On the Quidditch Pitch, the Gryffindor team's training continued.
Wood's face was so grim it looked like it would drip water.
Today's match result had completely panicked him.
"Again!" Wood roared, his voice somewhat hoarse.
"What the hell was that just now?"
Harry, riding his broom, felt like his whole body was about to fall apart.
Sweat streamed down his cheeks, and his glasses were fogged up.
Fred and George exchanged glances.
"Wood, only we are still doing extra practice," Fred said, panting.
"If this keeps up, we'll be too exhausted to play, and we'll scare Slytherin as mummies," George complained.
"You're still joking," Wood glared.
"Do you know that Slytherin and Hufflepuff both have nimbus 2001 now?"
"Our brooms are far worse than theirs; how can we not work twice as hard?"
Harry wanted to say something, but he was too tired, he didn't even have the strength to open his mouth.
He was supposed to go to Hagrid's, but Wood had dragged him along, making it impossible to leave.
Just then, the bell for dinner rang in the distance.
"Alright," Wood reluctantly looked at the sky.
"That's enough for today."
"But we'll continue tomorrow after class."
The team members breathed a sigh of relief, landing on the ground one by one.
Harry wobbled off his broom, his legs feeling weak.
Fred patted Harry's shoulder.
"Hang in there, Wood has gone crazy wanting the Quidditch Cup."
"He's treating us like livestock," George also grumbled indignantly.
The group, dragging their tired bodies, walked towards the Castle.
In the Great Hall, dinner had already begun.
Harry, with heavy steps, walked to the Gryffindor long table and plopped down.
He buried his head and started eating, not even wanting to speak.
Just then, Professor McGonagall walked over, bringing even worse news.
"Harry, you have detention with Professor Lockhart tonight at half past eight."
"Ron, you report to Mr. Filch."
"Don't forget, this is your punishment for your antics at the start of term."
Harry's mood instantly worsened.
Training was already exhausting enough, and now he had to face Lockhart's torment.
Ron sat beside him, poking at the mashed potatoes on his plate, preoccupied.
Ever since he heard about Ginny that afternoon, he had been restless.
Hermione also had no appetite; she was thinking about the Dark Arts objects Ginny might have encountered.
The three of them were silent, the atmosphere intensely oppressive.
Harry looked up at Ron and Hermione, wanting to ask what had happened that afternoon, but he was simply too tired.
Never mind, he'd ask after detention.
At half past eight, Harry, dragging his weary body, arrived at Lockhart's office.
He knocked on the door, and Lockhart's flamboyant voice came from inside: "Come in!"
Harry pushed the door open.
Lockhart's office was lavishly decorated, with his photographs covering the walls.
Lockhart in every photo was winking at Harry.
"Ah, Harry!" Lockhart greeted him warmly.
"Come in, sit down."
On the desk was a stack of letters, all from fans.
"Tonight's task is simple," Lockhart said, pointing at the letters, as if Harry had received a great boon.
"Help me reply to these fan letters."
"Oh, sometimes fervent fans can be a nuisance."
Harry saw no sign of him being troubled; he was clearly enjoying it.
He sat down helplessly, picked up a quill, and began to work.
Lockhart sat beside him, endlessly recounting his heroic deeds.
Harry replied to letters while being tormented by Lockhart.
Fatigue made his eyelids heavier and heavier.
Just as he was about to fall asleep, a cold, malicious voice suddenly came.
"I... will tear... tear you apart..."
The voice was eerie and terrifying, full of malice, sending shivers down his spine.
Harry woke up with a start, all the hairs on his body standing on end.
He looked around, searching for the source of the sound.
"Hungry... kill you..."
The voice continued, but it seemed to be fading away.
Harry's face instantly turned pale.
"Professor!" Harry quickly turned to Lockhart.
"Did you hear that?"
Lockhart stopped his lengthy monologue, looking at Harry in confusion.
"Hear what?"
"That voice just now!" Harry said anxiously.
Lockhart frowned, listening carefully.
There was nothing in the office except the crackling of the fireplace.
"Harry, I didn't hear anything," Lockhart said, bewildered.
"Are you too tired?"
"Are you hallucinating?"
Harry was certain it wasn't a hallucination; he still heard the voice after he woke up.
Lockhart walked over and reached out to touch Harry's forehead.
"You might be too sleepy, your brain is playing tricks on you."
"I suggest you go back and get a good night's rest."
"You should be fine tomorrow."
Harry still wanted to argue, but Lockhart had already started tidying up the letters on his desk.
"That's enough for tonight," Lockhart said.
"You really need to rest."
Harry stood up helplessly, filled with confusion and unease.
Back in the Gryffindor dormitory, Ron had also finished his detention and was lying on his bed, but clearly not asleep.
"Harry," Ron sat up when he heard the movement.
"How was it with Lockhart?"
Harry sat on the edge of his bed, taking off his robes.
"Ron, I encountered something very strange."
"What is it?" Ron immediately perked up.
Harry told Ron in detail about the voice he had just heard.
After listening, Ron's expression also became serious.
"Only you heard the voice?" Ron said thoughtfully.
"That reminds me of what happened last term."
Harry remembered.
At the end of last term, he heard a voice say it wanted to steal the Philosopher's Stone, but Ron and Hermione hadn't heard it.
And the voice that time had come from the snake possessed by Lord Voldemort.
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