Chapter 160

What happened next unfolded exactly as Harry had seen before: Zhang Qiu perfectly portrayed Donald, deceiving the two Bai Gong spies into attacking Colin.

Meanwhile, as second-year Harry groaned in the hospital and third-year Harry battled air in the Room of Requirement, the newest Harry sat in the Chamber of Secrets, leisurely sipping a perfectly brewed pot of black tea with Zhang Qiu.

"By the way, you've been tailing him for so long—can you tell what he's really after?" Harry recalled a question that had once troubled him: Donald's true purpose.

"Is it possible," Zhang Qiu said slowly, sipping her tea, "that he's simply here to teach? His main activity is giving private lessons—besides the Dueling Club, he tutors Hermione in the theory of charms three evenings a week; as for Avalon, I assume that's for kids like Ron who can't sit still, and the Room of Requirement? That's for restless ones like Neville or Luna."

With Harry's skeptical gaze fixed on her, Zhang Qiu smiled faintly and asked, "Well, can you accept that explanation?"

"Probably not," Harry picked up a paper cupcake. "Honestly, if he were just a Bai Gong agent, I wouldn't care much—but first, he's the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, and Hipe and Pei Xu clearly follow him; add to that the fact that third-year Sanste is connected to him. I don't believe he's planning nothing."

"You forgot one important thing: his uncle is the richest man in America, and he has no cousins—male or female," Zhang Qiu tapped the table. "In other words, he's the next richest man in America."

"I nearly forgot—but that makes it even harder to understand," Harry mused. "His life path doesn't look like a rich heir's at all: attending magic school, graduating to become an Auror—you've seen those scars—then coming here to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, a position Dumbledore says is cursed."

"So what do you imagine a rich heir should be like?" Zhang Qiu chuckled. "Flirting with secretaries, tinkering with armor models, throwing pool parties now and then?"

Harry blinked. That did sound strange.

"I looked into Donald's activities in the Muggle world," Zhang Qiu said seriously. "He financed a movie about a wealthy heir becoming a superhero. Maybe that's his real aspiration."

Harry had never been interested in American superheroes and knew little about them, but from Zhang Qiu's words, he began to understand.

"So Donald just wants excitement—wants to be a heroic figure?" Harry said uncertainly.

"A heroic figure…" Zhang Qiu repeated the phrase. "He might have other motives—I'll verify later. For now, this is the most plausible explanation."

"What other motives?"

"Nothing. Just overthinking," Zhang Qiu shook her head slightly, brushing off the topic.

Perhaps related to Hermione—anyone paying slight attention would notice Donald's concern and favoritism toward her far exceeded reasonable teacher-student bounds. But Harry felt he already knew the answer: Hermione resembled his first love.

Seeing her change the subject, Harry shifted to something else—he was curious about the Zhang family of Tianchao, so Zhang Qiu told him many stories about tomb-curse breakers: how the people of Tianchao bred zombies as tomb guardians, and how there existed a magical creature called the Corpse Beetle. These made for fresh, intriguing conversation.

The next morning, Harry bid farewell to Zhang Qiu, agreeing to meet again in December.

Tardis whistled past again; in Harry's eyes, only twenty minutes had passed, but in Zhang Qiu's, she had spent over a month alone in the familiar yet strange school.

When Harry descended into the Chamber again, the scene was even more chaotic than he'd imagined. Beyond the tidy, bright sofa and coffee table in the small sitting room, the four-poster bed behind the screen, and Zhang Qiu's bookshelf-lined desk, there now lay piles upon piles of trash.

All kinds of household waste: snack wrappers, glass drink bottles—some broken, some intact—cupcake holders, metal cutlery and dessert spoons, dirty plates—all brought back from the kitchen but never returned.

Elsewhere, Harry saw piles of changed bed linens, boxes of old books, stacks of paper, broken plates, several empty dessert stands; one stand had a pair of torn tights hanging from it, and some white fabric stained with suspicious dark red. Zhang Qiu's previous weapon rack and dummy lay nearby.

A bit farther off stood a large black trash bin. Harry had no interest in investigating its contents, but he suspected it held kitchen waste.

Because all the dry waste had already been piled outside.

Zhang Qiu pulled back the bed curtains, revealing her head—hair messy, eyelids drooping, clearly exhausted.

"Oh Harry, you're here—wait a moment," she said, then ducked back under the curtains.

Harry sat for a while on the comfortable fabric sofa, then noticed a sticky patch on the armrest, biscuit crumbs lodged in the seams, and when he reached in, pulled out several long hairs. Frowning, he caught a faint aroma of New Orleans-style roasted chicken—but he doubted it was from something Zhang Qiu had recently eaten, since the smell now carried a hint of rot.

About ten minutes later, Zhang Qiu got out of bed. She wore her winter uniform: thick shirt, wool vest, polyester-lined wool robe, and warm cotton socks shoved into deep leather shoes.

Only then did Harry realize: after removing the insulated invisibility cloak, a chill seeped into his thin robe, reminding him through his short-sleeved shirt that Christmas meant not just holidays and the third attack, but also temperatures as cold as summer had been warm.

"Ah oh, an out-of-season summer visitor," Zhang Qiu noticed Harry's summer attire. "You'd better put your invisibility cloak back on."

"Fine," Harry wrapped himself until only his floating head was visible. "Today's the day Justin gets attacked—we need to prepare."

"Of course," Zhang Qiu flipped through her diary, then suddenly shrieked, "December 21st, second year! December 21st!"

"What's wrong?" Harry asked instinctively.

"Oh no, Donald's coming down to the Chamber today—I thought there'd be a few days between visits. There's no time to clean up! Wait, wait—I still have to attack Justin. When exactly did he get killed?"

"At night, I think," Harry said. "I remember it was on my way back from the library, around eight or nine." He checked his watch—it was nine in the morning. "But why do you think Donald will come down here?"

"Today he skipped Hermione's tutoring and came back to investigate. I lost him in the girls' bathroom—he must've gone down to the Chamber. Or perhaps Donald knew from the start how to open it." Zhang Qiu analyzed. "And do you know why Justin was killed at night? Because during the day, I'm cleaning up!"

Harry looked around the Chamber. It had no day or night—no wonder Zhang Qiu had lost track of the date.

"Let's get to work quickly. I'll decide what to keep and what to discard. You move the rest to the Room of Requirement," Zhang Qiu rolled up her sleeves.

"The Room of Requirement?" Harry nodded inwardly. "So all this junk came from there?"

"Exactly. But there are two parts: most I just took for free—the dummy, the weapon rack," Zhang Qiu paused. "But some I borrowed."

At Harry's puzzled look, she continued, "I went to the room Donald often visits—the place where students hide forbidden items. I borrowed some books from there, and a few magical tools that might be useful."

"Oh," Harry glanced at the dusty books and notebooks. "They didn't help?"

"Nope. Most were Dark Arts, but outdated," Zhang Qiu shrugged. "Right now, nothing beats the Killing Curse for practical Dark Magic."

"That sounds weird," Harry said, using a levitation charm to move a crumpled bedsheet, revealing a thin, dusty blanket underneath.

"I mean, in most cases, we only need to guard against the Killing Curse—Dark wizards aren't stupid," Zhang Qiu began cleaning too, picking out magical tools from the trash and placing them in another cardboard box.

"Why not just ditch all this furniture?" Harry asked. "Bring in new stuff later—it's all magically conjured from the Room of Requirement anyway."

"But how do we dispose of all this trash without drawing attention?" Zhang Qiu said without turning. "And it has to be the Room of Requirement—tell it to turn into a garbage room."

"But I can't just—" Harry protested. "I need a trash bag. Preferably one with an Undetectable Extension Charm."

"That's the problem—we have no trash bag, and we don't know the Undetectable Extension Charm. You can wrap some dry waste in bed sheets and carry it out, then ask the Room of Requirement for a trash bag," Zhang Qiu said, pulling off the sheet currently on the bed. "This one's still clean enough—you can tie it into a bundle and carry it."

Harry sighed and began selecting items clearly trash—using levitation to move them one by one onto the bedsheet Zhang Qiu had just slept on.