Sometimes, the truth really is that cruel.
Every member of the Constellation Society carried protective charms when they went out. Even if they encountered the Imperius Curse, they could react immediately.
Unfortunately, others didn't have that advantage.
Even if Harry wanted to put on a brave front, he couldn't.
John left the hospital wing.
The target had clearly been Slughorn—but was it deliberate, or an accident?
Choosing the wine he had given?
If it was deliberate, then the intent behind the poisoning was something that needed careful consideration.
If it was accidental, then it could only be chalked up to John's bad luck.
News of Ron being hospitalized due to poisoning spread through the castle, and students expressed their sympathy.
"The Weasley family was attacked over Christmas, and now they're not even spared after coming back to school."
Hufflepuff's famous gossipmonger, Ernie Macmillan, was spreading talk everywhere about a Weasley family curse.
Ron Weasley quickly became framed as the last surviving member of an ancient, cursed family.
When Ginny heard this, she thoroughly chewed out everyone spreading the rumor.
The Weasleys were obviously all perfectly fine.
But when Blaise saw Ginny like that, he couldn't help blurting out another lovestruck remark.
"So fierce! I'm completely in love with that girl."
John shot him a glance. At this point, he could basically confirm that this idiot wasn't the culprit.
Someone in the terminal stage of love-brain—Voldemort wouldn't pull something like this even when he wasn't thinking straight.
John held a list in his hand, scanning it. It was the roster of those who had attended the Slug Club.
"Theodore?"
He paused at a name on the list and frowned. "He was invited too?"
Malfoy had only just learned that Ron was lying in the hospital wing and was debating whether to go mock Harry a bit.
Hearing the question, he replied, "Yes, he was invited as well."
John raised an eyebrow. Theodore Nott being invited was somewhat unexpected.
After all, Theodore's father, old Nott, was currently sitting in Azkaban.
The child of a Death Eater didn't exactly fit Slughorn's usual criteria for someone worth inviting.
More importantly...
He was Pansy's boyfriend.
Much as he didn't want to admit it, John had to say that Pansy Parkinson's ability to misjudge people was like a beacon in the dark—she could always point out the wrong one in a crowd.
"Look into whether Theodore has been in contact with anyone," John handed the task to Malfoy.
Matters between pure-blood families were best handled by other pure-bloods.
Malfoy complained, "I was planning to go on a date with Astoria."
"No, you don't," John said, noticing Daphne already pricking up her ears to eavesdrop, and shot Malfoy a look.
Unfortunately, Malfoy was too focused on Potter over there to catch the hint and protested stubbornly, "I absolutely do. Astoria definitely wants to as well."
Sigh. Kind words can't save a doomed soul.
Under John's sympathetic gaze, Malfoy was rewarded with a large, ugly boil.
Which meant he no longer had the face to go on that date anyway.
"I think you could ease up a bit on Draco," John advised tactfully. "Even though he's Draco, he can't take that many jinxes."
Daphne snorted. "I don't want my sister being tricked by an unreliable man."
It had to be said—that was a very convincing argument.
Especially when that man ranked among the top three most hated people at Hogwarts.
Even Filch's ghostlike, ever-present arrests hadn't managed to dethrone Malfoy.
After all, Malfoy really did have one mouth too many.
Such a good person—shame about the extra mouth.
…
Corridor.
"Can I take a look at your necklace?"
The Ravenclaw girl who had been chatting and laughing screamed in fright.
Moaning Myrtle popped out from behind, squinting hard as she tried to get a clear look at the girl's necklace.
Terrified, the girl clutched her chest and bolted away.
Myrtle shook her head and said, "Anyway, I don't like that style."
She floated off toward somewhere else.
The upper-year girls had all started dressing themselves up in various ways, and they had become Myrtle's primary targets for investigation.
There was even one incident where she scared three girls so badly they had to go to the hospital wing for calming draughts.
In the second-floor corridor, John found Myrtle wandering around, scrutinizing different necklace styles.
He took a magazine out of his small bag, filled with various necklace designs.
"Oh, this is exactly what I need—but I can't touch it," Myrtle said dejectedly, watching her fingers pass straight through the magazine.
John set it down and said, "It flips pages automatically."
The magazine began turning on its own, and Myrtle hovered there, watching with great interest.
"Could you help me with something?" John said. "I'll pay you for it."
"Of course," Myrtle floated closer to him.
"Ask the other ghosts for me—find out who's been staying in the Headmaster's office. And if it's convenient, help me keep an eye on what these people usually do around the castle."
John took out several photographs, courtesy of a certain Gryffindor photographer.
Myrtle looked through the photos and agreed to help.
In return, she wanted John to make her a pair of earrings—she'd seen a girl wearing a pair that looked very nice.
John agreed.
Just as he was about to leave, a thought occurred to him.
"Myrtle, do you ever find living like this… boring?"
"Boring? Sometimes, I suppose. But I like sneaking into the bathrooms to peek at boys while they're washing—that's quite fun," Myrtle blurted out without thinking. With a shriek, she plunged into a broken toilet, probably out of embarrassment.
John spread his hands helplessly. It seemed he wasn't getting an answer after all.
As a ghost who had only been "dead" for a little over fifty years, Myrtle's answer wasn't all that reliable.
After all, among all the ghosts in the school, Myrtle was the youngest.
The others were hundreds, even thousands, of years old.
Ghosts possessed something close to infinite longevity, because they were already dead.
After obtaining the giant squid's blood, John began thinking about immortality as well.
The thing Voldemort had craved so desperately, yet John had obtained with ease.
With his current lifespan, living two or three hundred years wouldn't be much of a problem. With the addition of the giant squid's blood, it would be extended even further—he could reach his teacher's age without even using the Philosopher's Stone.
And with the Stone in his possession, if he truly wanted immortality, he could go on living until this country itself fell into ruin.
But the meaning of living like that felt unsettlingly empty.
"If it were like Professor Binns, that would be terrifying."
Thinking of his History of Magic professor sent a chill through John.
Professor Binns had been teaching the same lessons for a thousand years. Perhaps when he was young, he had once been full of passion—but now, he was hardly any different from a walking corpse.
"Vitality is the key."
John lifted the vial of blue blood and swirled it gently.
If his guess was correct, this time he could obtain a lifespan as long as the giant squid's.
Thinking of the system's Level Seven limit made John's heart sink.
"Is that really as far as the system can go?"
He rubbed the silver ring, a quiet anxiety about the future creeping in.
He had considered other methods—such as taking the Elder Wand to push his strength another step higher.
But relying on external power… would that mean ending up like Grindelwald or Dumbledore, simply waiting for someone else to defeat him?
"If gods exist, then Level Seven can't be the limit—whether it's Death itself, or the 'gods' of another world."
John took a deep breath and massaged his temples.
Those questions could wait until he actually reached Level Seven. For now, his priority was to uncover the traitor who had poisoned the wine and to kill Voldemort.
There was still a crystal ball in his small bag.
He hadn't yet looked at the prophecy inside.
Yesterday he'd spent the whole day listening to Fleur's romantic woes, then gone underwater to be with the giant squid.
After returning to the castle, the poisoning incident had sent him to the hospital wing.
Now that he finally had time, John headed for the Constellation Society.
Seated in a chair at the Constellation Society, he took out the prophecy orb.
"Sybill Trelawney, don't disappoint me."
As the very source behind the creation of the Chosen One's fate, Trelawney's prophecies had almost never failed.
John held the crystal ball in his hands. A hazy glow spread within it.
The mist inside slowly dispersed, and a familiar voice sounded in John's ears.
"A turning point has occurred… Sss…"
"A great thing will destroy all… fated… a newborn's cry…"
"The Dark Lord will die by a formidable enemy, and those who touch the forbidden shall meet no good end. The wheels of fate will be thrown into chaos."
One eerie line after another echoed beside his ears as John listened to the entire prophecy.
He fell silent for quite some time.
"'The wheels of fate will be thrown into chaos… the Dark Lord will die by a formidable enemy?'"
He pondered it. This seemed to foretell the Dark Lord's death.
The only question was which Dark Lord it referred to—Voldemort, or Grindelwald.
As for "those who touch the forbidden shall meet no good end," it seemed like a warning directed at John himself.
"Fate has changed. The Dark Lord and the Chosen One no longer seem locked in a simple opposition where one must live and the other must die."
John's fingers brushed across the smooth surface of the crystal ball.
The Dark Lord will die by a formidable enemy.
Did that enemy still refer to the Chosen One, or to someone else entirely?
Or perhaps it meant Grindelwald and Dumbledore?
John snapped his fingers and tossed the crystal ball into one of the nine doors.
He dusted off his hands. Whoever the prophecy referred to, it clearly foretold the Dark Lord's death—and that alone was enough for John to justify giving Trelawney a raise.
Even if the alcohol she drank on a daily basis cost several times more than her actual salary.
"The law of causality as a weapon… Prophets really are terrifying."
John closed the door, ensuring the crystal ball would not appear again.
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