Chapter 53. Notebook and Photograph
In truth, Adrian Wesson had been quietly watching Quirrell's condition from the shadows all along.
To Wesson, Quirrell—and the Lord Voldemort at the back of his head—were best dealt with as soon as possible for everyone's peace of mind.
But no matter what, even this version of Lord Voldemort could not be underestimated.
Moreover, even if he were to eliminate Quirrell and Lord Voldemort right now, that would not solve the problem at its root.
After all, there was still the troublesome matter of the Horcruxes.
At present, there seemed to be only one way to deal with Lord Voldemort: find and destroy all of his Horcruxes.
Unfortunately, Wesson had very little memory of that part.
What those Horcruxes specifically were, and where they were kept—he could remember only a small portion.
Worse still, Harry Potter himself was one of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes.
If events followed the original plot, then although Harry ultimately annihilated Lord Voldemort, the ending of the story wasn't all that pleasant.
Wesson didn't care for that kind of plot.
What was more, now that Wesson existed as a variable, the direction of the story was unlikely to proceed along a fixed course.
At this thought, Wesson felt another headache coming on.
...
On Saturday, in his office, Wesson closed the notebook in his hands, set it on the desk, and let out a slow sigh.
Notably, there were no words on the notebook's cover—only a few entwined chains.
If one looked closely, one would find those chains were not motionless, but wriggled at an extremely slow pace, as if alive.
Wesson raised his wand and tapped the cover lightly.
In an instant, the chain pattern changed, twisting and contorting until it became real iron chains, spreading out and wrapping around the entire notebook in layer upon layer.
It was a complex sealing magic.
It combined an Anti-Theft Jinx, a Concealment Charm, a Confundus Charm, and several other spells—along with Wesson's specialty, a Binding Charm.
Even for him, undoing this seal would take at least half an hour of work.
Wesson was confident that even Albus Dumbledore would have to expend some effort to lift this enchantment.
Naturally, Wesson didn't dare expose this notebook to anyone—least of all Dumbledore.
Because this notebook held his greatest secret.
Namely—all the Harry Potter storylines he could recall inside his head.
Memory is exceedingly fragile and sensitive.
Just sorting out the scattered fragments in Wesson's mind had cost him a fair bit of energy.
For convenience, Wesson wrote down every plot and detail he could think of in this notebook.
Whenever he needed to recall some specific detail, he could take out the notebook and put his thoughts back in order.
After reinforcing the sealing magic, Wesson hid the notebook back on his person.
Important things are safest when carried with you.
...
With that done, Wesson decided to pay a visit to the Hufflepuff common room.
Since returning to Hogwarts, he hadn't gone back yet.
Besides, the Fat Friar had sent a special invitation that morning.
"I'm going to give the students a proper talk about how I was executed by the Church!"
That was how he'd put it.
He also hoped Wesson would sit in.
Of course, Wesson didn't think it was a story that needed to be broadcast far and wide.
He'd heard that tale countless times before; he believed that aside from the first-years, no one else would be especially curious.
...
Outside the Hufflepuff common room.
Getting into Hufflepuff's common room was easy: one only had to tap a certain barrel by the entrance in the rhythm of "Helga Hufflepuff." If you got it wrong, you'd be doused in vinegar.
When Wesson first started school, he often knocked the wrong pattern.
However—
He had quick reflexes.
Wesson could always dodge just before the vinegar splashed down on him, then use a quick Scouring Charm to tidy up the scene.
Just as Wesson was about to try a serious round of tapping, the door suddenly opened from within.
A fourth-year student happened to be coming out.
Wesson recognised him—a student who had chosen his Care of Magical Creatures class.
"Ah, Professor Wesson, are you going in?"
"Yes. Thank you, sir."
Wesson nodded and slipped through the crack of the door.
Mm, best not to knock on the barrels; he didn't care for that annoying vinegar smell.
The Hufflepuff common room was much as Wesson remembered—comfortable and natural.
There were no fancy decorations to speak of. The only noticeable change was that there seemed to be more flowerpots—Professor Sprout often brought some of her plants into the common room.
Wesson stepped inside, his gaze sweeping the surroundings.
There weren't many students about—just a few clusters chatting.
He had barely come to a stop when—
"Professor Wesson!"
Someone called out, and in an instant all eyes in the room turned to him.
Wesson, somewhat baffled by their looks, managed a dry smile and a greeting. "Good morning, everyone."
The students gathered around at once.
Wesson was surrounded, and for a moment the chatter came at him in a steady stream.
"Professor Wesson, you finally came!"
"Professor Wesson, did you really do it?"
"Is that photograph real?"
Wesson was at a loss.
What had he done? What photograph? Why didn't he know anything?
At last, a quick-witted student resolved his confusion by producing a photograph and handing it to Wesson.
At the first glance, Wesson froze.
It was a moving magical photograph.
And the subject of the photograph… was him!
In the picture, he wore a grim expression, standing by the wall of the Hogwarts castle. On the wall behind him, a dense crowd of people hung suspended.
Judging by their clothing, they were Slytherin students.
Which made the photo's content quite obvious: it showed what he had done in his fifth year.
More outrageously, the photograph even had an animated arrow that specifically pointed him out, with a caption:
"Adrian Wesson, Hufflepuff fifth year, in commemoration. :)"
"..."
Wesson was silent for a while, then, in a rather complicated tone, asked those around him, "Could you tell me who found this photograph?"
The students looked at one another; at last, a boy scratched his head and answered, "Er… nobody knows. They say some upper-year dug it out of a junk room last term."
"Junk room?" Wesson arched a brow.
"West Tower, third floor, Professor," the boy said excitedly. "So it's all true then, Professor? That was brilliant."
Wesson stared at the photograph for a few seconds and suddenly didn't know what to say.
He finally understood why so many students had seemed to know him on the first day of term.
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