Link's injuries were actually far more serious than Krell and the others realized.
Although during those few minutes that Mike had come out to fight he had already used the most efficient, most reasonable combat method possible, he had still caused tremendous damage to Link's body.
Right now, Link not only needed to drink several large cups of specially prepared potions every day, but his entire body was also wrapped in bandages.
That was why, when meeting Percy today, Link chose to sit in such an exaggerated-looking chair.
Only such a soft, "weightless" chair could minimize the pain in his body as much as possible.
The only thing Mrs. Flitwick and Emily could feel relieved about was that Link's injuries had been treated in time and with the best care available, so he would not be left with any permanent aftereffects.
In this regard, Link could be considered quite lucky.
After all, people like Mad-Eye Moody and Scrimgeour never had such good medical conditions back in the day, that was why they ended up disabled for life.
After carefully checking the bandages on his chest and seeing no leaking fluids, Link finally let out a sigh of relief and cautiously closed his pajamas.
But he did not curl up in the warm, cozy chair to sleep, as Emily had wished. Instead, he extended his right hand, which was also wrapped in bandages.
As the flames in the fireplace flickered, the surrounding water vapor began rushing crazily into his palm under the pull of magic, quickly gathering into a crystal-clear, floating water orb.
If Professor Flitwick, the one who taught Link Charms, saw this scene, he would probably be so excited that he'd fall right off the chair he always propped up with books to make taller.
Because although the water orb looked quite ordinary at first glance, the astonishing thing was that Link had not used any incantation, wand, or spellcasting tools at all throughout the entire condensation process.
Normally this kind of thing only happened with legendary wizards like Dumbledore or Voldemort.
Because being able to do this meant the caster had fully conquered their own magic, reaching the level that only the truly top-tier ancient spellcasters had ever touched.
Naturally, Link was nowhere near the level of legendary wizards like Dumbledore or Voldemort.
The reason he could accomplish this scene was completely because he was "cheating" with his water-control ability.
Similarly, by using the power of curses, he could achieve something comparable.
But even if it was cheating, it was still extremely impressive.
After all, this meant Link had already felt the physical changes brought by this level of power, something that would make entering the legendary tier far smoother in the future.
In other words, he would have no bottleneck.
However, Link only stared at the water orb in his hand, sighed with disappointment, and casually dispersed it into drifting mist.
He still couldn't form the kind of cold fog or ice-crystal shields that appeared when Mike took over.
This wasn't because Link was injured.
It was because his own abilities simply weren't strong enough yet.
With his current water-control ability, mixing curse power with liquid to create that terrifyingly corrosive "cold poison" was already his limit.
But Mike's cold fog and ice-crystal shields, though also a fusion of magic and liquid, contained magic that was astonishingly pure, and the degree of fusion was unbelievably high.
It was something Link simply could not do right now.
Sometimes, Link himself was confused.
Logically speaking, Mike was using his body to fight, so the abilities he used should also be ones this body possessed.
At most, Mike could make some adjustments in technique or finer control.
So why were Mike's abilities always so overwhelmingly strong?
It had been that way on the night Voldemort revived, and in the Gringotts battle this time as well.
Link's impression was that Mike's "version" of his abilities was permanently a full tier higher than his own.
So what caused this?
Could it be that the strange bloodline power inside Link, whatever mysterious force it held, preferred to side with Mike instead of him? Or that it disliked Link and intentionally suppressed him?
That was almost the only explanation Link could come up with.
But even that had a glaringly unreasonable flaw.
Namely, Link's abilities were all granted by the System.
Thinking of this, Link felt as though he were lost in thick fog.
The truth was clearly very close, yet shrouded by mist so dense he couldn't see its true form.
"Haa..."
Letting out a long sigh, Link collapsed into the soft chair, eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling.
What he didn't know was, at the moment his eyes rolled upward, a tiny fragment of pattern deep within his eyeball was revealed because of the motion.
If one inspected carefully…
This pattern was almost identical to the one that had appeared on the System panel after Link returned from Germany.
———
[Inside the Great Hall at Hogwarts]
Ron and Hermione were squeezed beside Harry, reading that morning's Daily Prophet together.
That was practically part of their daily routine.
The only difference was that in the past Ron genuinely had no money and had to mooch off Harry's newspaper.
But now, this behavior had simply become a way of expressing closeness between friends.
"Heh, look! The Death Eaters actually raided Gringotts, that's some huge news! Ha! Look at that giant crater! Looks like every underground vault got wrecked!"
Ron said, sounding a bit too pleased.
His family vault at Gringotts had never held more than ten Galleons, and his own little salary hadn't yet been deposited there, so he felt he could freely laugh at the misfortune of the "poor unfortunate souls."
But before he even finished the sentence, Hermione smacked him hard on the head.
Ron yelped, hunched his neck, rubbed his head, and stared at Hermione in confusion, only to see her glaring and pointing at Harry, who was holding his head, looking miserable.
Ron's eyes widened instantly.
He suddenly remembered, Harry's huge inheritance from his parents was stored in a vault at Gringotts.
And not just Harry.
Sirius Black had a vault there too. And Link as well.
So didn't that mean all of them were victims of the "Great Gringotts Heist"?
Slap! Slap!
Ron decisively slapped himself twice across the face and apologized to Harry, "Sorry, Harry, I said something stupid. From now on I'll..."
He had only spoken halfway when Hermione smacked him again.
Taking advantage of Ron's yelp, Hermione smoothly took over, pointing at a line in the newspaper, "Harry, you don't have to worry too much. Look, The Daily Prophet already says that with such a massive incident, Gringotts is required to compensate all depositors. Even if your money was stolen, it doesn't matter. Just ask the goblins for reimbursement."
Harry didn't speak. He just shook his head impatiently and pressed harder against his forehead.
More accurately, against the lightning-shaped scar there.
The headaches from that scar had almost completely healed.
But the moment he saw that magical photograph in today's Daily Prophet, especially the Dark Mark in the picture, that soul-piercing pain surged back again.
And along with the pain, flashes of blurred images flickered before his eyes.
Explosions, fire, death, those were the themes.
Yet even through the distortion, Harry could still tell the location depicted was exactly the Gringotts ruins he had just seen in the newspaper.
And one strange silhouette in the scene caught his attention.
That figure was completely wrapped in dense cold mist and black smoke, no features could be seen.
But for some reason, Harry felt that this person was Link.
"Ah! Voldemort… Voldemort…"
Harry groaned in broken gasps, sweat dripping down his face.
Only then did Ron and Hermione finally notice something was wrong. They bent over him in panic, asking questions.
But before Harry could understand what they were saying, he grabbed Ron's sleeve and whispered weakly, "Hurry… hurry, go tell Dumbledore! The Daily Prophet is lying!"
"The ones who raided Gringotts weren't impostors pretending to be Death Eaters, they were real Death Eaters! And, and Voldemort himself was there! I saw it, I saw everything… Link… Link was fighting him…"
"WHAT?!"
Ron screamed, trembling so hard his hand almost went into his mouth.
Hermione reacted much faster.
Her face drained of color, and she bolted toward the staircase at once.
Barely ten minutes later, Professor McGonagall rushed into the hall alongside Hermione.
Because it was Christmas, Hogwarts' Great Hall was decked with lights and ribbons, and even the suits of armor in the corners had been dressed up like Santa Claus.
Students who had slept late strolled in yawning, joyfully chatting about the Christmas feast from the night before, creating a festive atmosphere that felt completely out of place next to the tension around Harry and his friends.
McGonagall didn't disrupt the hall.
She simply waved at Harry, signaling him not to speak, then directed Hermione and Ron to carry him to the hospital wing.
Only after Harry had been examined and lay on a hospital bed did McGonagall, face tight and serious, speak, "Harry, what is this about Link fighting Voldemort?"
Harry's headache had eased greatly after Madam Pomfrey forced down his throat a huge cup of some unknown potion. Now he lay there with his eyes closed, recuperating.
Hearing McGonagall's question, he opened his eyes and said something unrelated, "When will Professor Dumbledore be back?"
McGonagall suddenly fell silent.
Her gaze lowered. After a long moment, she stiffly replied, "He is still away taking care of business and has not returned. But you can tell me everything, I will write to him immediately."
A deep disappointment flashed in Harry's eyes.
He had wanted to speak with Dumbledore about his headaches again for days.
He had always felt that his ability to see things from Voldemort's perspective must conceal some giant secret he didn't yet know.
McGonagall had told him to wait a few more days.
Who knew he would still be waiting now?
But he couldn't bring himself to blame Professor McGonagall.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Harry described everything, his sudden headache after seeing the Daily Prophet, and the scenes he saw during the pain.
As he spoke, McGonagall's expression grew uglier and uglier.
By the time Harry finished, her face was completely pale, drained of all color.
It frightened Harry.
But he still forced up some courage and asked softly, "Professor McGonagall… Link… he won't be hurt, will he?"
"I will send a letter asking about his condition right away. As soon as there is news, you will be informed. Madam Pomfrey says there is nothing seriously wrong with you, so after resting a bit you should go back. Term is starting soon, you all need to review next semester's material! Don't forget! This year is your O.W.L.s!"
At the mention of schoolwork, Harry instinctively shrank his head.
All the professors had been piling homework on them like mad, so much that even Christmas break hadn't spared them.
And all that "holiday homework" was still untouched in Harry's trunk.
Fortunately, McGonagall only mentioned it casually, she didn't ask to check his progress.
After speaking, she stood and walked toward the door.
But just as her hand touched the doorknob, she paused.
Her expression turned complicated. After hesitating briefly, she finally said, "Harry… Dumbledore isn't avoiding you intentionally. He truly has matters that must be handled."
Harry froze for a moment, disappointment flickering across his face, but he still nodded.
"As for a way to treat your 'visions,' Dumbledore has already found an appropriate method."
McGonagall continued, "He intends to have you begin studying Occlumency next semester."
"Occlumency?" Harry repeated, puzzled.
"What's that?"
"It is a defensive art that protects the mind from outside intrusion. It's a very obscure branch of magic, but extremely important."
Harry's heart thumped wildly.
Protect the mind from intrusion? So his headaches and those strange visions… were someone invading his mind?
But who would do that?
Slowly, a terrifying, twisted silhouette rose in Harry's mind…
"Dumbledore originally wanted me to keep this secret from you, but I think it's better for you to know in advance," McGonagall said.
"Starting next semester, you will receive one private lesson per week. You must not tell anyone, especially Dolores Umbridge. Do you understand?"
McGonagall's strict tone finally brought Harry back from his shock.
He nodded quickly, then asked with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation, "So… who will teach me? Will Professor Dumbledore teach me when he returns?"
McGonagall shook her head, and her gaze softened with a trace of sympathy.
"Unfortunately, Dumbledore is far too busy," she said.
"But he has arranged for another equally qualified professor to teach you, Severus Snape."