Chapter 509: Why Not Ask Tom? (Edited)

Harry placed the birdcage on the floor, leaving an empty space. He sat in the chair in front of the table and immersed himself in his thoughts.

Harry knew that his scar had magical abilities, an inexplicable connection to Voldemort. Whenever Voldemort appeared near him, his scar acted as a detector and warned him with a stabbing pain.

That was the alarm signal: the pain.

That's why Harry was so worried.

Sitting in front of the table, he listened carefully to the sounds from outside. What if Voldemort was close by? What if he was already on Privet Drive? What if he was lurking from a street corner? Harry felt restless about the unknown and confused. For a moment, he felt that Voldemort was right behind him, smiling maliciously.

But Harry quickly turned, holding his wand, only to find an untidy bed. Outside, there were some noises, but they were just distant barking dogs, oblivious to anyone.

Meanwhile, the Dursleys were deep in a sound sleep.

Harry envied them. So carefree, so foolish, without any real concerns, except for the rivalries among Muggles.

Harry sighed. Although his scar hurt him, he didn't know what to do about it. He didn't even know who to turn to for help. The Dursleys? No, they knew nothing about magic. Even if they were willing to help, which was less likely than winning the lottery, they could only take him to the hospital and seek a private doctor.

His eyes fell on an open book in front of him, a gift from his best friend, Ron Weasley, titled "Flying with the Cannons." On the open pages, players in their red robes were passing the Quaffle between them. Ron was a big fan of that team, even if they had been in decline for nearly a century, he always supported them.

The book made Harry think of his closest friend, Ron Weasley. What would Ron say if he wrote him a letter? Ron's voice seemed to echo in his mind: "Is your scar hurting? Does it mean Volde... um... I mean, You-Know-Who, is planning to harm you? I don't know. Let me ask my dad. But don't worry too much. Maybe the scar from the Killing Curse always has some side effects, after all, it's the mark of Voldemort's Killing Curse."

The image of Ron's freckled face appeared before Harry. Ron's father, Mr. Weasley, worked at the Ministry of Magic, but Harry didn't believe he could help in this situation, and he might even cause the Weasleys to panic.

Furthermore, Ron's twin brothers would surely find out about the situation, and that would be a mess! If it turned out that his scar had nothing to do with Voldemort, Harry was sure he would become a source of amusement for the two of them.

Harry had another reason not to discuss his scar with Ron: he was soon going to stay at the Weasley's house. The Weasley family was his favorite in the world, and it would be the happiest thing for him to stay with them. He didn't want to ruin those beautiful days over a stupid scar. Just imagine how annoying it would be if everyone nervously asked him about his scar while he was at the Weasleys'.

So, who else could he write to and share his concerns with? The first name that came to mind was Professor Dumbledore. In fact, if it weren't for the "Flying with the Cannons" book, Dumbledore should have been the first person he turned to for help.

But Harry had no idea where Dumbledore was during the holidays. He pictured Dumbledore wearing his pointed wizard's hat, wrapped in a long gray robe, walking laboriously in the Alps. Of course, it didn't matter if he knew where Dumbledore was; Harry trusted that his owl Hedwig would find him.

But what was he going to write in the letter?

[Dear Professor Dumbledore, I'm sorry to bother you, but this morning my scar started hurting.]

Harry had these thoughts in his head and then erased them.

Harry scratched his head; his hair was a bit unruly. It had always been rebellious; maybe only a magical shampoo could salvage the quality of his hair. But as he looked at his father's picture, Harry felt that magic wouldn't solve his hair problem either.

Harry knew that what he really needed was someone who could replace his parents, an adult wizard, a wizard who didn't mind answering silly questions...

There was a very good option, but Sirius had warned him before the holidays not to write to him.

So, who else was there?

A new face came to mind.

Tom Yodel!

Why not ask Tom Yodel?

Although they were the same age, Harry had the feeling that this person was much further ahead in magical knowledge than he was, maybe he could have some unique insight.

Harry immediately took out parchment, dipped his quill in ink, and began writing enthusiastically at his desk.

At that moment, what was the wonderful Mr. Tom Yodel doing?

He wasn't sleeping either; instead, he was sketching at his desk. The patterns he was drawing were extremely complicated and dazzling. For someone who didn't know alchemy, they might even get dizzy looking at them.

This was an alchemical artifact that Tom had recently planned to create. He believed that if he could create this object, it would have at least a four-star quality, and it might even reach the level of five stars.

As a participant in Dumbledore's plans, Tom knew that Voldemort would be returning this year. Although Tom trusted Dumbledore, he still wanted to have some tricks up his sleeve.

Directly facing Voldemort with low-level magic would be extremely reckless, so he might as well take advantage a bit: the ability to use tools is the greatest difference between humans and monkeys. And the ability to use magical artifacts is the greatest difference between an alchemist and a common wizard.

For Voldemort, Tom spent the two hundred Galleons he had earned from Dawlish and used them to purchase magical silver and other alchemical materials.

After starting to build large magical items, Tom realized that alchemy was truly costly. His two hundred Galleons disappeared as if they had evaporated, which made him regret a bit not making that deal with the Ministry. That stupid woman was too greedy! Ten Galleons for a pair of anti-curse gloves, he could only earn back some money but with no real profits.

Tom also paid a visit to Mr. Ollivander and shamelessly borrowed the magical silver wand. Originally, he planned to melt that wand to make other magical items. However, he had recently had a completely new idea.