Artoria rarely spoke of Camelot.
Her knights, her kingdom, her past—these were the things held deepest in her heart, usually kept tightly wrapped in silence and discipline.
For her to proactively mention Bedivere meant that Neville had truly touched her.
“Neville will make a fine knight,” Zhang Wen said softly.
“He is not a knight,” Artoria said.
“He is a wizard.”
“Under your training, he might be both.”
Artoria didn’t respond.
But Zhang Wen thought he saw the corner of her mouth twitch slightly.
Tuesday afternoon, Defense Against the Dark Arts for the first-year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs.
This was Zhang Wen’s first time teaching the first years.
These little ones were far more green than the second-year students.
Their eyes were wide as saucers as they entered the classroom, everything new and wondrous to them.
Several Hufflepuff kids froze at the door when they saw Artoria standing at the side of the room.
“Please, take your seats,” Zhang Wen said.
Ginny sat in the second row near the window.
Beside her was a boy roughly as small and thin as she was—Colin Creevey, a Muggle-born boy who seemed to always have a camera in his hands.
“Professor Zhang!
Can I take a picture?” Colin held up his camera, his eyes shining like lightbulbs.
“No photos during class time, Mr.
Creevey.”
“What about after class?”
“After class is fine.”
Satisfied, Colin put down his camera and pulled out a notebook.
Zhang Wen scanned the room.
Most of the first years hadn’t even fully learned how to use their wands yet.
Their curriculum couldn’t jump straight into combat training like the second years; they needed to start from the basics.
“Today’s lesson is very simple,” Zhang Wen said.
“I am going to teach you one thing—how to observe.”
The students looked at each other in confusion.
“The first step of Defense Against the Dark Arts isn’t learning spells, but learning to use your eyes.” Zhang Wen picked up a small mirror from the podium—the kind he had prepared to give to the students.
It was palm-sized, round, with a simple handle.
“Starting today, everyone will receive a mirror like this.
It is your standard teaching equipment.”
He held the mirror up for everyone to see.
“This mirror has two purposes.
First, use it to check around corridor corners to see if anyone or anything is there—avoiding an ambush.
Second, use the mirror’s reflection to observe a target indirectly when you cannot look at it directly.”
“Why can’t we look directly?” a Hufflepuff boy asked, raising his hand.
Good question.
Zhang Wen had been waiting for that.
“Because there are some magical creatures that are dangerous to look at directly,” he said.
“For example, the Basilisk—an extremely rare giant serpent.
Looking into its eyes directly results in instant death.
However, if you see its reflection through a mirror, you will only be Petrified.
Petrified can be cured; death cannot.”
The classroom went silent.
Several girls turned pale.
“Don’t be afraid,” Zhang Wen said.
“Basilisks are extremely rare; the probability of you encountering one at Hogwarts is essentially zero.
This is just an example to illustrate the importance of indirect observation.”
The probability of encountering a Basilisk wasn’t “essentially zero”; it was “extremely high.” But he couldn’t cause a panic among the first years.
“Now, everyone come up and take a mirror.
Carry it with you at all times from today onwards.
Do not lose it.”
The students lined up to collect their mirrors.
When Ginny walked up, Zhang Wen noticed her hand was trembling slightly.
“Miss Weasley.” Zhang Wen handed her the mirror.
“Remember to keep it with you.”
Ginny took the mirror and whispered a soft “Thank you.”
Her hand was indeed shaking.
But it wasn’t because she was afraid of a Basilisk—she knew nothing of them.
It was exhaustion.
The diary was consuming her energy.
Zhang Wen watched her return to her seat and carefully place the mirror into her bag.
Right next to that black diary.
After class, Colin Creevey came to find Zhang Wen for a photo as promised.
“Professor Zhang, can I get a photo with you?” He held up his camera, so excited he looked ready to jump.
“You may, but only one.”
After Colin took the photo, he turned the lens toward Artoria.
“Assistant Pendragon!
You too—”
“No,” Artoria said.
Short and sharp.
No room for negotiation.
A bucket of cold water was dumped on Colin’s enthusiasm, but he recovered quickly.
“Can I take a picture of the classroom then?”
“You may,” Zhang Wen said.
Colin happily went off to photograph the room.
Zhang Wen watched his retreating back and remembered something.
In the original story, Colin Creevey was one of the victims Petrified by the Basilisk.
He had been holding his camera at the time, and the Basilisk’s gaze was transmitted through the camera lens, Petrifying him.
The camera had saved his life—without that layer of lens protection, he would have died.
Now, in addition to his camera, he had a shatterproof mirror.
An extra layer of insurance.
“That child talks a lot,” Artoria commented.
“He’s Muggle-born, experiencing the wizarding world for the first time.
Everything is a marvel to him,” Zhang Wen said.
“That kind of enthusiasm is actually quite good.”
“Enthusiasm is good, but he lacks vigilance,” Artoria said.
“He runs around taking photos, his focus entirely on the viewfinder, completely ignoring his surroundings.
If he encounters danger—”
“—he’ll be the most vulnerable one,” Zhang Wen finished for her.
The two shared a look.
A silent understanding passed between them.
Colin Creevey needed extra attention.
Dinner time.
Zhang Wen sat at the staff table, observing the student tables as he ate.
At the Gryffindor table, Hermione was once again sitting next to Ginny.
Their conversation was visibly more substantial than last time.
Ginny’s expression was more relaxed than yesterday, and she even laughed twice.
Beside Hermione sat Harry and Ron.
Ron had likely noticed Hermione chatting with his sister, and his expression was a bit odd—a look of confusion that said, “When did Hermione get so close to Ginny?”
Harry glanced at Ginny.
The power of a crush, Zhang Wen thought.
An eleven-year-old girl’s reaction in front of the object of her affection was the same the world over.
In the original story, this crush was a significant emotional arc.
Ginny eventually overcame her nervousness around Harry, grew into an independent and confident girl, and ultimately ended up with him.
But that was years away.
Right now, Ginny was just a shy first-year, cradling a diary that was devouring her soul.
“Hermione is doing well,” Artoria said quietly.
“Mm.” Zhang Wen nodded.
“But Hermione alone isn’t enough.
Ginny needs more social connections.”
“What are you thinking?”
Zhang Wen considered.
“Neville.”
Artoria looked at her.
“Neville and Ginny are the same type of person—introverted, lacking confidence, feeling inferior to others.
But Neville is changing.
If Ginny sees someone in a similar situation getting better, she will be encouraged.”
“You want Neville to go and befriend Ginny?”
“Not as a forced arrangement,” Zhang Wen said.
“But if Neville’s physical training makes him more noticed in Gryffindor—if other students start to respect him, for instance—Ginny will naturally take note.”
“You are using Neville as a role model.”
“I’m using Neville’s growth as a catalyst,” Zhang Wen corrected.
“Neville himself doesn’t need to do anything extra; he just needs to keep doing what he’s doing.”
Artoria was silent for a few seconds.
“Your plans are becoming more and more like a web.”
“Survival skills,” Zhang Wen said.
“In the Type-Moon World—”
“I know,” Artoria interrupted.
“You’ve told me.
The Type-Moon World taught you.”
Zhang Wen fell silent.
Artoria cut a piece of roasted lamb chop, put it in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
Then she said, “You don’t need to carry everything yourself.”
Zhang Wen blinked.
“I told you, a knight’s loyalty does not require a contract.” Artoria didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed on the plate before her.
“You don’t need to hide every plan inside your own head, calculating every variable alone.
You have me.”
Zhang Wen looked at her profile.
She wasn’t just talking about the Chamber of Secrets.
Ever since he had crossed over into the Type-Moon World, Zhang Wen had grown accustomed to carrying everything on his own shoulders.
Analyzing situations, formulating plans, assessing risks—all the mental labor was done by him alone, while Artoria handled execution and combat.
It was an efficient division of labor during a Holy Grail War, but it also meant he piled all the psychological pressure onto himself.
Artoria had seen through it.
He didn’t know when she had noticed, but she had.
“I understand,” Zhang Wen said.
“If I have any thoughts in the future, I’ll tell you immediately.”
“Mm.”
A short, single syllable.
But Zhang Wen heard the satisfaction in it.
“The dessert is toffee pudding,” Artoria added.
The conversation shifted seamlessly from a deep, sincere exchange of souls back to a dessert announcement.
Zhang Wen was completely used to it by now.