Chapter 83

“Gao Wen is the Knight of the Sun; his armor triples my strength during the three hours before noon and the three hours before sunset.” Ron gesticulated wildly as he recounted his gains, “and his sword is the Wheel of Victorious Light, blessed by the Sun, capable of sweeping all enemies away with its solar heat.”

“Oh, by the way, Harry, Zhang Qiu, come with me—I’ll show you.” Before Librarian Mrs. Pinch could explode, Ron slyly led his two companions away.

“We’re coming too.” Ginny, rarely seeing her brother so radiant and confident, and mindful of her duty to monitor Harry, grabbed Ivy and hurried after them.

As Ron swung his newly acquired holy sword across the grass, Harry noticed golden light shimmering along its blade, and occasional bursts of sword qi escaping with each motion. Ginny and Ivy couldn’t stop gasping and clapping—they had never seen such a miraculous blade.

“How overdramatic.” Zhang Qiu sneered, “It’s just an alchemically forged magic sword. Every wizard in the Celestial Empire owns one.”

“Alchemy?” Harry had always assumed alchemy was a discipline like chemistry, producing strange potions. But now he wondered—perhaps alchemy was simply the general term for magical industry.

“Exactly,” Zhang Qiu boasted, “armor that boosts strength, swords that emit shockwaves. All of these are my uncle’s research breakthroughs. After obtaining the Philosopher’s Stone, he said he had a brand-new inspiration—he’s designing a self-defense system so simple every wizard can use it.”

“You’re saying your uncle created these?” Harry paused. “But even Avalon in King Arthur’s time had these things. How old is your uncle, then?”

“He’s under thirty, right? No—this technology should be unique to him, shouldn’t it?” Zhang Qiu suddenly realized something and leaned close to Harry’s ear, whispering, “Ron’s new armor and holy sword may look medieval in design, but their functions and effects are unmistakably my uncle’s work.”

“Could you please write and ask if your uncle has recently produced anything similar?” Harry quickly thought—if Avalon in King Arthur’s time could craft enchanted armor, modern wizards couldn’t possibly have left none behind. And he’d always suspected Avalon was a trial set up by Dumbledore—so perhaps this so-called reward had nothing to do with Avalon at all.

“That’s exactly the third point I was going to tell you,” Zhang Qiu said. “Donald intends to use Avalon as a pretext to gift you certain items. I suspect Ron’s armor and sword were custom-made by my uncle during the summer. I’ll write and confirm.”

“So Avalon enhanced our awareness and combat power; the diary revealed the Chamber’s secrets.” Harry examined the diary in his hand. “Could Donald’s true goal be to push us into killing the monster in the Chamber?”

“Hard to say.” Zhang Qiu was just as confused now—all her divination results contradicted everything. She could only sit with Harry, pulling at her hair in frustration.

“Forget it.” Harry watched Ron sweating under the sun, cheered on by the two giggling girls. “As long as we can keep living this peacefully, I’ll keep the diary safe.”

“Think positively—maybe Donald knew someone was plotting to lure you into opening the Chamber, so he arranged Avalon to give you the strength to fight the monster inside.”

“Well, Harry?” Ron strode up, brandishing his new holy sword, beaming with pride.

“Amazing, Ron.” Harry laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “Now let’s go back and do our homework.”

“Oh no…” At the mention of homework, Ron grimaced. “Can’t we go back to the dorm and play chess instead?”

Harry glanced at Zhang Qiu; she raised her right hand slightly, giving a farewell gesture.

“Fine,” Harry agreed. He’d been planning to return to the dorm anyway, to find a safe place to hide the diary.

Harry feared the diary was part of a plot against him, so he resolved never to speak a single punctuation mark to this sentient magical object. Of course, he also needed to safeguard it carefully—so no one could steal it.

Harry wrapped the diary in the Invisibility Cloak, locked it in his trunk, then exhaled in relief. The Cloak blocked all locating spells; he’d tested it—unlocking charms couldn’t open his combination lock, perhaps because the spell’s inventor had never encountered a combination lock.

After hiding the diary, he began playing chess with Ron. After Neville woke up, they chatted a while longer about Avalon, then headed to the Great Hall for dinner. Ginny and Ivy followed close behind; Neville felt uneasy, so he parted ways with Harry and the others.

The next morning, Harry rose early, heading to the library to do homework—of course, he brought along his two monitoring classmates. While studying together, he occasionally helped Ginny and Ivy with their lessons. Harry found the latter half of the Christmas holiday utterly delightful—both study and leisure suited him perfectly.

Near the end of the holiday, Harry heard the Ministry planned to send someone to supervise Hagrid and Dumbledore. But after school had been in session for a long time, the Ministry’s envoy still hadn’t arrived, and he gradually forgot about it.

This quiet, peaceful routine lasted until Valentine’s morning, when Harry rushed into the Great Hall and for a moment wondered if he’d entered the wrong door.

All the walls were covered in large, garish pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped paper decorations hung from the pale blue ceiling. As Harry walked to the Gryffindor table, he saw Neville staring blankly at a plate of cream cake, while Hermione struggled desperately not to laugh.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked them, sitting down and brushing paper hearts off his legs.

“Oh, this plate is really a plate, and this cake is really a cake,” Neville muttered, eyes locked on his food, afraid to look anywhere else.

Hermione smiled and pointed to the dais. Donald wore a neat pink suit, a pale blue shirt, and pure white canvas shoes—handsome, yet utterly Muggle.

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Donald beamed. “It’s a wonderful day, and I’ve prepared something special for you young wizards just discovering love.”

He clapped lightly, and a squadron of beautiful little angels flew in through the main entrance, each with golden wings and a harp in their arms.

“Cupid’s Delivery Angels!” Donald smiled. “They’ll patrol the school today, helping you deliver Valentine’s cards to those you love!”

Only Dumbledore clapped with a smile; all other professors looked reluctant, their smiles twisted and forced.

The angels were reasonable enough—not barging into active classrooms. But the moment class ended, a crowd of them waited outside every door, handing out cards to students streaming out.

As Harry finished class and headed for lunch, several angels surrounded him.

“Hey, you! Harry Potter!” The strongest angel shoved through the crowd to claim the floor.

Thinking he’d be forced to receive a musical Valentine card in front of his entire class, Harry felt his whole body burn. He tried to flee, but the angel blocked his path.

Harry shifted to run, but suddenly three angels lunged, grabbing his arms and legs and pinning him to the ground.

“You must listen to these cards,” one declared, plucking a string on the harp.

“His eyes are green like a living drunken toad, his hair as black as a chalkboard—I wish he were mine. So adorable, the hero who defeated the Dark Lord!”

When the first angel finished, the second took the harp.

“You belong to me, and I belong to you—I’ll lock you in my heart and throw away the key, so you’ll forever be inside me.”

After the second angel finished, the third didn’t take the harp—she just screamed outright.

“When did I start liking Senior Harry? His long eyelashes, his bright eyes—worse still, his dream of defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. So adorable!”

As Harry lay sprawled on the floor, he no longer cared who sent the cards. He simply lay there, mind blank, the only thought in his head: maybe it’s not too late to transfer schools.

Fortunately, the three angels flew off after finishing. The classmates wisely held back their laughter. Ron helped Harry up, glancing around nervously, making small talk: “Oh, that table is really… a table.”

That afternoon, after class, Harry spotted another angel flying straight toward him. This time, he gave up resistance entirely, resigned to his fate.

The angel happily perched on his shoulder and began reciting a card meant for him: “We hope Comrade Harry continues studying political theory diligently—not only aligning organizationally with the Communist International, but ideologically as well…”

“Obliviate!” A spell struck the angel; it tumbled off Harry’s shoulder, flapped its wings twice, and wobbled away.

Harry looked around in shock, catching only a flash of black fabric vanishing down the right corridor. When he chased after it, the hallway was empty.

On the way back to the dorm, Harry couldn’t stop wondering—had that spell aimed for him but missed, or was it deliberately aimed at the angel?

At the entrance to the common room, Harry met another angel, handing out cards to children, revealing who sent the daytime messages.

Harry smiled and opened his list: four cards, from Ginny, Ivy, Colin, and Zhang Qiu.

Colin? Harry immediately noticed something wrong—Colin was still lying in the hospital wing, a victim of the attacks.