Chapter 41

Tang Dun had a peculiar charm; after Harry returned to the luxurious life of a nobleman surrounded by servants, he rarely engaged with anything magical except for the occasional book, as the school strictly forbade spellcasting during holidays.

On a day in late July, Harry learned that a “strange” guest had come to visit him. When he entered the parlor, he discovered it was Zhang Qiu. She wore a white wizard’s robe with distinctive Tianchao features (said to be called hanfu) and carried her sword. What puzzled Harry was that she seemed to have grown much taller.

“Harry, why didn’t you reply?” Zhang Qiu asked the moment she saw him.

“Letter?” Harry frowned. “I never received any letter.”

Under Zhang Qiu’s astonished and confused gaze, Harry suddenly realized something. “This is odd. I overlooked this anomaly: it’s been nearly a month since the holidays began—there’s no way my friends haven’t sent me a single letter!”

“Exactly,” Zhang Qiu said. “My master divined that you would be in danger on your birthday, and since I never received a reply, I came to investigate. Clearly, someone has deliberately intercepted your letters—you may be caught in a conspiracy.”

“Conspiracy?” Harry immediately recalled the dangers he’d faced last term. “Death Eaters?”

“Very likely,” Zhang Qiu said. “Dumbledore mentioned you must live with a Muggle relative because of the charm your mother cast—it protects you from the Dark Lord until you turn seventeen. In other words, the charm’s effect is to prevent the Dark Lord from entering or attacking the Muggle home where you’re raised.”

“I know. Are you saying they want to lure me out?”

“I suspect someone is currently opening the letters sent to you, studying our writing style. Then, that person might imitate Ron’s tone to write you a letter inviting you to his home—and you’d happily accept, walking straight into a trap…”

Harry felt a chill run down his spine.

“And that person must also consider your friends’ reactions. I came all the way from Tianchao the moment I sensed something wrong—but where’s Ron? I’m certain Ron wanted to come find you, but something stopped him. I remember Ron’s father works at the Ministry of Magic—if someone inside the Ministry is involved in this conspiracy, the situation is far worse than I imagined!” Zhang Qiu said gravely.

“That’s right,” Harry added, realizing the same point. “And Dumbledore—they’ll use the Ministry to restrain him. Only the Ministry can do that.”

“I always knew the Ministry couldn’t be trusted,” Zhang Qiu snapped. “It seems the conspiracy around you is even more terrifying than I thought. According to my master’s divination, something special will happen on your birthday—likely their attack. But now that you’re prepared, and they don’t know I’m here, perhaps we can turn the tables. If we can force him to confess, the enemies inside the Ministry will be exposed.”

“Alright,” Harry said. He didn’t think they had a chance of catching any attacker, but with Zhang Qiu’s help, at least he wouldn’t face terrible danger unprepared.

For the next few days, Zhang Qiu stayed in Tang Dun’s guest room. Harry sometimes discussed magic with her, but she spent most of her time reading and taking notes—her notes were written in Chinese, and the books she pulled from a small bag enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm were also in Chinese, every character unintelligible to Harry.

On his birthday, they held the usual celebration. Harry received chocolate from Ivy, and Zhang Qiu gave him a book on magical creatures. Harry was curious about Tianchao’s magical beasts, but he couldn’t read a single Chinese character—he could only barely glance at the pictures.

When Harry returned to his room after dinner, he found an unexpected guest on his bed. It was a small, humanoid creature with enormous bat-like ears, bulging green eyes the size of tennis balls, and a pillowcase with holes cut for its head and arms.

The moment it saw Harry, it slid off the bed and bowed deeply, then squeaked in a high-pitched voice: “Harry Potter! Dobby has long admired your great name, and dares to intrude—to deliver a great matter… a very important matter… Dobby does not know where to begin…”

Seeing it too agitated to speak coherently, Harry waited for it to calm down, but it kept sobbing, occasionally banging its head on the floor, making it impossible to extract any useful information.

So Harry finally spoke: “It’s fine, Dobby. Take your time. Why don’t you introduce yourself first, then tell me what happened?”

Dobby finally gathered its thoughts and babbled on at length. Harry ignored the nonsensical parts—like punishing itself by trapping its ears in the oven—and eventually pieced together the gist.

“You’re saying that because I defeated the Dark Lord, you greatly admire me. Recently, you overheard a terrible conspiracy from your master’s household, so you came to warn me, right?”

“Yes!” Dobby shrieked. “Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts! A terrible conspiracy targets Hogwarts! And Harry, too kind, too dangerous—you must not, oh, bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!”

Harry fell into thought. He had no doubt he would return to school. What truly puzzled him was this: if Dobby’s warning concerned a conspiracy against Hogwarts, then his master likely knew nothing of what was happening around Harry—meaning there were two entirely separate conspiracies…

As he hesitated, seven sheets of yellow paper flew out of the wardrobe, forming a strange array that bound Dobby tightly at its center.

Zhang Qiu removed her Invisibility Charm and looked down at the fallen creature with disgust. “Full of lies.”

“Huh?”

“Simple logic: Hogwarts has Dumbledore,” Zhang Qiu analyzed. “The so-called ‘conspiracy’ your master speaks of would be nothing but a student’s prank to Dumbledore. And if your master truly had the power to threaten Hogwarts under Dumbledore’s nose, then his identity is obvious. Do you really believe a house-elf of the Dark Lord?”

“But perhaps Dobby is just dim-witted, or doesn’t understand Dumbledore’s greatness,” Harry instinctively tried to defend the creature.

“Then what’s that bulge hidden in its clothes?” Zhang Qiu said. “Pillowcase, come!”

Dobby, half-unconscious, couldn’t stop it. The clothes it wore flew off, revealing a thick stack of letters hidden beneath.

Harry picked up the letters. He quickly noticed they were all letters sent to him: Ron wrote that a fascinating guest had come to his house; Neville said his home already had a fascinating guest; Hagrid said he hoped to visit Tang Dun again; Ron and Neville each invited Harry to their homes.

After skimming his own letters, Harry saw over a dozen more identical ones—addresses written in emerald ink, wax seals bearing the Hogwarts crest. But the recipient’s name on each envelope read: “Miss Ivy Crowley.”

Zhang Qiu used another long Chinese incantation to banish Dobby—said to be a Tianchao spell that forces magical creatures to Apparate back to their natural habitat. “Unregistered underage wizards can’t cast spells outside school,” she explained. “If Dobby used magic here, and if there are hostile people in the Ministry, your troubles would be immense. Fortunately, I came—my magic sword and Tianchao spells are beyond the Ministry’s surveillance.”

Harry agreed with Zhang Qiu’s actions. If Dobby had truly come in good faith, sending him home wouldn’t hurt. But if Dobby served Voldemort and lied to deceive him, he’d face punishment for failing his mission.

The next day, Ivy learned she had been accepted into Hogwarts. She was overjoyed and begged Harry to take her to Diagon Alley to shop. Harry had initially been eager to revisit Diagon Alley, but Zhang Qiu and he reanalyzed the oddities of the situation.

If intercepting letters was Dobby’s personal act, his words and logic were incoherent and implausible. It was hard to imagine his motive—even if he truly discovered a conspiracy, he should have gone straight to Dumbledore, not come to bother Harry.

Even if Harry forgave that, assuming Dobby was merely foolishly fixated and genuinely meant to prevent Harry from returning to Hogwarts, intercepting his friends’ letters still made no sense—it would only make Harry more eager to return to school and ask his friends what was going on.

In Zhang Qiu’s view, Dobby was more likely part of the conspiracy. Half the plot against Harry was already complete: the enemy had learned Ron’s and Neville’s writing styles, and Dobby was sent to lull Harry into false security. Next time he received letters from Ron or Neville, he must be extremely cautious—they might contain Portkeys, or worse. He should avoid opening them entirely, and wait until school to discuss anything.

This alarming conclusion terrified Harry, especially since he couldn’t legally use magic. Zhang Qiu’s advice: Harry should stay safely at Tang Dun while she took Ivy to Diagon Alley. If they encountered someone trustworthy, they should immediately ask for help. If no one trustworthy appeared, they should at least ask shopkeepers for information and buy several copies of the Daily Prophet to study.

Zhang Qiu and Ivy dressed as ordinary Muggle girls, driven by Tang Dun’s chauffeur to Diagon Alley. Luck favored them—they encountered no danger en route. Even better: the moment they entered the Leaky Cauldron, they noticed a witch in emerald robes sitting in the corner, reading a newspaper and occasionally adjusting her glasses.

“Professor McGonagall,” Zhang Qiu lowered her hoodie’s hood and whispered.

“Ah, it’s you, Zhang,” McGonagall glanced at her attire and praised, “Very clever. Have you already figured something out?”

“You mean…” Zhang Qiu asked cautiously.

“He’s returned,” McGonagall whispered. “An ancient ritual. Quirrell helped him obtain his enemy’s blood. Though he lacked the Philosopher’s Stone, he still revived.”

“So the conspiracy around Harry is tied to the Dark Lord?”

“I don’t know what’s happening around Harry, but if there’s a conspiracy, it’s undoubtedly connected to him,” McGonagall said, glancing at Ivy. “He’s currently contacting former pure-blood supporters. He may not have time to target Harry directly. But for safety, I’ll arrange a safer way for him to enter school. Tell him to wait patiently at home.”

Zhang Qiu nodded in deep agreement.

“Now,” McGonagall stood, looking at the innocent Ivy, “we must take our new student to buy school supplies.”