Chapter 49 Summer Vacation Departure
The day the train left Hogwarts, the sky was very blue.
The platform was packed with students bidding each other farewell, the air filled with a noisy commotion.
Owls fluttered their wings inside wooden cages, cooing softly, and a few impatiently poked their heads out of the cages, staring at the passing figures.
Toads always loved to cause trouble at times like this, suddenly leaping out of someone's loose robe pocket, hopping around once on the flagstone ground, and eliciting a flurry of flustered laughter.
Amster leaned against the old pipe at the end of the platform, not joining the crowd.
He stood there quietly, watching the red steam train slowly pull away into the distance.
The clanking sound of the wheels rolling over the tracks was very steady, and the white steam dissipated into a thin mist in the wind, floating over the tall treetops.
The train windows slid past one by one before his eyes.
Fleur clung to the window edge, her long silver hair blown against her cheeks by the wind, but she didn't care, only focusing on waving vigorously at him with a bright smile.
Cho Chang sat beside her, holding that thin collection of poems in her arms. As the wind fluttered the pages, she merely pressed them down gently, gazing at him quietly with the corners of her mouth curved into a very slight arc.
Penelope leaned against her seat with her eyes closed, her eyelashes lowered, making it impossible to tell whether she had fallen asleep or was thinking about the events of the past year.
Beside her lay her neatly organized notes, as tidy as she was.
Cassandra sat in the corner by the window, her expression still aloof. Her gaze had originally fallen upon the retreating shadows of the woods, but when the train passed in front of Amster, she suddenly turned her head.
The moment their eyes met, she didn't say a thing, merely nodding extremely lightly and faintly.
It was almost too fast to be seen, yet clear enough.
The train rounded the foot of the mountain, its red body completely swallowed by the woods, and even the sound of the whistle grew distant.
The people on the platform slowly dispersed, and the commotion, as if swept away by the wind, faded away without a trace.
Amster turned around and walked in the direction of the castle.
His summer vacation was only truly beginning.
When he returned to the castle, the corridors were completely empty.
Sunlight slanted in through the tall arched windows, casting long strips of light on the flagstone floor, with dust floating gently in the light.
His footsteps struck against the stone walls, bouncing back and echoing softly—the only clear sound in this massive castle.
He did not return directly to the Room of Requirement, going first to the Headmaster's Office.
The door was half-open, and Dumbledore was not there.
Fawkes perched on the wooden stand, preening its golden-red feathers. Hearing the footsteps, it stopped, tilted its head to look at Amster, and let out a soft cry—not loud, but very gentle.
Amster walked in and placed a folded letter on Dumbledore's desk.
It was Grindelwald's reply.
He was merely delivering it on behalf, staying no longer and asking no more.
After placing it properly, he gently pulled the door shut and walked toward the eighth floor.
The door of the Room of Requirement was not closed, as if it had been waiting for him all along.
There was no fire burning in the room; summer no longer needed the warmth of the fireplace.
The books on the bookshelf were still in their original positions, and the unfinished array diagram he had been drawing was spread across the desk, the ink dried quietly.
Outside the window, the Black Lake shimmered with fine fragments of light under the sunlight, and water birds skimmed low across the surface of the water, leaving no trace.
Amster casually stuffed a few changes of clothes into a canvas bag, and tucked Flamel's letter into his inner pocket.
Before leaving, he stood by the desk for a moment, looked down at the unfinished array diagram, didn't say much, and simply folded it up and tucked it into a heavy ancient tome.
The things from this year would be left here for now.
He turned and went downstairs, walking through one empty corridor after another.
The castle was so quiet that he could hear the sound of the wind passing through the corridors, and the bird calls from the Forbidden Forest drifted from afar, as light as a dream.
Walking to that inconspicuous little porch at the edge of the castle, he stopped.
The bronze emblem on the stone pier emitted a dull glow in the sunlight, its patterns hidden very deeply—it was the focal point of the array that only he knew.
Amster reached out his hand and touched it gently with his fingertips.
A familiar wave of dizziness rushed over him, very light and very fast.
When he steadied himself again, Hogwarts' grey stone walls had disappeared.
Beneath his feet was a narrow country path, bordered by wild flowers covering the mountains and plains—white, yellow, and purple, crowding among the grass and swaying gently whenever the wind blew.
In the distance stood a small stone cottage covered in ivy, with faint kitchen smoke drifting from the chimney, slowly dispersing under the blue sky.
Flamel stood at the doorway holding a pair of brass scissors, trimming the vines crawling up to the window sill.
Hearing footsteps, he turned around, put down the scissors, and a gentle smile appeared on his face.
"You've arrived?"
"I have."
Flamel didn't ask any more questions, turning and walking into the house.
"Come in, the tea was just brewed. The biscuits were baked by Perenelle and are still warm."
The cottage was not large, and the moment one stepped inside, they were enveloped by fragrance—the sweetness of baking, the warmth of cinnamon, and the refreshing bitterness of fresh tea mixed together, making one's entire body relax.
Perenelle poked her head out from the kitchen, wearing an old cloth apron and holding a plate of freshly baked biscuits, the steam drifting gently near the white hair at her temples.
"You must be tired from the journey over, have something to eat first. In the afternoon we can talk more slowly about the array."
Amster sat down by the wooden table and took a cup of hot tea.
The cup wall was lukewarm, and the tea liquor was a light amber color.
He picked up a biscuit and took a bite; the crumbly fragrance spread in his mouth, the sweetness was just right, carrying a hint of honey and cinnamon aroma.
He leaned back against the chair and looked out the window.
The valley was full of wildflowers, the sunlight was not harsh, the wind was very soft, and the sound of a stream in the distance was faint, almost indistinct.
There were no footsteps from the castle, no incantation sounds from the classroom, no disturbances that could arrive at any moment.
Everything was slow in just the right way.
Amster let out a soft breath.
This long and quiet summer was only just beginning.
Chapter 50: The Savior Is About to Enroll
On the day returning from Devon, the Hogwarts castle was still shrouded in the late summer mist.
Amster stood before the oak grand doors, his fingertips gently brushing against the texture of the rough stone wall, his gaze sweeping across those familiar towers and spires.
Having left for no more than two months, he had returned here once again.
This summer vacation was as fulfilling as ever. For the first month, he had been studying Alchemy at Flamel's home.
Until half a month ago, Dumbledore suddenly picked him away and let him take two exams, getting a certificate along the way.
Amster walked towards the Headmaster's Office.
The corridor was still empty, and the students had not yet returned to school. Only the sound of the wind passed through the corridor, bringing the faint bird song from deep within the Forbidden Forest, as well as the rustling sound of water ripples patting the embankment on the surface of the Black Lake.
His footsteps fell on the stone slab ground, producing a light and clear echo that slowly dispersed in the silent castle, only to be gently swallowed up by the thick stone walls.
The stone beast guarding the Headmaster's Office slowly opened its eyes as he approached, its amber pupils reflecting his figure. The stone beast silently moved aside, and the spiral stone stairs slowly turned, carrying him upward.
The wooden door was not tightly closed, leaking the warm yellow light from inside, as well as the faint golden glow on Fawkes's body.
Dumbledore was sitting behind the desk, the quill in his hand had just stopped, and the ink on the parchment was not yet completely dry.
Seeing him enter, the old headmaster raised his head, his blue eyes behind the half-moon spectacles gentle and bright, like holding the sunlight piercing through the clouds in the afternoon.
"You're back. Sit down," he spoke.
Amster sat down on the chair opposite. The surface of the chair had been worn soft by time, transmitting a steady tactile sensation against his robes.
"Before coming, I received a letter. Mr. and Mrs. Flamel are doing well."
"I have no doubt about that whatsoever." Dumbledorechuckled softly, fine wrinkles piling up at the corners of his eyes. "I suppose that set of array formations he has studied for decades still lacks the final step of perfection."
"Yes," Amster nodded gently. "He said the progress is still a little bit behind, and asked me to go over again next summer vacation."
Dumbledore smiled softly and said no more, merely reaching out to pick up a neatly folded parchment from the corner of the desk, gently pushing it in front of Amster.
The edges of the paper were stamped with the wax seal of the Hogwarts school crest, clear and complete in texture. Upon it were successively Professor McGonagall's neat and rigorous cursive, Professor Flitwick's compact and brisk signature, Professor Sprout's rounded and gentle notes, and finally Snape's handwriting, sharp as a knife and seemingly carved onto the paper, cold and eye-catching.
The contents of the document were brief: Starting from this semester, Amster Dumbledore is permitted to be exempt from all basic courses of the fourth year and below, and can independently choose the study content, venue, and pace. The Restricted Section of the Library, classrooms, and the Room of Requirement are all open to him.
"Class exemption permit." Dumbledore leaned back into his chair, his fingertips gently tapping on the desk. "Several professors unanimously passed it, and Professor McGonagall even said this permit should have been handed to you long ago. Your foundation has long exceeded what lower-grade classes can teach, and you no longer need to waste time on repetitive content."
Amster folded the parchment and put it into the inner pocket of his robe.
"You can go anywhere you want to go." He spoke slowly. "For the Restricted Section of the Library, I have already arranged a permanent permit for you. The Room of Requirement remains at your disposal. If you are willing, you can also sit in on lower-grade classes as a pastime, or lend a hand to the professors—it's entirely up to you."
He paused, his tone sinking by a fraction, still calm, yet with an extra trace of unnoticeable seriousness.
"There is one more matter."
Amster raised his eyes, his gaze falling upon Dumbledore's back.
"This year, Harry Potter will come to Hogwarts."
"The Defense Against the Dark Arts class will be taken over by Professor Quirrell." Dumbledore's voice remained calm, as if talking about today's weather or some newly sprouted plant somewhere in the castle. "You saw him in the corridor last year."
Amster remembered.
"What do I need to do?" He did not beat around the bush and directly asked.
Dumbledore fell silent for a moment. The mist outside the window was gently parted by the wind into a crack, and a wisp of pale golden morning light pierced through the clouds, falling upon the Black Lake and stirring up tiny flecks of golden light.
"Keep an eye out." He turned around, his gaze falling upon Amster. "You don't need to actively investigate, you don't need to deliberately test, and you definitely don't need to risk approaching. Just if you see him in a place where no one should be, if you happen to be present when something that shouldn't happen occurs, remember everything you see."
He paused slightly, his tone light and clear.
"You said it yourself, what the eyes see is not necessarily the truth. But some things must be seen by someone, and remembered by someone."
Amster met his gaze, without avoiding it nor asking further questions. "You hope this person is me."
Dumbledore neither denied it nor explained too much, merely nodding gently. "You are already a fourth-year student, Amster. Some things, you are already qualified to know and have the ability to bear."
Amster stood up, walked to the window, and stood side by side with Dumbledore. The mist was dispersing bit by bit, the tree crowns of the Forbidden Forest gradually becoming clear, their branches and leaves swaying gently in the wind. A wisp of faint blue smoke drifted from the chimney of Hagrid's hut, slowly dissipating in the sky. The distant Quidditch pitch was empty, the turf fluttering unevenly in the wind, quiet like a static painting.
"Understood, Uncle," he said softly.
Dumbledore gently patted his shoulder, his strength gentle and steady. "Go on, the girls you brought back should already be waiting for you."
Amster nodded slightly and turned to exit the office. The wooden door closed gently behind him, and Fawkes let out a low cry on its perch, clear and soft, like a silent farewell.
He walked slowly along the empty corridor toward the eighth floor. The door of the Room of Requirement was wide open as usual, as if it had long calculated the time of his return.
No fire was lit inside the room; the lingering warmth of late summer still remained between the stone walls and wooden furniture. The air was mixed with old book pages, vegetation, and a faint tea fragrance, clean and steady.
The books on the bookshelf were still placed in their original positions, and the array diagram on the table was folded and clipped inside an ancient book. Everything was exactly the same as when he left.
Fleur curled up in the softest armchair, a gold-stamped French magazine spread across her legs. Seeing him enter, her previously drooping eyes lit up instantly, and the corners of her mouth raised into a bright smile.
"You're finally back. We thought the Headmaster looking for you would take a lot of time," she put down the magazine, her tone carrying a bit of brisk complaint,
Penelope leaned against the bookshelf, holding a thick History of Magic in her hands. Hearing the sound, she raised her eyes to look at him with a gentle gaze, then lowered her head again to continue turning the pages, though the page-turning speed had clearly slowed down, hiding an extremely faint smile at the corners of her mouth.
Cassandra sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace, a cup of warm herbal tea placed on her knees. Without raising her head, she quietly moved aside a little, leaving a clean and comfortable spot, her action as natural as if she had done it a thousand times before.
Cho Chang lay across the small table by the window, holding a quill in her hand and quietly practicing calligraphy on paper. Seeing Amster, she stopped her pen, raised her head, revealing two shallow dimples, her smile clean and gentle, like the softest wind of late summer.
Poppy was not in the room, but a box of shortbread carefully tied with twine was placed on the small table, with a small note pinned beside it, the handwriting neat and cute: "Welcome back. —— Poppy."
Amster sat down beside Cassandra, taking the teacup she handed over. The cup wall was warm, and the tea fragrance slowly diffused.
"Is everything going well over at the Headmaster's side?" Fleur leaned over, asking with curiosity.
"Not bad," Amster took a gentle sip of tea. "He just asked me to keep an eye on that child named Harry Potter, and gave me some things along the way."
Cho Chang put down her pen, resting her chin in her hands as she looked at him, her eyes carrying a bit of a young girl's unique curiosity. "I heard that Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts to study this year. The whole magical world is discussing him, and everyone is waiting to see this boy who lived."
"Mhm," Amster responded, his tone flat without giving too much comment.
"My mother has also mentioned him," Fleur leaned back into the armchair, her fingertips gently tapping the magazine cover. "Saying that he is the hope of the magical world, the person who survived from the Dark Lord."
Penelope dropped her gaze back to the book and stopped inserting words, obviously not caring too much about these widespread legends.
Cassandra took a gentle sip of tea, her gaze falling upon the flickering shadows of the window, her tone light and calm: "No matter how many titles he carries, he is now just a first-year student who has just left home and is contacting magic for the first time."
Cho Chang nodded, feeling that it made sense, so she lowered her head again and continued to practice calligraphy quietly. The quill glided across the paper, leaving fluent and pretty handwriting.
Amster leaned against the stone wall, holding the warm teacup, looking toward the gradually clearing sky outside the window. The mist had completely dispersed, sunlight fell upon the Black Lake making it sparkle, the bird songs in the Forbidden Forest became increasingly clear, and the wind in the castle also grew gentle.
Dumbledore's commission was very simple; he only needed to remember everything he saw.
And this new academic year, which was about to welcome the savior and hide countless secrets, had only just begun.
Chapter 51: The Magical Notebook
In the past few days before the start of term, the corridors of Hogwarts finally shook off the empty silence of late summer and gradually became lively.
Large flocks of owls fluttered their wings and flew back and forth between the towers, clutching heavy letters and parcels in their claws, their feathers brushing against the cold stone tips and stirring up a breeze so light it was almost inaudible.
The house-elves in the kitchen were busy off their feet, copper pots clanging, and the sweet aroma of honey biscuits and pumpkin pasties crept up the corridors through the cracks in the stones; the prefects had returned to school early, hugging colored ribbons and notice boards, going in and out of various common rooms.
Amster didn't need to panic like other students about previewing lessons or rushing to finish textbooks before the term started—the class exemption permit given to him by Dumbledore was safely tucked away in his inner pocket, ready to be officially used as soon as the opening ceremony ended.
He simply locked himself in the Room of Requirement, closed the door tightly, and blocked out all the hustle and bustle outside, leaving only the musty scent of old book pages and a faint herbal fragrance in the room.
On the table were a few letters sent by Flamel, the ornate handwriting on the parchment written so gently, most of them chatting about the array formations of Alchemy, with a thin piece of drawing paper tucked at the end of the letter, a rough sketch casually drawn by the old alchemist—looking like a magical picture book, the little figures on the paper could move and speak softly, even more lively than the moving photographs of the wizarding world. Amster had seen this thing during his time with Flamel, which was a gadget he figured out blindly when he was young, sealing sound and images into paper using Alchemy; now that he was old, he instead found it useless, and only Madame Perenelle had always liked it.
Amster stared at the sketch for a long time, his fingertips gently brushing against the shallow pencil marks on the paper, when a new idea suddenly popped into his mind.
He pulled out a stack of brand-new parchment, dipped the ink, and hunched over the desk with a quill, writing and drawing.
Drawing boxes one after another, modifying and erasing, erasing and redrawing, the notebook made on the first day was no different from the most ordinary notebook in the Library.
On the second day, he tried attaching a trace of weak magic to the paper fibers, wanting the words written on it to be transmitted to another identical notebook, but it failed.
On the third day, the magic resonance could never stabilize, and as soon as the handwriting emerged, it scattered into a faint glimmer.
On the fourth day, he changed the recipe of Alchemy, but still it didn't work.
Until early morning on the fifth day, when the first ray of sunlight shone onto the desk from the window of the Room of Requirement, the notebook in his hand finally floated a layer of extremely faint silver light, and the words written by the nib slowly appeared on the paper, pausing for three seconds, and then silently disappearing.
Almost at the very same second, a vibration so light it was almost imperceptible came from his fingertips.
Amster quickly opened another blank notebook at the corner of the table, and the words just written were slowly appearing on the paper stroke by stroke, and although a bit crooked, not a single word was wrong.
He stared at that line of words for a long time, the corners of his mouth, which had been tense all along, finally curving upward slightly to reveal a very faint smile.
The first one he took to try was Fleur.
She was curled up in the softest armchair in the room, with a gold-stamped French magazine spread across her legs and her blond hair resting on her shoulders; seeing Amsterhand over an inconspicuous parchment notebook, she casually took it, flipped through two pages, frowned, and looked baffled.
"Isn't this just an ordinary notebook?"
"Try writing a few words." Amster said softly.
Fleur curled her lip, held a quill, and casually wrote a line: "Amster is a fool."
But the next second, she froze.
Nothing had changed on the notebook in her own hand, but on the one in Amster's hand, that mischievous line of words was slowly appearing, clear and distinct, without missing a single word.
"This…" Fleur's eyes widened round, her voice full of disbelief, "Can the words be transmitted directly?"
Amster gently nodded: "I used Alchemy to modify the magical patterns in the paper, and the words written on it will be transmitted to another matched notebook via magic resonance."
Fleur quickly wrote another line: "This is truly amazing!"
Then she looked up at him, her eyes shining brightly, "Then even if I write in the Ravenclaw common room, you can receive it in the Room of Requirement?"
"As long as it's a paired notebook, it can be transmitted anywhere in the castle."
Fleur hugged the notebook and refused to let go, clamoring for two—one to keep in the dormitory and one to carry with her.
Amster smiled and gave her another one, telling her to use it for a few days to see the effect, and if there were no problems, he would make them for others.
The next day, Penelope got her notebook.
She leaned against the bookshelf, History of Magic still spread to the original page in her hand. When taking the notebook, her fingertips gently touched the smooth paper surface, and her tone was calm yet she saw through it at a glance: "Is this magical resonance of Alchemy?"
"Mhm." Amster responded, "The words will be transmitted directly to this notebook of mine."
Penelope didn't ask any more questions, opened the first page of the notebook, and slowly wrote a line: "The weather is very nice today."
Almost at the same time, the notebook in Amster's hand displayed the exact same words.
He paused, picked up his pen, and replied below: "Tomorrow will be better."
The tips of Penelope's ears quietly turned a little red, and lowering her head, she carefully stuffed the notebook into her pocket, a very light and soft smile hidden at the corners of her mouth.
When Cassandra took the notebook, she was sitting on the carpet in front of the fireplace, and the herbal tea on her legs was still emitting a faint heat.
She raised her eyes to sweep over the notebook, her tone indifferent: "What can it do?"
"Write words, and the content will be transmitted to me." Amster said simply.
Cassandra didn't try it on the spot, just nodded gently and put the notebook away.
But that night when Amster returned to the Room of Requirement and opened his own notebook, a cold line of words appeared: "The tea is brewed, come over."
The time it was written was evening.
He closed the book, turned around and walked out of the Room of Requirement. As soon as he turned the corridor corner, he ran into Cassandra holding a teacup.
"You're here?" Her tone had little fluctuation.
"I'm here." Amster took the cup, the temperature was just right, warming his palms until they were hot.
When Cho Chang got the notebook, her eyes shone like fallen stars, and she was so happy she almost jumped up.
"Can really anything written be transmitted over? Can it be transmitted no matter how far?"
"Inside Hogwarts, there is no problem at all." Amster said, "Outside the school is theoretically possible, but I haven't tried it yet."
Cho Chang immediately wrote on the notebook: "Amster, guess where I am?"
After writing, she hugged the notebook and skipped out of the Room of Requirement.
Only five minutes later, her crooked words appeared on Amster's notebook: "I am in the Library! It can really be received!"
He smiled, picked up his pen, and replied with only one word: "Mhm."
The afternoon Poppy brought butter biscuits was when she got the notebook.
The little girl held the steaming box of biscuits, carefully took the notebook, looked over it back and forth several times, and then holding the pen, earnestly wrote three words on the first page: "Thank you."
Amster looked at the neat and cute handwriting, paused, and replied: "You're welcome."
Poppy immediately smiled, her eyes curving into small crescents, hugging the notebook tightly to her chest as if holding some precious treasure.
"In the future, when telling you things, I won't have to bother the owls anymore."
The first batch of magic notebooks, Amster made five, just right to distribute to the five girls.
After trying them for a week, the effect was even better than expected, with almost no delay in transmitting words. Even separated by the farthest tower and dungeon of the castle, they could be received immediately.
Fleur always used the notebook to chat with Cho Changabout girls' gossip, Penelope would discuss Alchemydifficulties with him, Cassandra would occasionally write a sentence "The tea is brewed", Poppy would write every few days "The biscuits are baked, come eat", and these tiny and warm words slowly filled the pages of the notebook.
Amster then decided to make more and give them to the professors in the castle.
He first sent one to Dumbledore's office.
The old headmaster took the notebook, flipped through two pages, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothing out as he smiled and said: "Flamel's magical picture book has been modified by you into such a practical little gadget."
"It's simpler to use, no need to understand Alchemy, just knowing how to write is enough." Amster said.
Dumbledore put the notebook into the drawer, his tone gentle: "Thank Mr. Flamel for me. This thing is much faster than owls."
Then came Professor McGonagall. When she took the notebook, her expression was as consistently serious as ever, but her eyes behind the lenses hid a trace of approval: "Very good. In the future, if there is an emergency, students won't have to run all over the castle looking for people. I will write a report to the headmaster, the school might need a bulk order, you give me a quote later."
Professor Sprout was tending magic herbs in the greenhouse, wiped the mud off her hands, and carefully took the notebook: "This is so convenient. In the future, if you have questions related to Alchemy and herbs, just write them directly on the notebook, no need to make a special trip to the greenhouse."
When Professor Flitwick received the notebook, he was so happy he almost jumped down from the towering piles of books, exclaiming unceasingly: "A perfect combination of magic resonance and Alchemy! Amster, you must find time to explain the principle to me!"
Even the usually aloof Professor Snape received one.
Amster gently placed the notebook at the door of his dungeon office, knocked on the door, and turned away.
Early the next morning, he opened his own notebook, and a line of words as sharp as if carved by a knife appeared: "This kind of little gadget, the ink dries too slowly, and it's terribly crude."
Amster looked at this critical remark, froze for a moment, then couldn't help laughing, picked up his pen and replied: "I will improve it next time."
There was no reply from the dungeon side anymore, but he knew Snape had already accepted it.
On the last day before the term started, the sunlight was exceptionally warm, shining through the window of the Room of Requirement to cast a patch of warm golden light on the desk.
Amster put the last finished notebook into the drawer, his fingertips stroking his own notebook filled with words—on the paper were Fleur's mischievous complaints, Penelope's earnest questions, Cassandra's brief reminders, the neat Chinese poetry written by Cho Chang, Poppy's gentle messages, and Snape's critical remark.
These scraps of words gathered together into a roomful of warmth.
He gently closed the notebook and placed it close at hand.
Outside the window, the Black Lake shimmered with rippling waves, the bird songs of the Forbidden Forestwere crisp and pleasant, and the hustle and bustle in the castle grew closer and closer, telling everyone that the new school year was coming.
Amster leaned against the soft back of the chair and slowly closed his eyes.
The firewood in the fireplace crackled, baking the entire Room of Requirement until it was cozy and warm; the last bit of sultry heat of late summer dissipated, and Hogwarts' new journey was about to officially begin tomorrow.
[Recently rewatching Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? Noticed this little gadget, thought it was really good, added it temporarily]
Chapter 52 Platform Nine and Three-Quarters
On September 1st, the early autumn morning light fell on the Hogwarts Headmaster's Office.
The flames in the fireplace danced gently, Fawkes curled up on its perch to doze, and the portraits on the wall were quiet, not whispering to each other as they usually did.
Amster leaned casually against the soft chair, his fingertips absentmindedly spinning a teacup, his posture relaxed yet exuding a composure far beyond his peers.
He raised his eyes to look at Dumbledore behind the desk.
"Today is the day Harry Potter starts school."
Dumbledore put down his quill, a faint smile rising in the depths of his eyes.
"You seem even more concerned about this matter than I am."
"For a name the entire wizarding world has been talking about for ten years, I should at least see the real person with my own eyes." Amster spoke in a flat tone, yet it concealed a genuine sense of curiosity.
"He is just a child who has just come from a Muggle family, don't scrutinize him with too many thoughts." Dumbledoresaid softly.
Amster stood up and casually straightened the Slytherinschool robe on his body.
"I have a sense of proportion. I still have some business to attend to, I'll be leaving first."
Dumbledore nodded gently: "Be careful on the way."
Amster waved his hand and pushed the door open to walk out of the office.
Apparition was forbidden inside Hogwarts, and it was inconvenient to show off in places densely populated by Muggles, so he walked all the way to an inconspicuous small porch at the edge of the castle.
Embedded in the stone pier was a Portkey commonly used by faculty members, covered tightly by vines and completely unnoticeable.
With a gentle touch of his fingertips, a trace of restrained magic covered the bronze badge.
There was no light, no sound, and no incantation.
The next instant, he had quietly appeared in a deserted, remote alley behind King's Cross Station.
He straightened the hem of his robe, turned out from the alley, mingled with the Muggle crowd, and calmly walked towards the brick wall between platforms three and four.
In front of the brick wall, the the Weasleys was surrounding the boy with the lightning scar on his forehead.
Molly was patiently teaching Harry how to walk through the platform, her tone hurried yet exceptionally gentle;
Arthur was watching his sons from the side with a gentle smile on his face;
Fred and George were carrying their trunks and making a racket, not settling down for a single moment;
Ron was clutching his old wand, both nervous and expectant;
Ginny cowered behind her mother, her bright eyes peeking out stealthily.
Amster walked up slowly.
"Uncle Arthur, Aunt Molly."
His voice wasn't loud, but it made the noisy group stop in unison and subconsciously turn their heads.
"Amster!" Molly immediately broke into a smile, hurriedly pulling Harry in front of her, "Come and meet him, this is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Amster, the Headmasters nephew."
Amster's gaze gently fell on Harry.
With just a casual sweep, Harry inexplicably felt his heart tighten, as if all his unease and awkwardness had been seen through at a glance.
Amster nodded slightly as a greeting, and then turned to Fred and George, his tone familiar and crisp.
"This year's alchemical items remain the same, to be sold quietly only among students. You two are responsible for coordinating the luminous badges and mini invisibility talismans, leave no trace and don't get caught by Filch."
Fred immediately winked, his tone full of mischievous excitement: "Don't worry, we're much smarter than Filch!"
George followed up closely, smiling with a cunning expression: "Even if we get caught, we have a whole set of lies waiting for him!"
The two of them bantered back and forth, without a shred of seriousness, absolute born troublemakers.
Amster was long used to this behavior of theirs, and simply nodded faintly as a sign of approval.
Just as Amster was about to turn around, his gaze inadvertently swept past behind Molly.
Ginny's cheeks instantly turned crimson, her ear tips burning, her fingers tightly clutching her mother's hem, yet she still mustered all her courage and called out in a soft voice: "Brother Amster."
Amster paused slightly, the corners of his mouth curving up ever so slightly, and simply nodded faintly: "Ginny."
Just this single subtle reaction made the young girl's heart race, and she hurriedly buried her head even lower.
Until Amster's figure completely vanished into the crowd, did Ron dare to lean close to Harry, lowering his voice to a bare minimum: "He is Amster Dumbledore, someone the Headmaster values greatly, a fourth-year Slytherin... At Hogwarts, almost no one dares to easily provoke him. He frequently comes to The Burrow, and both my mom and dad like him very much, but every time I see him, I don't dare to speak much."
Harry looked at that receding figure, and for the first time, a strong sense of curiosity toward this magic school arose in his heart.
Fred patted Harry's shoulder with a 'you've struck gold' expression: "You mustn't underestimate him, Amster is truly formidable. In his first year, he wrote a potion essay that even Snape nodded at, and his non-verbal and wandless spells are steadier than quite a few professors."
George immediately added, his tone exaggerated and smug: "And the things he makes are even more useful than what they sell in Diagon Alley! At school, his word carries more weight than a prefect's!"
Molly interrupted with a smile: "Alright, alright, dawdle any longer and the train really will leave! Fred, take Harryover!"
Fred acknowledged with a shout, taking the lead and charging headfirst into the brick wall.
Harry took a deep breath and stepped forward to follow.
The cold wall turned into warm steam the moment it touched his body, and the view before him suddenly opened up—the red Hogwarts Express puffed white steam, sounded its whistle, and the hustle, bustle, and vitality of Platform Nine and Three-Quarters rushed towards him in an instant.
Outside the brick wall, Molly and Arthur smiled as they watched the children depart into the distance.
Ginny stood in place, gently gazing in the direction where Amster had disappeared, the flush on her small face lingering for a long time.
Chapter 53 Not thinking about a title
The brick wall closed behind them again, and warm steam filled the air. Before Harry could collect his wits, he was fixed to the spot by the scene before him.
A dazzlingly bright red steam locomotive lay across the tracks, its huge wheels grinding against the rails, and the chimney continuously spouting milky white mist, wrapping Platform Nine and Three-Quarters in a hazy blur.
The platform was as noisy as a boiling magic cauldron: black-robed students dragged creaking trunks and crashed around, owls cooed softly in copper cages, and toads hopped out to scamper about from time to time, throwing their owners into a panic and drawing a chorus of laughter.
Light blue smoke drifted around the crowd, and parents waved continuously at the edge of the platform, only reluctantly backing away until the train let out a dull, lingering whistle.
This was Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, which belonged solely to wizards.
Harry took a deep breath, his nostrils filled with the wonderful scent of a mixture of soot, caramel, and old wood, and a sense of excitement surged through his entire body once more.
He followed behind the the Weasleys toward the carriage door. Fred and George had already shouldered their trunks and rushed up, shoving each other to grab positions near the corridor; Percy put on the serious airs of a prefect, slowly straightening his collar as he walked toward a quiet compartment; Ron lagged behind at the end, dragging his feet and muttering under his breath.
"Isn't Amster cool enough?" Ron grabbed the carriage doorway steps and whispered to Harry, "My parents both treat him like a half-son, and even those two little terrors, Fred and George, wouldn't dare be too presumptuous in front of him."
Harry nodded, Amster's faint gaze flashing through his mind—neither sharp nor scrutinizing, yet seeming able to see right through the anxiety and confusion deep within his heart.
The two of them found an empty compartment to sit in, and the train gave a gentle shudder before slowly starting off.
The platform outside the window retreated swiftly, the Muggle world's buildings vanished, and in their place were rolling, verdant fields and hills in the early autumn.
Before long, the compartment door was knocked on, and a witch wrapped in a plaid apron pushed a trolley of snacks over, asking with a smile, "My dear children, would you like some Chocolate Frogs, pumpkin pasties, or Fizzing Whizzbees?"
Harry stared at the snacks he had never seen before, pulling all the gold coins out of his pockets and placing them on the table: "One of everything, please."
Ron's eyes widened into round circles, and looking at the pile of snacks stacked like a small mountain, he swallowed hard: "Did you really buy everything?"
"Yeah, do you want some?" Harry pushed the snacks over.
Ron was not polite at all, grabbing a Chocolate Frog and biting into it. Only after chewing a few times did he remember the important matter: "Right, you saw Amsteron the platform, didn't you?"
Harry nodded.
"Just what kind of person is he?" Harry asked curiously, biting into a pumpkin pasty.
Ron leaned forward, lowering his voice with a face full of awe: "No one dares to provoke him at Hogwarts. In his first year, he wrote a thesis on Mandrake cultivation, which was published in "Wizarding Herbology Journal", something many seventh-year students couldn't do. Even Professor Snape, the fiercest of them all, looks at him in a different light. Fred and George also said that he can cast non-verbal spells, without waving a wand; he just needs to move his fingers and objects can float on their own, making him steadier than quite a few professors. In Slytherin, he's more useful than a prefect, and those pure-blood scions are completely submissive when they see him."
Just as his voice fell, the compartment door was pulled open.
A round-faced, red-nosed boy poked his head in, looking flustered: "Have you seen a toad? My name is NevilleLongbottom, and my toad, Trevor, is lost..."
Harry and Ron shook their heads. Neville's face fell and he was about to leave when a crisp, decisive female voice came from behind him.
"You haven't learned the Summoning Charm yet, don't just stand there, let's split up and look." A curly-haired girl holding a thick magic book walked in, her hair neat and her gaze confident. "My name is Hermione Granger, you're first-year newcomers too, right?"
"Waiting for the Sorting Hat to assign our houses." Harryshook hands with her.
"Gryffindor, definitely," Ron muttered under his breath, turning his head away after being glared at by Hermione.
Hermione noticed Harry's crooked glasses mended with adhesive tape, drew her wand, and chanted softly: "Reparo."
A pale golden light flashed by, and the glasses instantly became brand new and straight. Harry was filled with wonder, and Hermione said with a hint of pride that she had practiced basic spells in advance during the summer vacation, earnestly cautioning them not to try them indiscriminately on the train or they'd get a demerit.
"You've even learned first-year spells? Then do you know Amster Dumbledore?" Ron asked.
Hermione's eyes lit up. She flipped open "Directory of Notable Wizards of the Twentieth Century" and pointed it out to them: "He is Headmaster Dumbledore's nephew, published professional papers in his first year, and was even invited by Nicolas Flamel to study Alchemy through correspondence. He's an Alchemy master who has lived for over six hundred years!"
Harry and Ron looked at each other in dismay; Ron hadn't ever heard of any of these things.
Ron sourly complained that she knew everything, and just as Hermione was about to retort, a harsh commotion suddenly came from the doorway.
Three boys blocked the doorway. Malfoy, who was at the lead, was pale-faced and held his chin high, casting a contemptuous sweep over the snacks on the table: "Weasley, as expected, you can only hang out with low-class people. You must be Harry Potter? Raised in a Muggle family, I suppose."
Ron's face turned red with anger, clenching his fists as he started to stand up. At that moment, Goyle behind Malfoywas shoved aside by a hand, and Slytherin prefect Flintwalked in with an ice-cold expression: "Draco, Amster gave instructions that no trouble is allowed during the freshman enrollment. Do you want me to go tell him?"
Malfoy instantly turned pale, all his arrogance completely gone. He glared fiercely at Ron, and scuttled away with Crabbe and Goyle.
Ron let out a sigh of relief and thanked Flint. Flint calmly cautioned them to behave themselves before turning and leaving.
"Even the Slytherin prefect listens to Amster?" Hermionerested her chin in her hand, puzzled.
"I told you long ago, his status in Slytherin is much higher than a prefect's. Even Lucius Malfoy has to be polite when he sees him." Ron nodded vigorously.
Harry didn't speak, quietly gazing out the window. As the sky gradually darkened, the setting sun dyed the clouds orange-red, and the woods turned into dark silhouettes; his curiosity about that mysterious senior deepened by a few more notches.
I don't know how much time had passed, but the train stopped by the pitch-Black Lake, and an announcement broadcasted that Hogwarts had arrived. The three of them changed into black robes and got off with the flow of the crowd. The night wind carried a chill, and the towers of Hogwarts Castle on the distant hills were towering and brightly lit, their lights reflecting on the surface of the Black Lake, beautiful like a dream.
"First-year newcomers, all over here!" Hagrid, like a giant, held up a lantern, his voice booming.
Harry followed the crowd onto a small boat, which automatically and steadily glided across the lake surface, heading toward the castle. Gazing at the ever-closer castle, he thought to himself, "Amster Dumbledore must be right inside this castle at this very moment."
At the same moment, the Hogwarts Great Hall.
Candlelight poured down from the ceiling, and the staff table was filled with professors. In a corner position, Amster sat quietly without saying a word, his gaze piercing through the arched window and landing on the starlight-like boat lanterns slowly approaching across the surface of the Black Lake.
He watched the newcomers step onto the castle's stone steps, the corners of his mouth curving up ever so slightly.
"They're here."
Chapter 54 Sorting Ceremony
After the boats docked in the damp cavern beneath the castle, the first-years stepped onto the wet gravel path and walked upward.
Water droplets seeped from the cracks in the stone slabs, and occasionally moss crawled out from the crevices of the rock walls, staining the edges of their shoes with pale green marks.
The wind carrying the moisture of the Black Lake lashed against their faces with a crisp coolness, causing a few timid first-years to shrink their necks and pull the collars of their black robes higher.
At the end of the path stood a massive oak door, its heavy wooden panels carved with intricate vine patterns. As the door hinges turned, they emitted a long, creaking sound, like a giant beast that had slept for a century slowly opening its eyes.
When the door opened, a witch wearing an emerald-green robe stood behind the threshold. The edges of her robe were embroidered with the golden Hogwarts crest, and she held a silver-inlaid wand in her hand. Her gaze swept over the crowd gently without saying much, and she merely stepped aside to make way.
Professor McGonagall's gaze swept over this group of first-year students, her expression remaining her usual stern self, her brows furrowed slightly as if she were silently evaluating the state of each child.
Her wand hung at her side, her fingertips gently rubbing the patterns on the wand shaft, and she walked steadily at the very front of the procession without a single superfluous movement.
"First-years, follow me."
Her voice was not loud, yet it carried an unquestionable penetrative force that instantly suppressed the whispering of the first-years.
She led them across the dark wood-paneled foyer. Portraits of past headmasters hung on the walls of the foyer, and the old wizards in the paintings poked their heads out one after another, curiously sizing up this group of new faces, with some even quietly stroking their beards.
Next, they entered a small stone room. The stone walls were somewhat blackened by the passage of time, and a few rough wooden tables were placed inside, with several yellowed books of magic piled on a shelf in the corner.
The first-years crowded inside, pushing and shoving each other together, whispering about various questions.
Harry heard someone clutching the corner of their clothes whisper: "How do we get sorted? Is there an exam? I heard some houses test spells, and others test potions..."
Hermione was already standing in the center of the room, holding the book "Hogwarts: A History", her fingertips turning the pages, softly reciting the passage about the sorting ceremony. Her voice was clear and earnest, holding the stress at the end of each sentence very steadily.
Ron's face was a bit pale. He secretly tugged at the sleeve of Harry's black robe, his voice lowered to the extreme: "I'm a bit nervous. What if I get sorted into Slytherin? My parents would definitely be disappointed."
Harry patted his shoulder, just about to offer a few words of comfort, when he heard the door of the stone room knocked three times, and Professor McGonagall's figure appeared at the doorway.
A few minutes later, Professor McGonagall returned, holding rolls of parchment in her hand, signaling everyone to line up.
The first-years immediately quieted down, obediently forming a single file line, and followed her into the Great Hall.
As soon as Harry stepped into the Great Hall, he was stunned by the magical starry sky overhead.
Thousands of candles floated beneath the vaulted ceiling, casting warm yellow light down onto the four long house tables, whose tablecloths were Gryffindor's red and gold, Slytherin's green and silver, Ravenclaw's blue and bronze, and Hufflepuff's yellow and black respectively.
The upper-year students were already seated, whispering to each other as they sized up the first-year procession. Some curiously pointed and poked, while others lowered their heads to softly chat with those beside them about the appearance of the new students.
The staff table was laid out in a line along the dais, with Headmaster Dumbledore sitting right in the middle. He wore a purple robe, his silvery-white beard hanging down to his chest and glittering in the candlelight, and he held a wooden cane in his hand, slightly turning his head to say something to Professor McGonagall beside him.
Harry subconsciously searched for something, his gaze sweeping quickly across the staff table.
His heartbeat inexplicably quickened by a few beats, as if he were anticipating something.
Then he saw him.
At a side position of the staff table sat a Slytherin student.
He wore a well-tailored black robe, with a hint of silver-gray lining showing at the collar. He leaned against the back of his chair, his posture as relaxed as if he were in his own common room, yet exuding a composure that felt out of place with his surroundings.
The candlelight reflected on his well-defined face, his eyelashes casting faint shadows, and his gaze was calm as it fell upon the direction of the first-year procession, as if precisely capturing every single new face.
Amster Dumbledore.
Harry's heart skipped a beat, his footsteps pausing subconsciously.
Ron looked over along his gaze, his eyes widening slightly as he muttered: "Why is he sitting there? Isn't the staff table for professors? Isn't he a student?"
"Logically speaking, yes." Ron lowered his voice, leaning close to Harry's ear with a hint of pride in his tone, "But he's different. I heard from Fred that Professor McGonagallallows him to participate in upper-year Transfiguration discussions and even has him help grade upper-year Transfiguration homework; Professor Sprout also let him substitute-teach a few Herbology classes, and those Mandrakes he raised better than the professors. When he sits there, no one finds it strange, not even Headmaster Dumbledore has ever said anything."
Before Harry had time to think further, Professor McGonagall had already taken out a roll of parchment, unfolded it, and began calling names dipped with a quill in ink.
"Hannah Abbott—"
"Hufflepuff!" shouted the Sorting Hat, its voice carrying a lazy smile. Hannah immediately ran smiling toward the Hufflepuff long table, shaking hands with the older students at the table.
Name after name was called out, and newcomer after newcomer placed that ragged Sorting Hat upon their heads. The hat wobbled on their heads, and then shouts of different houses rang out.
When Hermione Granger was called, she trotted forward, her skirt gently swaying. The hat hesitated on her head for a long time, as if struggling with something, before crisply shouting out "Gryffindor" after a few seconds.
Hermione immediately broke into a happy smile, quickly running toward the Gryffindor long table and high-fiving the older students in front of the table.
When Ron was called, he walked up with a pale face, his footsteps somewhat floating. The hat shouted "Gryffindor" almost the moment it touched his hair. Ron breathed a sigh of relief, hurried over to Harry's side, and patted his chest.
When it was Harry's turn, the Great Hall instantly quieted for a fraction of a second, with all gazes focusing on him.
Harry could feel Amster's gaze also falling upon him, calm, without excess emotion.
He braced himself and stepped forward, sitting down on the stool covered in black cloth, and placed the hat upon his head.
The hat's fluff brushed against his forehead, carrying a hint of a stale, musty odor.
A tiny voice rang out in his ear, like countless fine threads intertwined together: "Difficult, very difficult... You have courage, and you also have ambition. Your blood conceals two completely different traits... Both Gryffindor and Slytherin can bring you glory, both can place you at the pinnacle of the wizarding world..."
"Not Slytherin." Harry chanted silently in his heart, his tone firm.
"Are you sure?" That voice carried a hint of doubt, as if feeling regret over something.
"Sure."
"Then—Gryffindor!"
As the Sorting Hat's cry fell, the Gryffindor long table instantly erupted into a cheer.
Fred and George jumped up from their seats, shouting at the top of their lungs: "We got Potter! We got Potter!"
The other students at the table also joined in the commotion, pounding on the tables and cheering, and even the usually stern Percy couldn't help but curve the corners of his mouth.
Harry took off the hat and walked toward the Gryffindorlong table. Passing the staff table, he couldn't help but glance in that direction once more.
Amster's gaze happened to meet his.
That gaze was calm, devoid of surprise, curiosity, or the slightest trace of probing, simply looking at him peacefully.
Then Amster nodded slightly, his movement as light as wind blowing through leaves, yet it seemed as though he were saying "Understood," or expressing a silent form of approval.
Harry was stunned for a moment, and subconsciously nodded back as well, his fingertips slightly clutching the corner of his black robe before being pulled down by Ron to sit between Ron and Hermione.
Dumbledore stood up, his silvery-white beard swaying gently with his movement, opened his arms, and with a smile spoke a few words of welcome. His words carried a bit of gentle humor that kept the first-years laughing incessantly, and then he raised his cane and gently tapped the table, announcing the start of the feast.
As soon as his voice fell, every plate instantly piled up with food. Roast chicken, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and pudding were neatly arranged on the platters, and the aroma instantly permeated the entire Great Hall.
Harry took a bite of a chicken leg that was crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, yet his gaze couldn't help but drift back toward the staff table.
Amster had already retracted his gaze and was quietly conversing with a short professor beside him. The professor's face wore a smile, while Amster's expression remained calm, only occasionally nodding slightly.
The empty seat beside him—that was Professor McGonagall's place, but she was currently standing by the first-year procession, maintaining order.
On the other side of the staff table, several professors were also chatting softly, some discussing the progress of Potions Class, others talking about the Quidditch Match.
Harry pulled back his gaze and buried his head in eating, though he couldn't really taste the food in his mouth.
The question in his heart had never dispersed: What kind of person was that Amster Dumbledore? Why could he sit at the staff table? What kind of story was hidden beneath his composure?
Chapter 55 Title Was Eaten
After the sorting ceremony, the first-years followed their respective house prefects to the common room.
Gryffindor prefect Percy Weasley puffed out his chest, walking solemnly at the very front of the line, incessantly lecturing on the various rules of the castle—which corridors were forbidden at night, which portraits required passwords to pass, and that random use of magic in the corridors was prohibited, with house points deducted for violations.
Harry trailed absent-mindedly at the very back of the line, walking slowly, his mind replaying repeatedly that calm and detached gaze of Amster sitting at the staff table in the Great Hall just now, impossible to shake off.
When the group rounded a corner covered in armor portraits, he subconsciously stopped and glanced back.
At the end of the empty corridor, a slender figure wearing a silver-and-green Slytherin school robe was quietly walking slowly towards the eighth floor.
The cold moonlight poured down from the towering stained-glass windows, falling on the edges of his black robes and silver hair, stretching his shadow long and quiet on the stone floor, plunging into the shadows deep within the corridor.
It was Amster Dumbledore.
Harry stood in place watching for a moment, until Percy's dissatisfied urging drifted over from ahead, before he snapped back to his senses and hurried to catch up with the Gryffindor group.
— —
The wooden door of the Room of Requirement was gently pushed open, and the cozy firelight immediately enveloped them.
The firewood in the fireplace crackled and burned, the dancing flames making the whole room warm and comfortable, with the faint scent of tea and old book pages drifting in the air.
When Amster pushed the door open and walked in, Fleur was curled up in an upholstered armchair, lazily flipping through a fashion magic magazine, her long hair draped over her shoulders;
Penelope leaned against the ancient oak bookshelf, her fingertips gently tapping the pages as she quietly browsed a thick magic book;
Cassandra sat cross-legged on the plush carpet in front of the fireplace, with an exquisite set of porcelain tea ware placed beside her;
Cho Chang was lying on a small walnut desk, holding a quill, earnestly practicing Chinese brush calligraphy, the tip of the brush leaving faint ink marks on the paper.
Hearing the door open, several people raised their heads almost simultaneously, their gazes falling on him.
"Why did you come over so late?"
Fleur put down the magazine in her hand, blinked her beautiful eyes, her tone carrying a bit of casual curiosity.
"I sat in the Great Hall a bit longer."
Amster replied indifferently, walked over to sit beside Cassandra, and naturally took the cup of warm fruit tea she handed over, his fingertips touching the temperature of the porcelain cup, relaxing slightly.
Penelope poked her head out from behind the thick book, her lenses reflecting the light of the fireplace, and spoke softly: "I heard that among this year's first-years, there is a very famous child?"
"Harry Potter."
Cho Chang put down the brush in her hand, cupped her chin, and said softly, "Ravenclaw's older students are all passing it around that he already had a dispute with the Malfoy family's younger son on the Hogwarts Express."
Fleur immediately became interested and leaned forward slightly: "Oh? You mean Draco Malfoy? That boy from a pure-blood family who always brings up his family status left and right?"
Cassandra picked up her teacup and took a light sip, her tone calm and waveless: "His father, Lucius Malfoy, is one of the school governors of Hogwarts."
"So what if he's a governor."
Fleur curled her lips dismissively, leaned back into the soft chair, and said no more.
Amster did not reply, only lowered his eyes and took a sip of hot tea, the warmth slowly sliding down his throat.
Penelope glanced at him, then silently lowered her head to continue turning pages, but her originally fluent page-turning speed unconsciously slowed down by a few fractions, as if paying attention to his reaction.
Cassandra put down her teacup, her gaze gently falling on the dancing fireplace flames, her voice light and steady.
"You saw him?" she asked.
Amster nodded, without extra explanation.
"How is he?" Fleur leaned closer again, her eyes filled with curiosity.
Amster was silent for a few seconds, as if recalling that small figure in the Great Hall.
"A bit smaller than I imagined." He spoke slowly, his tone flat, "He looks no different from ordinary children his age."
Fleur couldn't help laughing: "Otherwise? Did you think he would carry some kind of different halo?"
Amster did not answer.
In his mind, Harry's appearance sitting on the sorting stool involuntarily emerged—his small hands tightly gripping the edge of the stool, his knuckles slightly turning white, carrying unhidden tension and unease; the moment the Sorting Hat shouted "Gryffindor", the boy's whole body visibly relaxed, as if unloading a heavy stone.
Like a child who had finally found a belonging and an answer.
Cho Chang lay back down on the small table, softly resting her chin in her hands, and softly added: "I heard his parents were also Gryffindor students back in the day."
Penelope gently turned a page of the book and responded indifferently: "Mhm."
Fleur gave a small yawn, stretched her body, and curled back into the soft chair, her tone casual: "No matter which house he's in, it has nothing to do with us anyway."
Cassandra didn't speak, but silently pushed the sugar bowl beside her gently towards Amster's hand, her movement quiet and natural.
Amster raised his eyes, looking at the constantly jumping, crackling flames in the fireplace.
On the surface, the boy named Harry Potter looked no different from ordinary children.
But deep down in his heart, he knew the other party was completely different.
Outside the window, the bright moonlight poured over the calm surface of the Black Lake, crushed by the breeze into a patch of shimmering silver light, echoing the lights in the castle from afar.
Inside the Room of Requirement, the warm fireplace fire was burning brightly.