Chapter 157: Attack and Routine

"Regret?" Harry's face showed a visible flicker of confusion. "What exactly are you regretting?"

"Nothing, it's just an inside joke." Zhang Qiu said impatiently. "It doesn't matter now."

Harry could clearly sense her mental state was unstable; he had never heard words like "inside joke," and now wasn't the time to press. He softened his tone, nearly cooing like to a child: "It's already happened. Now we must prepare for the first attack."

"You're right." Zhang Qiu's mood seemed to settle slightly. She grabbed a set of school robes from the side and casually yanked off her pajamas, tossing them onto the bed.

The girl's body, clad only in cotton underwear, was revealed before Harry. He felt intensely awkward, yet an odd desire stirred within him, compelling him to remain silent and keep watching.

After dressing in her robes, Zhang Qiu took out a mirror and chanted a spell from the Celestial Dynasty. Her complexion instantly brightened and softened; her nose appeared slightly more elevated, her eyes more lively and spirited.

"Cool. What spell was that?" As they began ascending, leaving the Chamber, Harry couldn't help asking about the final spell.

"A bare-face charm—a type of makeup spell." Zhang Qiu replied offhandedly. "In the East, every girl learns and studies makeup spells. They can refine your facial structure and make you look more beautiful."

"Was Cassandra's also a makeup spell?" Harry couldn't help thinking of Cui Ge's mother, who had transformed from a fair, tall, golden-haired beauty into a plain woman with freckles, crooked teeth, and wild, frizzy hair resembling an enlarged Hermione—an image that had left a deep impression on him.

"Yes, but hers was far more advanced and complex—so much so that most girls couldn't possibly achieve it." Zhang Qiu said. "Over-studying makeup spells makes you forget your true appearance, lost in false beauty. That's why some are called 'dark arts.'"

"That's amazing. But British girls are just as fond of beauty—have you ever considered teaching them makeup spells?"

"Oh, I didn't pay much attention. You already have Amortentia." Zhang Qiu replied casually. "And Polyjuice Potion. Besides, I haven't seriously studied makeup spells—only learned a bare-face charm and an evening banquet charm. I don't know much else."

"What I mean," Harry rubbed his chin, "is that even now, Hermione and Hannah are still competing for Neville. If we choose to support one of them, we could secretly teach her the bare-face charm."

"So you just enjoy watching your classmates' drama?" Zhang Qiu sighed helplessly. "Then tell me—who do you plan to support?"

"I remember we originally intended to support Hannah," Harry mused. "Because fighting the Dark Lord is too dangerous, Neville didn't want Hermione dragged into it."

"That's not how it works," Zhang Qiu shrugged. "If Neville truly prioritizes fighting the Dark Lord, what help can Hermione give him? On the other hand, Hannah and her friend Ernie represent part of the neutral faction among the Twenty-Eight Pure-Blood Families. That's extremely important."

Harry froze.

"And as for Ginny and Ivy vying for Harry," Zhang Qiu said outright to Harry's face, "Ginny should marry Harry. Ivy is your wild card—you must use her wisely."

"What?" Harry admitted he had thoughts about Ginny, but had never seriously considered Ivy.

"Ivy is a Muggle-born, but her noble bearing is convincing enough to pass as pure-blood. You could claim she's from the Soviet Union and no one could challenge it—any trouble? Just blame the Soviets."

"But pure-blood families check family trees." Harry instinctively objected.

"Just say her parents died in the purges, and she can't reveal her real name. So what? Yanayev killed how many Soviet revisionists? Anyone will do." Zhang Qiu dismissed it. "Pure-blood families in Britain don't identify lineage by genealogy—they judge by speech and conduct."

"Don't let Ivy grow up wild and end up marrying just anyone—Ron certainly isn't the answer." Zhang Qiu continued. "Best to ally with a neutral, powerful family—Crouch would be ideal, or Borgin, Shafiq, Slughorn. If you could make Malfoy fall for her, that'd be the ultimate move—but it's impossible to swap."

"I don't want to use Ivy's marriage as leverage," Harry said, sounding discouraged. He didn't want to quarrel with Zhang Qiu either.

"It's fine. We don't need to do much else." Zhang Qiu said calmly. "You reminded me—I'll teach Ivy the bare-face charm. But you must firmly choose Ginny."

"But I—" Harry started to speak, then noticed the corridor had ended.

We'll talk about it later. I need time to think, he told himself.

Zhang Qiu spoke a phrase of Parseltongue with flawless pronunciation (Harry thought it was perfectly enunciated). The Chamber's entrance slowly opened. Harry still felt a small hesitation; Zhang Qiu had just recovered from solitude. Both had forgotten one crucial detail—the clue repeatedly mentioned during their analysis of the Chamber.

"Waaah… I'd rather die!" Moaning Myrtle shot back at an alarming speed, diving straight into the last stall of the bathroom.

The splash she caused, in that instant, resembled a tidal wave.

Drenched head to toe, Harry and Zhang Qiu stood there, dripping, hair plastered, staring at each other in dazed silence.

"So Neville's deduction was right," Harry said, still shaken. "The killer came out of the Chamber just as Myrtle drenched him."

Myrtle still had her head buried in the toilet, sobbing, unaware of them.

"Let's go. Do what we need to do, then head to the Room of Requirement to wash up." Zhang Qiu wiped water from her face; the magical makeup remained flawless.

As they walked, their robes still dripping, Zhang Qiu suddenly pointed at Harry and burst into giggles.

"What are you laughing at?" Harry, caught off guard, couldn't help smiling too.

"Two killers, and have you ever seen killers soaked like drowned rats?"

"Drowned rats?" Harry paused, then laughed. "That's a funny way to put it."

Last year, even if Hogwarts' smartest students had tried to deduce it, they'd never have imagined that during the first attack, two utterly drenched killers were giggling in the corridor—until they suddenly spotted Mrs. Norris, when Harry frantically, swiftly cast a Petrificus Totalus to stop her from alerting Filch.

"Alright, listen to me," Zhang Qiu picked up the stiffened cat. "Hold her like this, close your eyes. I'll count one, two, three—then you break the petrification."

Harry nodded and took the subdued cat.

"Close your eyes. I'm going to activate the Two-Way Mirror." Zhang Qiu whispered. "One, two, three!"

Harry broke the petrification. He could clearly feel Mrs. Norris's fur bristling in his arms.

"Enough." Zhang Qiu put away the mirror. Harry slowly opened his eyes. Mrs. Norris stood on tiptoes, tail arched high—her entire posture awkward and unnatural, since she'd bristled while in Harry's arms.

"Ah, no wonder they hung her up," Harry held the cat and gestured on the floor. "No matter how you position her, she won't stand."

"And the floor's wet. Just hang her. I'll write first." Zhang Qiu pulled out a brush.

"Do you have blood?" Harry asked.

"Damn it. Got too caught up talking and forgot to go to the kitchen." Zhang Qiu slapped her thigh. "Oh right—I have black dog blood."

"What?"

"It's specifically for repelling zombies or ghosts." Zhang Qiu pulled out a tiny glass vial. "Zombies are rare, so I only kept a little—but it should be enough for writing."

"If it's not enough, we can dilute it with water," she added.

"Alright." Harry watched silently as she diluted the vial of blood with water and wrote a line of neat, block-style black characters with a Chinese rabbit-hair brush.

"Writing in block font does hide handwriting," Harry nodded thoughtfully. "But I never thought the killer hadn't been to the kitchen."

"To be precise, I didn't want to write by hand—it's messy." Zhang Qiu shrugged. "But this is the only decent-sized brush I have. This Spring Festival brush doesn't support other English fonts. I wanted to write cursive—it's prettier handwritten."

"What do you mean by cursive?" Harry had never heard of such a font.

"The kind Tom wrote," Zhang Qiu wiped the blood off the floor and tugged Harry's sleeve. "Come on. I'll take you to the Room of Requirement to wash up."

"You mean typewriter font? Tom's handwriting actually blends block and italic styles—perhaps to make it easier for us to read."

"By the way, do you remember Antioch's handwriting?" Zhang Qiu said casually. "All those round, plump letters. It's funny to think such a powerful wizard wrote such cute script."

"I remember the teacher taught us—that's called Anselm script."

They chatted idly about trivial things as they strolled toward the eighth floor. Harry said nothing more. He felt this kind of companionship was enough—he didn't want to jeopardize their present friendship over an uncertain future.

After all, Professor McGonagall had said dating in third year meant expulsion.