A certain Hogwarts professor of runes.

"The second type is similar to an honesty detector, which can detect hidden spells on a wizard."

"The third type targets dark magic. My method can detect seventeen types of particularly vile dark magic, including the Unforgivable Curse."

He unleashed a heavy black light, and the spy scope immediately emitted a sharp alarm.

The young wizards below the stage stared at Felix in utter silence, the black light seemingly capable of blocking out any other light. But he continued speaking with an unperturbed expression.

"The fourth type is for specific spells, essentially a derivative of the third type of spying, but with a more flexible application. The one in front of me is for the disarming spell. Anyone want to try it?"

Felix pointed to a gray scope the size of a walnut and asked.

All eyes turned to Harry, who, according to recent rumors, single-handedly killed a group of Dementors using a Disarming Charm.

Draco didn't believe this story at all. He firmly believed that all the versions that had appeared were fake, stripping away all the embellishments: Potter encountered a Dementor and then fainted. That was the truth.

So he mouthed "Dementor" to Harry.

Harry was a little nervous and excited. He looked at Draco defiantly, casually waved his wand, and silently, an arc of red light swept past the Slytherin students' seats.

Throughout the entire process, he paid no attention to his own incantation, but instead stared at Draco.

To Harry's delight, his face turned pale.

As Harry cast the spell, the grey peephole in mid-air began to spin rapidly, flashing red light and emitting a buzzing sound.

Felix explained, "You see, this is what a spyglass for specific spells looks like. It doesn't seem very useful, but if you put a spyglass in a room that targets regular 'unlocking spells,' it might have a surprising effect."

"You should know that ordinary spyglasses can be blocked. You never know if the person standing outside your room is a prepared dark wizard."

"The fifth type targets specific bloodlines. You just need to know about it; I won't go into detail."

"The sixth method is for specific individuals. The principle is very simple: you only need a tuft of the other person's hair, like a compound decoction..."

"And the last one is for specific feelings. Here I'm talking about the 'joy' peephole, isn't that interesting? If you're going to tell a joke, it will help you understand the true emotions of your audience."

Anyone want to give it a try?

Chapter 190 Hair

Hermione was still hesitating when Harry shakily raised his hand.

“Very good, Potter. Regardless of success, ten points for your courage.” Felix nodded in satisfaction. He looked at the others: “He needs an assistant to help him think of something happy through words. Are there any volunteers?”

Quite a few people in Gryffindor raised their hands.

But Draco also raised his left hand: "Oh, Professor, I'm willing to try. Potter, I have something to say to you, you're not afraid, are you?"

Harry said without fear, "You're the one, Malfoy."

The two stood facing each other.

“I dare say my words will make you cry, Potter,” Draco chuckled softly, his voice deliberately low.

Harry stared at his platinum blonde hair and said, "You can try it."

Draco squinted his light-colored eyes: "You should have heard of Sirius Black, right?"

"So what if it is?"

"Heh, Potter, if I were you, I would absolutely seek revenge no matter what..."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. He knew! He knew Sirius Black was his father's best friend! But why did he use the word 'revenge'? Something suddenly occurred to him, and his stomach churned.

But he said 'calmly', "What do you want to say?"

“Oh, Potter!” Draco grinned, his eyes gleaming with malice. “You don’t know how your parents died, do you? How pathetic, surrounded by lies.”

“I know,” Harry said suddenly.

"What?"

“I know everything. Black is a Death Eater. He sided with Voldemort, a wise choice... just like your father did.” Harry suppressed the terrible thoughts rising in his mind. His task now was to fight back, and he absolutely must not show any cowardice in front of the enemy.

“What did you say?” Draco whispered.

Harry said expressionlessly, "You know what I mean, you fence-sitters. Everyone knows what kind of people you are, right?"

Draco's pale face flushed with anger. "How dare you! Potter..."

“What’s there to be afraid of?” Harry grinned gleefully. He was overwhelmed by a sudden surge of suppressed emotions and needed to find an outlet, or he would scream and yell without restraint.

He leaned close to Draco, so close that Harry could see his flared nostrils, and whispered, "Malfoy, your whole family are Voldemort's lackeys, worse than any pure-blood family with any backbone. You think you're something to be proud of? You're wrong! The shame of the Malfoy name will stay with you for the rest of your life!"

"You, you..." Draco's mind was in chaos. He shouted back, "My family is not Mystic's lackey!"

Everyone stared at him in surprise; they had only heard the two of them whispering to each other.

But at least they heard that sentence clearly.

“Really? Shout Voldemort and let me hear you.” Harry raised his voice so everyone could hear him.

The entire classroom fell silent, a deathly silence.

Felix waved his wand, separating the two slightly. "Alright, test over. Potter, Malfoy, return to your seats."

The others looked at the golden viewing mirror above the table, which was gleaming brightly.

Amid Ron's excited shouts of "Well done, Harry!", Harry sat down again, now able to ponder the fleeting thought that had crossed his mind.

Revenge, revenge, what counts as revenge?

Unless Sirius Black did something to wrong him first.

The only information he had received from Hermione was that Black and his father were good friends in school and had broken many school rules together. He, Hermione, and Ron speculated that their relationship had completely broken down after Black joined the Death Eaters, turning them into enemies.

Black's escape from prison to hunt him down was also to restore his master Voldemort's power, just like Professor Quirrell in the first year; there was no personal grudge involved.

But Harry realized he was wrong, terribly wrong.

From Mr. Weasley's attitude to Malfoy's mention of 'revenge,' he suddenly had an incredible idea.

Harry left get out of class in a daze, and even when Professor Hyp let everyone come forward to choose their favorite magical puppet, he just picked one randomly.

Hermione was happily hugging a puppet with ice-blue hair when she saw the expression on Harry's face. "What's wrong, Harry?"

"It's nothing." He stumbled away, and Ron called out, "Where are you going? We should go to the auditorium for dinner." But he paid no attention, carrying his backpack in one hand and the black-haired puppet in the other, and went straight back to his dormitory.

The dormitory was empty. He opened the box under the bed and pulled aside the clothes piled on top until he saw a leather-bound magic photo album—a gift from Hagrid two years ago, which he would look at from time to time.

Harry eagerly flipped through the pages, the first page, the second page, and then his breath caught in his throat.

His gaze lingered on the photo from his parents' wedding day. His father was smiling and waving at him, and his mother's face was radiant with happiness as they walked hand in hand.

Beside his father stood a handsome, smiling man with dark hair. His face wasn't sunken from his time in prison, and his hair wasn't tangled, but Harry recognized him immediately—

Sirius Black!

Harry felt a wave of dizziness, and his heart pounded. His stomach churned, even more intensely than after Professor Hyp's stern training, but then a surge of powerful emotion welled up within him.

The thought of revenge kept gnawing at his heart, and he grabbed the magic wand beside him and gripped it tightly.

'Maybe I should leave Hogwarts, find that person, and then... kill him!'

But this thought was interrupted. "Harry!" Ron and Hermione walked into the dormitory and looked at him with concern.

Harry's tense heart relaxed, and he let out a deep breath.

……

Later that day, Felix planned to visit Hagrid. During his adventure in the Forbidden Forest last year, he had seen many magical creatures, which he might recommend to Hagrid.

For example, a baby unicorn, or a silly-looking flower fairy.

But a phoenix with magnificent plumage appeared before him, and he looked at it in surprise: "Fox? Is Dumbledore looking for me?"

The phoenix nodded and landed on Felix's shoulder. After a dizzying moment, he appeared in the principal's office.

Dumbledore sat behind a long-legged table, dressed formally, as if preparing to go out or had just returned from outside. His expression was serious until he saw Felix, at which point he smiled.

"Felix, please forgive me for calling you over so late."

"Is there something you need, Dumbledore?"

"I heard about the seven types of spyglasses you introduced in class... one of them can specifically detect certain people?"

“That’s right, but we need that person’s hair, or some kind of body tissue,” Felix replied, also pondering Dumbledore’s intentions.

“Just what you need.” Dumbledore lifted a red cloth, revealing a few strands of black hair lying on it.

“This is…” Felix already had a guess.

“Sirius Black’s hair,” Dumbledore said in a low voice, his eyes lowered.

Chapter 191 Buckbeak

Felix leaned closer to examine the black hair on the red cloth. "Is that all?"

“Unfortunately, that’s all we found in Azkaban,” Dumbledore said.

“Hmm,” Felix nodded, then thought for a moment and said, “I can’t guarantee the number of endoscopes… One, no problem! Two, a bit of a stretch, three, that’s just a matter of luck.”

Dumbledore smiled and said, "This has exceeded my expectations. I originally thought I could only make a spyglass."

After leaving his office, Felix glanced at the sky; it wasn't too late. He walked out of the castle and headed straight for Hagrid's cottage along a path.

He smelled the fragrance of trees, and the grass was damp from the earlier rain. Soon, the outline of the house became clear.

"Yaya, stop fooling around."

Felix said to the black hound that pounced on him. It seemed to want to cling to him, but he couldn't reach it because of the air between them. He didn't want it to leave muddy paws on him.

Felix took a warm beef pie from a special compartment in the ring and tossed it to Tooth.

Ya Ya caught it in her mouth and wagged her tail happily at him.

Felix knocked on the door. "Hagrid, it's me, Felix."

A sound that seemed like a sob came from inside—

"Come in, the door's unlocked!"

He pushed open the door and was startled by what he saw inside: the small room was crammed full, and Hagrid was sitting on the soft bed, desperately chugging a large barrel of liquor, his eyes red and swollen, blurry with tears.

At his feet lay a hippogriff, with a bronze basin in front of it filled with raw, bloody flesh. Juice dripped from its mouth onto the floor. Hearing Felix's movement, it jerked its head up and stared at him warily.