Chapter 53: The Little Girl and the Great Genius

Harry ultimately succeeded in getting rid of the two seemingly troubled first-years; he didn’t much care what Ivy was troubled about—in his view, girls’ moods came and went quickly. He was already thinking about finishing his assignments by Monday to free up more time and energy for Quidditch training. Wood said the Slytherin Beaters were tough to handle, and they needed to practice a four-on-two formation to counter them.

The next day, the two girls went to Ron again, trying to persuade him to bring Harry along as the next user of the notebook. Then, on Wednesday, Ginny privately sought out Ron, hoping he would ask to be paired with Ivy so she could be paired with Harry.

Ron had no interest in the notebook either, and he believed Donald’s claim that too much contact with the opposite sex would waste his knightly talent, so he flatly refused. He warned the two girls again, reminding them not to trust the notebook too much.

On Saturday, Harry ran into Cedric again and heard that Ivy wanted Cedric and Zhang Qiu to form the fourth group, which made him slightly annoyed—but he couldn’t say exactly why. Fortunately, Cedric refused. Harry still had to continue dueling practice with Neville, so he put the notebook out of his mind.

A new week arrived. Donald seemed to have forgotten the existence of the Dueling Club—or perhaps its original purpose had always been to give Ron and Neville special tutoring. Throughout the entire class, no student asked about the club, and he never mentioned any new invitations.

That night, Ron wrapped two layers of bandages around his hand and set off with fiery determination. Harry tidied his assignments and returned to the library, greeted Zhang Qiu, and sat down to work on this week’s essay.

“Hi, Harry. Good evening.” A deep male voice came from behind. Harry instinctively looked up and saw Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy’s two lackeys.

“You’re not here to recommend the notebook too, are you?” Harry felt a bad premonition.

“Uh, you guessed it right away—so clever, no wonder you’re Harry Potter,” Crabbe said. “Actually, Mr. Tang really is impressive—he knows a lot of things.”

“Maybe Harry can answer a question Mr. Tang can’t,” Goyle said. “I heard Cui Ge say yesterday’s Ravenclaw password was: ‘How many years did the Hundred Years’ War last?’”

“Is that a serious question?” Harry said, baffled. “Isn’t it a hundred years?”

“Actually, no,” Zhang Qiu sighed. “It lasted a hundred and sixteen years. Perhaps the door knocker posed it to remind us not to grow arrogant because of our own wisdom.”

“Zhang senior, you’re impressive too,” Crabbe said, slipping the notebook back into his robe. “I have a lot of questions too—for example, our pumpkin juice straws: do they have one hole or two? Mr. Tang says you can interpret it either way, but I just want a definite answer.”

“Mathematically, a straw is equivalent to a donut—it has only one hole,” Harry said. “That’s topology.”

Although Harry thought only someone with a warped mind would ask such a question, their respectful demeanor made him feel good—and fundamentally, Harry was a kind person, so he answered seriously.

“So that’s how it is. But speaking of donuts, why do they have a hole in the middle? If I spend six Knuts on a donut, isn’t three Knuts just wasted on the hole?” Crabbe pressed.

“Yeah, I’m always hungry. I wish there were donuts without holes,” Goyle agreed.

Zhang Qiu praised them: “What a pair of genius talents—truly brilliant.”

Harry gritted his teeth and replied: “If there were no hole, it’d just be regular bread. It’s not that donuts have holes—it’s that we specifically call bread with holes ‘donuts.’”

“Is that so? Let’s ask Mr. Tang,” Crabbe pulled out the notebook again and scrawled unevenly: “Mr. Tang, why does a donut have a hole in the middle?”

No elegant script appeared—only a long string of ellipses.

“It seems Mr. Tang is thinking hard about this,” Goyle said. “Harry, can I ask you another question? One Mr. Tang can’t answer.”

“Don’t tell me Mr. Tang told you to come ask me,” Harry said helplessly.

“You’re amazing, Harry—you guessed it again,” Goyle said cheerfully. “Every time we ask something Mr. Tang can’t answer, he tells us to come ask you. Maybe now we should add Zhang senior too.”

Harry glanced at his essay—he’d only written three lines. “Ask first. Meanwhile, I’d like to chat with Mr. Tang.”

Crabbe handed over the notebook—the ellipses still hadn’t faded. Goyle spoke: “Harry, do you know the Abraxan?”

“Yes,” Harry said—he’d seen the creature in the Daily Prophet at the Burrow. “It’s said to be a magical creature living in Sweden.”

“We came to the right place—you really know everything,” Goyle said. “We’re always being scolded by Malfoy for not knowing enough.”

Finally, new text appeared on the notebook: “Perhaps you should ask Harry.”

Harry took a deep breath and slowly wrote: “Hello, Tom. I’m Harry Potter.”

Elegant script appeared: “Harry, hello. Your friends all say you’re an impressive person.”

Those people? Harry’s mind flashed with Luna’s craziness, Cui Ge’s oddness, Draco’s arrogance, Pansy’s pretense, Ginny’s innocence, and Ivy’s naivety. Probably Ginny and the others said that—he still considered Ginny his friend.

“Thank you. I’d like to know why you keep seeking me out.”

“Out of curiosity,” came the reply after a pause. “I’m merely a diary passed among generations of students. Most of my knowledge comes from outstanding students. That’s precisely why I’m eager to communicate with you.”

“You want to gain knowledge from me?” Harry wrote.

“Yes. Rather than endlessly answering children’s questions with existing knowledge, I prefer learning new knowledge from outstanding students.”

“We’ll see if you can handle it,” Zhang Qiu snorted, snatching the notebook and writing in Chinese.

“Nothing is not Heaven. Nothing is not fate. Nothing is not divine. Nothing is not the primordial…”

The notebook began to smoke. Zhang Qiu quickly stopped writing—it had become scalding hot.

“Take this notebook away,” she said. “Don’t let me see it again.”

Crabbe and Goyle were clearly startled. They glanced at Harry, stammered a farewell, and left without looking back.

“What did you just write? That was terrifying,” Harry said. He thought Crabbe and Goyle were annoying, but didn’t believe they had truly evil intentions.

“Dangerous knowledge,” Zhang Qiu said. “That’s my seventh secret incantation, secretly learned. It places enormous strain on the soul. Without first studying the general principles and the first six incantations, merely glancing at it risks brain explosion.”

“But why did the notebook react like that? Logically…” Harry paused, then suddenly realized: “Could it… contain a soul?”

“That’s exactly what I suspect,” Zhang Qiu said gravely. “Imprisoning a student’s soul inside a notebook—it looks unmistakably like Dark Magic.”

“Is there another possibility?” Harry mused. “Maybe the notebook is linked to Donald—like we analyzed before. He’s studying the mystery of love, so he’d naturally need to monitor romantic relationships.”

Harry felt he’d just figured it out. If Donald merely matched couples, how would he understand how love forms and develops? He must be secretly manipulating the notebook to secretly observe students’ psychological states.

“And that long string of ellipses just now—he must have been guiding Ron and couldn’t spare attention,” Harry grew more confident. “When he realized your incantation could harm souls, he made the notebook heat up to stop you from writing.”

“Too far-fetched,” Zhang Qiu said. “I suspect he imprisoned a soul inside the notebook—or perhaps the notebook was always sentient, and he merely took it over.”

“What if it’s artificial intelligence?” Harry recalled news from summer. “Aren’t Americans researching programs to simulate human thought? Maybe this is an American magical achievement?”

Zhang Qiu reluctantly accepted the theory: “Fine, assume you’re right—then how does Donald study?”

“The diary records every conversation’s time and content, and Donald archives and analyzes them?” Harry guessed carelessly. “Then he’d fully understand how student couples communicate.”

“But that still doesn’t explain why the last two pairs aren’t couples.”

“Two possibilities,” Harry said. “One: our earlier question to Malfoy about whether pairs must be one boy and one girl made him realize the rule isn’t absolute. Ginny and Ivy already get along well, and Crabbe and Goyle are fiercely loyal to him—maybe they just shared the notebook out of kindness.”

“And the second possibility?”

“The second possibility is these pairs represent special kinds of love. For example, Ginny and Ivy have always acted strangely—maybe they’re secretly infatuated with someone. And Crabbe and Goyle…” Harry’s expression grew odd as he spoke.

“In Great Britain, we have our own national conditions,” Zhang Qiu said solemnly—but she couldn’t help laughing. “Pfft, okay, maybe it really is just that.”

“Fine, let’s assume they’re secretly infatuated too,” Harry thought of the two giants and instinctively chose the less plausible option.

“We should still be cautious and avoid the notebook,” Zhang Qiu said. “What if it really is dangerous?”

“Agreed. Besides, it’s not very useful anyway,” Harry agreed, then opened his essay again.

Okay, for one fleeting moment, he really did want Mr. Tang to write his essay for him.