Over the course of the following week or so, about every two or three days another student would suddenly fall into a coma. Hufflepuff had finally been hit as well—two or three of their students were now lying in the hospital wing.
Fortunately, no incident as egregious as Slytherin's earlier "five-at-once" disaster occurred again.
Just as the students had speculated, the victims of this incident showed no pattern whatsoever. It didn't matter which house they belonged to, what year they were in, their blood status, or their academic performance—the attacks were completely random, utterly indiscriminate, equal-opportunity misfortune without motive. Many students and professors even began to suspect that some strange magical creature had slipped into the school. Hagrid, Professor Kettleburn, Professor Rolf, and others were kept busy for quite some time investigating that possibility, but they still found nothing.
In this atmosphere, nearly everyone realized how extraordinary the situation was. The most immediate effect was that Dumbledore's special regulations worked astonishingly well—even Gryffindor students had mostly stopped sneaking around at night. This left Filch visibly dejected; he openly complained that life had lost half its joy.
Even so, nothing could stop students from continuing to collapse.
And it was amid this tense, anxious climate that Madam Pomfrey finally declared Avada fit for discharge.
"You're not fully recovered," she emphasized repeatedly before he left. "Your condition simply won't interfere with normal study or daily life anymore. You must still maintain the habits you developed while recuperating…"
She continued tirelessly with her instructions.
"No Brain Elixirs, no Pepperup Potions or other mental stimulants. At least eight hours of sleep every night. No excessive spellcasting. No emotional extremes…"
"Yes, that's all. Goodbye—and take care."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Goodbye."
Avada changed into his regular robes, bade her farewell, and finally stepped back into the world—only to discover that even walking felt unsteady.
This wasn't just because he'd been bedridden for so long. His mental strength truly hadn't fully recovered, just as Madam Pomfrey said. While the remaining damage was no longer severe, it couldn't be ignored and still carried the risk of worsening. Potions were almost useless at this stage, which was why she'd stressed long-term care. By her estimate, it would take at least half a year to recover completely.
With Avada's own constant monitoring and adjustments, however, about a month would suffice. Even so, that meant enduring a month of slowed thinking, reduced learning efficiency, low stamina, and diminished combat capability…
…
"So you're saying the potion Professor Snape and Professor Sprout developed doesn't actually work that well?"
Listening to his dormmates sigh and complain, Avada was genuinely surprised.
"It's not that bad," Stibbons said, lying on his bed and tossing a pillow idly. With curfew brought forward dramatically, they should've been in the library or kitchens at this hour. "It's only the first stage of treatment. The goal was just to wake them up."
"Apparently it'll take another two weeks or so before they fully recover."
"Did they get anything useful out of them?" Avada asked.
"They said that before fainting, all of them heard a faint, almost imperceptible scream. Professor Dumbledore's already warned everyone to be extra cautious."
Shabby popped a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean into his mouth, chewing while speaking indistinctly. "Professor Sprout even suspected one of her Mandrakes got loose. She had all of us help check the greenhouses—but nothing turned up."
"I also heard the incident's spread outside the school and even alarmed the Board of Governors. They're pressing Dumbledore to resolve this as soon as possible. If it drags on, the Board plans to step in personally…"
"The Board of Governors?" Avada's alertness spiked instantly. "Which governor is leading this?"
"Supposedly Marcel Flint—Marcus's uncle. His nephew's in a coma, after all, so he's reacting the strongest."
"And the others?"
"Who knows? We're not on the Board… slurp~"
Summers stole a bean from Shabby mid-sentence and popped it into his mouth—then immediately froze, his face contorting in agony. It took him a while to recover. "Ugh… maybe you should ask Baron or Susan. They probably know more."
"But really, think about it—if even Dumbledore can't solve this right away, what's the Board stepping in going to change?"
"Exactly…"
The dormitory fell quiet again. Avada began organizing the information he'd just received.
'The Board's reaction seems normal—nothing suspicious for now.'
'I wonder what role Lucius Malfoy is playing in all this… and how much Draco knows. I should have Baron look into it.'
'A scream that disrupts mental stability… it really does sound like Mandrakes or Fwoopers. But if it were something like that, the professors would've caught it by now—and the portraits would've seen it too. Has the Basilisk been replaced by something else?'
'But that doesn't add up either. The Chamber of Secrets is gone entirely, and Myrtle's death doesn't match these symptoms. An adult Mandrake's cry can kill, but Myrtle only felt dizzy before she died—why?'
'How much of this still connects to canon at all?'
'Forget it. Too little information. I'll focus on researching that soul-summoning spell and eliminate the diary as a hidden threat as soon as possible. The injury will slow progress, but it'll be worth it…'
'After all, I can see soul origins directly now. Once I recover, research on Horcruxes will skyrocket.'
After gaining the ability to see soul origins, Avada realized they possessed internal structures as well—the same crystal-like patterns he'd observed. Everyone's soul-origin patterns differed, yet followed the same fundamental framework, similar to mental and life force structures, only vastly more complex.
And he could finally see the fragment of Voldemort's soul hidden inside Harry.
What shocked him was that this fragment showed clear signs of artificial modification. One segment of its internal pattern was drastically different from anything he'd ever seen, and it was intertwined with Harry's own soul.
If his guess was correct, that structure was Parseltongue.
To engrave a talent directly into the soul, and pass it down through generations…
In that moment, Avada gained a concrete understanding of the level once reached by the founders of Hogwarts—at least by Salazar Slytherin himself.
'Then again, considering he was a descendant of the Peverell brothers, creators of the Deathly Hallows, that level of mastery does make sense…'
"Wait a second—"
Avada suddenly froze, then his eyes lit up.
"Speaking of the Deathly Hallows… could they also contain structures similar to Parseltongue? Is that why I couldn't see anything just by examining their magical frameworks? And could Thestrals be the same?"
(End of Chapter)