Calling himself "crazy" right now might be a stretch—truthfully, it was more like his mind had become unusually lively and prone to sudden leaps.
No doubt, it was all thanks to last night's deep dive into the mysteries of the mind.
Luckily, after a quick self-assessment, Qin Yu found nothing truly amiss. At worst, his thoughts now zigged where others zagged, occasionally leaving people at a loss for words.
Take this morning, for example. He'd only wiped a bit of saliva on Hermione's sleeve—disgusting and a little over the line, perhaps, but not truly deranged. If he were a real pervert, he'd have licked it off himself. Anything beyond that? Well, that was a level of depravity he couldn't even imagine—he wasn't actually a psycho, after all.
"Honestly, if you want to talk about perversion, those internet trolls from my last life were the real deal. All that talk about 'proper etiquette' and 'eating ice cream'—I truly salute those weirdos," Qin Yu mused, shaking his head.
There was a world of difference between those behaviors. If you translated it into anime terms, his antics would barely qualify as a silly slice-of-life gag, while theirs would land squarely in the sort of R-rated territory that'd never see the light of day.
So, even with this new mental "activity," even if his thoughts bounced around more than usual, he was still a normal person! (He was sure of it.)
He hadn't crossed the line into true madness or perversion! (Absolutely sure.)
In fact, it proved his approach was working—his mind was sharper, more energetic. Of course, it also meant the path was full of risks and uncertainty.
Bottom line: he had questions and no real experience to draw on.
And when you have questions, you ask someone who knows the answers.
For Qin Yu, there was only one true expert worth consulting—who else but good old Dumbledore?
"I've got a few things I want to look into. I'll go read for a bit," he announced after breakfast, making a beeline for his attic room.
He didn't bother with Hermione's suspicious glare behind him—her inner monologue probably something like, "Just as I thought! Even on holiday, the top student can't stop studying!" That was her problem, not his.
At his desk, he pulled out paper and pen. He started from his chance discovery on the train, added his own interpretations, recounted last night's mental experiment, detailed the odd changes he'd felt this morning, and finally listed out all his questions and concerns. Three pages, packed to the margins.
Then he went back over it—reviewing, revising, adding notes and highlights—until the pages were so dense with scribbles and diagrams they looked ready to burst with knowledge.
Copying it all out neatly? Not a chance. Writing that much by hand once was enough—he'd just send the original draft as-is.
After one last look, he nodded in satisfaction and muttered, "This must be at least ten thousand words. If I'd written this much every day as a web novelist in my last life, my readers would've drowned me in gifts! Too bad I picked the wrong career."
Then again, writing fiction required imagination. This letter was all real questions—no risk of writer's block. All he had to do was dump his confusion on paper; it was up to Headmaster Dumbledore to figure out the rest.
With that, he folded the letter, tucked it in an envelope, summoned his owl, and handed over the precious cargo with the recipient's address.
"No rush, Trigger! Take your time and fly safe!"
With a few powerful flaps, Trigger soared off toward that mysterious magical school.
…
Even without writer's block, the letter had taken him most of the morning.
During that time, Hermione had poked her head in, curiosity getting the better of her. Seeing him so absorbed in writing, she didn't disturb him—she even made a second trip, bringing up a cup of hot milk and a plate of cookies.
Qin Yu was too deep in thought to chat. When he accepted the milk and cookies, he had the urge to pinch her cheek, but remembering his earlier "battle wounds," he settled for poking her soft, round face with a finger instead.
It wasn't much different from pinching, really. Hermione glared at him, nearly biting his hand again. But perhaps because she'd have to wipe the saliva off herself, she just huffed indignantly and let it slide.
With Qin Yu busy studying and her parents occupied elsewhere, Hermione returned to her own room and cracked open her long-neglected magic books.
She didn't feel the need to stick to Qin Yu like glue. After all, they weren't conjoined twins. Even at school, they attended classes and slept separately. Being home just meant more chances to be together, not a requirement.
As she thought this, Hermione absentmindedly touched her nose—then paused, realizing that was something Qin Yu often did.
"Ugh, how annoying!" she muttered, burying her face in her book.
But soon, her eyes lit up with mischief. She pulled out a sheet of paper and, with a few quick strokes, sketched a stick figure: big smiling face, short hair, wizard robes, a long scarf with a giant "Q" on it—no mistaking who it was meant to be.
She examined her handiwork, nodded in satisfaction, and murmured, "Not bad. Now for Trigger…"
A little owl soon perched beside the stick figure.
"Hmph, serves you right for poking my face!"
She lifted her chin, glaring down at the paper with mock disdain. Then, with great relish, she jabbed her finger at the stick figure several times.
The more she poked, the more she giggled—realizing just how childish she was being. This was hardly the behavior of a dignified first-year witch.
She chuckled to herself and set the drawing aside.
But as soon as she picked up her book, her eyes flickered upward, lost in thought. Then, in a blur of motion, she snatched the drawing back up, pressed a quick kiss to the page, and set it down again—pretending nothing had happened.
The whole process took barely a second.
Afterward, she glanced around furtively, as if afraid someone might have seen—even though the door was closed and she was alone.
"What am I being so sneaky for? It's not like I haven't kissed the real thing before—let alone a silly doodle!" Miss Granger huffed, trying to sound tough.
Still, her cheeks felt a little warm, and she found herself biting her lip. But her mood had brightened considerably.
Humming a tune she couldn't name, she finally settled down to study.
And, she had to admit, after "bullying" the little cartoon Qin Yu, her focus was better than ever.
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