Chapter 306. Controlling Emotions
"Sit down," Adrian Wesson pointed to the chair opposite. He tapped his wand, and a steaming cup of black tea drifted to a stop in front of Harry. "You seem to be recovering well, Harry. Any lingering issues with your body?"
"I'm fine," Harry said, cradling the tea. "No problems physically, and I can use magic normally, but—"
He broke off, as though weighing how to describe it.
"But?"
Wesson blinked. "So, something else has changed, has it?"
Harry nodded, his expression grave, and told Wesson what had just happened in the corridor, including those strange thoughts he'd had.
When Wesson finished listening, his brow knit tight.
If what Harry said was true, then without a doubt the fragment of Voldemort's soul had begun to influence him severely, stirring violent impulses.
Worse still, it seemed this might be a lasting state.
But if Voldemort's soul fragment had been in Harry for so long, why had this influence only revealed itself yesterday?
Nothing special had happened to Harry recently; he'd only cast a few spells.
Which made it clear the problem must lie with Voldemort.
"Can you control those bad emotions, Harry?" Wesson asked sternly.
Harry rubbed the teacup, thought for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I think I can. But… what's causing this, exactly?"
"It's your scar," Wesson explained. "Remember what I told you? There's a fragment of the Dark Lord's soul lodged there—do not tell anyone about this. Those thoughts of yours are likely being brought on by that piece of soul."
"So this is Voldemort's doing?" Harry asked, tense. "Then why was I fine before?"
"Perhaps you could ask Voldemort," Wesson chuckled suddenly, then grew serious. "All right, just a joke. We both know the reason, Harry. There's not much time left before Voldemort returns. At the very least, his soul is becoming active—and it's affecting you."
Harry's expression was complicated. He didn't reply, lost in who knew what thoughts.
"But don't worry too much," Wesson conjured a dish of sherbet lemons and slid it across, lightening the mood. "It's only a remnant of a soul. So long as you're strong enough, it can't truly threaten you. Besides, you've got me—I'll find a way. What matters most for you right now is keeping those bad emotions under control."
"How exactly should I do that?" Harry asked at once.
In truth, he knew he had to get a grip on himself. Just a moment ago, he had almost used a harmful spell on Malfoy.
He could hold back, yes—but… what if?
If it really came to that, he'd be expelled from Hogwarts for certain.
"Hmm." Wesson thought for a while. "Keep Gulu on you. If it ever reaches a critical moment, have it bite you. Trust me—you'll snap out of it."
Harry tilted his head, a bit at sea. "Does that really count as a solution?"
"It's a good one," Wesson shrugged, then his eyes lit up. "Oh, I almost forgot—I've got some reinforced sedatives."
He pulled a small box from a drawer, pushed it to Harry, and opened it.
Inside were three tiny phials, each filled with an inky-black liquid of unknown sort.
Harry picked one up and nodded, thoughtful. "So I just drink this and I'll stay calm, right?"
"No," Wesson shook his head. "You'll pass out on the spot and sleep for twenty-four hours. Until the time is up, no magic will wake you."
Harry regarded the phial, speechless.
This sedative seemed a bit too… sedating.
"Anyway," Wesson stood, ending the talk, "as long as your will is strong enough, Voldemort won't be able to sway you. What I've given you is only a last-resort safeguard. Unless it's absolutely necessary, I don't recommend using it."
"Understood, Professor," Harry said earnestly.
After leaving Wesson's office, Harry went straight back to his dormitory.
His roommates had already been getting up one after another; only Neville was still snoring away.
"He can really sleep," Ron said with a grin, looking at him. "Same in History of Magic."
Harry shot him a look.
Honestly, you're not much better.
After bickering with Ron for a bit, Harry went over to the windowsill and scooped Gulu out of its pot.
Under normal circumstances, Gulu stayed about half a fist in size.
"Sorry to trouble you," Harry whispered to Gulu. "I'm going to keep you with me for a while. If you notice anything off about me, bite me."
"?"
Just awakened, Gulu swayed groggily twice.
It had never heard such a strange request.
Harry knew Gulu was very clever and could understand him.
After repeating the instructions twice more, he slipped Gulu into his pocket.
With that done, Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room.
There were already quite a few people about; one thing hadn't changed—Hermione still had the comfiest chair. That's the benefit of waking early.
And from the looks of it, she had no intention of giving it up.
As Harry passed by, Hermione called out to him. "Harry, Professor McGonagall was just here for you. She asked me to tell you to go to her office right away."
Harry's heart lurched. "Did Professor McGonagall say anything else?"
"No," Hermione shook her head. "She only said to come by her office—"
"Wait!" She snapped her book shut and stood, a little agitated. "You haven't landed yourself in trouble again, have you?"
"Er…" Harry scratched his head, embarrassed. "Maybe."
Hermione sighed, helpless. "I do hope you can lose fewer points for Gryffindor."
Harry gave a sheepish smile.
What must come will come.
Leaving the common room, Harry went straight to Professor McGonagall's office.
He pushed open the door—and it was exactly what he'd expected.
Professor McGonagall sat behind her desk, expressionless. Draco Malfoy lounged in a chair; when he saw Harry come in, a smug smile spread across his face.
Harry stepped up to the desk on his own.
Professor McGonagall was marking something on a piece of parchment in front of her—looked like lower-years' Transfiguration homework.
After awarding a student a "T," she finally raised her head, face severe.
"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy accuses you of using dangerous magic on him in the corridor this morning. What have you to say for yourself?"
"Just an ordinary Transfiguration charm," Harry replied.
"Then, Mr Potter, you admit you cast magic in the corridor, yes?" Professor McGonagall pressed.
"Yes," Harry said, resigned.
In truth, he'd already anticipated this.
There was no point denying it before a professor.
Besides, for Malfoy to dare bring it up to Professor McGonagall, he must have solid proof—Harry had already seen the badge on the desk. It still read, "I am a big pile of poo."
Fortunately, it wasn't a dangerous piece of magic.
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