Chapter 295

While Harry was scribbling furiously in the library, Zhang Qiu strolled up beside him and poked his arm.

"Ah, what's this?" Harry took the item she handed him—a neatly wrapped paper bag labeled "Lightweight Photographic Studio."

"Photos taken today," Zhang Qiu said, propping her hands on the table, smiling.

Harry opened the envelope and saw first a photo of Zhang Qiu in a sky-blue wizard's robe; he nodded silently—it looked quite nice.

He flipped through the rest quickly, then paused, slightly puzzled: "Why are these all your photos? Where's Hermione's?"

Zhang Qiu's expression darkened instantly. She spoke in a tone utterly foreign to him: "Of course they're with Hermione herself. I advised her to send a copy to Donald."

"Yes, if she sent a photo of the two of you together and mentioned this studio, it would indeed be a sharp warning," Harry mused. "But Hermione might not send a joint photo—or even mention you took her there. If she doesn't name the studio, or if Donald isn't sensitive to Cassandra's whereabouts, then all this is pointless."

"Do you think Donald will completely ignore Cassandra? He's already placed spies nearby," Zhang Qiu snapped. "Just walking in together achieves the effect. What follows is merely making Donald realize Hermione still doesn't know the truth."

"Oh right—Donald will surely test Hermione to see how much she knows, then discover you haven't told her anything yet. He'll sigh in relief… and realize he must act." Harry nodded slowly. "Cleverly arranged."

Zhang Qiu glared at him, then muttered, "I'm going back," and left the library outright.

Harry rubbed his head. He had a gut feeling he'd done something wrong—or rather, he rarely got things right in this area.

"What's the point of studying Magical History?" he muttered as he wrote. "Why doesn't the school teach how to understand girls? They should scrap Magical History and replace it with something actually useful."

At dinner, Harry told Ron about it. Ron asked, equally confused: "You mean you upset Zhang Qiu again?"

"Why do you say 'again'?" Harry countered.

"I don't know. She's been acting weird this year. I mean, it might not be you—but she's always looking annoyed." Ron scratched his head.

"It's probably because of the Zhengyi Jiangsheng Weilu," Harry refused to admit fault. "That incantation's power is too strong—it's affecting her. Yes, she said she has fuzzy memories of its effects. That's one of them."

"If you're talking about relationships, I suggest asking Malfoy for advice," Neville sat down beside them. "Everyone says he's the fastest-moving couple in school."

"Ask Malfoy?" Ron spat a bone into his plate. "You're committing a crime."

Emotionally, Harry strongly rejected the idea. But rationally, he knew Draco and Pansy were the most skilled at managing relationships—at least for now. A little humility and asking for help could show trust in them, which might deepen their trust in him.

Last time, he remembered, their relationship had suddenly become inseparable last year—and the diary seemed to have played some role. If they again suggested he reconnect with the diary while discussing emotions, it would provide a perfect opening to bring up the diary later.

"Neville, look what you've done," Ron grumbled. "You've grossed Harry out—he can't even eat now!"

"I'm fine," Harry snapped back to reality. "The suggestion is disgusting, but maybe it works. I'll ask them tonight."

"Fine, do as you like," Ron muttered. "I'm staying late for training. I'm the only keeper—I don't want to look foolish against Slytherin."

While the team's sole keeper trained with the chasers, the two seekers sat on plush sofas in a warm room, sipping tea and chatting. Opposite them sat Slytherin's seeker, flanked by two new beaters—two not-very-bright new beaters.

"How many people would buy pure gold Phoenix Rings?" Draco calculated. "How much profit could fund regular Phoenix Ring production?"

"There's no pure gold—it must contain Dragon bone powder," Luna insisted stubbornly. No one took her seriously.

"Since we're Dumbledore's Army, this money should come from Dumbledore," Ivy suggested. "Who's holding his estate now?"

"With the old bat," Cui Ge grumbled. "He claims it's Hogwarts' public property. Please. Hogwarts is already rich enough—why hoard so much? He's probably embezzling."

"Let's write a joint letter demanding the old bat fund Dumbledore's Army," Pansy proposed. "Everyone agree?"

"I don't oppose asking the professor for money," Hannah sighed. "But if you're asking, shouldn't you show a little respect? Professor Snape won't like being called 'the old bat.'"

"It is pretty accurate," Ernie muttered.

"Ginny, what do you think?" Pansy asked politely.

"I think it's fine—but maybe ask for more," Harry noticed Ginny wasn't as naive as before. "Besides Phoenix Rings, I think we should pay Mr. Klester some tuition."

"No need—he gets a full Auror salary, plus travel allowances," Harry said. "But I don't oppose asking for more."

"Perfect," Draco smiled. "Crabbe, Goyle, what are you doing?"

"Oh… I was thinking," Goyle mused. "We each ate a paper cupcake."

"But why is there only one paper cup on the table?" Crabbe sounded uncertain.

Before Draco could explode, Luna cleverly cast a duplication charm—suddenly there were two cups. The two big boys grinned again.

"Let's talk about the cost—how much does a Phoenix Ring cost again?" Ivy steered the conversation back to the topic everyone loved. Harry thought it was slightly unethical.

Mr. Klester had said he spent fifty Galleons to make thirty Phoenix Rings, five of them pure gold. Logically, even if they wrote to Snape, the amount should be around fifty Galleons.

But the children gleefully invented all sorts of expenses: setting the price at five Galleons per ring, then adding items conjured by the Room of Requirement—seven Galleons for training dummies, twelve for cushions, thirty for books, one hundred twenty for hiring Mr. Klester (even though they hadn't paid tuition).

When the total reached over eight hundred Galleons and the children began worrying Snape would refuse, Draco proposed another idea: "Let's apply for a thousand Galleons, then give him one hundred fifty."

"Brilliant!" Cui Ge clapped excitedly. "Arnold's method really works."

"Arnold taught you this?" Harry frowned.

"Oh yes—he mainly teaches in Slytherin how society actually works," Pansy nodded. "He wants us to learn that when pursuing ambition or profit, there's always a more efficient, higher-yield method than using dark magic for terror attacks."

"It's a way to prevent Slytherin students from becoming Dark Wizards—the 'preventive' part of Defense Against the Dark Arts," Draco added, slightly weary.

Harry sighed. Selfish, idle politicians harmed society more than bloodthirsty, evil Dark Wizards—he couldn't say which was worse.

The children discussed funding for a while longer. Even Hannah and Ernie, who'd initially felt guilty, now joined in. They not only finalized their proposal to Snape for Dumbledore's Army funding, but also planned events to build reputation among professors and students—so they could later invent more excuses to ask for money. And incidentally, to replace the Student Council.

After finishing those plans, they fantasized about future events. Then the gathering turned to gossip. Harry had thought he could mention his question about girls now—but he noticed Ginny and Ivy. He didn't know if they'd outgrown childish thinking. Out of caution, he waited until the gathering ended, planning to stay behind and speak privately with Pansy and Draco.

"Harry, what do you want to say?" Draco asked cautiously. "Death Eaters seem to be searching for something. Snape asked me again about the Chamber today—is it connected to your new moves?"

"Possibly," Harry's heart leapt. That meant Snape was also doubting whether Lucius was pretending ignorance or truly didn't know about the diary. "But it's not really any concern of students here."

"If you're especially curious, I can tell you," Harry instantly set aside his emotional question—he was desperate to probe how much Draco knew about Horcruxes, and what his stance would be.