Chapter 293: Loud-Mouthed Ron
Luna continued explaining the dangers of the Malfoy family and the strange legends surrounding the Deathly Hallows, her voice gradually shrinking as she noticed Alexander watching her with full attention. By the time she reached the part about "the wand choosing the wizard," she was practically whispering into the air.
"Alexander… is something wrong?" Luna asked timidly. She brushed a strand of pale hair behind her ear and secretly glanced at her reflection in the window, wondering if something about her face looked odd.
"I was thinking," Alexander replied softly, "how you know so much."
His eyes drifted, unintentionally, to Luna's slightly pouting lips—still shiny from their meal earlier, as though she had put on natural lip gloss. It made her look even younger, softer.
Oh no. This is Nagini's fault, Alexander scolded himself internally. That creature will get me killed one day.
Luna lifted her chin, as if reciting something precious. "Because I like reading! I want to be a Ravenclaw. Just like my parents." Her voice faded at the last few words—but she quickly straightened and declared in a sing-song whisper, "Extraordinary intelligence is a wizard's greatest treasure!"
Alexander smiled. "A good choice. I'm a Ravenclaw too."
He didn't ask about her parents. Anyone with a working brain—and a bit of empathy—knew not to poke that wound.
Alexander was not Ron.
He sighed inwardly, relieved that Ron wasn't with him. If Ron were sitting where he was… the entire atmosphere would've collapsed instantly.
But something else bothered him—Hermione still hadn't found this compartment.
He did make the door easy for her to spot. Hermione should have recognized the magic immediately. And yet… nothing.
Little did he know that Hermione was thinking about him at that very moment.
Far down the train, Hermione stood outside a different compartment, her bushy brown hair frizzed from running and her front teeth slightly exposed as she bit her lip anxiously.
From inside, Ron's unmistakable voice boomed so loudly it shook the carriage.
Hermione froze.
Ron clearly had no idea how loud—or how dangerous—his words were.
"My mum was furious!" Ron shouted. "Lockhart got caught, and now we're buying this book—written by Voldemort!"
He waved a thick book dramatically.
"This cost one whole Galleon!"
Beside him sat Harry and Draco, surrounded by a mountain of sweets: Licorice Wands, Chocolate Frogs, Fizzing Whizzbees, and several suspiciously bubbling bottles. The entire compartment looked like Honeydukes had exploded.
Scabbers (Banban), the gray mouse, lay belly-down on a pumpkin pie, licking it with slow dedication.
Ron continued loudly, "And my dad loved the book—until he learned Voldemort wrote it!"
Harry flipped through the book intensely.
"I think this Voldemort is scarier," Harry muttered. "The one we know is reckless. He makes stupid mistakes, especially with emotional magic. He never learns."
He tapped the pages. "But this one… this Voldemort is humble. He studies Muggle knowledge seriously. He even respects it. According to this book, he understands more than half the Ministry."
He paused.
"He might even be on Arthur Weasley's level."
Draco snorted at the comparison but didn't disagree.
Harry kept reading, his voice drifting into the rhythm of someone forming dangerous conclusions.
"This book isn't like Muggle Studies. It doesn't talk about dressing like a Muggle or pretending to use appliances. It's real… actual knowledge."
He flipped a page.
"How fast do the newest trains run? Are they faster than Nimbus 2001 broomsticks? What weapons do Muggles command that wizards can't defend against? This is information. Real information."
As he read, another figure seemed to rise from the text—one he had long tried to understand:
Gellert Grindelwald.
Unlike Voldemort—the destructive vandal—Grindelwald was a visionary. A revolutionary.
He didn't annihilate cities. He gave speeches that forced the world to listen. And when people truly threatened his cause, only then did he imprison or kill.
His heterochromia—those mismatched eyes that glimpsed traces of the future—had strengthened his influence even more.
Had he not been so impatient, the Statute of Secrecy would have fallen long ago, and wizards might be rulers—or ruins—by now.
"This young Voldemort…" Harry whispered, "he's exactly like Grindelwald. Maybe even wiser."
"And he became a professor at Hogwarts. If he teaches this ideology long enough… the wizarding world won't stay the same."
Draco finally put down his snack. "Harry, relax. Everything Dumbledore's done proves he knows what he's doing."
"Yeah," Ron said, pushing Scabbers away and picking up the sullied pumpkin pie without hesitation. "It's like last year—Quirrell had Voldemort stuck to the back of his head. Dumbledore knew. Dumbledore planned for it."
He bit into the pie.
"And hiding things never helps. When I was little and we couldn't afford proper medicine, Mum would cut out anything rotten and then heal the wound."
He slapped his chest proudly.
"My father is trying to cut out the rot in the entire wizarding world. He's using modified Muggle gadgets as disinfectant."
Harry and Draco stared at him.
"You are so Ron!" they said together.
Ron blinked. "What? I'm also a Ravenclaw student! The only Weasley in the house!"
Hermione, outside the compartment, stared in horror.
This—this chaos—was why she never reached Alexander's room.
She had heard Ron mention it right as she stepped onto the train:
"Voldemort is going to be a professor."
She assumed it was some ridiculous joke.
But now…
Dumbledore.
Had appointed.
The young Voldemort.
As the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
Hermione's heart pounded.
Alexander… what should I do?
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(End of Chapter 293)
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