A Professor of Magic at Hogwarts

It took about twenty minutes to read through the diary, which told a tale of "youthful days and serendipitous encounters."

During his time at school, he had stumbled upon a room on the eighth floor of the castle. It was a vast storage space filled with treasures collected by Hogwarts young wizards over centuries.

"I later inquired, and it was rumored they called this mysterious room the Room of Requirement or the Come and Go Room," the diary wrote, "It's from here that I obtained that portion of information—possibly hidden by some young wizard before me."

Felix Harp smirked, jotting down in the diary, "So, you didn't find Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, but rather another hidden room? And it was in this Room of Requirement that you discovered Slytherin's research materials?"

The diary quickly responded with a few words, "Exactly so."

Felix tapped his fingers on the table, pondering for a moment. He wrote in the diary, "So, those research materials are still in the Room of Requirement? You didn't take them with you?"

"I believe—they belong to Hogwarts. Before I graduated, I left them hidden behind a bubbly, seemingly acid-splashed cabinet. It's easy to find, and I remember there's a stinky quintaped inside the cabinet. Next to it is a rather ugly wizard statue," the diary noted.

Felix pursed his lips, struggling not to burst into laughter.

Interesting, truly fascinating.

The dialogue between them resembled an intricate game, full of lies and misdirection, a battle of wits.

Prior to this, Felix hadn't dared to hope for information about the hidden room of Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets from the diary. It would have been unrealistic, akin to revealing himself as the "Heir of Slytherin."

His goal today was, in fact, to attempt to discover one or two hidden spots of extracurricular research materials, as one of his speculations. However, the more significant likelihood was that Tom Riddle had already destroyed all records—a result Felix hoped not to see.

Thankfully, the diary directly revealed the eighth-floor room.

His efforts had not been in vain.

However, Felix had a hunch that since the diary chose to reveal this information, it probably wasn't of utmost importance—especially not to the Dark Lord.

Nonetheless, he replied to the diary with a contented tone, "Thank you, Tom. I will investigate. If I have misunderstood you, I'll apologize."

"Let's hope not," the diary calmly replied.

With a hint of regret, Felix added, "People are unaware of the splendid era that Slytherin's research might have ushered in. That's why he's always portrayed as the embodiment of evil among wizards. Tom, you did the right thing."

The diary remained silent, the essence of Tom Riddle within it almost seething.

And Felix appended, "Slytherin and Gryffindor are truly polar opposites. Godric Gryffindor's own virtues shine brightly—fairness, bravery, justice..."

The diary poured scorn into its words, "All just a façade." It posed a pointed question, "Felix Harp, here's a riddle for you: who caused more bloodshed, Slytherin or the lives fallen to the wand and sword of Gryffindor?"

Felix's expression froze.

The diary seemed to anticipate his reaction, and a deliberately bolded sentence appeared on the page, its mocking tone evident from the words themselves, "Oh yes, indeed. History has always been twisted—Gryffindor is a butcher. The wizards who died at his hands outnumber those of the other three founders combined."

In the culmination of this conversation, the diary did not hold back its malice toward Gryffindor, "A sword in one hand, a wand in the other, trampling over a sea of corpses, earning the title of the era's most remarkable duelist—Godric Gryffindor!"

...

Felix Harp closed the diary, his expression enigmatic.

"Salazar Slytherin and Godric Gryffindor," he softly murmured the names of these former allies.

Of course, Felix didn't believe that the diary spoke the complete truth, but he also didn't think that it would be all lies. From its tone and wording, there was some degree of credibility.

"I need a guide, preferably someone who was there at the time," Felix suddenly thought of a name.

The Grey Lady.

The beautiful, yet often aloof, ghost of Ravenclaw House, who had another name—Helena Ravenclaw.

She was the daughter of one of the four Hogwarts founders, Rowena Ravenclaw—a secret that Felix had stumbled upon through the accidental circumstances of talking to the Bloody Baron.

The entangled love and hate between these two could easily fill a sensational romance novel.

Felix pondered. Even though he was a generation younger, she belonged to the same era as the Hogwarts Four, and surely knew many secrets from the early days of Hogwarts.

On the other side, Harry lay in his dormitory bed, tossing and turning.

Whether it was the information extracted from Malfoy or the mishap with Hermione accidentally using a cat hair-infused Polyjuice Potion, sleep eluded him.

As the clock passed midnight, Harry drifted into a restless sleep. Suddenly, he felt something pressing down on his stomach, making it difficult to breathe.

Opening his eyes, he was met with the sight of a house-elf with two bat-like ears, its prominent green eyes almost as big as tennis balls.

"Dobby!"

Harry squeaked in a hushed voice, quickly checking his surroundings—his other roommates were still sound asleep.

...

The next day, Harry and Ron arrived at the infirmary to visit Hermione.

Last night, they had taken the Polyjuice Potion in an attempt to extract information from Malfoy—they suspected him of being the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets.

However, things went awry when Hermione used cat hair that Millicent Bulstrode had brewed into a Polyjuice Potion. The consequences were severe.

Her face was covered in black fur, her eyes turned yellow, and two pointed, elongated ears jutted out from her hair.

As Harry and Ron entered the ward, she was pleading with Madam Pomfrey to hang a curtain around her bed.

"Did you get any clues last night?" she whispered, mindful of Madam Pomfrey overhearing.

"None," Harry replied in frustration.contemporary romance

"I'm sure it's Malfoy," Ron asserted, "He didn't tell the truth. When we asked him about the Chamber, he got all defensive and warned us to shut up. I'm really curious about that."

Hermione sighed, her long ears drooping.

Harry glanced around and whispered, "I did get something, though. Around midnight last night, that house-elf, Dobby, came to see me..."

"Last night?" Ron asked.

"Yeah, you were asleep at the time," Harry shrugged.

"Harry," Ron furrowed his brow thoughtfully, "I have to remind you that house-elves are extremely loyal servants. Obedience to their master is almost ingrained in their very bones. I've never heard of one like you described, one that—"

He struggled to find the right words.

"Seems peculiar?" Harry offered.

Ron nodded, and Harry continued, "He is quite odd, but I think he respects me. Yes, respects. He told me that danger still hangs over Hogwarts."

"And then?" Ron's curiosity grew.

"Then he started banging his head against the railing like crazy..." Harry said rather exasperatedly.

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