Dumbledore did not sleep that night.
Neither did most of the professors.
The Headmaster's office was brighter than usual. Fawkes perched beside the window, feathers glowing softly, while several silver instruments spun on Dumbledore's desk with nervous little clicks. Professor McGonagall stood near the fireplace with her arms folded. Flitwick sat on a stack of books. Sprout had dirt on her sleeves and a dangerous look in her eyes. Madam Hooch leaned against the wall, yellow eyes sharp.
Snape stood in the darkest corner of the room.
He looked as if everyone present had personally ruined his evening.
Filch stood near the door wearing his yellow Daoist robe, peachwood sword in hand, Mrs. Norris at his feet. His expression was unusually serious.
Theodore sat in the chair across from Dumbledore.
That was what annoyed McGonagall most.
Not because Theodore was there.
Because he looked more relaxed than half the staff.
Dumbledore placed the burned black thread from Quirrell's office on the table.
"This," he said gently, "was found beneath Professor Quirrell's office."
Flitwick leaned forward. His expression changed the moment he saw it.
"That is soul magic."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "Crude soul magic?"
"No," Theodore said. "Deliberately ugly soul magic."
Everyone looked at him.
Theodore explained, "It was designed to feed on fear, obedience, and the pressure between two minds sharing one body. Professor Quirrell was not only hiding it. He was part of its environment."
The office became quiet.
Sprout's face darkened. "You mean someone used him as compost."
Filch immediately looked at her with respect.
Snape gave a soft sneer. "A poetic description, Professor."
Sprout did not even look at him. "I know exactly what I said."
Dumbledore's fingers rested lightly on the desk.
"Professor Quirrell is currently in the hospital wing. He claims not to remember much."
Snape's mouth twisted. "Convenient."
"It is," Dumbledore said.
That mild agreement made the room even quieter.
McGonagall looked at Theodore. "How many of these nodes are there?"
"Nine remain active or half-active," Theodore replied. "The first was suppressed. The fourth was damaged. The pitch core is awake but injured. The lake node is complicated."
Madam Hooch frowned. "Complicated how?"
"There is something chained beneath the Black Lake."
Flitwick nearly slipped off his books.
Sprout muttered something under her breath that sounded very much like a greenhouse curse.
McGonagall closed her eyes for one second, then opened them again.
"Of course there is."
Theodore nodded. "Yes. Hogwarts is very educational."
Nobody laughed except Dumbledore, and even his smile was thin.
Madam Hooch pushed off the wall. "If the pitch core is awake, cancel the tournament."
That was the answer any sensible professor would give.
Several heads turned toward Dumbledore.
The old wizard did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Theodore.
Theodore said, "Canceling it may not stop the array. The core has already connected itself to the stands, the flight path, crowd routes, and protective charms. If the event vanishes suddenly, the formation will retreat deeper and digest what it has already touched."
Flitwick's expression became ugly. "Meaning it could wait for a worse moment."
"Yes."
Sprout slapped her palm on the arm of her chair. "Then we dig up the pitch."
"The core will move."
Snape finally spoke. "And if it moves into the castle?"
"That is the problem," Theodore said.
McGonagall turned to Dumbledore.
"You already knew this."
"I suspected it," Dumbledore replied. "Mr. Snow has confirmed the unpleasant parts."
Filch gripped his peachwood sword.
"So we let the trap show its face."
Theodore looked at him. "Exactly."
Filch nodded as if this was the most reasonable thing anyone had said all night.
McGonagall was less pleased.
"Albus, we are discussing holding a school tournament above an active killing formation."
Dumbledore's gaze softened.
"I know."
"No, you do not get to say that kindly."
Theodore looked at McGonagall.
She was angry, but not foolish. Her anger came from the correct place.
"If it helps," Theodore said, "the purpose is not to let students face the array. The purpose is to let the array believe it has the chance."
McGonagall's lips pressed into a hard line. "That does not help."
Ron would have agreed with her.
Dumbledore stood.
"Then we will make sure the chance it sees is false."
His voice was still gentle, but something in the office changed.
The old wizard who offered lemon drops was still there.
So was the man who had defeated Grindelwald.
"Minerva, reinforce the stands. Do it openly as tournament preparation. Filius, review every charm connected to broom safety, crowd barriers, and the commentator's box. Pomona, I want living roots around the pitch boundary, but nothing that frightens the students before the event. Rolanda, every broom used in the tournament is to be inspected personally."
Madam Hooch nodded sharply.
Dumbledore looked toward Snape.
"Severus, potions against confusion, fear, hallucination, and mild possession."
Snape's expression became worse.
"That is an absurdly broad request."
"I have faith in you."
"Your faith remains as inconvenient as ever."
But Snape did not refuse.
Finally, Dumbledore turned to Filch.
"Argus."
Filch straightened at once.
"You will seal the main corridors to the pitch with your talismans. Any student caught damaging or removing them will answer to Professor McGonagall."
Filch's eyes lit up.
McGonagall looked alarmed.
"Albus—"
Dumbledore smiled. "Within reason, Argus."
Filch's excitement dimmed slightly.
"Define reason."
"No chains from the ceiling."
Filch looked disappointed.
"Fine."
Theodore glanced at him. "Use yellow talismans for the corridors, green near the pitch, and do not paste anything on portraits unless they agree."
Filch frowned. "What if they are rude?"
"Especially then."
Several portraits in the office looked relieved.
Dumbledore's gaze returned to the black thread on the desk.
"We will prepare. Quietly. No panic."
Snape looked toward Theodore.
"And what will Mr. Snow be doing while the staff handles the school?"
Theodore smiled.
"Stealing more of the enemy's formation."
Snape stared at him.
For once, even he seemed unsure whether that was confidence or madness.
Perhaps both.
The next morning, Hogwarts woke up to notices.
Not ordinary notices.
Official notices.
Students were not to enter certain corridors after sunset.
Students were not to tamper with yellow paper seals.
Students were not to bring unauthorized brooms near the pitch.
Students were not to place bets involving injuries, explosions, transformations, curses, mysterious illnesses, or Professor Quirrell fainting.
Fred and George stood in front of the noticeboard, deeply offended.
"They included fainting."
"That was one of our safest categories."
Ron read the notice beside them and looked impressed.
"You had a Quirrell fainting category?"
Fred placed a hand over his heart. "We are businessmen."
George nodded solemnly. "We follow public demand."
Hermione snatched the parchment from Ron's hand before he could ask about odds.
"No."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it."
Ron looked betrayed. "That's unfair. You can't punish thoughts."
Harry looked toward the corridor where Filch was pasting talismans with unusual satisfaction.
"Filch looks happy."
Hermione followed his gaze.
"That worries me."
Filch was indeed happy.
Happier than he had been in years.
For once, he had official permission to put things on walls, block corridors, glare at students, and threaten consequences with Headmaster-approved authority. The only flaw was Dumbledore's unreasonable ban on ceiling chains.
Mrs. Norris walked beside him like a proud assistant.
A first-year reached curiously toward a talisman.
Filch appeared beside him like a ghost.
"Touch it and you'll be polishing every doorknob between here and the Astronomy Tower."
The first-year fled.
Filch sighed happily.
"Education."
By lunch, the castle felt different.
Most students only noticed the extra rules and the professors' increased presence. Hermione noticed more.
The air near the pitch carried layers of charmwork.
Professor Sprout had quietly moved several harmless-looking vines into planters along the path. Harmless-looking, at least. Hermione had seen one of the vines slap Peeves when he tried to spit on it.
Professor Flitwick had spent half the morning inspecting barriers.
Madam Hooch had personally locked the broom storage.
Professor McGonagall had turned one cracked railing into a stone lion that watched anyone who came too close.
Ron stared at it for a long time.
"Do you think it bites?"
Harry said, "Probably."
Ron stepped back.
Theodore had not appeared all morning.
That made Hermione more nervous than if he had been standing in front of them explaining danger in his usual calm voice.
At least then she could ask questions.
When Theodore disappeared, he usually returned with either answers or worse problems.
Sometimes both.
The answer came in the afternoon.
Hermione was near the trophy room with Harry and Ron, comparing her notes from the past two days. They had gone there because the corridor was quiet, and because the fire-crab pendant had grown faintly warm whenever she passed that area.
That alone was suspicious.
Nothing in Hogwarts should react to a fire-crab pendant unless something was wrong.
The trophy room gleamed under the afternoon light.
Rows of silver cups, golden plaques, shields, medals, and old awards stood in glass cabinets. Names of past students shone on polished surfaces. A large Quidditch cup near the center reflected the whole room in a curved, distorted shape.
Ron peered at one of the cabinets.
"Look, there's McGonagall's name."
Harry leaned closer. "She won an award?"
Hermione did not look up from her notes. "Professor McGonagall was an excellent Quidditch player when she was younger."
Ron stared at her. "How do you know that?"
"She told me."
"She tells you things?"
Hermione finally looked up. "Because I ask normal questions."
Ron considered this.
Then shook his head. "No, that can't be it."
Harry was about to answer when the willow branch at his waist suddenly pulled hard toward the center of the room.
Hermione's pendant flashed hot.
Every trophy in the room turned slightly.
Not by much.
Only enough for their reflections to point at the three students.
Ron froze.
"Please tell me trophies normally do that."
"They don't," Hermione said.
The large Quidditch cup in the center began to glow.
At first, the light was warm and golden.
Then it became sharp.
The reflection of Hermione in the cup smiled.
Hermione did not.
Harry drew the willow branch.
"Back!"
A beam of golden light shot from the cup.
Harry swung.
The willow branch cut across the beam, splitting it in two. The light struck the wall behind them and carved two smoking lines into the stone.
Ron stared at the marks.
"That was not decorative."
The cabinets rattled.
More trophies turned.
Golden light gathered on every polished surface.
Hermione understood immediately.
"Reflections! Don't stand where they can all see you!"
Ron looked around wildly.
"We are in a trophy room!"
That was a fair point.
The second wave came from three directions.
Hermione grabbed Ron's sleeve and pulled him behind a stone pillar. Harry ducked, rolled, and sliced one beam before it reached Hermione's back. The cut beam hit a cabinet and shattered the glass.
Bad idea.
The broken glass pieces floated upward.
Each shard reflected golden light.
Ron's face went pale.
"Oh, come on."
The shards fired at once.
Hermione raised her wand.
"Protego!"
A shield appeared, but the golden light did not strike like a normal curse. It bent along the surface of the shield, searching for a gap.
The fire-crab pendant heated.
Hermione gritted her teeth and pushed more magic into the spell.
The shield flared orange.
This time the golden beams slid away and struck the ceiling.
Dust fell.
Ron shoved both sleeves forward.
"Bite the shiny things!"
Six Chomping Cabbages launched across the room.
One hit a floating glass shard and bit it.
The shard cracked.
The cabbage spat out fragments, shook angrily, then bit the next one.
Ron winced. "Careful! Don't swallow glass!"
Harry moved through the room with the willow branch in hand. The branch seemed to know where the next beam would appear before the trophies fully charged. It pulled his arm, and Harry followed, cutting light after light.
His movements were still rough.
Too much shoulder.
Not enough wrist.
But his instinct was frighteningly good.
Three beams crossed toward Ron.
Harry swung too late.
A yellow talisman shot in from the corridor and stuck to the wall.
The beams hit an invisible barrier and scattered.
Filch appeared at the entrance, breathing hard, peachwood sword raised.
"I knew this room was dirty!"
Ron shouted, "It's attacking us with school trophies!"
Filch looked personally offended.
"After I polished them?"
His anger seemed to strengthen the talisman.
The golden beams struck the barrier again and failed to break through.
Hermione seized the chance to look at the pattern.
The trophies were not attacking randomly.
The central Quidditch cup was the eye. The smaller cups were mirrors. The plaques on the walls formed angles. The golden light bounced from one polished surface to another, becoming sharper each time.
"This is a node," she said quickly. "It's using reflections to multiply the attack!"
Ron ducked as a medal flew over his head.
"I noticed!"
Harry sliced the medal in half.
The two pieces still reflected light.
Ron stared at them in betrayal.
"Why does cutting things make more shiny things?"
At that moment, the light inside the central Quidditch cup deepened.
The reflection in it changed.
Theodore appeared in the reflection.
But Theodore himself was not in the room.
The reflected Theodore raised his hand.
Hermione's expression changed.
"Don't look at the cup!"
Too late.
Ron looked.
His eyes became unfocused for half a second.
Harry grabbed him and shoved him down just as a beam passed over his head.
Ron blinked.
"What happened?"
"It tried to pull your mind through the reflection," Hermione said, voice tight.
Ron immediately covered his eyes with one hand.
"I hate this room."
Filch swung his peachwood sword and struck a golden plaque that had started spinning on the wall.
The plaque stopped.
Then fell.
Filch caught it instinctively before it hit the floor.
Even during battle, years of caretaker habit won.
"This is school property," he muttered, then remembered the situation and threw the plaque to a Chomping Cabbage.
The cabbage bit it proudly.
The central cup shook.
More golden light gathered.
This time the whole room brightened.
The node had grown impatient.
It was going to fire through every reflective surface at once.
Hermione's mind raced.
Destroying the trophies would create more reflective fragments.
Shielding alone would not work.
Harry could cut some beams, but not all.
Ron's cabbages could interrupt objects, but they could not bite light fast enough.
Theodore was not here.
Then Hermione looked at the fire-crab pendant.
Heat.
Light.
Reflection.
She suddenly understood something.
"Huhu!"
The pendant glowed.
Hermione raised her wand toward the central cup.
Ron shouted, "Hermione, don't make it shinier!"
"I'm not!"
She cast Lumos.
A very simple spell.
But this time she did not aim to brighten the room.
She aimed the light into the fire-crab pendant first.
The pendant absorbed it, warmed it, twisted it, then released a red-orange glow that spread across the room like sunset.
The golden reflections trembled.
For a moment, every trophy showed fire instead of the room.
The node lost its angles.
Harry felt the willow branch pull sharply.
Now.
He moved.
The green line cut across the central Quidditch cup.
Not the cup itself.
The reflection inside it.
A sharp crack rang out.
The false Theodore in the cup shattered.
The central glow collapsed.
Filch's talisman flared.
Ron's cabbages leapt onto the fallen glass and trophies, biting anything that still shone strangely.
The room dimmed.
The attack stopped.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Ron slowly lowered the hand from his eyes.
"Did we win?"
The central Quidditch cup gave one final twitch.
A willow root emerged from beneath the floor, wrapped around it, and dragged a small golden bead from inside the cup.
Then Theodore's voice came from the doorway.
"You did."
Ron turned.
Theodore stood there, looking entirely unsurprised.
Hermione stared at him.
"You were watching?"
"I was nearby."
"That is not the same thing."
"No," Theodore agreed.
Harry lowered the willow branch.
"You knew this would happen?"
"I suspected the next node might use polished surfaces. The trophy room had too many useful objects."
Ron looked horrified.
"So we were bait?"
Theodore shook his head. "No. You were the response team."
Ron opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Then looked at Hermione.
"Is that better?"
Hermione said, "Slightly."
Filch marched toward Theodore with the fallen plaque in hand.
"Mr. Snow, this node damaged at least fourteen trophies, three cabinets, and one historically significant plaque."
Theodore looked at the plaque.
"Can it be repaired?"
Filch straightened. "Of course it can. I am not incompetent."
"Then add the repair work to Professor Quirrell's account."
Filch's mood improved immediately.
"I will."
Somewhere in the hospital wing, Quirrell sneezed.
Theodore walked into the trophy room.
The willow root placed the golden bead into his palm.
It was bright, sharp, and restless. Unlike the Falling Soul fragment, this one tried to reflect Theodore's own power back at him. Golden light flickered across his fingers.
Theodore closed his hand.
Wutu Divine Light pressed down.
Yimu Divine Light grew through the cracks.
The bead stopped struggling.
"Golden Light," he said.
The name made the remaining trophies tremble faintly.
Another fragment of the Ten Absolute Arrays.
Another piece taken.
Hermione walked closer.
"You let us handle it because you wanted to see whether we could stop a node without you."
Theodore smiled. "Partly."
"And the other part?"
"I was making sure it did not escape."
Hermione was not completely satisfied, but she understood.
If Theodore fought every node directly, the others would learn only how to avoid him. If the group could interrupt weaker nodes themselves, the array would be forced to divide its attention.
Harry seemed to understand too.
Ron mostly looked relieved that nobody had died.
Theodore looked at the three of them.
"You reacted well."
Ron brightened again. "Even the cabbages?"
"One of them tried to eat glass."
Ron pointed at the cabbage responsible. "You hear that? Bad heroism."
The cabbage opened its mouth.
Ron stepped back.
"Don't argue."
Theodore turned the golden bead in his fingers.
The Trophy Room node had been weaker than the Falling Soul node, but it revealed something important. The remaining nodes were no longer waiting for Voldemort's command. They had started testing the defenses on their own.
That meant the intelligence behind the formation was becoming more active.
And impatient.
At the same time, beneath Hogwarts, the Wuzhuang foundation absorbed the Golden Light fragment. The roots under the castle brightened faintly. Willow Immortal's leaves rustled from far away on the grounds.
The newly stolen fragment joined the first and fourth.
Fate.
Soul.
Light.
Theodore now held three pieces of the enemy's method.
That was enough to begin building counters.
In the hospital wing, Quirrell lay stiffly in bed while Madam Pomfrey fussed over him.
Voldemort had been silent for a long time.
Too long.
Quirrell knew that silence.
It meant the Dark Lord was thinking.
That was never good for anyone nearby.
Finally, Voldemort spoke.
"The Golden Light node has fallen."
Quirrell shut his eyes.
"My Lord, I am in the hospital wing. I did not touch it."
"I know."
That answer frightened Quirrell more.
Voldemort's voice became colder.
"The formation is no longer moving only by my hand."
Quirrell did not dare speak.
For the first time, Voldemort did not sound angry at Theodore.
He sounded angry at the formation.
At the whispers that had guided him.
At the "inspiration" he had insisted belonged entirely to himself.
Because a tool that acted on its own was not a tool.
It was a partner.
Or a master.
Voldemort hated both ideas.
His pride twisted.
Then hardened.
"No one controls Lord Voldemort."
Quirrell's heart sank.
He had heard many dangerous sentences in his life.
This one entered the top five immediately.
Back in the trophy room, Theodore suddenly looked toward the hospital wing.
Then toward the pitch.
Then toward the lake.
A faint smile appeared.
So Voldemort had finally noticed.
Good.
A suspicious Voldemort was harder to use, but also easier to provoke.
The Quidditch pitch pulsed again.
This time, the pulse was sharper.
Almost angry.
Theodore looked down at the golden bead in his hand.
"Three pieces."
The bead vanished into green light.
Outside the windows, the banners for the upcoming tournament fluttered in the wind.
Students laughed in distant corridors.
Professors quietly strengthened the castle.
Filch guarded talismans like sacred law.
Willow Immortal spread its roots deeper.
And under the Quidditch pitch, the wounded core opened another eye.
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