Chapter 156

The three fell silent for a moment, and in the end, the Doctor handed the bottle of Polyjuice Potion to Zhang Qiu.

"I hope you never have to use it," he said.

"Thank you," Zhang Qiu replied politely. "If I have this, I might not go to Diagon Alley at all. I'll just stay at Hogwarts—otherwise, how would I get back in after term starts?"

"Don't you need anything else?" Harry asked curiously. "Like a Two-way Mirror? Or any daily necessities for the Chamber?"

"I already prepared everything last time," Zhang Qiu smiled. "The Polyjuice Potion was just an idea that came to me—prompted by the Inspiration Charm."

"Good," Harry nodded. "Then we'll be off. Take care, alright?"

"No problem," Zhang Qiu looked relaxed. She bid them farewell and skipped away.

After watching the girl leave, the Doctor asked casually, "Shall we head back now?"

"Wait a bit," Harry felt a faint pang of disappointment. "If possible, I'd like to watch her movements."

"Fine," the Doctor gave the control lever a light push; the machine shuddered slightly and stopped. "Go find her yourself. I won't follow."

Harry crawled out from a cupboard on the first floor of Hogwarts. The school was empty for summer; walking alone down the corridors, he felt too conspicuous, so he silently pulled on his Invisibility Cloak.

He passed the dim stairwell—no one had lit lamps during the holiday, only afternoon sunlight filtered in, just enough to see his path.

In the second-floor bathroom, Moaning Myrtle lurked in a stall. She only emerged to weep when she saw the living; otherwise, she brooded alone.

Harry whispered the Parseltongue incantation. Amid Myrtle's low sobs, he slipped into the dark tunnel. Unbidden, a hollow sadness rose in him—for the ancient castle, and the centuries-old prejudice that lingered in its hidden passages.

Harry walked along the familiar corridor of the Chamber and reached the stone chamber at the end. In the dim room, a small orange lamp stood out vividly.

Zhang Qiu had laid a massive rug in the corner of the Chamber, placed a desk, a bookshelf, a four-poster bed with curtains, an ornate wardrobe, and a bright blue fabric sofa. The furniture felt eerily familiar—almost a color-shifted version of his own dorm room. He quickly guessed they'd been taken from Ravenclaw's dormitory and common room.

"Hi, Zhang Qiu," Harry greeted. "I came to check on you."

"Oh, Harry," Zhang Qiu rose from beside her desk. "I have to say, the Inspiration Charm is incredibly useful—I noticed a blind spot most people never saw."

"What?" Harry paused. He'd assumed living alone in the dark Chamber would weigh on her, but she seemed full of energy.

"I mean, about Voldemort's return," she said confidently. "Isn't it strange? Everyone thinks a terrifying dark lord returning after a sudden downfall isn't surprising—but consider this: a man killed by the Killing Curse, whose soul can be summoned back by a Resurrection Spell—he was definitively dead. So how is he alive now?"

"Uh," Harry stumbled, "you mean Voldemort died from the Killing Curse? Oh right—I remember his own curse bounced back..."

"The Tale of the Three Brothers clearly tells us Death forbids wizards true resurrection—the Resurrection Stone only summons a gloomy phantom," Zhang Qiu continued. "But the Voldemort now before the world isn't some illusion—he's truly resurrected."

"True," Harry nodded. "Quirrell said he used an ancient ritual. Maybe it's connected?"

"I looked into it," Zhang Qiu lifted her notebook. "The ritual doesn't resurrect the dead—it reshapes the body."

"What?" Harry was startled. "So Voldemort never actually died?"

"Countless similar rituals exist," Zhang Qiu frowned. "The key is—you must first find Voldemort's original wandering soul."

"Isn't that what your Secret Charm does?" Harry mused. "If someone used a similar spell..."

"No," Zhang Qiu said. "My Secret Charm automatically fails once its magic is spent. Most other resurrection spells also have time limits—because a dead person's soul ultimately belongs to the afterlife. They don't wish to linger here."

"So you're saying Voldemort never truly died ten years ago? He evaded death somehow and remained as a ghost?" Harry found this absurd. "Does that mean even today, we might never be able to kill him?"

"Exactly," Zhang Qiu said seriously. "He may have gained an immortal soul through some special means. Even if we kill him, he'll resurrect again somewhere we don't know."

"I see..." Harry murmured. "I'll discuss this with the Doctor. We might need to adjust the plan."

"Of course," Zhang Qiu shrugged, sitting back down. "But right now, I have no good solution."

"I was going to say," Harry adjusted his tone, trying to sound concerned, "how are you feeling here? Is anything uncomfortable?"

"Not at all," Zhang Qiu said cheerfully. "If I treat Secret Charm travel as an actual vacation, this is exactly the hotel I want—spacious rooms, the Basilisk corpse on display as proof of my achievement; a perfect buffet—cute little house-elves bring top-quality Western meals; and a multi-functional hall that can become anything—from a pool to a sauna."

"I thought you'd feel lonely," Harry said, slightly deflated.

"Actually, I enjoy solitude," Zhang Qiu rolled her eyes. "Back home, my Master always watches me—it's suffocating."

"Do you need anything else?" Harry asked carefully. "I could go to Diagon Alley and buy it for you."

"Thanks, but no," Zhang Qiu pointed upstairs. "If I really need something, I can just go to the Room of Requirement and take it for free."

"Oh?" Harry still pictured the Room of Requirement as a vast storage room. "But isn't it full of old stuff left by past students?"

"The Room of Requirement fulfills needs, Harry," Zhang Qiu said. "It's not just for hiding things—it can become anything. A bedroom, a study. These furnishings? I got them from there."

"So what do you eat?" Harry asked. "Is the 'buffet' just the kitchen?"

"Exactly," Zhang Qiu grinned, tugging at her collar. "House-elves don't care who you are. As long as you're wearing your uniform, they'll bring every edible thing they can find—pick whatever you want. And they don't just cook British food."

"And you bathe in the Room of Requirement too?" Harry asked. "Can it become a pool and sauna?"

"Of course," Zhang Qiu nodded. "It can transform into the Prefects' Bathroom—it seems to prefer existing templates for such requests. As for pools, it shapes itself to my imagination: indoor standard pools, or beaches with simulated sunlight, both work."

"Sounds great," Harry chuckled. "I mean, your life here. You always seem to manage well, no matter the situation."

"As long as you love life, you'll always find a way," Zhang Qiu smiled. "But after term starts, it'll get tense—I'll have to avoid everyone."

"When I was in second year, I had no idea there were two Zhang Qius. You did it well," Harry murmured, avoiding her gaze.

"Alright, my advice is—don't keep the Doctor waiting too long," Zhang Qiu patted his shoulder. "You can come back for Halloween. We'll check the attack site together."

Harry scratched his head. As he descended into the empty Chamber, he'd felt a pang of worry for Zhang Qiu's comfort. But as he left, thinking of her serene, content expression, he felt lighter.

Harry stayed in the Chamber less than half an hour—he didn't want to make the Doctor wait too long. Back in the TARDIS, he hesitated, then asked the Doctor to take him to Halloween day. He wanted to visit Zhang Qiu again before the attack began.

"I'll pick you up the next morning," the Doctor said after Harry stepped out, then immediately drove off in the TARDIS.

Harry was certain the Doctor wore a knowing, mischievous grin—but at thirteen, he didn't understand what the Doctor was laughing at.

"I need to confirm the attack details with Zhang Qiu," Harry thought, slipping invisibly through the crowded Great Hall, quietly ascending the stairs.

When Harry returned to the Chamber, he found Zhang Qiu had added new gym equipment: a battered, wobbling training dummy, and a rack bristling with swords, spears, and daggers.

"Harry?" Zhang Qiu sat up on the bed. Harry noticed she wore loose pajamas.

"You look unwell?" Harry ventured.

"I am," she said, voice low. "Solitary freedom isn't as free as it seems. After term starts, it's far worse than summer—staying up all night and sleeping by day drains me. My Disillusionment Charms are nearly used up."

"Then I'll leave you the Invisibility Cloak," Harry said without hesitation.

"Ah, now I regret it—deeply," Zhang Qiu sighed lazily. "Should've listened to you."