Chapter 75

Harry found a new direction for his investigation, but he wasn’t currently free to look into the imposter. More urgent now was that he and Neville spend the afternoon mimicking Crabbe and Goyle’s usual behavior to avoid any slip-ups in tonight’s plan.

At dinner, Harry and Neville quickly stuffed their faces, then began observing Crabbe and Goyle, who were gorging themselves at the Slytherin table—Harry even worried they wouldn’t have any appetite left for cake later.

As they prepared to leave, Harry hurriedly placed the cake on the railing of the corridor, then hid behind an archway to watch quietly.

“Huh? Whose is this?” Goyle noticed the two cakes as soon as he stepped out.

“If no one wants it, it’s mine,” Crabbe said with a wicked grin, snatching a large piece and shoving it whole into his mouth; Goyle followed suit, grabbing the other piece, and both greedily chewed for a moment, their faces glowing with triumph—then, without changing expression, they collapsed limply onto the floor.

Harry and Neville quietly transported the two inside a barrel to the broom cupboard, hiding them inside. Harry yanked a strand of Goyle’s forehead hair; Neville pulled several of Crabbe’s hairs, then dropped them into a bottle of pumpkin juice already filled with Polyjuice Potion, and headed to the nearest bathroom to begin taking it.

Harry pinched his nose and gulped down a large mouthful—the taste of Goyle was unbearable, like overcooked cabbage. After a painful transformation, he gently set aside his glasses and looked toward the mirror.

Now, Harry looked almost identical to Goyle, except his expression seemed too intelligent. Harry mimicked Goyle’s usual movements, imagining himself as a dim-witted giant, and thus captured his demeanor perfectly.

“Crabbe?” Harry cleared his throat, pretending he was Goyle.

“I’m here,” came Crabbe’s deep voice from beside him—Neville had also completed the transformation.

“Next, we head to the Slytherin common room. Do you know the way?” Harry asked.

“Cui Ge told Hermione, so I think I can find it,” Neville said confidently—but since it was Crabbe’s voice, Harry instinctively found it untrustworthy.

“Do you remember the password?” Harry asked.

“Sturdy as stone,” Neville said, stiffly lifting his foot toward the dungeons.

Yet they never found the common room. Harry couldn’t help asking: “Are you sure you can find it?”

The reply came in Crabbe’s clever tone: “Of course.”

Hogwarts’ dungeons were far more complex than they’d imagined—or perhaps the Polyjuice Potion perfectly replicated Crabbe and Goyle’s every trait—including their brain capacity.

Harry felt his thoughts sluggish as mud; all the layered strategies he’d planned earlier were now completely forgotten. He trudged slowly behind Neville, his only thought: get to the seven o’clock meeting.

They wandered the corridors for several laps; Harry was certain Neville was thoroughly lost—just as he was about to speak up, they luckily encountered Malfoy, walking with Pan Xi toward the main building.

“What are you two doing here? Don’t you know the meeting’s about to start?” Malfoy said suspiciously.

“Oh, we were just planning to head back first,” Neville said.

“But it seems we’re running out of time,” Harry added.

“Sometimes I really doubt whether the two of you together make up half a brain,” he sighed. “Follow me—we’re going straight to the meeting.”

Harry gently tugged Neville’s sleeve and whispered: “We need to find out whether Malfoy is…”

“Got it,” Neville signaled him to stop—“Understood.”

“Can you two hurry up?” Malfoy frowned at their sluggish pace behind him.

“I’m already going as fast as I can,” Harry blurted out without thinking—Goyle’s legs seemed to refuse to cooperate with his pants, feeling awkward and stiff.

Before Malfoy could snap, they reached the classroom Harry knew well. Harry instinctively glanced at the spot where he’d always hidden—nothing seemed amiss.

“Alright, let’s begin today’s meeting,” Malfoy began once everyone was seated. “We changed the time today because Christmas break is coming—I don’t want to delay anyone’s trip home.”

Not bad, Harry thought. Malfoy was being considerate—if I were going home… no, if I were just listening, I couldn’t find fault.

Harry suspected the Polyjuice Potion really had copied their IQ—he now thought as slowly as if trapped in mud; conclusions he’d once reached effortlessly now required long, laborious thought.

“First, I’ll share our latest information: the Heir of Slytherin may not be unique,” Malfoy said. “At Thursday’s Dueling Club, Harry Potter revealed himself as a Parselmouth—this strongly suggests he has Slytherin blood.”

“This aligns with our previous speculation—the monster in the Chamber is likely snake-related, and the Heir of Slytherin’s unique trait is his ability to speak to snakes,” Pan Xi said. “Still, I don’t rule out Hagrid and spiders as suspects—there’s precedent.”

“I think we can confirm it now,” Cui Ge said. “Either Hagrid failed to control his pet, or Harry opened the Chamber. But I believe Harry isn’t the type to deliberately attack others—perhaps the Basilisk in the Chamber acted on its own.”

“But Harry is Harry, and we are us,” Luna said, frowning. “Just because Harry speaks Parseltongue and seems more like the Heir, does that mean the Chamber’s opener isn’t among us? My father told me Parseltongue can be learned—those with strong linguistic talent can pick it up after hearing it once.”

“I think we should shift our thinking—it was Zhang Qiu who opened the Chamber,” Ginny said, still hostile toward Zhang Qiu. “She could easily have picked up a few phrases from Harry, and whether punishing Filch or Colin, I think those are exactly the sort of things she’d do on her own.”

“Luna, focus on the reliability of the information,” Ivy said. “Harry was born speaking Parseltongue; Tom is merely his middle name, coincidentally matching the Gaunt family. From every angle, Harry looks more like the Heir. But that only proves he’s best suited to open the Chamber—not that he actually did.”

“Uh, oh, it’s my turn,” Neville finally realized it was Crabbe’s turn to speak. He hurriedly said: “Actually, Pan Xi’s right—I think we shouldn’t assume everyone’s so evil. Maybe it was just an accident caused by Hagrid’s spiders.”

“As for the blood writing we saw during the first attack,” Harry rushed to salvage his statement, “we think someone might’ve just done it as a prank. It was just red paint, right? Not necessarily blood. And if it was blood, whose blood was it?”

“Excellent reasoning, Goyle—so good I almost doubt you’re really Goyle,” Malfoy praised. “What we know for certain is that the first blood writing was real—Snape told me. And the victims were petrified, so we only need to investigate who was injured or visited the kitchens around Halloween.”

Cui Ge stared fixedly at Harry, making him uneasy—was he suspected of being an impostor?

“I’m not sure if this is coincidence,” Cui Ge said. “As far as I know, just the day before Halloween, Crabbe and Goyle stole a chicken from Hagrid.”

“We eat two chickens a week,” Neville remembered Cui Ge’s earlier words and instinctively defended himself. “That’s nothing—let’s keep discussing Harry and Hagrid.”

“Truthfully, I’ve long suspected Harry,” Malfoy said. “If the Chamber attacks continue and the culprit is never caught, who benefits most? Let’s think this way: given Dumbledore’s nature, if he wanted to bury the matter, he’d blame the Dark Lord—making Harry Potter, who defeated the Dark Lord, even more famous. So perhaps this entire affair is Dumbledore building Harry’s reputation.”

“But why would Dumbledore build Harry’s reputation?” Ginny asked, puzzled.

“To cultivate loyal followers and strengthen his own faction,” Malfoy said. “If Dumbledore eventually becomes Minister for Magic, who will take over as Headmaster of Hogwarts? McGonagall might hold the fort for a while, but long-term, he needs someone young, prestigious, and firmly loyal to him.”

“Dumbledore isn’t that kind of person,” Harry said urgently. “If he wanted power, with his magical skill, he could’ve become Minister long ago.”

“Who knows? Maybe he’s changed his mind—or maybe he’s circumventing an Unbreakable Vow,” Malfoy said lightly. “Either way: if we suspect Hagrid, it’s a simple accident; if we suspect Harry, it’s Dumbledore’s political maneuver.”

“Disgusting,” Pan Xi said. “Using innocent children as pawns in a power struggle.”

She was just pretending compassion, Harry thought—these nobles had always looked down on Muggle-borns; why would they care if they were sacrificed?

Suddenly, Harry noticed something—could this be the part Malfoy had accidentally revealed? If the truth was a power struggle among the Board of Governors, who cared less about innocent students: Dumbledore, or the pure-blood nobles?

Even with Goyle’s sluggish brain, Harry could reach this conclusion.