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HP: Fairy Tale Wizard - 130
🕑 Added 2025-10-10 17:11:30 +0000 UTCChapter 130: Mirror Surface and Riot
"Sure." Harry nodded readily. "I've wanted to show you all along—I've collected so many Quidditch team posters, and Dad brought me back limited edition merchandise!"
"You like Quidditch this much?"
Sterling was somewhat puzzled. In Utopia, Harry focused more on duelling techniques and spell-related books. As for Quidditch... besides school team training, Sterling really hadn't seen him voluntarily practise.
Though he did maintain the broomstick at Utopia exceptionally well. Sterling felt it looked no different from display samples at Diagon Alley's Quidditch boutique—you couldn't tell at all it had already raced across the pitch.
"Of course—flying feels incredible!" Harry pulled Sterling's hand, impatiently dragging him upstairs.
His frankness puzzled Sterling, who'd originally estimated needing to persuade him for ages before he'd relent, or finding an opportunity to sneak up secretly.
Harry's true body was right there in that room—didn't he impose restrictions on this fake version?
"Wow—"
The door swung open, revealing a bedroom with arrangements largely similar to Utopia's layout.
Those posters Harry mentioned weren't directly stuck on walls but displayed on an exhibition stand facing the bed. Every morning upon waking, Harry faced over a dozen grinning, burly men.
Quite a distinctive taste.
Sterling made no comment on this. To each their own. Of course, Harry shouldn't expect to hang an identical display at Utopia's entrance.
"Look, Sterling, this is the Puddlemere team—they're England's best Quidditch team!"
Harry opened the glass case, removing several centrally positioned posters. Sterling was more interested in several very distinctive posters in the corner positions.
"Which team is this?" Sterling pointed at several pumpkin juice-coloured posters in the lower left corner.
Harry glanced with visible disdain. "Chudley Cannons—Ron really likes this team, but I truly don't understand what's good about them."
"They're as terrible as Ravenclaw's school team—oh, I didn't mean that—" After speaking, Harry realised Sterling was a Ravenclaw, awkwardly scratching his head.
"No worries, we curse our own team." Sterling didn't mind. As the saying goes, time dulls everything.
When Ravenclaw first became terrible, proud little eagles naturally couldn't bear disparagement—but having been terrible for countless years now, little eagles were long accustomed to it.
Disparage Quidditch all you want—just don't ask them for answers after summer holidays.
"Speaking of which—Harry, why do you have such a large mirror in your room?"
Sterling finally steered the conversation toward what he truly wanted to ask.
He'd noticed this upon entering—boys this age rarely kept mirrors in their rooms, especially athletic types like Harry. Sterling felt Harry might not even use bathroom mirrors regularly.
This mirror had a minimalist feel—frameless design, two inches taller than Sterling, placed bedside with the mirror surface facing the pillow.
Honestly, Sterling found this design extremely odd.
If you slept on your side, wouldn't waking to see "yourself" be quite startling?
Sterling walked to the mirror, knocking it with his knuckles. It produced a crisp, hollow sound.
"Um... I forgot—maybe Mum installed it?"
Harry shrugged casually.
"I see." Sterling activated magical vision, indeed finding a gradually dissipating thread at the mirror's edge.
The many threads seen last night had disappeared, but since Harry lingered here constantly, Sterling could directly view his story.
Just like he'd done with the threads Galahad left on the portrait frame.
He carefully grasped it, turning to Harry: "Harry, I'd like some pumpkin juice—"
"Wait, I'll get it for you!" Harry dashed out in a flash.
Sterling sat on the bedside, crushing that half-golden thread between his fingers.
A living room filled with warm light materialised around him. In one corner stood a Christmas tree hung with a circle of glowing stars, the topmost five-pointed star floating freely, constantly transmitting cheerful Christmas songs.
Under the chandelier, a happy family of three gathered together.
This time Sterling also seemed to possess a first-person perspective, unable to move freely.
"Harry, did you cause trouble at school? Don't learn from your father—going night-roaming every night. He and his friends made Professor McGonagall so angry she started losing hair!"
Lily added some food to Harry's plate. James grinned mischievously, using Accio to summon the beef Harry had just forked into his own mouth.
"Dad!" Harry said indignantly. "You're bullying me for not being able to use magic during holidays!"
"Oh! My goodness—Lily, our Harry was sorted into Gryffindor, right? Not Ravenclaw or Slytherin?"
James blinked exaggeratedly, receiving a sharp knuckle rap from Lily.
"I don't remember Gryffindor being so rule-abiding." James rubbed his struck head ruefully.
"Don't say that; not all Gryffindors are troublemakers—but Harry, this restriction is just to protect the Statute of Secrecy. Muggle-born young wizards indeed can't cast spells during holidays, but as long as adult wizards are nearby, the Ministry won't care."
"I see—Expelliarmus!"
Harry suddenly disarmed James's fork. James's mouth fell slightly agape, watching the fork that had been holding a small lamb chop clatter and roll twice on the table.
"Oh—Harry! You can already cast the Disarming Charm!"
Lily was overjoyed, pulling Harry into her arms.
Suddenly, Sterling's perspective switched—before him were emerald green eyes full of maternal pride.
His perspective had switched to "Harry's" body.
Finally the perspective changed again, this time becoming a bird's-eye view. Sterling watched the three embrace, James cheerfully calling to tell everyone he knew that his child was a little genius.
Sterling looked around, seeing a light bulb and hanging crystal pendants.
From those crystal mirror surfaces, Sterling saw "himself"—
An identical crystal.
Then memory dissipated like retreating tides. Sterling's consciousness returned to himself sitting on the bedside.
I see. Sterling understood everything now.
"Sterling! Pumpkin juice is here!" Harry entered carrying a small tray with two tall glasses filled with orange-yellow pumpkin juice emitting a sweet fragrance.
"Harry, your house has so many glass products."
Sterling took the glass. Where Harry couldn't see, azure magic power slowly spread from the contact point.
Scholar of Stars was analysing—
"Right, because Dad really likes this style. There's a whole set of glass Quidditch equipment in the living room—Bludgers, Golden Snitches and whatnot—though I find such artwork quite ordinary."
Analysis successful.
Sterling discovered something very familiar on this glass—the false forest's water pool and this cup shared fundamental similarities.
"I think it should be quite impressive. Just shouldn't a glass Golden Snitch be renamed a transparent snitch or a white snitch?"
Speaking, Sterling leaned back. Magic power again climbed that person-height large mirror.
Still analysing, the result—identical.
Essentially, this mirror and the water pool were the same—both media connecting two spaces, also called "doors".
And the similar properties on the glass cup... probably "windows".
"Here's something you might not know—the Golden Snitch is a magical creature's name. Quidditch matches once really used it for games, but when it became endangered and then extinct, they invented the 'Golden Snitch' to replace the real Golden Snitch—so as long as it fulfils this role, it's a Golden Snitch, regardless of original colour."
"I see. In that case, when we meet again in reality, I'll make you a rainbow-coloured Golden Snitch."
"Huh? What do you mean meet again in reality?" Harry asked, puzzled.
Sterling smiled without speaking, then turned and dived into the mirror. The mirror surface rippled like water.
This transfer had no discomfort whatsoever. Conversely, what appeared before Sterling was a thoroughly enjoyable visual feast.
He seemed placed in a huge kaleidoscope, magnificent colours and patterns constantly rotating around him. Unknowingly, he felt his spirit improve significantly.
With dazzling light flashing, he felt himself falling onto a solid plane. He propped himself up, opened his eyes—a familiar figure came into view.
"Ron?"
Terry painfully looked at the "battle report" in his hand.
"How could those Gryffindors even say things about avenging Ron? Didn't Professor McGonagall say they went to compete?"
Padma shook her head wearily.
"They know. The 'revenge' they mention refers to... when school started, Malfoy and Ron had a conflict on the Hogwarts Express."
"Merlin's pants! They don't even bother with normal excuses anymore?!"
Terry couldn't bear it, slapping the table. If not for currently lacking confidence handling fifth years and above, he'd really want to storm into Gryffindor common room and drag out those battle maniacs for a proper beating—
No!
Terry quickly grabbed a nearby Calming Draught, drinking a mouthful, finally suppressing his just-risen irritability.
"Chaos's" influence was growing exponentially. In prophecy terms, "the grand opening of the chaos stage".
"Can't Professors McGonagall and Snape suppress it?"
"No. Actually, professors might also be affected—you left early after submitting Potions, so you didn't see Professor Snape awarding scores while drinking Calming Draught."
"Moreover, it was already difficult to control. They won't make scenes openly now, but whenever they meet with no professors nearby—whatever combination, even Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw—friction will spark."
Padma rubbed her head worriedly.
"Completely helpless. Neville's been completely affected—believe it? Last night he alone beat down Malfoy and his two lackeys, becoming Gryffindor's first year's main fighter."
Terry was rendered speechless.
"Forget it, let's eat dinner quickly. After eating, we'll help Madam Pomfrey and Professor Snape brew more Calming Draught... Don't know why Professor Snape doesn't organise upper-year students to help."
"I heard Professor Snape say they've been 'thoroughly affected.' Their irritability affects Calming Draught quality—even makes it completely unbrewable."
"Alright, alright. Really hope Sterling and the others return soon."
The two chatted while walking toward the Great Hall. Just stepping through the door, Terry heard a rage-filled roar:
"Terence Higgs! What right do you have saying Everard's skills aren't good? He flies a thousand times more gracefully than you! You're as blind as a hundred-year-old witch at finding the Snitch!"
"Everard Will Combach? He's clumsier than a troll! You wouldn't make him Gryffindor team's mascot just because he's heavy as a lion, would you? What right do you have—we won the Quidditch championship! Rookie!"
Terence and Everard cursed across the dining table, faces flushed crimson. Then Wood and Marcus also successively stood, the argument intensifying until a red light shot from somewhere—
"You dare cast spells in the Great Hall!" Someone roared angrily.
Then Gryffindor and Slytherin tables instantly filled with standing figures, wands pulled from bags—
"Stop! Everyone! Stop!"
Professor McGonagall rushed in breathlessly from outside, panting heavily, with dark circles under her eyes.
"Everyone, leave the Great Hall now! Return to your common rooms!"
She didn't dock points from Slytherin or Gryffindor—it was meaningless. Now all four house hourglasses were completely empty.
The other three house heads also arrived. Under their combined suppression, this imminent all-grade brawl was forcibly pressed down.
But McGonagall knew it would inevitably come.
The all-house, all-grade brawling incident.
McGonagall sipped bitter Invigoration Draught, couldn't help whispering the name of the person she most hoped would appear right now.
"Dumbledore—"
In a long-abandoned classroom deep beneath Hogwarts, two black-robed figures sat facing each other.
"You're certain Dumbledore hasn't been at Hogwarts recently?"
"If he were here, this situation would surely draw him out, wouldn't it?"
The obviously shorter figure giggled unpleasantly.
"I never knew you possessed such abilities. Why would you fear the Bloody Baron?"
"Hehe, guess our little Tom—"
Peeves raised his head, his paint-covered face twisting into a cunning smile.
