldn't help but look at her.
Rhys, Cho, and Anthony could only give Hermione a 'we can't help either' look from across the hall—the three Ravenclaws shrugged and spread their hands in a gesture so synchronized it looked rehearsed.
The Sorting Hat began to sing, and the first-years were called up one by one. The candles in the hall burned quietly under the starlight of the enchanted ceiling. The golden plates were not yet piled with food, but the air was already thick with the aroma of roast beef and pumpkin juice.
Rhys leaned against the table, his right hand absentmindedly touching the silver bracelet on his left wrist—the Jasmine patterns felt slightly raised under his fingertips, cool and quiet.
The new school year had begun, and the Star Core Workshop had begun as well. As for that diary, that Basilisk, and that young Dark Lord waiting to be reborn within the pages—those were matters for the future.
Chapter 75: The Howler and the Mandrake
Early the next morning, two figures who didn't belong to the Ravenclaw house appeared at their long table—Dracohad brought his plate over from Slytherin, and Hermionehad come around from the Gryffindor table. Dracosqueezed in next to Rhys and Cho, while Hermione and Anthony sat opposite the three of them.
Draco took a bite of toast, raised an eyebrow, and asked what on earth had happened with Potter and Weasley last night. "Our Head of House's expression was quite something. I've only seen that look once before, when he watched Goyle brew a cauldron of Potion into pitch."
Hermione shook her head, her tone carrying a sense of "I don't want to worry about them anymore but I have to say it" helplessness. She explained that the two of them had been blocked by the barrier at Platform 9 3 and missed the train. In their desperation, they flew Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia here—and were seen by at least seven or eight Muggles along the way. The Ministry of Magic already knew about it, and that was why Professor Snape had called them away last night. Furthermore, the car had crashed into the school's Whomping Willow. Fortunately, since term had only just begun, no points were deducted; otherwise, Gryffindor's hourglass would be missing a huge handful of gems.
Anthony nodded, saying it was good enough they hadn't been expelled. However, seeing Hermione's still-dejected expression, he asked what was bothering her. Hermionesighed, saying she was just pained by the potential loss of points. Even though they had gone through the business with the Philosopher's Stone together last term, she always felt like she didn't quite fit in with Harry and Ron.
"Our values are a bit different; perhaps there are different categories even within Gryffindor."
Draco nodded, saying it didn't matter since they weren't that close anyway—just nodding acquaintances would do. He took another bite of toast, his movements remaining elegant.
Rhys and Cho didn't join the conversation, the two of them sitting together and eating their breakfast slowly.
Amber hadn't seen Rhys for a long time; it crawled from Cho's neck to coil around Rhys's wrist, refusing to come down. Its triangular head rested on the back of his hand, red eyes half-closed, with an air of "I'm back, don't even think about driving me away." Fortunately, Corn snakes were beautiful and not dangerous—it was unknown where Dumbledore had found it, but the little thing didn't seem to grow much. Keeping it at Hogwarts wasn't a problem; Cho's roommates thought Amber was pretty and felt no fear. Moreover, Amber only liked staying near Rhys and Cho, rarely moving about and never approaching strangers.
The group was drinking pumpkin juice and planning to check out the actual location of the Room of Requirementon the eighth floor after class when a sudden loud bang erupted from the other end of the Great Hall. The vibration caused the pumpkin juice in the cup before Rhys to ripple several times.
Everyone looked up toward the Gryffindor table—a red envelope was floating in front of Ron Weasley. The envelope's mouth opened and closed as Mrs. Weasley's voice roared out, so loud that the candles in the Great Hallflickered slightly: "...stole the car! Your father was mortified when he got the letter, he's facing a Ministry inquiry..." After the Howler roared the last syllable, it burst into flames on its own, turning into a small pile of ash on Ron's unfinished bacon.
Draco rubbed his ears, noting that if he remembered correctly, Mr. Weasley worked in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office at the Ministry of Magic.
Anthony pushed up his glasses, remarking that this meant the car had violated the regulations of his own department.
Draco nodded, a subtle, amused smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Exactly. Facing an inquiry is a massive headache; just thinking about it is troublesome."
After receiving the new semester's schedule from Professor McGonagall, the second-years hurried to Greenhouse One.
Professor Sprout stood at the greenhouse entrance holding thick bandages—it seemed last night's Whomping Willow was badly injured, requiring significant effort even from the experienced Herbology Professor. Standing beside her was a man wearing bright blue robes, his blonde curls meticulously styled, smiling like a model in a toothpaste advertisement. It was Lockhart.
As soon as he saw the students approaching, he began to chatter incessantly: "Hello there! I was just demonstrating to your Professor Sprout how to treat a Whomping Willow—you know, I recorded the treatment for similar magical plants in detail in my book 'Wanderings with Werewolves'. Although that was a Werewolf bite, the principles are the same..."
Draco frowned and whispered, "Is he a chatterbox?"
Professor Sprout was clearly also bothered; she interrupted Lockhart expressionlessly, saying they would be in Greenhouse Three today. Her tone was completely different from her usual warm and cheerful state, sounding as if she were suppressing great impatience.
On the way to Greenhouse Three, Harry was called away by Lockhart again, but everyone else didn't pay much attention.
Today's lesson was repotting Mandrakes. Professor Sproutfirst explained the precautions, and Hermione raised her hand to answer about the Mandrake's habits and medicinal value, earning ten points for Gryffindor. Rhys added an explanation as to why repotting Mandrake roots before they were mature most easily caused deafness or even death—because the frequency of the cries emitted when the roots were not yet fully developed was the most unstable—earning ten points for Ravenclaw as well.
The four of them were assigned to the same group. Under Rhys's guidance—reminding them to "hold the stems steady and don't let the leaves touch your ears"—Hermione, Anthony, and Draco coordinated with great rapport. Their repotting was both fast and precise. When Professor Sprout came over to inspect, she satisfiedly awarded each of them another five points. The Herbology Class ended on this productive note.
In the following Transfiguration Class, Professor McGonagall required everyone to turn beetles into buttons.
Rhys was again the first to finish—his button was silver with fine threading, as exquisite as a finished product bought from a shop. Professor McGonagall studied it for two seconds and gave him ten points.
Afterward, the Ravenclaw students naturally gathered around Rhys just as they had last term, listening to him break down the mental focus points and the angle of the wrist flick when casting the spell. Hermione stood nearby listening intently, occasionally chiming in with a supplement—she was already strong in Transfiguration, but Rhys's techniques always allowed her to find areas where she could further refine her skills.
Anthony and Draco were off to the side correcting each other's button shapes; one was too bulbous, the other too flat. Their buttons put together actually complemented each other quite well.
At lunch, they finally saw Cho, the third-year who had just finished her classes. She sat down next to Rhys with her tray, and Amber immediately crawled from Rhys's collar to coil around her wrist, closing its eyes contentedly.
Draco asked what the afternoon class was while quickly putting food into his mouth—though his movements were still somewhat elegant, as Malfoy family table manners were etched into his bones from childhood.
"Defense Against the Dark Arts Class," Hermione said, glancing at her schedule.
Anthony pushed up his glasses and said they would finally get to see the level of this famous author.
Rhys didn't say much, concentrating on eating the steak and potatoes Cho had cut for him. He also occasionally used a small spoon to scoop a bit of egg for Amber. The little snake opened its mouth as wide as possible, swallowed it in one gulp, its neck bulging as the food slowly slid down.
The four of them made an appointment with Cho to meet opposite the tapestry on the eighth floor after classes ended, and then they settled into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
The classroom decorations were much flashier than they had been during Professor Quirrell's time last year—the walls were covered with Lockhart's signed photos and promotional posters. Every single one featured his beaming face, his golden curls forever fluttering in the wind in the magical photographs, his teeth shining white. The students were nearly blinded by the photos as they walked in.
Rhys picked a seat toward the back, with Draco sitting on his left, Anthony on his right, and Hermione next to Anthony. The four of them waited quietly to see what this new Professor could actually teach.