When Vison returned to his office, he finally let out a long sigh of relief.
Although it had only been a fragment of Lord Voldemort's soul, it was dangerous enough.
If he hadn't been able to eliminate it, he might have had to ask Dumbledore for help—
which would have made things a lot more complicated.
More importantly...
Vison's gaze fell on Ravenclaw's Diadem resting on the table.
Dumbledore would certainly take it back sooner or later.
After all, strictly speaking, the diadem belonged to Hogwarts, having been left behind by Rowena Ravenclaw herself.
"Eldra," Vison called softly, activating a magical diagnostic spell.
[Name: Ravenclaw's Diadem]
[Status: Its original power is gone. An obsession is disturbing it. But it is safe.]
"An obsession is disturbing it?"
Vison frowned. That didn't make much sense—he had just eliminated Voldemort's soul fragment.
So, what was causing this disturbance?
He removed his dragon-hide gloves and gently touched the gem embedded in the diadem.
Cold. But nothing else happened.
Then, cautiously, he placed the diadem on his head.
Several seconds passed.
Vison took it off in silence.
He didn't feel any smarter.
That meant...
The problem wasn't Voldemort's soul. It must be something inherent to the diadem itself.
Vison vaguely recalled that there was more to the story of Ravenclaw's Diadem in the original books.
There was a hidden tale connected to it—that must be the source of the lingering disturbance.
But...
He couldn't remember the exact details.
Just the names of the key figures involved.
The Gray Lady of Ravenclaw.
And the Bloody Baron of Slytherin.
Both of them were now ghosts of Hogwarts.
Even if he knew the cause, it wasn't like he had a way to resolve it.
He couldn't exactly walk up to them and say:
"Hey, do you have any obsessions? Want me to help resolve them?"
Moreover, the fact that they had become ghosts meant that their obsessions were deep-rooted and powerful.
Vison seriously doubted he could do anything about that.
Troublesome...
The next day, Vison still hadn't thought of a solution.
He decided to set the diadem aside for the time being.
Although he hadn't experienced its magical benefits, at least the Horcrux had been destroyed.
And, as a bonus, the Tree of Wisdom's growth had made a significant breakthrough.
Overall, his recent efforts had borne good results.
But he remained uneasy.
Professor Quirrell had been acting strangely—and now, he hadn't been seen all morning.
According to Dumbledore, Quirrell had "gone to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries."
A few days later, in the afternoon, inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom...
Harry sat beside Ron, constantly glancing toward the door, visibly nervous.
"What's up with you?" Ron asked lazily, twirling a quill whose feathers were now pitifully sparse.
"You keep staring at the door—something happen?"
"Don't you know?" Hermione looked up from her thick book, Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Self-Defense Guide.
Her curls swayed slightly as she moved. "We have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor this week."
Pa da—Ron's quill fell onto the desk. His face lit up with surprise.
"Really? Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"I thought you already knew." Harry looked at him helplessly.
"It was posted on the notice board this morning. Everyone was talking about it during lunch."
"That's brilliant! Finally, we won't have to deal with that awful garlic stench anymore!"
Actually, Ron hadn't heard anything at lunch.
He had been too focused on devouring his favorite sausages to pay attention to any conversations.
"Only for a week," Hermione added, bursting his bubble. "Professor Quirrell will be back after Christmas."
"That's not too bad," Ron said. "So, who's the new professor?"
"Professor Vison," Harry replied.
Just then, the classroom door swung open.
Everyone instantly fell silent, all eyes turning to the door.
Vison stepped inside, looked up at the wall clock with a puzzled expression, then glanced around the classroom and frowned slightly.
"I'm... not late, am I?"
The class erupted into low chatter.
"Quiet down," Vison said as he walked to the front of the room, carrying a square wooden box.
"I believe most of you already know that I'll be teaching Professor Quirrell's classes this week."
"I bet Professor Vison is way better than Quirrell," Hermione whispered from the side.
Ron leaned his chin on one hand and added, "Honestly, no one could be worse. Unless someone didn't even recognize the words in the book."
Harry nodded in agreement.
Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were painfully dull—just reading the textbook word by word.
And even that, he did with a stutter.
Forget learning any useful defensive spells.
Occasionally, he'd ask some generic questions and reward the right answers in a robotic, uninspired way.
Only Hermione ever bothered to answer.
Most students didn't even listen to his lectures.
Vison clapped his hands for attention.
"As far as I know," he began, "Professor Quirrell has been teaching you quite a lot of theory…"
"That's too much," Ron muttered under his breath.
"Which is why," Vison continued, "this lesson will be a practical class."
Cheers burst out across the classroom.
They hadn't had a single practical session all term!
"Stand up, everyone. And make sure you have your wands with you.
We'll be needing them."
At that moment, Neville's face turned pale.
He began patting down his robe pockets in a panic.
"I just remembered... what I forgot at lunch…" he muttered, trembling.
Seamus gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.
But Vison had already anticipated this.
"Mr. Longbottom."
"Yes?" Neville stood up stiffly, looking like he was about to cry.
"Don't worry." Vison offered a reassuring smile and walked over to him.
He pulled a long, slender stick from his robe.
"This is my spare wand—alder wood. It's not commonly used, but I think you can give it a try."
Neville accepted the wand with trembling fingers.
The moment he touched it, a burst of golden sparks shot from the tip.
"Excellent," Vison nodded and returned to the podium.
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