Chapter 26 An Invitation from Newt
The warmth in the Hog's Head wrapped around the faint scent of malt.
Amster held the cup of butterbeer, warmed to just the right temperature, temporarily suppressing the faint silver light at the village entrance and the unorganized phoenix potionrecipe in his mind deep into his heart.
Aberforth leaned against the edge of the bar, silently wiping an old cup, asking no extra questions, only occasionally lifting his eyes to glance at him, confirming that he was sitting securely was enough.
In such quiet moments, he shouldn't be thinking about anything at all, just staying at ease.
Yet some things never truly stood still just because someone wanted to stop.
In the blink of an eye, it was August.
Hogwarts was empty, and in the long corridors, the sound of footsteps carried a long way.
Amster's days were regular and peaceful: mornings were spent soaking in the Library or the Potions classroom, afternoons were spent facing the replies from Nicolas Flamel and Newt Scamander, polishing the ideas for the phoenix potion bit by bit; evenings were either spent walking casually around the castle or taking a stroll around Hogsmeade.
Occasionally, when he bumped into the silver light seeping from underground, he only looked at it a moment longer, no longer in a rush to immediately figure out the reason behind it.
Fawkes still remained in the Headmaster's Office, occasionally curling up on the crossbar to rest, sometimes spreading its fiery red wings to circle around, dropping a few soft feathers.
Amster tucked the earliest one he picked up into the flyleaf of his potion notes, and every time he opened it, he could touch that gentle yet firm vitality.
Ancient Magic was slowly awakening in the dark, and the phoenix potion was slowly being perfected on paper, yet he never stopped his footsteps.
What broke this peace was a morning in mid-August.
He had just come out of the Library carrying a few thick books when a dusty owl landed on the corridor railing, with a letter tied to its leg.
Amster recognized at a glance that it was Newt Scamander's handwriting—gentle, neat, and carrying a hint of vegetation breath from years of traveling outside.
He originally thought it was just ordinary observation sharing, but after opening the letter and reading it, the whole person froze in place.
Newt said in the letter that he was revising Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, supplementing it with new observations and records from these years.
While organizing materials, he recalled several times the data about magical creatures that Amster had previously shown him which he had organized himself: his love for magical creatures and his understanding of the balance of life far exceeded his age.
Therefore, he formally issued an invitation, hoping that Amster would participate in the compilation of the book as a special guest author, responsible for supplementing a part of the characteristics and descriptions of existing magical creatures.
At the end of the letter, Newt specifically exhorted: "There is no need to deliberately imitate anyone; just write what you truly see and truly feel. A detail, a small discovery, is precious enough."
Amster pinched the letter paper, standing in the corridor for a long time without moving.
"Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them" was a book that almost every wizard would read, a masterpiece written by Newt traveling around the world with his life's efforts.
And he, a youth still studying at Hogwarts, could actually be invited to become a special guest author and leave his name on the book.
This would be his authoritative recognition obtained in another field following Alchemy.
He did not start writing immediately, but brought the letter back to his room to reorganize the magical creature observation reports he had made to neighbors accompanied by his uncle over the years, until the sunlight moved from one side of the window to the other, before truly settling his heart.
He did not want to perfunctorily treat this heavy trust.
Over the next few days, Amster temporarily put down the research on the phoenix potion and concentrated on flipping through his old notes.
Ever since entering school in the first year, he had casually recorded at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the corners of the courtyard, and above the classrooms: the subtle magical fluctuations of a certain magical creature, the correlation between behavior and environment, bit by bit, filling a thick book.
He did not ignore the organization of their data just because some of these magical creatures had already been introduced in Newt's book.
In his leisure time, Amster obtained records about Fawkesfrom Dumbledore; understanding phoenixes was an inherently advantageous condition for the Dumbledorefamily.
On the day the first draft was completed, a light rain fell at Hogwarts, and the air was full of the damp fragrance of vegetation.
Amster carefully folded the parchment, checked it twice, confirmed there were no errors or omissions, and then carefully packed it into the envelope.
There were no flashy words, no deliberate showing off; between the lines was merely a youth's most sincere awe for nature and animals.
He carried the letter to the owlery, watching the owl carrying his manuscript fly into the rain curtain, and for the first time, such a clear thought arose in his heart:
He understood that he was not completing a task, not coping with schoolwork, not pleasing anyone.
He was truly leaving behind something that belonged to himself.
Amster tucked the feather into the newly completed compilation notes.
The August wind carried the post-rain chill, blowing through the corridors, blowing through the parchment full of handwriting, and also blowing through those ancient traces still quietly awakening beneath his feet.
He did not know when this book would be published, nor did he know whether the words he wrote would be remembered by people.
But he was incomparably certain of one thing.
From the moment Newt's letter was delivered to his hands, from the moment he set down his first brushstroke of the first draft, he gained a brand-new path.
This path was somewhat different from other paths, belonging to a different field, yet it was the same as other paths.
It belonged to himself, a path written stroke by stroke by observing with his eyes and feeling with his heart.
The owl had long since disappeared behind the clouds.
The reply from afar had not yet arrived, and this summer was still far from over.
Amster turned and walked down the stairs, his footsteps steady and firm.
His story, in this August, quietly gained a signature that belonged exclusively to him.
Chapter 27: End of Second Year - Organization of Achievements
[This chapter is a summary of the protagonist's current belongings and achievements, you can skip it]
(I've been very busy with the start of the semester these past two days, my mind is all over the place writing this, so I'm planning to pause and sort out my thoughts)
Half a month had passed since replying to Mr. Newt, August was slowly coming to an end, and a new semester was about to begin.
In the half month after sending off the delivery owl, Amsterquickly returned to his original life: helping Professor Sprout in the greenhouse to take care of the plants that would be needed when school started; helping Professor McGonagall sort out the reply letters for this year's new students; asking Professor Flitwick for tips on using spells in actual combat; or acting as Snape's potions apprentice in the cold dungeon.
Or staying in the Headmaster's Office of his uncle, the headmaster, to review the theoretical knowledge of Alchemy. Or resting and relaxing in the Room of Requirement.
These days were packed full of potions, manuscripts, Alchemy notes, and various trivial matters, and the things piled up here had long been in a complete mess. Amsterdecided to tidy things up.
He first moved to the bookshelf, dragged over a low wooden stool, and slowly began to tidy up from the top layer. Flamel's Alchemy notes took up the most space; stacks of them varied in thickness, with paper edges turning yellow and brittle, looking as if they had been repeatedly read many times.
He took them down one by one with gentle movements, afraid of accidentally tearing the fragile pages, and then carefully arranged them by year and content: basic theories, magic balance, life Alchemy, and Ancient Magicrelated topics, categorized clearly and distinctly.
On the outermost side, he casually stuck a small piece of paper as a mark. The handwriting was simple and neat, meant only to make it easier to find next time, not caring about looks, only practicality.
Newt's books and letters were placed by him on the layer most convenient to his sight.
He picked up the copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, gently wiped the dust from the corners, and leaned it together with the supplementary manuscripts he had written and the observation notes sent by the other party.
The pages were still stained with a faint scent of soil and vegetation, the traces left by Newt when running around in the wild. He didn't deliberately try to get rid of it, just left it like that. Looking at it made it feel even more real, as if he could touch the temperature of the distant forest from the paper.
At the very bottom of the bookshelf were the Ancient Magic symbol charts taught to him by the Guardian. The loose pages were slightly curled up by the wind; he picked them up one by one, patiently smoothed out the wrinkles, arranged them in order from simple to complex, and carefully tied them into a volume with hemp rope.
He didn't draw many fancy patterns on the cover, only tracing the most basic balance mark as a marker for himself. Tucking the booklet into the corner, next to the Potions Class textbooks, it sat quietly, as if waiting to be opened again next time.
After finishing the bookshelf, he pulled open the desk drawer. It was extremely messy; drafts, stationery, scraps of paper, casually jotted down inspirations, and ruined symbol sketches were mixed together, all tossed in casually during this period.
He first rummaged out all the drafts of the phoenix potion, from the earliest lines of scrawled ideas to the later versions modified, crossed out, and annotated over and over again—a thick stack that could almost reveal a whole year's journey of heart and mind.
He took out the final draft separately, carefully stuffed it into a small locked box, pushed it to the deepest part of the drawer, and casually jammed the key into a gap in the bookshelf. It wasn't because he was afraid someone would see it, nor was it intentionally hidden; he just had a vague feeling in his heart that this thing couldn't be rushed, it had to be taken slowly, waiting for a truly appropriate opportunity.
Fleur's letters were folded into a stack by date, the wax seal on the envelope still intact and brightly colored, looking as if they had just been delivered not long ago.
The notes Penelope helped him organize were neat and delicate in handwriting; wherever details were missing, which symbols were hard to understand, and which steps were prone to mistakes were all clearly marked. He placed them directly on the corner of the desk, within arm's reach, as if the other person were standing right beside him to remind him.
The rest were all trifles—blueprints left over from the trials, potion homework graded by Snape, a small feather shed by Fawkes, a crumpled lemon drop wrapper, symbols casually drawn after a certain class, or even small leaves with a faint magic picked up from the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
He didn't throw any of them away, but found a simple small wooden box, put them all in, covered it well, and placed it by the edge of the desk. These things were inconspicuous and not worth mentioning on their own, but pieced together, they were his footprints for this entire year—a time that others couldn't see, but truly belonged to him.
When everything was back in place, the room suddenly became fresh and tidy.
The fire in the fireplace dimmed, the light became soft, shining warmly on the neat desk and bookshelf, making one's heart feel steady, secure, and calm along with it.
Amster stood in the middle of the room, quietly looked around, and confirming there were no omissions, gently closed the drawer, turned around, and walked out of the Room of Requirement.
The door closed silently behind him, as if it had never existed, hiding a whole period of quiet time deep within the stone walls.
He walked slowly along the corridor, the setting sun casting soft patches of color on the ground through the stained glass. They were not bright, but very warm—reds, blues, yellows spread piece by piece across the floor, like shattered and reassembled light.
Walking and walking, he unconsciously arrived at the edge of the Black Lake.
He found a stone that was still somewhat warm from the sun and sat down. The wind swept across the lake surface, carrying a bit of slightly cool water vapor that brushed comfortably against his face.
The sunset glow dyed the sky into a patch of orange-red, spreading from the horizon all the way to the water's surface. The light was bright in some places and dark in others, without much pattern, but it looked exceptionally comfortable.
The shadow of the castle fell in the distance, quiet and still, like a sleeping giant beast guarding the entire valley.
He just sat there, not pondering potions, not thinking about notes, not reviewing magic, nor rushing to plan what to do next. He just sat quietly, watching the lake surface darken little by little.
The sky changed from orange-red to light purple, then slowly sank into light blue. The lake water changed along with the sky, ripples swaying gently, slowly shaking away all impatience and restlessness.
When the last trace of golden light on the lake surface disappeared, he slowly stood up and gently patted the grass clippings and fine sand stuck to the back of his robes.
Today was August thirty-first.
There were no bell chimes, no ceremonies, no goodbyes, and no superfluous sighs.
The second year had ended.
The sky darkened completely, and the lights in the castle lit up one after another. The warm yellow light shone through the windows, connecting into a tender outline in the darkness.
He turned around and walked slowly back toward the direction of that light.
Summer was still long, Hogwarts was still asleep, the new semester had not yet arrived, the secrets of Ancient Magicwere still lying dormant quietly underground, and the phoenix potion was still waiting for its final opportunity.
But at this moment, he had packed up everything that needed to be packed.
Sorting out the past properly, settling his heart back into stability, and standing himself firmly at the starting point of the next leg of the journey.
Chapter 28: The Eastern Girl at the Sorting Ceremony
When the first ray of September sunlight fell upon the towers of Hogwarts, the castle came alive once more.
Inside the Great Hall, the four House long tables were filled with returning students. The sound of long-awaited reunions rose and fell, mixed with the soft clinking of plates, filling the entire spacious area.
Amster sat in his usual window-side seat at the Slytherinlong table, with an Alchemy notebook brought back from Flamel spread out before him. The pages were covered in obscure runes and formulas, yet his gaze did not fall upon the notes, drifting instead toward the nearby Ravenclawlong table.
Penelope was chatting together with several girls from her House, her pale golden hair hanging beside her cheeks. As she spoke, she would subconsciously raise her eyes to glance toward the Slytherin side. The moment her gaze met Amster's, she hurriedly looked away, the tips of her ears quietly turning red.
Cassandra sat down beside him, the dark green hem of her robes gently sweeping across the stone tabletop, her tone flat yet carrying a hint of understanding: "Haven't seen you all summer, and you've just been staring over there?"
Amster withdrew his gaze, his fingertips casually turning a page of the notes as he feigned concentration: "Thinking about Alchemy."
"Is that so." The corners of Cassandra's mouth curved slightly upward, choosing not to expose his hypocrisy, and she simply leaned quietly against the back of her chair, waiting for the ceremony to begin.
The sorting ceremony quickly got underway. Professor McGonagall held the roll of yellowed parchment, walking steadily to the front of the stage, clearing her throat as she began to read the names of the first-years.
One youthful figure after another stepped forward in turn, cautiously placing the ragged Sorting Hat upon their heads, and as the hat made its raspy announcement, they were sorted into different Houses.
Enthusiastic cheers or gentle applause rang out in the Great Hall from time to time. Amster listened absentmindedly, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the cover of his notes, showing little interest in everything before him.
Until a name softly drifted into his ears.
"Cho Chang."
A dark-haired Eastern girl slowly walked up onto the stage. Her brand-new wizard robes were well-fitted and neat, her steps light and steady. Her jet-black long hair hung down behind her, wrapped in the swaying candlelight of the Great Hall and radiating a soft luster.
Her features were delicate and pretty, and her pair of eyes was exceptionally bright, carrying the quiet gentleness unique to Easterners, while hiding a curiosity and trepidation toward the magical world deep within her eyes. Standing at the front of the stage, she appeared particularly eye-catching.
Cho Chang.
Chang.
Amster's fingers pressing on the notes paused slightly, his motion coming to a halt.
Dust-covered memories suddenly surged up. He thought of that distant Eastern country, thought of his other teacher, Zhang Tianhao—that man who always wore plain-colored long gowns, holding his small hand to teach him writing and reciting poetry, teaching him to perceive the spiritual energy between heaven and earth. Those fragmented yet warm childhood memories were something he hadn't intentionally recalled in a long time, yet this surname still easily plucked at his heartstrings.
The Sorting Hat wrinkled upon her head, falling silent and pondering for a moment, then shouting at the top of its lungs: "Ravenclaw!"
Hearing this, the girl smiled slightly, her brows and eyes curving into a pretty arc as she lifted the hem of her robes and slowly walked toward the Ravenclaw long table.
Passing by the Slytherin long table, her gaze swept over unintentionally, happening to meet Amster's eyes, who had been looking at her all along. A trace of surprise flashed through those clear eyes, lingering on him for just a brief moment before politely shifting away and heading toward her own seat.
Amster immediately withdrew his gaze, lowering his head to stare at the runes on the notes, feigning the appearance of continuing his study, though his thoughts were somewhat in disarray.
Cassandra beside him saw everything, turned her head slightly, and asked in a low voice: "Do you know her?"
"I don't know her." Amster's voice had little fluctuation, with no emotion discernible.
Cassandra raised an eyebrow, a trace of inquiry flashing through her eyes, but she did not press further, casting her gaze back toward the front of the stage.
The ceremony ended quickly, and the first-years followed their prefects, lining up to head toward their respective common rooms. The noisy Great Hall gradually quieted down, and the older students also stood up in twos and threes to leave.
Amster was in no hurry to leave, still leaning against the back of his chair with his gaze falling in the direction of the Ravenclaw long table. The dark-haired girl was whispering to the first-years around her, a smile lingering at the corners of her mouth and her eyes curving sweetly.
"Cho Chang." He silently recited the name in his heart.
Chang.
He told himself that this was perhaps just a coincidence. Huaxia was so vast, and countless people shared the surname Chang; she and his master merely shared the same surname, nothing special.
Yet this character still tugged at his thoughts over and over again, reminding him of those days that could never be returned to.
"Let's go." Cassandra stood up and tidied the hem of her robes.
Amster closed his notes and followed her out of the Great Hall.
The castle's corridors were spacious and deep, with sunlight streaming through the tall stained glass windows, casting mottled patches of light and shadow onto the ground that felt warm to step upon.
He walked slowly, his steps very light, yet the figure of that girl kept involuntarily surfacing in his mind.
The way she looked when she smiled overlapped momentarily with the figure in his memory, yet he knew clearly that it wasn't resemblance. It was simply that this unfamiliar Eastern girl reminded him of that distant childhood sealed away by time, that time which could never be found again.
Nightfall slowly enveloped Hogwarts, and the Black Lakerippled with faint waves in the nocturnal hues, moonlight gently spilling across the lake's surface and shattering into a patch of fine silver light.
Amster pushed open the door to the Room of Requirement, and a warm aura immediately enveloped him.
The firewood in the fireplace crackled and burned, the orange-red flames leaping incessantly and driving away the chill of the night.
Fleur was curled up in a soft flannel chair, holding a magical magazine and reading it with rapt attention;
As a side note, this young lady was now already a member of Hogwarts.
In her final letter of the summer vacation, she had mentioned to Amster that she had prepared a small surprise for him—when the two reunited, she would step into this ancient castle in the identity of an exchange student from Beauxbatons.
Penelope leaned against the bookshelf, her fingertips gently turning the pages of a book, quiet and serene; Cassandra sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace, holding a cup of hot tea in her hand in a leisurely posture.
Amster sat down beside Cassandra, taking the hot tea she handed over. His fingertips touched the warm cup wall, and the warmth spread up along his fingertips.
"Why were you spacing out for so long today?" Penelopepoked her head out from behind her book, asking softly, "In the Great Hall."
"It's nothing." Amster took a sip of tea, his tone flat, "Saw a first-year."
Fleur immediately put down her magazine, her eyes sparkling and full of curiosity: "First-year? Is she pretty?"
Cassandra swept a faint glance at her, and Fleur stuck out her tongue, obediently sitting back down in her chair. Lowering her head, she didn't speak again.
Amster ignored their banter, simply leaning back against the chair, his gaze falling upon the leaping flames in the fireplace, the firelight reflecting in the depths of his eyes, flickering in and out.
After a moment of silence, he spoke softly, his voice very faint, almost about to be drowned out by the sound of the firewood: "That girl's surname is Chang."
The room fell silent for an instant, leaving only the crackling sound of the burning flames.
Penelope raised her head, looking at him with bewilderment, her eyes filled with incomprehension; Cassandra's hand holding the tea cup paused slightly, the rim of the cup gently touching, making a soft clink; Fleur blinked, her face full of bewilderment, evidently not understanding what special meaning this surname had.
Amster gave no reply, nor did he explain.
He merely gazed at the leaping firelight, his thoughts drifting far away. He thought of that distant Eastern country, thought of the master who taught him to recite poetry and write, thought of the warmth hidden in the passing years, of that childhood that could never be returned to.
Perhaps it really was just a coincidence.
But perhaps...
The moonlight outside the window remained gentle, quietly spilling over the Black Lake with dotted silver light, serene and beautiful. Amster gently shook his head, pressing his chaotic thoughts back into the depths of his heart, no longer thinking about it, simply leaning quietly and letting the warmth of the fireplace envelop this moment of peace.
Chapter 29 Waiting Outside the Library
The lingering fragments of thoughts from last night had not completely dissipated, and the moonlight over the Black Lake, along with that suddenly appearing Eastern figure, seemed to be nothing more than a small interlude.
The next afternoon, Amster hugged the ancient texts Snape had lent him, walking out of the Potions Classclassroom and slowly heading toward the Library.
Sunlight streamed down from the high window lattices of the corridor, casting long shadows on the stone floor.
He was not walking particularly fast, and his mind was still replaying the moonstone purification method Snape had just taught—similar content had also been mentioned in Flamel's notes, but Snape's explanation was more direct and neater.
Pushing open the door of the Library, the scent of old book pages rushed toward him.
Madam Pince was holding a duster, patrolling back and forth among the bookshelves with a sharp gaze that could tolerate not the slightest bit of carelessness.
Amster gave her a slight nod, tiptoeing through several rows of bookshelves toward the corner where he usually stayed.
But he suddenly stopped.
That spot was already occupied.
A dark-haired girl was sitting there, with a thick book spread out before her, lowering her head and holding a quill to write.
The sunlight slanted across her face, softening her features and making her look very quiet.
It was Cho Chang.
Amster paused for a moment.
He could change places, but this corner had good lighting, was quiet, and avoided Madam Pince's line of sight; he had long since grown used to it.
Just as he was hesitating whether to leave, the girl suddenly raised her head.
Their gazes met.
Cho Chang was slightly stunned, her gaze falling first on the books in his arms before returning to his face.
She remembered him—yesterday at the Sorting Ceremony, he was the upperclassman who sat at the Slytherin long table.
"H—Hello?" she spoke, her tone carrying a hint of uncertainty.
Amster nodded, and just as he was about to speak, he suddenly heard a sound coming from the book in front of her—an ancient reading spell, slowly reciting in Chinese.
"Heaven and earth are the lodging place of all things; time is the traveler of a hundred generations..."
Amster's footsteps halted.
Li Bai's lines.
Many years ago, in the distant East, someone had taught him to read them word by word.
Seeing him freeze, Cho Chang's face immediately showed embarrassment, and she hurriedly tapped the book with her wand, causing the sound to stop instantly.
"I'm sorry," she said softly, her expression somewhat unnatural, "Did I disturb you? I didn't expect the spell to be so loud..."
Amster looked at her and suddenly spoke in Chinese: "Can you recite the rest of it?"
Cho Chang was taken aback.
She widened her eyes, looking at him in disbelief.
His Chinese was not entirely perfect, but it was clear and proper, making her momentarily think she had misheard.
"You... you can speak Chinese?" she also asked in Chinese, her tone full of surprise.
Amster nodded slightly: "I studied it for a few years."
Cho Chang opened her mouth, not knowing what to say for a moment.
She stared at him for a few seconds before suddenly smiling, her eyebrows and eyes curving into bright and genuine crescents.
"I thought I was the only Chinese person in all of Hogwarts." She patted the chair beside her. "Sit down, don't just stand there."
Amster sat down opposite her.
Cho Chang closed the book and looked at him curiously: "Where did you learn Chinese? How long did you study it? Why did you learn it?"
She asked so quickly that she ended up laughing herself: "Sorry, I'm just too excited. This is the first time I've met a wizard who can speak Chinese since coming to Britain."
"I learned it when I was a child," Amster said in a flat tone, "three years."
"Three years?" Cho Chang was somewhat startled. "You can speak this well after studying for only three years?"
Amster did not explain, his gaze falling on her book.
That was an English translation of Eastern Ancient Magic, which he had seen before.
"You're reading this?"
Cho Chang nodded: "I wanted to see hometown magic, but I can't read the original version, and the translation is awkward... Many words are translated incorrectly, so it's not as good as just listening to the Chinese directly."
Amster thought for a moment, then placed the book Snapehad lent him on the table, with a note tucked between the pages.
"You can read the original text," he said.
Cho Chang was taken aback: "I don't have the original text..."
"I have a few Ancient Magic books from over there," Amster said, "If you want them, I can lend them to you. Provided you can read them."
Cho Chang looked at him and smiled a few seconds later.
"You're really strange," she said, her tone devoid of malice and filled with pure curiosity, "You can speak Chinese, you can find Chinese Ancient Magic books, and you're in Slytherin... May I know your name?"
Amster did not answer.
Cho Chang did not press further; she picked up her quill, wrote a line of text on paper, and pushed it in front of him.
Moonlight before my bed.
"Can you recite it?" she asked.
Amster looked at the paper, fell silent for a fraction of a second, and recited it softly.
Cho Chang listened with her eyes shining brightly, and when he finished reciting, she couldn't help clapping softly.
"Your pronunciation is very accurate," she praised sincerely, "better than my dad's recitation."
Amster's brow twitched slightly: "Your dad?"
"Mmm," Cho Chang nodded, "He is Eastern and has lived in Britain for many years. When I was little, he taught me Chinese, but I didn't study it properly..." She scratched her head somewhat sheepishly, "Had I known I would meet you, I definitely would have taken it more seriously."
Amster didn't speak, his gaze falling onto the paper.
Cho Chang's father was Chinese.
His surname was Zhang.
He suddenly remembered that when he was young, the person who taught him to write and recite poetry also had the surname Zhang.
Perhaps it really was just a coincidence.
Yet some coincidences always made people unable to help overthinking.
In the evening, Amster walked out of the Library holding the unread book, feeling rather odd because he hadn't seen Penelope in the Library today.
Cho Chang followed alongside him, hugging that book of hometown magic in her arms.
"Are you coming tomorrow?" she asked.
Amster nodded.
"Then I'll come too," she smiled briskly, "You teach me Chinese, and I'll save a spot for you, how about that?"
Amster looked at her without speaking.
Cho Chang blinked: "Not agreeing? I'll come anyway, the Library isn't just yours alone."
The corners of Amster's mouth moved slightly, but he still didn't make a sound.
Walking out of the Library, he saw a familiar figure standing by the corridor wall.
Penelope.
She was holding a stack of books, and upon seeing Amsterand Cho Chang come out together, her gaze swept lightly over Cho Chang before moving away.
"I was just thinking of looking for you," she said to Amsterin a calm tone, "I found a few books on Alchemy that you might find useful."
Her expression was natural as she spoke, except that her fingertips tightened slightly around the books in her arms.
Cho Chang looked at Penelope, then back at Amster, a trace of knowing amusement appearing in her eyes.
"Then I'll be going first," she waved at Amster, "See you tomorrow."
She turned and left with brisk steps, her dark hair gently swaying behind her.
Penelope waited until she had walked far away before looking at Amster.
"A first-year?"
"Mmm."
"Ravenclaw?"
"Mmm."
Penelope nodded, asking nothing further as she handed the books to him: "Have a look at these few."
Amster took them, opened the top one, and found a note tucked inside the front cover written in her handwriting, carefully marking the key page numbers and notes.
He looked up at her.
Penelope had already turned around, walking back into the Library with a quiet figure, though her shoulder lines were slightly tense, not as relaxed as usual.
Chapter 30: A Rare Ordinary Day
[I've been so busy these past few days, I'm writing a slice-of-life filler chapter. There should be another chapter later. Regardless of the word count, a hard worker generally puts out two chapters a day.]
In the few days since returning from the Library, Amster's life had returned to its most familiar rhythm.
Daytime hours were almost entirely occupied by classes.
He walked back and forth in the castle hugging books, the incantations of Charms class rising and falling, with pen-tip-like lights flashing in the air; the smells of Potions Classwere always choking, wormwood mixed with some kind of root plant, making even the nose go numb after smelling it for long; things snapped and cracked as they transformed in Transfiguration Class, and Professor McGonagall's voice was not loud, but it could always make the whole classroom quiet down instantly.
These sounds repeated every day, slowly turning into the most ordinary background in life.
Whenever he had free time in the afternoon, he would still go to the Library.
That old spot by the window had almost become his fixed place.
Sunlight shone obliquely onto the desk, books and notes were spread out, and sitting there took up the entire afternoon.
This was originally the corner where he and Penelopeoften stayed; Penelope usually arrived earlier than him, quietly putting her things away and waiting for him to sit down, after which the two of them would read their respective books, rarely speaking intentionally, yet it felt very natural.
In the evening, he would go to the Room of Requirementon the eighth floor on time.
That was a place that belonged solely to him, though sometimes two girls would also come over to keep him company.
Sometimes he would organize his notes, filling in the content he hadn't recorded clearly during the day; sometimes he would just sit there, watching the fire in the fireplace jump and dance, thinking about nothing at all.
For him, this was the most relaxing period of time in Hogwarts.
Everything was much like before, with the only slight difference being that Cho Chang would occasionally appear in the Library.
She didn't come every day, only walking in with books every two or three days. Seeing Amster and Penelopesitting in their old spots, she would find a neither-too-near-nor-too-far place to sit down and quietly read her own books.
She didn't talk much, and her manners were gentle, not disturbing others.
Occasionally, when encountering some Chinese words and sentences she couldn't understand, she would gently hold her notebook and walk over, asking a few questions in a low voice.
Amster would always slowly explain it to her, keeping his voice very low for fear of affecting the people around them.
Penelope would be writing her own essay nearby, looking up to smile without interrupting.
Once Cho Chang understood, she would softly express her thanks and return to her own seat.
There was no excessive closeness, nor any awkwardness, just ordinary classmate interactions.
Penelope remained just like before, sitting steadily beside Amster, her pen tip rustling across the parchment as she wrote lengthy essays and memorized complex knowledge points.
Occasionally looking up to see Cho Chang, she would only give a faint glance, feeling neither uncomfortable nor deliberately aloof.
Amster saw this in his eyes, his heart fluctuating very little as he continued to lower his head to read his own books.
On a weekend evening, the setting sun warmed the stone walls of the castle into a golden hue, and the students in the corridors grew fewer and fewer, their footsteps sparse.
Amster closed his books, stacked his notes neatly, and slowly walked out of the Library.
Just as he turned a corner, his wrist was suddenly pulled gently by someone, with a very light force that carried a hint of familiar mischief.
He turned his head and saw Cedric standing behind him, still wearing that gentle and easygoing smile, holding a sack woven from burlap with a few small daisies embroidered on it; the bag was bulging and looked heavy.
"I've been looking for you for a while, glad I finally ran into you." Cedric shook the bag in his hand, his tone relaxed. "Come on, let's go to the kitchen, I brought you something."
Amster didn't ask much, nodded, and walked along with him.
The two of them walked slowly along the corridor, deliberately bypassing the trophy room—Peeves always hung around there, popping out to scare people at every turn, which was terribly annoying.
Walking all the way to the mural filled with fruits, Cedricstretched out his finger and gently scratched the largest yellow pear.
The pear seemed to have been tickled, awkwardly turning around a circle before clicking into a smooth door handle.
Cedric pushed the door open first, turning sideways to let Amster go in first, and the two of them squeezed inside one after another.
Hogwarts's kitchen was always warm.
As soon as they entered, the heat wrapped in the scent of butter, toast, and sweet pastries rushed over, baking one's whole body into comfort.
Countless house-elves wearing small brown aprons were running back and forth between the stoves; some were kneading dough, some were guarding the ovens, and some were stirring thick soup with long spoons. Pots, pans, and ladles clattered noisily, mixed with the chattering sounds of the house-elves, lively and very real.
Cedric pulled Amster over to the small table they usually sat at, close to the stove—warm and not noisy, it could be considered their usual spot.
He placed the burlap sack on the table, untied the string, and inside it were completely golden-brown baked pumpkin biscuits, along with a few packs of Chocolate Frogs, the sweet fragrance instantly spreading out.
"My mom sent these last week. Home-baked, they smell better than the ones in the cafeteria." Cedric pushed the biscuits toward him, his eyes shining brightly. "Have a taste, they're still warm."
Amster picked up a piece, his fingertips touching the crumbly crust, and took a gentle bite.
The texture was very crispy, the sweetness was just right, not greasy, carrying a faint milky fragrance and the taste of pumpkin, like a very ordinary yet comforting taste of home.
"Delicious." He raised his eyes and said very earnestly.
Cedric suddenly laughed and also picked up a piece to nibble on.
The two of them just sat like that without speaking much, with the sounds of the house-elves bustling about in their ears and the sweet fragrance filling their noses, quiet and not awkward at all.
Silence was never a problem between them, as natural as the wind in the corridor.
After a while, Cedric spoke first with a teasing tone, leaning a bit closer to him.
"Lately in the Library, do you always see that Ravenclawgirl?"
Amster glanced at him: "You get news pretty fast."
"Of course, everyone over in Hufflepuff is talking about it." Cedric lowered his voice with a look of someone watching the fun. "The one from the East, Cho Chang, occasionally comes over to ask you questions, right?"
Amster didn't pick up the topic, taking another biscuit instead and eating it slowly.
Cedric nudged him gently with his elbow: "Seriously, she's quite quiet. Do you two get along okay?"
Amster put down the biscuit and looked at him helplessly: "Last time you asked about me and Penelope, and this time about Cho Chang. Did you invite me to eat biscuits, or came to interrogate me?"
Cedric froze for a moment, then couldn't help bursting into laughter, his laughter hearty, causing the house-elves working nearby to look over curiously.
"Either is fine." He waved his hand with a smile, his gaze very sincere. "I'm just casually listening about your affairs."
Amster shook his head, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly in spite of himself before flattening out again quickly, though Cedric still saw it.
After messing around for a while, Cedric chewed on his biscuit, suddenly remembering something, his expression becoming a bit more mysterious.
"Right, I'll tell you something you should be interested in." He lowered his voice even more. "Those Weasley twins are pulling off new tricks again this semester."
Amster raised his eyebrows: "What?"
"They've made a new batch of magical sweets." Cedric's tone held a mix of admiration and speechlessness. "Eating them causes all sorts of minor conditions—sneezing, bubbling, hair suddenly changing color, with lots of variety, and they look extremely authentic. Some lower-year students have already bought them secretly, and the prefects have been wandering the corridors every day lately just wanting to catch the two of them."
Hearing this, Amster thought of the letters Fred and George wrote during the holiday.
Those two people were full of enthusiasm in their letters, saying they wanted to make some gadgets to "make the school less boring." At the time he just took it as a joke, not expecting them to actually make it work and even dare to sell it in school.
"They really have quite a lot of nerve." He said softly, without any blame, but rather with a hint of tacit approval.
"You said it." Cedric sighed. "Seriously, sometimes when listening to lectures makes me sleepy, I really sort of want to get one to play with."
Amster looked at him with a hint of banter in his eyes.
Cedric immediately waved his hands: "Just kidding! I wouldn't dare; getting caught means writing detention essays, not worth it."
The two of them looked at each other and laughed again.
The biscuits in the bag slowly decreased until only the last few pieces remained.
Cedric suddenly grew quiet, holding an unopened pack of Chocolate Frogs in his hand, his fingertips rubbing back and forth against the packaging. After falling silent for quite a while, he finally looked up at Amster.
The joking expression on his face was gone, appearing much more serious.
"Amster."
"Hmm?"
"Do you think... if we practice Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms more solidly this semester, will next semester be a lot easier?"
Cedric said it very earnestly, his gaze falling on the leaping fireplace fire.
Third-year courses were already much harder than the previous two years, with more homework and stricter exams. In his heart, a string was actually always taut; he didn't want to fall behind, nor did he want to lose to others.
"I always feel that if we don't practice more now, it will be even more exhausting later," he said softly. "I don't want to wait until later to be flustered and disorganized."
Amster looked at him.
Usually Cedric was forever gentle, good-tempered, and smiling, but at this moment, there was a very down-to-earth competitive drive about him—not out of wanting to best others, but simply not wanting to let himself down.
Amster was silent for a moment, then spoke very calmly: "It will."
"You've always been practicing seriously. As long as you keep it up, things will only get steadier and steadier later on."
Cedric raised his head abruptly, his eyes brightening up a little, as if he had been gently enlightened by a word, and his entire body relaxed.
He smiled, and that smile was very clean and solid.
"Then I'll keep practicing hard."
The two of them sat for a while longer. The sounds inside the kitchen grew louder and louder as the house-elves began to busy themselves preparing dinner; the noises of chopping vegetables, baking pies, and stewing soup blended together, and the whole kitchen came alive.
Cedric stood up, patted the biscuit crumbs off his body, and stretched lazily.
"Let's go, we have Potions Class tomorrow, getting late means getting scolded by Snape."
Amster also stood up, gathered his things, and went out with him.
Pushing open the door of the fruit painting, the corridor was already dark, with the dim, yellowish light of the wall lamps paving the ground in a long strip.
Peeves floated past from the other end, humming messy songs with a water balloon in his hand. Seeing them, he didn't make trouble and scurried away in a flash.
Cedric waved at him: "See you tomorrow."
After saying that, he turned around and walked toward Hufflepuff's direction, his figure quickly rounding the corner and disappearing.
Amster stood in place, watching for a moment before slowly withdrawing his gaze.
He thought of Cedric's appearance just now—serious, solid, and a bit stubborn.
It wasn't any earth-shattering dream, just a third-year student who didn't want to fall behind, didn't want to perfunctorily slack off, and wanted to do the things in his hands well.
Simple, yet very real.
He turned around and walked step by step toward the eighth floor.
His footsteps were very light, and the light stretched his shadow very long.
Walking to the Room of Requirement, the door wasn't tightly shut, leaving a small crack.
Pushing open the door, the fireplace was burning fiercely, the firelight jumping and dancing, baking the small room until it was warm and cozy.
Amster sat down by the fireplace, quietly watching the fire.
Outside the window, the sky had completely darkened, Hogwarts quieted down, and the castle lay steadily in the night like a dormant giant beast.
It was just an ordinary evening, with a few ordinary boys and girls slowly growing up in this ancient castle.
Chapter 31: The title was taken away by Amster for research.
Days passed by one by one.
The fireplace in the Room of Requirement kept burning with a steady flame and no changes.
Autumn at Hogwarts came very quietly; the wind grew colder day by day, and the colors grew deeper day by day.
The maples by the Black Lake were thoroughly red, dropping leaves all over the ground at a gust of wind.
In the corridors, house-elves successively hung up jack-o-lanterns, their dim yellow light falling upon the stone walls.
Classes were as full as ever; the smell of potions, the sounds of spells, and the noises of the Transfiguration Class mixed together.
The pace of Amster remained steady; he went to class when it was time for class and went to the Library when it was time for the Library, everything proceeding step by step.
By the window in the Library, it was still him and Penelope.
Penelope was there every day, sitting beside him writing essays and memorizing theories, her pen tip never stopping.
She rarely spoke, just accompanying him, occasionally glancing at him before quickly lowering her head again.
Cho Chang did not come often, once every two or three days.
She would find a nearby seat to read without disturbing others.
Whenever she encountered minor questions about Chinese or magic, she would come over to ask.
Amster replied to her in Chinese in a very low voice.
If anyone nearby looked over, they would just glance twice and leave it at that.
"What are they always looking at us for?" Cho Changmuttered in a low voice when she sat back down.
Amster ignored her and turned a page of his book.
He did not think there was anything special about this; it was just classmates asking a couple of questions, not worth getting distracted over.
In mid-October, the sky was not yet fully bright.
Amster came out of the Room of Requirement, preparing to go get breakfast.
An owl landed directly in front of him, with a very thick letter tied to its leg.
It was the messenger of Flamel.
He untied the string; the envelope was very heavy.
Sending the owl away, he opened the letter.
The handwriting of Flamel was neat and clear:
Dear Amster:
Enclosed with this letter are my compiled research notes on ancient ruins.
These ruins are scattered across Europe and date back a long time; their magic array structures are similar to the array you activated in the second trial, which will be helpful for your study of Ancient Magic.
At the end of the notes, I have placed an advanced Alchemy exercise: Secondary Transmutation of Matter.
If you can complete it, it means you already possess the foundation for studying Alchemy in depth.
Looking forward to your reply.
Nicolas Flamel
Amster put the letter away and took out that stack of notes.
The paper was covered with complex array diagrams and dense symbols, with key points circled in red and filled with annotations.
He stood in the corridor reading page by page, growing more and more focused as he read, completely forgetting breakfast behind him.
With people coming and going around him, he barely noticed.
The door of the Room of Requirement opened, and Fleur poked her head out.
"What are you standing here for? Breakfast is almost gone."
Amster snapped out of it; the daylight was already very bright.
He stuffed the notes into his bag and acknowledged her.
The two of them walked toward the Great Hall together.
"Whose letter is that? It is so thick."
"Of Flamel."
"What did he send?"
"Ancient Magic notes, and Alchemy exercises."
Fleur did not understand and did not ask much more, chatting casually about breakfast for a bit before soon arriving at the Great Hall.
From the day he received the notes, Amster threw all his free class time into the Library.
The array diagram was extremely difficult; the steps were long, the fault tolerance rate was low, and a slight disorder in magic power would cause a collapse.
He drew it over and over again, making mistakes at the final step time after time, crumpling piece of paper after piece of paper.
Penelope had been watching it all along.
He came earlier and left later, sitting before the array diagram for entire nights, and when he failed he was not impatient, just silently starting over.
Until one night when there were very few people, she closed her book, walked over, and sat down opposite him.
"What are you doing?"
Amster stopped his pen: "An Alchemy exercise given by Flamel, secondary transmutation of matter."
Penelope could not understand those symbols and did not ask much, just sitting quietly.
"I cannot understand these and cannot help."
She paused, her voice very soft, "But if you need to look up information, organize notes, or just want someone to keep you company, I can stay."
Amster looked at her for a moment and nodded: "Alright."
Penelope did not speak again, reopened her book, and quietly accompanied him.
Outside the window, moonlight shone in, falling onto the desk; the Library was very quiet.
Over the following days, Penelope was there every night.
Amster continued drawing arrays, failing and starting over in an endless cycle.
With someone beside him, he was instead steadier, no longer slowed down in rhythm by loneliness.
He was no longer impatient for quick success, but instead meticulously scrutinized the details bit by bit: the angle of the symbol strokes, the speed of magic injection, the pauses in the array core connection, every single place repeatedly calibrated.
Sometimes a single drawing session lasted nearly two hours, his arms sore and his mind highly strained, yet he still would not rest.
Penelope sat opposite him, occasionally helping him hand over a new piece of parchment, gathering and tidying up the scattered notes, remaining silent throughout without interrupting or causing trouble.
He had tried cutting off three times at the most critical points of magic circulation, tried symbol misalignment causing the array to directly extinguish, and tried material reactions becoming unstable and emitting light smoke.
Every time he failed, he noted down the error points beside it, correcting them bit by bit against the annotations of Flamel.
Flamel had written in his notes: Alchemy does not rely on luck; it relies on repetition until the muscles remember every step.
He believed this sentence.
A few days later, late at night.
The Library was almost empty, with only the librarian tidying up the bookshelves in the distance.
Amster took a deep breath, unfolded a brand-new piece of parchment, arranged the materials in order, and dipped his pen tip in ink.
This time, he was completely focused from the very first stroke.
The lines did not shake, the symbols were flawless, and magic was injected at a uniform speed without a trace of excess fluctuation.
He closed his eyes once to adjust his breathing, and when he opened them again, his gaze was even deeper.
The hand of Amster holding the pen was very steady, all his attention falling upon the paper as he completed the final section of array lines stroke by stroke.
The magic flowed along the pen tip, merging completely with the array diagram.
As the final stroke fell, the materials lit up with a faint glow, slowly merging, and ultimately condensing into a clump of matter he had never seen before, resting quietly at the array core with stable magic power.
Amster stared at that clump of matter, not moving for a long time.
He was not excited; there was only a sense of certainty.
Flamel was right, he was ready.
This was not accidental success; it was the result piled up from dozens of failures.
From understanding the array diagram, to mastering the rhythm of magic, to stabilizing his mindset and controlling every detail, he had finally crossed this threshold.
He leaned back against his chair and let out a breath of relief.
Outside the window, moonlight fell upon the Black Lake.
Most of the lights in the castle were extinguished, and only this corner of the Library was still lit.
Penelope saw him relax and knew it had succeeded.
She did not speak, just watched and smiled softly.
Amster did not tidy up his things immediately.
He reached out and gently touched that newly born clump of matter; the touch was warm and smooth, and the magic power was stable and pure, unlike any Alchemy product he had previously come into contact with.
He turned the notes of Flamel to the very last page, where a line of small characters was written:
"To be able to stably complete secondary transmutation means you are no longer a beginner."
Amster softly recited it once and closed the notes.
He turned his head to look out the window.
The night was very deep, the wind was very cool, and the castle stood silently in the darkness.
He was very clear that for Ancient Magic and Alchemy, the road ahead was still long.
Ahead lay more uncomprehended arrays, harder-to-control magic, and more dangerous unknowns.
But this step, he had stepped it out.
It was not relying on a fleeting flash of brilliant talent, but rather relying on sitting quietly night after night, starting over time and time again, and correcting error after error.
He was not alone.
The guidance of Flamel was on the paper, the company of Penelope was by his side, and his own perseverance was in the force of every falling stroke.
The wind swept across the castle, and autumn continued.
Chapter 32: Traces at the Edge of the Forbidden Forest
The wind still carried the chill of late autumn, swirling down from the high parts of the castle, sweeping across the Black Lake, and blowing the last few red maple leaves flat against the stone wall.
When Amster walked out of the Library, his fingertips still retained the warm, cool, and stable tactile sensation of that substance after a late-night Alchemy success.
Parchment, ink bottles, and Flamel's notes were gathered in his arms; the corners of the paper were slightly curled, traces worn from being repeatedly flipped through over the past few days.
He walked very slowly, his footsteps treading on the slightly cool flagstone road, without the slightest intention of hurrying back.
Last night's success did not make him overly excited; instead, it made his heart settle more steadily.
Flamel's words "No longer a beginner" were like a gentle stamp—not a compliment, just a fact.
He was very clear that the array was just an introduction, the door to Ancient Magic was only opened a crack, and what had to be tackled next would only be harder, colder, and more difficult.
When Penelope was tidying up books that night, she simply flattened his crumpled drafts one by one, folded them neatly, and placed them on top of the notes.
"I'll come earlier tomorrow." She said only this single sentence.
Amster let out an "Mn" and said nothing more.
Some companionship inherently requires no extra words.
Hogwarts's autumn grew heavier day by day.
The pumpkin lanterns in the corridors were hung even more densely by the house-elves, and warm yellow lights floated in clusters on the stone walls, baking the cold stones a bit softer.
The morning and evening winds drilled into collars, students instinctively shrugging their shoulders as they walked; classes were still packed full, the bitterness of Potions Class, the sounds of spells in the corridors, and the soft cracking of wood in the Transfiguration Classclassroom mixed together to become the daily background noise.
Amster's rhythm was not disrupted.
Attending classes, taking notes, lingering in the Library, and scrutinizing details stroke by stroke against the array diagrams, the days were like being pressed with a repeat button—monotonous, yet solid.
Penelope still sat in her old spot by the window, her pen tip unceasing, writing essays, reciting theories, occasionally raising her eyes to look at him, then quickly lowering her head again, as if afraid of disturbing something.
Cho Chang still came once every two or three days, sitting in a position neither too far nor too close, and only walked over on tiptoe to ask a question when she encountered Chinese phrases she couldn't get around or got stuck on magic theory.
Amster replied to her in Chinese in a low voice, keeping his voice very soft; people around curiously glanced a couple of times, but seeing nothing novel after looking for a while, they turned their heads back.
"They keep looking, it's awfully uncomfortable." Cho Chang whispered a complaint as she sat back down.
Amster didn't pick up the conversation, merely turning a page of the book.
In his eyes, this was nothing more than routine Q&A between classmates, not worth being distracted by, let alone taking to heart.
He had recently been pondering the array diagrams in Flamel's notes; last night's array had almost succeeded, missing only the final sliver of magic rhythm alignment, and even when awake, his mind repeatedly went over the lines, symbols, and pausing nodes.
When walking to the middle section of the corridor, he still lowered his head to stare at the exposed corner of the notes in his arms, subconsciously slowing his pace.
Just at this moment, the sound of flapping wings fell directly into his ears.
An owl abruptly stopped on the stone railing in front of him, its feathers a bit messy, stained with grass clippings and a few fine down feathers, looking at a glance like it had hurried over from outside.
Tied to its leg was a rather thick letter, the opening unsealed, revealing a bit of paper edge.
It was Newt's owl.
Amster recognized it; it had delivered letters a few times before, always looking travel-worn.
He reached out to untie the thin string, his fingertips touching the envelope and feeling a thin layer of dew on the outside.
After sending the owl flying away, he leaned against the wall and opened the letter.
Newt's handwriting was not particularly neat, even a bit scribbled, but it looked very genuine, without a trace of pretense:
"Dear Amster:
I encountered a trapped Mooncalf near Hogsmeade close to the Forbidden Forest.
Its horns got stuck in a rock crevice, and after struggling for a long time, it is already a bit weak.
I'm afraid of hurting it if I act alone, so I'd like to ask you to come over this weekend to help out.
Also, I haven't seen you in a long time, and I want to hear how your Alchemy practice has been recently.
Newt Scamander"
Amster folded the letter well, stuffed it into his inner pocket, and looked up at the window at the end of the corridor.
The sky outside was grayish, the clouds were very low, and that end of the Forbidden Forest was shrouded in a faint mist, unclear to see, feeling deeply secluded like it was hiding many unspoken things.
He didn't think much more, his mind already made up—he would go this weekend.
The days slipped by unhurriedly, without waves or accidents.
Attending classes when it was time for class, practicing arrays when it was time to practice, Penelope quietly accompanied him as before, draft paper being used up one sheet after another, and the Library lights accompanied them from dusk until late at night.
In the blink of an eye, the weekend arrived.
Not long after daybreak, before the castle had completely bustled with activity, Amster went to ask Professor McGonagall for leave.
The reason stated was simple: to go help Newt take care of an injured magical creature.
Professor McGonagall did not ask much, picked up her pen to sign, and merely admonished him not to walk deep into the Forbidden Forest and to pay attention to safety.
Emerging from the castle gates, the wind immediately felt a notch colder than inside.
The grass on both sides of the path had withered mostly, rustling when stepped on, and the wind flipped the hem of his black robe, pressing it against his legs.
Amster pulled his collar upward, quickened his pace, and walked toward the direction where Hogsmeade and the Forbidden Forest met.
The closer he got to the Forbidden Forest, the denser the trees became, and the light darkened by a few shades.
From afar, he saw Newt squatting in a clearing surrounded by low shrubs, his back slightly arched, his voice kept very low as if coaxing something.
Hearing footsteps, Newt raised his head, and seeing it was him, visibly breathed a sigh of relief.
"You're here, just in time."
Amster walked over, squatted down to take a look, and only then saw clearly that it was a Mooncalf.
Its fur was a pale silvery-gray and soft, a pair of long horns glowing white and translucent, but at this moment they were firmly stuck in the crevice of a large rock, unable to move.
Its eyes were round and moist, looking a bit frightened and a bit in pain, its body trembling slightly, even putting its breath into careful restraint.
"It's been stuck for quite a while." Newt lowered his voice, afraid of startling it. "I've tried a few times; the rock crevice is too hard, pulling directly is easy to hurt its horns, and it's nervous—struggling makes it even harder to handle."
Amster didn't speak, leaning closer to look at that crevice.
The stone was heavy, the gap narrow, the horns stuck deep, and the edges had been rubbed slightly red.
He reached out and gently touched that horn; it was ice-cold and smooth, causing the little body underneath to shudder violently.
He immediately withdrew his hand, making his movements even lighter.
"We need to pry open the rock crevice a bit first, then slowly move it out." Amster said in a low voice.
Newt nodded, taking out his wand from the case: "I'll use a spell to loosen the stone, you steady its horns and don't let it panic."
Amster nodded, gently supporting that horn with both hands, stabilizing his strength to try and make it feel at ease.
The Mooncalf was still trembling slightly at first, but after a moment, seeming to sense he harbored no malice, its tensed body softened slightly.
Newt raised his wand and chanted the spell.
A pale golden light enveloped the rock crevice, the stone vibrating slightly as the gap was pried open bit by bit—the amplitude wasn't large, but just enough to exert force.
Amster seized the gap, exerting force very lightly with his wrist, moving it outward bit by bit.
The Mooncalf let out a low whimper in pain, its body tightening.
Amster stopped immediately, waited for it to recover for a moment, and then slowly continued.
Before long, that horn finally slid out from the rock crevice.
Newt immediately stepped forward, poured a few drops of pale green potion from a small bottle, and handed it to the Mooncalf's mouth.
After the little fellow licked it clean in small sips, its originally dim gaze slowly brightened back up, not being so afraid anymore.
It stood up, rubbed its head against Newt's arm, turned its head to look at Amster once, and limped into the bushes, quickly disappearing from sight.
Watching the direction where it disappeared, Newtstraightened up and let out a gentle sigh of relief.
"Thanks to you, your hands are steady and you have patience. Anyone else would probably have gotten impatient long ago."
Amster was just about to speak when his gaze suddenly paused.
Deep inside that rock crevice pried open by the spell, a trace of extremely faint silver light flashed.
It was very weak, like a firefly, almost melting into the shadows, yet it happened to be caught by his single glance.
He took half a step forward, bent down close to the crevice, and reached out to touch the stone wall gently.
As soon as his fingertips pressed against it, a very faint yet very familiar fluctuation traveled up along his skin.
Quiet, heavy, and old, like something buried for many years that was gently touched and awakened a sliver.
It was Ancient Magic.
It was the exact same kind he had touched in the second trial.
"What is it?" Newt sensed something was wrong with him and also leaned over to look, "Is there something in the crevice?"
Amster did not turn back immediately, his eyes still staring at that pitch-black gap.
The silver light had already vanished, but that fluctuation was still there, hidden deeper within the stone, undispersed.
"It's Ancient Magic." His voice was very soft, yet very certain.
Newt was stunned for a moment, squatted down to look closely for a long time, and reached out to touch the stone wall again, but sensed no abnormalities whatsoever.
He had walked along the edge of the Forbidden Forestcountless times and had never discovered anything unusual.
After a moment of silence, he patted Amster's shoulder: "I've been here many times and felt nothing at all. The fact that you can perceive it means it has a connection to you."
Amster didn't reply, simply firmly engraving the locations of this stone, this patch of shrubs, and this crevice into his mind.
He didn't intend to act immediately, just remembering it.
The wind blew out from the forest carrying the scent of damp vegetation; the sky was overcast, showing no signs of clearing up.
The two stood and talked a bit more; Newt asked about his progress in Alchemy, and Amster briefly spoke about the matter of secondary transformation—neither boasting nor being overly modest, just sticking to the facts.
After chatting, they each walked back.
By the time they returned to the castle, it was already evening.
The sky grew dark bit by bit, pumpkin lanterns in the corridors lit up one after another, their warm light paving the stone walls and pulling human shadows very long.
Amster didn't go to the Library nor returned to the dormitory, heading straight to the Headmaster's Office.
The staircase turned round and round, and the stone gargoyle guard, seeing clearly that it was him, slowly moved its body aside.
Pushing open the door, Dumbledore was sitting behind the desk holding a lemon drop, and seeing him enter, his eyes curved.
"I suppose you encountered something a bit out of the ordinary today."
Amster walked up to the desk and recounted the events at the edge of the Forbidden Forest from beginning to end, adding nothing and subtracting nothing.
Finally, he only added one sentence: "That fluctuation is the same as the Ancient Magic in the trial."
After hearing this, Dumbledore slowly stood up and walked to the window.
Outside the window, the Forbidden Forest had melted into the night, leaving only a deep black outline.
"Ancient Magic is awakening." His voice was very soft, like speaking of something long since destined, "Not just this place you found; beneath Hogwarts, many dormant things are slowly stirring."
He turned around, his gaze behind his lenses very quiet and steady.
"You being able to touch it is no coincidence. It is waiting for someone who can catch it."
Pausing, he said softly again: "Just keep paying attention, don't rush to go inside. Some things, when the timing isn't right, forcing yourself to touch them will instead get you hurt."
Amster nodded and did not pursue the questioning further.
Some words needn't be said much; he understood.
Emerging from the Headmaster's Office, the corridors had completely quieted down.
Most students had returned to their dormitories, with only the pumpkin lanterns still lit, their light swaying gently.
Amster walked in the empty corridor, his footsteps very slow, the notes in his arms pressed against his chest, feeling heavy.
The fluctuation from the rock crevice still lingered on his fingertips, cool and impossible to shake off.
He gathered the notes tightly in his arms, walking step by step forward along the corridor, his pace steady without the slightest impatience.
What should come will eventually come; there is no need to obsess over it in advance.
The wind swept through the desolate corridor, the light of the pumpkin lanterns flickered, and the entire castle sank into the night, still looking just like it did on ordinary days.