Chapter 107

Jodel fell silent for a long time, as if struggling to process those words.

“Some things are hard to describe in words,” Jodel finally managed to say.

Allen admitted Jodel was right—he was deeply curious how Jodel would show him the memories of studying memory magic.

He thought of his experience with the Mirror of Erised; if this diary was indeed a magical artifact imbued with memory magic, then by opening his mind, he might let Jodel show him the memories of his research into memory magic.

But he hesitated—memory magic was an extremely dangerous art, and he didn’t know whether Jodel harbored ill intent toward him...

Although Jodel had shown no overt hostility, anything was possible—he had already been tricked last year by a man with thick eyebrows, and he remained cautious toward this mysterious diary.

Allen hesitated again in his mind: never harbor ill will toward others, but never let your guard down—that was the lesson he learned last year. Yet he truly wanted to learn memory magic; no one understood what it meant to him.

Learning memory magic would let him organize the ancient magical runes he had observed in his memories; only by organizing them could he perform rune programming and draw closer to the fundamental source of magic in this world.

Besides, Dumbledore had clearly stated he would only consider teaching Allen memory magic when he reached fifth year—by then, it would be far too late.

And aside from Dumbledore, Allen didn’t know who else was skilled in memory magic.

Allen suddenly remembered something else and wrote with his quill on the notebook:

“I really want to learn memory magic—but why are you so eager to help me? We just met today!”

The words slowly faded, and then a faint image of a wry smile slowly appeared on the diary page...

Allen hadn’t expected the diary to spontaneously learn how to send emoticons—he instantly wanted to reply with a classic emoji from his past life, but immediately realized his drawing skills were too poor to capture the essence of those iconic expressions.

At that moment, new text began to appear on the diary:

“Do you know when I last spoke to someone?”

“It was 1968!”

Allen stared at the large “1968” on the diary and fell silent...

“I don’t know how long I’ve spent alone in darkness—I only know it was an extremely long time...”

Allen gently wrote on the diary: “This year is 1992.”

“Ha! Exactly twenty-four years!”

“Do you know what it feels like for a magical artifact with self-awareness and thought to go twenty-four years without speaking to anyone?”

“To be utterly alone in darkness, every second an unbearable torment...”

The handwriting on the diary grew erratic; Allen felt Jodel’s anguish through it.

Allen suddenly felt a flicker of sympathy for Tom Jodel inside the diary.

“You ask why I’d help you without reason? Because after years of erosion, the things that mattered to you no longer matter to me. What matters most to me now is ending my loneliness—and you are the only one who can speak to me now...”

Allen watched the words fade from the diary; he felt convinced, for he had experienced that loneliness firsthand.

When he first crossed over, he had lain unconscious for five months due to magical injury—but he had been fully aware the whole time; those days had been worse than death, and Jodel had endured twenty-four years of such torment.

Allen gradually let go of his doubts—he began to waver.

Finally, he decided to open his mind by ten percent and let Jodel try; the attempt failed.

Only when Allen opened his mind by thirty percent did he feel himself lurch forward—the diary’s window expanded, and he felt his body leave the chair, his head tumbling into the page’s opening, plunging into a swirling vortex of color and light.

He felt his feet land on solid ground; he stood trembling as the blurred surroundings suddenly sharpened.

But he clearly sensed his consciousness split into two parts—most of it remained in his body, while a small portion was pulled into a strange space.

He tried moving his fingers and found he could still control them; he then considered adjusting his posture, but changed his mind—he decided not to reveal that he still had awareness in his body and could control it, for he didn’t know whether Jodel inside the diary could observe the world outside.

Better to keep a hidden card. Allen’s main consciousness decided.

The consciousness inside the diary space realized he was now in Hogwarts—the castle’s structure hadn’t changed, but many of the portraits on the walls were gone...

A boy of about sixteen walked down the corridor, a silver prefect badge gleaming on his chest; he was much taller than Allen, yet had the same jet-black, glossy hair.

Other students passing by greeted the boy repeatedly.

“Tom, good morning!”

“Prefect, good morning!”

Allen immediately realized this was Tom Jodel—he hurried to catch up.

Riddle nodded in response to the greetings.

Suddenly, a girl’s voice came from beside him:

“Senior Riddle, good morning!”

Allen’s brow furrowed immediately—for the boy he assumed was Tom Jodel had answered the girl.

Allen wondered if he’d just hallucinated, but he didn’t notice that Hogwarts had briefly blurred, then instantly returned to normal...

Then another girl greeted the boy:

“Good morning, Senior Jodel!”

Allen’s brow relaxed—he quickly suppressed his doubts and followed Tom Jodel’s steps, gradually realizing Jodel was heading toward the library.

Soon he followed Jodel into Hogwarts’ library...

Allen saw many copies of the Daily Prophet on the newspaper and magazine rack; he hurried over, intending to pick one up—but his hand passed right through it, unable to grasp it.

Allen had to crouch down to read the date on the newspaper.

Sunday, March 15, 1942.

Allen suddenly realized—this was fifty years ago!

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