NABC Chapter 239 The Letter and the Compass's Direction
Chapter 239 The Letter and the Compass's Direction
Chapter 239 The Reply and the Compass Direction
Under the dim light of the desk lamp, Cullen spread out a new sheet of parchment, her quill dipped in ink. Harry's anxiety was clearly conveyed through his handwriting; he needed a calm, clear, and helpful response.
Dear Harry:
I just opened your letter at my home in Plymouth. Sorry, I was out of the house the whole time, so I can only reply now. I was furious to hear what happened to you at the Dursleys' house! Locking you in the cupboard, starving you, nailing the windows shut—these are unforgivable acts! I completely understand your pain and anger.
Regarding Dobby, the house-elf you mentioned, let me explain. House-elves are ancient magical creatures, typically bound to wizarding families by a powerful, hereditary magical contract. They are born with considerable magical power (for example, Apparition is not restricted by Hogwarts), but are bound by ancient magic and must absolutely obey their masters' commands (as long as the command does not directly violate the core terms of the magical contract). This contract is extremely strict; if they disobey their masters or are considered to have brought shame upon their family, they may even engage in terrible self-punishment—like Dobby banging his head.
Dobby's behavior, in my view, is filled with immense contradiction and pain. It is clearly bound to its master by a powerful contract. It knows a terrible conspiracy is brewing against Hogwarts (and very likely against you as well), and it wants to warn you and protect you because it believes you are fighting against "that person whose name cannot even be mentioned" (most likely Voldemort).
Its key strength. However, its owner is very likely a participant in the conspiracy, or even one of the masterminds! Therefore, its actions to save you (warning you, preventing you from returning to school) are precisely contrary to its owner's wishes (who may actually want something to happen to you at school). This intense conflict tears apart its loyalty, plunging it into a frenzy of self-blame and self-punishment.
It intercepts your mail to prevent you from seeking help or proving your safety, thus preventing you from returning to school. Sabotaging the dinner party is a desperate attempt to create "ironclad evidence" that you've been completely imprisoned by the Dursleys (though foolish and harmful), thereby "protecting" you from returning to Hogwarts. Its logic is twisted and contradictory, but its fear and desire to protect you are likely genuine.
As for the danger it spoke of, I can't be entirely sure what it refers to. But the shadow of "that person whose name cannot even be mentioned" has never truly dissipated, and his henchmen have never ceased their activities. Hogwarts will always be his coveted target. Dobby's warning is not unfounded. Once you return to Hogwarts, be on high alert! Pay attention to anything unusual, especially new or unexplained items (books, objects), and people whose behavior suddenly becomes strange. Do not venture into secluded corners alone.
The Burrow is a magical place. Enjoy your time at the Weasleys' house and experience a truly loving and magical family atmosphere.
Finally, to help you better protect yourself when facing potential unknown threats, I will include detailed explanations of two basic but extremely practical spells: the Disarming Charm and the Armor Charm.
Mastering these two spells will buy you valuable reaction time in unexpected situations. We'll discuss Dobby and Hogwarts in more detail after school starts. Stay alert, but don't overreact. You're safe in the Burrow, get some rest.
Your loyal friend,
Karen Hawthorne put down his quill, blew away the ink, carefully folded the letter, and put it in an envelope. He walked to the window, looked at the quiet night outside, and suddenly remembered something.
"Harry's birthday—July 31st." He stroked his chin. "I think I—didn't send him a gift or a letter?" He thought back to his busy time in France and realized he hadn't. But then he thought, even if he had,
It would definitely be intercepted by Dobby, that interception expert, and Harry wouldn't receive it at all. Harry thought Cullen had sent it in the letter too—what a wonderful misunderstanding. Cullen shrugged: "Never mind, I'll send it when we meet at the beginning of the semester. A practical 'Defense Spells' book or—well, a Quidditch telescope?" He preferred the former.
Now, the more crucial issue is how to pinpoint the most dangerous source—the daily Horcrux—in the next semester. Karen needs to prepare a contingency plan in case the Horcrux isn't on Ginny.
Karen took out Nico's upgraded "Resonance Compass" from his inner pocket. It was more sophisticated than before, with fine runes covering its brass casing, and the central crystal pointer reflecting a faint light in the moonlight. He gently stroked its cool surface.
"The diary—a Horcrux created by Tom Riddle when he was sixteen," Cullen muttered to herself, her mind racing. "Its soul fragments, though of the same origin as those in the diaphragm and ring—all from Voldemort—were created earlier, products of Voldemort's student days. Its soul frequency characteristics must bear the imprint of his purer ambition and desire for control from his youth, but the degree of dark magic corruption in its soul should differ from those created later."
He slowly channeled his spiritual energy into the compass. *Buzz*—the complex array of runes inside the compass was activated, emitting a soft light.
"After school starts, first check on Ginny's situation. If she's not there," Karen said, his eyes sharp as he watched the compass needle gradually stabilize, "I need to take the compass and 'scan' the castle. Especially areas where new students gather, secluded corners of the library, abandoned classrooms—anywhere the diary might be hidden or used. Once the compass detects a strong soul fluctuation reaction matching the 'Horregularity' category—" he gripped the compass tightly, "we'll be able to lock onto the target!"
The "Eye of Truth" will be the second layer of insurance. At close range, he might be able to directly see the corrupted, dark soul light emanating from the diary, similar to that of the diadem, or sense the abnormal soul connections on the holder.
The next morning, Karen went to the tool shed in the corner of the backyard. Her father, David, was squatting in front of an old, rusty grandfather clock, his brow furrowed. Tools and disassembled gear parts were scattered on the ground. The air was thick with the smell of machine oil and metal.
"You're in trouble, Dad?" Karen walked over and picked up a rag to wipe her hands.
“Ah, Karen.” David looked up, wiping the sweat from his brow. “This old thing’s broken down. It’s been passed down from my grandfather. There’s something wrong with the mechanics; several key gears are badly worn, the spring mechanism is also a bit off, and the calibration mechanism is—sigh.” He pointed to several gears covered in verdigris on the ground. “Look at the wear and tear, and the design of this calibration lever—it’s just—too primitive! In my shipyard, parts with this level of precision and durability would have been obsolete eight hundred years ago! We’d make a more precise and durable replacement in no time. Speaking of which, doesn’t the magical world have any kind of ‘permanent lubrication charm’ or ‘self-healing gears’ to maintain these kinds of antiques? There must be even more antiques in the magical world, right?”
Karen couldn't help but laugh, picking up a worn gear and examining it: "Of course the magical world has Reparo spells."
But that's usually used to repair physical damage; its effectiveness in restoring fine mechanical wear and metal fatigue depends entirely on the caster's skill. Moreover, for such complex antique clocks," he pointed to the intricate escapement forks and balance wheels, "they require regular maintenance and are not practical for ordinary households. Many wizarding families would probably just buy a new magic clock—the kind that tells time, displays constellations, and even reminds you to take your medicine—it has many functions. These purely mechanical antiques..."
On the contrary, it's rare.
David picked up a small pair of tweezers and carefully adjusted a tiny spring: "Fancy functions? A clock's job is to tell time accurately! Won't your magic clocks go erratically because the caster is in a bad mood or there's a fluctuation in magic power? And what if there's a power outage—oh, you don't use electricity—what if the caster forgets to infuse it with magic? Doesn't it just stop? How can that compare to the reliability of our purely mechanical old-fashioned clocks that can run for decades once wound up?"
Karen handed her father a magnifying glass: "You're right, Dad. The stability of magical items is indeed affected by many factors: the caster's state, the environmental magic field, and even the item's own 'emotions.' Like this purely mechanical structure..."
The principle is clear, the operating logic is stable, and as long as the parts are in good condition and properly maintained, it is indeed very reliable. Magic provides incredible convenience in many ways, but in terms of standardization, precision manufacturing, and long-term reliability in basic industry—" He shrugged, "as you often say, the lack of that 'engineering mindset' makes many things seem—well, inefficient and presumptuous. However, not everything in the magical world is like that; it depends on the skill level of the maker, with a wide range of possibilities." He picked up a gear, a barely perceptible wisp of magic gathering at his fingertips, and gently brushed it across the surface. "For example, even as a student who has only been enrolled for two years, the things I make already surpass those of many others."
David took the magnifying glass and carefully examined the spot where Karen's finger had brushed, seemingly noticing that the metallic luster of the gear had indeed brightened slightly. He snorted, "See? I told you! There were ways to make it better and more durable, but they just—sigh." He sighed and continued to work on the stubborn alignment rod, but his expression relaxed a bit. Complaining about the "inefficiency" of the magical world with his son seemed to have improved his mood considerably.
Karen watched her father's focused profile, listened to his occasional complaints, helped hand him tools, and occasionally explained the limitations of magic or the possibilities of alchemy. Sunlight streamed through the tool shed window, the air filled with the smells of machine oil, metal, and home. But in his pocket, the cold, resonant compass silently pointed to the approaching storm.