“But Hermione’s version of ‘not thinking’ is thinking about ‘not thinking,'” Ron chimed in.
“She has a whole department in her brain dedicated to strategizing how to avoid thought.”
Hermione’s ears turned red.
“Ron!”
“Am I wrong?”
Zhang Wen bit back a smile.
“Mr.
Longbottom, let’s try a different approach.” He thought for a moment.
“Don’t aim for the target.
Aim for the wall right next to it.”
“Aim for the wall?”
“Yes.
The more you want to hit the target, the more your body tenses up and your hand shakes.
If you tell yourself ‘I don’t need to hit it,’ the tension will drop.
Give it a try.”
Neville raised his wand, looking skeptical.
He looked at the wall beside the target.
“Expelliarmus!”
A jet of red light shot out—it went left.
But not by much.
It missed the target by only about ten centimeters.
Twice as good as before.
“Again,” Zhang Wen said.
“Keep looking at the wall.
Ignore the target.”
Neville tried five more times.
Two of them grazed the edge of the target—not hits, but they were getting closer and closer.
On the eighth shot.
Red light—dead center of the outer ring.
A solid hit.
Neville froze in place.
Harry was the first to clap.
Then Hermione.
Ron hesitated for a second before joining in.
Neville’s face turned bright red, and his lip trembled for a moment, but he held it together.
He didn’t cry.
That was important.
A month ago, Neville would have tried to hide if someone praised him.
Now, although he was still nervous, he could stand his ground and accept the applause.
“Good job,” Zhang Wen said.
“We’ll continue tomorrow.”
After the session, the four of them walked out of the office together.
Zhang Wen called Neville back at the door.
“Mr.
Longbottom, a moment.”
Neville looked back at Harry and the others; Harry gave him a “it’s fine” gesture.
“Have you been spending much time with the younger Gryffindors lately?” Zhang Wen asked.
“I suppose so,” Neville said.
“A few of the first years are in my group for physical training.
They saw I’m running faster than before, so they’ve been asking how I practice.”
“What about Ginny Weasley?
Do you know her?”
Neville nodded.
“The youngest Weasley. The source of this chapter is g.com.
She’s very quiet.
I see her sitting alone in the corner of the common room reading sometimes.”
“The next time you see her, say hello,” Zhang Wen said.
“Nothing forced, just a normal greeting.”
“Alright,” Neville agreed.
Then he hesitated.
“Professor Zhang, is Ginny…
is she having some kind of trouble?”
Zhang Wen looked at him.
Neville might not be the brightest academically, but he was incredibly sensitive to the emotion of “unhappiness.” Because he had experienced so much of it himself, he could easily recognize the same thing in others.
“She might just need a few more friends,” Zhang Wen said.
“Just like you did once.”
Neville was silent for a second.
“I will,” he said, his voice a bit firmer than before.
“I’ll talk to her more.”
“Thank you, Neville.”
Zhang Wen used his first name.
Neville was visibly stunned.
Then he gave a genuine smile and turned to run after Harry and the others.
Artoria stepped out from the shadows.
“Another node added to Ginny’s support network.”
“Hermione handles academics and daily socializing, Fred and George handle family warmth, and Neville handles peer empathy,” Zhang Wen counted on his fingers.
“Four lines advancing simultaneously.”
“Is it enough?”
“Not quite,” Zhang Wen said.
“We’re still missing one person.”
“Who?”
“Harry Potter.”
Artoria looked at him.
“Ginny has a crush on Harry,” Zhang Wen explained.
“Of all the social connections, Harry has the greatest influence on her.
If Harry takes the initiative to say a few words to her—even if it’s just ‘good morning’—it would have a massive positive effect on her mental state.”
“But you cannot let Harry know she has a crush on him.”
“Of course not.
If a twelve-year-old boy finds out a girl likes him, his reaction will most likely be awkwardness and avoidance.
That would only make things worse for Ginny.”
“Then what do you plan to do?”
Zhang Wen thought it over.
“We’ll use Ron as the link.”
“Ron?”
“Ginny is Ron’s sister.
If Ron mentions Ginny more often in front of Harry—like ‘my sister’s learning such-and-such spell’ or ‘Ginny said you flew great in that last Quidditch match’—Harry will naturally start paying basic attention to her.”
“And how do you get Ron to bring her up?”
“I don’t need to do anything,” Zhang Wen smiled.
“Fred and George are already paying attention to her.
When the twins start interacting with Ginny in the common room, Ron will naturally notice—’Since when did you two get so close to Ginny?’ Then he’ll start worrying if he’s been neglecting his sister.”
“And then he’ll mention her to Harry.”
“Naturally.”
Artoria was silent for three seconds.
“Is there a network topology diagram of human relationships inside your head?”
“Professional habit.”
“That is not a normal person’s professional habit.”
“In the Type-Moon world—”
“I know.”
Zhang Wen was in his office, organizing annotations on the pipe diagrams.
Artoria had just returned from a patrol and was across the desk, wiping down her “wooden sword”—the beech stick Hagrid had helped carve.
She maintained the stick exactly as she would a real sword.
She checked the surface for cracks, carefully wiped away dust and sweat with a cloth, and ensured the grip wrapping wasn’t loose.
Zhang Wen watched her focused profile and suddenly asked, “Would you like a real sword?”
Artoria’s hand paused.
“Excalibur is gone,” she said.
“It belongs to another world.”
“I don’t mean Excalibur.
I mean a new sword.
In this world.”
Artoria looked at him.
“Hogwarts has a legendary sword,” Zhang Wen said.
“The Sword of Gryffindor.
It only appears in times of true need, to a true Gryffindor.”
“I am not a Gryffindor.”
“You are the King of Britain,” Zhang Wen said.
“If there is any sword in this land that would recognize you, it would be the Sword of Gryffindor.”
Artoria remained silent for a long time.
“I do not need a sword,” she finally said.
“But you want one.”
She didn’t answer.
But she didn’t deny it, either.
That was enough.
Zhang Wen kept the thought in mind.
The Sword of Gryffindor—in the original story, it appeared in the Sorting Hat during the Chamber of Secrets incident, and Harry pulled it out to kill the Basilisk.
If the development of events required a sword…
He already had his candidate for the wielder.
Late at night.
Artoria retired to her own room to rest.
Zhang Wen sat by the window, watching the dark silhouette of the Forbidden Forest.
It was October.
There was an autumnal chill in the air.
The surface of the Black Lake shimmered with a cold silver light under the moon.
If everything followed the original timeline, the first opening of the Chamber of Secrets would happen around Halloween.
Less than four weeks to go.
The mirrors were in place.
The roosters were in place.
The pipe maps were in place.
Ginny’s support network was forming.
But Zhang Wen knew in his heart—all these preparations only lowered the probability of harm; they didn’t eliminate it.
The Chamber would open.
The Basilisk would come out.
The only question was—when that moment arrived, would they be ready?
Zhang Wen closed the window and went to bed.
There were still classes to teach tomorrow.
Students to train.
Neville to coach, Ginny to watch over, and Malfoy to observe.
The daily routine of a professor.
Plus a looming war.
He closed his eyes.
He was asleep in five seconds.
Exhaustion was the best sleeping pill.
Even more effective than Professor Binns’s lectures.