Ancient Wizards Return to Hogwarts...

Chapter 352 Rice: If you have any questions, go to Dumbledore; he's the headmaster.

Under normal circumstances, a person's soul is very stable; only when it suffers damage at the soul level will it become unstable.

So Rice couldn't help but wonder how Harry ended up like this.

After closing the classroom door, Harry found a stool and sat down. He then told Rice with some unease that the scar on his forehead had been burning painfully lately, and he was also having a strange dream every night. His intuition told him that this was not a good omen.

"Oh?" Rice raised an eyebrow. "What dream?"

"I dreamt I was taking a bath..."

Rice: ?

That's really strange. Although constantly taking a bath in a dream is indeed absurd, it's still quite strange.

"It's not a normal bath, it's..." Harry paused, choosing his words carefully, "...someone has been adding weird things to my bathwater..."

Rice narrowed his eyes slightly. It's normal for people to dream, but for a wizard to have the same dream for several days in a row is definitely suspicious. Considering Harry's condition, Rice had already guessed the source of Harry's scar pain and strange dreams.

His soul has malfunctioned, and it's inextricably linked to Voldemort. The most likely explanation is that his soul was "corrupted" by Voldemort's soul, becoming a special Horcrux for Voldemort, thus creating a strange connection between them.

When Voldemort regains his normal state, the fragments of Voldemort in Harry's soul also become active, causing a situation similar to a herniated disc compressing a nerve, making Harry's scars feel pain from the depths of his soul. At the same time, when Harry falls asleep and his own soul activity decreases, the active fragments of Voldemort's soul will input some information into Harry's brain.

"I think you should go see Professor Dumbledore," Rice offered the most sincere advice. His intuition told him that Harry's problem was very serious, so he decided to pass the buck to Dumbledore. After all, he was the headmaster, and Rice and Helga had been so tolerant of Dumbledore before precisely because he was now bearing the responsibilities that a headmaster should bear.

Harry: ...

"Professor Dumbledore is incredibly busy; it's absurd to ask him for something so trivial." Harry felt incredibly embarrassed just thinking about the conversation that would happen if he found Dumbledore.

"What's wrong, Harry?"

"Professor, the scar on my forehead hurts."

"Here are painkillers. Take them and the pain will subside. Remember to go to bed on time tonight and don't stay up late. Is there anything else?"

"Professor, I dream every night that I'm taking a bath, and they're adding weird things to my bathwater."

"..."

"Don't shower before bed anymore. If there's nothing else, you can go home now."

The moment the conversation popped into his mind, Harry immediately tried to drown it, immersing it deep into his brain.

Rice scratched his head: "If Harry doesn't want to go to Dumbledore, then things are a bit tricky. He doesn't want to, and has no obligation to, take on this hot potato."

Although he had experience in removing soul pollution, the process was too mentally and physically exhausting, and he didn't have any "medicine" to treat Harry—unless Godric was resurrected, chose Harry as his successor, and then sincerely begged him with his students, showing enough sincerity, he would not try to arrange treatment for Harry.

"How about I prepare a sleeping potion for you? I guarantee you'll sleep soundly. As for the pain from the scar, I have some painkiller here, would you like a bottle?" Rice decided to treat Harry's symptoms out of consideration for Harry being a Hogwarts student—a case of treating the symptoms rather than the root cause.

Harry fell silent: Although it didn't sound very reliable, Rice's method might actually be quite useful.

Harry thought it wasn't impossible to cover up the problem on the surface, even though he couldn't find the root cause or solve the problem itself.

After Harry nodded in agreement, Rice quickly prepared the potion for him and gave him a dropper and a small measuring cup.

"The red potion is a sleeping potion. After drinking it, I guarantee you'll sleep like a log. You can control the dosage yourself; one milliliter will give you an hour of sleep. Calculate how much you need yourself. Don't blame me if you're late for class the next day if you drink too much."

Harry was overjoyed to receive the sleeping potion from Rice; he didn't want to dream about that giant bathtub again.

"This bottle contains pain-relieving potion. Use it when the scars start to hurt. You can only use the dropper I gave you to draw one drop each time. You must not drink more, because this medicine has a negative effect and will make you sluggish." The second batch of potions that Rice gave was more potent, because it could not actually be considered a pain reliever.

Harry's pain originated from his soul, from the friction and collision between two souls. This was essentially a weakened Crucifixion, and ordinary painkillers were completely ineffective.

If painkillers could truly resolve spiritual pain, then the Cruciatus Curse wouldn't be so infamous.

What Rice offered was actually a "soul-numbing drug," designed to dull the soul and alleviate pain. The side effects included slowed reflexes and loss of the ability to perceive and express emotions. Given the significant side effects, Rice didn't dare let Harry use it excessively—he wasn't Peter Pettigrew, and Rice had to be mindful of the consequences.

"Oh, right, if the sleeping potion doesn't work, add this to it." Rice took out a potion bottle radiating a dazzling light from his pocket. "Still one milliliter per hour."

This is a potion used to erase Harry's memories.

Rice can't stop Harry from dreaming, but she can make him forget his dreams after he's had them...

"Great, thank you, Rice!" Harry left the classroom excitedly with three vials of potions. Rice watched Harry's departing figure with a complicated expression.

To be honest, the three potions that Rice gave Harry didn't solve the problem at its root; he just dug a hole for the problem and buried it.

"Sigh, the best way is still to go to Dumbledore... Only he will wholeheartedly help you." Rice couldn't help but sigh.

Harry knew nothing of this. He excitedly returned to his dormitory and, before going to bed that night, prepared eight milliliters of sleeping potion for himself, as Rice had instructed.

As a result, although he slept soundly, he still had that strange dream at night: he was lying in a bathtub, and someone was adding all sorts of strange things to his bathwater.

"My power is returning..." Harry said in a hoarse voice.

"Yes, we will help you return to your prime and gain even greater power. All you need to do is one thing for us, something you particularly want to do." The mist obscured the person's face, making it impossible for Harry to see his features.

All he knew was that he burst into maniacal laughter after hearing those words.

Then Harry woke up, put on his glasses, glanced at the clock, and realized he had indeed slept for a full eight hours...

Sigrún has taught at the Iceland University of the Arts as a part-time lecturer since and was Dean of the Department of Fine Art from -. In – she held a research position at Reykjavík Art Museum focusing on the role of women in Icelandic art. She studied fine art at the Icelandic College of Arts and Crafts and at Pratt Institute, New York, and holds BA and MA degrees in art history and philosophy from the University of Iceland. Sigrún lives and works in Iceland.

The first update is here. The second update will be tonight, so you can see it when you wake up in the morning.

(End of this chapter)