Chapter 71: Prefect's Troubles
Several days had passed since the Quidditch Match, and the boiling clamor caused by the tournament in Hogwarts Castle finally subsided slowly.
There were no longer cheers and arguments echoing through the corridors all day long, and even the sound of the wind passing through the stone corridors became clear.
Students of Gryffindor were still immersed in the afterglow of victory, gathering in twos and threes in the corridors and the Great Hall, repeatedly talking about Harry's thrilling moment of catching the Snitch at the end.
Their brows and eyes were full of unconcealed pride, and their voices were brisk and lively.
On the other hand, Slytherin was much quieter; the gloom of the match's defeat still hung over the house.
Most of the students walked in a hurry, occasionally muttering complaints in a tone full of reluctance, but as soon as they noticed their head of house's gaze, they immediately shut their mouths and dared not say another word, the entire house exuding an oppressive silence.
When Amster walked slowly out of the Library holding a closed potion book, the sky had completely darkened, and the ink-blue night sky wrapped around the castle, making even the starlight at the edge of the sky appear exceptionally faint.
Only the pumpkin lanterns on the walls were lit in the corridor, and the warm yellow firelight swayed gently with the evening breeze, casting swaying shadows on the cold stone walls, stretching the shadows of pedestrians back and forth.
The sound of shoe soles scraping across the smooth flagstone floor was exceptionally clear in the quiet corridor, with no one else around, leaving only this unique tranquility.
He slowed his pace, slowly turning the corner of the spiral staircase leading to the eighth floor, and as soon as he stepped onto the stone steps, he caught a glimpse of a lonely figure leaning against a cold stone pillar.
It was Gemma Farley, the female prefect of Slytherin.
She was not wearing her silver-and-green prefect's robes symbolizing her identity, but merely her usual plain school robes, with her cuffs crumpled, obviously having been clenched repeatedly for a long time, completely lacking her usual neat and orderly appearance as a prefect.
She tightly clutched a roll of parchment in her hand, her fingertips slightly pale, her head lowered gently, her bangs covering her brows and eyes, leaning there quietly, her entire body wrapped in a layer of thinly veiled exhaustion, blending into the empty corridor.
Amster lightened his pace and walked over slowly, not deliberately making a sound.
Hearing the faint footsteps, Gemma slowly raised her head and looked at the person approaching.
Her complexion could not be considered good, showing a hint of weariness through the pallor, and there was a faint layer of dark circles under her eyes—leftovers from days of overwork and lack of rest.
Even her gaze lacked the sharpness she usually had when managing the house, replaced by a bit of fatigue and confusion, but after seeing that it was Amster, she still managed to tug at the corners of her mouth and squeeze out a faint smile.
"Why are you still wandering outside this late? Not going back to your magical room?"
She spoke first, her voice a bit hoarser than usual, carrying a trace of unperceived fatigue, yet her tone remained gentle without a hint of alienation.
"Just organizing potion notes in the Library, delayed a bit."
Amster stopped by the stone pillar beside her, not continuing forward, standing quietly just like that, his tone calm and waveless, "What about you? Why are you staying here alone instead of going to rest?"
Gemma did not respond immediately, her hand hanging at her side tightly rolling the parchment again, her movement carrying a hint of suppressed irritation, before forcefully stuffing the parchment into her robe pocket, harder than usual, as if venting the grievances piled up deep in her heart.
"There was a prefect meeting this afternoon, and it ended up very unpleasant."
She paused for a moment, then spoke slowly, her voice full of exhaustion, "Flint was making unreasonable demands at the meeting again, insisting that the Quidditch team increase its daily training hours, and also wanting to apply for an exclusive nighttime training ground."
"Considering coursework and rest schedules, Professor McGonagall directly rejected his request, and he lost his temper on the spot, shifting all the responsibility for the team's defeat onto others, saying that Slytherin's loss to Gryffindor was all because the prefect didn't fight for resources for the house and failed to fulfill her duties."
Amster turned his head to glance at her, his gaze calm without extra emotion, and said indifferently: "Winning or losing a match is the team's business, what does it have to do with you?"
"I am the prefect of Slytherin, and all matters big and small in the house naturally fall under my jurisdiction."
Gemma gave a gentle, bitter smile, the corners of her mouth full of helplessness, "I have to manage daily discipline, coordinate training grounds, handle arguments and brawls among lower-year students, and even carry the house's reputation on my shoulders."
"Now that we've lost the match, all the blame has fallen on me."
"Flint publicly declared that if Slytherin had a stronger prefect, she would never have let first-year Harry Pottersteal all the limelight and bring shame to the house."
She paused, her voice gradually lowering, revealing a trace of embarrassment, "When he said those words, the Slytherin students present were all just watching the commotion, and not a single person stood up to say a fair word. That feeling was truly hard to bear."
The corridor grew increasingly quiet, with only the soft sound of the evening breeze passing through, while from afar came the faint meow of Filch's cat, Mrs. Norris, distant and light, drifting as if coming from another world, making this corner appear even more eerily silent.
Amster leaned against the stone pillar behind him without speaking, simply listening quietly, without interrupting or offering superfluous comfort, accompanying her solely with silence.
Gemma did not speak again either, and the two stood side by side like that, the light and shadow of the pumpkin lanterns continuing to sway, stretching their shadows very long and intertwining them tightly, making it impossible to tell them apart.
After a long while, long enough for the evening breeze to blow through several rounds, Gemma spoke again, her voice as light as a murmur, full of exhaustion and confusion: "Sometimes I really feel like I can't hold on anymore, and I might as well just resign from the prefect position."
"Just like you, unrestrained, without having to deal with these annoying trivialities, without bearing so much pressure, doing whatever you want to do, with no one blaming and no one demanding."
Amster turned to look at her, his gaze earnest and his tone still flat: "If you feel tired, then resign; don't force yourself."
"Tomorrow, have that bunch from the team go to Snape's office; I'd like to see if they have the guts to repeat those words again."
Gemma froze for a moment, then gently shook her head, the bitter smile at the corners of her mouth deepening, full of helplessness of being driven by circumstances: "No, I can't resign."
"Someone has to guard Slytherin, and those lower-year pure-blood kids are all arrogant and willful."
"Without anyone suppressing or restraining them, they could turn the common room upside down and cause countless troubles in the castle; I cannot drop this responsibility."
She lowered her head, staring at the flagstone floor beneath her feet, her voice so soft it was almost blown away by the wind, "I'm not like you."
"Even without your own abilities, you still have the Dumbledore surname; no one dares to provoke you easily, but I don't."
"I can only rely on myself, and no matter how tired I am, I have to carry it."
"We can barely be considered friends now, right? If there's anything upsetting, you can talk to me, or to Cassandra."
"Also, don't be so amiable all the time—the better your attitude, the easier it is for certain people to push their luck. They still think Slytherin is stuck in the days when that noseless fellow was around."
Gemma took a deep breath, slowly straightened her body, and raised a hand to pat the non-existent dust on the hem of her robes, as if sorting out her emotions and pulling herself together.
She looked at Amster, a trace of puzzlement in her eyes: "You actually have a rare bit of patience today; usually you never like to bother with these trivial matters, nor are you willing to listen to people venting."
"I am usually a bit busy, but I treat friends differently; no extra explanation is needed."
Amster said indifferently, his tone peaceful and without the slightest perfunctoriness.
Gemma was startled, then truly smiled, the exhaustion in her eyes seeming to dissipate somewhat.
"Thank you for being willing to listen to me say these things; speaking out the grievances in my heart makes me feel much better."
She pushed the parchment in her pocket deeper, straightened her crumpled cuffs, and turned to walk slowly in the direction of the Slytherin common room, her footsteps sounding softly in the empty corridor, gradually fading away, and finally disappearing around the corner of the corridor, no longer audible.
Amster still stood in place, gazing at the direction she left, not moving his feet for a long time.
The corridor was empty, with only the light and shadow of the pumpkin lanterns constantly swaying, making one's eyes feel soft.
He slowly leaned back against the stone pillar, not in a hurry to leave, nor heading to the Room of Requirement he frequented, letting the evening breeze blow over his entire body.
He stood for a long time, until one of the pumpkin lanterns at the end of the corridor gradually dimmed, before slowly gathering his thoughts and turning to walk toward the eighth floor.
Behind him, the long corridor was empty and desolate, with only the swaying warm yellow light enveloping a silence, leaving no other sound.
Chapter 72: Night Chat
Night had long since enveloped Hogwarts, the wind outside the castle sweeping across the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and making a low rustling sound. The surface of the Black Lake shimmered with a layer of cold white moonlight, shattering into countless swaying silver pieces. Yet inside the castle, an unknown warm corner remained hidden—the Room of Requirement, quietly opened at the end of an unobserved corridor. The wooden door closed gently, shutting out the chill and bustle of the outside world all at once.
Inside, the fireplace was burning brightly, and the dry firewood crackled softly in the fire, sparks occasionally floating upward, gently swallowed by the shadows above the fireplace. The warm yellow firelight spread over every inch of the corners, dyeing the stone walls, old carpets, scattered cushions, and bookshelves with a layer of soft halo. The air was mixed with the faint fragrance of burning wood, the stale scent of old pages, and a hint of sweet-but-not-cloying biscuit scent, quiet enough to hear the rhythm of the flickering flames.
Fleur Delacour curled up in a large, soft armchair by the window, her whole body almost sinking into the fluffy cushion. Her signature long silver hair hung down smoothly, part of it resting on the outside of the armrest, swaying slightly with her extremely light breathing, like a stream condensed from moonlight. She had an exquisitely covered magazine spread open in her hands, her gaze lowered as she read quietly, without a trace of the flamboyance when she was watched in the common room on ordinary days, leaving only a hint of laziness and softness, blending completely with the warm light.
Penelope Clearwater leaned sideways against a row of old bookshelves by the wall, her body slightly turned, her fingertips pinching a thick and old Charms reference book. Her page-turning movement was very slow, light and careful, as if afraid of breaking the rare tranquility in the room. Her gaze fell on the pages, but she did not seem eager to study, just showing a habitual calm posture, with a gentle and introverted light in the depths of her eyes, occasionally pausing for a second, as if thinking, or perhaps simply enjoying the quiet.
Cassandra sat on the dark gray old carpet in front of the fireplace, her legs slightly tucked in, her posture relaxed yet not casual. She held a warm ceramic teacup in both hands, with a very faint white vapor floating from the rim of the cup, but her gaze did not look at anyone, just staring steadily at the leaping flames in the fireplace. The firelight flickered in the depths of her eyes, reflecting her expression as calm and soft, with a bit less of her usual aloofness and detachment, and a bit more of an imperceptible relaxation, as if listening to the silent words of the flame.
Cho Chang lay on a small wooden table in the center of the room, with a smooth piece of parchment spread out in front of her, holding a quill in her hand, lowering her head to practice calligraphy earnestly. The rustling sound of the nib sliding across the paper was extremely light, intertwining with the sound of the fireplace. Her expression was focused, her brows slightly drooped, her long hair resting gently on her shoulders, and every stroke was written earnestly and quietly, without the slightest impatience. Poppy was right beside her, squatting next to a small biscuit box, her fingertips gently arranging the pastries inside, her movements meticulous and soft, making no extra sound, with a shallow and gentle smile on her face.
Several people each occupied a small corner, not disturbing each other, yet depending on one another. There was no noise, no conversation, no deliberate search for topics, and the room was filled with a stable, relaxed tranquility that required no disguise—not an empty, silent loneliness, but a gentle silence where accompanying each other was enough to feel at ease.
The wooden door clicked softly, breaking the near-frozen silence.
Amster walked slowly in from outside the door, his shoulders stained with a hint of the slight chill of the night outside. He was holding two thick books in his arms, walked to the small table, and gently placed the books on the tabletop, his movements light and slow, without making any extra noise. There was a bit of the night's chill about him, but it did not destroy the warmth in the room; instead, like a steady shadow, he naturally integrated into this space.
Fleur poked her head out slightly from behind the magazine, her silver hair swaying with the movement, and her bright eyes looked at Amster, her tone carrying a natural casualness and a trace of inadvertent care: "Why are you so late today?"
Amster turned his head slightly, his voice low and steady, without excess emotion: "Ran into Gemma and chatted for a bit."
He did not walk toward the chair, but sat down on the carpet beside Cassandra, his posture natural and relaxed. Cassandra did not turn her head, but as if she had sensed it long ago, she gently handed another cup of hot tea she had prepared in advance to his side. Amster took it, his fingertips touching the warmth of the cup wall, and the warmth slowly spread along his fingertips.
Fleur put down the magazine in her hand, leaned forward slightly, with a little curiosity in her eyes that wasn't aggressive: "What did she want with you?"
"Nothing much." Amster lowered his head and took a sip of the hot tea, his tone flat, "The prefect meeting didn't go well, just said a few words." He didn't elaborate, didn't complain, and didn't exaggerate, simply stating the facts, just like his usual silent and introverted appearance.
Penelope slowly raised her head from behind the pages, her gaze falling quietly on Amster for a moment, her eyes gentle and carrying a bit of understanding, but she did not pursue the matter or interrupt, only nodding gently, then lowered her head again to continue looking at the book in her hand, her movements so light they were almost invisible.
Cho Chang stopped the quill in her hand, placed it gently on the parchment, cupped her chin in both hands, and looked quietly at Amster, her eyes filled with the patience of listening, waiting for whatever words he might continue to say, neither urging nor interrupting. Poppy also stopped arranging the biscuits, gently closed the biscuit box, and looked over with a soft gaze, her face still wearing a shallow smile, quiet and friendly.
Cassandra still gazed at the firelight in the fireplace, her expression calm, her tone light and clear, unhurried: "She is a smart person." She paused, her voice carrying a trace of empathy that others could hardly perceive, "Slytherin's atmosphere has not been good these past few years, with many disputes and heavy prejudices. Many people only look out for themselves, and for her to shoulder the responsibilities of a prefect all by herself is not easy."
She turned her face slightly, looking at Amster with a gentle gaze, her tone calm and earnest: "You can interact with her more. It doesn't mean asking you to meddle in anything, nor to shoulder anything. Being good to her is good for the house as well."
Fleur nodded gently, her silver hair sliding down her shoulders, her tone filled with genuine agreement: "She really looks quite tired. At the last gathering, she just sat in the corner and didn't speak for a long time, her eyes very heavy, as if she were carrying a lot of things."
Cho Chang also spoke softly, her voice gentle and sincere: "She is a very nice person. Last time I couldn't find the designated reference book in the Library, she took the initiative to come over and help me check its location, and even reminded me not to go back too late. She's very attentive."
Poppy still didn't say much, just smiled faintly, bent down to pick up a dry twig from beside the fireplace, and gently extended it into the fire. The moment the firewood fell into the flames, the firelight suddenly leaped upward, brightening a bit, elongating the figures of several people and casting them on the stone walls where the shadows intersected and overlapped, leaning tightly together as if they had never separated.
Cassandra glanced at Amster again, gently put down the teacup in her hand, and lowered her voice even more, as if afraid of disturbing this warmth: "It's not asking you to do anything special." Her gaze was soft and her tone earnest, "Just when she needs someone to talk to and someone to listen, you just need to be there."
Amster did not answer immediately, made no statement, and made no promise, only gazing at the flickering flames and falling silent for a moment. Those complex, heavy pressures that others could hardly comprehend—he could vaguely perceive them even without experiencing them personally. Gemma Farley's stubbornness, fatigue, forbearance, and loneliness were already clearly seen by him during their brief conversation in the evening.
He nodded gently, simple and resolute. Without extra words, it was already a clear response.
The room returned to silence once more.
This time the silence was softer and more stable than before, as if thoroughly wrapped in warmth. The fire in the fireplace still crackled softly, and the warmth permeated the entire room, dispelling all the coldness of the night. Cho Chang lay back down on the tabletop, picked up the quill, and continued to practice calligraphy quietly; Penelope slowly turned a page of the book, her movements light and slow; Fleur picked up the magazine again, covered her face with it, and relaxed her body, as if about to doze off; Poppy opened the biscuit box again and closed it gently, her movements gentle and casual.
Cassandra picked up her teacup, took a slow sip, and let her gaze fall back upon the flames, her expression calm and peaceful.
Outside the window, the moonlight covered the Black Lake, the water surface shimmering with silver light, swaying gently in the wind, gentle and vast. The castle slept, the night was quiet, but in this small Room of Requirement, there was a warmth that the outside world could not match. It was not lively, not boisterous, not earth-shattering companionship, but the gentleness of several people being quietly independent yet depending on each other.
Amster leaned against the cushion behind him, still holding the cup of hot tea in his hand without drinking anymore. The temperature of the cup wall was transmitted through his fingertips, steady and reassuring. Cassandra's light and earnest words gently turned around in his mind, without ripples or entanglement, just slowly settling down, becoming clear and gentle.
She was not wrong.
There was no need to do too much, no need to shoulder too much, no need to save anything.
Just when someone was tired, when someone was silent, when someone was about to collapse.
Just having someone there was enough.
The flames still leaped, and the warmth still surrounded. The silence in the room was gentle and full, as if filled together by the moonlight and the firelight. The night was still long, and the companionship was just enough.
Chapter 73 Scabbers the Rat
On a weekend morning, the corridors of Hogwarts Castlewere still bathed in faint morning light, the stone walls radiating a slightly cool texture.
Amster walked along the first-floor corridor and soon saw Fred and George leaning against a grayish-white stone pillar.
The two of them had their heads lowered, their fingertips pinching a crumpled piece of parchment, their heads pressed closely together, whispering something under their breath without even hearing footsteps.
Amster walked up to them without a single redundant word: "Come with me to the Headmaster's Office."
Fred abruptly raised his head, locking eyes with him, and immediately shoved the parchment deeper into his pocket without asking a single word.
George also straightened up, brushing off the dust clinging to his cuffs, and the three of them walked one after another toward the eighth floor, keeping their footsteps very light and remaining silent the entire way.
The door to the Headmaster's Office was half-open, warm light spilling out from within.
Dumbledore sat behind the oak desk, his fingers resting lightly on the edge of the desk, while the four Heads of House—McGonagall, Snape, Flitwick, and Professor Sprout—were already inside the room.
McGonagall sat in her chair with a straight back; Flitwickstood by the bookshelf, clutching a thin book in his hand; Professor Sprout leaned against the corner, her expression peaceful yet carrying a hint of solemnity; Snape leaned alone by the window, his back to the room, looking out at the courtyard outside.
Hearing the commotion, Snape turned around and saw Amster bringing the twins in. His brows furrowed almost imperceptibly, and a trace of impatience flashed across his eyes.
"I hope you have a sufficient reason, Dumbledore." He spoke, his voice flat and without inflection, "I still have a few cauldrons of potions to watch over and cannot stay long."
Dumbledore did not reply, merely raising his eyes slightly and nodding at Amster.
Amster walked up to the desk and turned to look at the twins behind him: "Take out the Marauder's Map."
Fred and George froze simultaneously, exchanging a glance, neither expecting him to know about this map.
A beat behind, Fred pulled the parchment out of his pocket, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good", his fingertips pausing for a second before handing it into Amster's hand.
Amster laid the map flat on the desktop, gently smoothing out the creases with his fingertips. The layout of the entire castle and the names of the people clearly appeared before everyone's eyes, and the gazes of several professors fell upon it.
"Look here." Amster's finger pointed at the area of Gryffindor Tower, pointing at two names huddled closely together, "Ron Weasley, Peter Pettigrew."
Fred leaned in closer, staring at that line of text without making a sound.
George also leaned over, his brows slowly knitting together into a knot, his eyes filled with puzzlement.
"Peter Pettigrew." Amster withdrew his hand, his tone calm, "Ever since I got this map, he has stayed in this position the entire time. At night in Ron's dormitory, during the day following Ron walking around the castle, not leaving by even half a step. I am very certain this name does not belong to any first-year student. I suppose the professors here still have an impression of this name, right?"
Fred stared at the name on the map, his lips moving without making a sound, as if something was blocking his heart.
"So Fred and George, around Ron, or rather in your home, is there anything that has been following him for many years?" Amster asked again.
Fred's brows furrowed even tighter, and George also lowered his eyes, trying hard to recall past trivia.
Silence spread. After a moment, Fred slowly spoke, his voice somewhat muffled: "Percy used to keep a rat."
George added, his voice very soft: "Later, when Percy didn't use it anymore, he gave it to Ron."
"What is it called?"
"Scabbers." Fred answered crisply, though his voice was dry, "He has been with Ron for many years."
He abruptly raised his head to look at Amster, his expression changing instantly, his tone carrying disbelief, "You mean—"
"I didn't say that." Amster gently interrupted him, "You just need to tell the professors what you know."
Fred shut his mouth, staring back at the name on the map, his fingertips curling involuntarily.
George stood by his side and didn't speak again either; the nonchalance on the brothers' faces completely vanished, leaving only solemnity.
Professor McGonagall stood up, walked to the desk, lowered her head to stare at that line of text for a long time, and then slowly spoke, her voice carrying the lingering gloom of years: "This name belongs to Peter Pettigrew, who back then was a close friend of James Potter and Sirius Black."
She raised her head, her gaze behind her lenses stern, "When the few of them were at school, they secretly trained to become an Animagus. Peter's transformed form is a rat."
The air in the office suddenly grew heavy, and even the sound of breathing became light and shallow.
Professor Flitwick hurried over to the bookshelf, stood on tiptoe to pull out a thick-covered book, and quickly flipped through a few pages. His voice was thin yet exceptionally clear: "He is not in the Ministry of Magic's Animagusregistry; he is an unregistered wizard."
Snape still leaned by the window, his gaze falling on the two closely huddled names, his expression plain yet remaining completely silent, hiding emotions in the depths of his eyes that others could not understand.
Professor Sprout gently sighed and said nothing, merely adding a few traces of regret to her eyes.
Dumbledore put down the quill in his hand, the tip falling onto the desktop and making a soft sound.
He looked at the twins, his tone peaceful: "This rat has stayed in your family for eleven years, from Percy to Ron, never leaving once. Was it already by Percy's side when you started forming memories?"
Fred nodded: "Ever since I can remember, Scabbers has been following Percy."
George also replied: "Counting it up, it has been at least ten years or more."
The office fell completely silent, everyone's gazes locked onto the Marauder's Map.
Peter Pettigrew, a person determined to have died over a dozen years ago, had his name clearly appearing on the map, glued right next to Ron.
For eleven years, a rat had hidden in the Weasley family, deceiving everyone.
Dumbledore slowly stood up, his voice not loud, but every word was clear, carrying an unquestionable power: "Tonight, catch him."
He looked at Snape, then at McGonagall, and finally his gaze fell upon Amster.
Amster nodded without any extra response.
Fred was still standing in front of the desk, his hand pressed against the edge of the map, lingering without letting go.
George stood by the side, both of them silent, their complexions not looking good, yet they didn't ask another single question.
Amster folded the map up and handed it back to Fred.
Fred took it back, and his action of shoving it into his pocket was much heavier than usual, carrying a somewhat heavy meaning.
The morning light outside the window filtered through the glass panes, falling onto the desk and making the names on the parchment shine brightly.
No one spoke again, all knowing that when night fell, that rat that had hidden for eleven years would ultimately reveal its true face.
Chapter 74: Catching the Rat in Progress
Amster's gaze swept across everyone in the room, his fingertips gently tapping on the table; the heavy atmosphere that had just settled was instantly replaced by a tense driving force, and without any unnecessary hesitation, the arrangements for the capture rolled straight off his tongue.
"George." He looked up at the Weasley twins standing beside Fred, his voice steady yet carrying an unquestionable force, "You go bring Ron to the Headmaster's Office. Be very careful on the way, don't alert the enemy, and make sure that rat is still on him, staying with him every step."
George's face had long since lost its usual banter, his lips pressed tightly together, and he solemnly nodded, reached out to straighten the hem of his robes, and without asking a single extra question, turned to walk out the door, his footsteps extremely light for fear of disturbing anything.
Amster looked back at Fred, his tone slightly softening: "You stay and write letters with me to Molly and Arthur, having them rush immediately to the HogwartsHeadmaster's Office. Matters are urgent and must be expedited."
Fred pressed his lips together, nodded in agreement, walked over to the desk, and picked up the quill, watching Amster unfold two pieces of parchment, his fingertips gripping the pen shaft lingering without falling, while his brows and eyes, usually hanging with a smile, were now filled with seriousness, his handwriting neat yet hurried, every single word exuding the urgency of the situation.
Dumbledore stood by the fireplace, gently waving his wand, and the previously dormant fireplace instantly ignited with a light blue flame, the authority of the Floo Network being completely opened, while the warm yellow firelight reflected on his half-moon spectacles, his eyes still maintaining a composed look, yet with a bit more gravity as he awaited the outcome.
"The Floo Network is connected, and the routes for The Burrow and the Ministry of Magic have both been confirmed. It will be much faster for them to rush over," he said softly, his voice gentle yet reassuring.
Professor McGonagall had long since walked over to the Marauder's Map by the wall, taking out her wand and gently tapping it, her gaze fixed tightly on Ron's location, as well as that small dot labeled Peter Pettigrew, and clenching her fingertips slightly, she said in a deep voice: "I am watching the map, George and Ron's movements are crystal clear, and there won't be any mistakes."
Her tone was stern, and the composure of the GryffindorHead of House was displayed vividly at this moment, paying attention to the movement of the light dot every single second to ensure there were no accidents along the way.
George's figure quickly disappeared outside the office door, leaving inside the office only the rustling sound of the quill scratching across the parchment, while Fred followed Amster's train of thought to quickly finish writing the letter to his mother Molly, his handwriting carrying a youth's neatness while hiding worry for his family.
Amster, on the other hand, picked up his pen to write the letter to Arthur, with concise wording that clearly stated only the most crucial information, every single word urging the other party to set off as soon as possible.
The two letters were quickly written, and Amster pushed open the window, summoned two barn owls, carefully folded the letter paper, stuffed them into the owls' mail cylinders, gently patted the owls' heads, and whispered: "Urgent, make sure it is delivered as fast as possible."
The two barn owls fluttered their wings and swiftly flew into the night of Hogwarts, flying towards the directions of The Burrow and the Ministry of Magic without a moment's delay.
Far away at The Burrow, Molly was wiping porcelain plates in the kitchen, her knuckles still stained with water droplets, when suddenly an urgent pecking sound of a barn owl came from outside the window, many times louder than usual letter-delivery sounds, and her heart gave a sudden wrench, an inexplicable panic instantly gripping her chest; fumbling flurriedly, she pushed open the window, and the barn owl landed straight on the windowsill, its leg mail cylinder tied with a red string representing urgency.
Trembling, she pulled out the letter paper, sweeping her eyes over Amster's handwriting, and seeing the words "It concerns Ron, come to the Headmaster's Officeimmediately, without a moment's delay", the porcelain plate in her hand smashed onto the flagstone floor with a loud clang, shattering into pieces; she couldn't care about cleaning it up, her fingertips gripping the letter paper so tightly that her knuckles turned white, her lips trembling, tears instantly welling up, and turning around, she stumbled as she ran towards the living room, frantically searching for the Floo powder needed for the Floo Network while muttering nonstop, "My Ronnie cannot have anything happen to him," her curly hair, which was usually neatly groomed, now stuck messily against her cheeks, completely stripping away her former composure.
Inside the Ministry of Magic, Arthur had just filed a Muggle-related document when a barn owl landed on his desk's windowsill, and smiling, he reached out to take it, thinking it was an ordinary family letter, but upon seeing the urgent red string on the letter and Amster's signature, his smile instantly froze on his face; after hastily opening and reading it, his gentle face turned instantly pale, and he abruptly stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the floor, throwing just one sentence to his colleague at the neighboring desk: "There is an emergency at home, cover for me for a bit," and gripping the letter, he sprinted towards the Floo Network room, his leather shoes making hurried clacking sounds on the corridor's flagstone floor, his brows knitted tightly together, his heart filled with worry for his son, wishing he could fly straight to Hogwarts instantly.
Time ticked by second by second, and the atmosphere in the office grew increasingly tense, with Professor McGonagall keeping her eyes fixed on the Marauder's Map, reporting George and Ron's positions from time to time, while Dumbledore stood quietly by the fireplace with his hands behind his back, and Snape leaned against the wall with drooping eyelids, saying nothing, his entire aura cold and aloof, and Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout also sat to the side with solemn expressions, quietly awaiting subsequent developments.
Not long after, soft footsteps came from outside the office door, and Professor McGonagall immediately raised her eyes and said: "They have arrived."
As soon as those words fell, George pushed open the door, bringing along a bewildered Ron, who was still tightly holding that rat named Scabbers in his arms, completely unaware of anything unusual, looking perplexedly at the crowd gathered inside the office; just as he was about to open his mouth to ask, the blue flames in the fireplace suddenly surged high with sparks flying everywhere, and Molly and Arthur stumbled out of the fireplace almost simultaneously, Molly's robe hem still stained with Floo powder, her hair disheveled, and the moment she saw Ron, she lunged forward, her voice shaking beyond recognition as she reached out to grab Ron's arms tightly: "Ronnie! How are you? Is anywhere feeling uncomfortable?"
Ron was completely dumbfounded, tightening his grip on Scabbers as he looked at the crowd with their varied expressions, along with his tear-stained and extremely anxious parents, asking blankly: "What's wrong? What on earth happened?"
Amster put down the quill in his hand, slowly stood up, and his gaze landed on the rat in Ron's arms, the atmosphere all around him instantly sinking; the final moment of the capture had arrived.
Chapter 75 "Caught You, Little Mouse"
Amster put down the quill in his hand and slowly stood up, his gaze falling on the rat in Ron's arms as the atmosphere around him instantly turned heavy; the final moment of capture had arrived.
He did not bother with any extra preamble, shifting his gaze straight to the bewildered Ron. His voice was steady without a single ripple, yet it carried an irresistible weight.
"Ron, have you always carried that pet rat of yours with you?"
Scabbers in Ron's arms seemed to sense the tense atmosphere around them, its little body curling into a ball while its claws clutched tightly at Ron's sleeve, letting out two soft squeaks.
Ron instinctively hugged him a little tighter, nodding blankly at the words with a lingering daze in his voice: "Y-Yes, I've always had him with me, he's never left my side."
As he spoke, following Amster's gesture, he carefully pulled Scabbers out from his arms and placed him on the large oak desk in the Headmaster's Office. The rat cowered in the corner of the desk, its small, dark eyes scanning the surrounding crowd in a panic, its body trembling incessantly.
Amster lowered his gaze to look at the trembling rat at the corner of the desk, his fingertips moving ever so slightly. A silent binding curse quietly fell by Ron's feet, gently pushing him back half a foot. The movement was stealthy and swift, simply because he did not want this utterly clueless one to get too close to the danger.
Ron did not notice the fluctuation of magic at all, but still looked blankly at everyone, unaware that an interrogation concerning a twelve-year secret was about to unfold from this inconspicuous rat.
Amster raised his eyes, his gaze sweeping slowly across the four members of the the Weasleys—from Molly, whose face was still pale, to Arthur with his furrowed brows, and then to Fred and George with their solemn expressions. Every single word he spoke was clear and heavy, laying out the truth finalized in Chapter 73 under the sun, word by word.
"You must remember clearly that this rat, which has stayed in the Weasley household for a full eleven years, has never been an ordinary pet."
He paused, watching the crowd's expressions instantly tighten, and continued, "Twelve years ago, everyone thought he died a heroic death to protect the Potter couple, holding him up as a hero. But the real truth is that he is Peter Pettigrew, a traitor who personally betrayed everything."
The bewilderment on Ron's face vanished instantly, the color draining completely at a speed visible to the naked eye. His lips trembled, opening several times, yet not a single word could come out. His eyes stared fixedly at Scabbers on the desk, as if seeing for the first time this pet that had accompanied him for so many years. His whole body froze in place, and even his breathing grew shallow and light.
Molly covered her mouth, tears instantly welling up. She reached out to grab Arthur's arm beside her, her fingertips digging fiercely into his sleeve, unable to believe that the child she cherished had spent day and night with a hidden traitor for so long.
Fred and George exchanged glances. The amusement that usually filled the depths of their eyes was now replaced only by shock and lingering fear, their mouths tightly pursed, completely stripping away any trace of their past playful grins.
Confirming that the the Weasleys had heard the truth clearly and accepted this cruel fact, Amster turned slightly and nodded towards Dumbledore standing quietly aside: "Professor Dumbledore, please, cast a forced transformation curse to force him to reveal his true Animagus form."
Dumbledore nodded gently, slowly raising his wand. The tip of the wand emitted a soft yet irresistibly powerful golden light, pointing gently at Scabbers on the desk.
The moment the spell fell, the rat that had been cowering in the corner of the desk suddenly began to struggle frantically. Its small body twisted and convulsed violently, letting out a sharp, piercing squeak. Its claws frantically scratched at the smooth tabletop, trying to escape the control of the magic, but there was simply no way to break free.
Twisted light and shadow enveloped its small body, its fur rapidly receding, and its figure continuously lengthened and expanded. In just a few short seconds, the strength of its struggle gradually weakened, and a dusty grey rat finally transformed into a short, stooped man with a bald head.
Peter Pettigrew curled up on the desktop, ragged and shivering all over, his small eyes darting about restlessly. His gaze flickered evasively, daring not meet the eyes of anyone present. Filled with panic and cowardice, there was not a shred of a hero's appearance left—only the wretchedness of a traitor.
Molly took a step forward almost instinctively, pulling the frozen Ron fiercely behind her. Her body trembled slightly, and the depths of her eyes were first filled with overwhelming lingering fear—this creature had hidden securely in her home, beside her children, for eleven years. She had even countless times cleaned the cage containing Scabbers for Ron and fed it food; just thinking of this made her body run cold.
Following closely behind was an uncontrollable rage that burned her eye rims red, her lips pressed into a straight line as she wished she could rush forward immediately to interrogate him.
Arthur stood by his wife's side, his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, the joints cracking. His chest heaved violently as he looked at the leering Peter Pettigrew on the desk, his heart full of guilt toward his children and hatred toward the traitor.
As the two of them were about to step forward, Amsterimmediately reached out to stop them, his tone firm yet carrying consideration for the parents' emotions: "Wait, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, we cannot touch him just yet. We need to get the whole truth out of his mouth and compile it into court evidence recognized by the Ministry of Magic, to clear Sirius's grievances and give an account to the Pottercouple. Once all the testimonies are recorded, as long as he has a breath left, I will leave how to deal with him subsequently entirely up to you."
Hearing this, Molly and Arthur forcefully suppressed the anger and hatred in their hearts, slowly stepping back. Their eyes remained fixed dead on Peter Pettigrew, full of iciness and disgust.
Amster turned his head to look at Snape, who had been leaning against the wall all along with a cold aura about him, and gave a slight signal.
Snape raised his eyes, his pitch-black pupils sweeping over the trembling Peter Pettigrew on the desk. A cold arc curled at the corner of his mouth as he slowly stepped forward, pulling a small dark-green potion bottle from his pocket. Uncorking it, without waiting for Peter Pettigrew to react, he forcefully grabbed his chin and poured the transparent liquid inside straight down his throat.
The Veritaserum slid down his throat. Peter Pettigrewstruggled twice before his eyes quickly became unfocused, his body's resistance gradually disappearing as he fell entirely under the control of the Veritaserum.
Professor McGonagall had already taken out a blank piece of parchment, sitting upright at the side holding a quill. Her nib hovered over the paper with a solemn and grave expression, ready to record every single word of the testimony.
Under the potent effect of the Veritaserum, Peter Pettigrew's unfocused eyes lacked any evasion as he intermittently and mechanically blurted out the truth buried for twelve years. His voice was hoarse and weak, and every single word felt like it was laced with poison, stabbing into everyone's hearts.
"It was me... It was me who betrayed James and Lily... I told the Dark Lord their hiding place..."
"It was me who killed twelve Muggles, blew up the street, and framed Sirius for everything..."
"I cut off my own finger to leave as fake evidence, turned into a rat, and hid for twelve years..."
Professor McGonagall's quill slid swiftly across the paper without the slightest pause, recording these bloody truths neatly and word for word onto the parchment. The force of the nib was extremely heavy, almost tearing through the page.
After listening, Amster turned his head to look at Ron, who was still standing stock-still in place, completely numb. His face was as pale as paper, and his eyes were hollow, clearly still unable to recover from the blow that his pet was a traitor.
Amster gave a wink to Fred and George, instructing softly: "Take Ron away from here first, back to the dormitory to rest. Don't let him listen to this anymore."
Fred and George stepped forward immediately, gently supporting Ron's stiff body from left and right. Ron was like a soulless puppet, his feet barely leaving the ground, half-supported and half-carried outward by his two older brothers. Throughout the entire process, he did not say a single word, his eyes staring blankly straight ahead all the while. The office door closed gently, completely shutting the interrogation and heaviness inside outside the door.
Until the moment the door closed, Amster slowly turned around, looking once more at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, whose eyes were icy and whose hatred was hard to appease. His voice was calm: "Now, you may proceed."
Chapter 76: The phoenix potion Shows Initial Results
After Peter Pettigrew was personally escorted to the Ministry of Magic by Dumbledore, the atmosphere in the Headmaster's Office remained gloomy, with candlelight gently swaying in the crystal bottle, reflecting the lingering heaviness throughout the room.
Professor McGonagall carefully folded the Veritaserum transcript and locked it into the deepest drawer of her desk. The sound of the brass lock clicking shut was exceptionally clear in the silence.
Professor Flitwick pushed up his glasses that had slid down to the bridge of his nose, twiddled his silver-white beard with his fingertips, and sighed in a low voice: "At least we finally have irrefutable proof. Sirius's grievances should finally be cleared."
Professor Sprout gazed out the window in a daze, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing the dirt on her cuffs, and simply shook her head gently without saying a single word.
Snape leaned sideways against the marble pillar by the window, his arms crossed over his chest, his black robes draped down to cover his shoes, a habitual sneer curving the corners of his mouth.
He raised his eyes to sweep across the crowd. His voice wasn't loud, but it was wrapped in icicles, piercing enough to make people's eardrums tense: "Cleared? Twelve years ago, the Ministry of Magic couldn't even be bothered to go through the motions of a trial before throwing him straight into Azkaban."
"Now that the evidence is laid out before them, will Cornelius Fudge obediently admit his mistake? That bit of face of his is more precious than anything else."
Professor McGonagall frowned tightly, her brow furrowing into a deep crease, yet she didn't refute him.
She naturally knew Fudge's temperament—vain and cowardly, he would never easily admit his own faults, let alone such a major miscarriage of justice from twelve years ago.
"That fool is most afraid of people pointing fingers at his nose and calling him incompetent."
Snape continued, his tone brimming with undisguised contempt: "Peter's confession, the Marauder's Map's records, and the solid evidence of an Animagus are enough to close the case. But Fudge will definitely make a big fuss over a retrial, drag it out for months, and finally take all the credit for himself, pretending that it was his meticulous observation that uncovered the truth."
"Severus is right."
Professor Flitwick nodded gently, a hint of helplessness in his tone: "Those procedures of the Ministry of Magic have always existed solely to serve their own dignity."
"Procedures?"
Snape scoffed, the mockery in his voice growing even heavier: "When they dealt with Sirius back then, why didn't they mention procedures?"
This single sentence plunged the office into a brief, dead silence.
The candlelight flickered, reflecting the gloom on everyone's faces. The haste and injustice of twelve years ago felt like a fine thorn pricking at everyone's hearts.
Amster stood by the table, listening with hands lowered to the professors' discussion without ever chiming in.
Snape's words hit every crucial point squarely. Amster had already anticipated this long ago; matters involving the Ministry of Magic were never that smooth, and a lengthy retrial was ultimately unavoidable.
He silently noted these things in his heart, his fingertips lightly pressing against the edge of the table.
Dumbledore had been leaning back in the Headmaster's chair, his blue eyes appearing exceptionally gentle in the candlelight, yet hiding a trace of imperceptible depth.
He had not participated in the discussion at all, simply watching everyone quietly until the silence in the office was about to overflow, before slowly speaking in a gentle yet weighty voice: "Regardless, Peter's capture is just the first step."
"As for the rest, we will take it slow. You are all tired, go back and rest first."
Professor McGonagall took the lead in rising, slightly nodding toward Dumbledore before turning and walking out of the office.
Professor Flitwick and Professor Sprout also bid farewell one after another, their footsteps gradually fading away at the end of the corridor.
Snape glanced at Amster one last time, a flicker of unreadable emotion flashing deep in his eyes, but he said not a single word. With a flick of his black robes, he too departed, and the soft sound of the hinges turning left the office completely silent.
Until everyone had left, Dumbledore slowly took out a sealed letter from the drawer. The envelope was dark brown, stamped with a simple Alchemy pattern on the sealing wax.
He raised his hand and pushed the letter across to Amster, a faint smile in his blue eyes: "Just sent over by Mr. Flamel, it should be the news you've been waiting for."
Amster immediately stepped forward and took the letter paper. His fingertips touched the rough paper, causing his heart to stir slightly.
He carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the letter paper. Flamel's handwriting was neat and powerful, every single stroke exuding the rigorousness and steadiness of an alchemist.
Amster:
The phoenix potion formula you sent has been repeatedly fine-tuned by me according to your ideas. The finished product of the latest version is far more stable than expected.
Perenelle and I have been trying it out for two weeks now. The morning fatigue has completely disappeared, our physical strength recovers extremely fast, and even the lingering pain from my years of suffering from Alchemybacklash has lessened significantly, leaving us in much better spirits than before.
The direction you found is completely correct; the potential of this potion goes far beyond this.
If we can further optimize the ratios of a few ingredients and balance the vitality of the phoenix tail feathers with the medicinal properties of the other herbs, it might not only nourish elderly wizards like Perenelle and me, but also help those who have lost vitality due to dark magic curse seals or magical overdraft.
If you have some leisure time during the summer vacation, you might as well come to Devon for a short stay. I have already prepared the Alchemy room, and we can finalize the last details together so that this potion can truly be put into use.
Nicolas Flamel
Amster read the letter twice over, examining every single word with extreme care until he confirmed there were no errors, before carefully folding it up and putting it into his inner pocket.
The gloom in his heart was diluted by an indescribable joy; the busyness and contemplation of the past few days had ultimately borne fruit.
"Mr. Flamel says that the phoenix potion has achieved initial success."
Amster looked up at Dumbledore, his voice carrying a trace of thinly veiled briskness: "After he and Madam Perenelletried it out, their physical constitutions improved noticeably, and their old ailments have also eased."
Dumbledore nodded gently, his blue eyes full of approval. He raised a hand to stroke his half-moon spectacle frames and said gently: "You've done very well, Amster."
"Flamel has lived for over six hundred years and has always had a picky eye. To make him approve like this is truly no small feat."
"It's only an initial success; there are still ratios that need optimizing."
Amster said softly without a shred of complacency. He knew clearly that this was merely the first step; there was still a ways to go before the potion was truly safe and usable.
"Step by step, there's no need to rush."
Dumbledore said with a smile: "As for the summer vacation, you can plan it slowly. Now, you should also go back and rest. I'll keep an eye on things here."
Amster bowed slightly toward Dumbledore, said his farewells, and turned to walk out of the Headmaster's Office.
The corridor was already completely deserted. The warm light of the pumpkin lanterns cast swaying light and shadows on the stone walls, and the stone-paved path beneath his feet carried a hint of slight chill, yet his heart was warm.
The letter paper in his pocket still held a trace of warmth, and Flamel's handwriting seemed to still be right before his eyes—stable effects, restored physical strength, eased old ailments... The phoenix potion really worked.
As he walked, he thought about the subsequent optimization directions for the potion, his pace unconsciously accelerating a bit.
The door to the Room of Requirement was half-open, leaking warm firelight and a faint sweet fragrance.
Amster pushed open the door and walked in. The fire in the fireplace was crackling and burning brightly, Fleur was curled up in an armchair flipping through a magical fashion magazine, Penelope was leaning against the bookshelf reading a book, Cassandra was sitting on the rug in front of the fireplace brewing hot tea, Cho Chang was leaning over a small table practicing calligraphy with a brush, and Poppy was off to the side tidying up an iron box filled with biscuits.
Hearing the commotion, several people raised their heads simultaneously.
Fleur closed her book and spoke first, concern in her tone: "Are all matters taken care of?"
Amster gave a murmur of acknowledgment, walked over to sit beside Cassandra, and took the cup of hot tea she handed him. The warm tea slid down his throat, dispelling the chill on his body.
He fell silent for a moment, took Flamel's letter from his pocket, placed it on the table, and tapped the letter paper lightly with his fingertip: "A letter from Mr. Flamel; the phoenix potion has achieved initial success."
As soon as the words fell, several people immediately gathered around.
Fleur picked up the letter and quickly read through it. Her eyes instantly lit up, and she turned to look at Amster: "That's wonderful! So you're going to Devon to find Mr. Flamel during the summer vacation?"
Amster nodded, a smile in his eyes.
Penelope took the letter and read it carefully, word by word, her fingertips gently brushing across Flamel's handwriting. After finishing, she folded it and handed it back to Amster, her ears turning slightly red while a shallow smile lingered at the corners of her mouth, whispering softly: "You're truly amazing."
Cassandra held her teacup, took a sip, and said indifferently: "Expected, but not too bad."
Though her words were bland, there was a trace of approval deep in her eyes.
Cho Chang put down her brush, leaned over to look at the envelope, and said with a smile: "Well, you'll be busy during the summer vacation then, but this is a tremendously good thing."
Poppy didn't speak, simply quietly pushing the iron box filled with butter cookies toward Amster, her eyes full of happiness.
Amster picked up a cookie and put it into his mouth, the sweet fragrance melting away in his mouth.
The fire in the fireplace was still burning vigorously, the warm light reflecting everyone's smiling faces, and the warmth throughout the room diluted all the gloom of the past few days.
He leaned back against the chair, looking at the people before him, and touched the letter in his pocket once more.
Sirius's matter was not yet over, the Ministry of Magic's retrial was still waiting, and the phoenix potion still had final details to be finalized; there were still many things to do in the future.
But at least, he had taken this step steadily.
Outside the window, moonlight filtered through the clouds, spilling onto the Black Lake and shattering into a patch of shimmering silver light, gentle and serene.
Inside the Room of Requirement, the fireplace crackled and laughter floated lightly—a stable, peaceful silence filled with warmth.
Chapter 77: The Return Journey
In the afternoon at Hogwarts, the sunlight spilled over the castle stone walls and onto the paved path in front of the door. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were packing their canvas bags, while Fred and George leaned against the stone balustrade, twirling their respective wands with their fingertips as they prepared to leave.
Amster walked out of the castle in quick strides, raising a hand from afar to signal. The Weasleys turned back, and Molly walked up to greet him first, her tone carrying a hint of weary concern: "Amster, are the matters regarding the Headmaster's Office all settled?" Arthur also pushed up his glasses, his face bearing lingering fear from the recent disturbance, and his gaze fell toward the castle with still a bit of unease.
"Everything is settled. Professor Dumbledore and several teachers have already discussed the follow-up." Amsternodded and walked closer, his gaze sweeping over the winking and grimacing twins, before turning to speak in a deep voice to the Weasleys: "Coming here today, there are a few things I want to tell you both. One concerns Fred and George, another is the arrangement the school has made for Ron, and there is also the result of a discussion among the professors."
Arthur immediately straightened his posture, turned sideways to make space, and said earnestly: "Go ahead and speak. We are all our own people, no need to hold back." Molly also stopped her packing, tidied the stray hairs at her temples, and her gaze shifted between Amster and the twins. A vague guess formed in her heart, but she quietly waited for him to speak. Fred and George also put away their playful demeanor; their posture leaning against the stone balustrade remained casual, but lacked a bit of nonchalance, clearly knowing that the matter Amster was about to mention was closely related to them.
"Over the past two years, I have been working together with Fred and George to figure out small Alchemy gadgets and peddling them in Hogwarts and Hogsmeade." Amstersoftened his tone and first brought up the first matter: "After deducting costs and expenses, we have saved up a lot of money, enough for them to lease a storefront in Diagon Alley and open the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes they've been longing for. We originally intended to start handling it this summer vacation."
As soon as these words were spoken, the area by the stone balustrade fell silent. Arthur widened his eyes abruptly, his glasses almost sliding off the bridge of his nose. He subconsciously stepped forward half a step, pointing his finger at the twins, then turned to Amster, his voice trembling: "What did you say? The two of them saved up enough money to open a shop? The rent and decoration for a storefront in Diagon Alley are no small amounts!"
Molly was also stunned in place, her brows slightly furrowed, and her gaze looking at the twins carried scrutiny, though she didn't scold them immediately. She had always known her two sons were active-minded and loved tinkering with novel gadgets, but she never imagined that they could actually settle down and save such a sum of money, hiding hard-to-conceal astonishment deep within her eyes.
"Mum, Dad, we weren't messing around." Fred grinned, throwing an arm around George's shoulders, his tone hearty and carrying a hint of pride: "Amster helped us control the formulas, and we designed the styles and ran the sales. Things like farting cushions and burp candies—lower-year students scrambled for them, and sales have always been exceptionally good."
George also nodded along, pulling a Gringotts coin from his pocket and twirling it between his fingertips: "Every time we finished selling, we saved the money and didn't spend a single knut foolishly. Amster even helped us open a joint account. The money in the account now is more than enough to open a small shop, with plenty left over."
Looking at the twins' resolute expressions, and then at Amster nodding nearby, the disbelief on the Weasleys' faces gradually faded. Arthur rubbed his hands together, his eyes filled with gratification. He had always been open-minded and never opposed his children's whimsical ideas; it was just that due to the family's tight finances, he had never been able to support the twins' ideas. Now, seeing them achieve their dreams through their own efforts, his heart was filled with joy.
Molly's brows also gradually smoothed out, and she raised her hand to gently pat the twins' arms. Her fingertips touched the thin calluses on her sons' arms, presumably worn down from tinkering with gadgets and running sales over the past two years. Her heart felt a mixture of complex emotions, and she lightly scolded them: "You two, you hid this deeply. Such a big matter and you didn't tell the family at all, making your dad and me always worry that you were messing around at school." Yet there was not a shred of reproach in her tone, only overflowing pride.
"We also thought about giving you both a surprise after things were finalized." Amster spoke up at the right moment, taking over the conversation to bring up the second matter, his tone also softening a bit: "Ron suffered quite a heavy blow from this recent crisis. After discussing it, Professor Dumbledore and several teachers knew that you certainly wouldn't be at ease. The school has decided to make a special exception and clear out a vacant room near Gryffindor Tower. If you are willing during the holiday, you can move in to stay at Hogwarts to accompany Ron, and Ginny can come along too."
He paused, and added: "With the professors looking after things in the castle, it's more reassuring than being at home. The school will properly arrange daily meals and lodging, so you don't need to worry about it." These words flowed like a warm current into the Weasleys' hearts. Molly's eye sockets instantly turned slightly red, and she raised a hand to wipe the corner of her eyes, her voice choked with emotion: "It really is troubling Professor Dumbledore and several teachers. Ron is a sensitive child, and this time being plotted against by Peter Pettigrew, he was terribly frightened. Arthur and I couldn't sleep well at night, always worrying that he would let his imagination run wild after returning. Such an arrangement by the school truly relieves our urgent need."
Arthur also bowed repeatedly toward the castle direction, his face full of gratitude: "Professor Dumbledore is benevolent, and the teachers have troubled themselves. Hogwarts has always been the most reliable, and with the professors looking after him, we are completely at ease. Later, Molly and I will pack up, and in a few days we will bring Ron and Ginny over, making sure not to add any trouble to the school."
"You two don't need to be so polite; the school ought to protect its students in the first place." Amster shook his head gently, then pulled several papers printed with the Hogwarts crest from his pocket and handed them to the Weasleys. The papers were stamped with Dumbledore's bright red, eye-catching phoenix seal: "These are the leave slips approved by the professors, with no time limit. This is also the core matter of my visit this time. The professors hope that you both, along with Ron, Fred, and George, will go to Ollivanders Wand Shop in Diagon Alley to officially pick a wand that truly belongs to Ron himself."
"A wand?" Molly took the leave slip, looked down at the seal, and instantly reacted, her eyes filled with deep emotion: "That's right, Ron's wand originally belonged to Charlie, and later Bill, Percy, Fred, and George all used it before it finally ended up in his hands. The wand body had cracks long ago, and the core is almost worn out. After going through so many things this time, I'm afraid it's completely unusable."
She sighed, her tone filled with helplessness: "Arthur and I have long thought about getting him a new one. As you all know, our children, except for Ron, all picked their own wands as soon as they reached age. Only he, due to the family's limited conditions, has always used this handed-down old wand. In our hearts, we always feel we owe him."
Arthur also sighed along, rubbed his hands, and showed a distressed expression on his face: "Amster, you also know our family's situation. Mr. Ollivander's wands cost seven Galleons each, and the events of these past few days have already cost quite a bit of money. Molly and I were just worrying about pooling the money together, never expecting that the professors would consider things so thoroughly."
The Weasleys' financial hardship was known to the entire school. The family's clothes were either patched or mended, yet they would never wrong their children's wand needs. It was just that Ron happened to catch the family at its tightest times, thus becoming the only child to use an old wand—something that had always been a lingering worry in the Weasleys' hearts.
Before Amster could speak, Fred waved his hand first, his tone hearty and firm: "Mum, Dad, don't worry about the cost of the wand. You don't need to pay for it; George and I will cover it!" George also immediately stepped forward, patting his chest in agreement: "That's right! Besides opening the shop, we still have plenty of surplus from the money we saved. Picking the best wand for Ron is completely not a problem."
"Ron is our younger brother. In the past, the family's conditions weren't good and we didn't have the ability to help him. Now that we can make money ourselves, naturally we have to pick the one that suits his heart best." As Fred said this, he raised a hand to pat Amster's shoulder and smiled: "Amster also said that picking a wand at Mr. Ollivander's place depends on fate. We must take Ron to pick it slowly, choosing one even more powerful than Malfoy's, so that in the future, let's see who dares to bully him!"
"An absolute must! It's best to pick one with a phoenix feather core, just like Harry's—powerful and responsive!" George chimed in, his face full of excitement, as if he had already seen Ron holding his new wand.
Looking at the twins' resolute and responsible expressions, the Weasleys' eye sockets turned slightly red once more. Molly stepped forward, reaching out to gently embrace Fred and George, her voice choked: "My good boys, you have grown up, learned to cherish your younger brother, and learned to take responsibility. Mum is so happy for you." Arthur stood to the side, looking at his two sons, his eyes filled with gratification, the corners of his mouth unable to stop curling upward, and he raised a hand to wipe the moisture from the corners of his eyes, momentarily unable to speak.
Fred and George were embraced by their mother, acting unusually shy as they scratched the backs of their heads, though smiles still lingered on their faces. Amster watched this heartwarming scene, a faint smile also appearing at the corners of his mouth, before softly reminding them: "The professors also specifically urged that after picking the wand, when you go home to pack your things, it's best to carefully check all items in the house, especially the ones Ron usually uses. If you find anything suspicious or of unknown origin, it's best to throw it directly away and replace everything with new ones, avoiding letting people with ulterior motives take advantage of loopholes again."
"Alright, alright, we've remembered!" Arthur immediately took the leave slip, carefully folded it, and placed it in the inner layer of the canvas bag close to his body for safekeeping, fearing he would lose it: "After going back, Molly and I will turn the house upside down, pack carefully, and leave nothing suspicious. We must never let Ron suffer the slightest harm again."
Molly also nodded heavily, determination showing on her face: "That's right, the child's safety is most important. No matter how reluctant we are to part with those old things, they cannot compare to Ron's safety." Fred and Georgealso put away their playfulness and nodded earnestly: "We will help pack too, and won't delay at all. We'll go straight home after picking the wand."
"That's good. Since you have it figured out in your minds, I can rest easy." Amster breathed a sigh of relief and added, "If there's anything you need help with during the holiday, whether it's packing things or preparing the joke shop, you can come find me at any time. I'll be right in the castle, at your beck and call."
"Thank you so much, Amster." Molly held Amster's hand, thanking him endlessly: "Over the past two years, thanks to you taking care of Fred and George and helping them save money to open a shop, and now running back and forth for Ron's matter—you truly are a good boy."
"Aunt Molly, you flatter me. Fred, George, and I are good friends, and helping each other is only right. Ron is also my classmate, so naturally I wouldn't just watch something happen to him." Amster gently withdrew his hand, his tone modest: "It's getting late, you should set off early. Mr. Ollivander's shop might close if you're too late."
The Weasleys no longer delayed. Arthur picked up the canvas bag, and Molly urged the twins to keep up. Fredand George acknowledged, made winking grimaces at Amster, and quickly followed their parents' footsteps. Their figures gradually walked into the distance. The footsteps on the paved path, mixed with the twins' occasional muttering, slowly dissipated in the afternoon sunlight, lacking the previous gloominess and gaining a bit of steady warmth.
Amster stood in place, watching the figures of several people disappear at the end of the road, raised a hand to brush off the fallen leaves on his shoulder, and turned back into the castle.
Chapter 78
The Hogwarts Great Hall was exceptionally quiet that evening.
Three seats were empty at the Gryffindor long table, Ron's plate was neatly set, and the seats of Fred and Georgewere desolate.
Harry sat at the table, the roasted potatoes in front of him completely cold, and the pumpkin juice untouched.
He stared in the direction of the Slytherin long table, his fists clenched white under the table, his mind filled with Ron's terrified appearance from earlier.
Amster sat opposite him, with only a cup of untouched pumpkin juice in front of him, his expression as calm as a pool of deep water, as if the restlessness of everyone around him had nothing to do with him.
Near the end of dinner, Harry abruptly stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the stone floor.
He walked around the table and headed straight for Amster.
Hermione immediately got up to follow, her face full of anxiety.
Slytherin students raised their heads one after another.
The Great Hall instantly fell silent, and everyone's gaze glued to the two of them.
"Where on earth is Ron?"
Harry's voice carried suppressed anger, every word squeezed through his teeth.
"What did you do to him? Fred and George are missing too!"
"Follow me."
Amster raised his eyes, his tone flat and waveless, then stood up and walked toward the entrance of the Great Hall.
Harry was stunned for a moment before Hermione pulled his sleeve, and the two of them hurried to follow.
The corridor was deserted, and the light of the torches stretched the three people's shadows long.
Amster walked all the way to the blank wall on the eighth floor and walked back and forth three times, slowly revealing a wooden door.
He pushed open the door, signaling Harry and Hermioneto enter—this Room of Requirement was very small with sparse furnishings, featuring only a wooden table and a few chairs, with a candelabra on the table burning with a faint light.
Amster closed the door and took a silver-white fabric out of his pocket, placing it on the table.
It was as thin as morning mist, shimmering with a soft silver glow under the candlelight.
"This was left to you by your father, and Dumbledoreasked me to pass it on."
Harry's fingertips trembled instantly.
The moment he touched the fabric, he recognized it as the Invisibility Cloak.
But it was a bit different from the ones he usually saw.
"What on earth happened to Ron?"
He gripped the Invisibility Cloak tightly, his questioning tone tinged with eagerness.
"Why isn't he coming back?"
"He suffered a shock and needs to recuperate at home."
Amster's tone was steady, without a bit of dragging.
"The Weasley couple have already taken him to Diagon Alley to get a new wand. After adjusting his state of mind in a few days, he will naturally return to Hogwarts."
Hermione stood aside, her brows slightly furrowed, her fingertips tightly twisting the cuffs of her robes.
Her heart was filled with worry for her friend, but knowing that what Amster said made sense, she said no more and only looked worriedly at Harry beside her.
Amster leaned against the edge of the table, his gaze falling on the reddened corners of Harry's eyes.
His tone deepened a bit as he slowly brought up a topic Harry had yearned to know for many years yet dared not easily touch: "You've always wanted to know about your parents, right?"
Harry raised his eyes, his eyes filled with obsession and expectation, along with a trace of unperceived timidity.
He nodded hard, his voice extremely hoarse: "I want to know, no matter what it is, I want to know."
"Let's talk about your mother, Lily Potter first."
Amster's tone softened a little, every word based on the memories of the older generation of teachers and students at Hogwarts, without a shred of fabrication.
"She was a Muggle-born witch, yet she possessed talent and temperament that even pure-blood wizards found hard to match.
When studying at Hogwarts, she was recognized by the entire school as an outstanding student.
Her grades in Charms class and Potions Class were always at the top, and she was even a Gryffindor prefect.
She treated people gently and kindly, never putting on any airs.
What was most precious about her was that she never cared about the nobility of bloodlines; whether pure-blood, half-blood, or Muggle-born classmates, she treated them all equally.
Even when facing other people's prejudices, she always firmly guarded the kindness and justice within her heart.
And what made her bravest was that when Voldemortcame knocking, she did not retreat in the slightest, protecting you in her arms and using her own life to cast the oldest and most powerful protective charm for you.
The scar on your forehead was never the mark of a curse, but a barrier she built for you with love.
This love was a purity and greatness rare throughout the entire wizarding world."
Harry's breathing grew slightly rapid, his nose aching, and tears spinning in his eyes.
These tender pasts about his mother were the words he had yearned most to hear since childhood.
His mother's image was no longer a blurred heroic silhouette, but became vivid and warm, as if she were truly standing in front of him.
"Now let's talk about your father, James Potter."
Amster's tone turned slightly heavier, still following the side descriptions in the original work to objectively restore the real him.
"James was the only son of a pure-blood family with extremely high talent, especially in Transfiguration, considered top-tier in Hogwarts' hundred years.
At a young age, he could skillfully turn into a stag, standing out as a leader among his peers.
His personality was flamboyant and unconstrained, deeply valuing loyalty and friendship, with his bones full of justice and bravery.
Facing the threat of the Dark Lord, he showed not a shred of fear, choosing to use his own life to buy time and secure a chance of escape for Lily and you.
This sacrifice was enough for him to be called a hero.
But he was never the flawless saint proclaimed by the wizarding world.
In his youth, he was arrogant and conceited, acting somewhat frivolous and reckless.
Relying on his talent, he inevitably came across as somewhat overbearing.
He walked extremely close to his best friend Sirius Black, and the two were inseparable, forming a small group that also included two other members, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew."
"Sirius Black was James's most trusted bosom friend and the most flamboyant one in this small group."
"He originated from the House of Black, yet he extremely detested the family's pure-blood supremacy ideology, resolutely breaking away from the family.
This courage was something many wizards could not achieve.
Just like James, he had outstanding talent and an unconstrained personality, pouring his heart out to friends and being fiercely loyal to James.
The two were almost as one, and most of their frivolous actions in youth were done together.
He likewise abhorred evil as a deadly foe, never making the slightest compromise when facing Voldemort's forces.
His later experiences also hid grievances unknown to others, yet his affection for James's family had never changed by a single bit."
Amster paused, deliberately streamlining the description of the other two people and skimming over it lightly.
"As for Remus and Peter, they were merely members of the small group without excessive out-of-line actions, simply acting together with James and Sirius."
"In my view, James and Sirius in their youth were absolute bastards.
They once targeted Professor Snape due to personal grievances, subjecting him to prolonged bullying and humiliation, and this is an unforgettable past.
In order to establish a heroic image to fight against the Dark Lord, the wizarding world deliberately erased these imperfections, leaving only the glory of his sacrifice.
But the real James had both a side of justice, bravery, and willingness to sacrifice for his family, and a side of youthful frivolousness and reckless behavior.
This was the complete and true him—not a high-and-mighty idol, but a wizard of flesh and blood."
Harry froze all over, his face slightly pale, his lips trembling unceasingly.
He had spent this past year listening to the heroic stories of his parents—his father an intrepid warrior, his mother a gentle and kind angel.
He had never imagined that his father could also have an imperfect side.
Hermione stood aside, tightly clutching the corner of her robes, full of shock, yet quickly coming to terms with it.
She had read countless records about the Potter couple, yet she had never seen such an objective description.
The room fell into a long silence, with only the subtle sound of the candlelight flickering.
The warm yellow candlelight reflected off Harry's dazed yet gradually relieved face.
After a long while, he slowly lowered his head, carefully folding the Invisibility Cloak and putting it into the inner pocket of his robes.
His movements were as gentle as if he were cherishing the most precious treasure in the world—that was his father's relic, and also the love and care left behind by his parents.
"Let's go, Harry."
Hermione gently patted his arm, her tone gentle and worried, fearing that he would sink into these complex emotions and be unable to walk out.
Harry did not look at Amster again.
Taking a deep breath to suppress the soreness in the corners of his eyes, he turned around, pulled open the wooden door, and stepped out.
When Hermione reached the door, she stopped, turned her head, and bowed slightly toward Amster, her tone full of sincerity:
"Senior, thank you for telling Harry these things."
Amster did not respond, merely standing quietly in front of the table, watching the candlelight sway slightly.
Hermione hurried out behind him.
The heavy wooden door slowly closed behind her, leaving only the soft sound of the candle burning in the room, quiet enough to hear the wind blowing outside the window.
He raised his hand to straighten the slightly tilted candelabra, turned around, and walked to the window, pushing open a crack in the window sash.
The slightly cool evening breeze brushed against his cheeks.
The Black Lake outside the window shimmered with fragmented silver light under the moonlight, sparkling and rippling, looking precisely like the tears spinning in Harry's eyes just moments ago.