Chapter 86: The Three-Headed Dog and the Philosopher's Stone
Not long after Valentine's Day, fragments of pink ribbons still lingered in the corridors of Hogwarts. When the wind blew, tiny scraps of colored paper spun and fluttered down onto the stone floor, like the gentle lingering warmth of a party that had yet to fully disperse. In the air of the castle, the sweet fragrance of Honeydukes sweets still drifted, yet it quietly blended with a hint of an elusive tension, hidden in the shadows of every corridor.
Amster walked slowly out of the Potions Class classroom, holding tightly in his arms the ancient book that Snape had lent him. The cover was somewhat frayed, and the corners were still stained with a few drops of undried potion. His fingertips gently supported the spine of the book, the hem of his black robe swaying slightly with his steps. He walked steadily toward the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor, his whole demeanor remaining calm and detached, as if the surrounding hustle and bustle had nothing to do with him.
When turning the corner of the eighth-floor staircase, his steps suddenly paused. In the dim corridor, Hermione was standing there, her hands tightly clutching a thick book of magic. Her knuckles turned pale from the force, and even her fingertips holding the book trembled slightly. Her gaze was fixed intently on Amster, her eyes filled with irrepressible urgency and unease. A few strands of her hair, which was usually combed neatly every day, fell beside her cheeks, making her look somewhat disheveled.
"Senior." She spoke first, her voice tight, as if her throat was blocked by something, every word carrying a distinct tremor.
Amster stopped in his tracks, standing quietly in place, his gaze falling calmly upon her as he quietly waited for her to continue.
"There is something very important, I must tell you." Hermione added, raising a hand to tidy the stray hair in front of her forehead, taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm her flustered state of mind, yet the urgency in her voice did not diminish in the slightest.
Amster glanced at her, said nothing more, and turned to walk in the direction of the Library. He knew that Hermione's urgency at this moment was definitely no small matter. Hermione immediately followed, the two of them one after the other, hurriedly walking through the dim corridor and pushing open the heavy wooden doors of the Library. Madam Pince was dozing at a small table beside the bookshelf. Hearing the sound of the door opening, she sleepily poked her head out to take a look, and upon seeing that it was Amster, she immediately pulled her head back in and continued dozing.
The two sat down at their usual old spot. Hermione gently placed the book of magic she was holding onto the wooden tabletop without opening it immediately. Her fingers tapped lightly twice on the spine, her movements somewhat hurried, each tap seemingly beating against her flustered heart. After a few seconds of silence, she finally spoke slowly.
"A few nights ago, Harry, Ron, and I accidentally broke into the forbidden corridor on the fourth floor while sneaking out for a night stroll." Her voice was lowered very much, as if afraid of disturbing something, her gaze fixed intently on Amster, afraid of missing even the slightest trace of expression on his face.
Amster did not speak, just sitting quietly with his fingertips lightly resting on his knees, looking at her with a calm gaze, signaling for her to continue.
"There is a three-headed dog in there," Hermione's voice lowered even further, making even her breathing cautious, "It is particularly large, almost filling the entire room. When three heads stared at us simultaneously, I almost couldn't even hold my wand. We were almost bitten by it, and later we discovered that under its feet, it was stepping on a trapdoor, looking as if it were guarding something fiercely underneath."
After finishing, she raised a hand to wipe the thin sweat oozing from her temples, her eyes full of lingering fear. Amster leaned back in his chair, his expression unchanged, only lightly rubbing his knees with his fingertips, still not interrupting her.
"Later we went to ask Hagrid," Hermione continued, a hint of annoyance in her tone, "At first he refused to say, but after drinking a few glasses of butterbeer, he let it slip. He said that the three-headed dog was bought by him from a Greek wizard, and he even gave it a name called Fluffy. He said—he said that what Fluffy guards is related to Dumbledore, and also related to Nicolas Flamel."
She raised her head, looking straight at Amster, her eyes full of expectation and unease, asking word by word: "Senior, you know who Nicolas Flamel is, right? He has always been teaching you Alchemy and often sends you materials. Is what Fluffy is guarding—could it be the legendary Philosopher's Stone? Is it hidden right under the trapdoor on the fourth floor? Is someone after it?"
The Library instantly fell into silence, with only the sound of the wind occasionally rustling the leaves outside the window and the crackling sound of firewood burning in the fireplace. Outside the window, the surface of the Black Lake shimmered with fine silver light, and a few withered leaves drifted over from the Forbidden Forest, landing on the water surface, spun around by the wind, and finally slowly sinking to the bottom of the water.
Amster was silent for a long time, so long that Hermionethought he wouldn't answer, her heart rising to her throat along with it. He slowly raised his head, looking at her with a calm gaze, his voice not loud, yet carrying a reassuring steadiness: "Tell me, who do you think it is?"
Hermione was suddenly stunned, her eyes widening instantly, filled with confusion and urgency as she pursued: "You mean—it's not Snape? Both Harry and Ron think that Professor Snape wants to steal the Philosopher's Stone; he always stares at the corridor on the fourth floor lately and deliberately makes things difficult for us in Potions Class, there must be a problem."
"I didn't say it wasn't." Amster slowly stood up, tucking the ancient book under his arm, walked two steps toward the door, then stopped, turned his head to look at Hermione, his eyes carrying a hint of earnest reminder: "I only said, don't rush to conclusions. In many things, the truth is often hidden beneath the surface. Relying solely on one-sided words and superficial signs makes it very easy to misjudge."
He paused, recalling the previous incident at the Quidditchpitch, and added: "Just like the accident at the Quidditchpitch last time, you also thought at the time that Snapewas deliberately targeting Harry, but what happened later? The truth wasn't what you thought. Keeping an eye out for things and checking multiple times is always better than jumping to conclusions arbitrarily."
Hermione opened her mouth, wanting to say something more, but looking at Amster's earnest gaze, she swallowed the words back. Her fingers subconsciously tightened around the book of magic in her arms, her knuckles turning pale again.
Amster did not look back, raising a hand to push open the door of the Library and walked out. The wooden door made a crisp "click" sound, exceptionally clear in the quiet Library.
Hermione sat in place, staring at the closed door for a long time, her fingers gripping the spine of the book until it turned white, even her fingertips feeling somewhat numb. She lowered her head and slowly opened the book of magic, but her gaze fell on the pages without being able to read a single word. In her mind, Amster's two sentences echoed repeatedly—"Some things are not as they appear on the surface" and "Don't rush to conclusions", along with the past events of the Quidditch pitch.
The light outside the window slowly moved from the tabletop to the floor, and from the floor slowly moved to the wall. Time passed bit by bit, and the light in the Librarygradually dimmed. She closed the book, stood up abruptly, and gently pushed the chair back to its original position, her movements somewhat hurried.
"Don't rush to conclusions..." She chewed over this sentence repeatedly in her mind several times, yet still couldn't figure out any clues, only feeling that the doubts in her heart were increasing more and more, like a tangled ball of thread that became messier the more she tried to sort it out.
Holding the book, she walked slowly out of the Library. The lights in the corridor were already on, and the warm glow of the pumpkin lanterns wavered on the wall, stretching her shadow very long and casting it upon the cold stone wall, looking somewhat lonely. She walked not fast, her steps somewhat heavy, her mind filled entirely with Amster's words, as well as the three-headed dog on the fourth floor, and the secrets of Nicolas Flamel and the Philosopher's Stone.
Some things are not as they appear on the surface.
She knew the meaning of this sentence, and she also knew that Amster was reminding her.
What she didn't know was far more than what he had said. The truths hidden in the shadows, the secrets yet to be uncovered, were like a thick layer of fog enveloping her and enveloping the entire Hogwarts as well. She didn't know who she should trust or what she should do, and could only tightly clutch the book in her arms, walking step by step toward the direction of the Gryffindor common room, while the light and shadows of the pumpkin lanterns behind her swayed all the way across the stone floor.
Chapter 87: Gaunt's Ring, Horcrux?
Easter vacation arrived as promised, and the pace of Hogwarts Castle suddenly slowed down.
The pink ribbon scraps left over from Valentine's Day had long been cleaned up, students were still burying themselves in study in the Library, spell practice in classes remained orderly, and that conversation with Yu Haoming in the Library turned out to be merely a breeze skimming across a calm lake surface, not disrupting anyone's daily rhythm.
Most students had long packed their luggage and embarked on the train home, and the few who stayed behind mostly huddled in the common rooms or dormitories, the entire castle quiet beyond words, with only the occasional soft sound of wind passing through the corridors and the faint aroma of food drifting from the distant kitchen.
Amster walked out slowly from the Room of Requirement, holding a newly organized set of Alchemy notes in his arms, the hem of his black robe swaying gently with his steps.
He walked through the empty eighth-floor corridor, stepping steadily toward the direction of the Headmaster's Office, most of the portraits along the way resting with their eyes closed, and even at the usually noisy stairwells, only the sound of his own footsteps echoed.
Dumbledore was standing in front of the fireplace in the Headmaster's Office, wearing a deep purple robe, his silver-white beard glowing softly in the morning light.
Seeing Amster push the door open and enter, he nodded slightly, raising a hand to poke the thriving green flames in the fireplace, his movements calm and gentle.
"Mr. Flamel has arrived," he spoke, his voice still carrying its habitual gentleness, "we will go directly over."
Amster did not ask much, following Dumbledore into the fireplace.
The green flames of the Floo powder instantly engulfed him, and after a bout of spinning dizziness, he was already standing steadily in the living room of Flamel's cottage in Devon.
Flamel walked slowly out of the study, holding a half-flipped old book in his hand, his steps not fast, yet unable to conceal the clarity in the depths of his eyes, vibrant like a young man.
"Amster."
He nodded slightly, placing the book on the table, then pulling out a stack of parchment filled with annotations from the bookshelf, "I have tried the new version of the phoenix potion, and the effect is much better than expected."
Amster took the parchment and flipped through it page by page.
Flamel's handwriting was neat and powerful, and every modification was marked with detailed experimental data and observation reasons.
Turning to the last page, he saw a line of small characters: "The ratio can be optimized further, and the direction is already correct."
"Perenelle said this is the best gift she has received in these years."
Flamel smiled, his smile carrying a rare ease, his old face full of gratification.
Dumbledore was sitting in a chair nearby, holding a teacup, listening quietly without interrupting.
"Your Alchemy level," Flamel put down his teacup, his gaze falling on Amster's face with a solemn tone, "can already enter the next stage."
He pulled out a thin booklet from the deepest part of the bookshelf, its cover heavily worn with curled corners, and a blurred badge printed on the lower right corner — a rhombus embedded with a triangle.
"This is one of my oldest collections," Flamel gently opened the first page, "recording Alchemy items related to the Slytherin bloodline."
"Because it involves overly ancient content, I have never studied it in depth."
Amster lowered his head to look.
Drawn on the paper was a golden ring, inlaid with a black gemstone on the band, and the gemstone was carved with a triangular symbol with a vertical line in the middle.
"Marvolo Gaunt's ring."
Flamel's voice lowered, "One of the last relics of the Slytherin family."
Dumbledore immediately put down his teacup and slowly stood up.
"We must go and take a look."
His tone was affirmative, "We will set off today."
After Apparition, the three of them stood on the hills outside Little Hangleton.
Scattered in the distance in the valley were a few dilapidated farmhouses, a muddy path led deep into the woods, the sky was gray, and the wind blew up from the bottom of the valley, carrying the damp smell of rotting leaves and soil.
"The Gaunt shack is behind that forest."
Dumbledore pointed into the distance, "Uninhabited for decades, it has long been abandoned."
They walked down the path, passing through a wasteland overgrown with nettles and thorns.
The wooden door of the old house was crooked, with a dead snake nailed to the planks, its withered skin clinging tightly to the door like a distorted badge.
Pushing the door open, a damp and decaying smell rushed over them, mixed with the aura of dust and rot, making one frown slightly.
Inside the house was darker than outside, the windows plastered shut with thick dust, and only a few wisps of faint light squeezed in through the cracks.
On the ground were piled withered leaves and animal bones, thick cobwebs hung in the corners of the walls, a crooked wooden table leaned against the wall, its tabletop covered with a layer of dust, and there was a circular indentation at the corner of the table, as if something heavy had been placed there once.
Amster's gaze fell on that indentation, his fingertips moving slightly.
Dumbledore walked over, his fingers gently brushing across the indentation, the tip of his wand lighting up with a soft glow, slowly sweeping across the dim house.
"There is residual magic," he said in a low voice, "very ancient, yet it still remains."
Flamel stood at the doorway, flipping through that ancient booklet, his brows slightly knitted.
"The ring should be deeper inside the house," he said.
The three of them walked through the narrow corridor and entered a smaller room.
Piled in the corner were tattered furniture, a cracked mirror hung on the wall, and Dumbledore's wand light swept across, illuminating the wooden cabinet against the wall — the cabinet door was half-open, empty inside, yet leaving several deep scratches on the partition.
Dumbledore squatted down, his fingers reaching deep into the cabinet, his fingertips touching a hard object, and then slowly taking it out.
That was a golden ring, inlaid with a black gemstone on the band, the surface of the gemstone carved with a triangular symbol, the lines simple, yet exuding a piercing chill.
Amster's breathing suddenly stalled; he could clearly feel that a power lingered on this ring — not ordinary magic, but a deeper, darker aura carrying a heavy curse.
Dumbledore stared at the ring, his blue eyes gleaming in the dimness, his tone steady: "It is a Horcrux."
Flamel stepped closer, looking down at the ring, and then said in a deep voice: "Voldemort used it to hide a piece of soul fragment."
Amster looked at the ring, the aura of Dark Arts rushing over him, denser than anything he had ever perceived, as if the ring truly had life, breathing in the darkness.
"We need to destroy it," Dumbledore said, his gaze falling on Amster, "do you have a way?"
Amster fell silent for a few seconds, pulling out a fist-sized Alchemy creation from the inner pocket of his robes — translucent in texture, with faint golden light flowing inside; that was the prototype of the Philosopher's Stonehe developed months ago based on Flamel's notes, originally intended as a stabilizer for the phoenix potionand not yet put into use.
"This will do."
He placed the creation in his palm, "It can absorb the curse, but the price is — it will shatter completely."
Flamel looked at the creation, remained silent for a moment, and said softly: "The rules of Alchemy are inherently that gain and loss always accompany each other."
Dumbledore nodded, placed the ring gently on the dust-covered ground, and slowly stepped back one step.
Amster squatted down, placed the Alchemy creation beside the ring, the tip of his wand lit up with a faint glow, slowly injecting magic power.
The creation began to glow, the golden light growing brighter and brighter, as if there was a flame burning inside.
The black gemstone on the ring trembled violently, emitting a sharp hiss; that was the soul fragment struggling.
The Dark Arts surged out from the ring like countless black snake shadows, frantically entangling around the Alchemycreation.
Cracks gradually appeared on the surface of the creation, the cracks becoming denser and more numerous, and the black curse continuously surged toward it, trying to devour it — but it managed to hold on after all.
The golden light and black curse violently collided inside, emitting a low hum that made people's eardrums slightly tremble.
A few seconds later, the ring cracked sharply, the black gemstone shattered into powder, and a wisp of black smoke rose from the fragments, twisting and struggling in the air, finally dissipating into the air.
The Alchemy creation also completely shattered, scattering into countless tiny golden light spots that fell to the ground, like a ground full of scattered broken stars.
The wreckage of the ring lay quietly on the ground, the aura of Dark Arts having completely dissipated, at this moment being nothing more than an ordinary shabby ring.
Amster stared at the golden debris on the ground, not getting up for a long time.
Flamel walked over, gently patting his shoulder, without saying much, his eyes full of gratification and a trace of regret.
Dumbledore bent down to pick up the broken ring, holding it in the palm of his hand, his tone calm yet carrying unprecedented heaviness: "Voldemort's mind has always been meticulous and paranoid. He would not make just one Horcrux."
Amster looked up at him, his gaze solemn.
"According to his personality," Dumbledore said slowly, "he would choose items that can last long and have special significance to hide his soul."
"Those materials are most likely world-famous objects, or even... possibly related to Hogwarts."
He paused, gently rubbing the wreckage of the ring in his hand, "For example, the relics of the four founders of Hogwarts, or other widely circulated treasures."
"We cannot determine the exact quantity, but what is certain is that he will definitely not have only this one Horcrux."
Flamel leaned against the wall, looking at the gradually dimming golden light spots on the ground, and said to Amster: "The price you paid today is not small. You spent more than half a year carefully developing that creation."
Amster shook his head gently, his tone resolute: "Worth it."
When the three of them walked out of the Gaunt shack, the sky was approaching dusk.
The wind blew up from the valley, whipping up the fallen leaves on the ground, and then gently putting them down.
Dumbledore walked at the very front, his steps not fast, yet every step was as firm as a rock.
Amster walked at the very end, looking back at the dilapidated old house, the dead snake on the door twisting in the dusk, its shadow stretched very long by the darkening moonlight.
He turned around, kept up with Dumbledore's pace, stepping step by step into the deepening night.
Chapter 88 The Young Dragon on the Hearth
At the tail end of the Easter holidays, the air in Hogwarts Castle was mixed with the leather smell of suitcases and the lingering warmth of the holiday, permeated with a lazy sense of relaxation.
Lower-year students dragged their bulging trunks, chattering as they returned from the station, while upper-year students gathered around the common room fireplaces, sighing and groaning over their holiday homework, the portraits in the corridors muttering constantly, disturbed by the rising and falling footsteps, and even the wind in the castle was a few fractions slower than usual.
Amster walked slowly out of the Library, holding a few heavy Ancient Magic books in his arms, the edges of the book covers dusted with a little bit of grey, and the hem of his black robe swayed gently with his steps.
He walked along the paved path toward the eighth floor, most of the portraits along the way closing their eyes in feigned sleep, only occasional mutterings mixing with his steady footsteps, echoing in the quiet corridor.
When turning the corner of the stairs, his footsteps suddenly stopped.
Hermione was hurrying over from the direction of Gryffindor Tower, her hair, usually always neatly combed, somewhat disheveled, and her complexion tinted an unnatural pale blue.
Her footsteps were as hurried as if stepping on drumbeats, and upon seeing Amster, she immediately lowered her voice, her tone full of eagerness and unease: "Senior, Hagrid... something happened over at Hagrid's side, can you come for a moment?"
Amster glanced at her, asked no further questions, and turned to follow her toward the outside of the castle.
As soon as they reached the castle entrance, Harry and Ron were already waiting there, Ron's expression even uglier than Hermione's, one hand jammed tightly into his pocket, his knuckles turning pale from force, and the other hand gripping his wand, his fingertips trembling slightly.
The three of them tacitly remained silent, walking briskly along the path leading to Hagrid's hut, the weeds along the way swaying gently in the wind, none of them spoke, yet all of them could feel the tension permeating the air.
Hagrid's hut was more sweltering than usual, the fire in the fireplace burning much brighter than normal, orange-red flames licking the firewood and crackling, sparks constantly splashing onto the faded carpet, yet Hagrid was completely oblivious to it.
He squatted in front of the hearth, a look on his face that Amster had never seen before — not his usual heartiness, but the kind of softness one has when holding newborn kittens or puppies, treasuring them so much they refuse to let go, his gaze glued tightly to the center of the fire, unwilling to blink even for a second.
Lying in the hearth was a black baby dragon.
It was little bigger than an adult cat, its wings plastered crinkily against its body, its scales glowing with a dark golden luster under the firelight, tiny sparks spewing from its slightly parted nostrils, occasionally letting out a low, cat-like purr.
Hagrid had given it a name — Norbert.
"It's only been born a few days," Hagrid's voice remained gruff, carrying the unique deep resonance of a giant, yet his gaze never left that little dragon, his fingertips gently touching its scales, his movements impossibly cautious, "Look at this little thing, how pretty it is, look how well-behaved it is."
Harry stood by the hearth, his gaze locked tightly onto the baby dragon, his expression indescribably complex, containing curiosity, vigilance, and a trace of imperceptible tension.
Ron leaned against the wall, his hand still not pulled out of his pocket, his complexion paler than before, his lips pressed into a straight line, even his breathing turned very light.
Hermione walked quickly to Amster's side, lowering her voice once more, her tone full of anxiety: "Hagrid won the dragon egg by playing cards in a tavern in Hogsmeade, he's been hiding it from us and hatching it in secret, and now the dragon has hatched... but Norwegian Ridgebacks grow extremely fast, and before long, Hogwarts won't be able to hide it anymore."
Amster did not speak, only quietly watching the little dragon.
It was lying in the warm hearth ashes, chewing on a stick it didn't know where it found, its teeth crunching loudly, sparks constantly splashing from the corners of its mouth, burning a few small black marks on the carpet.
"And it bites people too."
Hermione's voice dropped even lower, her gaze darting quickly toward Ron's pocket, her tone carrying lingering fear.
Amster looked over following her gaze.
Ron's hand slowly pulled out from his pocket for a split second — a circle of blood-stained gauze was wrapped around his fingers, a small patch of the gauze soaked through with blood, looking exceptionally glaring.
"It bit him?"
Amster's voice was very soft, yet carried a trace of imperceptible gravity.
Hermione pursed her lips, nodding hard, her eye sockets turning slightly red: "Just now it pounced over to snatch food, failing to control its strength. Raising dragons is illegal to begin with, and if the Ministry of Magic finds out, Hagrid's license will be revoked, or he'll even be locked up. Besides, Norbert is growing too fast, and in another week, it will turn into a large dog, making it completely impossible to hide by then."
The room fell into a brief silence.
Hagrid was still squatting by the hearth, gently scratching Norbert's chin with his thick fingers, the baby dragon narrowing its eyes, emitting a satisfied purr from its throat, completely oblivious to what a huge trouble it was bringing to the people around it.
It was just a newborn baby dragon, eating when hungry, sleeping when sleepy, rubbing against whoever treated it well, as innocent as a blank sheet of paper.
Amster's gaze fell on Norbert, watching it roll over in the hearth, exposing its soft belly, its little paws kicking about casually.
He could clearly imagine that in another week, this baby dragon would turn into a massive Ridgeback, its scales would become hard, and its fire-breathing ability would grow stronger and stronger.
By then, hiding it in the Forbidden Forest of Hogwartswould only invite more trouble and plunge Hagrid into an even more dangerous situation.
"You guys want to send it away?"
Amster finally spoke, his voice remaining calm, yet carrying a hint of certainty.
Hermione nodded immediately, her eyes full of eagerness: "Ron's brother Charlie researches dragons in Romania, and he has a dedicated dragon reservation there. We want to contact him and have him help send Norbert over."
"Then when do you plan to make your move?"
"Tonight."
Hermione lowered her voice, almost leaning right next to Amster's ear, "Wrap it in the Invisibility Cloak, take advantage of the middle of the night when no one is around, sneakily send it to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and hand it over to Charlie's contact."
Amster fell silent for a moment, not responding immediately.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, his gaze once again looking toward Hagrid — that giant who was always carefree and seemed to care about nothing at all, at this moment was cautiously protecting the baby dragon in his arms, his eyes full of tenderness, like a first-time father.
"Let's go," he finally spoke slowly, his tone still flat, yet carrying a hint of unrefusable meaning, "If there is any need, look for me anytime."
Hermione opened her mouth, seemingly wanting to say something more, but looking at Amster's serene gaze, she ultimately swallowed the words back and nodded gently: "Okay."
Amster did not stay any longer, turned and pushed open the door, walking outside.
The night wind wrapped around the damp breath of the Forbidden Forest and the fresh fragrance of vegetation rushed over his face, cool and refreshing, blowing away the stuffiness inside the hut.
He turned back to glance at the hut's window, the firelight reflecting through the glass, Hagrid still squatting in front of the hearth, holding up a piece of meat to feed Norbert, the firelight drawing his shadow very long, projecting it onto the wall like a clumsy yet gentle giant.
Amster did not linger any longer, turning to walk in the direction of the eighth floor.
The hem of his black robe swayed gently, his footsteps exceptionally clear in the quiet night.
He knew that tonight at Hogwarts was destined not to be peaceful.
Chapter 89 Head-on Clash
Amster learned about the events of that night only the next day.
He shouldn't have known so many details—he hadn't participated in the dragon-sending plan, and he wasn't present when the three of Harry were caught by Filch, but news in Hogwarts always spread extremely fast; without needing to deliberately inquire, the fragmented rumors naturally gathered together.
Fleur heard the process from her Ravenclaw classmates, and Cho Chang also obtained plenty of fragmented information from her Hufflepuff companions; after the few of them casually chatted for a bit, the whole matter became clear.
"They were caught red-handed by Filch," Fleur leaned lazily against the chair, resting the magazine on her forehead, with a hint of surprise in her tone, "Gryffindorsuddenly had one hundred and fifty points deducted."
Penelope's fingers turning the book paused, and without raising her head, only the sound of book pages rubbing grew slightly heavier, hiding a trace of hard-to-detect care.
Cassandra took a gentle sip from her teacup, her tone flat: "Bringing a dragon into the castle privately and wanting to send it away overnight, they really had too much nerve."
Cho Chang lay prone on the table, frowning slightly, full of worry: "Ron was bitten by Norbert and is still in the hospital wing.
Hagrid was also deeply implicated, and after sending Norbert away, he was sad for a long time."
Poppy didn't say much, only quietly pushed the biscuit tin toward Amster, her gaze gentle.
Amster didn't actively ask about Hermione.
He knew very well that given Hermione's personality, even if she was frightened, nothing bad would happen to her; extra worry was completely unnecessary.
As the sky grew deeper, the news that the trio would be given detention slowly trickled in.
"They are going to patrol the Forbidden Forest," Fleur removed the magazine from her face, her expression turning unusually serious, "Hagrid is taking them to find an injured Unicorn. It's said that something in the Forbidden Forest is drinking the Unicorn's blood..."
The atmosphere in the room instantly sank.
Drinking Unicorn blood was one of the most sinister acts in the wizarding world; only an existence on the verge of destruction and extremely greedy would do such a thing.
Amster gently clenched his fingertips, already having an extremely clear judgment in his heart, but he never spoke that name out loud.
Cassandra's hand holding the cup paused slightly, and Penelope raised her head from behind her book, her eyes full of surprise.
Cho Chang stopped the pen in her hand, and Poppy also gently closed the biscuit tin. Everyone's gaze fell on Amster, waiting for his judgment.
Fleur's voice lowered unconsciously: "What on earth is that thing? Daring to touch a Unicorn even."
Amster didn't answer, only stood up and walked toward the window.
Outside the window, the Black Lake shimmered with cold white moonlight, and the tree crowns of the Forbidden Forest were layered upon layer, like an airtight darkness.
In his heart, he knew better than anyone what was hidden in that darkness.
He wasn't acting on a momentary impulse, nor did he have a shred of confusion.
From the moment he heard about "drinking Unicorn blood," he was certain that the existence clinging to others, barely surviving, and resorting to any means to stay alive was deep within the Forbidden Forest.
Unicorn blood could extend life; this madness and evil was indeed Voldemort's style.
But once the identity was exposed, it would only alert the enemy, causing the opponent to hide immediately or even make a move on the Philosopher's Stone ahead of time, completely ruining the situation instead.
His purpose in entering the Forbidden Forest was very simple—to confirm the opponent's trail with his own eyes, figure out their strength, and not let it run amok near Hogwarts.
The night wind blew with the dampness of the Forbidden Forest, flipping the hem of Amster's black robe.
His steps were steady as he walked straight toward the Forbidden Forest, without a trace of hesitation.
He knew the Forbidden Forest was deep and vast, and even if he went in, he might not immediately find the target, but he had to go.
That threat lurking in the darkness was like a sword hanging over Hogwarts, and he couldn't turn a blind eye to it.
At the entrance of the Forbidden Forest, Amster ran head-on into Hagrid.
The giant was holding an old lantern in his hand, its dim yellow light swaying among the tree shadows.
His eyes were still red and swollen, the sadness of Norbertbeing sent away had not faded, and another layer of heaviness was added to his face.
"Amster? Why are you here?" Hagrid was extremely surprised.
"Professor Sprout asked me to come to the edge of the Forbidden Forest to pick Lumos herbs to prepare materials for Potions Class." Amster gently shook the rattan basket in his hand, his tone natural.
This was an excuse he had prepared in advance, reasonable and legitimate, which would not arouse suspicion.
Hagrid didn't think much of it, shined the lantern to the side, and waved behind him.
Harry and Hermione walked out from the shadows.
Harry's face was pale, his knuckles gripping his wand turned white, and his whole body was tense; Hermionefollowed behind, similarly tightly clutching her wand with a vigilant expression.
Amster glanced indifferently at the two of them without saying much.
"Where are the others?" he asked in a low voice.
"Malfoy and Neville are also here; I had them search the other side first." Hagrid sighed, walking forward on the thick fallen leaves; the withered leaves were crushed, making a dull sound.
Amster walked at the very back of the group.
Hermione quietly slowed her pace to walk side-by-side with him, her voice lowered to an extreme, almost with only her lips moving: "Senior, you didn't come to pick herbs; you came here on purpose, right?"
Amster didn't directly admit it, gazing toward the pitch-black depths: "Mind your own business, take care of yourself. The Forbidden Forest is more dangerous than you think."
Hermione pursed her lips and stopped asking further, only gripping her wand tighter.
"Hagrid didn't make it clear where the Unicorn is, only knowing that this is the second Unicorn attacked this week. That blood-drinking thing... is too terrifying." Her voice trembled slightly, yet she still forced herself to remain calm.
Before long, Hagrid stopped and arranged in a rough voice: "We'll split up to search. Harry and I will head west; Hermione, Amster, you and Malfoy head east. Firenze said the injured Unicorn is in the east, you guys must be careful."
Malfoy crawled out from the tree shadows, his face as pale as paper, his hand holding his wand trembling nonstop, his past arrogance completely gone.
Seeing Amster, he froze for a moment, hurriedly averting his gaze, only wanting to end this terrifying detention as soon as possible.
Hagrid took Harry and walked west, quickly disappearing into the depths of the dense forest.
Malfoy gritted his teeth and walked at the very front with hurried steps, followed closely by Hermione, while Amsterwalked at the back, constantly vigilant of his surroundings.
The Forbidden Forest grew darker and darker, the lantern could only illuminate a small area in front of them, and further away there was only boundless darkness.
The wind passed through the treetops, making a low whimpering sound, the eerie atmosphere choking people.
Malfoy suddenly stopped, his voice trembling beyond shape: "You... did you hear that?"
Hermione held her breath and listened intently.
That wasn't the sound of the wind, nor the rustling of small animals, but the sound of viscous liquid dripping drop by drop onto the ground, slow and heavy, making one's hair stand on end.
"Over there." Amster pointed toward the bushes on the left, his tone certain.
He clearly smelled it—that gloomy, decaying dark magic carrying the aura of death was right nearby.
Malfoy looked along the direction, his face instantly losing all color completely.
Among the bushes, a faint silver glow breathed weakly; that was the injured Unicorn.
The Unicorn lay between the tree roots, its snow-white mane covered in mud and dark red blood stains, its limbs twitching continuously, its big eyes wide open, emitting a weak whinny like weeping as its life slowly ebbed away.
Hermione covered her mouth to keep from crying out, her eyes full of unbearable pity and shock.
Malfoy was so frightened that he retreated repeatedly, his legs turning weak.
Amster stood in place, his gaze icy.
He saw it clearly: a black-robed figure crouched beside the Unicorn, with the hood pulled down deep, the entire face hidden in shadow, one hand pressed against the Unicorn's wound as warm blood overflowed from between the fingers and dripped onto the ground, making a nauseating sound.
He was one hundred percent sure this person was Professor Quirrell, or rather that nose-less bastard inside his body, but now was not the time to lay everything on the table.
Malfoy couldn't hold on any longer, let out a short scream, turned around and ran wildly, the panicked footsteps quickly disappearing into the darkness.
Hermione was shaking all over from fright, yet she didn't retreat a single step.
She bit her lip hard, gripped her wand tightly, and prepared herself to face the danger.
Amster stepped forward, blocking in front of Hermione, staring at the black-robed figure, his magic quietly revolving without a shred of fear.
"Hurry up and go, find Hagrid, don't look back," he said in a low voice, his tone firm, leaving no room for discussion.
Hermione froze for a fleeting second, looking at his back, realizing that staying behind would only drag him down.
She gritted her teeth fiercely, turned around and dashed into the tree shadows, her footsteps gradually fading away.
Until Hermione completely left, the black-robed figure slowly stood up, the gaze under the hood locked firmly onto Amster, and the gloomy, bone-chilling dark magic instantly dispersed.
"Oh? A Hogwarts student actually dares to break into the Forbidden Forest alone and dare to look straight at me." Quirrell's voice came out from beneath the hood, mixed with Voldemort's hoarseness and chilliness, completely different from his usual cowardly appearance.
Amster gripped his wand, his tone cold and stern, targeting only the action without naming the identity: "You hunt Unicorns in the Forbidden Forest and drink their fresh blood, violating the most ancient taboos. Aren't you afraid of suffering a backlash?"
"A brat, daring to lecture me?" Voldemort sneered, black fog churning all around his body, "Since you've come, stay. Your soul will be just right to complete my weakened strength."
As the words fell, he struck first, pointing his wand directly at Amster: "Crucio!"
The eerie green curse shot out rapidly, carrying the pain of tearing bone marrow.
Amster had long been on guard, his figure nimbly dodging to the side while waving his wand: "Protego!"
A transparent magic barrier unfolded, blocking the aftermath.
He counterattacked without hesitation: "Reducto!"
A golden fireball blasted out, blowing tree branches to snap and fly everywhere.
Voldemort coldly waved his wand: "Impedimenta!"
A magic wall stopped the explosion, followed immediately by another vicious spell: "Imperio!"
A pale purple spell twined toward Amster, attempting to control his mind.
Amster concentrated to resist, while waving: "Incarcerous!"
Silver ropes shot out flying, which were narrowly avoided by the opponent.
The two engaged in a fierce clash in the center of the Forbidden Forest, spells intersecting and light sparks flashing.
Light and darkness collided violently; the air wave whipped up fallen leaves and broken branches, and the entire forest was trembling.
Voldemort's attacks were ruthless, with lethal dark magic cast continuously one after another, the black fog and cold light pressing menacingly; Amster responded steadily, with orderly offense and defense, alternately using Expelliarmus, Lumos, and Scourgify with a clear rhythm, not falling behind in the slightest.
After several exchanges of blows, Voldemort grew increasingly surprised, noticing that this teenager's magic far exceeded that of an ordinary student: "Damn Dumbledore, your power is not something an ordinary wizard should have at all."
Amster didn't answer, seizing an opening to strike: "Glacius!"
The chilling air instantly enveloped Voldemort, causing his movements to stall.
Amster seized the momentum to pursue: "Incendio!"
The raging flames forced Voldemort to retreat repeatedly.
Amster was very clear that the opponent was currently just attaching to Quirrell, their power had not fully recovered, and it was inadvisable to get entangled in a protracted fight.
Hermione was already safe, and he had confirmed the opponent's location and strength; his purpose had been achieved, and there was no need to fight to the death.
Voldemort was forced back by the flames; wary of Amster's strength and afraid that Hagrid and the others would quickly rush back, he dared not stay long.
He glared viciously at Amster: "I'll let you off today."
As the words fell, he turned into a black shadow, rapidly retreating into the depths of the Forbidden Forest, and the dark aura dissipated accordingly.
Amster put away his wand, breathing slightly.
This duel consumed quite a bit, but he achieved the most crucial purpose—confirming the location and status of the dark entity, **and completely without exposing that he already knew its true identity**, the opponent would never escape from the school because of this, but would instead continue to lurk according to the original plan, plotting against the Philosopher's Stone.
The sound of horse hooves rang out gently.
The centaur Firenze walked out from the tree shadows, his golden long hair glowing slightly in the moonlight, his blue eyes deep and serene.
He looked toward Amster: "The darkness has retreated. You are very brave, daring to face it alone."
Firenze's gaze lingered on him for a moment, and he spoke calmly: "There is an ancient power fluctuation on your body, the aura of ancient magic."
Amster's expression was calm, without a shred of confusion, responding directly: "Just an ancient book I carry with me. Your centaur high priest has seen it before; it's nothing rare."
Firenze nodded slightly, asking no more questions.
He glanced at the dead Unicorn on the ground, his eyes dimming, shook his head gently, turned and left, the sound of horse hooves gradually disappearing into the darkness.
Not long after, the light of Hagrid's lantern approached from afar, with hurried footsteps, followed closely by Harry, both of them with anxious faces.
"Where is Hermione? Where is Malfoy? Did anything happen to you guys?" Hagrid's voice tightened, and seeing the Unicorn's corpse, his face completely sank.
He squatted down, gently supporting the Unicorn's head, his rough hand lightly stroking the mane, full of heartache.
Harry stood aside, pale-faced, his voice dry: "That thing wearing a black robe... who on earth is it? Why did it want to kill the Unicorn?"
Amster gazed at the bloodstains seeping into the soil, his tone calm yet heavy, still not exposing that name, only obscurely pointing out the danger: "It is a dark force hidden near Hogwarts, cruel, and with extreme ambition. This matter will not end just like this."
The night wind swept across the Forbidden Forest once more, and the leaves rustled.
Moonlight passed through the branches and leaves, illuminating the bloodstains on the ground, and also illuminating Amster's serene eyes.
The war against the darkness has only just begun.
Chapter 90 The Ancient Curse
After the Easter holidays, Hogwarts retained a few lingering traces of tension compared to before the break.
The Unicorn murder case in the Forbidden Forest still hovered over the castle like a thin veil, and students were still whispering privately about the unknown threat in that darkness, even the commotion in the corridors carrying an unnoticeable hint of caution.
Lower-year students dragged their luggage back from the Muggle world, chattering and sharing trivialities of the holiday in an attempt to dilute the depression; upper-year students gathered in corners, tidying up unfinished essays while exchanging fragmentary guesses about the Forbidden Forest and Dark Magic.
The portraits on the walls frowned frequently from the noise, but they no longer rebuked loudly as usual, as if even they could sense the unease quietly permeating the castle.
Amster walked out of the Library holding a stack of yellowed ancient books, with parchment filled with notes sandwiched between the pages, all containing records and analyses of ancient bloodline curses.
He walked slowly toward the eighth floor, his fingertips unconsciously rubbing the spine of the book—the brief clash with Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest the previous night, that cold and decaying dark magic, and the dying silver light of the Unicorn still vividly emerging in his mind.
The confrontation with the darkness had only just begun, and the curse of the Greengrass Family had become another matter awaiting urgent resolution.
Turning the corner of the stairwell, he caught sight of Daphne Greengrass leaning against a stone pillar at a glance.
The young girl had an upright figure, yet she was clutching a crumpled letter, her knuckles turning white from the force, and her usually calm and self-contained expression hid an undisguisable anxiety and fragility.
Hearing footsteps, Daphne abruptly raised her head, and seeing it was Amster, she subconsciously straightened her body, her lips moving as if she had a thousand words, but ultimately it only turned into a barely audible soft call that she failed to speak out.
"In studying the curse, there is some progress." Amsterspoke first, his tone calm, taking the opportunity to pull the notes in his arms upward a bit, without unnecessary small talk, directly cutting into the topic she cared about most.
Daphne's eyes lit up instantly, an eagerness of catching a glimpse of a tiny light in despair, and even her breath paused for a fraction of a second.
"Really?" Her voice trembled slightly, carrying incredulous expectation.
Amster said no more, placed the notes in his arms on the windowsill, pulled a neatly folded piece of parchment from them, and slowly unfolded it.
Drawn on the paper were several complex and crisscrossing magic arrays, with dense, tiny texts marked at the center of the arrays, some ink appearing heavy due to repeated revisions, and question marks drawn at several key nodes, revealing confusion during the research.
His fingertips gently tapped on the circle at the very center of the array map, his gaze steady and his tone resolute as he spoke out the truth sorted out according to official records.
"The curse of your Greengrass Family is a Blood Malediction passed down for generations, originating from an ancient dark magic cast upon a certain ancestor. It is neither a poison nor an ordinary ailment, but a curse directly branded into the bloodline."
"It is passed down through generations along the bloodline, specifically eroding female descendants—the core nodes of magic circulation will atrophy year by year, leading to congenital physical weakness, gradual decline of magic, and ultimately premature death due to the exhaustion of vitality."
"Astoria has been plagued by the curse since birth, which is why she has always been sickly, right?"
He did not deliberately slow down his tone, yet every word was clear, not avoiding the most cruel ending.
Daphne's complexion instantly paled a bit, her fingertips tightly gripping her skirt hem, yet she did not look away, instead staring fixedly at that array map, as if trying to grasp the last straw from it.
"You found a solution?" Her voice was lowered extremely low, carrying a tremor, yet exceptionally firm.
"A preliminary balancing plan." Amster pulled out another piece of parchment, on which rows of rare material names were listed, "The curse cannot be completely eradicated, but bloodline magic can be stabilized through a ritual to delay or even block the decline."
"These are needed—the purest Moonstone Essence, voluntarily given Unicorn tail hair, and Phoenix tears."
"I can substitute Phoenix tears with my homemade phoenix potion, but the first two must be of the highest purity and unpolluted."
Daphne took the list, her gaze scanning line by line, her fingers pausing slightly at "Moonstone Essence" and "Unicorn tail hair", her brows tightly knitted.
Of these two materials, the former was hidden in the black market of Knockturn Alley, requiring great risk to find; the latter was even more difficult, as only by establishing absolute trust with a Unicorn could one obtain their voluntarily shed tail hair, while those circulating in the market were all forcibly plucked defective products, completely unusable for the curse ritual.
"These... are hard to find." She said softly, her tone full of helplessness.
"I know." Amster nodded, his tone calm and waveless, "But they can be found."
"I will figure something out for the Moonstone Essence in Knockturn Alley, and the Unicorn tail hair needs gradual contact; we cannot rush."
Daphne abruptly raised her head, her clear grey-blue eyes looking straight at him, mixed with gratitude, apprehension, and unease.
"You are willing to help me? Help our family?"
"Summer vacation." Amster gave a clear reply without the slightest hesitation, "I will go to your house and confirm Astoria's curse condition with my own eyes first."
"As for the materials, we will take it step by step."
Daphne stared at him for a full two seconds, as if to confirm he was not comforting her, then lowered her head, carefully folding the list and placing it into the inner pocket of her robe close to her body.
Her fingers were still trembling slightly, but her voice tried hard to steady, carrying heavy gratitude.
"Thank you, Senior. Truly thank you."
Amster did not respond, merely silently refolding the array map on the table and putting it back into the notes.
Daphne turned to leave, her footsteps just moving before stopping abruptly, turning around to look at him again with a solemn expression.
"Senior."
"Hmm."
"This matter... don't tell anyone." She bit her lower lip, her tone carrying a plea, "The family curse is a secret, and I don't want too many people to know, especially... I don't want Astoria to be subjected to unnecessary discussion."
"I know." Amster responded simply, his tone resolute, letting her rest assured.
Daphne nodded, saying no more, and turned to walk away quickly.
The footsteps of leather shoes stepping on the stone corridor sounded crisply, from near to far, gradually disappearing around the corner.
Not long after she left, Susan Bones poked her head out from the corner on the other side, waved at Amster, and then quickly followed the direction of Daphne and left.
Amster leaned his back against the cold stone wall, reorganizing that stack of notes about the curse and holding them in his arms.
The Blood Malediction of the Greengrass Family, he had seen similar records in the letters left behind by Flamel, belonging to one of the hardest bloodline curses to break; it was not unsolvable, but extremely time-consuming and mentally draining.
He exhaled softly, temporarily suppressing the shadow of the Forbidden Forest and the heaviness of the curse, and continued walking toward the eighth floor holding the notes.
The door of the Room of Requirement was ajar, and warm yellow firelight seeped out through the crack, driving away the slight chill of the corridor.
Amster pushed the door open and entered. The room was cozy and warm—Fleur was curled up in the soft chair by the window, holding a copy of The Quibbler and reading with great relish; Penelope leaned against the bookshelf, lowering her head to browse through an ancient History of Magic classic; Cassandra sat on the carpet in front of the fireplace, with a cup of warm black tea beside her; Cho Chang lay flat on the small low table, holding a writing brush to practice calligraphy seriously; while Poppy sat aside, quietly organizing an iron box filled with butter cookies.
Seeing him enter, several people raised their eyes to look over one after another.
Amster walked over to the table, gently put down the ancient books and notes in his arms, and sat down beside Cassandra.
Fleur poked her head out from behind the magazine, raising an eyebrow, her tone carrying curiosity: "Busy with those obscure ancient books again? Judging by your complexion, it looks like you've run into trouble."
"The curse of the Greengrass Family." Amster took the hot tea handed over by Cassandra, his fingertips feeling the temperature of the cup wall, and spoke indifferently.
Cassandra picked up her own teacup, took a light sip, her grey-blue eyes calm and waveless, and added in a resolute tone: "It was Daphne Greengrass who came to look for you, right? Their family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, carrying a bloodline curse from their ancestors that specifically affects female descendants. Her younger sister Astoria, who is two years junior to her, has been sickly ever since entering school; that should be the curse acting up."
The room fell silent for a moment. Penelope raised her head from behind the book, glanced at Amster with a hint of understanding in her eyes, and then lowered her head to continue turning pages; Cho Chang stopped the writing brush in her hand, nodded gently, with a hint of regret showing on her face; Poppy didn't speak, but silently pushed the cookie box toward Amster, her eyes gentle.
"I've preliminarily found a plan to balance the curse." Amster took a sip of hot tea, his tone plain, "It's just that it requires rare materials like Moonstone Essence and Unicorn tail hair, and I plan to deal with it during the summer vacation."
Fleur put down the magazine, frowning, her tone full of emotion: "These old-age curses of pure-blood families are indeed more tricky than the last. And yet they all seem to latch onto you."
Amster did not respond. He leaned back against the chair, watching the leaping flames in the fireplace, his chaotic thoughts gradually clearing—Voldemort lurking in the Forbidden Forest, the Horcrux hidden in the school, the phoenix potion left behind by Flamel, and the Blood Malediction of the Greengrass Family... every single matter pressed heavily upon his shoulders, yet none of it made him feel anxious.
Solving them one by one, step by step, there would always be a day when the clouds parted and the mist cleared.
The firewood in the fireplace crackled, and the orange firelight baked the entire room with warmth, driving away all the coldness.
Outside the window, the bright moonlight spilled over the calm surface of the Black Lake, shattering into a patch of shimmering silver light, echoing the warm light inside the room from afar.
The darkness outside the castle was still lurking, but the warmth and peace inside the room became the firmest solace.
Chapter 91 Unreturned Notebook
An afternoon a few days later, sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows of the Library, casting mottled light and shadows on the long wooden table.
Amster sat in his usual spot, his fingertips pressing down on the unfolded parchment, a thick stack of research materials regarding the Greengrass blood curse piled in front of him.
He turned to the page recording the purification of moonstone essence; the ink had been smudged by water stains, blurring the handwriting into pale patches, and even the outlines of the key spell annotations were indistinguishable.
Frowning, he raised his eyes, casually pulling over an ancient book nearby for comparison. His pen tip tapped lightly against the pages, and his brows furrowed tighter and tighter.
Hermione emerged from behind the bookshelf holding a stack of heavy magical tomes, her light-brown curly hair hanging over her shoulders, the books in her arms almost blocking half her face.
Catching a glimpse of Amster from afar, she paused her steps, her fingertips unconsciously rubbing against the spines of the books. After hesitating for two seconds, she still walked over with the books to sit opposite him, gently pulling out a chair and sitting down.
"Senior, what are you researching?"
She spoke first, her voice soft and carrying a trace of unperceived probing.
Amster raised his eyes to look at her, his gaze sweeping over the books in her arms before falling back onto the materials in front of him. His tone was flat: "A family curse."
Hermione immediately placed the books in her arms gently on the table, the sound of the pages rubbing against each other very soft, and she leaned forward slightly to look at the stack of parchment.
As her gaze swept over the dense symbols, annotations, and altered traces on it, she did not ask which family it was, but simply raised her eyes to look at Amster with a serious expression: "Do you need help?"
Amster looked at her for a long moment, tapping his fingertips against the materials on the table: "Can you understand it?"
"No."
Hermione admitted frankly, her finger lightly hooking the pencil at the corner of the table, "But I can learn. And I organize materials very quickly."
She paused, her gaze falling on the messy stack of parchment: "Your notes are a bit messy, I can help you classify them."
Amster remained silent for a few seconds, his fingertips pausing at the edge of the materials, before finally gently pushing that stack of parchment toward her side.
Hermione said no more, picking up the topmost sheet of parchment and gently brushing her fingertips across the paper's surface.
She read with extreme concentration, her fingers moving along the text bit by bit. Whenever she encountered an ancient magical terminology she didn't recognize, she would stop her pen and gently draw a small question mark next to it with a pencil.
She categorized the notes recording the causes of the curse into one stack, the symptoms into another, and organized historical records and attempted solutions separately. She also took out the sticky notes Amster had casually tucked between the pages and clipped them back into the corresponding materials according to the page numbers.
Sunlight shifted across her profile, her eyelashes casting a small shallow shadow beneath her eyes, and the rustling sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper became the quietest background music in the Library.
Amster leaned against the back of his chair without interrupting her, merely lowering his eyes to watch her busy figure while his fingertips lightly rubbed the edge of the table.
The sunlight outside the window slowly moved, first covering the entire tabletop, then climbing slowly along the spines of the books, and finally landing on the dial markers of the wall clock.
The clock in the Library struck three steady times, the pendulum swung a few turns, and it struck four more times.
The angle of the sunlight gradually shifted, falling on the pencil beside Hermione's hand and reflecting a few specks of shimmering light.
After an unknown length of time, Hermione gently pushed the stacks of organized materials back in front of Amster, her fingertips lightly pressing on the sticky note of the top stack.
"They're sorted."
She raised her head, a hint of anticipation in her eyes, "They're divided by the causes of the curse, symptoms, historical records, attempted solutions, and the material list. Have a look first to see if anything is missing."
Amster picked up a stack to browse through. His fingertips brushed across the neat edges of the paper; sticky notes of different colors clearly marked the themes, every single page was labeled with page numbers, and even the purification record page smudged by water stains had been separately marked out with a sticky note by her, with a few supplementary annotations she looked up written next to it.
He raised his eyes to look at Hermione, his gaze carrying a trace of imperceptible approval.
"How long did you take?"
Hermione lowered her head, the tips of her ears slightly red, and her fingers gently twisted the corner of her clothes: "Not long."
Amster did not pursue the question further, merely putting the organized materials into his portable backpack, zipping it up, and placing it beside him.
"Thanks."
Hermione lifted her head abruptly, her eyes lighting up as if fallen starlight, and she hurriedly shook her head: "You're welcome."
She picked up her stack of books, slowly stood up, paused again when she reached the door, and looked back at Amster with a soft voice, "Senior, if you need to look up any materials in the future, you can call me. I... I have plenty of time."
Amster looked at her without speaking.
Hermione's face turned even redder as she turned and walked away quickly, her light-brown curls swaying behind her.
After taking a few steps, she stopped again, cast a deep glance back at him, and then turned and disappeared behind the bookshelves.
Amster sat in his place, his gaze tracking her figure until the bookshelves blocked his line of sight.
The sunlight outside the window fell on the empty chair, and on the tabletop where Hermione had sat remained a notebook she had forgotten to take, with a light pink cover and slightly worn corners.
He reached out to take the notebook and gently opened it. It was filled with neat History of Magic notes in delicate handwriting, with a few small exclamation marks drawn in the corners, which were presumably annotations made when encountering key points.
He gently closed the notebook and placed it on the edge of the table without packing it away, thinking of returning it to Hermione when she came back.
The Library was very quiet, with only the rustling sound of the wind blowing through the leaves outside the window and fragments of students talking softly in the distance.
The surface of the Black Lake shimmered with fine silvery light, which reflected in through the glass window and fell on the cover of the notebook, flickering with a gentle glow.
In the evening, Amster left the Library holding the materials and walked towards the Room of Requirementon the eighth floor.
The fire in the fireplace was still burning brightly, the warm yellow firelight reflecting everything in the room: Fleur was curled up in an armchair reading a magazine, Penelopewas leaning against the bookshelf flipping through a book, Cassandra was sitting on the carpet drinking tea, Cho Chang was leaning over the table practicing calligraphy, and Poppy was organizing a box of biscuits beside them.
He walked over to the table, put down the materials, swept his gaze across the empty chair, and then looked at the light pink notebook by the edge of the table, his fingertips gently touching the cover.
"Why is there still a notebook left here?"
Fleur poked her head out from behind her magazine, glancing at the notebook: "Did Hermione leave it behind?"
Amster nodded, his fingertips rubbing the edge of the notebook: "I'll return it to her when she comes back."
Cassandra held her teacup and spoke indifferently: "She should come looking for it soon, after all, it's an important thing she left behind."
Amster did not reply, only leaning against the back of his chair and gazing at the flickering flames in the fireplace.
The sky outside the window gradually darkened, and moonlight climbed onto the Black Lake, shattering into a patch of silver light.
His fingertips tapped gently on the tabletop, thinking that tomorrow morning he would return the notebook to her, cross-check the organized curse materials once more, and prepare for the material preparations for the summer vacation.
The fire in the fireplace crackled, and the warmth spread throughout the room, driving away the chill of the night.
Chapter 92 Gryffindor Comes to the Rescue
In the third week after the Easter holidays, the weather at Hogwarts finally warmed up completely.
The biting cold wind completely dissipated, the sunlight gently enveloped the castle all day long, bright green shoots sprouted on the lawn, the trees in the Forbidden Forest stretched their branches and leaves, and even the air in the castle corridors carried a faint fragrance of grass and wood, shedding its former chill and heaviness.
Amster slowly walked out of the Restricted Section of the Library, tightly holding a stack of ancient books in his arms that were several times heavier than usual.
These ancient books had weathered hundreds of years, their covers severely worn from being repeatedly read, their corners curled and yellowed; the gilt titles on the spines of several books had long since peeled off, making even a trace of handwriting unrecognizable, and the pages were filled with a unique scent mixed with old paper and ink, looking at a glance like rare classics that had long been sealed deep within the Restricted Section.
He walked straight to his usual old spot, gently piled the books on the long wooden table, spread them out one by one, brushed his fingertips across the rough, yellowed pages, and carefully turned them page by page, his gaze focused and calm.
Not long after, Hermione walked over on tiptoe, holding her magic textbooks.
She didn't make a sound to disturb him, just quietly pulled out the chair opposite and sat down, watching Amster turn the pages quietly with a hint of curiosity in her eyes, yet maintaining an appropriate silence throughout without any unnecessary questions.
The most prominent item on the table was a tattered manuscript found from the deepest part of the Restricted Section; its cover was broken beyond repair, and the author's signature was blurred by water stains and time, allowing one to vaguely discern through the mottled ink marks that it was written by an obscure alchemist from the seventeenth century.
Amster's fingertips suddenly stopped beside a yellowed illustration, his gaze instantly freezing.
That was a hand-drawn pedigree chart, with the Greengrass Family surname written in dark ink in the exact center of the page, winding upwards into the names of several generations of ancestors with clear and distinct lineages; downwards it extended to a blank space, where only two names were neatly written—Daphne Greengrass, Astoria Greengrass—their handwriting faint yet clearly discernible.
The edges of the family tree were filled with dense handwritten notes, most of the ink smudged beyond recognition, and there were also a few places marked with glaring red lines indicating the names of several generations of female family members. Next to each name was marked an identical chilling symbol: a black skull pattern, closely followed by two startling words—premature death.
Amster's gaze lingered on those skull marks for a few seconds, his brows furrowing imperceptibly, his fingertips gently rubbing the red lines on the page, his expression growing increasingly solemn.
He slowly turned to the next page, which had no text, only a magical array so intricate it was dizzying, with lines intersecting and intertwining and symbols obscure and hard to understand. The center of the array was heavily circled with a ring of bright red ink, next to which was a line of long-faded Latin, translated as: "A blood curse, passed down through generations, cannot be lifted by external forces."
Seeing this, Hermione leaned in slightly to take a look. After seeing the magical array and the text beside it, her brows furrowed tightly, her eyes filled with surprise and pity, and she lowered her voice to ask: "Is this… a curse?"
"A blood curse."
Amster's voice was low and calm without the slightest ripple, yet it revealed an unquestionable certainty, "It's not an ordinary curse transmitted through attached objects or spells, but an ancient dark magic deliberately planted by someone. Long ago, someone directly branded the curse into the bloodline of the Greengrass Family's ancestors. Ever since then, the curse has continued down through the generations along the bloodline. In every generation, female descendants are eroded by the curse, being congenitally weak, suffering from a year-by-year decline in magic, and ultimately experiencing a drastic shortening of lifespan, passing away early. Daphne's sister, Astoria, is precisely the person plagued by the curse in this generation."
Hermione reached out her finger, gently tracing along the lines of the magical array, following those complexly intertwined patterns, and finally stopping at the center position circled by the red pen. Her fingertips tightened slightly, and her tone carried a hint of worry: "Will this curse… spread to other people?"
"No."
Amster answered without hesitation, casually turning to the next page recording the principles of the curse, his fingertips pointing at the text, "It will only be passed down generation after generation within the direct bloodline of the Greengrass Family, and the curse has special characteristics, only manifesting and flaring up in female descendants, while the male bloodline becomes curse carriers without exhibiting any symptoms."
He paused, his tone turning slightly colder, "The purpose of the person who cast the curse is clearly to destroy the female descendants of the family, step by step cutting off the bloodline inheritance of this pure-blood family, letting it slowly perish."
Hermione's face turned slightly pale instantly, and the look she directed at those skull marks was filled with disbelief and sympathy. Such a vicious ancient curse was enough to ruin the lives of several generations of a family. She pursed her lips and spoke again, her voice carrying a trace of urgency: "Then can this curse be lifted?"
Amster did not answer immediately. He silently turned to the last page of the manuscript. This page had no complex magical array, nor detailed textual annotations, leaving only a line of scrawled small characters, most of which were soaked by ink, allowing only the core content to be barely discernible: "Turn their own way against them—only the source can break it."
Hermione stared at that line of small characters, repeatedly reading it silently several times before raising her head, with contemplation in her eyes, looking at Amster: "Meaning… to completely break the curse, one must find the source of who cast it back then, right?"
"Theoretically so."
Amster slowly closed the heavy manuscript, his fingertips gently pressing on the tattered cover, his tone flat yet revealing helplessness, "But separated by hundreds of years, the person who cast the curse back then has probably long turned to dust and rotted in the tomb, and wanting to trace the source is as difficult as ascending to heaven."
He gently stacked the sorted ancient books and manuscript, pushing them to the edge of the table to avoid blocking the light.
Hermione didn't speak anymore, just quietly watching him. The sunlight passed through the colored glass windows of the Library, spilling onto the table surface, making the covers of those old books shine brightly, and also casting mottled light and shadows between the two of them, the atmosphere quiet and heavy.
After a long while, Hermione gently spoke up, breaking the silence: "Then does Daphne know about these things?"
Amster raised his eyes to look at her, his tone calm: "She knows the existence of the curse, knows her sister is plagued, but regarding the origin of the curse, the specific rules of inheritance, and these secrets in the manuscript, she knows nothing at all."
Hermione lowered her head, her fingers gently rubbing the cover of her notebook, her fingertips exerting slight force, her heart filled with sympathy for the Greengrass sisters. After a moment of silence, she looked up at Amster, her gaze firm: "You will help her find the source of the curse and lift this curse, right?"
Amster did not give an answer immediately, but instead reached out to put the precious old manuscript into his portable backpack with steady movements.
He turned his head to look out the window; under the azure sky, the surface of the Black Lake shimmered with fine, glittering ripples, and a breeze blew past, stirring up layers of ripples. In the direction of the Forbidden Forest in the distance, a few light-gray birds flapped their wings and flew up from the dense treetops, carving several smooth arcs in the sky, before dropping back into the forest and disappearing among the branches and leaves.
After a long time, he slowly spoke, his tone resolute and pragmatic: "Check the materials first, collect as many records about this blood curse as possible. Find as much as we can, and take it step by step."
Hermione nodded and did not continue to ask further; she knew that any more questions at this moment would be of no avail.
She opened her notebook, picked up her quill, and lowered her head to carefully organize all the information she had just seen and heard: the specific type of the curse, the method of bloodline transmission, the history of the family being cursed, and the key clues in the manuscript. Every entry was written neatly, and the source was carefully marked as this seventeenth-century alchemist's manuscript, with unparalleled clarity.
Amster turned his head to look at her serious appearance of recording, without making a sound to interrupt, just quietly sitting aside, sorting out the clues regarding the Greengrass blood curse in his mind, as well as the direction for searching materials next.
The sunlight outside the window slowly moved, first covering the entire desk, then slowly climbing up the spines of the stacked ancient books, and finally slowly moving to the wall clock. Time flowed slowly in the quiet Library.