"...And then? And then?"
"Then... Why don't you give me some?"
Watching Hermione cracking sunflower seeds and listening intently, Harry swallowed and took a sip of the Butter Beer in his hand, "Then, I killed him, and then the senior showed up. He led us straight out of the tower and gave each of us a stone slab."
As Harry spoke, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a grey stone slab just slightly larger than his palm.
"Magic Pattern."
Looking at the light blue lines on it, Hermione said without hesitation.
"I saw that too, but I can't recognize it—"
Harry nodded, saying this while handing the slab over. He's never been one for research—without the right skills, don't take on specialized tasks. Professional things are best left to professionals.
"When's the next project?" Hermione looked at the slab in her hand.
"After the Christmas break, on the first Saturday after school starts." Harry counted his fingers, recalling, "That is, January 7th next year."
"Alright, I'll get it done as soon as possible—"
Hermione nodded, putting the slab into her pocket, "So, can you continue talking?"
"Talk about what?"
"What you were thinking before— you just told me a story just now."
"... What was I thinking? I... don't know either?"
Harry scratched his head, and before Hermione could pursue further, he continued, "How to describe it, when I used the Killing Curse—you know, that spell—hit that guy, I suddenly felt a suffocating feeling, like... I was hit by my own spell."
"... You were hit by your own spell?"
Hermione blinked, needing to carefully sort out the logic of this sentence.
"Yes."
"But, you're still sitting here just fine."
Hermione's meaning was clear since Harry used the Killing Curse at the time. Seeing his brows furrow, she continued, "Of course, maybe it was just a feeling. It's the first time you used that spell to kill... So, like Muggle soldiers after their first kill, they all feel nauseous."
"No, it's different— I blocked all my emotions at the time, but the feeling of despair didn't come from emotions, it... felt like it came from deep within my soul." Harry held his head, with a voice full of sorrow, "I suspect there's something wrong with my brain, but also suspect it's... an illusion."
"Did you tell the senior at the time?"
Hermione frowned as well, thought for a moment, then asked.
"No, it shouldn't be a big deal—"
"Nonsense!"
"?"
"Did you forget, Harry? The Dark Lord's target is you! Anything wrong with you is a big deal—"
...
Half an hour later, Hermione looked at William with wide eyes, saying, "That's what happened."
William also stopped stroking Crookshanks' belly— though the cat was ugly, the feel was irresistibly good— he stared at Harry sitting on the other side, with a serious tone, "Hermione's right, anything wrong with you is a big deal, don't overthink, Voldemort is no small fry—"
"I understand, Senior." Harry nodded sincerely, though he couldn't help adding, "It's just that you've been quite busy lately—"
"That's true."
William rubbed his eyes, sighing helplessly, "But you should talk to Dumbledore, that old man isn't busy at all, always just busy with... cough cough." William coughed twice, stopping himself from going off on a tangent, and continued, "Or find Professor Lupin, he has ways to get in touch with me—"
"... I understand."
Harry didn't say more, just nodded.
"So, let's clarify— tell me in detail again about how you felt."
"The feeling... well, I'd say it was suffocating? I just felt like I couldn't breathe until the black smoke rising from Voldemort dispersed... I could feel as if something in that black smoke was watching me, could it be?" Harry held his forehead, recalling as he spoke.
"More or less, when I caught him, it was also a stream of smoke—"
William recalled the scene at Malfoy Manor, facing Voldemort's escaping soul.
"So, was it just my illusion, or—"
Harry asked worriedly, clearly wanting an answer but perhaps afraid of bad news.
"I'm not sure, maybe... it has something to do with why Voldemort is so obsessed with killing you?"
William stroked his chin, pondering as he spoke.
After promising Harry he would help research the reason and pay more attention, the worried boy left the Room of Requirement.
"You're lying to him."
After Harry left, Hermione suddenly said assertively.
"... You can tell that?"
William blinked, seemingly confused.
"Of course, you often touch your chin subconsciously when lying."
Hermione nodded, then asked with curiosity as she stared at William, "So, what's the real reason? Can I know?"
"There's nothing you can't know— of course, you can't tell Harry."
William thought for a moment, then decided not to play the Riddler, but spoke directly, "It has to do with one of Dumbledore's hypotheses, but from all the signs now, this hypothesis is likely about... eighty percent true?"
"What is it?"
Hermione, her curiosity piqued, felt itching to know.
"Horcrux, Dumbledore's hypothesis is about the possibility of a Living Soul Artifact—"
"!"
The girl immediately covered her mouth, stifling a scream that almost burst into the air, her brown eyes widening, "No, it can't be!" she said instinctively.
"No, it's very possible, Hermione, and quite likely." William shook his head, "Though there's no precedent, but multi-soul artifacts have no precedent either, yet Voldemort achieved it. You must know, nothing in the Magic Realm is set in stone—"
"But, that means, inside Harry's body—"
"Yes, there's a fragment of Voldemort's soul— a piece, just like the Diadem."
William opened a drawer, took out the Ravenclaw Diadem, inside which lay several "truths," all crafted by a certain great inventor.
"Does Voldemort know this?"
Hermione blinked, slowly digesting this shocking information.
"Probably? I can't be sure what that madman is thinking, or if Harry being a soul artifact is related to his resurrection ritual— after all, this could explain why he's fixated on Harry."
William shrugged, explaining with uncertainty— William truly couldn't comprehend Voldemort's madness, nor did he know the real reason Voldemort targeted Harry was, simply because he wanted to "rise from where he fell." Of course, there was also his desire to reestablish his dominance, but those were additional reasons—
The crux was, he wanted revenge.
But William wasn't aware of this, making habitual judgments.
"So... wait, if Harry is a soul artifact, then doesn't that mean?"
Hermione gulped, voicing the terrifying guess forming in her mind, "If you want to kill Voldemort, you first have to kill Harry?" As she said this, an imploring look appeared on her face, as if hoping to hear a negation from William.
But she was bound to be disappointed.
"Yes, that's why I don't want you to tell Harry, considering what I know of him..."
William squinted, seemingly recalling two years ago when Harry cast the Killing Curse at his own forehead, "If you tell him that all he has to do is die to take Voldemort with him, he probably wouldn't hesitate, right? Honestly, I don't want him to die, at least... it's a bit of a waste just to drag down a lunatic—"
"..."
Hermione opened her mouth but didn't say anything. Finally, she sighed, "How about you cast a Forgetfulness Spell on me?"
"?"
"I'm afraid I won't be able to hold it in—you know, this is too much for me." Hermione said, pulling a wry face.
"... I can set a suggestion, so you won't recall it easily?"
William thought for a moment and asked; after getting her affirmative nod, he approached and snapped his fingers near her ear. Her pupils contracted slightly, then returned to normal.
"Is it done?"
Seeing Hermione still looking dazed, William waved his hand in front of her eyes.
"Almost— by the way, Senior?"
Looking at his close face, Hermione swallowed.
"Hmm?"
"What flavor of Enchantment Potion do you like?"
"?"