Chapter 41: A Brief Bottleneck, Dumbledore's Old Friend
After returning from The Burrow, life returned to its usual rhythm.
Classes during the day, spending the afternoon in the Library, and returning to the Room of Requirement in the evening.
Everything was no different from before, but Amster sat at the desk, staring at those complex Alchemy array diagrams for a long time, yet couldn't read a single word.
He had encountered a bottleneck.
It wasn't the kind of minor hurdle that could be crossed by spending a little time.
It was the kind of barrier where, no matter how he tried, his magic would spin out of control at the very last moment.
He had tried more than a dozen methods, adjusted the magic's output rhythm countless times, and even redrawn the array diagrams several times, but every time he fell short at the final step.
He put down his quill, leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes.
His mind was in complete chaos.
This feeling was very unfamiliar.
Growing up, although his learning wasn't described as easy, he could always find patterns through repeated attempts.
Snape had him cut medicinal ingredients for seven days, and on the seventh day he cut qualified daisy roots;
McGonagall made him practice Transfiguration countless times, and in the end that needle felt even handier than his own wand.
Yet this time, he couldn't find any pattern.
Not knowing how much time had passed, the door was knocked.
Amster opened his eyes, walked over, and pulled the door open.
Dumbledore stood at the doorway, wearing a deep purple bathrobe, his silver-white beard glowing softly under the candlelight.
He held a steaming cup of tea in his hand, with an unfathomable smile on his face.
"Can't sleep?" he asked.
Amster shook his head and stepped aside to let him in.
Dumbledore walked into the Room of Requirement, looked around, and then sat down in the chair by the fireplace.
He handed the tea to Amster and pointed to the opposite position.
"Sit."
Amster sat down, holding the cup of tea, without speaking.
Dumbledore didn't speak either, just watching the flickering flames in the fireplace.
There was silence for a long time.
Then Dumbledore spoke: "Encountered a bottleneck?"
Amster raised his head and looked at him.
Dumbledore smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening.
"I've lived so long, and I've seen too many looks like that," he said. "That feeling of knowing you can do it, yet somehow never being able to cross over—I understand."
Amster was silent for a few seconds, then nodded.
"Those array diagrams," he said, "I've drawn them dozens of times, and every single time they fail at the final step. The magic output rhythm is correct, the symbol positions are correct, and the material sequence is correct... but it just doesn't work."
Dumbledore listened without interrupting.
Amster paused and said again: "I can't figure out why."
Dumbledore picked up another cup of tea he had brought and took a slow sip.
"Have you ever thought," he said, "that the problem isn't with the array diagrams?"
Amster looked at him.
Dumbledore's gaze fell on the flames, his voice very soft: "Sometimes, what hinders us is not external difficulties, but something deep within our hearts."
Amster frowned.
Dumbledore turned his head and looked at him.
"Amster, what is your purpose in pursuing power?"
Amster froze.
This question was something he had never seriously considered.
He studied Ancient Magic because it was his innate talent.
He studied Alchemy because Flamel was willing to teach him.
He kept getting stronger because—because why?
Because he wanted to prove himself?
Because he didn't want to lose?
Because he didn't want to let down those who taught him?
Dumbledore watched his expression and smiled slightly.
"Your way of thinking," he said, "reminds me of an old friend."
Amster raised his head.
Dumbledore's gaze became somewhat distant, as if looking at a very far place, or perhaps at something from a long time ago.
"He was also very smart, worked very hard, and desperately wanted to prove himself," he said. "He pursued power, pursued the opportunity to change the world, pursued greater good."
He paused.
"In the end, he walked down a path that was very hard to turn back from."
Amster was silent for a long time.
"You mean... I'll become like that?"
Dumbledore shook his head.
"I'm just saying your way of thinking is very similar to his." He stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the surface of the Black Lake outside, "But you have something he didn't have."
"What?"
Dumbledore turned back, his blue eyes flashing with a gentle light under the candlelight.
"You have friends. People who care about you, and people you care about."
Amster didn't speak.
Dumbledore walked back to his side and gently patted his shoulder.
"A bottleneck is not terrible, Amster," he said. "What's terrible is losing yourself on the way to breaking through it."
He turned and walked towards the door, stopping abruptly when he reached the doorway.
"Right, regarding that old friend," he said, "he recently wrote a letter asking about you. I agreed to let him correspond with you."
Amster raised his head.
"His name is Gellert Grindelwald."
The door closed.
Amster sat in place, watching the flames in the fireplace, not moving for a long time.
Chapter 42: Reply
A week later, Amster was having dinner with the girls in the Hogwarts Great Hall when an unfamiliar owl landed in front of him.
Its feathers were silver-gray, and its eyes were sharp, making it look rather different from ordinary owls.
Tied to its leg was a black envelope with no postmark, bearing only a gilded letter — G.
Amster removed the envelope, and the owl glanced at him before beating its wings and flying away.
He opened the letter.
The stationery was heavy parchment, and the handwriting upon it was sharp and powerful, carrying an unquestionable aura between the strokes.
Amster Dumbledore:
Dumbledore wrote to me saying that he wanted me to meet someone. He rarely recommended anyone so solemnly, so I was quite curious.
Therefore, I asked your dear uncle for your file, and after reading your file, I understood.
Your understanding of Ancient Magic, your obsession with Alchemy, and your relentless drive to never stop until you achieve your goal — all of it reminded me of someone. Myself.
But Dumbledore also said that you and I have one difference. He said you have friends.
Friends are a good thing, yet they are also a burden. They will make you hesitate, make you soft-hearted, and make you stop at the most critical moment.
I do not know whether this is a good thing or a bad thing for you. But since you are walking this path, you must figure it out clearly: What kind of power do you want? What will you use it to do?
This is not a casual question. Whether it is Ancient Magic, Alchemy, or even Dark Magic, none of them are child's play, and they will not treat you gently just because you are a good person.
I give you three words: ambition, restraint, price.
Think these three words through clearly, and then reply to me.
G · G
Amster read this letter three times.
Every single word was like a nail, hammering into his mind.
Ambition. Restraint. Price.
He leaned back against the back of his chair and closed his eyes.
He remembered what Dumbledore said that night. He remembered his persistence during research. He remembered the unwillingness to accept failure. He remembered the relentless drive he had always possessed.
What was that?
Was it ambition?
He did not know.
He only knew that Grindelwald was right. There were some things he had to figure out clearly.
He picked up his quill and unfolded a new piece of parchment.
The tip of the quill hovered over the paper, pausing for a long time.
Finally, he wrote the first line of words:
Mr. Grindelwald:
Thank you for your letter.
You asked what I want to use power to do. I thought about it for a long time, only to find that I actually do not have an answer.
I study Ancient Magic because it is within me. I study Alchemy because Mr. Flamel is willing to teach me. I become stronger because I do not want to let down those who taught me.
Is this ambition? I do not know.
But I know that I do not want to hurt anyone. I do not want to become the kind of person who discards everything for power.
You said friends are a burden. Perhaps. But without them, I probably would have given up long ago.
I do not know whether these count as answers. But this is what I can think of for now.
Amster Dumbledore
He put the letter into the envelope, but for some reason, he temporarily chose not to send the letter out.
In the evening, before the observation window of the Room of Requirement, the snow outside was still drifting, and the wind swept past the castle spires, howling mournfully like someone whispering softly in the distance. The candlelight inside the Room of Requirement flickered, reflecting the Alchemy array spread out on the table; those complex runes twisted into a blur of shadows in the firelight. Amster raised a hand to massage his brow, his fingertips still retaining the fragrance of the ink from writing the letter.
He remembered the enthusiastic the Weasleys at The Burrow; his uncle serving as the headmaster, and his eccentric old man; and then he remembered the few girls who always accompanied him. Those fragmented warmth-giving moments, like small pebbles, sank to the bottom of his heart, wrapped in a snow-like chill, yet they never grew cold.
Grindelwald's three words whirled around in his mind. Ambition—was it wanting even greater power? Yet the power he wanted was never meant to crush others, but to protect those moments of warmth. Restraint—was it meant to rein in the stubbornness in his heart? Yet that stubbornness was the foundation that brought him to where he was now. Price—he should have thought of it long ago; every step of magic concealed unknown risks, yet he had never been afraid.
Amster walked over to the table, picked up the quill once more, and gently stroked the edge of the parchment with his fingertips. He suddenly felt that the answer did not need to be written too complicatedly or profoundly; as long as it was what was in his heart, that was enough.
He unfolded a new piece of parchment again, the tip of the quill fell, and the handwriting was steadier than before.
Mr. Grindelwald:
Thank you once again for your letter.
I thought about the three words you asked for a long time.
Ambition. I admit, I want to become stronger. I want to thoroughly understand every secret of magic, practice Alchemy to the height of Mr. Flamel, and have the ability to protect the people I care about. But this is not the ambition Mr. Grindelwald spoke of, right? I have never thought of ruling anyone, nor have I ever thought of using power to change anything grand; I just want to guard myself and the people around me.
Restraint. It seems I have always been very restrained. I am learning to exercise restraint over the control of magic, the pace of experiments, and my own emotions. Yet this restraint is not because of fear, but because I know that power cannot be used recklessly. I do not want to hurt people who should not be hurt because of a momentary impulse, nor do I want to lose the softness within my heart.
Price. I know. From the day I came into contact with Ancient Magic, I knew. Every experiment, every breakthrough, might exact a price. Perhaps magical backlash, perhaps mental exhaustion, or perhaps other things I cannot think of. But I am willing to bear it. Because I know that the path I am walking is one I chose myself.
Friends are not a burden. They are my light, my attachments in Hogwarts, and the harbor I can look back and see no matter how far I walk. If I lose these for the sake of power, then no matter how strong I become, I will only be a lonely empty shell.
I still do not know whether this is the answer you wanted. But I can guarantee that I will keep walking forward, carrying my ambition, guarding my restraint, bearing the price I ought to pay, and protecting my friends.
Amster Dumbledore
After finishing writing, he put down the quill, looked at the words on the paper, and smiled softly. These were his truest thoughts, without deliberate embellishment or feigned profundity—just a youth's candor toward power, friends, and the future.
He folded the letter, walked out of the Room of Requirement, and came to the side of the Black Lake.
Moonlight spilled onto his face, softening the stubbornness between his brows.
Moonlight spilled onto the Black Lake, shattering into a patch of silver light.
In the distance, a silver-gray owl was circling.
He gave a soft whistle, and the owl swooped down, landing on his extended arm.
Amster tied the letter to its leg.
"Go ahead."
The owl glanced at him and beat its wings, flying toward the night sky.
Amster looked at the direction where it disappeared and stood there for a long time.
He did not know what this letter would exchange for.
But he knew that some questions required finding the answers oneself.
The owl beat its wings and rose, tearing through the night, flying into the distant wind and snow. Amster stood by the window, watching its shadow disappear into the moonlight, and stood there for a long time.
Snow particles struck the glass window, making a rustling sound, while the candlelight flickered behind him, casting his shadow onto the stone wall—lonely yet resolute. He knew that ahead lay unknown dangers, unsolved puzzles, and questions that needed to be faced directly. But he also knew that he was not alone; he had friends, passion, and the light within his heart.
Chapter 43: The Scent of Biscuits in the Little Wooden House
Long after the owl disappeared into the distance where the moonlight and the blizzard met, Amster slowly withdrew his gaze.
He did not immediately leave this secret space that belonged to him, but instead sat back down in front of the alchemy table, his fingertips gently brushing over those uncompleted rune arrays.
The candlelight flickered, and the runes on the paper shimmered on and off like a slumbering ancient heartbeat.
He did not know what that reply sent to the distance would bring—was it recognition, scrutiny, or an even deeper level of testing?
But he would keep walking forward.
The fire inside the youth's heart, named protection, was already burning brightly enough to resist all the unknown cold ahead.
Until the candlelight gradually burned down, and the night outside the window grew deeper, Amster packed up his things and fell asleep peacefully.
Days thus quietly flowed by amidst the blizzard and fragrance of books in Hogwarts.
One afternoon in February.
The castle of Hogwarts was still wrapped in winter colors, the Black Lake was covered with a thin layer of ice, the treetops of the Forbidden Forest hung with unmelted snow, and everything was as quiet as if a Silencing Charm had been cast upon it, with only the wind passing through the spires of the tower, leaving behind faint, crisp traces.
It was in the afternoon sunlight that Amster discovered the note quietly slipped in through the gap of the door.
He had just returned from organizing Ancient Magicliterature in the Library, with a little snow dust floating in from outside still clinging to his shoulders.
When he pushed open the door, a neatly folded small note was quietly lying on the floor.
The paper was rough yet soft hemp paper, with edges slightly scorched by the fireplace.
At a glance, one could tell it was neither the parchment commonly used at Hogwarts nor the stationery customary among students.
He bent down to pick it up.
The moment his fingertips touched the surface of the paper, he faintly smelled a lingering aroma of buttery biscuits and pine firewood.
The handwriting on the note was crooked, the strokes light and a bit awkward, as if it had been carefully written stroke by stroke by someone who hadn't truly held a pen in a long time and hadn't spoken properly in ages—it was an invitation.
Amster:
"Would you like to come to the cabin for tea today?"
"I baked new biscuits."
"I invited Cassandra and the others."
"The girls all say you have been very busy lately and haven't stopped for a long time."
Poppy
Amster pinched the note, fell silent for a few seconds, and the corners of his mouth uncontrollably curled up into a slight arc.
He carefully folded the note, put it into his inner pocket, crossed the empty corridor, and walked towards the path leading to Hogsmeade.
After several heavy snowfalls, the path was covered with a thin layer of lingering snow slightly crisped by the sunlight.
Stepping on it would not make one sink deeply, but would only produce a crisp and gentle creaking sound, step by step, exceptionally clear in the quiet air.
The wind was a bit cooler than inside the castle.
The sunlight overhead was good enough, golden and softly cascading down, falling on his shoulders and the top of his hair, warming one's heart into a state of lightness.
The path wound forward, passing through a snowy fir forest, and then turning past a gentle slope, the little wooden house hidden in the winter scenery appeared before his eyes.
Amster gently pushed open the door.
A warm, sweet fragrance mixed with butter, wheat, and cinnamon instantly surged up, driving away all the chill around him.
The flickering firelight in the fireplace dyed the small space tender and dim-yellow.
Poppy was squatting in front of the fireplace, her body slightly curled up, holding a long iron fork blackened by the fire in her hand, cautiously moving a plate of golden and crispy baked biscuits away from the edge of the hearth, while the other girls sat on the sofa of the cabin.
Poppy was wearing a plain cotton long dress, with a loose knitted sweater worn over it, her cuffs casually rolled up to her elbows, revealing a section of slender, fair wrists.
Hearing the sound of the door pushing open, she abruptly turned her head, her amber eyes instantly lighting up in the firelight, like two pieces of fine starlight falling into them.
"You're here!"
Her voice carried a slight tremor of pleasant surprise.
She hurriedly put down the iron fork in her hand, stood up in a fluster, and subconsciously patted the flour and plant ash clinging to the hem of her skirt—her movements were a bit clumsy, yet exceptionally cute.
"Sit down, sit down, the biscuits just came out of the oven, they're still hot."
As she spoke, she nimbly wiped the wooden table clean, her eyes full of anticipation, like a child waiting to be praised.
Fleur sat gracefully on the sofa, waved at Amster, and bantered, "Big busybody, you finally deigned to come out! This afternoon, you're not allowed to think about anything—just rest well for a while."
Cassandra stood up before Penelope and tidied Amster's clothes.
This was a habit that had started a few months ago, something every girl would do, except Cassandra seemed to be getting more and more proficient at it.
Penelope saw this and had no choice but to come to the dining table, pull out the chairs, and help Poppy set the tableware.
Amster sat down on the wooden chair by the table.
Right beside his hand, the hot cocoa freshly brewed by Cho Chang had already been placed—just right for Amster's preference.
Poppy quickly brought over the white porcelain plate filled with biscuits, picked up the copper pot on the table, and poured several cups of steaming fruit tea.
This was the girls' tea drink.
The tea liquid was pale amber, floating with two dried petals, curls of heat rising with a faint sweet fragrance.
"Have a taste."
She sat down opposite Amster, holding her teacup with both hands, but forgetting to drink, only looking at him with sparkling eyes, her eyelashes casting shallow shadows under the firelight.
"I tried it a few times; the heat this time should be just right, crisper than the last time."
Amster picked up a piece of biscuit.
The biscuit still carried the warmth of the hearth, its edges slightly scorched, but the center soft and sweet.
With a single bite, the crispy shell gently shattered between his teeth, and the rich buttery milky fragrance mixed with a hint of sweet honey slid down his throat, warming him from the tip of his tongue all the way to the bottom of his heart.
He gently nodded, his voice a few shades softer than usual.
"Delicious."
Simple as the two words were, they made Poppy's eyes curve into two small crescents.
She finally consented to pick up her teacup, sipping the warm fruit tea in small sips, her gaze falling on the flickering hearth fire.
Her voice suddenly lowered, like talking to herself, and also like speaking to every guest around her.
"You all know… when I stay by myself, I always think of things from a long time ago."
She paused, her fingertips gently rubbing against the cold wall of the porcelain cup.
"It's been almost a hundred years, hasn't it?"
"I often sat alone like this in front of the fireplace, baking biscuits, boiling tea, watching the snow outside the window fall piece by piece, covering the entire roof and the entire woods."
Amster did not interrupt her, but sat quietly, his gaze falling gently on her like the most patient listener.
"At that time, I was perhaps no different from now."
Poppy's voice grew lighter, carrying a trace of distant melancholy.
"At that time, I had a few very close friends, and we always went on adventures together and did many things together."
She gently sighed, shifting her gaze from the hearth fire to Amster's face, her amber eyes carrying a hint of lingering fear, a hint of relief, and deep gratitude.
"As a result… I lost myself."
"Trapped in the darkness, I was almost forgetting who I even was."
"Thank you, Amster."
"Thank you for finding me back."
"And thank you to all of you good girls, thank you for being willing to become friends with me."
Amster was silent for a few seconds, his gaze calm and sincere.
"I didn't find you back."
He said softly, "It was you who refused to fall completely asleep; it was the light in your heart that woke up on its own."
Poppy was slightly startled, as if she hadn't expected him to answer this way.
A few seconds later, she suddenly smiled, her smile clean and soft like the sunlight after the snow clears, without a single speck of impurity.
"You really know how to talk."
She did not argue further, but lowered her head again, sipping the fruit tea in small sips.
In the small wooden house, there was only the crackling sound of firewood burning in the fireplace, the quiet sound of two people breathing, and the other girls' voices comforting Poppy and echoing sounds.
The snow outside the window had completely stopped at some unknown time.
The heavy clouds were torn open a gap by the sunlight, and the golden light poured down unreservedly, falling onto the snow outside the house, reflecting a dazzlingly bright light.
The outline of the Forbidden Forest in the distance became clear under the sunlight, even the snow particles on the branches exuded a crystal-clear luster, and the whole world was quiet and bright.
After a very, very long time, Poppy spoke again.
She softly called out his name, her voice very light, yet carrying a trace of imperceptible nervousness.
"Amster."
"Hmm?"
"From now on… can you and the girls come often?"
Her fingertips slightly curled, her hand holding the teacup tightened a bit, and her voice carried a trace of loneliness, a trace of expectation, and a bit of unease after long-term solitude.
"I've stayed by myself for too long, and I'm a bit… not quite used to the quiet anymore."
Amster looked at her.
Looking at the expectation in her eyes, looking at the loneliness hidden beneath her smile, he simply nodded gently yet incomparably firmly.
"Okay."
A single word, as light as the wind, yet it was a promise from Dumbledore.
Poppy's eyes instantly lit up breathtakingly.
She looked as though she had received the most precious gift in the whole world, instantly breaking into a smile—bright, radiant, and unreserved, even more dazzling than the sunlight outside the window.
She picked up a warm biscuit, stuffed it into her mouth in small bites, squinted her eyes contentedly, like a small cat basking in the sun.
Amster looked at her defenseless appearance, and the corners of his mouth curled up gently once more.
Outside the window, sunlight blanketed the snow, dazzlingly bright.
Inside the house, the fireplace fire was burning vigorously, warming one's heart with peace.
The sweet fragrance of the biscuits, the fresh fragrance of the fruit tea, and the warm fragrance of the firewood intertwined, wrapping around the small house and also wrapping around the softest place in the youth's heart.
At this moment, Amster seemed to understand something, and he seemed to have formed his own true understanding of those three words.
Ambition is protection, restraint is gentleness, and the price is moving forward.
And at this moment, the biscuits, hot tea, sunlight, and smiles were the most steadfast and precious light on his path forward.
Chapter 44: Strolling in the Courtyard
When they stepped out of Poppy's cottage, the setting sun was sinking toward the horizon, dyeing the snow of Hogsmeade in a faint, pale orange-pink.
The air still retained the warmth of the cabin's fireplace and the sweet fragrance of butter cookies, faint yet distinct, as if carrying the gentleness of the entire afternoon upon them.
Amster walked ahead, followed by the soft, pattering footsteps and gentle murmurs of the girls.
Cassandra walked side by side with him, a woolen shawl that Poppy had forcefully shoved onto her draped over her shoulders; Fleur linked arms with Cho Chang, whispering complaints about having eaten too many cookies just now; Penelope lagged at the very back, her boots crunching softly upon the snow.
The group slowly approached the castle, dusk thickening as a hint of chill crept into the wind.
As they neared the entrance hall, Cho Chang suddenly quickened her pace and walked up to Amster's side.
"Wait a moment, Amster."
He halted his steps and looked at her.
The glow of sunset fell upon her face, making her eyes appear exceptionally bright and tender.
"Are you free tomorrow afternoon?"
Amster pondered for a brief moment and nodded.
"I am."
"Then would you accompany me for a walk in the courtyard?"
Her voice grew softer, carrying a trace of imperceptible tension, "I have some things I want to say to you."
Amster nodded in agreement.
Cho Chang smiled faintly and turned back to join the other girls.
Fleur winked at her, only to be gently pushed away.
Chatting and laughing, the group walked into the castle, their figures disappearing into the depths of the corridor.
Amster stood in place, watching the direction in which they left, the corners of his mouth curving slightly upward.
Carrying a hint of faint anticipation.
The next afternoon, the sunlight was exceptionally bright.
The accumulated snow slowly melted under the sunlight, and water droplets dripped from the stone walls, tapping out tiny pits in the ground.
The air was humid and cool, mixed with the scent of earth and withered grass—a quiet tenderness unique to the turn of winter and spring.
When Amster walked out of the castle, Cho Chang was already waiting at the courtyard entrance.
Today she was not wearing her school robes; instead, she wore a light cyan long dress, overlaid with a white woolen cardigan, her dark hair gently stirred by the wind.
Seeing him, she raised her hand and waved, smiling so that her eyes curved into crescents.
"You're here."
Amster walked up to her side, and the two of them walked side by side toward the depths of the courtyard.
Most of the snow on the lawn had melted, revealing the soft withered grass underneath, which felt light and quiet when stepped upon.
In the distance, Black Lake was still covered in a thin layer of ice, but its edges had thawed into a ring, the lake water sparkling with shimmering silver light under the sun.
Cho Chang walked very slowly, her gaze resting softly on the surface of the lake.
"When I was little, I heard my father say that there was a small pond at the doorstep of his old home."
She spoke softly, "It was much smaller than Black Lake.
When it froze in winter, my eldest uncle would take him ice skating; he would always fall, and when he fell and cried, he would go find his mother to complain."
She smiled softly, it was just what my father told me.
"After coming to Britain later on, I never played like that again."
She turned her head to look at Amster.
"During those years you spent in Huaxia, did you go to places like that?"
Amster fell silent for a moment and nodded.
"I did, but not to play."
"Then what was it for?"
"Going into the mountains with my master."
He said calmly, "He taught me how to read characters, recite poetry, and look at the mountains and waters.
I was young back then and didn't understand why I had to do those things."
"Do you understand now?" Cho Chang asked softly.
Amster gazed at the melting snow in the distance and gave a soft affirmative hum.
"Perhaps I understand now."
Cho Chang looked at him and smiled, as if an unspoken tacit understanding had suddenly grown between them.
"Me too.
When I was little, I didn't understand why I had to learn Chinese characters and recite classical poetry; reading them again now, I finally understand the meaning within."
She walked over to the old oak tree and sat down, patting the grass beside her.
"Let's sit for a while."
Amster sat down beside her.
The setting sun filtered through the branches and leaves, casting mottled warmth over the two of them.
Cho Chang took out a notebook from her bosom, turned to a page, and handed it to him.
"Can you help me explain this poem?"
Amster looked down, seeing the neatly written Chinese characters on the paper.
Light rain in Weicheng moistens the light dust, the guesthouse is verdant and willow colors are fresh.
I urge you to drink one more cup of wine, west of Yangguan pass there are no old friends.
He recited it softly once.
Cho Chang listened quietly, only speaking after he finished reading:
"What does 'West of Yangguan pass there are no old friends' mean?"
"A farewell," Amster said, "Once you pass beyond Yangguan, it is very difficult to see old friends again."
Cho Chang nodded lightly, then shook her head gently.
"The books say so, but I feel it's not just a farewell."
She gazed into the distance, her voice light and quiet.
"I feel it's about a person walking forward, walking and walking, until the people around them become fewer and fewer.
When I came to Britain, that was exactly the feeling I had."
Amster did not speak, simply listening quietly.
After a moment, Cho Chang turned to look at him, her gaze earnest yet carrying a trace of unease.
"Amster, when you walk forward, will you also be like this?"
Amster met her gaze, fell silent for a moment, and said softly:
"Of course I will."
Cho Chang's eyes lit up slightly.
"But someone told me that it can't always be like this.
Some people drift apart as they walk, while others will stay until the end.
Those who stay are the ones who are worth it."
Cho Chang gazed at him, smiling softly after a long while.
"Thank you, Amster."
Amster did not press her on what exactly she was thanking him for, simply nodding.
The two sat under the tree for a while longer. The wind blew softly, carrying the crisp freshness of melting snow, so quiet that it made one reluctant to make a sound.
The sun gradually descended, painting the sky with a pale blue dusk.
Cho Chang stood up and patted the grass clippings off her skirt.
"Let's go, it's time to head back."
Walking to the castle entrance, Cho Chang suddenly stopped, the tips of her ears slightly flushed, yet she did not avoid his gaze.
"Amster."
"Hm?"
"Next time... will we still have time like today? Walking together and talking."
Amster nodded.
"There will be."
Cho Chang smiled, exceptionally bright in the darkening twilight.
She waved her hand and turned to run into the castle, her skirt hem lifting gently.
Amster stood in place, watching her retreating figure disappear into the depths of the corridor before slowly turning around.
In the distance, Black Lake rippled with the final shred of afterglow, soft and serene.
He did not return to his dormitory immediately, instead walking slowly along the cloister.
As the dusk deepened, the lights inside the castle lit up one by one.
He walked alone, letting the sunset in the courtyard, the poetry beneath the oak tree, and Cho Chang's earnest gaze quietly settle into a soft place deep within his heart.
Outside the window at the end of the corridor, Black Lakeshimmered quietly in the night.
Amster halted his steps and stood for a moment.
Winter was coming to an end, and spring was approaching; the road ahead remained long, but he knew that once a certain warmth appeared, it would not easily dissipate.
He took a breath of the slightly cool air and turned to walk into the warm lights.
Amster understood that perhaps he should get used to life having more than just study and research, and perhaps certain matters ought to have a decision made.
[The romantic buildup should be enough, right? If I don't make it explicit soon, won't it be a bit wordy? I'll settle it in the next few days.]
Chapter 45 Grindelwald's Reply
In the days that followed, Amster's life returned to its former rhythm.
Attending classes, hanging out in the Library, and staying in the Room of Requirement formed almost the entirety of his life.
What was different from before was that he would spend more time on several girls.
Occasionally he would go to Poppy's hut for tea, occasionally he would be dragged by Fleur to take a walk in Hogsmeade, and occasionally he would bump into Cassandra in the corridor; she never spoke much, only giving a faint nod, but every time she nodded, a slight curve imperceptible to others would hook at the corners of her mouth.
Cho Chang would still appear in the Library, but she no longer actively came over to ask for help with difficult problems like she used to.
She would simply pick a seat neither too far nor too close, quietly flipping through books, occasionally raising her eyes to glance in his direction for a split second before quickly lowering her head again.
Penelope still guarded her old spot, the sound of her quill scraping across the parchment being soft and continuous, like the pattering drizzle of a spring day.
Everything looked no different from before, yet in the subtle details, it seemed as though something had already quietly changed.
On the last day of April, that silver-gray owl representing Grindelwald came again.
It landed on the dining table of the Hogwarts Great Hall, lightly shaking its wings to shed a few fine down feathers, with a black envelope firmly tied to its leg, heavier than the previous time, and the striking letter — G still hot-stamped on the cover.
Amster removed the envelope, and the owl did not fly away immediately; instead, it tilted its head to look at him for a few seconds, then turned its head to begin enjoying the breadstick handed over by Cassandra beside him.
And then it departed with satisfaction.
Amster opened the letter.
The letter paper was still heavy parchment, and the handwriting on it was sharp and vigorous, carrying an unquestionable power.
This time, a thick stack of notes was also tied to the end of the letter, tightly bound with thin twine, and the corners were frayed from being repeatedly thumbed through, obviously read countless times.
Amster:
I have received your reply.
You say you still have no answer, which is only natural.
When facing this question, people who hold definitive answers are simply of two kinds — those who have grown old and shrewd, or fools.
You are neither of these; you are merely wandering in the fog, having not yet found your own path.
The notes attached with the letter are my handwritten notes from my youth when I studied various types of magic. The array formations and runes within them largely match the path you are exploring at this moment, and perhaps they can clear away some of your obstacles.
But I am by no means asking you to follow blindly in my footsteps and copy my tracks.
Remember, no magic has ever been a smooth path paved by predecessors; every step must be broken through by yourself personally, and every rune must be verified by your own magic personally.
You once said that you were unwilling to hurt anyone.
This weak kindness is forgivable, but it is far from enough.
Not actively hurting others has never been equivalent to possessing the power to protect.
You should question the truest desire deep in your heart — what on earth do you want?
Is it a cowardly peace, or power sufficient to control everything?
As for the foolish words you mentioned that I think friends are a burden, I will tell you in another way: they are your anchors.
An anchor can allow a giant ship to stand firm in wind and waves, and can also drag you into an endless abyss when a storm descends.
Floating and sinking, life and death, have never depended on the anchor, but on the helm in your hands, and on the ambition and choices deep in your heart.
Figure everything out clearly before writing back to me.
Gellert Grindelwald
He folded the letter paper, placed it on the table, and then untied the thin twine on that stack of notes.
On the very first page of the notes was a giant array diagram, with lines intersecting and crisscrossing densely like a spiderweb, far more complicated than all the ancient magic arrays he had ever seen.
Beside it was that sharp handwriting with a straightforward note: "The magic flow here contradicts the prediction, and requires three fine-tunes to calibrate."
A hand-drawn arrow beside it pointed to another page with a few brief words: "Test seven materials one by one, with silver powder being the optimal choice."
He flipped through it page by page.
Every page was like this — precise array diagrams, sharp notes, unmasked failure records, revised plans overthrown repeatedly, failure, starting over, failing again, and improving again.
Some of the pages still retained charred burn marks, with curled and blackened edges, obviously marks left by out-of-control magic experiments.
This was never a flawless master's classic.
This was a vivid, real practical record carrying blood and fire.
Amster quietly flipped through page by page, completely engrossed in reading.
Those array formations and runes happened to be connected to the contents he was studying.
The bottlenecks that he previously couldn't figure out despite much thought suddenly became clear after seeing Grindelwald's notes; the deductions he previously thought were correct, when compared against those failure records, made him suddenly realize he had long strayed onto a wrong path.
The moon wheel outside the window rose and fell, and the night color pervaded the castle over and over again.
The flame in the fireplace burned and then extinguished, extinguished and then replenished, and the warm light always reflected the figure in front of the desk.
Time hurried by for a few days just like that, and during these days Amster always carried that set of notes from Grindelwald with him.
Until three days later, he slowly closed the notes and let out a long breath.
Spread out on the table were over a dozen brand-new array diagrams, each of which was the result of his repeated calculations, deliberations, and revisions over these past few days.
The previously obscure and difficult bottlenecks were all thoroughly understood, and the steps that had repeatedly gone wrong in the past finally found the correct solution.
He stood up and walked to the window.
The surface of the Black Lake was covered with the shattered gold of the setting sun, rippling slowly, and the warm light fell on the window sill.
He suddenly remembered the words in Grindelwald's letter — "Any magic is not a paved road, and every step must be walked out by oneself."
According to Grindelwald's current statement, he was now trying to take this step out.
Fortunately, his uncle was the greatest White Wizard of the present day, and the teachers he came into contact with could all be said to be top-tier existences in various fields.
Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration; Professor Sprout's Herbology; Professor Flitwick's charms and practical combat skills; Professor Snape's potion knowledge; Nicolas Flamel's Alchemy; Newt's Magizoology; and now there was one more, Grindelwald.
Such a faculty team was something others wouldn't even dare to imagine, and Amster believed that with the help of such a group of teachers, this step of his would not be too difficult.
He turned around and returned to the desk, spread out a new piece of parchment, and began to write his reply.
The moment the nib touched the parchment, he had gained some new insights compared to the last time.
When he finished writing the reply, it was already late at night.
Amster sealed the letter and walked to the window.
Moonlight poured onto the Black Lake, rippling into a patch of silver-white, and that silver-gray owl was circling in the distant night sky, the tips of its wings stained with the faint moonlight.
He gave a soft whistle.
The owl swooped down and landed on the windowsill.
Amster tied the letter to its leg and casually grabbed a handful of owl feed.
He gently patted its back.
The owl looked up at him for a moment, flapped its wings and flew into the night sky, quickly disappearing into the depths of the moonlight.
Amster didn't stay, but simply turned around to rest, because he knew that when the next reply arrived, this new private tutor would probably assign him some tasks.
Before that, he only needed to do one thing, which was to rest up well and greet new challenges in the best condition.
Chapter 46: The Legendary Four Founders
At the end of the school year, Hogwarts was exceptionally quiet.
The torches in the corridors burned quietly, the wind swept through the empty stairs, and even the ripples of the Black Lake were so soft they were almost inaudible.
The entire castle seemed to have fallen into a light slumber, save for the Room of Requirement, where a single candlelight gently flickered in the dimness.
Amster sat before the polished wooden table, his fingertips repeatedly stroking the piece of parchment that had already become soft from much handling.
That was the final page of the notes sent by Grindelwald; the symbols, annotations, and even the positions of the ink blots upon it were already thoroughly familiar to him.
The firewood in the fireplace was burning brightly, and the orange-red flames crackled from time to time, splashing a few fragments of fine sparks that vanished in a flash within the dim light.
He put down his quill and gently rubbed his stiff brow.
Too many things had happened this year.
Flamel's Alchemy, the Ancient Magic deeply hidden within Grindelwald's words, the guardians' three progressive trials, and Poppy, who had slumbered for many years and finally awakened...
Everything pushed him continuously forward, leaving almost no breathing space.
Yet he was still full of drive — because his progress was visible to his own eyes.
Just at the moment when he was slightly lost in thought, the flames in the fireplace suddenly froze.
They did not extinguish, nor did they dim, but instead came to a complete standstill.
The leaping flames were frozen in mid-air by an invisible force, sharp-edged and motionless, resembling a painting nailed fast into time.
The candlelight on the table also instantly stopped flickering, its warm yellow light condensing into a fixed point of radiance, and even the air became stagnant, growing so quiet that only his own breathing remained, sound after sound, clear to the point of being somewhat abrupt.
Amster instantly stood up and vigilantly looked around.
He was more than familiar with this Room of Requirementthat he had converted into a cultivation chamber.
The tables and chairs, the classic texts, and the magical materials piled in the corner were all no different from usual.
Yet that eerie aura seeping from the source of magic caused his back to tense slightly, his fingertips involuntarily closing.
The next second, four soft halos of light slowly lit up on the opposite stone wall.
The halos slowly unfolded and gathered, gradually turning from blurred patches of light into clarity, ultimately transforming into four human figures formed of light and shadow.
They were not those moving portraits in the castle, nor were they ordinary disguise charms, but rather phantom images condensed from some will spanning a millennium, with clear outlines and steady auras, as if they would step out from the light in the next second.
The first figure on the left was the most robust, his reddish-brown hair and beard unkempt yet not looking slovenly, with the faint shadow of a long sword hanging at his waist, his entire body exuding an undisguised enthusiasm and sharpness.
He spoke first, his laughter loud and clear, shaking the points of light within the room into a gentle quiver.
"This lad's got some nerve; to be able to stand this steady upon seeing the four of us."
The second figure followed closely behind, with black hair hanging down, a cold and stern visage, and a black robe embroidered with flowing silver snake patterns that faintly flickered in the dim light.
He half-squinted as he appraised Amster, his gaze sharp yet not oppressive, carrying a calmness that pierced the heart.
"Godric, don't frighten the child. To be able to walk to this step, he naturally has his own foundation."
The third figure was a witch, her silver hair drifting as softly as moonlight, her face thin and gaunt, her eyes concealing the wisdom and gentleness of one who had seen all the affairs of the world.
She nodded slightly, her gaze falling upon Amster with a familiarity as if they had known each other long ago.
"We have been observing you for a long time, Amster Dumbledore."
The final figure was plump and gentle, wearing a plain brown robe with a benevolent smile on her face, resembling the kindest grandmother in the castle, instantly diluting the tension in the air.
"Don't be nervous, child. We mean you no harm; we just wanted to come and see you."
Amster looked at the four figures of light and shadow before him, his heart giving a gentle jolt.
The attire of these four people reminded him of the four founders of Hogwarts recorded in history.
Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, Helga Hufflepuff.
The creators of Hogwarts, the four most legendary founders in the entire wizarding world.
He suppressed the ripples in his heart, bowed slightly, and performed a standard and respectful wizard's salute.
The phantom of Gryffindor stepped forward in big strides, stopping before Amster as a broad palm gently landed on his shoulder.
There was no physical sensation of touch, yet a warm and heavy power seeped into his body along his shoulder, solid and reassuring.
"Good boy, no need for formalities." He grinned widely, hearty and direct, "Rackham and those few little fellows haven't taught too badly; that you could completely pass their trials is enough to prove you are qualified to stand here."
Slytherin also strolled over leisurely, his steps light and slow, like a silently gliding snake.
His gaze swept over Amster from top to bottom, precisely capturing the magical aura flowing around his body, and his eyes shifted slightly.
"You carry more than one kind of magical trace upon your body... It seems you possess sufficient talent in every field..."
Amster did not conceal it and nodded gently.
The corners of Slytherin's lips curled into an extremely faint arc, resembling recognition, yet also seeming like emotion.
"As expected of a student of mine, Slytherin. The so-called pride of blood purity is not lineage, but power belonging to oneself."
Ravenclaw drifted closer slowly, her voice as soft as wind chimes, yet every word was clear, falling deep into the heart.
"From the very first time you perceived the remnants of Ancient Magic within the castle, we have been watching you. Awakening Poppy Sweeting, studying Alchemy, candidly corresponding with Grindelwald... Every choice you made has made us certain that you are the person we have been waiting for."
Hufflepuff also stepped forward, her smile as warm as the fire in the fireplace, easily smoothing away the final trace of tension deep within Amster's heart.
"Not every young wizard can make the four of us old folks nod at the same time. Come, no need to be constrained; just sit down and talk."
The four of them naturally formed a circle, with Amsterstanding in the center.
The next moment, the surrounding Room of Requirementquietly faded away; the stone walls, tables and chairs, and hearth fire all vanished, as if they were placed within an expansive and tranquil void, with only four stable halos of radiance and the youth standing in the middle.
Gryffindor spoke first, his tone growing somewhat more solemn.
"What Rackham and they taught you are the techniques and applications of what you call Ancient Magic. But what we want to teach you is something more important than spells — why magic is used."
Slytherin took over the conversation, his voice low and sharp, striking straight to the core.
"Ambition is never a sin. Without ambition, you could not have walked to today, nor could you touch the core of Hogwarts. But I want to ask you, what is your ambition truly for?"
Amster fell silent for a few seconds. Familiar faces in the castle, the evening breeze by the Black Lake, the tea fragrance of Poppy's cottage, everything he wanted to protect with all his might flashed through his mind.
"I want to protect," he said softly yet powerfully, "to protect the people I care about, to guard this castle, to safeguard everything I have acknowledged."
Slytherin raised an eyebrow without refuting, the sharpness in the depths of his eyes quietly softening a fraction.
Ravenclaw gently pursued the question, her voice soft yet leaving no room for avoidance.
"Then what about restraint? What does restraint mean in your heart?"
Amster did not hesitate in the slightest.
"Restraint is holding fast to the bottom line, not abusing power, not harming the innocent, and not letting powerful magic degenerate into a tool of destruction and slaughter."
Hufflepuff nodded gently and spoke last, her tone soft yet carrying a heavy weight.
"The final question — have you ever thought about it? Walking this path, what kind of price will you need to pay?"
This time, Amster fell silent for even longer.
He thought of the charred, burned marks on Grindelwald's notes, of the countless failed magical experiments, of those days and nights wandering in darkness and confusion, and of the storms and hardships destined to head his way in the future.
Yet he had never thought of turning back.
"I do not know," he raised his eyes, his gaze clear and firm, "but I am very clear that no matter what price must be paid, I will never regret it, nor will I give up."
The four founders exchanged glances, their eyes simultaneously revealing smiles of approval.
Gryffindor slammed his hands together abruptly, and the phantoms collided, actually producing a crisp and resounding sound.
"Good! For the sake of this original intent and courage of yours, from this day forth, the four of us old folks will be your teachers!"
As his voice fell, Ravenclaw raised her hand first, a wisp of soft silver light gathering at her fingertips.
That radiance drifted slowly toward Amster, gently sinking into the center of his brow.
In an instant, countless pieces of information surged into his mind — not stiffly stuffed knowledge, but a key, a door.
The origin of Ancient Magic, the secrets left behind when the four founders built Hogwarts, the incantations and array diagrams mastered only by the creators, the secrets deep within the castle that had never been known by anyone... all transformed into clear indexes, quietly branded within his consciousness.
"This is the first gift we give you," Ravenclaw smiled and said, "everything else requires you to learn and comprehend from us bit by bit in the days ahead."
Hufflepuff also raised her hand, a warm golden light gently melting into Amster's chest.
"This is my bestowal — to give you strength when you are tired, to guard your sobriety when you are lost, and to let you always remember the meaning of kindness and tolerance."
Gryffindor waved his hand, and a passionate red light went straight into Amster's right arm.
"Courage and power, given to you. In the future when you encounter formidable enemies, remember, do not retreat, do not flinch."
Slytherin raised his hand last, a cold yet unharming silver-green radiance gently blending into Amster's left hand.
"Caution and insight, given to you. Do not be like Godric, charging ahead recklessly relying solely on a surge of hot-headed passion."
Gryffindor glared at him immediately, while Slytherinremained expressionless, paying him not the slightest heed.
Amster could clearly feel that four distinct yet incomparably harmonious powers were surging into his body, without collision or rejection, but instead settling down and merging slowly as if they originally belonged to him, transforming into a part of his own magic.
That was a solid and powerful sensation, causing his entire being to settle down.
Gryffindor waved his hand, neatly and decisively ending today's meeting.
"Alright, that is all for today. From now on every weekend, as long as you enter the Room of Requirement and your mind stirs, you will be able to connect to the space where we reside. Remember, do not be late; I certainly don't have the patience to wait for a dilatory student."
Before his voice had faded, the surrounding halos began to slowly grow dim, and the figures of the four founders gradually blurred, melting into a patch of soft light mist.
"Remember one last sentence." Slytherin's voice came from the depths of light and shadow, clear and solemn, "You are walking your own path, and we will be in places you cannot see, watching you all the time."
A flash of white light, and the void before his eyes instantly dissipated.
Amster snapped back to his senses, discovering that he was still standing within the Room of Requirement.
The flames in the fireplace were still leaping joyfully, the candlelight gently flickered, the quill lay quietly on the table, the ink stain on the nib had not yet dried, and everything was as if it had never changed.
Only he himself knew that everything just now was no illusion.
He slowly raised his hand; his palm was empty, yet he could clearly feel that gentle and firm power within his body quietly flowing within his bloodline.
The aura and words of the four founders, along with that recognition and expectation spanning a millennium, remained truly upon him.
He lowered his head to look at the tabletop and smiled slightly.
This end of the school year was destined not to be peaceful.
And every upcoming weekend, Hogwarts' most legendary classroom was waiting for him.
Chapter 47 Amster Borrowed the Title
On the evening of the last week of the third year, Hogwarts was gradually taking on the atmosphere of the approaching end of the school year.
The footsteps in the corridors were much fewer, and the wind outside the window swept across the castle spires, carrying a hint of a gentle and quiet flavor.
The whole castle seemed to be quietly waiting for a gentle curtain call, and the door of the Room of Requirement was gently pushed open in such quiet twilight.
The first one to walk in was Fleur.
Her action of pushing the door still carried a bit of casual nature, holding a small wooden box in her arms, and the aroma of Poppy's freshly baked butter cookies slowly drifted out from the cracks, floating gently in the quiet room.
She placed the box steadily on the smoothly polished wooden table, casually tossed her silver long hair that shimmered with a soft luster in the dim light, and familiarly snuggled into the softest armchair by the window, her posture as relaxed as if she had returned to her safest place.
"Poppy is not coming over today."
She blinked gently at Amster in the center of the room, her tone brisk yet hiding tenderness, "She said the hut needs to be cleaned up, waiting for us to go over and liven things up next time.
She baked a lot of cookies, enough for us to eat until the holiday, and enough for us to have a good chat for a while."
As soon as her voice fell, the door hinges turned gently, and Penelope walked in.
She was holding a stack of thick books borrowed from the Library in her arms, the spines neatly arranged, and small labels she had carefully written pasted on the covers—all ancient books and magic notes that Amster had asked her to help find a few days ago.
She piled the books at the corner of the table without a word, walked to her fixed seat and sat down as usual, habitually opened the notebook she carried with her, her fingertips suspended over the parchment, but she delayed dropping the pen tip.
This time, she did not lower her head to avoid the gaze, just sat quietly, putting even her breathing very light, as if waiting for something destined to happen long ago.
The third one to enter was Cassandra.
She held a cup of herbal tea emitting faint heat in her hand, the cup wall lukewarm, carrying just the right warmth.
Without extra movements, she walked straight to Amster, gently placed the teacup within his reach, and then sat cross-legged on the soft carpet in front of the fireplace, her gaze falling quietly on the flickering flames, without speaking, yet like a steady and reliable wall, guarding safely to the side, never absent, and never walking far.
The last one to arrive was Cho Chang.
She pinched a small wildflower just picked from the courtyard in her hand, the petals a pale purple, a small flower, yet blooming clean and vibrant.
She tiptoed into the room, carefully inserting the flower into the empty ink bottle on the table, the bit of ink remaining at the bottom of the bottle would not hurt the flower stem, instead making that pale purple appear particularly dazzling against the backdrop of the wood-colored tabletop.
After finishing all this, she leaned on the edge of the table, resting her chin on her hands, a pair of bright eyes blinking without stopping as she looked at Amster, as if waiting for a very, very important answer.
Four people, just quietly gathered around him.
There were no extra sounds in the room, only the occasional crackling sound of flames in the fireplace and the faint sound of wind blowing past the castle spires outside the window.
Everything was quiet just right, as if even time slowed its pace.
Fleur took a bite of a cookie first, the crisp sound exceptionally clear in the quiet.
She slowly chewed it down, put down her hand, raised her head, her gaze sweeping across Penelope, Cassandra, and Cho Chang in turn, and finally landing steadily back on Amster, her tone lacking a bit of joking compared to usual, with a bit more seriousness, and a bit more tacit understanding that only each other could understand.
"So," she spoke gently, her voice not loud, but enough for everyone to hear, "did you specifically call us all over today to tell us something important?"
As these words fell, Penelope's fingers turning the pages suddenly paused.
Cassandra was still looking at the hearth, but the fingertips holding the empty teacup quietly tightened a bit, and even her breathing became a little lighter.
Cho Chang's eyes became even brighter, even her ears flushed slightly, the whole person as if her heartstrings were gently pulled, fearing to miss a single word.
Amster was silent for a few seconds.
He slowly closed the thick book spread out in his hand, gently placed it on the table, then stood up, walking step by step to the side of the fireplace.
The flickering firelight reflected on his face, pulling his shadow very long, projected onto the stone wall behind him, gently intertwined and overlapped with the other five shadows, like an invisible yet tough thread, tightly connecting everyone together.
"This past year." He finally spoke, his voice a bit slower and heavier than usual, every word spoken exceptionally seriously, without a trace of perfunctoriness or hesitation, "Thank you."
The simple five words made the whole room instantly quiet down.
The smile on Fleur's face froze slightly, stunned.
She looked at him, for the first time obvious tremor appearing in her eyes, as if gently struck in the softest place at the bottom of her heart by something.
Penelope suddenly raised her head, this was the first time she did not dodge in his gaze, her clear eyes looking straight at him, hiding a trace of imperceptible emotion in the depths of her eyes, even the tips of her ears quietly stained with light red.
Cassandra slowly turned her head, in the look toward him, fading away the usual aloofness, with an extra layer of very light and soft tenderness, like a thin layer of ice melted by the firelight.
Cho Chang immediately straightened her body, her two small hands neatly crossed on the table, her cheeks slowly turning red, yet still stubbornly looking at him, refusing to look away.
"Accompanying me, helping me, waiting for me."
Amster continued, his gaze sweeping gently and solemnly across the faces of each of them one by one, missing no one, "I'm not very good at saying nice things, nor am I used to hiding my feelings in roundabout words.
But today, I want to make what I say more straightforward, clearer."
He took a deep breath, his eyes firm, without a trace of dodging.
"I like every single one of you."
The room instantly quieted down enough to hear each other's heartbeat.
Fleur was completely stunned, her silver long hair hanging down the side of her shoulders, her eyes full of unbelievable tremor, yet carrying a trace of relief long awaited.
Penelope's breathing paused slightly, her ears blushing even more obviously, yet she still looked at him steadily, without escaping, without retreating.
Cassandra's fingers holding the teacup relaxed slightly, obvious ripples arising in her aloof eyes for the first time, like a warm pebble thrown into a calm lake surface.
Cho Chang widened her eyes, her cheeks gradually stained with light red, but the corners of her mouth slightly lifted out of control, the light in her eyes as bright as stars.
Amster did not pause, continuing to speak straightforwardly, every word clear, firm, and unreserved.
"I'm not acting on impulse, nor am I just saying it casually."
His tone was serious and solemn, "I want to be together with you, not as simple as friends, truly together.
It's that kind of being together where we care for each other, guard each other, and accompany each other.
No matter what we encounter in the future, I want to walk with you, no longer hiding my feelings, nor making you guess anymore."
What he said was straightforward, clear, without any euphemism, every word like falling gently on the heart, warm and powerful.
Fleur was the first to regain her senses.
She looked at him, suddenly smiling, not the flamboyant and playful smile of usual, but a smile carrying warmth and peace of mind, like a breeze warmed by the sun.
She stood up, walked quickly to Amster, extended a finger, and tapped him lightly on the forehead.
"Fool," her voice was soft yet clear, carrying a trace of reproach, but more of wholehearted joy, "I've been waiting for these words for a long time.
I am willing."
Penelope did not speak.
She gently closed the notebook, placed it on the table, also stood up, and walked to Amster.
Her ears were still flushed, yet she looked at him quietly, her gaze clear and firm, and then nodded gently and solemnly.
A nod surpassed a thousand words, clean and definite.
She was willing.
Cassandra put down the teacup in her hand, the porcelain cup gently touching the tabletop, making a crisp and steady sound.
She also stood up, without saying a word, just walked quietly to Amster's side, like countless times in the past, standing steadily beside him.
No promises needed, no oaths needed, her existence itself was the most down-to-earth and definite companionship.
Cho Chang was the most direct.
She jumped up from the chair all at once, trotted to Amster, tilted her head to look at him, her eyes curved into two small crescents, her face carrying a shallow blush, smiling brightly and tenderly.
"I am willing too." She said softly, her tone clean and sincere, without the slightest hesitation.
No hesitation, no probing, no evasion.
Four people, in their respective ways, gave equally clear and equally firm answers.
Poppy was not there, but the box of warm cookies on the table was her most silent, warmest support.
The fire in the fireplace was still crackling, roasting the entire Room of Requirement so warm and cozy, even the stone walls carrying a mild heat.
The moonlight outside the window quietly climbed up, spilling over the distant Black Lake surface, shattering into a piece of swaying silver light, like a lake sprinkled with stars, quiet and gentle.
Amster looked at the four people in front of him, for the first time in his heart so clear and steady.
He remembered the sentence Grindelwald wrote in his letter—Friends are your anchor.
And now, they were not just anchors, but the people he wanted to hold onto tightly and walk towards the future with.
They were his light in the darkness, his reliance in the wind and rain, the warmth he could see as soon as he looked back no matter how far he walked.
He lowered his head, glancing at the cup of still lukewarm herbal tea beside his hand.
The tea fragrance was light, the warmth transmitting all the way from his fingertips to the bottom of his heart, steady and grounded.
Then he raised his head, looking at the four people in front of him, and said a sentence gently, yet incomparably clearly.
"Then starting from today, we are truly together."
Fleur laughed out loud, reaching out to pat him gently on the shoulder, as casual as usual, yet hiding full of joy and peace of mind.
"It should have been like this long ago." Her tone was relaxed, yet carrying unquestionable seriousness, "Tell me, how do you plan to go from here?"
Amster looked at the flickering hearth, thought for a moment, his tone calm and firm.
"Keep moving forward." He said, pausing, looking towards them, his eyes gentle and solemn, "Will you always accompany me?"
Penelope lowered her eyes slightly, her voice light and clear, without the slightest hesitation.
"We will."
Cassandra did not speak, just reached out to gently push that cup of warm tea a bit closer to his hand, a subtle action, yet full of appropriateness and firmness, as if silently telling him that she had always been there.
Cho Chang tilted her head, her eyes innocent and serious, smiling brightly and softly.
"No matter where we go, I will follow you."
Fleur stretched, turned around and sat back into the soft chair, snuggling comfortably again, her tone full of peace of mind and satisfaction.
"That's good. I certainly don't want to come back from holiday and not be able to find you anywhere."
A single sentence made all of them unable to help laughing softly.
The laughter was very light, very soft, mixed with the warmth of the fireplace and the sweetness of the cookies, slowly spreading in the room, like a layer of gentle light enveloping everyone.
The moonlight outside the window still gently spilled over the Black Lake, the lake surface shimmering with silver light, like a light that would not go out all night.
The fire in the fireplace was burning fiercely, the firewood crackling gently in the fire, bringing a steady and grounded sound.
The pale purple little wildflower inserted in the ink bottle on the table was still blooming quietly.
The petals were very small, very ordinary, yet under the warm yellow light, they appeared exceptionally good-looking, exceptionally moving, like their feelings at this moment, simple, clean, yet incomparably firm.
Amster sat among them, holding that cup of warm tea, for the first time in his heart so grounded, so bright.
He knew that the road ahead would still not be easy.
The secrets of Ancient Magic, the guidance of Grindelwald, the trials deep within Hogwarts, and those winds, rains, and challenges that had not yet arrived were all waiting for him ahead.
The future might still be full of unknowns, might still have confusion and exhaustion, but he was no longer afraid, nor was he lonely any longer.
Because by his side, there were people who truly walked alongside him.
They were his light, his backing, the future he was willing to use everything to guard.
Chapter 48: The Upcoming Holiday and Promise
In the last week of June, the air of Hogwarts was filled with the relaxation after the end of examinations.
There were far fewer students hurrying through the corridors with books in their arms, and the wind outside the window swept past the castle spires, carrying a hint of soft and quiet flavor.
The entire castle seemed to be quietly waiting for a gentle curtain call; the willow branches by the Black Lakedrooped into the water, gently swaying as pushed by the breeze, and occasionally a fish leaped out, splashing a circle of fine ripples.
Amster sat by the window of the Room of Requirement, holding a freshly opened letter in his hand.
The letter was sent by Flamel, consisting of only a few short lines.
"If you are free during the summer vacation, come to stay in Devon for a while. You only learned half of the array last time, and I will teach you the rest slowly."
He folded the letter and put it into the drawer.
The drawer had already accumulated a small stack of letters; the topmost one was written by Fleur last week, saying that she was going back to France for the summer vacation and asking if he wanted to drop by Beauxbatonsalong the way; further down was Newt's reply, saying that he had recently been studying an injured Kirin and would chat about Alchemy matters when he had time.
He closed the drawer and leaned against the back of the chair.
Outside the window, the sunlight was just right.
In the evening, Amster went to the Library.
Penelope was still in her old spot, with several thick History of Magic tomes spread out before her, but her quill was set aside while she stared blankly out the window.
Hearing footsteps, she didn't hurriedly lower her head to dodge like before; instead, she gently raised her eyes, and when her gaze fell upon him, the tips of her ears quietly turned red, yet she did not look away.
He walked over and sat down opposite her.
"Still writing your essay?"
Penelope snapped out of it, shook her head, smoothed the pages with her fingertips, and her voice softened a fraction more than usual.
"Finished writing. Just... waiting for you."
Her gaze fell upon the lake surface outside the window dyed golden-red by the setting sun, and her voice was very soft.
"Third year, just like that, has ended."
Amster didn't speak, but reached out to gently touch the back of her hand resting on the book page.
Penelope's fingertips trembled slightly, but she didn't pull back; instead, she moved a tiny bit closer to him, like a silent response.
"Next year," she softly spoke, without the slightest bit of probing, "will you still come to the Library to accompany me?"
Amster turned his head, looked into her clear eyes, and spoke in a serious tone.
"I will. Every single day."
Penelope nodded, lowered her head to continue organizing her books, and said no more, but she also neatly stacked his set of notes together and gently pushed them to his side—those were the exam key points she had stayed up late to help him organize.
Emerging from the Library, Amster had just turned the corner of the corridor when someone grabbed his wrist.
Fleur leaned behind a stone pillar, toying with a strand of silver long hair in her hand, raising an eyebrow at him with a tone carrying a bit of coquettish dominance.
"I knew you were here. Are you really not coming to France with me for the summer vacation?"
Amster shook his head.
"Flamel still has classes over there."
Fleur pouted, stepped forward, very naturally hooked her arm around his, and gently pressed her cheek against his arm.
"Fine then. Anyway, you promised that you would come to find me to play during the summer vacation."
"When did I promise?"
"Right now."
She extended her finger, gently poking his cheek, her eyes filled with smiles, "No going back on your word, or else I will personally go to Devon and drag you back."
Amster looked at her, his eyes carrying a tender smile.
"I won't go back on it."
Fleur let go of him with satisfaction, and before turning and running away, she turned back and shoved a macaron wrapped in candy paper into his hands.
"Remember to write to me! You must write about what happens every day!"
Her footsteps walked briskly away, leaving a faint floral scent in the air.
At the castle entrance, Cassandra was already quietly waiting there.
She leaned against the stone wall by the door, arms crossed, her gaze falling upon the gradually darkening sky outside.
There was little expression on her face, but when she saw Amster walking over, her eyes lit up ever so slightly before quickly fading away, pretending to look nonchalant.
Amster walked up to her side.
"What are your plans for the summer vacation?"
Cassandra turned her face away, her tone still carrying that proud and pampered tune, yet lacking its usual cold stiffness.
"Go back and read books. Otherwise where did you think I would go?"
Pausing for a moment, she very softly added another sentence.
"...Waiting for you to come back."
Amster felt a warmth in his heart and said softly.
"I will write to you."
The tips of Cassandra's ears turned slightly red, yet she still put up a stubborn front.
"Who wants your letter. But... if you write one, I'll read it."
After she finished speaking, she turned and walked into the shadows of the castle, her figure quickly disappearing around the corner.
Yet she paused for a second at the corner, glanced back at him, and then truly departed.
Under the old oak tree in the courtyard, Cho Chang had long been waiting there hugging a book of poetry.
The wind blew the pages rustlingly.
She gently held them down, looked up and saw Amster, and her eyes immediately lit up.
Trotting over, she only gently tugged at the corner of his clothing, carrying the unique gentleness and shyness of Ravenclaw.
"I'm going back tomorrow."
She tilted her face up to look at him, her tone free of unease, holding only sweet anticipation, "Next year we'll still take walks together and look at flowers together, alright?"
Amster stood beside her, looking at the lawn dyed red by the setting sun, and nodded gently.
"Alright."
Cho Chang immediately smiled, closed the poetry book and hugged it to her chest, whispering.
"I will write everything I want to say to you in the letters."
She waved her hand, walked a few steps and turned back again, giving him a sweet smile before skipping away toward the Ravenclaw tower.
When Amster walked to Hogsmeade, the sky had completely darkened.
Lights were on inside the small cottage, and the orange-yellow light filtered through the window, shining on the slate path in front of the door.
There was no more snow in Hogsmeade in June, but Poppysaid she liked the light from that window.
He knocked on the door.
Poppy came to open it almost immediately.
She was wearing that plain-colored cotton long dress, layered with that oversized sweater outside, and still clutching a freshly baked cookie in her hand.
"I guessed you would come today."
She turned sideways to let him in, "Freshly baked, have a taste."
Amster took the cookie and took a bite.
It was still the same taste: crispy, sweet, carrying a hint of honey's warmth.
"Delicious."
Poppy smiled, that smile clean and warm.
"During the summer vacation, I'm going back to live in the cottage for a while. When school starts again, you guys can come over for tea."
"Alright."
Poppy nodded, picked up another cookie, stuffed it into her mouth, and narrowed her eyes in satisfaction.
Amster looked at her, the corners of his mouth curving slightly.
On the way back to the castle, the moon had risen very high.
The surface of the Black Lake shimmered with silver light, the distant Forbidden Forest was pitch black, and occasionally the hoot of an owl drifted over.
He walked very slowly, as if wanting to stretch out the very last bit of time in this year.
When he pushed open the door of the Room of Requirement, the fire in the fireplace was already burning.
Neatly arranged on the table were things from this year—Flamel's notes, Grindelwald's letter, the book gifted by Newt, the array diagrams taught by the Guardian, and those few letters written by the girls.
He walked over and put them into the drawer one by one.
When closing the drawer, his hand paused for a moment on the very last letter.
That was written by Penelope, with only a single line of words.
"See you next year."
He closed the drawer, and just as he turned around, he saw four people sitting on the chairs in the room, looking at him and smiling.
Fleur nestled in the armchair, shaking the cookie in her hand toward him; Penelope placed the organized books by the edge of the table; Cassandra stood guard by the hearth, with a cup of flower tea at just the right temperature beside her hand; Cho Chang held a freshly picked small purple flower in her hand, smiling as she looked over toward him.
Amster closed the door, walked into their midst, and sat down on the carpet in front of the fireplace.
Fleur casually shoved a cookie into his mouth, Penelopepushed the warm tea to his side, Cassandra quietly shifted closer to him, maintaining a quiet yet intimate distance, and Cho Chang gently inserted that small purple flower into the ink bottle on the table.
The fire in the fireplace flickered, drawing the shadows of the five people very long, intertwining together so they could never be separated again.
"Remember to write letters during the holiday."
Fleur spoke first, her tone carrying a small bit of dominance, "You are not allowed to leave out a single person."
Penelope nodded gently, her voice tender.
"I will wait for your letters."
Cassandra didn't speak, but reached out to push the teacup a little closer to his hand.
Her care was always hidden in her actions; she didn't say it, but it was always there.
Cho Chang crossed her arms, smiling with her eyes curved into crescents.
"I will miss you every single day."
Amster bit into the cookie, warmth spreading from the tip of his tongue all the way down to the bottom of his heart.
He didn't say any fancy words, only speaking earnestly and quietly.
"I will. Every single one of you, I won't forget."
The room was very quiet, with only the occasional crackling soft sound of flames.
The sweet fragrance of cookies and the light fragrance of flower tea entwined together, wrapped in the warm breeze, drifting into every corner.
No one mentioned parting, because they all knew this wasn't the end, just a brief separation.
When the wind of September blew into Hogwarts once more, they would gather together again, in a more intimate and firmer manner, walking towards the next stage of their journey together.
The castle bell outside the window rang softly, twelve steady sounds slowly rippling out into the night.
Third year had officially ended.