The Silent Bookstore Manager at Hogwarts

"What is that?"

Harry looked at the four stained-glass windows inside the treatment room and asked, each window depicting a different thing. The one that attracted Harry's attention the most was undoubtedly the one in the middle, where a group of people were dancing around a heart.

"These are all silhouettes of Si Chen, or rather, a fantastical summary of Si Chen's image. We are like blind men touching an elephant, relying entirely on our own impressions to depict Si Chen's image on various media."

Looking at the stained glass windows, Red realized that Harry didn't seem to be able to do much work today, so Red didn't intend to push him any further and started telling him stories after class.

"The stained-glass window you see records the celestial being called the 'Skin of Thunder.' In reality, He is a celestial being who was elevated from a mortal, in charge of heartbeats, dances, storms... and is also the maintainer of the skin of the world we live in."

Red looked at Thunder Skin; at least this person was indeed diligently maintaining the safety of the Noon World, so he still had great respect for Thunder Skin.

"The skin of thunder possesses inexhaustible and vigorous vitality. The power used in most of the [Preservation] techniques is related to this Sichen. In fact, people usually invoke His power to heal wounds and diseases, resist curses, and even drive away worms."

Red looked at the heart surrounded by dancing figures in the painting, thought for a moment, and then spoke again.

"In fact, the most direct manifestation of His power is gales, storms, and thunder, so I can tell you that the [Preservation] spell also has quite a few destructive spells."

Harry nodded, seemingly understanding. The ward looked much like a regular hospital room, with a few iron bunk beds and a warm fireplace. In fact, Red hadn't gone outside to replenish the wood, but the fireplace seemed to burn endlessly.

"It's fine if you want to sleep here tonight. This room is at least a bit warmer than Solomon's bedroom. Oh, by the way, don't touch these bottles here. They're strong liquor. If you drink them, you'll definitely miss class tomorrow."

Reid pointed to the small dark bottles next to the coffees. In fact, the Silent Bookstore was full of such treasures displayed casually. The production process and techniques of those spirits would be priceless if they were sold elsewhere.

Harry carefully looked at the small bottles, gently placed them in the center of the table, and then decided to go back to his Gryffindor dormitory to sleep; he was indeed exhausted.

The approaching date of the Quidditch match undoubtedly exacerbated Wood's anxiety as captain of Gryffindor, which manifested in his behavior as extra practice and endless extra practice. Ron's two older brothers, the troublemaker George and Fred, were so exhausted that they barely had the energy to speak. They had begun to strongly urge Wood to stop this endless extra practice, lest they die of exhaustion in the training ground before the match against Slytherin even began.

"So your Quidditch team got a day off today? That's great..." Reid stroked his chin, sitting at his desk looking at "Night Wanderings, Volume Two" in his hands.

This book was of great significance to him, after all, the great techniques it contained were already exceptionally useful in the game, and would probably be even more powerful in real life.

"Liberal artist. I can see you."

The man who had been silent and made Harry uneasy spoke such strange words. In fact, Harry was startled when he heard the visitor had arrived, and seeing this tall man in black only amplified his unease.

"Hello, Mr. Zachary Wakefield, right? You're here about the worms too, aren't you?"

Zachary nodded. He looked at the two children, who were only eleven years old, without any contempt. He simply lowered his head and spoke.

"Hobson. He used to be my friend (and maybe he is now). I need to know what I should do."

Zachary Wakefield: Sharpshooter, detective, traitor. He's always been a man of few words, but since leaving the Anti-Corruption Bureau, he's become even more silent, eerily quiet—except for his ever-watchful eyes and taut fingers. (Events related to [Winter] or [Revelation] will attract his attention.)

Harry looked at the tall, silent man in front of him. He even felt that this man was more gloomy than Snape in terms of his aura, or rather, not gloomy, but deathly still, as if he were covered by ice and snow.

"I've never heard of anyone being able to live peacefully with the worms inside their body, but just as no one could have imagined the world would turn out this way. Before you try to figure out what you should do, I think you should first clarify your own stance: what do you want to do for Mr. Hobson?"

Zachary paused for a moment, then nodded and sat down silently in his chair to think.

"By the way, if you have time, could you teach me Nightstalker? I don't need to be an expert, just teach me the basics."

Zachary clearly hadn't expected the administrator to want to use this as a substitute for the consultation fee. However, teaching and learning a language is inherently a very complex matter, and he couldn't say for sure that he would succeed. He could only say that he would do his best.

In fact, Harry had no idea what the so-called Nightshade language was. When Madam Sunstrider taught him Ramsander last time, he only understood a little bit, and could hardly be considered to have learned it. He could only barely understand some of the words. The characters that jumped around like chicken claws made his head hurt.

[Night Spirit Language LV1]: If there are words in the ethereal realm; if there is a language spoken by the dead; if the moon's dwelling has its mother tongue; then it must be the language of the Night Spirit. Even if none of this is real, it is still not a language that can be spoken in the sunlight. Every word speaks of sorrow. As it says, read it, and then weep. (Aspect: 2 Winter, 1 Month)

[Moon]: Secret and gentle, especially so in the night; the sea whispers. But listening is not always wise. [Those who walk in the night, the forgotten.]

Night Soul Language is a weaving language, a language woven from threads and corners, which often makes people wonder if it can really be considered a language.

That's what Harry thought. He even suspected there was something wrong with his brain, otherwise how could he possibly see the difference among a bunch of lines and angles that looked exactly the same?

"It's alright, there's no rush to learn these powerful languages, since you won't need them most of the time."

Reid's words made Harry feel a little better.