"Please, sit," Adrian said warmly, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. With a flick of his wand, a cup filled with steaming hot tea floated through the air toward Harry, trailing wisps of aromatic steam that carried aroma of bergamot and honey.
"You look like you've recovered remarkably well, Harry," Adrian observed Harry's face. "Are you still experiencing any of those unusual symptoms?"
Harry accepted the floating teacup, wrapping his fingers around the warm ceramic and drawing comfort from its heat.
"Physically, I'm completely fine," Harry began, his voice steady but carrying a hint of concern. "My body feels normal, and I can use magic normally. But—"
He paused, staring down into the depths of his tea as if the swirling liquid might provide the words he needed.
The steam rose between them, momentarily obscuring his troubled expression.
"But?" Adrian prompted gently, leaning forward slightly in his chair. His tone remained calm and encouraging. "So, something else has changed, hasn't it?"
Harry nodded grimly, then told Adrian about what had happened in the corridor earlier, including those strange thoughts he'd been having.
As Harry spoke, Adrian's expression grew increasingly grave. His fingers steepled in front of his face, and deep lines of concentration appeared between his brows. When Harry finished his account, the office fell into a heavy silence broken only by the soft pop and hiss of the fireplace.
If what Harry described was true and Adrian had no reason to doubt his honesty then there could be no question that Voldemort's soul fragment was actively affecting him, introducing violent impulses and dark thoughts that were completely distant to Harry.
What made this development even more alarming was that this appeared to be a permanent change, not a temporary side effect of magical exhaustion or trauma.
However, one crucial question remained unanswered: Voldemort's soul fragment had been residing within Harry for nearly fourteen years—so why had this influence only begun to manifest yesterday?
Nothing particularly unusual had occurred in Harry's recent life, apart from his participation in the Triwizard Tournament and the use of some advanced spells during training. His magical education had progressed normally, his friendships remained stable, and there had been no significant magical incidents or traumas.
From this pattern, it became clear that the catalyst for this change must originate not from Harry's circumstances, but from Voldemort.
"Can you control those negative emotions, Harry?" Adrian asked seriously.
Harry contemplated the question while absently tracing the rim of his teacup with one finger. After several moments of contemplation, he slowly nodded.
"I think so, yes. But I have to ask…what exactly is causing this to happen?"
Adrian leaned back in his chair.
"The source is the lightning bolt scar on your forehead, Harry. Do you remember what I told you before? There's a fragment of Voldemort's soul lodged there— don't tell anyone about this. Those violent thoughts, you're having are probably all coming from that soul fragment."
"So, this is definitely Voldemort's doing?" Harry asked, his voice tight with nervousness. "But why was I perfectly fine before? Why is this happening now, after all these years?"
"Perhaps you could go ask Voldemort," Adrian suddenly chuckled, then grew serious again. "Alright, that was a joke. We both know the reason, Harry. There isn't much time left before Voldemort's return. At the very least, his soul has begun to stir from its dormant state and is affecting you through your connection."
Harry's expression was complex, and he didn't respond, lost in thought.
"But don't worry too much," Adrian conjured a plate of lemon drops and pushed it across, dispelling the heavy atmosphere. "It's just a remnant soul, after all. As long as you're strong enough, this remnant soul naturally can't threaten you. Besides, I'm here, and I'll find a way. What's most important for you right now is controlling those negative emotions."
"How exactly should I go about controlling them?" Harry asked with urgent intensity, leaning forward in his chair.
The question clearly came from genuine fear and a desperate need for concrete solutions. Harry understood rationally that he had to maintain control over his emotions. Just earlier in the morning, he had come dangerously close to using a potentially harmful spell on Malfoy and his followers.
While he had managed to restrain himself in that instance, the question remained: what if next time he wasn't strong enough? What if the violent impulses overwhelmed his control?
If such a thing actually happened—if he seriously injured another student, he would certainly be expelled from Hogwarts immediately, and probably face criminal charges as well.
"Hmm," Adrian tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his desk while considering the various options available.
"For immediate situations, keep Guru with you at all times. If you find yourself in a truly critical moment where you feel your control slipping, let it bite you. Trust me, you will snap out of it."
Harry tilted his head, his expression skeptical. "Can this really be considered a proper solution?"
"It's actually quite an effective solution," Adrian replied with a slight shrug, then his eyes suddenly lit up with the enthusiasm of someone remembering something important. "Oh, but I almost forgot—I have some enhanced calming draughts here."
With that explanation, Adrian opened one of his desk drawers and took out a small wooden box. He pushed it across the desk toward Harry and opened the hinged lid.
Inside were three small crystal bottles, each filled with a mysterious black liquid. The potion had an almost oily consistency, and occasionally tiny bubbles would rise to the surface before disappearing.
Harry picked up one of the bottles, turning it slowly to examine the contents.
"So, I simply need to drink this to remain calm during a crisis?" Harry asked thoughtfully.
"Not exactly," Adrian replied, shaking his head with a smile. "You'll fall unconscious immediately and sleep for twenty-four hours. Before that time is up, no magic can wake you."
Harry looked at the potion in his hand somewhat speechlessly.
This calming draught seemed a bit too calming.
"In any case," Adrian stood up and said finally, "as long as your heart is strong enough, Voldemort won't be able to influence you. What I've given you is just a last resort. Unless absolutely necessary, I don't recommend using it."
"Understood, Professor," Harry said earnestly.
After leaving Adrian's office, Harry made his way through the corridors of Hogwarts back to Gryffindor Tower.
When he finally climbed through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor dormitory, he found that his roommates had gradually awakened.
Only Neville remained fast asleep in his four-poster bed, his round face peaceful and completely oblivious to the activity around him.
"He can sleep through absolutely anything," Ron said with a grin, gesturing toward Neville. "He does exactly the same thing during Professor Binns's History of Magic lectures—completely dead to the world the moment his head hits the desk."
Harry gave Ron a meaningful look, barely suppressing a smile.
Honestly, you're not much different, he thought to himself, remembering countless occasions when Ron had dozed off during various classes.
After fooling around with Ron for a while, Harry walked to the windowsill and picked up Guru from the basin.
Under normal circumstances, Guru only maintained the size of half a fist.
"Sorry to trouble you," Harry said quietly to Guru. "I'll be carrying you with me from now on. If you notice anything unusual about me, just bite me."
Guru's small head tilted to one side in an unmistakably questioning gesture, and a soft "?" seemed to emanate from the tiny creature.
It had never heard such a strange request.
Harry knew Guru was very intelligent and could understand what he meant.
After repeating the instructions twice more, he tucked Guru into his pocket.
After doing all this, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room.
The common room already had quite a few people in it. The one constant was that Hermione still occupied that most comfortable chair—this was the benefit of getting up early.
And by the looks of it, she had absolutely no intention of giving up that chair.
When Harry walked by, Hermione suddenly spoke to him. "Harry, Professor McGonagall came looking for you just now. She told me to tell you to go to her office immediately."
Harry felt his heart skip a beat, and an immediate sense of ominousness settled in his stomach. "Did Professor McGonagall mention what she wanted to discuss?"
"No specific details," Hermione replied, shaking her hair. "She simply said that you should report to her office as soon as possible. But—"
Suddenly, she closed her book with a sharp snap and rose from her chair, her tone was somewhat excited.
"Wait just a moment! Harry, please tell me you haven't gotten yourself into trouble again. We're still recovering, and Gryffindor's house points can't take another major loss."
"Well..." Harry scratched his head sheepishly. "There's a possibility that I might have done something that could be interpreted as problematic."
Hearing this admission, Hermione released a long, deeply frustrated sigh.
. "I really hope you could lose fewer points for Gryffindor."
Harry managed an awkward laugh.
What was meant to come would come eventually—there was no sense in trying to avoid the inevitable confrontation.
After taking leave of Hermione and promising to be more careful in the future, Harry immediately set off through the corridors toward Professor McGonagall's office.
When Harry finally arrived at the door bearing Professor McGonagall's nameplate, he took a deep breath to steady his nerves, raised his hand, and knocked.
"Enter," came the crisp, authoritative voice from inside.
Harry pushed open the door, and the scene that he saw was exactly what he had expected and somehow worse than he had imagined.
Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk like a stern judge preparing to deliver verdict on a particularly troublesome case. Her normally neat hair was pulled back even more severely than usual, and her thin lips were pressed into a line that showed displeasure.
Her sharp eyes, magnified slightly by her square glasses, fixed on Harry with the intensity of someone examining a particularly disappointing piece of homework.
Lounging in a chair on one side of the desk with casualness was Malfoy, and the moment he saw Harry enter the room, a smugly triumphant smile spread across his face.
Harry consciously straightened his shoulders and walked to the front of the desk.
Professor McGonagall seemed to be marking something on a piece of parchment in front of her—apparently first or second-year Transfiguration homework, judging by the basic nature of the exercises he could glimpse.
Her quill moved with sharp strokes as she gave grades, and Harry caught sight of at least one unfortunate student receiving a "T" for Troll before she blotted the grade with perhaps more force.
After around thirty seconds, she slowly raised her head and fixed Harry with the full force of her most serious expression.
"Mr. Potter," She began, "Mr. Malfoy has made a complaint alleging that you used dangerous and potentially harmful magic against him in a corridor this morning. This is a very serious accusation that could result in significant disciplinary action."
She paused before continuing. "Do you have anything to say in response to these accusations?"
Harry had known this moment would come, and he had already decided that denial would be both futile and potentially more harmful than simple honesty.
Besides, lying to Professor McGonagall was never a good strategy—she had an eerie ability to detect lie and responded to it with even greater severity than she applied to the original offense.
"It was just an ordinary Transfiguration spell, Professor," Harry replied with as much calm confidence as he could manage. "Nothing dangerous—simply some alteration to some badges."
"So, you freely admit that you performed magic in the corridor, is that correct, Mr. Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked again.
"Yes, Professor," Harry answered without hesitation, knowing that further evasion would only make matters worse.
In fact, he had already anticipated this happening.
Denying it in front of a professor would be useless.
Furthermore, since Malfoy had apparently felt confident enough to bring this matter directly to Professor McGonagall, he must have absolute proof of Harry's involvement.
Harry's eyes had already noticed the familiar badge lying on the corner of the desk, still showing in glowing letters the messages "I STINK" and "I AM STINKING DUNG," along with that shade of pink.
However, Harry took some comfort in the knowledge that his spell, while admittedly unauthorized, had not been genuinely dangerous magic. The modifications he had made to the badges were purely cosmetic, embarrassing and difficult to remove, certainly, but hardly the sort of dark magic that would result in expulsion or serious consequences.
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