Chapter 269

The next morning, when Harry saw his schedule, he suddenly felt that talking wasn't important at all—two classes of Magical History, two of Potions, Muggle Studies, and two of Defense Against the Dark Arts; his timetable was completely packed.

"I really hope Fred and George finish developing Quick-Quill Pills soon," Ron sighed.

"We've already got a prototype—just a tiny piece makes you vomit nonstop," Fred leaned over and said, "One Galleon."

"That's still expensive," Ron protested, "I'll only pay six Sickles."

"It's only a Galleon because there's no antidote—strictly speaking, you keep vomiting until you can't swallow the antidote," George shrugged, "We were planning to sell it for three Galleons."

"But I'm your little brother," Ron complained, "Can't you give me a discount?"

"Of course—if you buy in bulk. Three Galleons each, or ten for three. Not bad?" Fred said, spearing a piece of smoked fish.

Before Ron could count his fingers, Harry shoved the schedule into his pocket and pulled him toward the classroom.

"In past years, it wouldn't have mattered much—just copy Zhang Qiu's notes and you'd be fine," Harry said, "But this year we have OWLs. To do well on the exams, we actually need to pay attention."

"What's the point of doing well?" Ron grumbled, "It's just for jobs. Have you considered dropping these exams? You've got such high reputation—you could get by fine without them."

"How exactly would I get by fine?" Harry snapped, "As far as I know, the only career that doesn't require exam results is Dark Lord."

Magical History was universally regarded as the most boring subject; Professor Binns spoke in wheezing, dragging tones that could lull anyone to sleep within ten minutes—if the weather was hot, it took only five.

Today's lesson was the Giant Wars—wizarding history's Giant Wars were unremarkable at best, just mindless giants brawling, infinitely duller than the Yggdrasil tales Harry had heard in the Muggle world.

Just as Harry felt he could no longer resist sleep, he made a decision: rather than waste this hour and twenty minutes in slumber, he'd use the time to strategize his conversation with Malfoy.

Did Malfoy believe Harry knew about Horcruxes? To Lucius, it was obvious—otherwise, how else could Harry have gathered Death Eaters and discussed collecting Horcruxes? He'd acted on the assumption that Harry had resurrected Voldemort.

But Draco might not know about them at all. The reason was simple: if Lucius wanted to hide the diary first, to prevent Death Eaters from quickly gathering all Horcruxes, he'd go to great lengths to conceal its existence. So Lucius would never tell Draco about Horcruxes—it reduced the risk of Draco suspecting the diary. The fewer people who knew, the better.

Yet Harry himself had two reasons to conclude the diary was a Horcrux: first, Tom Marvolo Riddle inside it was Voldemort himself; second, Zhang Qiu had written the Zhengyi Jiangsheng Weimeng Lu on its pages and realized it might house a soul.

According to Sirius's intelligence, given Lucius was already entrusted with guarding a large serpent, he might not suspect the diary Voldemort gave him years ago was a Horcrux. He might assume it was merely something like a portrait, holding thoughts—not something he'd even converse with by name.

Draco knew the diary's owner was Tom, but likely didn't know Voldemort's true name. Lucius wouldn't quietly reveal such a thing to his son (and he might not even know it himself). And if Draco didn't know about Horcruxes, he'd never even consider the possibility.

So for Harry, the first step was to test whether Draco knew the diary was a Horcrux. If a fifth-year student had heard of Horcruxes, it was almost certainly because he'd heard Harry's claims about Voldemort. Harry suddenly realized: Draco's only possible source was Lucius. So if Draco seemed to know about Horcruxes, he was almost certainly pretending—to trick Harry into handing over the diary.

Consider the worst-case scenario: what if Lucius and Draco were colluding? But conversely, Lucius's goal was to keep the diary hidden so he could slowly recruit Death Eaters. He might even intend for Draco to deliberately slip up, luring Harry to take the diary and hide it.

There was a brilliant asymmetry of information: Lucius would assume Harry was determined to collect and destroy Horcruxes, and would never risk letting Death Eaters gather them. So he'd believe Harry valued the diary immensely. But in truth, Harry didn't care whether Death Eaters collected all Horcruxes. If the diary appeared in Draco's hands and was mentioned at a Death Eater meeting, it would be Lucius who was trapped.

When Death Eaters discovered all Horcruxes were assembled, with only the ring left in the Order's hands, how much would Lucius have to pay to convince Bellatrix not to launch war? Or how could he sway Regulus and Snape to refuse Voldemort's resurrection? Even better—Harry still had Ho Fa, the ant on the scale. With careful maneuvering, he could force Sirius to extort Lucius heavily without sparking war.

Of course, if the optimistic scenario held—that Draco and Lucius hadn't coordinated, and Draco was genuinely at odds with his family—then Harry could start by chatting about student clubs, subtly escalating pressure on Lucius. The Horcrux and diary plan could wait for a better moment, ensuring Sirius gained maximum advantage.

When Professor Binns dismissed class, Harry had just sorted out his strategy for dealing with Malfoy. He felt refreshed, turned—and saw Ron, half-asleep, frantically scribbling with his quill, half his parchment covered in meaningless doodles.

As Ron kept voicing his dread of Potions and Harry pondered where to make up the class, someone rounded the corner before them—it was Zhang Qiu.

"By the way, Harry, did I forget to mention OWLs?" she said. "Do you want my notes from last year?"

"Thank the heavens," Harry nodded to her. "You've saved our lives."

"But weren't you at Beauxbatons last year? Are your notes even reliable?" Ron suddenly asked. "By the way, how did you do?"

"All O's, of course," she replied coldly. "Well, goodbye!"

Watching Zhang Qiu walk away, Harry sighed listlessly: "How many times do you plan to provoke her? You idiot."

"I just wanted to congratulate her," Ron shrank back guiltily, "but she's got no sense of humor."

They cut the subject short and hurried to the dungeon classroom. Now that Snape was headmaster, classroom discipline was incomparably stricter than in past years; nearly everyone, regardless of whether they approved of him, pretended to listen intently.

"I must remind you," he said sternly, "this is a crucial year. If any of you fails to pass your OWLs, I will… be very angry."

His gaze landed on Ron's face; Ron instinctively shrank toward Harry.

"Very well. Today we'll study a common exam potion: the Calming Draught. It soothes agitation and anxiety." Snape gave a slight nod. "This isn't just key for Potions exams—I believe it's vital for other exams too."

Snape waved his wand; the steps for brewing the potion appeared on the blackboard. Harry read them quickly, then began carefully following each step.

"What is this mess you've brewed?" Snape's voice cut through the room. "You seem distracted, Draco."

Harry saw Draco nervously fiddling with his cauldron; Pansy leaned close, gently stroking his back.

"Before I lose my temper, you still have time to brew another batch," Snape said, then resumed his patrol.

Draco wasn't top of the class, but he followed potion steps precisely—so if he was truly distracted, that explained his mistake.

But a voice in Harry's mind asked: how do you know he isn't acting for your benefit?

Harry scrutinized Draco closely, searching for any tell. Suddenly, his attention shifted to Pansy beside him—and then he spotted Daphne Greengrass in the crowd.

If Draco was pretending, he wouldn't want to present the diary at a Death Eater meeting. Harry realized: this was a flaw he'd overlooked. But now, there was a clever way to bypass the question of whether Draco was genuinely estranged from his family or just deceiving him.

No matter if he was acting, he couldn't drag Pansy into the act. The key was Greengrass: judging by Daphne's looks, her sister couldn't be unattractive—she'd easily outshine Pansy. So if Harry steered the conversation toward Draco's marriage prospects, Pansy would gladly undermine Lucius.

Even better: if the person who exposed the diary at the Death Eater meeting was switched from Draco to Pansy, it would seem far more plausible to others—and far more dangerous to Lucius.