Chapter 166: Changes After the Chapter
Before anyone realized it, Christmas was over.
Harry Potter finally escaped the torturous cycle of Ravenclaw's Quidditch boot camp and returned to the relatively dull routine of everyday classes. Yet, post-holiday life at Hogwarts didn't feel the same.
Something had shifted—small details, subtle changes that Harry, with his sharpened instincts, quickly noticed.
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One: Alexander Smith's New Gloves
First was Alexander Smith, his quiet Ravenclaw roommate.
Harry noticed that Alexander had started wearing gloves—dark, slightly bulky, and completely at odds with his usual clean and elegant dressing style. They stood out like smudges on white parchment.
To anyone else, they might seem inconspicuous, but to someone who paid attention, it was peculiar. Hermione, in particular, had started turning red whenever Alexander was nearby—though she said nothing.
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Two: Professor Quirrell's Odor
Second was Professor Quirrell. During Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry began to notice a worsening smell. Before, Quirrell had always reeked of garlic, but now there was something richer—like rotten eggs mixed with the foul stench of a moldy sock left in a basin for a week.
His complexion was even paler than before, and his nervous stammer seemed... less affected. More natural, oddly enough.
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Three: Broomstick Upgrade
And then there was the flying lesson.
On Wednesday, the entire class was surprised to find the old broomsticks had been replaced—with none other than the first-generation Nimbus 1000s.
Rumor had it that Madam Hooch had reported damage to school brooms caused by Dudley Dursley, and had used it as a reason to request an upgrade. When asked, she gave no clear answer—but everyone except Harry, Hermione, and Alexander seemed to be grateful to Dudley.
Harry understood his own reaction well enough—Dudley was still, well, Dudley—but he couldn't understand why Ron seemed so accepting.
"Harry," Ron had said, "I haven't seen Dudley do anything awful since he got here. And these are Nimbus brooms! I've never even touched one before."
Even Neville and Anthony Goldstein, who adored Harry, didn't think much about his past with Dudley. Harry could barely blame them. What frustrated him more was that Dudley had shown no arrogance, no pride about it at all.
Instead, Dudley had quietly handed Harry a replacement Christmas gift—a little toy race car, clearly enchanted to work without electricity.
It was mechanical, powered by winding a crank on the back. The moment the figure in the seat was twisted, the car would zip across the floor with remarkable speed. Dudley even mentioned how he'd tested it to ensure it worked at Hogwarts.
If Dudley hadn't been a wizard, Harry knew that his real Christmas gift this year would've been something like a 50-pence coin—cheap, impersonal, and meaningless.
This car, though... Harry could tell Dudley had put thought into it.
That left Harry with no outlet for his anger.
Even Ron took an immediate liking to the toy, playing with it for hours.
Alexander couldn't help but sigh. Worthy of being Arthur Weasley's son. Ron had inherited his father's fascination with Muggle technology—and like Arthur, Ron had suppressed it under pressure from his mother and Hogwarts culture, focusing instead on "respectable" magical hobbies like Quidditch and Wizard's Chess.
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A Brewing Problem
Meanwhile, Alexander was dealing with issues of his own.
Through a communication link in the Main God System, his assistant Jack informed him that their Hogwarts potion sales channel had been suspended. Officially, it was due to concerns raised by Professor Snape—that the potions were too perfect and likely unnatural.
Well, of course, Alexander thought. Snape wouldn't know subtlety if it hit him in the face with a cauldron.
In response, Alexander spent ten minutes crafting a very special revenge gift.
He created a magical photo collage—featuring a young Lily Evans, from childhood to adulthood, always with James Potter somewhere in the background... and in the corner, a comically stylized version of Severus Snape, wearing a princess-cut wig and sulking in Harlequin garb.
The entire photo collection was enchanted with an indestructibility charm and stuck permanently to Snape's office wall.
No spell could remove them.
Snape, defeated, had no choice but to change offices. And more importantly, he reopened the potion channel.
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The Fudge Factor
Elsewhere, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, who had personally signed off on blocking Alexander's potions license, mysteriously disappeared after using a Portkey for personal travel.
He reappeared three days later in the wilderness—bruised, battered, and hexed half-senseless, as if he'd been beaten by invisible vigilantes. He was taken directly to St. Mungo's in his pajamas, mumbling nonsense about "wild dogs."
The Ministry staff, meanwhile, discovered that work had somehow become far more efficient during his absence.
Other officials who tried to profit from Alexander's blocked shop license soon found themselves under investigation—some were dismissed without explanation.
Alexander didn't lift a finger.
The Smith family, with its deeply hidden power, had dealt with everything quietly and decisively. Even Alexander was a little shocked by how quickly they moved.
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Meanwhile, in the Shadows…
While Alexander's potion sales quietly resumed and Snape fumed in his new office, Professor Quirrell was in a dark room, speaking not aloud—but inward.
"Master, my salary's been cut. Right after I sent a huge deposit to the Mungdens!" Quirrell hissed. "Could it be that Dumbledore suspects something?"
A cold, dry voice—icy and disembodied—responded from within him.
"Do not worry, Quirrell. Dumbledore is weak and self-righteous. His tolerance invites arrogance. This… is just Fudge, using his position to test the waters. Perhaps even that snake Lucius Malfoy is involved."
Quirrell's lips never moved, but the voice persisted. "You think Dumbledore doesn't know about me? He's always known. He allows it—because watching me distracts him from other matters."
"But, Master," Quirrell said anxiously, "I can't even buy potions now. Could Fudge and Dumbledore be working together?"
"Fool!" Voldemort's voice snapped. "Dumbledore does not play such games. I know him too well."
What Voldemort didn't know—what he couldn't know—was that Dumbledore was laying a trap.
He was preparing for something far more dangerous.
And Voldemort, still unaware that Harry Potter was his unintentional Horcrux, had no idea what Dumbledore was truly planning.
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