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HRHL# CHAPTER 164
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 19:45:56 +0000 UTCOh, Merlin’s beard, she’d rather be strung up in the dungeons and whipped than eat this revolting stuff.
Well… hmm, if it was Draco doing the whipping, Pansy reckoned she wouldn’t mind being whipped by him every day for the rest of her life.
“It seems you’re not fond of it,” Dumbledore said helplessly, tucking the cockroach back into the jar. He carefully selected another, popped it into his mouth, and chewed.
A moment later, his face froze.
“What’s wrong, Professor?” Harry asked with concern.
Suddenly, Dumbledore, accompanied by his phoenix, vanished from the Headmaster’s office.
When he returned moments later, his face was pale, his eyes rimmed with red, as though he’d just been sick.
“That cockroach was real,” Dumbledore said, his expression grim. “No, the entire jar was full of real cockroaches…”
What Dumbledore didn’t know was that, at that very moment in the Potions office, Lucius Malfoy and Professor Snape were doubled over with laughter, barely able to catch their breath.
“Well, well,” Snape said, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “I never would’ve thought my old mentor—you, Lucius—could come up with such a brilliant idea. Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do something like this for ages. Dumbledore’s always making me brew those wretched Tooth-Strengthening Potions, and now the mere smell of them makes me want to retch.”
Lucius gave a refined chuckle, but his composure cracked, and he burst into uncontrollable laughter again.
Back in the Headmaster’s office, Dumbledore downed three glasses of lemon syrup in quick succession, barely managing to suppress the nauseating sensation.
Merlin’s beard, he thought, he’d never touch a Cockroach Cluster again—not when the mere thought of them would forever summon the vile taste of today’s ordeal.
“If I were you, I’d steer clear of Cockroach Clusters for good,” Harry suggested earnestly.
The portraits lining the walls of the Headmaster’s office were in hysterics, led by Phineas Nigellus, all cackling at Dumbledore’s misfortune.
“I think you’re right,” Dumbledore said, his face ashen. “Merlin, that was utterly dreadful.”
“How about another Cockroach Cluster to take the edge off?” Harry asked, his tone laced with sly mischief. He was doing it on purpose.
Dumbledore’s stomach churned, and he let out a dry heave.
“Urgh…”
Harry found the situation utterly fascinating. In his experience, Dumbledore was always composed, never betraying his emotions. To see him rattled by a few cheeky words was a rare treat.
“I think it’s time for you to leave,” Dumbledore said, his expression darkening as he issued the dismissal. “And Miss Parkinson, you as well. I’ll be informing your father about your behavior at Hogwarts.”
Pansy nodded vigorously, relieved. She’d half-expected to be expelled.
Thankfully, it was just a letter to her parents. While silently celebrating her narrow escape, she vowed never to touch anything related to Dark Magic again. The sensation of being controlled, manipulated like a puppet, was unbearable—she swore she’d never experience it a second time.
Unbeknownst to everyone, however, Voldemort’s story wasn’t over. After Harry’s ancient magic obliterated him, he had indeed died—but not entirely.
Only he knew the truth: he had Horcruxes. When his main soul was destroyed, his consciousness automatically transferred to another Horcrux.
When Voldemort regained some semblance of awareness, he found himself surrounded by darkness.
He wasn’t afraid—he knew his Horcruxes ensured he couldn’t truly die—but he had undoubtedly wasted one of his lives.
Where am I? he wondered.
A raspy, aged voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Shameful traitor, young Master Sirius, he left! Yet he had the gall to find joy in his escape—a bad boy, always breaking the rules, breaking his mistress’s heart… But Master Regulus, oh, he was well-bred. He understood what the Black family name and his noble pure-blood heritage meant…”
The voice droned on, repeating the same words endlessly, grating on Voldemort’s nerves.
What in Merlin’s name is going on? Where have I ended up?
…
After Pansy’s little escapade, Hogwarts settled back into a semblance of calm.
Dumbledore resumed his place as Headmaster, though only a select few professors knew it was all part of an elaborate ruse.
At the welcoming feast celebrating Dumbledore’s return to Hogwarts, the old wizard sat at the center of the staff table, staring at the desserts before him, hesitant to touch them.
“What’s the matter, Albus?” Professor McGonagall asked tentatively. “This is the first time I’ve seen you lose your appetite for sweets. Are these desserts not to your liking?”
“No, I’m fine, Minerva,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head.
“I’ll admit I was perhaps too strict about your diet before, but your teeth can’t handle overly sweet foods anymore. Merlin’s beard, Severus says you’ve even developed a resistance to Tooth-Strengthening Potion!” McGonagall said, her voice tinged with worry.
Unexpectedly, Snape, who rarely spoke up, chimed in.
“Albus, care for some Cockroach Clusters?”
At those words, Dumbledore’s face twisted into a spectacular grimace.
“Severus?” McGonagall said, glancing curiously at Snape. She knew Cockroach Clusters were Dumbledore’s favorite, yet she hadn’t expected the mere mention of them to make him look ill.
Has he grown tired of them?
Professor Flitwick, ever the gossip, sidled closer, eyeing Dumbledore and then Snape. His instincts told him Snape knew something.
“You know something, don’t you, Severus?” Flitwick squeaked. “Come now, Severus, you can tell us. Albus won’t hold it against you.”
“Indeed,” Professor Sprout added.
“Very well,” Snape said, his face settling into a stern mask. He cleared his throat and continued, “It’s simply that Acting Headmaster Malfoy accidentally replaced the Cockroach Cluster candies in the Headmaster’s jar with real cockroaches.”
At Snape’s words, everyone’s expressions lit up with shock and amusement.
Albus? Eating cockroaches?
Hahaha!
Professor McGonagall, usually so prim, was the first to crack, clutching her stomach as she roared with laughter.
Her outburst set off the entire staff table, and soon all the professors were laughing uproariously.
The students below were bewildered, wondering what had gotten into their professors.
Perhaps they were celebrating Dumbledore’s return, they thought, before diving back into their chicken legs with renewed vigor.
At the Gryffindor table, Ron nudged Harry with his elbow. “What’s going on? Do you know, Harry? Why are the professors laughing at Dumbledore?”
“Maybe they’re welcoming him back?” Neville ventured.
“No way,” Hermione said, turning to Harry. “Harry, you know why, don’t you? I have a feeling this has something to do with you.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Hermione,” Harry said quickly. “It’s just that Draco’s father—Lucius Malfoy—while he was Acting Headmaster, swapped out the Cockroach Cluster candies in Dumbledore’s jar for real cockroaches.”
At Harry’s explanation, his friends’ faces tightened before they erupted into peals of laughter.
They couldn’t believe Draco’s father had pulled off such a stunt.
But…
It was brilliant.
That evening, Harry returned to the Map Chamber.
“Veratia,” Harry said excitedly, “Voldemort’s dead—at least that remnant of his soul is.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure a Dark wizard like him would die so easily, Harry,” Veratia said softly. “As we discussed before, that diary was a Horcrux. But here’s the thing: a Dark wizard like Voldemort, capable of creating one Horcrux, would almost certainly create more.”
“Indeed,” Professor Rackham said. “The creation of a Horcrux is complex, but its most sinister requirement is the taking of a life. His first Horcrux was likely made using poor Myrtle’s death, which explains why the ‘Miss Merope’ haunting Slytherin appears so young.”
“So, how many Horcruxes might he have?” Harry asked.
“Seven is a powerful magical number,” Professor Rackham replied. “Arithmancer Bridget Wenlock was the first to discover the magical properties of seven, and many experts believe seven is the age when magical abilities typically manifest.”
“But ancient magic manifests at fifteen,” Harry pointed out.
“Exactly—ancient magic,” Rackham said with a smile.
“So, you’re saying Voldemort might have seven Horcruxes?” Harry asked tentatively.
“It’s hard to say, but it’s certainly possible,” Rackham said, nodding with a smile. “It’s just a theory, mind you.”
“Your more pressing concern,” Professor Rookwood interjected, “should be rescuing your little girlfriend from the Slytherin study. She’s been waiting for you for a hundred years. You’ve gathered all the materials—surely you’re not going to make her wait a few more days?”
“You’re right, Professor,” Harry said hurriedly. “I’ll go right now—”
“No need to rush, Harry,” Veratia interrupted. “I suggest you wait a couple of days and prepare thoroughly. You can come to the study during the Christmas holidays to rescue me.”
“Why?” Harry asked, puzzled.
“Have you forgotten?” Veratia said softly. “I’m in the Slytherin study. The door can only be opened by casting the Cruciatus Curse on someone…”
“Oh…” Harry said, realization dawning. He’d completely forgotten about that detail.
“It’s December 7th, Harry,” Professor Rookwood said. “You have one week to prepare. Have you found your Dark witch?”
“Why does it have to be a witch?” Harry asked, genuinely confused.
“Are you daft?” Rookwood said, exasperated. “A hundred years is enough to erode most clothing. Do you really want a wizard seeing something he shouldn’t?”
“Oh… oh!” Harry said, blushing as the logic sank in.
Thank you, Professor Rookwood!
Still, even if it was a witch, Harry had no intention of letting anyone see anything inappropriate.
Hmm… since they’d be Dark wizards, it wouldn’t do to let them go after using the Cruciatus Curse on them.
If word got out that Harry Potter, Hogwarts’ golden boy, was using the Cruciatus Curse, could he even stay at Hogwarts?
But Avada Kedavra was too evil, too extreme. Harry thought, Hmm… maybe I could feed them to Alfonso?
No, that felt even more evil. Better to have Alfonso give them a painless end.
As for Alfonso… poor little Alfonso shouldn’t have to eat such filthy things!
Sigh…
Then Harry remembered the Dark witch he’d hired in Knockturn Alley.
Perfect—that’s her!
After she takes the Cruciatus Curse, she can be repurposed for some practical training…
That’s the plan! he decided.
“By the way,” Harry said suddenly, “the Slytherin Basilisk is named Alfonso. Why a Spanish name?”
“Because Salazar was likely from the Iberian Peninsula,” Headmaster Fitzgerald explained. “The name ‘Salazar’ comes from a Portuguese family surname, sometimes spelled ‘Salasar.’”
“I see!” Harry said, understanding at last why the Basilisk was named Alfonso.
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