"What's been going on with you these past few days?"
In the Gryffindor common room, Ron waved his hand, making a chess piece beside him hop aside, then shot a strange look at Harry across from him.
Harry was staring at the chess pieces in front of him, but Ron could tell his friend wasn't thinking about his next move—he was simply spacing out.
After all, who stared at their own king sitting uselessly on the back line for so long while playing chess?
There weren't even any guards beside it, and it couldn't move. What was the point of staring at the king for two or three minutes straight?
"Huh?" Hearing Ron's words, Harry seemed to finally snap back to attention, shifting his gaze from the king and listlessly waving his hand to make one of his unmoved pawns shuffle forward two squares.
Seeing Harry's glazed expression, worry flickered across Ron's face.
Since a few days ago, Harry had frequently been like this—sitting there absent-mindedly for several minutes at a time until someone called him, when he'd startle awake as if roused from sleep.
Worse, he'd mentioned that these past two days there'd always been some faint voice and strange feeling echoing in his head.
Could Harry have been cursed?
Seeing Ron's worried eyes, Harry forced a weak smile onto his face.
"I'm fine, don't worry."
Having said this, he lowered his head again to look at the chessboard.
Actually, if asked whether something was truly wrong, he personally felt nothing was seriously the matter with him.
Although he'd been enduring that inexplicable sensation in his head these past few days, the feeling wasn't severe enough to affect his daily life.
But constantly having that presence lurking in his mind did make him somewhat uneasy.
Moreover, sometimes at night that feeling would intensify dramatically, though the timing wasn't regular—sometimes late at night, sometimes in the early morning hours, but without exception, all occurring after curfew.
Where did this feeling come from? Why did it only manifest during curfew hours?
These days, it was precisely because he was troubled by this mystery that he kept falling into contemplation.
However, thinking about it more hadn't helped—it only made his friends think something was seriously wrong with his condition.
Thinking this, Harry took a deep breath, pushed aside his distractions, and focused on playing wizard's chess with Ron.
Then he predictably lost, without any suspense whatsoever.
"Playing chess with you is really boring." Looking with exasperation at Ron's pieces that had barely suffered any losses, then at his own side that was nearly wiped out, Harry shook his head. Without playing another round, he chatted with Ron for a while before getting up to return to his dormitory.
But just as he reached the door, he suddenly stopped, raising one hand to press against his temple.
In his mind, that inexplicable feeling suddenly intensified, gradually reaching a strength he'd never experienced before.
The vague sensation slowly transformed into things he could actually understand, passing through his consciousness.
They were streams of information and waves of emotion—emotions containing joy at reunion and the satisfaction of a great task nearing completion, and within the information—a location was attached.
The second floor of the castle, that abandoned girls' bathroom!
His mind racing with barely any hesitation, Harry spun around. While pulling out a transparent small box from inside his shirt and extracting a cicada-wing-thin cloak from within, he rushed toward the common room exit.
Ron, who was washing up with a toothbrush in his mouth, saw Harry rush past and nearly swallowed a mouthful of toothpaste foam.
"It's curfew—where are you going?" Looking at Harry's departing figure, Ron asked anxiously in a hushed voice.
"Ate too much, going out to walk it off." Making up an excuse on the spot, Harry donned the Invisibility Cloak, and his figure vanished. Only the common room portrait hole could be seen swinging open, then slowly closing, with no other sound following.
"Walk it off?" Scratching his head and staring at Harry's vanished trail, a dozen thoughts flashed through Ron's mind, but in the end he still felt deeply uneasy.
He tried analysing the current situation but quickly gave up on that endeavour.
He knew very well that his brain wasn't quite up to the task, and although Harry seemed reasonably clever, he was also reckless with questionable judgement.
But no matter—their small group still had someone with a brilliant mind.
So now, he planned to find that brain and discuss this worrying matter.
Could Harry really have been cursed?
"Where are you going, meow?"
In the corridor leading toward the second floor, crouched comfortably on Harry's head, Alice's tone was full of confusion.
She wasn't worried about Harry venturing out during curfew causing problems—after all, with the Invisibility Cloak, even if they sneaked off to some corner of the castle to have a midnight feast, as long as they departed before that castle caretaker arrived, he couldn't find a trace of them.
But Harry's footsteps looked extremely urgent, which puzzled her deeply.
What matter could make Harry so desperately rush out in the middle of the night?
Hearing Alice's question, although Harry was anxious, he still patiently explained, "Remember that feeling I mentioned before?"
A few days ago, when asking Hermione and Percy about it, he'd carefully described that mystical sensation.
It was just that at the time he hadn't quite figured out where that feeling originated, so he hadn't been very detailed in his explanation.
But Alice had been resting in her box then and should have heard that entire conversation.
"I remember, meow." Alice nodded, her tail twitching.
"That feeling got way stronger and showed me a path!" While speaking, Harry rushed toward the location impressed in his mind from the information.
"Showed a path?"
Alice's voice sounded genuinely confused, seemingly not comprehending how something residing in one's head could show an actual path.
"I don't know how to explain it either, but it told me I should go to the abandoned bathroom on the second floor."
"Are you sure there's no problem, meow?" Alice's tone carried worry. "I heard many curses also work like this, luring people to dangerous places."
"Should we call more people to go together, meow?"
Hearing Alice's sensible words, Harry's footsteps slowed slightly for a moment, but then quickened again with renewed determination.
"No, I don't think there'll be any danger." Harry's tone carried some uncertainty, but he pressed on, "Like I said before, that feeling is like something of the same origin as me giving off the signal."
"Something of the same origin as me shouldn't hurt me, right?"
"I still feel it's a bit dangerous, meow—"
During their whispered conversation, Harry had already reached the second floor. Supporting his knees to catch his breath slightly, he then walked purposefully toward the bathroom from his memory.
But just as he reached the bathroom entrance, before he could push the door open, an icy cold palm suddenly grabbed his hand, and another palm covered his mouth firmly.
Startled by this sudden contact, Harry wanted to whirl around when a somewhat ethereal voice drifted to his ear.
"Don't make a sound. Sir Podmore is gathering intelligence."
Right after this voice, a very familiar voice faintly echoed from inside the bathroom.
"How are things progressing?"
That was unmistakably Lockhart's voice.