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No matter what, Harry ultimately decided to follow Hermione's advice and talk to Amosita Brayn. Otherwise, he would probably be driven mad by the strange looks and terrifying rumors before the monster in the Chamber of Secrets turned someone else to stone.
He returned to his dorm to change into clean clothes and desperately tried to smooth down his hair in the mirror, as this would make him look less rebellious.
"You're wasting your efforts, dear!" The mirror with golden patterns embedded in the dorm said, panting.
"Thanks for the reminder!" Harry responded with an annoyed expression.
Harry made a point of going to Mr. Brayn's office at dinner time, because that way, he wouldn't have to face too many gleeful gazes on the way. However, when he got to the third floor, he unexpectedly ran into the castle caretaker, Argus Filch.
Filch seemed to have just had a good cry. His alarmingly bulging eyes were bloodshot, and the snot hanging from his ugly nose had reached his double chin. When he saw Harry, he immediately composed his disheveled expression and instead glared at him like a wounded hyena.
"Someone will get what's coming to them, Potter, and it won won't be long now!"
"What do you mean, Mr. Filch?"
Harry's voice was as faint as if someone had choked him. He urgently wanted to know what Filch meant, but unfortunately, Filch stared at him, let out a string of cold sneers, and then left directly.
Filch had gone to report him; there was no doubt about that.
Harry couldn't deceive himself that it wasn't true. His heart pounded wildly. He wanted to just walk away directly, because he was afraid that the investigator had already accepted Filch's accusation, and his act of going to his office was walking right into a trap.
But in the end, he still knocked on Brayn's office door, because the other party was a ruthless individual who could hold his own against Dumbledore in his fifth year. If he was determined to send him to Azkaban, Harry couldn't think of anyone capable of saving him except Headmaster Dumbledore.
Upon receiving permission to enter, the office door opened by itself. Harry stood at the doorway, nervously surveying the room, afraid that the next second a rope would fly out and bind him.
Aside from Headmaster Dumbledore's unique circular office, Mr. Brayn's office was the largest Harry had ever seen. Of course, there was nothing particularly surprising about this, as it had originally been a classroom.
The fireplace set into the wall by the windows warmed the room. The innermost wall held a desk, a bookshelf, and a simple cot. The air was filled with a strange scent, as if Mr. Brayn had been brewing potions in the room.
What was most striking in the room was the wall to the right of the entrance. That entire wall was covered by a huge black curtain, behind which a faint light flickered. Somehow, Harry suddenly thought of Muggle cinemas. Although the Dursleys had never taken him to the cinema, Harry had seen glimpses on television.
"So, you intend to stand there and talk to me, Mr. Potter?" Amosita asked with a gentle smile from behind his desk.
"Oh, sorry, Mr. Brayn." Harry quickly closed the door and walked in, not forgetting to stammer an explanation on his way to the desk. "I was just a bit curious about that wall..."
"Understandable," Amosita said with a chuckle. He gestured for Harry to sit down, then walked over to the fireplace to brew some tea.
"I don't have many good drinks to offer you. If you don't mind, would you like some tea, Mr. Potter?"
As Amosita returned with the tea, Harry's attention was drawn to a framed photograph on Mr. Brayn's desk. The photo showed a very old man with Mr. Brayn. The old man was unremarkable, probably a close elder relative of Mr. Brayn.
What puzzled Harry was that Mr. Brayn in the photo, who looked about Percy's age, seemed a bit off.
"Thank you."
Harry nervously took the hot tea, quickly glancing at Mr. Brayn's slightly fatigued face. Then he understood why he felt something was wrong.
Because the student-era Mr. Brayn in the photo had brown eyes much like Hermione's, but the investigator standing before him had strange pale purple eyes.
Was it the effect of magic? Harry vaguely wondered, but then he snapped back to attention. This was not the time to be thinking about such things.
"Are you wondering why the color of my eyes seems a bit off?"
Amosita held his tea, leaning back in his chair. The hazy steam blurred his expression, but judging from his tone, it wasn't the kind of angry question one would ask if offended.
"Yes, no!" Harry said, embarrassed.
The anxious young wizard sitting opposite him made Amosita chuckle. No matter how famous Harry Potter was, and no matter how glorious his future, at least for now, the immaturity and naivety he displayed still fit Amosita's perception of a second-year student.
"I imagine you've just seen Mr. Filch, haven't you?" Amosita asked softly, sipping his bitter tea.
When Mr. Brayn began to speak, Harry suddenly recalled his abrupt encounter with him during the Christmas holiday, near Professor McGonagall's office, with Ron and Hagrid. Afterwards, Ron's evaluation of Mr. Brayn was that he was very much like Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry hadn't felt it deeply at the time, but now, he somewhat agreed with Ron's view.
Unlike Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall, who carried an inherently stern aura wherever they went, Mr. Brayn was intimidating precisely because of his tolerant, gentle demeanor. It was a kind of natural self-confidence that brought a high degree of suppression, making it impossible for one to even conceive of resisting him.
"Yes, Mr. Brayn, I saw Filch. He looked as if he had just had a good cry," Harry nodded hesitantly.
"What do you think that was for, Mr. Potter?"
Amosita blew away the floating leaves on the surface of his tea and asked with interest.
Harry's gaze flickered around the collar of Amosita's old wizard robes, but he said nothing, because this question didn't need an answer.
Seeing that the atmosphere had been sufficiently set, Amosita wasn't prepared to scare Harry any further. He put down his teacup, ready to get straight to the point. However, he hadn't expected Harry, who had been as quiet as a mouse, to suddenly muster his courage. He looked directly into Amosita's eyes with his bright, determined emerald eyes.
"Mr. Brayn, do you also believe that I am... the Heir of Slytherin, and that I opened the Chamber of Secrets?"
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