Chapter 46 Professor McGonagall's Troubles and Doubts
Seeing Quirrell faint, the face continued, "The Chamber of Secrets in Slytherin, the room on the 8th floor where you hide things, and the sewers in the toilet room where Myrtle stayed. They're all good places to hide things."
Basil nodded, speaking in unison with the diary, "Safe, but only safe. You and I both understand that you were allowed into Hogwarts entirely because of the understanding between you and Dumbledore. Preventing casualties is one of those things."
"What do you mean?"
"You should understand."
"Are you threatening me? You want to hunt outside and gain a physical form?" That face—Voldemort—was the first to harbor murderous intent.
In this world, there could only be one Voldemort!
He didn't care if it meant destroying a Horcrux!
In fact, the diary's slow absorption of life force was a limitation he had set.
Basil nodded. "Yes. If you don't agree, I'll randomly choose a lucky person to be my blood ox for shaping. Then you won't be able to stay at Hogwarts anymore."
"Oh?" Voldemort sneered. "You really think Dumbledore wouldn't know if something happened at Hogwarts?"
"Of course," Basil answered decisively. "Like that room on the 8th floor. It's not far from the Headmaster's office, but you've hidden a Horcrux in it—"
"How do you know?" Voldemort roared in fury.
He silently changed the safe house he had prepared for the diary—one with a trap—to one that was relatively harmless to the diary.
"Of course I know. Ravenclaw's crown, right? I can't believe Helena finally opened her heart to me."
"Hmph!" Voldemort scoffed. "No woman could say no to me as long as I still had that disgusting face."
"The address?"
"No address. There's a line of house-elves in the kitchen who have always belonged to Slytherin. I only discovered this near graduation. Perhaps it's also related to my not abandoning my lowly Riddle part. As long as the descendants of Slytherin don't pose a threat to the school, or are not instructed to do so, they'll be very obedient." At this point, Voldemort became somewhat annoyed.
This line of house-elves no longer obeys his commands.
Is it because of Myrtle's death?
Or perhaps because of his current conflict with Hogwarts Headmaster Dumbledore?
In any case, now they at most follow orders that are minor pranks, like putting salt in Dumbledore's desserts.
"Do they still obey 'my' commands?"
"You issue commands through this boy in Parseltongue. They understand Parseltongue. This boy is essentially a clean Slytherin descendant."
"What's his name?"
"It's all Lyra. Just tell him you need to deliver something to Safe House Number 7. By the way, you don't necessarily have to go to the kitchen. Call their names at the statues in the Chamber of Secrets, and they'll hear you." Voldemort said, barely containing his anger.
Lucius Malfoy was now completely condemned to death.
At the same time, he felt a little regretful.
If the boy before him hadn't been controlled, and if he himself had regained some of his strength, things would have been better.
Then he could have been at ease and had the energy to examine the boy's mind. To know how he had been discovered.
"Lyra?" In Voldemort's eyes, Basil's eyes were empty; he was still 'controlled'.
Little did Voldemort know, Basil was already fantasizing about how to loot the Galleons inside once Riddle had taken care of the safe house.
Basil suppressed his joy: "Then I'll be going now. I'll leave this boy with the memory of you answering him what a great wizard is."
"Hmph! It seems Lucius really hates this brat. You can alter memories. He probably provided a lot of life force when he sent you here." Voldemort sneered again. However, he didn't stop Basil from leaving the room. Instead, he picked up a scarf and wrapped it around his face.
After walking a short distance from the door, in the blind spot of the portrait and ghost surveillance, Basil's figure disappeared.
The next second, Basil appeared in the empty dormitory bathroom.
"Riddle, how did I do?"
Riddle, now back in his journal, wand in hand, ready for battle, replied, "My lord, your last part was a bit underwhelming. Before I fully recovered, I couldn't control the memories of the possessed. The possessed would simply wake up bewildered, knowing nothing. Luckily, Voldemort convinced himself."
"He couldn't imagine there would be a second Horcrux of his journal in this world."
"Aside from that, you cooperated well with me thanks to your keen insight. Especially since he liked to use it to refer to house-elves, instead of 'he' or 'she'."
McGonagall was quite frustrated lately.
Her office was a small study on the second-floor corridor.
It had a roaring fireplace and a hidden door leading to a bedroom with a gravel floor.
From either room, the Quidditch pitch and the lawn outside the castle were visible.
These were the places where the various houses practiced their ball games and where flying lessons were held.
In flying lessons, the Malfoy boy performed no worse than Harry, after adjusting his grip.
But that didn't matter.
Gryffindor teams usually trained much harder.
Slytherin teams just went through the motions.
If it weren't for their large size, wealth, generally good brooms, and penchant for using their physical advantages to foul, she couldn't imagine how Slytherin could beat Gryffindor.
But this boy was different.
Even when the school team wasn't practicing,
he still practiced diligently.
In that case, her long-cherished wish—to see the Slytherin Quidditch team lose—was in jeopardy, wasn't it?
But that wasn't all that bothered her.
Because of her position as Vice-Headmistress,
her department's professors were usually also responsible for verifying the castle's assets.
Recently, they discovered that many desks and chairs in the empty classrooms had been vandalized.
Some were even missing.
They suspected Peeves was responsible.
Peeves himself admitted it (actually, Peeves: So what if I did it? Hehehe).
Fortunately, the vandalism stopped afterward.
Besides, two students in Transfiguration class gave her a particular headache.
One was Seamus Finnigan, who could accidentally cause spells to explode.
The other, Basil Granger, was too unconventional.
Although very talented,
he always liked to ask outrageous questions,
and some of his ideas were logical.
For example, she said that Transfiguration could transform and piece together anything visible.
He suggested combining a microscope that could see DNA to observe the DNA structure of himself and magical creatures seeking talents.
Then he experimented, using Constant Transfiguration to insert fragments of the latter's DNA into the former.
He then used potions and modified blood to create a fleshy shell.
After multiple experiments, once the appearance and magical magnetic field were in harmony, he used the results on himself.
But today, this child was unusually quiet.
After completing today's lesson objective—turning a quill pen into an iron spoon—he remained motionless.
Unlike before, he didn't shamelessly approach her, grabbing her hand and asking all sorts of questions.
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(End of Chapter)