Harry Potter and the Way of Reason

Yaka Fu Pomog.Guagepuba Wupu Jinke Gazuolke.Chang Boiled Spritz. J.K. Rowling. [2]

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Professor Quirrell's office consultation hours are Thursdays from 11:40 am to 11:55 am.This is his consultation hour for all students in all grades.It only cost Quirrell points to knock on the door, but if he thinks you're wasting his time, you'll lose another fifty points.

Harry knocked on the door.

There was a pause.Then came a shrill voice, "I think you'd better come in, Mr. Potter."

Before Harry could touch the handle, the door slammed open and slammed into the wall with a loud bang that sounded like something in the wood—or the stone—or both. broken.

Professor Quirrell was leaning back in his chair, reading a suspicious-looking old book, covered in dark blue leather with silver runes painted on the spine.His eyes did not leave the page. "I'm in a bad mood, Mr. Potter. It's not a pleasure to be around me when I'm in a bad mood. For your own sake, speak quickly and come back."

A biting chill emanated from the room, as if something in the room was spreading darkness like a lightbulb was spreading light—at least the lightbulb had its shade on.

Harry was a little taken aback.It may not be appropriate to describe this state as being in a bad mood.What could make Professor Quirrell so irritable...?

Well, you can't just walk away when your friend is feeling down.Harry entered the room cautiously. "Is there anything I can do to help—"

"No," said Professor Quirrell, still not looking up from his book.

"I mean, if you've just been dealing with idiots and want to talk to someone sane..."

There was a long pause, somewhat surprising in length.

Professor Quirrell slammed the book shut, and it disappeared with a slight rustle.Then he looked up, and Harry flinched.

"I think it will be more pleasant for me to communicate with smart people at this time," Professor Quirrell's tone was as sharp as when he invited Harry in. "I'm afraid it won't be so pleasant to you, let me warn you first."

Harry took a deep breath. "I promise I don't mind if you yell at me. What happened?"

The chill in the room deepened. "A sixth-year Gryffindor cast a curse on one of my more promising students, a Slytherin."

Harry swallowed. "What kind of curse is it?"

Professor Quirrell's face could no longer contain the fury. "What's the point of asking such an insignificant question, Mr Potter? Our sixth-year Gryffindor friends don't think it's important!"

"Are you serious?" Harry blurted out.

"No, I'm in a terrible mood today for no reason. Of course I mean it, you fool! He doesn't know. He really doesn't. I didn't believe it until the Aurors confirmed it with Veritaserum. He It's been six years at Hogwarts, and then he casts a high-level dark magic that he has no idea what it will do."

"You don't mean," said Harry, "that he got the spell's effects mixed up, that he read the spell description wrong—"

"He just knows it's magic on the enemy. He knows that's all he knows."

And that was enough for him to cast the spell. "I don't understand how anything with such a small brain can still walk upright."

"Indeed, Mr. Potter," said Professor Quirrell.

There was a pause in the room.Professor Quirrell leaned forward, picked up a silver ink bottle on the table, and twisted it in his hands. He stared at the ink bottle as if wondering if there was any way to torture an ink bottle to death.

"Was that sixth-year Slytherin seriously injured?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

"Was that sixth-year Gryffindor raised by Muggles?"

"Yes."

"Is it because Dumbledore refused to fire the poor boy because he didn't know what spell he was casting?"

Professor Quirrell squeezed the ink bottle, his knuckles turned white. "Are you trying to express something, Mr. Potter, or are you just citing the obvious?"

"Professor Quirrell," said Harry gravely, "every Muggle-raised student at Hogwarts needs a safety lesson, and someone has to tell them that wizard-borns think it couldn't be more obvious than that. As for things that no one reminded at all. If you don't know what the curse will do, don't cast it; if you find something dangerous, don't make it public; don't brew advanced potions in the toilet without the supervision of an authoritative person; why would there be Statutes restricting the use of magic by minors; all that basis."

"Why?" said Professor Quirrell. "Let those idiots die before they leave offspring."

"If you don't mind having some sixth-year Slytherins with you."

The inkwell in Professor Quirrell's hand caught fire, very slowly, the ugly dark red flame tearing into the metal, seemingly eating it bit by bit, the silver nugget twisting as it melted, just Like it tried to run away, but didn't.There was a thin, high-pitched sound from the inkwell, as though the metal were screaming.

"You're right," said Professor Quirrell, with a compromising smile. "I'll devise a lesson to make sure other Muggle-born wizards too stupid to live don't take anyone else of value with them when they go."

The ink bottle in Professor Quirrell's hand then screamed and burned, and small drops of molten metal burned and dripped onto the table, as if the ink bottle was crying.

"You didn't run away." Professor Quirrell said after observing.

Harry opened his mouth—

"If you're going to say you're not afraid of me," said Professor Quirrell, "don't say it."

"You're the scariest person I've ever known," Harry said, "and one of the biggest reasons for that is your self-control. I just can't imagine hearing that you've accidentally hurt someone."

The fire in Professor Quirrell's hands went out, and he carefully placed the ruined ink bottle back on the table. "You're such a good talker, Mr. Potter. Have you ever had a lesson in flattery? Maybe Mr. Malfoy taught you?"

Harry kept his face blank and realized in a second that it was little more than a signed confession, but it was too late.Professor Quirrell doesn't care what expression you have on your face, he cares what thoughts might make you show it.

"I understand." Professor Quirrell said, "Mr. Malfoy is a very useful friend, Mr. Potter. He can teach you many things, but I hope you will not make the mistake of trusting him too much."

"He doesn't know anything I don't want anyone to know," said Harry.

"Good job," said Professor Quirrell with a faint smile. "So what were you here for?"

"I've done my Occlumency preparatory practice. I'm ready for class."

Professor Quirrell nodded. "I'll take you to Gringotts this Sunday." He paused, looked at Harry, and smiled. "And then we might be able to walk around again, if you like. I just had a pleasant thought."

Harry nodded and smiled too.

As Harry was leaving the office, he heard Professor Quirrell humming a ditty.

Harry was glad he could make Professor Quirrell happy.

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There seemed to be a lot more whispering in the corridors this Sunday, at least when Harry Potter passed them.

Many people pointed at him.

Many girls were giggling.

From breakfast onwards, whenever anyone asked Harry if he had heard the news, Harry would quickly cut him off and say that if it was from Rita Scott, he didn't want to hear about it, he wanted to read newspaper.

Then things developed to the point where not many students in Hogwarts had the Daily Prophet, and the few newspapers that were not bought out were passed around in a very complicated order, and no one knew who owned the newspapers at this time superior……

So Harry cast a Silence Charm and went on to eat his breakfast, hoping that the person sitting next to him would drive away the mortal number of interrogators, and try to ignore the looks of disbelief, the laughing faces , the congratulatory smile, the sympathetic look, the awed glance, and the shattered plate of someone who had just come down for breakfast when they heard the news.

Harry got more curious, but he really couldn't take second-hand information, it was a waste of art.

For the next few hours, after telling his roommate to notify him when he found the original newspaper, he finished his homework in the safety of his suitcase.

Harry was still ignorant of what happened at ten o'clock in the morning. He left Hogwarts in a carriage with Professor Quirrell. Professor Quirrell was sitting in the front right, huddled in the seat in zombie mode.Harry sat diagonally to the rear left, as far away from Professor Quirrell as the carriage would allow.Even so, Harry had a constant sense of impending doom throughout the short stretch of the carriage's journey through the Forbidden Forest.This made him a little bit reluctant to read books, especially when the textbooks were still relatively difficult, and Harry suddenly wished that he was reading the science fiction books he read when he was a child, instead of——

"We are out of the restricted area, Mr. Potter." Professor Quirrell's voice came from the front. "time to go."

Professor Quirrell got out of the carriage carefully, and straightened up after touching the ground.Harry jumped off his side.

Harry was still wondering how the hell they were going to get to Gringotts, when Professor Quirrell said "Grab!" and threw him a brass Knut, which Harry grabbed without thinking.

Harry's navel was caught by a huge invisible hook, and he was thrown violently, but there was no feeling of acceleration, and the next second Harry found himself standing in the middle of the street in Diagon Alley.

(Wait, what? His brain said.)

(We've just been teleported, Harry explained.)

(That never happened, Harry's brain complained, before starting to spin him dizzy.)

Harry staggered a few steps, his feet just getting out of the dirt of the forest path they had traveled, and adjusting to the brick-paved street.He stood up straight, still dazed: the bustling wizards and witches around him looked shaky, and the cries of shopkeepers sounded like they were constantly moving while his mind was still trying to get its bearings.

After a while, there was a popping sound a few steps behind Harry. Harry turned his head and saw Professor Quirrell.

"Would you mind—" said Harry, while Professor Quirrell said, "I'm afraid I—"

Harry stopped, Professor Quirrell didn't.

"—need to get away and get something going, Mr. Potter. Given that I've been told at length that I'm responsible for anything that happens to you, I'll put you in—"

"Newsstand," said Harry.

"what?"

"Or wherever I can get the Daily Prophet. Just leave me there."

A short while later, Harry was delivered to a bookstore, accompanied by a few whispered threats.Judging by the way the bookstore owner flinched and the way he kept eyeing Harry and the exit, the threats he received were a little less vague.

Even if the bookstore is on fire, Harry has to stay in the middle of the fire until Professor Quirrell returns.

period--

Harry took a quick look around.

The bookstore looked small and dark, with only four rows of bookshelves visible to the naked eye, and the nearest bookshelf Harry saw seemed to be dealing with some cheaply bound small volumes with what appeared to be fifteenth century books. Serious headlines like the massacre in Albania.

Do the important things first.Harry walked up to the counter.

"Excuse me," said Harry, "please give me a copy of the Daily Prophet."

"Five Sickles," said the shopkeeper, "I'm sorry, boy, but I only have three left."

Five Sickles of silver were thrown on the counter.Harry thought he could make a good bargain with two or three reasons, but he really didn't care much about it at this point.

The shopkeeper's eyes widened, and he looked as though he was actually noticing Harry for the first time.

"It's you!"

"it's me!"

"Is it true? You really—"

"Shut up! I'm sorry, but I've been waiting all day to read the original straight from the paper instead of second-hand from someone else, so just bring the paper over, please?"

The shopkeeper glared at Harry for a moment, then silently took out a folded copy of the Daily Prophet from the counter.

The headline above reads:

Harry Potter

with ginny weasley

Secret Marriage

Harry stared at the headline.

He picked up the newspaper, gently and respectfully, as if he were holding an original illustration by Escher, and he began to leaf through it...

...the evidence that convinced Rita Skeeter.

...and some interesting details.

...and then more evidence.

Fred and George must have made it clear to their little sister from the start, right?Yes, definitely made it clear.There was a picture of Ginny Weasley sighing at something, and Harry looked closer and saw that it was a picture of himself.It must have been staged.

But how the hell does it work...?

Harry was sitting in his cheap folding chair, rereading the newspaper for the fourth time, when the door slammed softly and Professor Quirrell entered the shop.

"I'm sorry - for Merlin's sake, what the hell are you looking at?"

"It appears," Harry said in awe-filled voice, "that there was a Mr. Arthur Weasley possessed by a Death Eater with the Imperius Curse, and my father killed the Death Eater so that he owed A favor from the Potter family, and then my father asked the recently born Ginny Weasley to marry into the Potter family to repay the favor. Would people here really do such a thing?"

"How could Ms. Skeeter be so stupid as to believe—"

Professor Quirrell's voice stopped abruptly.

Harry read the newspaper vertically, unfolded, which meant that from where Professor Quirrell stood he could see the text beneath the headline.

The shocked expression on Professor Quirrell's face was almost as much a work of art as the newspaper itself.

"Don't worry," said Harry cheerfully, "it's all fake."

On the other side of the bookstore, he heard the owner gasp.There was the sound of a stack of books falling to the floor in the store.

"Mr. Potter..." Professor Quirrell said slowly, "Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. Shall we go?"

Professor Quirrell nodded, looking distracted, Harry folded the newspapers and followed him out the door.

For some reason, Harry couldn't hear the street at all now.

They walked in silence for more than thirty seconds, and then Professor Quirrell said: "Ms. Skeeter has seen the official documents of the Wizengamot Secrecy Department."

"Yes."

"Official documents from the Wizengamot."

"Yes."

"It's hard even for me."

"Really?" said Harry. "Because if my suspicions are correct, a bunch of Hogwarts students did it."

"This is the impossible of the impossible," Professor Quirrell said decisively. "Mr Potter . . . I regret to say that this young lady is about to marry you."

"But that's just unlikely," Harry said. "In the words of Douglas Adams,[3] the 'impossible' often has a wholeness that the mere 'improbable' lacks."[4]

"I know what you want to say." Professor Quirrell said slowly. "But... no, Mr. Potter. It may be impossible, but I can imagine how the Wizengamot's official papers could be altered. I can't imagine a Gringotts guard manager stamping a forged marriage deed." official seal, and Ms Skeeter personally verified the seal."

"That's right," said Harry, "a change of hands of this magnitude would of course involve the Gringotts Guard Manager. It appears that Mr. Weasley has a large debt and is demanding an additional ten thousand Galleons— "

"Pay ten thousand Galleons for a Weasley? You can even buy a nobleman's daughter!"

"Excuse me," said Harry, "but I really have to ask at this point, people here do things like this—"

"Rarely," said Professor Quirrell, frowning, "and I suspect it hasn't happened since the Dark Lord left. From the papers, that's how your father paid for it? "

"He has no choice," said Harry, "if he still wants the prophecy to come true."

"Give me the newspaper." Professor Quirrell said, the newspaper slipped from Harry's hand so fast that Harry's hand was scratched by the edge of the newspaper.

Startled, Harry instinctively put his fingers in his mouth to suck, and was about to protest to Professor Quirrell——

Professor Quirrell suddenly stopped in the middle of the street, an invisible force hung the newspaper in front of him, and his eyes moved up and down quickly.

Harry gasped in awe as he watched the newspaper automatically turn to the second and third pages.Not long after, I turned to the fourth and fifth pages.It was as if the man had finally cast off his mortal mask.

After a worrisome moment, the newspaper folded itself neatly again.Professor Quirrell grabbed the newspaper from mid-air and threw it to Harry, who caught it reflexively; then Professor Quirrell started walking again, and Harry followed automatically.

"No," said Professor Quirrell, "that prophecy doesn't sound right to me either."

Harry nodded, still dumbfounded.

"The centaur may be controlled by the Imperius Curse," Professor Quirrell said with a frown. "That seems to be within the understandable range. Anything that can be done by magic can also be cheated by magic. What is really unimaginable is that the ancient The great seal of the Lingge Pavilion can be distorted by other people. You can use Polyjuice Potion to disguise yourself as the Reticent Man, and in the same way you can pretend to be the Bavarian Prophet. If you spend enough time, it may really be possible to change Official documents from the Wizengamot. Do you know how this is done?"

"I can't even make a reasonable assumption," said Harry. "All I know is that the budget for all this was only forty Galleons."

Professor Quirrell stopped suddenly and turned sharply to Harry.The look on his face right now is utter disbelief. "Forty Galleons can hire a competent locksmith to help you open the door of the house you want to rob! Forty Galleons can probably hire a group of the world's top professional criminals to change Wizenga Mo's official document!"

Harry shrugged helplessly. "Next time I want to save 960 Galleons, I'll remember to find the right contractor."

"I don't say that very often," said Professor Quirrell. "I'm amazed."

"Me too," said Harry.

"Who is this incredible Hogwarts student?"

"I'm afraid I can't say."

To Harry's somewhat surprise, Professor Quirrell made no objection.

They mused as they walked in the direction of Gringotts, as neither of them was the type to give up on a problem before thinking about it for at least five minutes.

"I have a feeling," said Harry at last, "that we're thinking in the wrong direction. I once heard a story where a group of students went to a physics class and the teacher showed them a metal plate by the fire. She asked the students to feel the metal plate, and they felt that the side of the metal plate near the fire was cooler, while the side away from the fire was warmer. Then the teacher said, write down the reason for your guess. So some students wrote 'because thermal conductivity of metals' and some students wrote 'because of the air flow' but none wrote 'it seems impossible' and the correct answer was that the teacher flipped the plate before the students entered the classroom .”

"Interesting," said Professor Quirrell. "Sounds similar. Is there any moral?"

"The strength of being a rationalist is that you're more likely to be confused by fiction than reality," Harry said. "If you can give a good explanation for whatever the outcome is, then You don't know anything. Those students think they can explain anything with words like 'because of heat conduction', even things like 'the side of the metal plate near the fire is cooler'. So they don't find out that they have How confused, which means they are no strangers to the illusion than to the truth. Even if you tell me that the centaur is under the spell of insanity, I still think there is something wrong. I find that I have heard Still confused after your explanation."

"Hmm," said Professor Quirrell.

They walked a little further.

"Can I assume," said Harry, "that it's actually possible to switch people into alternate universes? Like, this isn't our Rita Skeeter, or they're temporarily sending her to another Where did you go?"

"If it's possible," Professor Quirrell's voice became more indifferent, "Will I still stay here?"

And when they were almost at the great white front door of the Gringotts building, Professor Quirrell said:

"Ah. Of course. I see. Let me guess, the Weasley twins?"

"What?" Harry's voice rose an octave. "How did you do it?"

"I'm afraid I can't say."

"...it's not fair."

"I think that's pretty fair," said Professor Quirrell, and they went through the bronze door.

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It was just before noon, and Harry and Professor Quirrell were sitting in a luxurious reserved box, sitting at opposite ends of a long, wide and long table; Hang soft curtains.

They would have lunch at the Mary's Court, which, according to Professor Quirrell, was one of the best restaurants he knew in Diagon Alley, especially at—his voice trailed off meaningfully—at the sense.

It was the best restaurant Harry had ever been to, and the fact that Professor Quirrell had bought himself to dinner was really bothering Harry.

The first part of the mission, finding an Occlumency instructor, has been satisfactorily accomplished.Professor Quirrell told Griphook with a smirk on his face that he would recommend the best lecturer he knew, and there was no need to worry about the cost, since Dumbledore would pay for it anyway; then Griphook also responded with a smirk.Harry himself might have smiled the same way.

The second part of the plan completely failed.

Harry cannot take money from the vault without the presence of Headmaster Dumbledore or other school officials, and Professor Quirrell does not have the key to the vault.Harry's Muggle parents didn't have authorization because they were Muggles, and Muggles have the same legal status as little kittens: they're cute, so if you torture them in public, you'll be arrested, but they Not counting people.Some seemingly far-fetched clauses count Muggle-born wizard parents as adults to a limited extent, but Harry's adoptive parents do not fall into this category.

It seems that Harry is actually an orphan in the eyes of the wizarding world.Therefore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, or his designee within the school system, is his guardian until he graduates.Harry could breathe without Dumbledore's approval, but only if Dumbledore hadn't ordered it forbidden.

Harry then asked if he could just tell Griphook how to diversify his investments instead of just keeping his gold coins in the vault. [5]

Griphook stared at him blankly, then asked what "diversity" meant.

The banks here don't seem to invest.The bank deposits your gold coins in a vault and charges an annual storage fee.

The wizarding world has no concept of capital.There is also no common stock.There is no company either.Businesses are run by families with money from their own coffers.

It is the rich who borrow, not the banks.While Gringotts can witness the deed - which requires a fee and then enforces repayment - there is a much higher fee.

Good rich people will lend money to their friends and pay it back whenever they want.Evil rich people charge interest.

There is no secondary market borrowing. [6]

Evil rich people charge you at least 20% p.a. interest.

Harry stood up, turned around, and leaned his head against the wall.

Harry asked him if he also needed the headmaster's permission before he could set up a bank.

Professor Quirrell interrupted at this time to say that it was time for lunch, and then quickly led Harry, who was smoking with anger, out of the bronze door of Gringotts, through Diagon Alley, and led him to a high-end restaurant called Mary's Place, They booked a room there.The owner looked shocked when he saw Professor Quirrell with Harry Potter, but he led them into the room without saying anything.

Then Professor Quirrell very deliberately announced that he would check out, seemingly taking considerable pleasure from the look on Harry's face.

"No," said Professor Quirrell to the waiter, "we don't need a menu. I'll have today's special, with a bottle of Chianti, and Mr. Porter will start with a bowl of bird soup, [8 ] Then Ruper meatballs,[9] and finally sweet pudding for dessert."

The waiter's robe was much shorter than normal, and she looked serious and formal. She bowed respectfully, then left, closing the door behind her.

Professor Quirrell waved his hand in the direction of the door, and the latch was locked. "Watch the deadbolt inside. This room, Mr. Potter, is called Mary's Room. It happens to be immune to all listening, and I mean all; not even Dumbledore can detect what's going on here. There are two People will use Mary's room. The first kind of people are engaged in some trivial illegal activities. And the second kind of people will make life interesting.

"Really?" said Harry.

Professor Quirrell nodded.

Harry opened his mouth expectantly. "It would be a waste to just sit here and have lunch without doing anything special."

Professor Quirrell grinned, then took out his wand and waved it in the direction of the door. "Of course," he said, "those who make life interesting take far more careful precautions than the innocuous criminals. I've just sealed the door. Nothing can come in or out of this room now— Like, slipping in through a crack in the door. And then..."

Professor Quirrell then said no fewer than four different spells, Harry didn't recognize any of them.

"Even that is not enough," Professor Quirrell said. "If we're going to do something really important, there's another 23 checks to do on top of that. For example, Rita Skeeter, for example, knew or guessed we'd be here, and she might be wearing real The invisibility cloak is hiding in this room. Or maybe her Animagus form is some kind of tiny animal. There are tests to rule out these rare cases, but it would be too much work to do them all. Still, I'm thinking Should I still do it to prevent you from developing bad habits?" Professor Quirrell nodded his face with his fingers, looking a little distracted.

"It's all right," Harry said, "I see, I'll remember." Though he was a little disappointed knowing they weren't going to do anything really important.

"Very well," said Professor Quirrell.He leaned back in his chair and smiled brightly. "You did a great job today, Mr. Potter. I'm pretty sure you came up with the framework for this matter, and it's useless if you make excuses. I don't think we'll hear from Rita after this. How much news from Skeeter. Lucius Malfoy would not be content with her failure. If she was smart, she would have fled the country as soon as she found out she was being played.

Harry's heart sank. "Behind Rita Skeeter is Lucius...?"

"Oh, didn't you see that?" said Professor Quirrell.

Harry hadn't thought about what would happen to Rita Skeeter after this.

Absolutely not.

Not at all.

But she'd be fired for sure, of course she'd be fired, she probably had kids Harry knew going to school at Hogwarts, and now it's worse, much worse—

"Will Lucius kill her?" Harry said in a faint voice.Somewhere in his head, the Sorting Hat was screaming at him.

Professor Quirrell smiled indifferently. "If you haven't dealt with journalists before, take my word for it, every additional reporter dies makes the world a little brighter."

Harry jumped out of his chair, he had to find Rita Skeeter and warn her before it was too late—

"Sit down," said Professor Quirrell sharply. "No, Lucius won't kill her. But Lucius will make life extremely unpleasant for the poor servants. Ms. Skeeter will run away and start a new life under a new name. Sit down, Mr. Potter; you There’s nothing you can do at this point, and you still have something to learn.”

Harry sat down slowly.Compared with the words just now, the disappointed and irritable expression on Professor Quirrell's face played a more important role.

"Sometimes," Professor Quirrell's voice was sharp, "I'm afraid your genius Slytherin mind is just wasted. Read after me. Rita Skeeter is a vile, despicable woman."

"Rita Skeeter is a mean, hateful woman," said Harry.He didn't feel comfortable talking about it, but also seemed to have no choice.

"Rita Skeeter tried to destroy my reputation, but I pulled off an ingenious plan to destroy hers first."

"Rita Scott challenged me. She lost the game and I won it."

"Rita Scott is a hindrance to my future plans. If I want those plans to succeed, I have to get rid of her first."

"Rita Scott is my enemy."

"I can't accomplish anything in my life if I'm not willing to defeat my enemy."

"I defeated one of my enemies today."

"I am a good kid."

"I deserve a special reward."

"Ah," Professor Quirrell smiled amiably as he read the last few words, "It seems that I have managed to grab your attention."

This sentence is true.And at the same time Harry felt as if he had been induced - no, not just feeling, he had been induced just now - and he couldn't deny that saying those words and then seeing Professor Quirrell's smile did make him feel better .

Professor Quirrell reached into his robes, very slowly and deliberately, and pulled out...

……a book.

The book was unlike any other Harry had ever seen, and he could see that the edges were deformed; crude was the first word that came to mind, as if the book had been drawn from Like the ones that come out of the mine.

"What's this?" Harry gasped.

"A diary," said Professor Quirrell.

"Whose?"

"A certain celebrity." Professor Quirrell smiled brightly.

"All right……"

Professor Quirrell's expression became serious. "Mr. Potter, one of the requirements of becoming a powerful wizard is an extraordinary memory. Often the key to the puzzle is in some ancient scroll you read 20 years ago, or worn by someone you only met once. On the Strange Ring. The reason I mention this is to explain why I managed to remember the item, and the label on it, after meeting you