HP: Azkaban's Outstanding Graduate

Harry touched the lightning bolt-shaped scar in confusion: "It's...it's from Voldemort, Professor."

He paused, then added with a hint of uncertainty, "Well... of course, I heard it from others, that's what they all say."

Sagrass nodded slightly, looking calmly at Harry: "Do you know? Twelve years ago, on that fateful night, when Voldemort's power crumbled within you... a fragment of his soul was torn off and accidentally attached itself to you."

He paused, seemingly considering his words, "I personally believe that this was just an extremely unfortunate coincidence, and certainly not his intention."

Harry froze, took a half step back, and stared wide-eyed at the spot.

That's it!

In an instant, countless fragmented clues sprang together wildly in his mind: the excruciating burning pain of the scar when he was near Voldemort… the Sorting Hat's whisper in his mind, "Slytherin will lead you to glory"… his self-taught Parsleyan… everything, it all stemmed from this! A part of that demon resided within him!

I see……

A chilling coldness shot up his spine and overwhelmed him with a profound sense of absurdity and self-loathing.

He stared blankly at Sagres, his voice hoarse: "Professor...you...you mean...I..."

“I have no ulterior motives,” Sagles interrupted him, his tone still calm. “I’m just telling you a confirmed truth.”

"Then...is it impossible for this to be a mistake?"

Harry asked urgently, his voice trembling with pleading, "He and I are mortal enemies! He killed my parents! How could I... how could I..."

He couldn't continue speaking; he felt a churning in his stomach.

“Dumbledore and I both believe this judgment is correct.” Sagrais’s voice was flat. “Of course, I have no doubt about your hatred for him. I’ve said before that this is just a cruel joke of fate, an accident.”

"Then...is there any way to get it out?"

Harry looked up, a faint, almost desperate glimmer of hope flickering in his eyes. He grabbed Sagrais's sleeve, his voice filled with disgust, "The thought...that the soul of my parents' killer is residing inside me...makes me want to vomit!"

"method?"

For the first time, Sagres's voice carried a barely audible sigh. He lowered his eyes, then raised them again, his deep gaze locking onto Harry's hopeful face.

“There’s only one way right now.” He paused, and the air seemed to freeze. “But it’s a bit cruel.”

"What method?!" Harry asked eagerly, leaning forward.

Sagles didn't speak again. He just looked at Harry quietly, his all-knowing eyes offering no answers, only a bottomless, chilling silence.

In that silence, Harry gleaned from the professor's almost compassionate gaze the unspoken, chilling answer.

The flame of hope was extinguished in an instant, leaving only boundless chill.

"Did you kill me, Professor?" Harry asked absently. "Did you kill me...?"

“Yes, Potter,” Sagres nodded frankly without flinching, “as far as we know, this is the only way to completely eliminate it.”

However, he changed the subject, adding a sliver of hope, "But things might change in the future, because magic is always wondrous, and perhaps we'll soon find a way to have the best of both worlds..."

But Harry clearly only caught his affirmative answer.

He stood frozen in place, his face as pale as a freshly painted wall, his mind blank, with only the word "death" buzzing in his head.

Suddenly, as if swept away by some desperate impulse, he abruptly raised his head, his emerald eyes filled with a calm resolve:

"Then kill me, Professor!"

This sudden, childlike declaration of his willingness to die truly stunned Sagres for the first time.

He turned around in surprise, his deep gaze scrutinizing the twelve-year-old boy before him as if he were seeing him for the first time.

This pure and reckless courage is awe-inspiring, even a little absurd.

“Commendable courage!” He nodded slightly to Harry, “but killing you would be pointless.”

He looked into the other man's eyes, quickly regaining his usual composure. "Voldemort himself will not die from the destruction of this fragment. And, most importantly..."

Sagreston stopped and uttered a cruel statement in the calmest of words: "He can't control you. This fragment of your soul is just a helpless prisoner within you. It will be forever imprisoned in your body, watching helplessly as you make every choice that it hates and despises, watching you head towards the future it fears most."

"—This is its eternal cage."

Harry opened his mouth, but no sound came out. God knows how much courage he had mustered to say those words!

Images of his parents flashed through his mind, and Voldemort's cold voice described the killing... Just now, a burning rage instantly overwhelmed his fear, almost consuming him.

However, Professor Greengrass described a scene where his body became a prison for Voldemort's soul fragments.

He, Harry Potter, could not only live, but might even personally end Voldemort, while the fragment of that demon could only watch helplessly inside him.

Isn't this the most biting and thorough form of revenge? A living punishment?

But as soon as this thought arose, another, deeper fear immediately gripped him.

"But Professor... what if... because of it... I become another Voldemort?"

His voice was full of worry and self-doubt. "I can speak Parsley... The Sorting Hat said I should go to Slytherin... Will I... end up like him?"

“But you’re in Gryffindor now!” Sagles said calmly.

“Yes…” Harry’s voice trailed off, tinged with a bitter resignation, “but that was only because I desperately told the Sorting Hat that I didn’t want to go to Slytherin…”

“That’s enough, Mr. Potter.” Sagres nodded slightly to him, his voice steady and strong. “The most important thing is never the opinions of others or the definitions imposed upon you, but your own choices. No one and nothing can stop you from becoming who you want to be.”

He thought for a moment, then calmly added, "The limit of what they can do is nothing more than... taking your life."

Harry was stunned for a moment.

Deprivation of life…wasn’t that exactly the request he had just made to the professor? The worst outcome, that seemingly insurmountable abyss of fear, was nothing more than that!

A surge of power welled up in his chest.

He raised his head, his emerald eyes gleaming with unwavering determination, his voice filled with an indescribable emotion: "I understand, Professor. I will live on—a fragment of a soul cannot determine who I become!"

Sagles watched him calmly, a hint of approval flashing in his eyes.

"I'm glad you understand this."

Chapter 113 Thestral: Feed me peanuts!

“Oh, Professor,” Harry suddenly remembered something important and felt he needed to tell his mentor, “there’s a house-elf… named Dobby. He seems to… know who’s behind the Chamber of Secrets…”

Harry recounts his two encounters with Dobby in detail: from the Dursleys' warnings and the sealed platform entrance to the out-of-control ball on the Quidditch pitch, and Dobby's vague yet cautionary words about the Chamber of Secrets, danger, and his plea to leave Hogwarts.

After listening, Sagres nodded thoughtfully.

"I see."

A house-elf with free will?

This is indeed an extremely rare exception.

In Sagres's understanding, the existence of house-elves seems to be closely linked to "obedience," and taking their master's will as the ultimate standard is almost an instinct etched into their bones.

Individuals like Dobby, who dare to defy their masters and even actively plan a "rescue," are extremely rare, even though their methods are somewhat clumsy and dangerous.

However, Sagles could understand the root of his behavior—a deep fear of the dark history.

After all, even in the relatively peaceful present, the situation of house-elves is far from ideal, and during the reign of the Dark Lord, their plight was nothing short of hell.

Judging from Dobby's understanding of the secrets inside the room... Sagres is almost certain that the original owner of this little elf must be related to the Malfoy family.

Just thinking about Dobby's "disastrous" rescue methods—blocking the platform, manipulating a deadly ball, breaking an arm...

A chilling smile crept across Saglere's face. Thank goodness his "rescue" was Harry Potter, this "savior" with a life tougher than a cockroach...

If it were any other ordinary young wizard, they would probably have been sent straight to St. Mungo's intensive care unit by this "helpful" house-elf, or even worse.

Sagrass waved his wand silently, and the invisible barrier that had blocked out sound vanished. Harry took a deep breath and walked back to his waiting companions.

Sagrass's gaze swept over the six slightly uneasy young wizards before him, his tone calm and collected. "Each of you will have five points deducted from your academy points for disregarding the prohibition and trespassing into the Forbidden Forest."

Several faces fell instantly, their lamentations and frustrations almost palpable. But Sagles ignored them, and immediately issued a sterner warning: "Without sufficient and justifiable reason, you are absolutely forbidden from entering the Forbidden Forest. Next time," he said, his gaze sweeping over each person, "the punishment will be far more than just a deduction of points."

He then gestured with his chin toward the castle and succinctly commanded, "Now, go back to the castle."

The young wizards, feeling as if they had been granted a pardon, had just turned to leave—

“Wait…” Sagres’ voice rang out again, this time with a hint of helplessness.

He walked up to the nearest Thestral, the docile creature futilely chewing on a large clump of hay, but clearly unable to swallow it.

He reached out and naturally pried open the Thestral's mouth, pulling out the clump of chewed but unswallowed hay from between its long teeth, and tossed it disdainfully onto the snow.

"Don't feed the Thestrals hay next time. They're scavengers; they only eat meat!"

Seeing the awkward expressions that instantly appeared on the students' faces, Sagres shook his head slightly.

This explains the Thestrals' gentle nature...

……

On the way back to the castle.

"Luna, did you know that Thestrals don't eat hay?" Astoria's tone was tinged with helplessness.

“I know,” Luna’s voice drifted. “Their teeth are designed to tear apart rotting flesh, it’s so obvious.”

"Then why do you still make me feed them hay?" Astoria asked, puzzled, and Ginny nodded in agreement.

“Oh, that’s because we don’t have any meat,” Luna said matter-of-factly, blinking her big eyes. “We can’t come empty-handed, can we? The hay at least shows our sincerity. And they didn’t refuse, did they?”

Hearing this, the group had no choice but to shut up, falling into a collective silence of "I understand the logic, but why did things turn out this way?"

Okay, at least I tried.

Then Harry was suddenly struck by another question. "What do house-elves usually do?" he asked instinctively.

“Oh, that’s all,” Ron answered casually, counting on his fingers, “washing, cooking, mopping, serving tea and water, cleaning the fireplace… oh, and taking curses for the master or being used as a punching bag.”

“Oh, that’s pretty much what I did at the Dursleys!” Harry said seriously, “except for blocking evil curses…”

“Hey buddy, this is different!” Ron quickly corrected, trying to explain the “features” of the magical world. “House-elves are magical creatures. They have contracts and cannot disobey orders. Otherwise, they will… uh… be severely punished, the really terrible kind.”

“Hmm,” Harry nodded, with the nonchalance of discussing everyday matters, “I can’t disobey orders either, or Uncle Vernon will punish me with his belt, and it will be especially horrible. See, how similar.”

Ron opened his mouth as if to emphasize the fundamental difference between a "magical contract" and a "human belt" on a magical level, but seeing Harry's extremely indifferent expression, he wisely kept his mouth shut.

“I think that’s wrong!” Hermione said firmly. “No one is born a slave…”

“Haha, it’s okay, Hermione,” Harry waved his hand dismissively, thinking she was comforting him. “I’m used to it.”