Chapter 79 A Cozy Christmas Routine
The Christmas holiday arrived very quickly.
Over half of the students at Hogwarts had left, and the usually bustling and crowded corridors suddenly became empty. Footsteps gently echoed on the stone steps, carrying faint reverberations. Snowflakes drifted softly onto the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, piling up layer upon layer into a sheet of pure white. The surface of the Black Lake froze with a layer of crystal-clear thin ice, shimmering with a fragmented, cold light under the gloomy sky. The entire castle was as quiet as an old giant deep in sleep, breathing gently and peacefully, quietly lying amidst the wind and snow of Scotland.
However, the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor was completely different from the chill outside; it was much livelier and warmer than usual.
Just a few days had passed since Amster revealed the truth about his parents and old companions to Harry inside the Room of Requirement, and all of the Weasley children had returned to Hogwarts. Ron had gotten a new wand, and his expression had calmed down considerably. Although still somewhat reserved and silent, he was already able to attend classes normally and joke around with his older brothers. Fred and George had also regained their former liveliness, though amidst their laughter and jokes, they would always subconsciously look out for their younger brother a little more. Everything was slowly returning to normal. Not many students stayed at school for Christmas, but they all coincidentally gathered in this little room that could always fulfill their wishes.
Fleur had mailed a large box of chocolates from France, tied exquisitely with light pink ribbons. The moment the lid was lifted, a rich, sweet fragrance instantly flooded the entire room. She curled up in a soft velvet armchair, her posture lazy and casual, peeled a chocolate and popped it into her mouth, smiling and mumbling that it was handmade by her mother, and its taste far surpassed any variety sold in Honeydukes.
Penelope leaned against a bookshelf piled with old books, holding a thick ancient tome in her hands, turning the pages extremely slowly. She seemed focused on the text, but her ears were constantly attuned to the surrounding idle chatter, missing none of the conversation—quiet and gentle.
Cassandra sat on the woolen rug in front of the fireplace, holding that cup of herbal tea that seemed as though it would never cool down. She didn't speak much, and her tone was always light and calm, but the occasional word or two she uttered always precisely hit the mark—composed and reserved.
Cho Chang leaned over a small wooden table, practicing her handwriting earnestly. Her pen tip moved slowly across the parchment. After finishing the character "blessing", she raised her hand to hold it up, smiling and asking everyone if it was straight, her brows and eyes full of gentle smiles.
Poppy hurried over from her cottage in Hogsmeade, holding a box of freshly baked cookies in her arms. A warm breath seeped through the cracks of the wooden box, blending butter and the fragrance of wheat together, making people feel exceptionally reassured.
Gemma also came along, having rarely taken off her stern and rigid prefect robes and changed into a plain, soft sweater. She sat quietly in the chair in the corner, holding hot tea, lacking the tension from her usual patrol duties and gaining a bit of softness.
It was Hermione's first time attending such a gathering.
She had originally planned to spend the entire Christmas holiday soaked in the Library reading and previewing lessons, but she couldn't resist the several gentle invitations from Cho Chang and Poppy, and finally agreed to come. When she first entered the room, she appeared somewhat restrained, sitting flusteredly beside Cho Chang, not knowing where to put her hands. Fleur noticed her awkwardness and smilingly handed her a piece of chocolate. Hermione took it and bit down gently; the sweetness slowly melted on the tip of her tongue, and the tension deep in her heart dissipated by more than half.
"What do you usually do during the holidays?" Cho Changput down her writing brush, tilted her head and asked softly, her gaze friendly and kind.
Hermione thought seriously for a moment and answered honestly: "Read books, do homework, and preview next semester's courses."
Cho Chang couldn't help chuckling, turning her head to look at Penelope: "Then you and Penelope must get along very well; she can never tear herself away from books during the holidays either."
Penelope raised her head from behind her book, the tips of her ears turning slightly red, but she didn't refute it, merely blinking quietly. Hermione looked at her and also gently raised the corners of her mouth, the atmosphere gradually becoming relaxed and cozy.
Several of them sat around the fireplace, drinking tea, sharing cookies, and chatting idly, the atmosphere peaceful and warm. Fleur enthusiastically talked about the Christmas banquet at Beauxbatons, where twelve singing Christmas trees would be placed in the Great Hall, and when their branches and leaves swayed, they could produce soft and pleasant melodies.
Cho Chang, on the other hand, talked about her family's New Year customs—putting up Spring Festival couplets and wrapping dumplings, lively and cozy. During the last holiday, Amster had even helped her write couplets. Poppysoftly recalled childhood memories: her grandmother would always tell her magical stories by the fireplace, often falling sound asleep herself halfway through the tale.
Penelope rarely took the initiative to speak, whispering that she was terrified of Santa Claus when she was little, always feeling that he was a stranger breaking in from the chimney, and didn't dare sleep peacefully all night. Cassandra, who had been silent all along, heard this, and the corners of her mouth curved up in an extremely faint arc that vanished in a flash.
Hermione listened quietly, a soft smile gradually blooming on her face, and an unprecedented warmth welled up deep in her heart.
She pulled out that small magical notebook from her pocket—the Christmas gift Amster had given her. She opened to the latest page. Everyone's handwriting was recorded on it:
She gazed at the page for a moment before gently closing the notebook and carefully putting it back into her pocket.
The snow outside the window had stopped at some point, the clouds dispersed, and the chilly moonlight pierced through the clouds, spilling down and reflecting on the thin-iced Black Lake, shattering into a patch of shimmering silver light. The firewood in the fireplace crackled and burned, the warm yellow firelight filling the entire room, isolating the chill outside, and the air was full of sweetness and warmth.
Hermione leaned against the back of her chair, quietly watching everything in front of her. Fleur and Cho Changlaughed and bantered softly over the last cookie, lively and cheerful; Penelope leaned against the bookshelf, growing drowsy without realizing it, her head nodding until it almost drooped; Cassandra got up, picked up a blanket, and tucked it over her shoulders with light and cautious steps, her movements gentle and meticulous; Poppyquietly stuffed the remaining cookies into Penelope's school bag, afraid of waking the sleeping person.
She suddenly and truly felt that this Christmas was completely different from any she had experienced in the past. There was no loneliness of burying her head in books alone, no desolation of being away from family, only a room full of warmth and companionship, so tender that it made one reluctant to look away.
The snow outside the window fell gently once more, silently covering the towers and roofs of the castle. Inside the Room of Requirement, the firelight of the fireplace was still bright and leaping, its warmth lingering long, like a gentle guardian quietly wrapping around every single person in the room.
Chapter 81
From a Young Girl
The lingering warmth of the Christmas holiday had not yet dissipated before Hogwarts quickly regained its former hustle and bustle.
The corridors were filled with students hurriedly rushing along while clutching heavy textbooks, the sound of footsteps, conversations, and the prefects' shouts for maintaining order intertwining and rising one after another.
The portraits on the walls muttered continuously from being disturbed, sticking out their heads one after another to complain about the noisy students, as if they also wished to possess a moment of peace.
Amster walked out from the depths of the Library, holding a stack of ancient texts about Ancient Magic and the history of witchcraft in his arms, their spines colliding against each other to emit a soft sound.
He lowered his head to tidy the books in his arms, turned around, and walked toward the eighth floor, preparing to return to the Room of Requirement to organize and research them.
When he rounded that familiar stairwell on the eighth floor, his footsteps paused slightly, and his gaze fell upon the figure standing against the wall.
Daphne Greengrass.
She wore a crisp Slytherin school robe, her long blonde hair meticulously tied back behind her head; usually quiet, she was now leaning tightly against the cold stone pillar, slightly lowering her head, gripping a letter with both hands, her knuckles turning pale from the force.
Clearly, she had been waiting here for some time.
When she sensed Amster approaching, she straightened up abruptly, her lips moving as if wanting to say something, yet closing her mouth at the very last moment, her eyes carrying a trace of imperceptible tension and hesitation.
"Waiting for me?" Amster stopped in his tracks, his voice calm and rippleless, his gaze falling upon her slightly tense figure.
Daphne nodded gently; usually reticent in the Slytherincommon room, unlike Pansy who was flamboyant and extroverted, nor like Susan who loved liveliness and fun, the expression on her face at this moment was much more solemn than usual, as if bearing some heavy secret.
"I..." She paused, taking a deep breath as if organizing her words, and also as if gathering immense courage, "Can I tell you something?"
Amster glanced at her, then gently gathered the books in his arms tighter against his arm, subsequently leaning against the opposite wall as well, his posture relaxed, signaling her to continue speaking.
"Speak."
Two words, concise and powerful, gave Daphne an inexplicable sense of reassurance.
She took another deep breath, as if having made up her mind, and slowly began, "Do you know the Greengrass Family?"
"One of the Sacred Twenty-Eight." Amster's reply was concise and to the point, without the slightest hesitation, knowing this ancient wizarding family like the back of his hand.
"Right." Daphne's voice unconsciously lowered, carrying a trace of thinly veiled heaviness, "But our family has a... very old curse. It's not a legend; it's real. Every few generations, the females in the family experience frailty and a decline in magic, and some even pass away early."
She subconsciously clenched the letter in her hands, her fingertips trembling slightly, obviously this family secret made it difficult for her heart to stay calm.
"My younger sister Astoria has been in poor health since childhood." There was a trace of thinly veiled worry and heartache in her voice, "The doctors say her magic is slowly leaking away, and they can't find the root cause, nor can they cure it. My mother... my mother also left because of this curse."
Amster did not interrupt her, only listening quietly with calm eyes, not revealing the slightest bit of impatience, just attentively gazing at her to provide the response of a listener.
"I've checked a lot of materials and asked many professors, but I've never been able to find a solution." Daphne raised her head, her gaze looking straight at Amster; those eyes that usually always carried coldness and aloofness were now brimming with an emotion she had never revealed to anyone—it was not a simple plea for help, but an almost desperate entreaty, "You've researched so many things, whether it's papers, Alchemy, or Ancient Magic... Can you... help me?"
The corridor fell into a brief silence, with only the crisp and distant cry of Mrs. Norris coming from afar, now and then, as if floating over from another world, making the present quietness all the more distinct.
Amster was silent for a few seconds, his gaze lingering on her face for a moment, and then he slowly spoke, his tone still steady: "Give me the materials you know. I'll take a look first."
Daphne's eyes lit up instantly, that being a gleam of rekindled hope amidst despair, but this gleam was quickly suppressed by her again; she lightly pressed her lips together, and from the somewhat crumpled letter held in her hands, she pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment, cautiously handing it before Amster.
"These are some family records and symptoms I've compiled. Not much, but..." She paused, her voice carrying a trace of gratitude and also a trace of uncertainty, "Thank you."
Amster reached out to take the piece of parchment, gently folded it in half, and put it into his pocket without the slightest perfunctoriness.
"No guarantee it can be solved." He tossed out a calm remark in advance, not giving the other party excessively high expectations.
"I know." Daphne's voice fell softly, carrying a trace of relief and a few parts of helplessness, "But you are the only one... whom I think is possible."
After speaking, she turned around and prepared to leave, but her footsteps stopped again before stepping forward; she halted, slightly turned sideways, and softly called out, "Senior."
"Hmm?" Amster raised his eyes, looking at her.
"Don't tell anyone about this matter." Her tone carried a trace of entreaty, her eyes full of worry, "I don't want too many people to know."
Amster nodded, not asking much about the reason, just giving a clear response.
Daphne nodded slightly, then turned around and left at a brisk pace; the sound of footsteps echoed in the empty corridor for a while, then gradually faded away, finally disappearing at the end of the stairs.
Not long after, Susan Bones poked her head out from the corner, waved vigorously at Amster with a bright smile on her face, and then skipped along to follow them.
Amster leaned against the wall, and after the corridor became completely quiet, he slowly pulled out the letter Daphne had given him from his pocket and gently unfolded it.
The handwriting on the letter was neat and dense, densely recording the symptoms and ages at death of several generations of females in the Greengrass Family, every line of words revealing Daphne's care and worry.
He carefully finished reading the letter, then refolded it, put it back into his pocket, immediately picked up that stack of books, and walked toward the direction of the eighth floor.
The door of the Room of Requirement remained open, the fire in the fireplace burning vigorously, the jumping firelight reflecting the room as warm and bright.
He walked into the room, carefully placing the books in his arms on the wooden long table, their spines emitting an orderly sound of collision.
Subsequently, he walked over and sat down on the chair by the window, once again pulling the letter out from his pocket, carefully perusing it page by page, his gaze lingering on those dense handwritings, earnestly recording every detail.
Outside the window, the surface of the Black Lakeshimmered with fragmented silver light under the winter sunlight, sparkling, as a few waterbirds occasionally skimmed across the water's surface, leaving behind circles of ripples.
He quickly finished reading the entire letter, then refolded the letter, carefully tucking it into that ancient notebook specifically recording family curses.
This curse spoken of by Daphne was actually not unfamiliar to him; he had once seen records of similar cases in Flamel's letters.
This was not a completely unsolvable spell, it just required a massive amount of time to research, while also needing specific materials as assistance.
He picked up the quill beside him, rapidly writing down a few lines of clear handwriting on a blank page of the notebook—a detailed list of materials, several clear research directions, and a possible solution path.
After finishing these, he put down the quill in his hand, gently leaning against the back of the chair, his gaze falling upon the leaping fireplace flames.
The fire in the fireplace jumped once, as if silently asking him whether he had prepared to welcome this challenge.
He did not answer, just gently closed that notebook filled with research content, carefully placing it in its fixed position on the bookshelf and tidying it neatly.
Chapter 81 Weekend Routine
The weather gradually warmed up, and winter at Hogwarts finally showed signs of letting up.
Most of the snow on the edge of the Forbidden Forest had melted, exposing the withered and delicate grass roots underneath, and the soil carried a moist coolness.
The thick ice layer of the Black Lake cracked with fine lines, and the clear lake water slowly seeped out from the gaps, shimmering like broken silver under the weak sunlight.
The warm, dim pumpkin lanterns in the castle had long been replaced by ordinary wall lamps, and the corridors were no longer filled with the sweet and cloying aroma of roasted pumpkins; instead, there was the crisp and damp air unique to the snow-melting season, quietly lingering among the stone steps.
Poppy's cottage was nestled at the end of Hogsmeade, and the branches of the ancient tree at the doorway had quietly sprouted tender green buds.
The fireplace inside was burning vigorously, and the orange-red firelight gently reflected on the log walls, baking the entire cottage to be warm and cozy.
On the wooden table sat biscuits just baked by Poppy, their heat curling upwards gently, interweaving with the faint fragrance of tea and the sweet scent of honey, so gently that it made one feel at ease.
Fleur was curled up in the soft armchair by the window, her fingertips turning the pages of a fashion magazine mailed from France, her long silver-bright hair draped over the armrest, swaying gently with slight movements.
Penelope stood quietly against the bookshelf, holding a heavy ancient book in her hands. The pages were turned extremely slowly, stopping occasionally with her fingertips gently tapping on a certain passage, her expression focused and quiet.
Cassandra Vole sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, holding a cup of warm herbal tea, her gaze resting calmly on the dancing flames, as if pondering something alone.
Cho Chang leaned over a small wooden table, practicing her handwriting intently. An open ink bottle stood nearby, a writing brush leaned against the edge of the inkstone, and its tip was still stained with light black ink.
Poppy bustled about softly in the kitchen, sticking her head out from time to time to gently ask if there was enough tea.
Gemma Farley sat in a chair in the corner, having rarely taken off her solemn and rigid prefect robes and changed into a simple, soft sweater.
She held a teacup without drinking from it, merely watching quietly as everyone inside busied themselves, her expression peaceful and uttering not a word.
Amster leaned against the window, holding a book in his hand, yet never opening it.
His gaze slowly swept across the magazine in Fleur's hands, the spine of the book held by Penelope, the teacup in front of Cassandra, then fell upon the writing brush wielded by Cho Chang, and finally lingered on Poppy's soft figure peeking out from the kitchen, calm and detached.
The room was very quiet—not the desolate loneliness of emptiness, but a solid quietness filled with warmth and companionship.
Gemma gently put down her teacup and looked at Amster.
"You're usually like this?"
Amster slowly turned his head.
"Like what?"
"Doing nothing." Gemma's tone was calm, without a trace of teasing, merely a flat statement. "Just sitting there."
"Occasionally." Amster replied indifferently.
Gemma didn't pursue the question further.
She picked up her teacup and put it down gently again, shifting her gaze from the fireplace to the window, and then to the slightly naive stack of brush handwriting on the table.
Cho Chang finished writing a sheet, held it up to look at it, and frowned slightly, clearly unsatisfied, before casually crumpling it into a paper ball and tossing it into the wastebasket.
The corners of Gemma's lips curved up extremely faintly, vanishing in a flash.
"Don't you find it noisy?" she asked softly.
"Not noisy." Amster said.
Gemma fell silent once more.
She leaned back in her chair, watching Fleur pause on a certain page of the magazine, frowning and examining it for a long time before slowly turning the page; watching Penelope read to a certain place, stop her pen to carefully write a few lines of annotations in the blank space of the page; watching the tea in Cassandra's cup turn slightly cool, while Poppy silently walked out of the kitchen to refill it with hot water, the two exchanging no words, yet extraordinarily natural.
The room remained quiet and soft.
Gemma suddenly spoke softly, her voice gentler than usual.
"Sometimes looking at you and them... I feel that kind of life isn't bad either."
Amster did not reply, merely leaning against the window and slowly turning a page of the book in his hand—though in truth, he hadn't looked at the contents of that page at all.
Gemma said no more either.
She picked up her teacup and took a slow sip.
The tea had long since grown slightly cool, yet she didn't ask anyone to refill it.
The sunlight outside the window slowly moved from the roof to the treetops, and then from the treetops down to the ground.
Poppy carried out a plate of freshly baked biscuits from the kitchen and placed them gently on the table.
Fleur put down the magazine, picked up a piece, bit into it, and muttered her praise for how delicious it was.
Penelope also took a piece and placed it beside the book pages, not eating it for the moment.
Cassandra did not make a move, but her gaze swept gently across the tray.
Cho Chang put down her writing brush, picked up a piece to chew slowly, and as she chewed, picked up her brush again to continue writing.
Gemma also picked up a piece.
The sweetness of the biscuit slowly melted in her mouth, mixed with the rich aroma of butter and the light scent of honey.
She leaned back in her chair, quietly watching the dancing flames in the fireplace.
"I'll come again next time." she said softly.
It was not a question, but a certainty.
Amster glanced at her and did not reply.
But Gemma knew that he had heard.
As the sky outside gradually darkened, everyone began to tidy up their things.
Fleur stuffed the magazine into her bag, Penelope closed her book, Cassandra Vole stood up holding her empty cup, and Cho Chang washed her writing brush and put it away carefully.
Poppy poked her head out from the kitchen and smiled, saying she would bake new flavors next time.
Gemma walked at the very end.
She stood at the doorway and looked back into the room.
The fire in the fireplace was still bright, a few biscuits remained on the table, Amster was still leaning against the window, and that book had still never truly been opened.
"I'm leaving." she said.
Amster nodded.
The wooden door closed gently.
The footsteps outside the door gradually sounded, then slowly faded away, finally disappearing at the end of the path.
The room returned to quietness once more.
Poppy walked out of the kitchen and packed the biscuits from the table into an iron tin.
Cho Chang neatly folded the handwriting she had written and stretched out in a relaxed stretch.
Penelope put the thick book back onto the bookshelf and took down a new one.
Fleur curled back up in the soft chair, covering her face with the magazine for a nap.
Cassandra Vole sat in front of the fireplace, no longer holding a teacup, but quietly gazing at the flames.
Amster leaned against the window and gently placed the book on the table.
The moon outside the window slowly rose, casting its clear radiance upon the Black Lake, shattering the lake surface into a patch of shimmering silver light.
He picked up a piece of biscuit and gently took a bite.
Sweet.
Chapter 82: Corridor Encounter
Several days had passed since the cozy gathering in Poppy's hut, and Hogwarts Castle had returned to its usual appearance; the chanting of spells in classrooms, the turning of pages in the Library, and the occasional shouts from the Quidditch pitch filled every corner of the castle.
That relaxed scene of chatting around the warm stove was not diluted by the hurried daily routine; instead, like a spark hidden in the fireplace ashes, it left a faint warmth lingering in the hearts of everyone who participated.
Amster still had a solitary disposition, spending most of his spare time in the Library or the Room of Requirement.
He did not like crowds, nor did he ever meddle in the house disputes. Either he hugged heavy ancient Alchemy tomes to study, or he held a quill to outline complex patterns on his notes. His footsteps were always leisurely as he quietly walked through the castle corridors, like an aloof bystander, yet he took everything around him in.
On this afternoon, the eighth-floor corridor was exceptionally quiet, with few students passing by.
Sunlight filtered through the narrow, tall windows, slantingly spilling onto the smooth-worn stone floor and casting mottled light and shadows.
Most of the portraits of old wizards on the walls were dozing with their eyes closed. Occasionally, one or two were awake, only muttering a few words in low voices before falling silent again, and even the sound of the wind passing through the corridor was very faint.
Amster had just come out of the Library, tucking an old, worn book of magic in his arms, when he slowly walked past the door of the Prefects' Meeting Room. The door suddenly pushed open gently, and Gemma Farley walked out.
She was wearing a neat Slytherin black robe, her brows wrapped in obvious fatigue, her expression somewhat gloomy, and she tightly clutched a roll of parchment in her hand, the edges slightly crumpled from being squeezed.
Catching sight of Amster, she paused for half a beat, didn't say much, and just rolled up the parchment, neatly stuffing it into the inner pocket of her robe.
"Meeting again?" Amster stopped his steps, asking in a flat tone without any extra probing, just a casual greeting.
"Hmm." Gemma raised a hand to rub her throbbing glabella, her tone carrying a bit of undisguised exhaustion, "Flint is making a fuss again."
She leaned against the stone wall behind her, her voice lowering slightly, "Complaining that Quidditch training time is not enough, saying the prefects didn't fight for Slytherin, arguing in the meeting room for half a day, driving people crazy."
She paused, her gaze sweeping across the empty corridor, not elaborating further: "Professor Snape was also there, not speaking the entire time, just sitting there; the atmosphere was even tenser than when he scolds people."
As a Slytherin prefect, she always had to mediate in the middle of these disputes, on one hand looking after the emotions of her housemates, and on the other upholding the duties of a prefect. Such trivial and annoying affairs had long since consumed a lot of her energy.
Amster didn't take up the conversation, just turned to lean against the stone wall beside, quietly accompanying her.
He never knew how to say comforting words, nor would he rashly pursue details; he just stayed quietly, leaving her space to calm her emotions.
Gemma also slowly leaned against the wall, standing side by side with him, both looking toward the window at the end of the corridor together.
The sky outside the window was grayish-white, the clouds pressing very low, and the treetops of the Forbidden Forestin the distance were brushed by the wind, swaying back and forth. The rustling sound of branches and leaves rubbing against each other drifted in intermittently, carrying the slight chill of late autumn.
Silence spread between the two of them, without a shred of awkwardness, instead making the irritability from the meeting just now gradually dissipate.
After a long while, Amster slowly opened his mouth, his voice soft and gentle, without any ripples: "There is still empty space in the Room of Requirement."
Gemma slightly turned her head, looking at him, a trace of imperceptible surprise flashing across the bottom of her eyes, clearly not expecting him to suddenly mention this place.
"Do you want to move over?" His tone remained flat, just like saying today's wind was cool or the classroom content was boring, without deliberate enthusiasm or the slightest bashfulness.
The Room of Requirement was his most secure foothold in the castle, and he rarely brought people over. Speaking like this was already his most straightforward care, only hidden in plain words; if one did not pay careful attention, it was hard to notice.
Gemma gazed at his calm eyes, not answering immediately.
It wasn't that she didn't yearn for that kind of serenity—escaping the tedious affairs of a prefect, escaping the scheming within the house, and finding a quiet place to rest for a while—but she knew clearly in her heart that she couldn't walk away.
The corridor was quiet, and the faint, scuttling meow of Mrs. Norris came from afar, light as a feather, vanishing in an instant.
Gemma lowered her head, looking at the clean-wiped tips of her shoes, and was silent for a few seconds. When she raised her head again, the corners of her mouth curved into a faint smile.
This smile was different from her usual polite and distant smiles; it was softer, carrying a tiny bit of regret, yet exceptionally firm.
"Someone has to watch over Slytherin." She said softly, her tone determined without a shred of hesitation, "Those lower-year kids, if no one restrains them, will stir up trouble again. I'm a prefect, I can't leave."
She raised her eyes to look at Amster, her gaze softening a bit: "But I will occasionally go over to sit, just like before."
Amster looked at her, gently nodded, and didn't say anything more.
He understood her responsibility and never thought of forcing her; this response was already within his expectations.
Gemma straightened her body, casually raising a hand to pat the hem of her robe, then pulled out the parchment from her pocket, gently smoothing out the wrinkles, and stuffed it back in. Her movement was as natural as tidying up her own mood.
"Thank you for asking me." She looked at him and said sincerely.
"Hmm." Amster gave a brief response.
Gemma turned around, walking toward the direction of the Slytherin common room, the hem of her black robe swaying gently with her steps.
Walking a few steps, she suddenly stopped, turned her head back to look at Amster who was still leaning against the wall, her smile faint yet genuine: "Next gathering, remember to call me."
"Okay." Amster nodded.
Gemma didn't linger any longer, turning round the corridor corner, her figure quickly disappearing from view.
Amster still leaned against the stone wall, gazing at the direction of her departure, standing quietly for a moment.
The pumpkin lanterns on the wall cast dim yellow light, gently swaying when brushed by the breeze, casting flickering light and shadows on the stone floor, and the corridor gradually returned to emptiness and silence.
Standing for a little longer, he straightened his body, turned around, and walked toward the direction of the Room of Requirement.
Finding that blank wall, he silently chanted familiar thoughts in his heart, and the wall slowly opened, a wave of warmth rushing towards him.
The fire in the fireplace was burning fiercely, the firewood occasionally making crisp, light cracking sounds, and the warm light paved the entire room.
Amster sat down at the table, opened that unread Alchemy notebook, picked up the quill to dip in ink, and along the place where he stopped before, slowly continued to outline those complex symbols, his movements focused and steady.
Outside the window, the night slowly crept up, and the surface of the Black Lake shimmered with fine silver light, as quiet as not a single ripple.
Chapter 83: Confession in the Evening Breeze
A few days passed.
Hogwarts at dusk was immersed in a faint twilight; the pumpkin lanterns in the castle corridors lit up early, and the warm yellow halos wrapped around the slightly chilly evening breeze, swaying gently against the stone walls and spreading out circles of soft light and shadow, so that even the usually cold stone pillars were dyed with a few touches of softness by this warmth.
Amster walked slowly out of the Library, holding piles of heavy magical tomes in his arms, their spines somewhat worn from flipping, all of which were books related to Alchemy and Ancient Magic that he studied on usual days.
With light and slow steps, he walked towards the eighth floor, the hem of his black robe swaying gently with his pace, and his entire demeanor remained calm and detached as usual, as if the surrounding hustle and bustle had nothing to do with him.
When turning the staircase leading to the Slytherincommon room, his steps unconsciously paused for a moment.
In the dim corridor, a figure leaned quietly against the grayish-white stone pillar, tall and straight yet carrying a hint of imperceptible awkwardness—none other than Gemma Farley.
Her hands were empty, holding neither parchment nor wand, and she just stood there quietly, her profile facing the tall window at the end of the corridor, her gaze falling upon the pitch-black Forbidden Forest outside the window.
The night had long since crept over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, so thick it could not be dissolved, and no outlines could be seen clearly, save for the rustling sound of the wind passing through the branches and leaves, faintly drifting in from outside the window.
Hearing Amster's steady footsteps, Gemma slowly turned her head, and the moment she saw clearly who it was, the corners of her mouth curled up slightly and involuntarily, lacking the alienation and propriety of a prefect as usual, and gaining a few parts of unmasked softness.
"Went to spend time in the Library again?" She spoke first, her tone relaxed, like the casual greeting of an ordinary old friend.
"Mhm." Amster replied briefly, standing still beside her with the books in his arms, making no extra movements and asking no eager follow-up questions.
"If you don't touch these books for a day, would you feel completely uncomfortable all over?" Gemma raised her eyebrows slightly, her tone carrying a trace of shallow teasing, completely devoid of the tension and fatigue from her usual meetings.
"It would be boring." Amster raised his eyes to look at her, his gaze calm, and answered straight to the point and honestly.
Gemma couldn't help letting out a low laugh, a laughter that completely cast aside the airs of a prefect, unrestrained and unburdened, being a heartfelt relaxation that appeared exceptionally genuine in the slightly chilly evening breeze.
Amster quietly accompanied her by her side, his gaze sweeping across the empty corridor, and asked softly, "What are you doing here?"
"Not waiting for someone." Gemma first shook her head, paused for two seconds, her fingertips gently rubbing the rough surface of the stone pillar, her voice lowered yet exceptionally clear, "I was waiting for you."
Amster turned his head sideways and looked at her earnestly; there was no surprise in the depths of his eyes, nor any panic, only his consistent calmness, as if quietly waiting for her to finish speaking.
Gemma also turned around, her back leaning against the stone pillar once more, raising her eyes to look straight at him without dodging or acting coy.
After taking a deep breath, she slowly began to speak, her voice not loud, yet exceptionally steady and firm, every word pronounced clearly and powerfully: "Amster, I like you."
Pausing slightly for fear of his misunderstanding, she seriously added: "It's not admiration for a senior, nor is it appreciation for a companion; it's just pure liking, the kind of liking where I want to quietly stay by your side, and feel at ease even if we are just talking."
The corridor instantly fell silent, with only the soft sound of the evening breeze passing through the pillars; the cool breeze brushed against the hems of their robes, blowing the light and shadow of the pumpkin lanterns to sway gently, and even the air gained a few touches of subtle sentiment.
Amster looked at her without speaking immediately, his gaze calm and waveless, yet he was earnestly pondering every word of hers.
Gemma's fingertips instinctively clenched the hem of the Slytherin black robe on her body, tightening and loosening, loosening and tightening, hiding a trace of imperceptible nervousness deep down in her heart, yet she still kept her head raised and gazed at him with firm eyes.
Slowly calming her emotions, her tone became peaceful and transparent: "I know that around you there is Fleur, Penelope, Cassandra, Cho Chang, and Poppy; they can always accompany you often.
I won't demand to stay in the Room of Requirement all day like them; I am a Slytherin prefect, and someone has to take care of the affairs in the house—this is my responsibility."
"I have no other extravagant demands; it's just that when I occasionally have free time, being able to sit in the Room of Requirement for a while and chat with you about some trivial things is enough."
A glimmer flashed across the depths of her eyes, which she quickly suppressed gently, her tone carrying a sense of relief, "Whenever you need me, you can come find me."
Amster just looked at her quietly like that for a full several seconds, his gaze gentle without the slightest bit of avoidance.
After a long while, he spoke softly, uttering only a single word: "Alright."
Gemma first froze in place, a flash of astonishment crossing her eyes, clearly not expecting him to agree so crisply, and unconsciously asked back with a voice carrying disbelief: "Alright?"
"Alright." Amster repeated, his tone still flat, yet carrying a bit more certainty, "You don't need to put down your responsibilities and move over; whenever you want to come, the door of the Room of Requirement will always be left open for you."
Gemma stared at him for two seconds, and after seeing the sincerity in the depths of his eyes, she finally revealed a genuine smile.
This wasn't the faint, polite smile of everyday days, but the gentle warmth overflowing after the joy in the bottom of her heart was gently touched, dyeing her brows and eyes with a soft radiance, completely casting aside all tension and unease.
"Thank you," she said softly, her tone full of sincerity.
"What are you thanking for?" Amster frowned slightly, not quite understanding why she was expressing gratitude.
"Thank you for not making me wait too long," Gemmaresponded with a smile, the warmth in the depths of her eyes unable to be contained.
Amster didn't continue the conversation, just standing quietly to accompany her in experiencing this moment of tranquility.
Gemma slowly straightened her posture, raising her hand to gently pat the non-existent dust on her robe, as if sorting out her mood, or as if bidding farewell to this sudden nervousness.
Afterwards, she turned around and walked slowly towards the direction of the Slytherin common room.
Having walked just a few steps, she suddenly stopped, turned her head back to look at Amster who was still standing in place, her smile bright and gentle: "Next time there's a cottage gathering, remember to call me."
"Alright." Amster nodded gently, his voice gentle.
Gemma smiled and waved at him, turned around and briskly walked past the corridor corner, her figure quickly disappearing into the dim light and shadow, leaving only a faint breeze carrying the fragrance of vegetation.
Amster turned sideways and leaned against the cold stone wall, looking in the direction where she left, standing quietly for a moment.
The corridor became empty once more, with only the light and shadow of the pumpkin lanterns constantly swaying, the warm light falling on the stone slab floor, mottled and tender.
Standing for a while longer, he straightened his body, hugged the books in his arms, and continued walking towards the direction of the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor.
Just as he walked up to the familiar blank wall, the door of the room slowly opened wide; the firewood in the fireplace was burning vigorously, the orange-red flames crackled, and the warmth rushed towards his face instantly, driving away the slight chill around his body.
He gently placed the books in his arms onto the wooden long table, turned around and walked over to sit on the chair by the window.
Outside the window, the surface of the pitch-black Black Lake shimmered with fine silver light, bathed in a gentle touch cast by the moonlight, tranquil and beautiful.
Some feelings, hidden deep in the heart for a long time, finally dared to be spoken aloud; some company does not require constant togetherness, yet it has long been tacitly understood.
Some people hide their feelings in the wind, while some people keep their responses deep in their hearts; those delayed, gentle sentiments will never be absent, and the beauty that ought to be rushed towards will always arrive as scheduled in the appropriate time.
Chapter 84 contains
In the few days after confirming their relationship, life returned to its usual rhythm. The morning and evening bells in the castle still rang punctually, while the spell practice in classes, the sound of turning pages in the Library, and the shouts from the Quidditch pitch intertwined to form the most ordinary daily routine at Hogwarts.
Amster still immersed himself in the Library, his fingertips gliding across volume after volume of yellowed magical tomes, his gaze shuttling through the patterns of Alchemyand Ancient Magic, often sitting for an entire afternoon.
As evening approached, he would always hold a stack of books and slowly walk towards the Room of Requirementon the eighth floor, the hem of his black robes swaying gently with his steps, enveloped in his habitual serenity.
Pushing open the door, the fire in the fireplace was already burning fiercely, and the orange-red firelight illuminated the entire room.
Fleur was curled up in a cushioned armchair, her fingertips turning through a fashion magazine, occasionally commenting on the design of the new wizard robes on the pages.
Penelope leaned against the wooden bookshelf, holding a book of magical theory in her hands with a focused gaze, the action of turning pages so light and cautious.
Cassandra sat on the rug in front of the fireplace, a cup of warm mint tea resting on her knees, her fingertips gently rubbing against the rim of the cup, her gaze falling on the dancing flames.
Cho Chang lay prone on the small wooden table, holding a writing brush to practice Ancient Runes stroke by stroke, the tip of the brush gliding across the paper and leaving smooth ink marks.
Poppy squatted beside the fireplace, carefully organizing the biscuit box and sorting the magic candies of different flavors into categories.
Everything was no different from before, yet the subtle warmth quietly pervading the air seemed to have quietly changed the look of every corner.
That evening, the door of the Room of Requirement was suddenly knocked on gently—three times, with a slow and soft rhythm.
Poppy immediately put down the biscuit box in her hands, skipped over to the side of the door, and pulled open the heavy wooden door.
Gemma stood at the doorway, wearing a dark brown knitted sweater, her long black hair draped loosely over her shoulders, holding a small bag of candies wrapped in transparent cellophane. Her usually straight spine was slightly curved, carrying a rare sense of restraint.
"Poppy, this is for you."
She handed over the candy bag, her voice a bit softer than usual, "It's the new style from Honeydukes in Hogsmeade. I bought it when I passed by yesterday, and I don't know if it suits everyone's taste."
Poppy took the candy bag, her fingertips touching the cold cellophane, and immediately showed a gentle smile. She turned slightly to the side and said softly, "Come on in quickly, it's breezy outside."
Gemma walked into the Room of Requirement, her gaze slowly sweeping across every corner of the room, finally stopping at a rattan chair in the corner, and she walked over slowly and sat down.
She wasn't wearing her usual stiff Slytherin prefect's black robes; this dark sweater made her lose a bit of her strict, disciplined aloofness and added a touch of a girl-next-door gentleness.
Fleur poked half her head out from behind the magazine, raised her eyes to look at Gemma, her dark eyes blinking with a bit of curiosity, and then slowly retracted back, continuing to flip through the magazine in her hands.
Penelope's book-turning action paused, her fingertips lingering between the pages without turning them immediately. She just quietly raised her eyes to glance at Gemma, quickly withdrew her gaze, and continued to focus on her book.
Cassandra held her teacup, her gaze moving away from the flames of the fireplace, giving Gemma a casual glance, then lowering her eyelids and taking a gentle sip of tea.
Cho Chang put down the writing brush in her hand, raised her head, and showed Gemma a gentle smile, her eyebrows curved and exceptionally amiable.
"Are these candies the new ones from Honeydukes?"
Cho Chang spoke first, breaking the brief silence in the room, her tone carrying a bit of curiosity.
"Mhm."
Gemma nodded gently, her fingertips lightly touching the corner of her clothes, "The shopkeeper said it uses the base of Fizzing Whizzbees, but the sweetness is adjusted lower, so it won't be too greasy."
Poppy immediately opened the candy bag, took out a few colorful candies, and distributed them to everyone in turn.
Fleur took a strawberry-flavored one, peeled off the cellophane, popped it into her mouth, and chewed gently. Her eyes lit up instantly, and she poked her head out from behind the magazine, giving Gemma a thumbs-up: "This is delicious! It's more refreshing than the previous honey candies."
Penelope also took one, placing it on her palm without eating it immediately, just lowering her head to look closely at the patterns on the cellophane.
Cassandra glanced at the candies on the table and nodded slightly, but didn't reach out to take any.
Cho Chang took a bite of the grape-flavored one and said vaguely, "It suits my taste better than that lemon-flavored one last time."
Amster walked slowly over from the window, still holding an unfinished Alchemy notebook in his arms, and sat down on the rug beside Cassandra.
Cassandra looked up at him, then gently pushed the teacup in her hand toward him.
Amster reached out to take the teacup and took a sip. The tea was already a bit cool, but it carried a faint mint fragrance, driving away some of the evening chill.
Gemma sat in the rattan chair in the corner, also holding a cup of hot tea just poured by Poppy, her fingertips gently rubbing against the rim of the cup.
She didn't take the initiative to speak, just quietly watching several people doing their own things, her gaze falling on Fleur's fingers turning the magazine, Penelope's focused profile, and Cassandra's serene eyebrows, a shallow smile unconsciously curling up at the corner of her mouth.
After a while, Amster slowly stood up, walked over to the bookshelf, pulled out a yellow-cover notebook of Ancient Magic, and flipped to the page where a piece of parchment had been tucked previously.
That was the precious material about material transformation sent by Flamel last time, filled with the core principles of Alchemy. He had studied it repeatedly several times, yet still didn't dare to easily miss any details.
He leaned against the cold bookshelf, his fingertips gliding over the runes on the notes, and picked up a thick book on alchemical arrays next to it. Comparing the patterns on the pages, he studied it word for word, his brows slightly knitted, his eyes full of focus.
The room fell into silence again, with only the faint rustling sound of turning pages and the crisp crackle of firewood burning in the fireplace. The flames occasionally flickered, casting swaying light and shadow on the slate floor, gentle and serene.
Gemma put down her teacup, walked slowly to Amster's side, leaned over slightly, and glanced down at the notes in his hand. Her gaze fell on the complex runes, and she asked softly, "What are you looking at?"
"Alchemy stuff."
Amster didn't raise his head, his fingertips still tapping lightly on the pages, his tone flat, "Materials sent by Mr. Flamel regarding material transformation."
Gemma didn't pursue the specific details, just quietly standing beside him, her gaze moving with his fingertips, watching those obscure and difficult magical patterns, occasionally frowning slightly and then quickly smoothing it out.
Cassandra raised her head from in front of the fireplace, glanced at the two standing side by side, her eyes carrying a bit of understanding, and then lowered her head again, continuing to stare at the tea in her teacup.
Fleur covered her face with the magazine, making a slight snoring sound as if she had really fallen asleep.
Penelope turned a page of her book, the sound of turning pages almost inaudible.
Cho Chang finished writing the last ancient rune, put down the writing brush, picked up the clean water aside to wash it clean, and then lay prone on the table, resting her chin in her hands and looking at everyone in the room with gentle eyes.
Poppy put the lid of the biscuit box on, walked over to Gemma, and asked softly, "Would you like some more tea? I just went to the kitchen to add some hot water."
Gemma shook her head gently with a smile at the corner of her mouth, "Enough, thanks Poppy."
Poppy smiled, turned around, walked slowly back to the kitchen, and gently closed the door.
Amster closed the Ancient Magic notebook, raised his hand to put it back on the bookshelf, and then turned to look at Gemma, his gaze calm, his tone carrying a hint of a reminder: "It's getting late."
Gemma nodded gently, raising her hand to tidy up the collar of her sweater, her tone carrying a bit of helplessness: "I should head back. Prefects still have to check the dormitories of each house, and I can't be too late."
She walked to the door and turned back to take a final look at the scene inside the room.
The fire in the fireplace was still burning strongly, with several people occupying corners respectively, either quietly reading or lazily resting. The air was filled with a faint fragrance of candy and tea, cozy and serene.
"I'm leaving," she said softly, her voice carrying a bit of reluctance.
Amster looked at her and responded softly, "Mhm."
The wooden door was gently closed, making a crisp click sound.
Outside the door came Gemma's slow footsteps, echoing in the empty corridor for a while, gradually moving away, and finally disappearing around the corner of the eighth floor.
The room returned to quietness.
Fleur removed the magazine covering her face, stretched, and let out a big yawn, her voice soft and sweet.
Penelope closed the pages of her book, raised her hand to put the book back on the bookshelf, her movements gentle.
Cassandra stood up, placed the empty teacup in her hand on the wooden table beside her, and gently wiped the rim of the cup.
Cho Chang also stretched, rubbed her sore shoulders, and said softly, "It's late, everyone should go rest."
Poppy walked out of the kitchen, carefully put the biscuit box away into the cabinet next to it, and turned to look at everyone.
Amster walked slowly to the window and pushed open half of the window. A slightly cool evening breeze blew towards him, carrying the moisture of the Black Lake.
He looked up at the night sky. The moon was rising slowly, and the silvery-white moonlight sprinkled on the lake surface, shattering the pitch-Black Lake water into a piece of fine silver light, sparkling, tranquil, and beautiful.
He turned around and walked back to the bookshelf, picked up the Alchemy notes sent by Flamel, opened them and gently closed them again, his fingertips repeatedly rubbing against the cover.
In his mind, Flamel's materials, the secret of the Horcruxes, Daphne's request made earlier, and some rumors about mysterious magical fluctuations circulating recently in the castle were all intertwined one by one, like a tangled ball of thread, gradually piling up.
These matters were neither hurried nor slow, yet every single one of them concerned the direction of the future, pressing on his heart, yet giving him an inexplicable sense of certainty.
The flame in the fireplace suddenly flickered, sparks splashed gently and quickly fell back into the pile of fire, as if knowing the thoughts deep in his heart, responding silently.
Chapter 85 A Lively Valentine's Day
On February 14th, the corridors of Hogwarts were draped with ribbons alternating between light pink and off-white. As the wind swept through the hallway, the ribbons gently brushed against the stone walls, adding a touch of softness to the cold, hard castle. The air was filled with the faint scent of honey candy, creating the unique, gentle atmosphere of a wizarding Valentine's Day.
Professor Flitwick stood at the entrance of the Great Hall holding a basket of heart-shaped candies, his small figure exceptionally conspicuous on the steps. Whenever a student passed by, he would stand on tiptoe to hand them a piece of candy, crisply wishing them a happy holiday.
The corners of the long tables in the Great Hall were tied with thin ribbons, and a few light pink roses were placed on the window sills. There was no noisy pomp, just the most ordinary, heartwarming scenery of the campus.
Amster walked out of the side door of the Great Hall, pinching a piece of buttered toast that still retained some warmth between his fingertips, and strolled slowly towards the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor.
He had always disliked joining crowds and had little interest in such holidays, only wanting to avoid the passing crowds and find some peace and quiet back in his room.
Just as he walked to the stone pillar at the eighth-floor stairway, a grey-brown owl fluttered its wings and landed on his shoulder, with a red silk envelope tied to its claws. Its soft feathers brushed lightly against his neck, causing a slight tickle.
He opened the envelope. Fleur's handwriting was lively and playful, and the edges of the stationery were filled with little hearts and smiley faces. A few sparse lines were full of straightforward joy: "Amster, Happy Holiday! —— Fleur"
As soon as the stationery was tucked into his pocket, a snow-white owl fluttered down gracefully. On the pale blue envelope, Penelope's handwriting was neat and delicate: "Wishing you a smooth and pleasant day. Penelope"
Immediately afterwards, a third owl swept across the corridor. Cassandra's letter was plain and concise, with only a neat line of words: "The tea is brewed, come have some."
Cho Chang's letter was written on off-white xuan paper, with gentle brush handwriting, and a simple sketch of a plum blossom drawn on the side, concealing a young girl's unique and delicate thoughts.
Poppy's note was passed to him by a classmate in the early morning, crooked in handwriting yet exceptionally cute: "Baked too many cookies, saved your share, remember to come eat! —— Poppy"
Gemma leaned against the stone pillar in the Slytherincorridor waiting for him, without her prefect sash, her black robes making her figure appear even more upright.
She clenched the folded piece of parchment and handed it over, her tone as casual as an ordinary greeting, though the tips of her ears flushed a very faint red: "Just a holiday greeting, don't overthink it."
Amster unfolded it, and the handwriting on the paper was steady: "Don't always spend all your time in the Library, remember to rest. —— Gemma"
In the afternoon corridor, where the sunlight fell diagonally, Amster, holding ancient books just borrowed from the Library, bumped head-on into Hermione, who was carrying a thick History of Magic book.
Her footsteps came to a sudden halt, her cheeks instantly dyed with a faint blush, her fingers tightly clutching the corners of the book pages. Lowering her eyes and not daring to look at him, she quickly shoved a neatly folded letter into his hand, murmured softly, "Happy holiday, Senior," and hurried away with her head down, her ponytail swaying gently behind her.
In fact, over the past half month or so, this was far from the first time she had taken notice of him.
In the Library, he always sat in a fixed spot by the window, quietly turning pages with gentle movements of his fingertips. When lower-year students timidly asked for help with difficult problems, he would patiently guide them without a shred of impatience. When they accidentally met in the corridors while Harry and Ron huddled together talking, she would always quietly slow down her pace, watching his solitary retreating figure as he walked through, feeling in her heart that this senior was exceptionally different from the noisy people around him—steady and gentle. This fragmented little thought had been hidden by her for a long time, and finally, on this day, she mustered up her courage.
Susan Bones of Hufflepuff often baked small pastries in the kitchen with Poppy. Occasionally running into Amster, she would always receive a gentle reminder, so she hand-crafted a greeting card filled with tiny hearts and had a classmate deliver it into his hands.
Daphne had not prepared a gift. Just as they brushed past each other in the corridor, she stopped, turned her head slightly, and whispered, "Thank you," in a voice so soft only the two of them could hear, before walking away briskly.
When night fell, the candlelight in the Room of Requirement was just right. The long wooden table was piled high with all sorts of gifts, casting a soft glow in the light and shadow.
The handmade chocolates given by Fleur were wrapped in gold foil; Penelope's compiled magic notes were neatly handwritten; the potion ingredients prepared by Cassandrawere sorted and placed neatly; Cho Chang's xuan paper calligraphy was laid out flat; the cookies baked by Poppywere overflowing with aroma in a porcelain box; the hardcover magic book given by Hermione had an exquisite cover; Gemma's parchment letter was folded neatly; and Susan's handmade greeting card was placed to the side. A whole table full of sincerity was hidden within every detail.
Fleur curled up in the soft armchair, unwrapped a piece of chocolate and popped it into her mouth, playfully teasing with a muffled smile: "Our Amster is quite popular, you know."
Penelope sat to the side, the tips of her ears flushing slightly, lowering her head to cradle her teacup, too shy to reply.
Cassandra held her teacup, her fingertips rubbing against the rim of the cup as she spoke calmly: "His temperament has always been gentle."
Cho Chang rested her chin in her hands, her eyebrows curving into smiles: "Such liveliness is quite nice too."
Poppy pushed the porcelain box toward the center of the table, greeting them warmly: "Hurry and try them. If the cookies get cold, they lose their texture."
Amster sat by the table, looking at the piles of gifts before him without saying much, though a faint warmth rippled in the depths of his eyes. This was his first time receiving so many fragmentary yet sincere expressions of affection since coming to Hogwarts.
Fleur leaned over, gently poking his arm with her fingertip, and egged him on with a smile: "Having received so many gifts, shouldn't you show some kind of gesture in return?"
Amster raised his eyes to look at her, fell silent for a moment, and pulled several bags of exquisitely packaged candies from his robe pocket, placing them gently on the table. The bee-patterned candy wrappers were exceptionally cute: "Newly released in Hogsmeade, one share for each of you."
Fleur's eyes lit up as she took a bag first, smiling with her eyes curved into crescents.
Penelope took the candy, a faint smile quietly curving the corners of her mouth.
Cassandra glanced at it, casually stashed it into her pocket, a trace of softness flashing through the depths of her eyes.
Cho Chang took the candy, whispered her thanks, her smile gentle and tender.
Poppy placed the candy next to the porcelain box, saying she would save it to savor slowly.
Gemma sat in the chair in the corner, took her own bag, opened it and looked inside. It was Honeydukes's Fizzing Whizzbees—sweet without being cloying, exactly the taste that suited her.
She looked up at Amster, her tone calm: "Many thanks."
Amster gave a soft "Mn," picked up a cookie and took a bite. The flaky and fragrant taste spread across the tip of his tongue, and the warmth spread down his throat into the bottom of his heart.
The firewood in the fireplace crackled, and the orange-red flames danced, baking the entire room in cozy warmth and driving away the biting chill of February.
Outside the window, silvery-white moonlight spilled over the surface of the Black Lake, shattering into a patch of shimmering silver light, quiet and tender.
Inside the room, there were no noisy sounds—only the soft rustle of turning pages, low conversations, and the crackling sounds of burning firewood. It was a quietness filled with gentle people and sincere intentions, secure and healing.