"First of all, one thing we can confirm is that the 'other me' has no knowledge of my existence—nor of this crystal ball. When I crafted it, I deliberately blocked that fragment of consciousness. He retains no memory of the process whatsoever. This naturally creates an information gap."
"But aside from that, he possesses nearly all of my memories and personality. However, since he is merely a fragment, his mental strength is far weaker than my original self. When he accesses those memories, he does so sluggishly; controlling the body is clumsy, and spellcasting even more so. In terms of combat power, he's likely inferior to a completely average Auror."
"What you two must do is help me arrange a spell in this room—one that extracts consciousness. Then lure the other me inside, defeat him, suppress any resistance, and finally allow the previously prepared spell to restore me to my body."
Avada was somewhat shocked. After such severe weakening, Professor Baker's body still retained Auror-level combat ability? Never underestimate an Auror just because the term "Hit Wizard" exists—Aurors are selected through the strictest trials, the most battle-hardened and resilient wizards in the magical world, true elite combatants!
"You may think it sounds absurd for two first-years to defeat an Auror," Professor Baker continued, "but in truth, it isn't."
"He has almost zero vigilance toward you. And I know every one of his combat habits and weaknesses. With forethought, we can set all manner of traps. Add to that the spatial magic in this room, fully under my control… with your level of preparation, defeating him will not be an issue."
"At the same time, outside of the hours spent setting up the spell, I will personally train you—combat techniques, and methods specifically meant to exploit my habits and weaknesses. These must remain secret. My life depends on it."
"No problem."
Avada and Baron nodded in unison.
"Good." Professor Baker attempted to nod back, only to remember he no longer had a body. He sighed and continued, "Next, I'll teach you the method for arranging the consciousness-extraction spell. It may be difficult for you, and you'll need to gather a great deal of magical materials… Just setting up this one spell will likely take until February or March."
"But that's fine. That time is more than enough for you to train."
"So let's—uh… did you bring notebooks?"
"…"
Avada and Baron exchanged a look, then shook their heads together. They had come only to sign a magical contract; who would've expected Professor Baker to advance the schedule so quickly?
"…All right, then we start tomorrow."
Professor Baker sounded helpless. "You may come at any time to receive instruction, but be discreet—avoid drawing attention. And it's best if you come together; teaching the same material twice would be a waste."
"That's all for today. Tomorrow, bring notebooks and pens. What I'm going to teach is far more complicated than first-year coursework. Fortunately, none of that coursework poses much difficulty for you…"
As the black crystal ball returned to silence, Avada and Baron left the Room of Requirement.
"When should we come tomorrow?" Avada asked as they descended the stairs.
"Still after dinner," Baron replied after a moment's thought. "After this, don't meet up after meals. Each of us should head separately to the Room of Requirement. That'll reduce the chance of being noticed. And if one of us has Astronomy that night, the other should go to Professor Baker and tell him the lesson is canceled. There are only two Astronomy classes a week. It won't hurt the schedule."
"As for weekends…"
Avada followed his reasoning. "We can't spend the whole weekend in the Room of Requirement. We have to remain visible in our common rooms as well, or people will notice. And Hufflepuff has its traditional picnics…"
"Then Saturday night we go once; Sunday we stay inside for half a day—whether morning or afternoon, we'll decide on Saturday."
Baron clapped his hands decisively, sealing the plan with Avada.
"Oh, right—I've forgotten to ask this for ages. What's the deal with your name?"
Now that their immediate worries were addressed, Baron's curiosity resurfaced. His thoughts drifted back to Christmas, when Professor Baker's "consciousness fragment" had spoken Avada's true name aloud.
"…"
Avada's face went slightly green. His first instinct was to dodge the question. But he also knew that if someone knew his true name without understanding its meaning, serious misunderstandings could occur later. For example, if someone cast a Killing Curse at him, he might—in the moment before death—mistake it as a friendly greeting:
"Oh? You know Avada too?"
And besides, Baron had gone through danger with him. This wasn't something worth hiding.
"You've heard of the Unforgivable Curses, right?"
"Of course—Cruciatus, Imperius, and the Killing Curse."
"My name is the incantation of the Killing Curse."
"…Huh?"
Avada sighed and gave Baron a summary of the Department of Mysteries' absurdity. Baron's expression cycled through disbelief, pity, and speechlessness.
"…Good luck."
In the end, Baron could only pat Avada's shoulder, unsure whether he was offering comfort or condolences, and then headed toward the Slytherin Common Room.
Avada watched Baron's silhouette fade from view. His steps halted. He turned toward the stairway leading up, took a step—then stopped again.
Ultimately, he shook his head silently and walked toward the Hufflepuff Common Room.
He had considered returning to the Room of Requirement after Baron left, confronting Professor Baker directly about Horcruxes, and asking for the truth. With the magical contract binding them, Baker couldn't harm him; at most, the professor would be stunned that a first-year knew about Horcruxes—the pinnacle of Dark Magic.
Professor Baker had raised too many questions.
In Avada's understanding, the "soul" should correspond to mental strength. And when it came to mental research, Avada was practically an expert—his talent-optimization technique alone could earn him an Order of Merlin, First Class.
Yet even so, he had never found any structure in the mind that would "split upon killing." He had once theorized that only souls thoroughly corroded by Dark Magic developed such a structure, hence the idea that only the most evil Dark wizards could split their souls through murder.
But Professor Baker shattered that assumption: his mental strength did indeed carry traces of Dark Magic corruption, but the structure Avada imagined simply wasn't there.
Though Baker wasn't heavily corrupted—far from "complete corruption"—he had undeniably split his soul and created a Horcrux. And since a person could create multiple Horcruxes, logically any "splitting structure" should still exist after the first split.
All these signs pointed to a single conclusion: the creation of a Horcrux—and at minimum, the act of splitting the soul—is not as simple as Avada once believed.
What exactly is the relationship between "killing" and "splitting"? Under what conditions can a soul be divided? What is the underlying principle?
Why does a magical hollow exist at the center of mental strength? And why does this hollow split along with the soul?
If Baker were truly willing to answer him, Avada would gain invaluable Horcrux knowledge. His understanding of mental strength and his progress in Horcrux research would skyrocket. And he could finally confirm why and how Baker had created a Horcrux. If soul-splitting required nothing beyond "killing," then a Dark wizard hunter like Baker could easily use the worst criminals as sacrifices—an act that would arguably benefit the magical world.
And if Baker refused to answer? It wouldn't harm Avada. Baker himself didn't want anyone to know he'd created a Horcrux. Why would he reveal Avada's knowledge?
But after weighing the risks carefully, Avada abandoned the idea.
Letting anyone know he was interested in Horcruxes was simply too dangerous.
(End of Chapter)