Chapter 86: The Painful Aftereffects

No matter how much Neville struggled, he ultimately had to accept reality.

Even if sorrow could flow backward like a river, it wouldn’t change the fact that he was now bound to endure Snape's “special tutoring.”

Resigned to his fate, he directed all his frustration and sadness toward the dinner table, voraciously devouring several hearty steaks.

Just as Harry was finishing his meal, a delicate paper crane fluttered in front of him.

It was a letter from Gemma.

> Harry,

>

> There’s something I’d like to discuss with you in person. I’ll wait for you in the empty classroom on the second floor.

>

> Yours sincerely,

> G.A. Farley

Harry folded the letter and glanced over at the Slytherin table.

Miss Farley, as if sensing his gaze, brushed her sleek black hair to one side and nodded slightly in his direction with a polite smile before leaving the table.

“I’ve got something to do, Ron,” Harry said as he stood up. “You can head back to the dorm without me.”

“Alright.” Ron didn’t pry, too focused on his chicken drumstick to care.

Following Gemma’s trail, Harry ascended the stairs to the second floor of the castle. He pulled his wand from the lining of his robe and slid it into his sleeve—a precautionary habit ingrained in him by Cassandra.

When he reached the empty classroom where he had last met Gemma, he cast Homenum Revelio to confirm she was alone before pushing open the door. Sitting on a bench, Gemma looked deeply worried.

“Mr. Potter”

“What’s wrong, Gemma?” Harry asked, taking a seat across from her.

“Something strange has been happening in Slytherin lately,” Gemma said in a low voice, glancing at the door to ensure no one was eavesdropping.

Harry remained silent, his focus entirely on her words.

“A mysterious notebook has appeared in the Slytherin common room,” she continued. “Draco Malfoy brought it in. Those who’ve used it claim it has a will of its own, helping them quickly complete their assignments or improve their spellwork.”

“But they have to pay a small ‘price.’ I reported it to Professor Snape, but he didn’t seem to care—like he has more pressing matters to deal with.”

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Harry instantly connected the dots.

No wonder the Slytherin students were always so exhausted—they were using a notebook that drained their soul energy.

“A notebook?” Harry frowned. “What kind of notebook? Are you sure Draco brought it?”

He felt a surge of unease. Could the notebook be… one of Cassandra’s relics?

“Yes,” Gemma said earnestly. “It’s supposedly a family heirloom. I’ve heard it contains the image of a beautiful girl with exceptional spellcasting skills.”

“A girl?” Harry’s heart skipped a beat.

Suppressing his excitement, he asked calmly, “Could it be an ancestor of the Malfoy family?”

“I’m not sure,” Gemma admitted. “Everyone seems to avoid describing the girl’s appearance.”

“This is valuable information. Thank you, Gemma,” Harry said sincerely.

Part of him hoped the girl was Cassandra. Yet another part wished she wasn’t—after all, the notebook was clearly an artifact of dark magic. And, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain, he didn’t want Cassandra associated with other boys.

A century ago, Cassandra had been like an unattainable flower atop a high peak, indifferent to everyone except Harry. She hadn’t even spoken kindly to him, let alone anyone else.

“I hope you can help, Harry,” Gemma said, rubbing her temples. “I have a gut feeling this notebook is bad news. I’ve heard Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy, was once a loyal servant of You-Know-Who. That notebook might be one of his dark artifacts. I don’t want Slytherin plagued by his influence again.”

“Why come to me for help?” Harry asked, genuinely curious.

“This is dark magic. Evil dark magic,” Gemma said firmly. “Who else but dark wizards would deal in soul energy?”

“Besides, as a Slytherin prefect, I could report this to Professor Snape or even the Headmaster. But doing so would isolate my family from the pure-blood factions in Slytherin.”

Harry nodded. That reasoning was entirely consistent with Slytherin’s pragmatic approach.

“As an exchange, I offer you my loyalty, Mr. Potter,” Gemma said.

Slytherins were nothing if not practical. They understood that asking for help required offering something in return. Gemma saw this as an opportunity to align herself with the Boy Who Lived.

Harry didn’t accept or reject her offer outright. Instead, he gave her a warm smile.

“I’ll help as much as I can, Gemma.”

Gemma didn’t seem disappointed by his response. She looked visibly relieved.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter.”

“Don’t be so formal—just call me Harry,” he said, standing up. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll take my leave.”

After bidding Gemma farewell, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room.

The notebook Gemma mentioned intrigued him.

Still, he wasn’t ready to involve Dumbledore just yet. He needed to confirm whether it truly had any connection to Cassandra.

This matter required careful planning. Barging into the Slytherin common room wasn’t exactly an option for a Gryffindor.

The next week passed peacefully. At lunchtime, Harry continued to feed Poppy , and in the evenings, he trained in dueling with his friends in the Dueling Club. Life felt full and satisfying.

When Defense Against the Dark Arts rolled around, Harry joined his fellow Gryffindors in the classroom, bracing himself for another round of verbal venom from Professor Snape.

To their surprise, however, their instructor wasn’t Snape this week—it was none other than the returned Professor Quirrell.

Quirrell looked even paler than before. Seamus, ever concerned, asked about his health, and Quirrell explained that the vampire curse had flared up again.

Yet Harry sensed something amiss.

In an instant, he spotted a subtle secret about Quirrell.

There was no denying it: Veratia truly was a genius witch, deserving of Professor Figo’s “one of a kind” praise.

Under her guidance, even minor curses like the Imperius Curse or the Cruciatus Curse left faint, nearly imperceptible marks on their targets.

And there, on Quirrell, was one of those marks—a tiny imprint left by a spell Harry had cast.

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