A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 174 Harry's Strangeness

In the noisy auditorium, bewildered faces occasionally glanced at the solemn-looking professors by the door. After realizing they couldn't remember what had just happened, the students sat anxiously around the long table, whispering among themselves.

It seemed something very serious had happened, but they were unaware of it. This feeling of being in a state of amnesia made it difficult to distinguish between reality and illusion, and many people began to wonder if they were dreaming.

Several older students who were not under control turned pale. Everything that had happened before seemed like a bizarre and absurd nightmare, making them tremble with fear.

They whispered the bizarre events to their friends, and in the blink of an eye, a large group of people gathered around them, eavesdropping. Some were so frightened that they quickly shut up, afraid that the eavesdroppers would tear them apart if they went crazy again; others raised their voices loudly, only to find that most of the listeners looked at them with disbelief, as if they were looking at a braggart, making them want to flip the table in anger.

Irving sat upright in his chair, his fingers lightly tapping the table, his thoughtful yet slightly playful gaze sweeping over each face.

Nyx was startled and, unusually, nestled obediently in Owen's arms, nuzzling her head against his robes, her warm body like a small furnace. Melete angrily circled around Owen's feet, her golden eyes glaring fiercely at the one who had taken over Owen's embrace.

"Ouch! Which bastard scratched my hand! The opportunist, come out here if you dare, I want to duel him!" Draco grimaced, clutching his right hand, his eyes slightly red. But in front of his friends, he had to keep a straight face.

Melete glanced at him furtively, then casually looked away. Although there was a reason for her swipe, she still felt quite guilty. As a magical creature, she didn't hold back with her claw strike, unleashed in her frenzy and shock. Draco's hand was left with a gaping wound that looked incredibly painful.

Owen glanced sideways at the cat-like creature rubbing against his ankle affectionately, shook his head with a smile, and then treated Draco. He tapped Draco's paw with his wand, first removing the faint magic hindering the wound's healing, then casting a healing spell. The wound healed rapidly, leaving only a few shallow scars.

During this process, Draco turned his face to the side, wincing in pain, like a child afraid of getting a shot.

After Owen finished his treatment, Pansy tenderly held Draco's hand and carefully wrapped it with bandages, even tying a neat bow at the end. Draco's face flushed red, whether from embarrassment or anger, it was hard to tell.

"So, who knows what exactly happened?" Daphne rubbed her sore arms, a faint worry appearing on her bright and gentle face.

"I just want to know, which idiot tied me up..." Blaise looked up at the sky, utterly dejected. He wanted to ask that guy in a friendly and amicable way why his face was pressed against Goyle's butt!

"Who else could it be but Professor Snape?" Owen said with a grin. "Are you implying the Dean is an idiot?"

"No, it's adorable." Blaise rolled his eyes.

Daphne coughed softly, covering her mouth, and looked at Harry, who had remained silent, suppressing a laugh. Always perceptive, she asked with concern, "Harry, are you alright?"

Harry hadn't said a word since the chaos ended, always looking deep in thought, just as Professor Snape had mocked, as if he were contemplating some important life matter.

"It's nothing." Harry thought for a moment, then added, "I'm fine."

"Clearly, they're hiding something..." Owen said quietly, munching on a piece of beef jerky. He had already considered all the possible scenarios Harry might encounter. The worst possibility was that he would be controlled or possessed by Voldemort. Although that would be more difficult, it wasn't without ways to deal with it.

Anyway, Tom's diary is already lost, and Voldemort is about to discover that he was the attacker, so it doesn't matter if something happens to Harry. The situation has already deteriorated to this extent, so many lice won't bother you anymore.

"What happened to you?" Daphne asked Harry. Draco leaned closer to listen.

"None of us remember what happened just now." Harry shook his head helplessly, raised his right hand and pressed it against the scar on his forehead. "But ever since I regained consciousness, my scar has been hurting..." As if it had been branded with a hot iron, the scar seemed to be throbbing and twitching with pain.

"Has it... hurt before?" Daphne sat up straight.

"It happened once when I was in first year, and it also hurt when Ron attacked me before," Harry said after thinking for a moment. He felt that the pain from his scars was related to Voldemort.

“Your situation is unprecedented. I don’t know if it’s normal for magical scars to start hurting again,” Daphne said thoughtfully, resting her chin on her hand. “I think you’d better ask Mr. Dumbledore. This may not be a trivial matter.”

"This might be a bad sign..." Draco became serious, suppressing his exaggerated expressions of pain.

"It could also be a sign of a health problem," Owen said gravely and solemnly. "For example, the curse you were under years ago might finally be showing its terrible effects..."

As the group of people chattered on, their opinions growing increasingly serious, Harry's shoulders trembled, and he seemed somewhat at a loss. He felt that everyone was looking at him with worry and pity, as if he were about to die on the spot.

"Hey, you can think of it simply. Maybe someone just flicked you on the head while you weren't fully conscious?" Blaise casually put his arm around Harry's shoulder. "Or maybe someone kicked you or something."

Harry gave him a forced smile, then his eyes glazed over, and he once again adopted that absent-minded look.

Irving observed him thoughtfully for a moment, then heard the professors' hurried footsteps behind him, and Professor McGonagall's angry and dissatisfied whisper: "Dumbledore isn't here... Is he really going to just abandon everything?"

The noisy discussions in the auditorium subsided. Professor McGonagall, her face tense and lips pressed tightly together, briefly explained what had just happened, characterizing the chaos as a serious case of emotional contagion.

"It turns out that the contagious nature of emotions is escalating, and we will now do everything we can to find its source," Professor McGonagall announced. "If anyone has any relevant clues..." Her eyes swept sternly across the faces of the students, "please report them to the deans of your respective colleges immediately to prevent irreparable danger."

Owen nodded. Now that he had discovered Voldemort's ability to spread emotions, he had to take it seriously and find a way to solve this interesting problem.

"Today's duels are temporarily suspended, and the remaining matches will be postponed until next weekend." Professor McGonagall paused for a moment, "If they can continue..."

Next, the heads of the houses escorted the anxious students back to the common room. After Professor Snape quickly left, the Slytherin common room erupted in chaos, like a glass of cold water being poured over a boiling oil pan; people expressed their opinions and argued endlessly.

"I'll write to my father, and you can all pray he'll send someone to find the culprit soon..." Draco said arrogantly, chin held high, to a group of classmates. After the students around him dispersed, he lowered his voice and said to his friends, "To be honest, Hogwarts really can't be stayed here anymore..."

Irving calmly scribbled on the parchment, his movements elegant and leisurely, unmoved by the surrounding noise, like a reef standing quietly amidst a raging tsunami, inspiring tranquility. He occasionally glanced at Ginny Weasley out of the corner of his eye; she was anxiously biting her lip, having her friend bandage her blistered right hand.

"Bubble... Could it be that she encountered Harry while she was possessed by Voldemort?" Owen narrowed his eyes thoughtfully.

By the time he finished all his weekend homework, it was already evening. The students, exhausted from their noise, finally fell silent, and the lounge returned to quiet.

Harry, who had gone back to his dorm and taken a nap, came out hungry. He sat listlessly in the armchair next to Owen, looking at Owen with a hesitant expression, his heart in turmoil.

"What's wrong?" Owen drew his wand and twirled it in various ways on the back of his right hand, his movements fluid and amusing. He couldn't help but be wary of Harry in his current state.

"Owen, I think I'm really... not right." Harry was silent for a long time before speaking in a hoarse voice. His face was extremely pale, as if he had just recovered from a serious illness.

"Oh?" Irving glanced at him. "Does the scar still hurt?"

"Ugh, it still hurts," Harry said, "but that's not the most important thing..." His expression hardened again, and he rubbed his hands together anxiously.

"Then what's the most important thing?" Irving raised his eyebrows.

"I...I..." Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't get the words out. His pupils trembled violently, and a rare look of fear and vulnerability appeared on his face, making his panic palpable.

"If you don't want to talk about it now, you can think about it for a while," Owen said understandingly. Actually, he was quite curious about what kind of trouble this guy had gotten himself into.

Harry pursed his lips in distress, then suddenly clenched his fist and slammed it hard on the table. He slumped into his armchair in a fit of self-pity, saying in a light, airy voice, "I don't remember what happened after I was overwhelmed by my emotions. When I came to my senses, I felt like everything and everyone around me was unreal, and I kept seeing blurry hallucinations..."

"Is that why you've become such a goofball?" Irving joked.

Harry grinned, forcing an awkward smile. "While I was sleeping, I had a lot of...dreams. Some really scary dreams. When I woke up, I found myself..."

He said with difficulty, "I've suddenly discovered that I have some terrible memories, and I've also learned some things..."

After saying that, he seemed to have unloaded a heavy burden, and his speech became smoother: "In those memories, I killed many people and did many bad things... Although they were just messy fragments of memories, very disjointed, I saw a group of hooded black wizards, I saw many people screaming in pain because of me, I saw... I killed my parents..."

Harry's face turned even paler, but his eyes widened in despair: "In those fragments of memory, I am Voldemort!"

Irving rested his chin on his hand, his fingers lightly tracing his lips, his eyes gleaming with intense curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. This situation... is quite interesting.

"I felt like I'd transformed into a hideous monster, or like another person had awakened inside me," Harry said through gritted teeth. "I suddenly understood some magic, some terrible, cruel magic. Most of it was incomplete, but... very dark, very evil..."

He carefully observed Owen's expression, then fell silent with great unease. He clearly saw a fleeting glint of eagerness and longing flash in Owen's eyes when he spoke those words, a look that, though brief, sent a chill down his spine.

Is Irving craving cruel magic? How could that be? Why would I think that?

Looking at Owen's calm gaze and composed smile, Harry had a strange feeling, as if that pale, delicate face might shatter into pieces at any moment.

"Go on," Owen urged, his gaze deep and his smile widening. He seemed to have terrified the innocent savior.

Harry shifted uncomfortably, a strange feeling lingering in his mind. Resigned, he continued, "Owen, do you think I'm a monster? What's my connection to Voldemort? My parents…" A wave of overwhelming fear washed over him, making his expression grim. His parents…who killed them?

"Who am I?" Harry was caught in a deep doubt about life and the world, and his whole being exuded an aura of despair.

Seeing the young wizard nearly scare himself to death, Owen chuckled and said leisurely, "I think you're overthinking it. I believe it's more likely that when Voldemort went to kill you but was killed instead, the two of you established some kind of strange connection. Perhaps it was through this scar..."

"Really? That's good..." Harry felt a little relieved. He had decided to tell the truth, seemingly just to get that one comforting word, hoping someone would tell him—he wasn't a monster.

"Of course, I was just guessing," Owen said suddenly, his tone turning malicious.

Harry stared at him blankly, looking like he was about to cry.

"Why don't you talk to the others?" Owen pointed to Draco and the others.

Harry instinctively shook his head violently; he didn't want to tell them. He was afraid they would fear him, loathe him, and distance themselves from him—this wasn't wishful thinking, but a very real possibility… Who would want to be close to a dangerous freak?

"Then why did you tell me?" Owen gently stroked the hard wooden tabletop. "Special treatment?"

Harry blinked and said with an innocent look, "Because you know too much." So it doesn't matter if you know a little more.

"The way you said that makes me feel like you're about to kill someone to silence them," Owen said, pinching the rapidly spinning wand between two fingers and pursing his lips in annoyance.

Harry laughed genuinely, suddenly feeling truly lighthearted, perhaps because he couldn't find a trace of rejection in Owen's eyes. Perhaps he chose to confide in Owen because he believed Owen wouldn't hate or fear him because of it.

Owen glanced at him as if sensing something, then pulled a blank notebook from his bag and tossed it to him: "Write down the magic you suddenly understand. Knowing yourself and your enemy is the key to victory. Only by thoroughly studying the enemy's magic can you launch a targeted counterattack."

Harry took the notebook without thinking and stared blankly at Owen, whose expression remained perfectly natural. Did he really want all that magic just to study how to defend and counterattack?

"Okay." He nodded without hesitation. Since he had chosen to believe in Irving, he would continue to believe in him.

"You're going to see Dumbledore tonight, aren't you?" Owen looked away. "Remember to tell him the truth about your situation. I think only Dumbledore can make an accurate judgment and help you solve this problem."

"I will," Harry said. He found himself less afraid to tell Dumbledore now.

"Oh, right, there's one more thing." Owen stroked his chin, still pondering when Voldemort had discovered the diary on him. "Have you told anyone outside the study group about the diaphragm and the diary?"

"Of course not." Harry shook his head without hesitation.

"Have you discussed this with anyone recently?" Irving asked again.

"...No. The last time was before the Christmas dinner, when I discussed the diary with Draco," Harry said after a moment's thought.

"Who else was around you at the time?" Irving pressed.

"Huh?" Harry looked blank for a moment, then frowned and thought for a while before saying, "That's in the common room, right there. Blaise is sitting here, and in front of him are Ginny and her friends... They're not far from us, but not exactly close either."

He suddenly realized: "You mean someone might have overheard our conversation? But we were speaking very quietly. You know, the diary thing is a secret between us and Draco."

"Yeah, you're going to be late," Owen said lazily.

Harry temporarily put the matter out of his mind, looked at him and said, "Owen, stop sleeping all the time, you'll become a little fatso." After saying that, he ran off and disappeared.

"Still quite lively, looks like there's nothing seriously wrong..." Owen lazily rubbed the back of his head. Melete, whose tail had been pecked by Nyx, flew over with tears in her eyes and slammed hard into Owen's stomach.

"Pfft—" Irving spat out his drink.

(End of this chapter)