Chapter 3084 - Ch: 11-18

Chapter 11: Do you like her?

A Charms class duel scheduled with a first-year student did not disrupt Amster's original rhythm, but it added an extra layer of distinct anticipation to the next few days.

Life continued as usual—classes, the Library, Alchemypractice—everything was no different from before.

Yet only he knew that a certain corner of his heart had quietly marked down Friday's Charms class.

On the last Saturday of September, the sunlight was gentle and the wind quiet; it was a rare relaxing day in the week.

Without having to rush to classes early in the morning or feeling the pressure of homework that had to be finished by evening, Amster walked toward the Hogwarts kitchens following his long-standing habit.

Setting off from the eighth-floor corridor, he navigated familiarly around the trophy room where Peeves loved to cause trouble, avoided several easily congested main passages, crossed that occasionally off-key, self-singing staircase, and finally arrived in front of the oil painting filled with fruit.

The pears in the painting were dozing lazily, looking as though they would be displeased if woken up.

Amster stretched out his finger and gently scratched the spot of a pear. The pear swayed, twisted reluctantly a few times, and slowly turned into a smooth silver door handle.

He gave it a gentle twist, and the door opened in response.

The next second, the heat and aroma from the kitchen rushed toward his face, forming a completely different world from the cool, silent corridor outside.

The room was brightly lit, and flames leaped within the huge fireplace, warming the entire space.

Countless house-elves bustled back and forth; some tiptoed to knead dough, some wielded tiny cleavers to cut vegetables, and others pushed tall trays into the ovens with skilled and brisk movements.

The air was mixed with the scorched fragrance of toasted bread, the rich aroma of hot stews, and the sweet scent of desserts. As soon as a person stepped in, their whole body relaxed.

"Mr. Amster!"

A tiny house-elf immediately noticed him, ran over quickly with its large ears bobbing up and down, and said in an exceptionally cheerful tone, "The usual, right? Sandwiches toasted crispy, pumpkin juice lukewarm, no ice!"

Amster smiled, nodded, and walked over to sit at the small table where he had sat many times before.

It was quiet and free here, without probing gazes or the need to deliberately maintain distance—one of the few places in the castle that allowed him to completely relax.

Not long after he sat down, the kitchen door rang softly once more.

Cedric poked his head in, looked left and right, and only breathed a sigh of relief upon confirming no one was there, quickly stepping inside.

As soon as he saw Amster by the table, his eyes immediately lit up, and his footsteps became a bit lighter.

"You're early." Amster spoke first.

"It's not that I'm late, you're just too eager." Cedric pulled over a chair and sat down, unceremoniously picking up a freshly toasted sandwich and taking a huge bite, narrowing his eyes in satisfaction.

"I took a huge detour from the Hufflepuff common room, sneaking around all the way and almost getting caught and pranked by Peeves."

Amster let out a low chuckle and said nothing more.

How boisterous Peeves was was something everyone in Hogwarts knew well.

The two sat side by side, eating while chatting casually about this week's classes.

Cedric couldn't help complaining that Hufflepuff's Potions Class was simply too difficult; just cutting the medicinal ingredients evenly gave him a headache for a long time.

No matter how careful he was, the sliced ginger or ingredient chunks were always uneven in thickness, and in the last class, Professor Snape had stared at him publicly and glared coldly for a long while.

"Three minutes?" Amster slightly raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.

"Snape usually looks away within thirty seconds when glaring at someone."

"Definitely more than that." Cedric's expression was incomparably serious, even carrying a hint of lingering fear.

"Those few minutes he glared at me felt like a century. My whole body stiffened, and I didn't even dare to move."

Amster was amused to laughter by his description.

"Then you're lucky," he said indifferently.

"He's been forcing me to practice cutting medicinal materials since I was six. If I cut even one piece wrong, he'd glare at me for the entire day."

Cedric's chewing motion stopped abruptly.

He was still holding half a sandwich in his hand, his mouth slightly agape, eyes wide round, looking thoroughly shocked.

"Six?" His voice pitched up slightly.

"When I was six, I was still playing with mud in the yard."

Amster merely nodded calmly and took another bite of the sandwich in his hand.

Those things that sounded exceptionally incredible to others were, for him, merely a routine he had long been used to.

Cedric looked at him, his gaze full of complex emotions.

There was admiration, surprise, a trace of indescribable sympathy, and even more curiosity.

Yet he didn't pursue it, didn't dig deeper, and didn't toss out a string of "whys".

This was also the reason Amster was willing to stay with him.

Not asking what shouldn't be asked, not probing what shouldn't be probed—getting along was effortless and comfortable.

After a brief quiet moment, Cedric suddenly remembered something, leaned forward slightly, and lowered his voice, looking as though he had important news to share.

"Oh, right," he whispered. "Did you know? Penelope has been running to the Library a lot lately."

Amster raised his eyes to look at him.

"She always hangs out in the Library anyway."

"It's different." Cedric shook his head immediately, his tone certain.

"I heard from people in Ravenclaw that she guards that corner spot every afternoon, supposedly to write essays. But many people say she sometimes sits facing the book for a long time without turning a single page, just sitting there zoning out."

Amster's hand holding the pumpkin juice paused slightly.

Zoning out? Penelope?

That Penelope, who was meticulous in everything she did and wouldn't even allow her handwriting to be the slightest bit sloppy, would zone out facing a book?

Seeing that he didn't speak, Cedric continued to add, lowering his voice even further: "Ravenclaw people also said that she used to occupy a whole table by herself, but now she keeps looking across the opposite side, as if... waiting for someone."

Amster fell silent for a few seconds without responding immediately.

In his mind, involuntarily, that corner by the window in the Library floated up.

The dim yellow light, the piles of books, and that figure with a straight back and focused handwriting.

Cedric looked at him with sparkling eyes, wearing an expression of "I know everything".

After another moment, he spoke again, this time with a more serious and softer tone.

"Amster."

"Hmm?"

"Do you like her?"

Amster raised his head, meeting his gaze.

Cedric's eyes were clean and sincere, without a shred of gossipy malice, purely wanting to know the answer.

He thought quietly for a moment.

"She is my friend," he answered truthfully.

"Just a friend?" Cedric pursued.

"Just a friend," Amster repeated, paused, and then added softly, "At least for now."

Cedric nodded as if suddenly enlightened, then broke into a bright and warm smile.

That smile was so clean that it made one couldn't help but feel better along with it.

"Then if you fall for someone in the future, you must tell me," he said in a serious tone. "I can help you."

Amster couldn't help raising an eyebrow.

"Help me with what?"

"Help you figure out a way, of course."

"Didn't books write that chasing girls requires giving flowers, writing love letters, and accompanying her to look at the stars—oh right, do you know if the Astronomy Tower can be accessed at night? The Room of Requirement is so amazing, it should be able to conjure up a starry sky too, right?"

Amster was amused to laughter by his deadpan expression, his shoulders trembling slightly.

"What kind of books do you read?" he asked curiously.

Cedric's cheeks flushed slightly, but he still bit the bullet and admitted: "There was an article in the last issue of Witch Weekly specifically talking about how to pursue Ravenclaw girls. I read it, thought it made a lot of sense, and remembered it."

Amster laughed even harder.

The two sat like that in the warm corner of the kitchen, eating simple food and chatting about all sorts of messy trifles.

No pressure, no purpose, no need to put on airs—only ease and comfort.

When they were almost done eating, Cedric stood up and patted the breadcrumbs off his hands.

"I have to head back."

"There's Professor Sprout's Herbology class tomorrow, and I need to review my notes beforehand."

He walked toward the door, took a few steps, then suddenly stopped and turned back to look at Amster.

"Amster."

"Hmm?"

"If you go to the Library tomorrow afternoon, remember to go a bit earlier."

He smiled at Amster, his eyes carrying a hint of tacit mischief, then pushed open the door, his figure quickly disappearing into the corridor outside.

Amster remained seated in place, staring at that fruit painting door, quietly zoning out.

Go earlier?

He thought of that fixed corner in the Library, Penelope's neat handwriting, the way the tips of her ears turned slightly red, and Cedric's words, "She is waiting for someone."

And not long ago, that soft answer in his own heart.

At least for now.

He slowly smiled, stood up, and also walked toward the door.

Stepping out of the kitchen, the sky outside had already darkened.

Peeves' shrill laughter came from the distant corridor; too lazy to bother, Amster directly bypassed that path and walked slowly back along the quiet passageway.

Silvery moonlight spilled in from the high windows, falling onto the cold stone slab floor and paving a patch of soft brightness.

Walking forward step by step, he unconsciously thought of Penelope.

Would she really zone out in the Library?

Who could the person she was waiting for be?

Walking all the way back to the eighth floor, the door to the Room of Requirement was still open, the fire in the fireplace burning brightly, its light steady and warm.

Amster walked over to the window and sat down, gazing at the heavy surface of the Black Lake outside, where the moonlight swayed gently on the water.

Once again, he thought of Cedric's straightforward question.

"Do you like her?"

This time, he didn't give an answer immediately.

There was no clear voice in his heart, only a faint softness that even he couldn't quite explain.

He didn't know what that was, nor did he want to rush to define it.

It was just that the next afternoon, when he packed up his things and headed to the Library, his steps were indeed a bit earlier than usual.

Chapter 12 Lumos Promise (3000 words)

The next afternoon, Amster arrived at the Library much earlier than usual.

Sunlight slanted in from the high windows on the west side of the castle, illuminating the entire corridor brightly. The wind swept past the branches and leaves outside the window, drifting in with a faint scent of grass and trees. He was holding the book "Principles of Medieval Alchemy in his arms, his pace a bit slower than usual, lacking a bit of the haste of rushing, instead carrying a trace of anticipation that he didn't even notice himself. Cedric's words "remember to go early" were still in his ears; he hadn't deliberately thought about it, but he had truly followed it.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door of the Library, the familiar smell of old books and ink hit his face. The Libraryremained quiet, with only the subtle sound of quills scratching against parchment. Madam Pince was patrolling between the bookshelves with a feather duster, her gaze still sharp, yet she didn't pay much attention to this early-arriving student. Amster tiptoed through the familiar bookshelves and walked straight toward the corner by the window.

Penelope was already sitting there.

She still had that proper look, her back straight, with History of Magic essays and reference books spread out in front of her, and sticky notes neatly arranged. Only today was a bit different—the quill in her hand hovered in mid-air, her gaze falling on an empty corner of the desk, clearly daydreaming. It wasn't until Amster sat down opposite her that she snapped back to her senses, the tip of her pen tapping gently on the paper, leaving a small ink stain.

"You are early." Penelope spoke, her tone still calm, only the tips of her ears quietly turning red.

"Cedric told me to come early." Amster said honestly, placing the book on the table, his gaze sweeping over the manuscripts in front of her, "Haven't you finished writing the essay yet?"

"Almost." Penelope lowered her head, gripping her pen firmly again to conceal her previous absent-mindedness, "Some historical materials need to be repeatedly cross-checked; Professor Binns looks unconcerned, but he is exceptionally picky about details." She paused, the pen tip gently gliding across the paper, and added another sentence, "Don't you need to go practice Alchemy first today?"

"I'll go in the evening." Amster opened the book, his fingertips resting on the annotations left by Flamel, "Flamel's assignment is not urgent, but I made an appointment with someone to have a duel in Charms class."

Penelope's movement paused slightly, and she looked up at him: "A duel? With whom?"

"The Slytherin first-year, Cassandra Vole." Amster didn't conceal it, his tone flat, "She has been observing me for quite a while, and wants to compare Lumos, saying it's the basic spell that tests magical control the most."

Penelope raised her eyebrows slightly, evidently a bit surprised. In her view, given Amster's control, accepting a first-year's challenge had no suspense to begin with, but she didn't say much, just nodded gently: "Lumos looks simple, but it relies heavily on magical stability; she certainly chose cleverly."

The two no longer continued chatting about the duel, diving back into their respective studies. The Libraryremained quiet, with only the soft sound of pen tips rubbing against paper, the sunlight slowly moving, casting soft shadows of the two. Penelope remained focused and rigorous, only occasionally in the gaps of lowering her head to write, quietly lifting her eyes to glance at the person opposite her, then quickly pulling back her gaze, pretending nothing had happened. Amster could perceive that subtle movement, but didn't point it out, only hiding a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.

This period of time without superfluous words was exceptionally stable and comfortable.

Until the bell of the Library chimed softly, Amster closed the book.

"I should go to the Charms class classroom." He stood up.

Penelope raised her head, her gaze hiding a trace of imperceptible admonition: "Be careful, don't underestimate the opponent."

"I know." Amster nodded, turned around, and walked out of the Library.

The students in the corridor gradually increased, everyone holding textbooks and walking toward the Charms classclassroom, the clamor filling the pathway. Amster followed the flow of people forward, feeling no tension at all about the upcoming duel, but instead gaining a bit of appreciation for that first-year's sharpness. Cassandra's straightforwardness and refusal to admit defeat were very much like someone who always held awe and curiosity toward magic, making him not want to deal with it carelessly.

When arriving at the Charms class classroom, Professor Flitwick was still organizing the magic props on the desk, the students successively taking their seats, and the clamor gradually subsiding. Cassandra was already sitting in the front row of the classroom, her gaze staring straight at the door. The moment she saw Amster, her eyes condensed slightly, her fighting spirit undisguised. She wasn't fidgety like other first-years, her sitting posture upright, her expression serious, as if she had prepared everything long ago.

The class bell rang, and Professor Flitwick hopped up to the podium, clearing his throat.

"Classmates, today we will continue to consolidate the basic spell—Lumos!" His voice was crisp and brisk, "This is the earliest spell wizards learn, and the one that tests magic control the most. Whether the light is stable, bright, and how long it can last all depends on whether your own magic is steady!"

After the explanation, Professor Flitwick asked everyone to practice on their own.

The classroom instantly lit up with dots of starlight, wand tips flickering bright or dim, and many first-years' lights flashing on and off, even trembling slightly. Cassandragripped her wand, her expression focused, her fingertips very steady, and a beam of soft yet even light immediately lit up at the wand tip, unwavering and unshaking, continuously stable, far surpassing students of the same grade.

When Professor Flitwick passed by, he couldn't help praising: "Very good, Miss Vole! Quite outstanding control!"

Cassandra wasn't proud, only turning her head to look at Amster, the sense of challenge in her eyes couldn't be more obvious.

Amster nodded gently as a response.

He raised his wand, not deliberately exerting force, but steadily outputting magic. The next second, a gentle yet incomparably stable light lit up from the wand tip, even and clear, without a shred of fluctuation, the brightness just right, lasting so long that people were surprised. That light didn't flicker on and off like other students', resembling more like a fixed small lamp, quiet, steady, and flawless.

The surrounding students unconsciously stopped practicing, their gazes casting over one after another.

Professor Flitwick's eyes lit up, and he couldn't help softly praising: "Perfect, Amster, this is the most stable Lumos I have seen this year."

Cassandra's expression changed slightly, her fingers holding the wand tightening gently.

She saw very clearly that the gap between the two was not in brightness or size, but in the absolute stability of magic. The control she thought she had pushed to the extreme still seemed naive in front of Amster.

Amster withdrew his wand, the light slowly extinguishing.

Cassandra also put down her wand, falling silent for a few seconds, neither making excuses nor feeling unconvinced.

She walked in front of Amster, raised her head to look directly at him, her tone still direct, only lacking a bit of provocation and gaining a bit of candor.

"I lost."

Amster looked at her, neither proud nor scornful: "Your control has already far surpassed the same grade."

"But still not as good as you." Cassandra said straightforwardly, her gaze firm, "I don't want to stop at the current level." She paused, took a deep breath, and stated her true thought, "Amster Dumbledore, I want to learn from you. I know you're busy, but I can wait, and I can follow your schedule."

The gazes in the classroom fell on the two vaguely, filled with curiosity, surprise, and whispering discussions, yet Cassandra didn't care at all, still standing firmly in place, waiting for an answer. She wasn't someone who would easily admit defeat, even less someone who would easily bow her head, but she was willing to seek advice from someone stronger.

Amster looked at this stubborn yet earnest first-year in front of him, remaining silent for a moment.

He recalled when he first came into contact with magic and Alchemy, he was equally eager for more precise guidance, equally unwilling to remain in mediocrity. Cassandra's ambition was written on her face, yet it wasn't annoying, instead carrying a pure upward drive.

"Very well." He spoke softly, giving his reply.

Cassandra's eyes lit up slightly, obviously not expecting him to agree so readily.

"After class on Wednesdays and Fridays, wait for me in the eighth-floor corridor." Amster set the time, his tone calm, "I will teach you basic magic control skills, it won't take up too much of your time, but you must practice diligently."

"I will." Cassandra nodded immediately, her tone firm, "I won't let you down."

Having finished speaking, she didn't stay long, turned around to return to her seat, picked up her wand again, and her drive to dive into practice was even fuller than before.

After Charms class ended, the students successively left the classroom.

Professor Flitwick walked over to Amster's side, saying with a smile: "Amster, you are so kind to be willing to mentor a first-year. Miss Vole is very talented, just a bit too strong-willed; with you guiding her, she will walk more steadily."

"I only did what was within my power." Amster replied softly.

Walking out of the Charms class classroom, the setting sun in the corridor had already stained a layer of warm orange, gently illuminating the stone path. Amster slowly walked toward the eighth floor, his heart not fluctuating because of a victory, but instead gaining a bit of calm anticipation because of this sudden teaching agreement.

Cassandra's sharpness, Penelope's quietness, and Cedric's sincerity, like tiny fragments of light, slowly melted into his steady new school year.

He walked up to the door of the Room of Requirement, and a wooden door slowly emerged on the wall.

Pushing open the door, the flames in the fireplace remained warm and bright, Alchemy tools were quietly placed on the desk, and the notes left by Flamel were spread out to one side. New practices awaited him, new appointments awaited him, and new growth was quietly waiting ahead.

Amster closed the door, gently shutting the outside clamor outside, sinking into the quiet time that belonged solely to himself.

Chapter 13 The Scarf and the Unspoken Concerns

The wooden door of the Room of Requirement clicked shut gently behind him, blocking out the evening breeze and commotion of the Hogwarts corridor.

The room was warm and cozy, with the flames of the fireplace dancing gently, casting a soft glow over the Alchemy workbench, the open ancient tomes, and the copper utensils.

Amster walked over to the table, his fingertips brushing against the handwriting left by Flamel on the pages; the quiet of the Library throughout the day, the sparring in the Charms class, and the teaching arrangement made with Cassandra all slowly settled into this small space.

He had expected this evening to be accompanied only by Alchemy, but he hadn't expected that a care from afar, following the wings of an owl, would quietly land under the eaves of Hogwarts.

Early the next morning, just as the sky was beginning to dawn, a thin layer of chill still drifted through the castle.

Autumn was growing deeper, and the wind already carried the crisp coldness before the onset of winter; the leaves turned from emerald green to deep yellow and light red, falling on the lawn outside the castle and rustling when stepped upon.

Amster went to the Great Hall for breakfast as usual. As he approached the entrance, he saw a snow-white owl perched on the railing, with a lightly scented letter tied to its foot. The moment it saw him coming, it fluttered its wings briskly.

It was a letter from Fleur.

During this period, Fleur's letters had become much more frequent than before.

They were no longer simple greetings; between the lines were many daily trivialities—small matters at home, the progress of magic learning, small expectations for the future, and the care hidden within the words that was not easily noticed.

Amster took the letter, his fingertips touching the delicate texture on the envelope, and could feel her earnestness when she put pen to paper.

He sat down by the long table in the Great Hall and opened the letter.

Fleur's handwriting was neat, carrying a bit of a maiden's coy charm, written neatly line by line.

The first half was mostly ordinary sharing, but when he read the second half, his fingertips paused slightly.

In the letter, Fleur said with a rare tone of helplessness and amusement that her correspondence with him had ultimately failed to be kept from her family.

Especially her younger sister, Gabrielle; though young, she was exceptionally clever and observant, and having accidentally caught her reading the letter over and over with the corners of her mouth lifting unconsciously, she pestered her with endless questions.

The little girl was full of curiosity, asking over and over again who the person frequently writing letters to her sister was, whether he could do magic, and whether he treated people well.

To satisfy her sister's curiosity, and harboring a little bit of hidden sentiment that she hadn't even spoken aloud, Fleur had Gabrielle prepare a small gift with her own hands and sent it over together with the owl.

Only then did Amster notice that besides the letter, a small cloth bag was tied to the owl's foot.

He gently untied it, and a soft scarf fell out from inside.

The scarf wasn't fancy, but the stitches were exceptionally fine and neat, looking at a glance like it had been knit earnestly for a long time.

The yarn was a gentle light beige, feeling soft to the touch and carrying a faint scent of sunshine, clearly knit by Gabrielle herself.

For a young girl to be willing to spend so much time knitting a winter scarf for the person her sister corresponded with, that straightforward and pure curiosity and kindness was exceptionally touching.

He gently folded the scarf and put it away, a faint warmth welling up in his heart.

Fleur's care and Gabrielle's thoughtfulness were like a glimmer of light in this cooling weather—not dazzling, but enough to make one feel secure.

He lowered his head and began to write a reply, his brushstrokes and words gentle, earnestly responding to every small matter in the letter, and specifically mentioning his gratitude to Gabrielle, promising to wear the scarf well.

He wrote with concentration, not noticing that not far across from him, a gaze gently fell upon the letter in his hands and the newly packed parcel.

Penelope was sitting not far away.

In front of her were bread and pumpkin juice, and beside her hand were still her unfinished notes, looking as quiet and focused as usual.

Yet only she knew that ever since that snow-white owl landed beside Amster, it had been difficult for her attention to remain completely on her books.

She recognized that it was an owl from France, and vaguely guessed the sender of the letter.

Lately, the letters Amster received had become more and more frequent, and every time he opened a letter, his expression would soften a bit more than usual; others might not notice such subtle changes, but she had taken note of them in her eyes.

She hadn't deliberately inquired or proactively asked, simply maintaining her consistent quietness and propriety.

But when she saw Amster carefully put away the scarf that was obviously knit by a girl's own hands, her fingers holding the quill still tightened slightly for a moment.

She quietly lowered her head and continued writing on the paper, the pressure of her nib on the parchment being slightly heavier than usual.

Not until Amster folded his reply and handed it to the waiting owl beside him did Penelope slowly raise her eyes, her tone plain and natural, as if casually mentioning it.

"Was that owl just now from France?"

Amster turned his head, meeting her calm gaze, and didn't hide it: "Yes, it's a letter from Fleur; she's been writing rather frequently lately."

Penelope nodded gently, her gaze inadvertently sweeping over the parcel he had placed aside, her voice soft and slow: "Judging by what you put away just now, it looked like a scarf."

"It was knit by her younger sister Gabrielle," Amsterexplained. "The little girl was curious and specially prepared it as a gift."

Penelope's eyelashes trembled slightly, then she returned to normal, the corners of her mouth curving into an extremely faint, almost invisible smile.

"She's very deft-handed," she said softly, pausing for a moment before adding nonchalantly, "After winter sets in, the castle will get colder and colder; having a soft scarf will be much more convenient."

The words sounded like an ordinary remark without any abnormality, but that slightly lowered gaze and slowed tone concealed a trace of hard-to-detect care.

She didn't show displeasure or pursue the matter further, simply expressing her attentiveness in the most obscure way that fit her personality.

Amster looked at her upright and serene appearance, feeling a slight stir in his heart, but he didn't point it out, merely responding softly: "Indeed."

The atmosphere between the two returned to that usual quiet and comfortable vibe; there were no superfluous words, yet it wasn't awkward in the least.

Penelope lowered her head again to earnestly write her notes, only this time, the nib flowed much more smoothly without the momentary pause from just before.

After breakfast, the students successively left the Great Hall, holding their textbooks and heading toward their respective classes.

Amster and Penelope walked together down the corridor as the wind blew in from outside the window, carrying the chill of late autumn.

He turned his head slightly to glance at the girl walking steadily beside him with an earnest expression; the sunlight fell upon the crown of her head, unbearably soft.

"Is it Charms class this morning?" Penelope asked softly.

"Mhm," Amster nodded. "I also need to confirm the time for the first tutoring session with Cassandra."

"Although she has a strong temper, she is very earnest," Penelope evaluated calmly. "If you teach her, she will study attentively."

Her words were forever proper and objective, never casually judging others, yet always able to precisely see the virtues in them.

The two walked all the way to the doorway of the Charms class classroom before parting ways.

Penelope walked in the direction of the History of Magicclassroom, her figure upright and quiet; Amster pushed open the door and entered the classroom, and as soon as he stepped inside, he saw Cassandra sitting in the front row with a resolute look in her eyes.

The moment Cassandra saw him, she immediately straightened her back, and the provocation from before was gone from her eyes, leaving only seriousness and expectation.

"You're here," Cassandra spoke up proactively, her voice crisp.

"Mhm," Amster walked over to the seat beside her. "Wednesday after school, eighth-floor corridor, don't be late."

"I won't be," Cassandra responded immediately, her gaze falling on the corner of the scarf faintly exposed beside his hand, though she didn't ask further and simply tightened her grip on her wand again. "I will practice the basic postures more thoroughly and won't waste your time."

Amster looked at her refusal to fall behind anyone and nodded slightly.

Professor Flitwick walked into the classroom shortly after, his brisk voice ringing out, and spots of starlight lit up across the classroom once more.

The Lumos spell echoed gently in the air, and steady magical fluctuations diffused bit by bit.

He raised his wand, and a soft, steady light lit up at the tip, flawless just like yesterday.

Cassandra watched attentively from the side, her eyes focused, silently memorizing every subtle movement of his and the rhythm of his magic control.

The class passed quickly.

The class dismissal bell rang, and students left the classroom in twos and threes.

Cassandra walked up to him, solemnly said "See you on Wednesday," and then turned and left without any unnecessary entanglement, crisp enough to be admired.

Amster slowly walked out of the classroom, the sunlight in the corridor already leaning toward the west.

He raised his hand to gently touch the scarf inside his bag, and recalling Penelope's seemingly ordinary reminder during breakfast, the corners of his mouth unconsciously curved into a faint smile.

Fleur's care, Gabrielle's thoughtfulness, Penelope's subtle attentiveness, and Cassandra's resolute gaze were like fine threads gently woven into his daily life at Hogwarts.

Autumn was coming to an end, winter was about to arrive, and the chill was gradually drawing near, yet these fragmented and sincere emotions around him kept his heart warm all the way.

He walked slowly forward along the castle corridor, his pace relaxed.

The wind swept through the corridor, stirring up a few fallen leaves, and from the distance came the chatting and laughing of students in the Great Hall, everything peaceful and orderly.

He didn't go straight to the Library or the Alchemy room, but instead stood by the window, gently taking out the scarf Gabrielle had knit and draping it over his fingertips.

The soft texture clung against his skin, like a bit of warmth delivered from afar.

Before the start of winter, this unexpected sentiment quietly landed in Hogwarts, and also landed in the young man's peaceful daily life.

Some emotions didn't need to be spoken outright, and some care didn't need to be publicized, just like the slowly changing seasons outside the window, coming quietly, lingering gently, and leaving faint traces in the passage of time.

He packed the scarf away again and turned to walk toward the Library.

Penelope should already be waiting for him in that familiar corner by the window; neatly arranged notes and open pages of History of Magic would be laid out on the table, and the sunlight would slowly move, dragging the shadows of the two very, very long.

New days moved forward step by step amidst such quiet and warm trivialities.

Chapter 14 A Christmas Without a Home

Amster turned and walked towards the Library, the sunlight on the flagstone path cut into warm golden patches by the windowpanes.

As expected, Penelope was already sitting in her usual spot by the window, with parchment, quill, and sticky notes neatly arranged.

The autumn chill outside grew stronger day by day, and the days at Hogwarts quietly and leisurely slipped towards the end of the year.

The days slowly passed amidst the quiet of the Library, the practice in Charms class, and Cassandra's regular magic instruction.

The light beige scarf woven by Gabrielle was put on as soon as the weather turned cold, soft and warm.

Whenever Penelope saw it, she would only glance at it indifferently, yet when he occasionally took it off, she would smoothly help him straighten the pressed and wrinkled edges, her movements so light they were almost invisible.

The closer the semester drew to its end, the stronger the Christmas atmosphere in the Great Hall became.

A huge Christmas tree was erected, mistletoe hung in the porch, and the scent of mulled wine and cinnamon drifted in the air.

Amster originally intended to stay at school, but he couldn't withstand the Weasley brothers' repeated invitations, and in the end, he agreed to spend Christmas at The Burrow — Percy wrote a formal letter, while Fred and George seized every opportunity to pat his shoulder and say "You'll regret it for a whole year if you don't come", their enthusiasm making it impossible to refuse.

On the day of leaving school, the station was very foggy.

Amster squeezed onto a Muggle train with Percy, Fred, and George, then transferred to the Knight Bus, and finally crossed a field of winter, the crooked yet bustling house finally appearing before his eyes.

"That's The Burrow." Percy pushed up his glasses, a hint of little pride hidden in his tone, "It looks a bit messy, but it's very comfortable to live in."

Fred immediately chimed in: "And it's definitely never boring!"

George followed up with a sentence: "The danger coefficient is also considered moderate."

The two looked at each other and grinned at the same time, as taciturn and in sync as the same person.

Amster followed them into the courtyard, and before even entering the door, he heard the clatter of pots and pans and the rising and falling voices inside.

The door was yanked open, and Mrs. Weasley stood at the doorway wearing an apron, a gentle smile immediately piling up on her face.

"You're finally back! Percy, Fred, George — this must be Amster, right? Come in, come in quickly, it's cold outside."

Her warmth was like the fire in the fireplace, direct and cozy, making one instantly relax.

Walking into the house, warm air wrapped in the aroma of food rushed over.

Mr. Weasley stood up from his chair, sizing him up with a bit of scholarly curiosity, his tone very amiable: "I heard you're a child of the Dumbledore family? Welcome to The Burrow, don't be constrained, just treat it like your own home."

Ginny hugged a cat and poked her head out from the top of the stairs. Seeing a stranger made her a little shy, and after a quick glance, she shrank back, leaving only a pair of curved pigtails.

Standing in the center of the room, somewhat apprehensively clutching the corner of his clothes, was Ron Weasley.

Percy introduced naturally: "This is my younger brother Ron, still young, and he won't go to Hogwarts for a few more years. Ron, this is Amster Dumbledore."

Ron raised his head, his eyes showing a bit of tension and inexplicable resistance, as if afraid of being compared unfavorably and afraid of being looked down upon.

He forced out a smile, his voice not loud: "Hello."

Amster nodded gently: "Hello."

Just with a simple greeting, he vaguely sensed the awkwardness in this child.

Over the next few days, Amster truly integrated into the daily routine of the the Weasleys.

Mrs. Weasley was forever busy in the kitchen, piling the dining table full; Mr. Weasley pulled him aside whenever he had time to ask about all sorts of Muggle things, his eyes shining; Percy cowered in his room most of the time, reportedly reading things like the Ministry of Magic official guidelines; Ginny gradually stopped being shy and would quietly hand him a cookie; while Fred and George hit it off with him almost immediately.

The three of them quickly gathered together.

The twins' interest in magic items, modified charms, and covert pranks clicked instantly with Amster's sensitivity to magic structures, magic power control, and intricate mechanisms.

They dug out a pile of old materials in the attic, discussing back and forth how to make Lumos more interesting, and how to make minor magic harmless yet bright enough.

Fred patted the trunk and said: "We've been researching a kind of fireworks that disappears on its own, it's just that the stability is a bit poor."

George continued: "Sometimes it explodes faster than it lights up."

Amster tapped his fingertips gently on the wooden board: "The problem lies in the rhythm of magic power injection; it's not that the fiercer the better, it needs to be even."

The twins looked at each other, instantly perking up.

"An expert!"

"Now we've got something fun to play with!"

"If we'd known, we would have talked to you earlier; we thought you were as rigid as Percy."

The three of them hit it off immediately, staying in the attic for most of the day, laughter leaking out from the cracks in the door from time to time.

Mrs. Weasley shouted downstairs "Don't blow up the house", but she didn't actually stop them.

Amster rarely had such a relaxed time, without having to put on airs or care about status, just tinkering with peace of mind on things he liked alongside people who got along well.

Yet amidst the hustle and bustle, he always kept an eye on Ron.

In just a few short days, the problems on Ron could be seen very clearly.

During meals, he always complained that his mother didn't give him enough, complaining that his older brothers snatched his things; when others said a word to him, he instantly bristled, feeling that everyone was targeting him; seeing Amster and the twins chatting congenially, and being favored by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, he couldn't hide the jealousy on his face, yet refused to admit it, only brooding sulkily on the side; encountering a minor issue, he would shrink back first, saying it didn't matter with his mouth, while his eyes were full of resentment and inferiority.

Once after dinner, everyone gathered around the fireplace to chat.

Mr. Weasley casually mentioned Amster's talent in charms, and Percy also nodded in approval.

Ron sat in the corner, his fingers digging into the sofa seams, muttering softly: "What's so great about it..."

The voice was not loud, but it happened to be heard by the people nearby.

Fred frowned: "Ron, shut up."

George also gave him a gentle tug: "Don't talk nonsense."

Ron instantly flushed red, standing up abruptly: "I didn't say anything wrong!" Finished speaking, he stamped upstairs and slammed the door shut fiercely.

Mrs. Weasley sighed helplessly: "This child... his temper has been getting weirder lately."

Mr. Weasley shook his head, also having a bit of a headache.

Amster didn't pick up the conversation, just quietly watching the leaping flames in the fireplace.

He saw it very clearly — Ron wasn't bad, just blocked in his heart by too many emotions.

The older brothers at home were all too dazzling, Percywas a prefect, the twins were clever and bold, and sandwiched in the middle, long neglected and compared, his heart was both inferior and sensitive, his self-esteem so strong it would shatter at a single touch.

When encountering someone better than himself, his first reaction wasn't to learn, but jealousy and resistance; when encountering pressure, his first reaction wasn't to shoulder it, but to hide and complain.

This was a very obvious shortcoming in personality, but it was also worn out day by day.

He didn't point it out, nor did he say much.

Some things couldn't be changed by a sentence from an outsider.

In the evening, the twins dragged him out to the courtyard to test the modified minor magic.

In the chilly winter night, several soft and steady lights lit up in mid-air, neither exploding nor flashing, neat and pretty.

Fred whistled: "Perfect!"

George patted his shoulder: "Amster, you must come often in the future."

"If you don't come, we'll tie you up and bring you here even if we have to." Fred added.

The three of them looked at each other and smiled, their tacit understanding completely solidified at this moment.

Amster looked up at the window of The Burrow, the warm yellow light shining through from inside, the voices of the family vague, while Ron's sulking door remained closed.

He understood in his heart that this trip to The Burrow was not just a Christmas visit.

He got to know the complete the Weasleys, truly became partners with Fred and George who could tinker together and trust each other completely, and also saw clearly the personality hidden in Ron that might cause a lot of trouble in the future.

The night grew deeper and deeper, and the cold became heavier.

The twins put their arms around his shoulders and walked towards the house, clamoring to research a few more new ideas.

Mrs. Weasley's hot cocoa had already been brewed, its aroma filling the entire room.

The footsteps of Christmas drew closer and closer, and the hustle, bustle, and warmth of The Burrow blocked the winter's cold outside.

Amster stood in the lights, looking at the noisy yet exceptionally sincere family before him, gently exhaling a puff of white breath.

Some encounters leave deep traces right from the beginning.

Some small shadows hidden beneath the hustle and bustle, he saw them in his eyes and kept them in his heart, just quietly waiting to see what form they would emerge in the future.

He followed the twins into the warm house, the door closing gently behind him, shutting the wind of the winter night outside.

New friendships quietly took root by the hearth; those unrevealed hidden worries were also left together in this bustling and real Christmas.

Chapter 15 Another Letter From Devon and Advanced Alchemy

The warm door of The Burrow closed gently behind him, leaving the whole Christmas commotion and festive atmosphere behind.

Amster returned to Hogwarts with the the Weasleys. The lingering warmth of the New Year had not yet dissipated, and Christmas decorations still hung throughout the castle. Confetti and mistletoe that had not been fully cleaned up could occasionally be seen in the corridors, and the winter sunlight slanted across the stone paths, illuminating everything softly and quietly.

Having just returned from the bustling The Burrow and standing once again in the quiet castle, a sense of grounded tranquility settled deep within his heart instead.

He knew very well that the relaxation of Christmas was ultimately temporary, and the path he truly needed to walk was always bound to Alchemy.

The ease of chatting about new inventions with the twins at The Burrow, the warmth of watching the the Weasleysbicker, and even the minor flaws he silently noticed in Ron were all safely tucked away in the bottom of his heart. At this moment, what he looked forward to even more was another learning exchange with Mr. Flamel.

In the first week after the New Year, Hogwarts slowly returned to its usual rhythm. Classes, the Library, and the practice grounds proceeded step by step.

Penelope would still wait for him at the old spot by the window in the Library. The two of them would study quietly, occasionally exchanging a few words, creating a gentle and tacit atmosphere.

Cassandra would arrive promptly after class every Wednesday and Friday to learn magic control, being earnest and stubborn, with her progress visible to the naked eye.

The twins would also always sneak over during breaks to discuss new spells and gadgets, deepening the tacit understanding among the three of them.

On a calm afternoon, Amster had just stepped out of the Headmaster's Office and returned to the small space of the Room of Requirement, when he immediately noticed a new letter placed on the small round table where candies and pastries were usually kept.

Just by looking at the style of the envelope, he knew it was sent by Mr. Flamel's courier.

His heart stirred slightly, and he reached out to pick up the letter.

The envelope was simple yet thick, and the handwriting on it was steady and powerful, clearly written by Nicolas Flamel himself.

The wooden door closed slowly behind him, and the flames in the fireplace automatically ignited, warmth immediately enveloping his entire body.

Amster sat down beside the Alchemy workbench, took a deep breath, and slowly opened the envelope.

Flamel's handwriting remained as composed and gentle as ever. The opening was a simple greeting, mentioning that he heard everything was well with him at Hogwarts, and that his studies and spells were going quite well. The tone carried the gratification only an elder would have.

But reading to the second half, Amster's fingertips unconsciously tightened slightly.

Flamel stated very clearly in the letter: he had carefully reviewed all the assignments and insights Amster had previously sent. His understanding of magic, his perception of material transformation, and his grasp of the path of balance had all far exceeded the level of ordinary Hogwarts students, and he could officially enter the advanced stage of Alchemy.

Basic theory and magic perception were already sufficient; there was no need to remain stuck on paper and simulation exercises anymore. It was time to truly roll up his sleeves and craft Alchemy items.

To guide him, Flamel had even specially attached a full three pages of handwritten notes in the letter.

The notes listed several basic Alchemy items suitable for crafting during the advanced stage: the calming stone to steady the mind, the glimmer powder to slightly enhance the fluency of magic, and a simple amulet capable of resisting ordinary Dark Arts.

The material ratio for each, the heat control, the rhythm of magic injection, and the details prone to errors were all written clearly and with unimaginable patience.

Flamel wrote at the end: "The true meaning of Alchemylies not in creating miracles, but in understanding all things."

"Crafting them with your own hands is the true advancement."

"There is no need to be impatient for success; every failure is yet another understanding of the world."

Amster flipped through the three pages of notes over and over again, his fingertips gently brushing across the handwriting on the paper, an unspeakable solemnity and excitement filling his heart.

This was Flamel's formal recognition of him.

From initially devouring theory, building a foundation of magic, and understanding material properties, to now being affirmed that he could craft Alchemy items with his own hands, his path of Alchemy had finally taken its most crucial step.

He did not rush to start. Following Flamel's consistent teachings, he first calmed his mind to thoroughly memorize the three pages of notes.

Sitting by the warm fireplace, he deduced over and over again in his mind the properties of each material, the rhythm of magic at each step, and every node of change, until all processes were as clear as if he had seen them with his own eyes.

In the evening, he went to the Library to look up several materials mentioned in Flamel's notes.

Penelope was still sitting in her old spot. Seeing him enter, she nodded gently, her gaze sweeping over the notes clenched tightly in his hand without asking questions. She simply pushed a pile of organized potions and Alchemybooks in front of him in silence.

"New additions to the collection for the New Year, perhaps they will be useful to you." She said softly.

"Thank you." Amster nodded, feeling a warmth in his heart.

He sat down quietly to look up information, and Penelopealso lowered her head to write her essay. In the Library, there was only the soft sound of pen tips gliding across paper.

Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened; winter nights arrived early. The warm yellow light fell on the desktop between the two of them, quiet and steady.

Leaving the Library, Amster went to the Hogwartsmaterial storage room and applied for the required materials under the guise of Alchemy practice: silver powder, dried moonflower petals, raw quartz stones, pure spring water, and so on.

The managing professor knew that he had been studying under Flamel, so he didn't ask much and readily gave him the materials, only instructing him to be safe.

Returning to the Room of Requirement, everything was prepared properly.

The workbench was wiped clean, the furnace fire was adjusted to the temperature most suitable for Alchemy, the materials were arranged in order, and Flamel's three pages of notes were laid flat in the most conspicuous place.

Amster took a deep breath, casting aside all distracting thoughts in his mind, leaving only focus and stability.

What he tried first was the glimmer powder, which had the lowest difficulty.

According to the notes, he first slowly dried the moonflower petals over a gentle fire to ensure the magic did not drain away; then he finely ground the raw quartz stones, ensuring the particles were uniform; finally, he mixed the silver powder and spring water in proportion, guiding them with stable and continuous magic so that the three substances achieved a faint resonance while retaining their own characteristics.

The process was much stricter than it sounded.

If the heat for the petals was slightly too high, they would char black; if the magic was slightly too strong, they would turn directly into flying ash. If the quartz wasn't ground finely enough, it wouldn't blend evenly later. If the rhythm of the magic was slightly disrupted, the entire batch of materials would lose its luster and turn into a pile of useless mixtures.

The first two attempts both failed completely.

Amster did not become impatient or discouraged.

Flamel's words were already deeply engraved in his heart: "Alchemy has no failures, only a balance not yet found."

He quietly cleaned up the failed waste materials, readjusted his state, and slightly corrected the heat and magic rhythm.

On the third attempt, everything was just right.

The gentle fire was mild, and the petals were dry yet carried a faint silver glow; the quartz powder was as fine as dust, with uniform particles; magic poured in slowly and unhurriedly, like water seeping into sandy soil.

The several materials gently merged inside the copper vessel, emitting a soft white light, with moderate temperature and a light breath.

When he slowly withdrew his magic, inside the vessel was already a handful of delicate, faintly glowing silver-pink powder.

The glimmer powder was done.

Amster looked at that faint yet stable light in his palm; there was no wild joy in his heart, only a calm and grounded sense of achievement.

This was the first Alchemy item he had truly completed independently, and his first response to Flamel.

He did not stop, continuing to make the calming stonewhile retaining the feel.

With the successful experience of the glimmer powder, he became more proficient in magic control and material balance. Although he failed twice more, he ultimately crafted a piece of quartz calming stone with a smooth surface and a calming aura.

Holding that slightly cool, small stone that could calm people down, Amster finally let out a soft sigh of relief.

Outside the window, it was completely dark. Inside the Room of Requirement, there was only the furnace fire and the faint glow of the Alchemy items, quiet yet powerful.

He carefully put away the successful glimmer powder and calming stone, folded Flamel's three pages of notes neatly, and placed them into his inner pocket.

Flamel's recognition was both an affirmation and a new beginning.

From this day on, he was no longer just a student reciting Alchemy theory, but a true Alchemy apprentice who began to create with his own hands and touch the essence of the world firsthand.

Cleaning up the workbench and extinguishing the furnace fire, Amster slowly walked out of the Room of Requirement.

The corridors were already very quiet, with only a few students walking quickly holding books. The winter cold wind blew past outside the window, yet it could not blow away the firmness and warmth in his heart.

Just as the New Year began, Flamel's letter and notes had clearly pointed out the road for his next stage.

The door to advanced Alchemy had already opened for him.

More complex formulas, finer crafting, and deeper truths awaited him ahead, but he was not confused at all.

He walked step by step down the quiet corridor, the lamplight drawing his shadow very long.

In the new year and the new stage, his path of Alchemywas steadily moving forward in a deeper and farther direction.

Chapter 16: Candies, Chocolates, and the Phoenix's Glimmer

The corridors of Hogwarts still carried the lingering tranquility of the New Year.

Amster walked forward along the glow of the corridor lamps, his heart still retaining the steadfast composure brought by Flamel's letter.

The advanced door of Alchemy had opened before him, yet life consisted of more than just the hearth and vessels of the Room of Requirement.

February gradually deepened, and a gentle aura quietly permeated the castle, even making the mistletoe in the corridors carry a hint of ambiguous elusiveness.

Valentine's Day had arrived just like that.

The students had long been unable to suppress their excitement; beautifully packaged candies and chocolates appeared on the long tables of the Great Hall, figures holding gifts could be seen from time to time in the corridors, and the air was filled with a sweet, cloying scent.

Amster had never been particularly enthusiastic about such festivals, yet he had still carefully prepared gifts before the holiday, sending some far away to Beauxbatonsand keeping some for the person who had quietly stayed by his side all along.

The afternoon sunlight spilled through the glass windows into the corridor, and a brightly feathered owl landed on his shoulder, with a small package tied to its leg.

Amster recognized at a glance that this was a messenger from Beauxbatons in France.

Unpacking the parcel, a crisp floral fragrance mixed with the scent of candy drifted out.

Inside was an elegantly packaged box of French candies, each piece round and translucent, accompanied by a short note with elegant handwriting.

It was a letter from Fleur.

The tone was brisk and bright, carrying the coy charm and politeness unique to a young girl.

She said she had received the candies he sent long ago, liked them very much, and had specially sent back candies from her hometown, hoping he would accept them.

At the end, she gently mentioned that her coursework at Beauxbatons wasn't too busy, she often thought of their encounter in Devon, and looked forward to seeing him next time.

Amster put the candies away, his fingertips brushing against the stationery, and a faint warmth welled up in his heart.

Fleur was still as enthusiastic and straightforward as when they first met, and this gift crossing the strait was a friend's most sincere remembrance.

Just as he put the letter away and turned around, he bumped into Penelope holding a stack of books.

The girl stood in the sunlight, her expression remaining quiet and gentle, except that the tips of her ears were slightly red.

Seeing the package in Amster's hand, her gaze flashed gently without asking much; she simply took a small box out from between her books and handed it to him.

The packaging was simple and elegant, without excess flashiness, yet one could tell a lot of care had been put into it.

"I... also prepared a little something." Penelope's voice was soft and gentle, her gaze slightly averted, "Happy Valentine's Day."

Amster took the box, his fingertips touching the slightly cool paper box, and warmth flooded his heart.

Opening it, he saw handmade chocolates with regular shapes and a rich aroma, obviously crafted with considerable thought.

"Thank you, I love it." His tone was sincere.

Penelope looked up at him, shallow smiles rippling at the corners of her eyes, and said no more.

Between the two of them, there was an unspoken tacit understanding; without passionate words or deliberate closeness, simply quiet companionship and just-the-right remembrance were tender enough.

Amster had been prepared for this and took out the return gift he had prepared for her—a small trinket he had carefully crafted after newly learning Alchemy, a simple amulet glowing faintly and capable of calming the mind.

He quietly handed it over.

"A return gift."

Penelope was slightly startled, then took it, her fingertips gently brushing against the warm, smooth amulet and feeling the faint calming aura upon it, deepening her smile.

She didn't probe into its origin, simply putting it away carefully and nodding gently.

Without too many words, each other's intentions were understood.

The sunlight fell between the two of them, quiet and warm, much like the unassuming yet steadfast affection between them.

The days passed slowly amidst calm studying and practicing, and the sweetness of Valentine's Day gradually faded.

Amster's life continued in its usual orderly fashion: classes, the Library, practicing Alchemy in the Room of Requirement, and the unyielding once-a-week trip to the Headmaster's Office.

He had long been accustomed to spending a quiet reading time with Dumbledore in the Headmaster's Office.

That was a special lesson the headmaster uncle had intentionally arranged for him after returning from Devonat the end of last semester.

Beside the large desk were piled ancient Alchemy books, and Fawkes often perched quietly on a branch, its golden feathers radiating a soft glow.

Dumbledore always looked at him gently, not disturbing him much, only using simple yet profound words to enlighten him whenever he encountered confusion.

This week, Amster pushed open the door to the Headmaster's Office as usual.

The room remained warm, and a faint scent of lemon biscuits drifted in the air.

Dumbledore sat in his chair, his fingertips tapping lightly against his teacup, and seeing him enter, a gentle smile bloomed in the depths of his eyes.

"Amster, you've come just in time."

Amster walked casually to his familiar spot and sat down, preparing to pick up the unfinished Alchemy classic.

Right at that moment, Fawkes on the branch suddenly let out a clear and resonant cry.

A golden radiance suddenly flared up.

Flames ignited all around Fawkes, gentle yet dazzling, and these flames were not scorching at all, instead carrying a pure and warm power.

Golden feathers fluttered gently in the firelight, and the old phoenix's body gradually grew transparent, as if about to melt into the light.

Immediately afterwards, amidst a soft radiance, a young phoenix slowly emerged from the ashes, its wings tender yet carrying an unquestionable force of rebirth.

Reborn from the ashes.

Amster was stunned watching this, his gaze tightly following that mass of golden light, an indescribable shock surging in his heart.

He had never witnessed a phoenix's rebirth from the ashes at such close range—that was the purest and most powerful vitality, the fusion of death and rebirth, the ultimate life miracle in the magical world.

Dumbledore stood quietly to the side, looking at Fawkeswith a tender gaze without disturbing him.

Until the radiance gradually dispersed and the young Fawkes gently shook its wings, settling back onto the branch, did Amster slowly withdraw his gaze, though his heart remained unsettled for a long time.

The rebirth of a phoenix represented endless vitality, pure, powerful, and ceaseless.

At this moment, he suddenly thought of Nicolas Flameland his wife.

Mr. Flamel was advanced in age, and even relying on the Philosopher's Stone to sustain life, the traces of time could not be completely erased.

He and his wife had accompanied each other for many years, having long reached the edge of life.

The Philosopher's Stone could prolong life, but it could not truly fill the fading of vitality.

And the pure vitality released by the phoenix's rebirth before his eyes—if it could be extracted, guided, and stabilized, perhaps it could be made into a potion, a potion that could replenish vitality for the aged.

Of course, given his current level, it was still far from enough.

phoenix potion.

A thought quietly sprouted in Amster's heart, clear and firm.

Mr. Flamel had taught him to understand all things and balance magic, teaching him that the true meaning of Alchemy was not creating miracles, but understanding and protection.

Now that he had stepped into the advanced stage of Alchemy and could craft items with his own hands, his next step was to try making a potion that could truly protect those dear to him.

Dumbledore seemed to see through his thoughts and spoke slowly, his voice gentle yet powerful: "The vitality of a phoenix is one of the purest powers in the magical world. It carries no aggressiveness, bearing only the meaning of protection and rebirth."

Amster looked up at Dumbledore, contemplation and seriousness in the depths of his eyes: "Uncle, I was wondering, can this pure vitality be stabilized into a potion using Alchemy?"

Dumbledore smiled slightly, his eyes full of approval: "Your idea is precious, Amster. The highest realm of Alchemy has never been the pursuit of immortality and power, but protection. In the fire of Fawkes's rebirth, endless vitality is indeed hidden, but refining it into a stable potion far exceeds the difficulty of anything you have made before."

"I know." Amster nodded gently, his gaze firm, "But I want to try."

Mr. Flamel had taught him unreservedly, giving him the most precious guidance and recognition.

Now, he hoped to use what he had learned to do something for that elderly alchemist mentor.

The phoenix potion was not only a new challenge in Alchemy, but also his sincere sentiment toward his mentor.

Dumbledore looked at the firmness in his eyes, did not stop him, and instead nodded slightly: "Alchemy requires patience, and it also requires courage. Fawkes is willing to be close to you; its flames and feathers can be appropriately harvested and researched under safe premises. I believe that with your composure and comprehension, you will eventually find your own path."

Having obtained Dumbledore's tacit approval and encouragement, Amster felt even more resolute.

He sat back down at the desk, but instead of opening the previous classics, he took out paper and pen, jotting down his thoughts regarding the phoenix potion item by item: the vitality radiating during the phoenix's rebirth, a pure magical medium, a stable alchemic carrier, harmonizing materials to balance the medicinal properties... every single item needed careful deliberation, and every single step required cautious experimentation.

The sunlight outside the window gradually slanted westward, and the Headmaster's Office was shrouded in quiet.

Dumbledore silently watched the youth bowing his head in thought, his eyes filled with gentle expectations.

Amster possessed a composure and kindness rare among his peers, extraordinary talent yet without arrogance or impatience, and a powerful background while always guarding his original intentions.

A child like this was destined to forge a path of his own.

Amster finished organizing his thoughts and gently closed the paper and pen.

Fawkes let out a soft chirp on the branch, and a golden glimmer fell onto his shoulder, like a silent approval.

He knew that the path of the phoenix potion would by no means be easy.

It would be a hundred times harder than making glimmer powder or calming stones, requiring countless trials, precise magic control, and a deeper understanding of vitality and Alchemy.

Yet he did not shrink back at all.

Mr. Flamel's guidance, Dumbledore's trust, the companionship of those around him—all of these were his confidence to move forward.

From the warmth of The Burrow, to Flamel's affirmation, to the gentle remembrance of Valentine's Day, and the shock and inspiration brought by the phoenix's rebirth at this moment, Amster's path was becoming increasingly clear.

He was no longer just a student studying Alchemy, but an alchemist who wanted to use what he had learned to protect others.

The setting sun dyed the windows of the Headmaster's Office a warm orange, Fawkes's feathers radiated a soft glow, and ancient books stood quietly on the bookshelves.

Amster stood up and bowed slightly to Dumbledore.

"I'll head back first, Headmaster."

"Go ahead, Amster." Dumbledore smiled and nodded, "Remember, no matter what lies ahead, guarding your original intention is the best path."

Amster responded softly, pushed open the door to the Headmaster's Office, and slowly walked into the corridor.

Night gradually descended, and the lights of Hogwarts lit up one by one, like scattered stars.

Holding the paper and pen in his arms and feeling the lingering phoenix glimmer on his fingertips, he felt incomparably firm.

The tenderness of Valentine's Day, the remembrance of distant friends, the tacit understanding of confidants nearby, the Headmaster's trust, Mr. Flamel's expectations, and the brand-new direction brought by the phoenix's rebirth were all intertwined, becoming the strength driving him forward.

The path of Alchemy continued to stretch onward, and this time, his goal was no longer merely advancement and breakthrough, but protection and warmth.

The idea of the phoenix potion took root and sprouted deep in his heart; one day, he would turn that pure vitality into a force of protection, accompanying that elderly alchemist who had given him everything to walk further and more steadily.

Amster walked slowly forward along the brightly lit corridor, his figure drawn slender by the lamplight.

The road ahead remained long, yet his pace was steady and resolute.

New challenges had arrived, and he was ready.

Chapter 17 The Mentor of Fantastic Beasts and a Stroll in the Garden

The lights in the corridor shone gently just like the previous night. Carrying the inspiration brought by Fawkes's rebirth, Amster continued to take steps forward in Alchemy. The March wind had lost the chill of winter, passing through the windows of Hogwarts, brushing against the stone walls, making the newly sprouted buds on the branches sway gently, and quietly delivering an invitation from afar right before him.

Ever since the idea of Fawkes's rebirth and the phoenix potion took root in his heart, Amster's days gained a heavy sense of anticipation. He would still hone his Alchemyskills over and over again in the Room of Requirement, becoming increasingly proficient in making glimmer powder and the calming stone, and spent most of his spare time soaking in the Library, searching through all ancient books related to vitality and phoenixes. Dumbledore tacitly allowed him to come into contact with the scattered flames and feathers of Fawkes, so the boy put away his usual casualness in front of his uncle, always holding a sense of awe as he collected, observed, and recorded bit by bit, hoping to find the key to extracting pure vitality from them.

Going to the Headmaster's Office once a week also became a time he cherished very much. Dumbledorewould never forcibly interfere with his research, but could always hand over a dusty ancient book at just the right moment, or drop a casual yet enlightening remark that woke him from confusion, allowing Amster to always find his direction in the fog.

On this day, he pushed open the door to the Headmaster's Office as usual. Besides the familiar scent of lemon biscuits, the air carried an unusual touch of solemnity. Dumbledore was not sitting behind his desk grading documents, but standing by the window, looking at the newly sprouting trees in the courtyard, his fingertips gently touching the branch where Fawkes perched. Hearing the footsteps, the old headmaster slowly turned around, his half-moon spectacles reflecting a soft light, the smile in his eyes carrying a bit more seriousness than usual.

"Amster, I have something to tell you."

Amster gently stood still, waiting quietly. He could feel that what his uncle was about to say next was no small matter.

Dumbledore walked slowly in front of him, his tone gentle yet clear: "I know that besides Alchemy, you have always liked magical creatures and have been studying them earnestly. I have recommended a new mentor for you—Newt Scamander."

This name was like a soft thunderclap, pausing for a moment in Amster's heart.

Newt Scamander, the author of *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*, the top contemporary magizoologist, whose footprints spanned all over the world, possessed the most profound understanding and guardian heart for countless rare and exotic beasts. Such a legendary figure was actually willing to be his mentor?

Seeing the surprise in his eyes, Dumbledore nodded and continued: "Mr. Scamander has heard of your dedication and awe toward magical creatures, and he is very willing to meet you. He happens to be near Scotland during this period, and during Easter, you can visit his temporary residence. I have already arranged it for you, and he will be waiting for you there."

Amster suppressed the excitement in his heart and revealed the relaxed smile he usually had in front of family: "My dear uncle, I am indeed very interested in magical creatures. But are you sure that as a second-year student, I can balance Alchemy and magical creature research at the same time?"

He was not solely obsessed with Alchemy. The mystery and purity of magical creatures equally fascinated him. Mr. Flamel had once told him that the essence of Alchemy is to understand all things, and magical creatures are precisely the most lively and closest part of nature's magic among all things. Being able to receive guidance from Newt Scamander would undoubtedly elevate his understanding of nature, magic, and life to a whole new level.

Dumbledore smiled and waved his hand: "Don't worry about these things, Amster. You deserve such an opportunity. Remember, when dealing with magical creatures, the most important thing is never how much knowledge one has, but awe and gentleness—and in this regard, you have always done very well."

Fawkes chirped softly on the branch, its golden feathers brushing against Amster's shoulder, as if giving him a blessing.

When leaving the Headmaster's Office, the March sunshine landed on his shoulders, warming his heart so much it felt sweet. The research on the phoenix potion had direction, and now with Mr. Scamander's invitation, every step since the beginning of the year had been steady and hopeful. Amster walked slowly along the corridor, intending to go to the Library first to organize a set of notes on magical creatures in preparation for their meeting during Easter. Passing by the castle kitchen, however, he unexpectedly bumped into a familiar figure.

Cedric Diggory was standing at the kitchen door, holding a freshly baked pumpkin pasty in his hand. Seeing Amster, a friendly smile instantly rose on his gentle face. He had always been dashing, courteous, and was a recognized model student of Hufflepuff. Though he and Amster were not inseparable, they had always maintained a good relationship.

"Amster." Cedric took the initiative to speak, his voice clear and gentle: "I just saw Penelope; she was carrying books toward the courtyard, saying she was waiting for you."

A single sentence made Amster's footsteps pause slightly.

The tacit understanding from Valentine's Day in February still lingered in his heart. Penelope had been keeping the Alchemy amulet he made with his own hands well-guarded, and occasionally the inadvertent exposure of its warm, smooth edge at her fingertips would always make the two of them exchange a knowing smile. They had never had a passionate confession, but day after day of accompanying each other in the Library, tacit nods in class, and occasional soft conversations slowly precipitated a quiet yet solid bond of affection.

Amster nodded gently and thanked Cedric. Cedric smiled knowingly, asked no more questions, and turned to walk into the kitchen, leaving the quietness to the two people about to meet.

The courtyard of Hogwarts had long shed the desolation of winter. The March spring breeze brushed across the grass, bringing up a layer of light green. The branches of the cherry blossom tree were laden with pink buds, and as the wind blew, scattered floral shadows fell. Penelopestood under the cherry blossom tree, holding a thick ancient book in her arms. The collar of her white shirt fluttered gently in the wind, as quiet as a gentle painting.

Hearing the footsteps, the girl raised her head. Seeing Amster walking over, a shallow smile instantly rippled at the bottom of her eyes, without any surprise, as if she had known all along that he would come.

"I guessed you would walk this way," Penelope said softly, her voice rendered exceptionally soft by the spring breeze.

Amster walked to her side, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her under the cherry blossom tree. The tips of their noses were surrounded by the faint fragrance of flowers and the ink scent of book pages: "Cedric told me you were waiting for me."

Penelope smiled slightly, the tips of her ears turning slightly red, but she did not avoid his gaze. She hugged the book in her arms a bit tighter, turned slightly, and walked slowly with him along the path of the courtyard. The spring breeze brushed across the tips of their hair, the grass beneath their feet was soft, and there were sounds of students playing and laughing in the distance, yet none of it disturbed this quietness belonging solely to them.

"Have you been busy with Alchemy research recently?" Penelope asked softly, her tone devoid of probing, filled only with gentle care.

"Mmm." Amster nodded without hiding anything: "And notes on magical creatures. My uncle recommended Mr. Newt Scamander to me, and I'm going to visit him during Easter."

A flash of pleasant surprise crossed Penelope's eyes: "Is it the author of *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them*? That's wonderful, you've always liked his book."

She remembered the dog-eared copy of *Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them* on his bookshelf, remembered how he occasionally pondered quietly over the illustrations in the book, and remembered his unchanging gentleness toward all living creatures. Her joy was genuinely and truly happiness for him.

The two walked side-by-side in the spring breeze, without needing to deliberately look for topics or feeling the slightest bit of awkwardness. They would chat about knowledge points in class, newly arrived books in the Library, and the cherry blossoms about to bloom in the courtyard. Occasionally falling silent, a mere exchange of glances was enough to understand each other's feelings.

Penelope quietly raised her hand, her fingertips gently touching the Alchemy amulet beneath her collar. It was a gift from him, carrying the glimmer that calmed the mind, along with his unique gentleness. Amster noticed her movement, a faint smile gently curving the corners of his mouth, and the warmth deep within his heart slowly spread out like the spring breeze.

Neither of them was good at passionate expression, yet in the enduring companionship, they placed each other in the softest place deep in their hearts. There were no earth-shattering oaths, only day-after-day remembrance and tacit understanding—this was the most secure gentleness belonging to them.

The setting sun gradually slanted westward, stretching their figures long and overlapping them on the path covered with fallen petals. The spring breeze carried the fragrance of cherry blossoms, sweeping across the courtyard of Hogwarts and passing over the figures of the boy and girl walking side by side.

Amster knew that the Easter invitation was a new challenge, the research on the phoenix potion was still long, and the path of Alchemy continued to stretch forward. But at this moment, he didn't need to think about those complex formulas and profound theories; he only needed to quietly enjoy this companionship in the spring breeze and this tacit gentleness.

As the sky grew late, the two walked slowly back to the castle. Penelope stopped at the entrance of the Library, turned back, and smiled softly at him: "I'll read books here, you go back and organize your notes."

"Okay." Amster nodded, his gaze gentle: "I'll come find you later."

The girl gave a soft acknowledgment and turned to walk into the warm Library, her figure disappearing among the bookshelves.

Amster stood in place, watching her retreating figure, his heart filled with peaceful warmth. The new spring breeze brought a new mentor and new opportunities, and also made that tender affection deep in his heart grow more mellow over time.

He turned and walked toward the Room of Requirement, his steps light and firm.

Ahead, the mysteries of magical creatures awaited exploration, the peaks of Alchemy awaited climbing, gentle affection accompanied him by his side, and the expectations and guidance of mentors were present. The spring breeze was just right, the road ahead was bright, and everything was slowly moving forward in the best possible direction.

Chapter 18: A Shura Field? Non-existent

The March evening breeze carried the faint fragrance of cherry blossoms, winding around the stone walls of Hogwarts and drifting across the corridor.

Amster stepped over the shattered light of the corridor lamps as he walked towards the Room of Requirement, his fingertips still retaining the warmth of walking side by side with Penelope in the courtyard just moments ago.

While mentally organizing the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them notes he wanted to bring to Newt, he was also thinking about the details of the phoenix potion, his steps steady yet brisk.

The doors of the Room of Requirement quietly materialized before him.

This place was specially chosen by him to guide Cassandra—according to him, magic cultivation required a quiet, private, and undisturbed space.

Penelope had actually been here before too, but as for why she came, he didn't elaborate, and she didn't ask much.

Pushing the door open, the warm yellow wizarding lamps spilled all over the room.

Cassandra stood in the center of the room, her body wrapped in a faint silver-blue halo, clearly concentrating on refining her magic control.

Ever since their spar last time, Cassandra had poured her heart and soul into magic retraction and release.

She was naturally talented, and coupled with this nearly stubborn focus, her progress was shockingly fast, and she had now truly touched the threshold of a new tier.

Amster lightened his footsteps, leaning against the doorframe without making a sound.

Only to see the silver-blue magic slowly flowing at her fingertips, initially like a gentle stream flowing softly, suddenly condensing into a few slender threads of light, weaving a small and regular magic array in the air.

The lines were clear, the fluctuations stable, with almost not a shred of excess overflow—this was a sign that magic control had stepped into a high level, meaning she could control her power down to the finest fraction, something very few people in the same grade could achieve.

Cassandra had long sensed his arrival, but did not stop immediately.

With a gentle lift of her fingertips, the silver-blue magic array dissipated, turning into specks of micro-light that hovered in her palm for a moment before quietly withdrawing back into her body, the halo around her body fading away together, clean and neat.

She turned around, her usually aloof brows and eyes hiding a very faint smile.

Her gaze towards Amster was far more intimate than when they first met.

"You're back."

Her voice was still crisp and clear, just softened by a few shades.

As she walked towards him, her steps were lighter than usual, "I was just trying magic condensation, and I finally got the feel of a breakthrough."

Amster walked forward with a smile, his eyes filled with straightforward praise: "You've progressed very fast, your retraction and release are much steadier than before. At this standard, there are very few in the same grade who can compare."

The words were down-to-earth, without excessive intimacy, yet enough to let one hear his recognition of her hard work.

Praised like this by him, the tips of Cassandra's ears turned slightly red, and her expression grew softer.

She didn't step back, but instead walked forward half a step lightly, her voice softening: "It's because the method you taught works, otherwise I wouldn't have found the knack so quickly."

That reliance and joy were hardly concealed, making her look like a completely different person from her usual cold self.

Right at this moment, soft footsteps came from the doorway.

Penelope stood there holding a few ancient spell books, the gentleness from the courtyard just now having faded a bit.

She looked at the two people standing so close together, especially noticing the look in Cassandra's eyes as she looked at Amster.

Her fingers holding the books tightened slightly, and her tone carried a trace of awkwardness she herself hadn't noticed, saying softly: "She's always looking for you lately."

The room fell silent for an instant.

Penelope was always gentle and introverted, almost never saying words with such petty emotions.

Clearly, seeing the two standing close and chatting intently, a quiet sourness had welled up in her heart.

Although Cassandra was cold, she was not ignorant of human relations.

She heard the implication in Penelope's words, raised her eyes to look over, neither backing down nor tit-for-tat, but saying calmly: "I look for him to consult on magic cultivation. His skills are much better than mine and worth learning, so naturally I'm willing to ask more."

The words were spoken straightforwardly and openly, both explaining the reason and not hiding her appreciation for Amster.

Penelope pressed her lips together gently, saying no more, just lowering her head to look at the books in her arms, that sullen emotion not yet dissipating.

She and Amster had the tacit understanding of accompanying each other day and night in the Library, the unspoken hints in class, steady and enduring like a long stream.

But Cassandra's direct and fervent approach made her, who was always introverted, inexplicably flustered.

This was the first time Amster had encountered such a subtle scene. It wasn't awkward, but it had to be smoothed over properly.

He first turned slightly sideways, quietly putting a little distance between himself and Cassandra, then walked over to Penelope, his gaze gentle, and reached out to take the books in her arms.

As his fingertips touched her slightly cool fingers, his tone was light and clear: "I was just talking to Cassandra about her breakthrough. She's been practicing hard this period and finally found the feel, so we chatted a bit more about cultivation matters."

His tone was peaceful and impartial, both affirming Cassandra's efforts and pacifying Penelope's emotions, the sense of proportion just right.

He put the books on the table, stood between the two of them, looked at them in turn, and smiled sincerely: "You are both very important friends to me. You should naturally be more at ease and not so estranged."

Penelope raised her eyes and met his gentle gaze, the sourness in her heart slowly dissipating, replaced by a shallow warmth.

She nodded gently, a slight smile appearing at the corner of her lips, saying nothing, yet already understanding his meaning.

She was not a petty person to begin with, and that awkwardness just now was only a temporary emotion.

Cassandra also heard his stance, the gaze she directed at Penelope softening somewhat, losing its competitiveness and gaining more peace: "I didn't mean anything else, I just wanted to learn more so that whether it's classroom practicals or magic trials in the future, I can be a bit steadier."

Penelope smiled gently, her eyes gaining a bit more recognition: "You were naturally talented to begin with, and with such hard work, rapid progress is only natural. In the future, if I see content related to magic control in ancient books, I can also show it to you."

Seeing that the subtle barrier between the two had dispersed, Amster breathed a sigh of relief and smiled.

With a wave of his hand, the copper pot on the stove automatically raised a small flame, the fresh milk slowly heating up.

The honey jar and cocoa powder moved slightly, and the sweet aroma quickly spread—this was a wandless magic he frequently used, simple, yet very thoughtful.

"Since we're all here today, let's brew some hot cocoa. Cedric just gave me some new honey candies from Honeydukes, adding them in should be nice."

Cassandra stepped forward, naturally placing the porcelain cups on the table without extra actions; Penelope pulled over a chair and sat down, casually opening the ancient book she brought, occasionally looking up at the busy Amster with tender eyes.

The warm yellow lighting fell upon the three of them, the sweet aroma of cocoa covering up the slight subtlety in the atmosphere from just now, leaving only peace and gentleness.

Cassandra leaned against the edge of the stove, watching Amster gently stir the hot cocoa with his wand, occasionally asking a question or two about the details of magic cultivation.

The intimacy was still there, only with added discretion;

Penelope sat quietly to the side, occasionally interjecting to talk about the magic condensation recorded in the ancient books, her brows and eyes gentle, that enduring, flowing tacit understanding always present.

Not long after, three cups of hot cocoa were placed on the table, each cup added with a spoonful of honey candy.

Amster pushed the cups in front of them: "Have a taste, the temperature is just right, not hot."

Cassandra picked hers up and took a sip, the sweet aroma spreading in her mouth, the warmth sinking straight into her heart.

She looked at Amster and smiled softly: "It's delicious, even richer than Honeydukes'."

Penelope also took a small sip, her smile becoming more obvious as she nodded: "The sweetness is just right, neutralizing the slight bitterness of the cocoa very comfortably."

The three sat around the table, the lighting soft, the atmosphere steady and calm.

Amster brought up visiting Newt Scamander during Easter, causing curiosity to appear in Cassandra's eyes as she softly asked some questions about magical creatures.

Although she was wholeheartedly practicing magic, she wasn't completely uninterested in the magical traits of magical creatures;

Penelope listened quietly, occasionally adding a sentence or two—she remembered that worn-out copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them on Amster's bookshelf, knowing this was something he had always liked.

As they chatted, Cassandra suddenly remembered something and tapped gently against the tabletop.

A thread of silver-blue magic overflowed from her fingertips, condensing into a small crystal on the table, glossy and translucent, glowing with a faint light.

This was a companion crystal naturally condensed after a magic breakthrough in tier, which could slightly stabilize the surrounding magic fluctuations.

"This is what I condensed after my breakthrough; it can stabilize a small range of magic. When you research Alchemy, you might find it useful."

Her voice was light, with a hint of expectation in her eyes, "Consider it a thank you for teaching me so many practical things."

Amster picked up the crystal, his fingertips touching the slightly cool surface, clearly feeling the condensed and stable power inside.

He felt happy in his heart, his tone sincere: "You're thoughtful. I happen to need a stable environment for Alchemy arrays, and this couldn't be more appropriate."

He carefully put it away, still maintaining a well-judged sense of distance.

Penelope looked at the crystal and also praised with a smile: "It's condensed so exquisitely. To be able to control magic to this extent, you're getting more and more amazing."

The corners of Cassandra's mouth raised slightly, and the gaze she directed at Penelope gained a bit more friendliness.

That vague, elusive barrier between the two completely dispersed within these few simple words.

The night grew deeper, and the March evening breeze gently blew past the window, carrying the scent of cherry blossoms.

The lighting in the room remained soft, and the sweet aroma of hot cocoa lingered for a long time.

Amster leaned against the back of his chair, with the gentle and quiet Penelope on his left, and the aloof yet increasingly intimate Cassandra on his right.

The three chatted about small matters in class, details of magic cultivation, occasionally falling silent without a shred of awkwardness.

That gentleness and tacit understanding belonging only to them slowly settled in the night.

Penelope flipped through the ancient books, occasionally raising her head to exchange a glance with Amster; understanding each other, they smiled gently.

Cassandra sat to the side, her fingertips lightly touching the tabletop, looking at Amster from time to time; her appreciation and intimacy were not hidden, yet she always maintained her discretion.

Between the three of them was a budding affection, a sincere appreciation; without being explicitly stated, there was naturally a segment of gentleness.

Outside the window simulated by the Room of Requirement, cherry blossoms drifted down gently.

Moonlight condensed from magic passed through the glass, casting fine, fragmented silver radiance onto the wooden table, illuminating three cups of hot cocoa that had long since gone cold.

This was the first time the two girls had come here; the night scenery, moonlight, and falling cherry blossoms outside the window were all specially conjured by the room—in Amster's words, this made it feel more real.

Amster looked at the two people beside him, the corners of his mouth curving into a gentle arc, thinking quietly to himself: After seeing Mr. Newt during Easter, if he ran across suitable small magical creature trinkets, he would bring one for each of them.

This gentleness and beauty in March were worth remembering well.

Burned out, brothers. Seems I'm not very good at describing this—3,700 words, revising for over an hour.