Chapter 93 Countermeasures and Warning
After several consecutive days of lingering drizzle, Hogwarts finally welcomed a day of completely clearing skies.
The clouds dissipated, and the warm golden sunlight pierced through them, covering the castle's stone walls and lawns. The surface of the Black Lake shimmered, and even the air was filled with a damp, fresh botanical scent, completely sweeping away the previous chill and gloom.
Amster was still sitting in that usual old spot in the Library, with a tattered manuscript from the 17th century spread out on the table, piled next to several ancient tomes borrowed from the depths of the Restricted Section.
The pages were yellowed and brittle, the handwriting blurred and hard to distinguish, everywhere exuding the heaviness and secrecy precipitated by time.
Hermione had Snape's Potions Class today and couldn't come over on time. He was the entire occupant of the large long table, and the surroundings were so quiet that only the soft rustle of turning pages remained, along with the occasional crisp and distant bird chirping from outside the window.
When Cassandra walked over slowly, Amster didn't even raise his head.
She quietly took a seat opposite him, gently placing the warm teacup she was holding on the edge of the table, not handing it over to him as usual, her actions carrying a hint of imperceptible solemnity.
"Investigating matters of the Greengrass Family." Her tone was calm, not a question, but a statement.
Amster silently turned a page of the ancient book, his gaze never leaving the paper, offering no response.
Cassandra lowered her gaze, looking at the spread-out manuscript page on the table.
That page depicted the ancient family crest of the Greengrass Family — *silver giant snakes entwined with turquoise vines* —, with intricate and cold patterns, and a line of Latin family motto engraved underneath.
Her fingertips lightly touched the center of the crest, her voice low and calm, carrying the inherent posture of an insider from a pure-blood family.
"I heard my father mention this family's blood curse when I was young."
"It's not an absolute secret, but in pure-blood circles, everyone tacitly understands it and never talks about it publicly."
Amster finally raised his head, quietly looking at her, his gaze calm.
Cassandra picked up her teacup and took a slight sip, her sight falling back onto the yellowed manuscript, her tone without any emotion, yet every word clear: "Who exactly cast the curse has long left no trace to follow."
"But these generations of the Greengrass Family have never given up looking for a solution. Alchemy, Ancient Magic, even taboo dark magic... they've tried everything they could, but to no avail."
Her fingertips slowly stroked the rim of the cup, the arc gentle.
"Astoria is not the first victim, and she certainly won't be the last. *Unless the original source of the curse is found, it will forever be irresolvable.*"
Amster leaned back against the back of the chair, still silent, but a slight ripple passed through the depths of his eyes.
Cassandra raised her eyes to look at him, her gaze clear and sharp, carrying a piercing lucidity.
"Where do you plan to start?"
"First, clarify the complete history of the curse." Amster's voice was steady, "The origin era, the caster, the nature of the spell, the binding method. Without knowing any of this, any attempt to lift the curse is just empty talk."
Cassandra gently nodded, asking no more questions. She slowly stood up, left the unfinished cup of tea by his side, and turned to walk toward the bookshelf.
"Don't sink too deep." Her footsteps paused slightly, her voice light and faint yet carrying a heavy warning, "Some truths, when investigated to the end, often end up implicating oneself."
With that, she pulled a thick book titled "Ancient Blood Curses Examined" from the bookshelf, gently placed it beside Amster's hand, and then turned to leave. Her footsteps were steady and soft, gradually disappearing into the depths of the bookshelves.
Amster picked up the book and opened the title page. A line of dark ink handwriting struck the eye prominently:
*"A curse is a double-edged sword; it harms others' bloodlines while cutting off one's own foundation."*
He gazed for a moment, gently closed the pages, and lowered his head again to peruse the tattered manuscript, his gaze focused and solemn.
In the evening, Hermione, having just finished Potions Class, hurried over and ran straight into Amster, who was preparing to leave, at the entrance of the Library. She quickly caught up with his pace, her tone urgent: "Senior, what have you found out?"
Amster didn't answer immediately. The two walked side by side through the silent corridor, stopping at the eighth-floor stairway landing. He pulled the manuscript from his bag and flipped directly to the last few pages recording the origin of the curse.
"The curse of the Greengrass Family originated in the sixteenth century," his voice was low, "It was a Blood Curse forcibly planted by a Dark wizard who held a mortal feud with the Greengrass Family, at the moment of death, at the cost of *their entire bloodline and life*. Once the curse takes shape, it is permanently branded into the bloodline, passed down from generation to generation, never dissipating."
Hermione's face instantly turned pale.
"Then... what about that Dark wizard himself?"
"He also paid the price." Amster pointed to a line of text mostly blurred by ink stains and barely discernible, "Only the last few words remain — *also suffered its harm, bloodline severed.*"
Hermione stared blankly at the blurred line of handwriting, her lips trembling slightly, unable to say a single word.
"He left no descendants." Amster closed the manuscript, his tone calm to the point of being icy, "Exchanging the extinction of his entire bloodline for the suffering of the Greengrass Family generation after generation."
The corridor fell into a long silence. In the distance, Mrs. Norris's faint, scampering meows came vaguely, weak and distant, as if from another world.
Hermione's voice was so soft it was almost inaudible: "So... this curse will exist forever, until the Greengrass Familycompletely perishes?"
Amster didn't answer.
Leaning his back against the cold stone wall, he shoved the manuscript back into his backpack and looked up out the window. Dusk was gathering, and the tree shadows of the Forbidden Forest were stacked layer upon layer, interweaving into an airtight darkness that was suffocatingly heavy.
"Let's go," he said softly, "We'll continue investigating tomorrow."
Hermione silently followed behind him. The two went one after the other, their footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridor, monotonous and clear.
The door of the Room of Requirement was wide open, the fireplace flames burning fiercely, a wave of warmth hitting them. Amster sat down at the table and opened the manuscript once again, his gaze falling on the family tree chart covered in skull marks. Those black marks were exceptionally dazzling under the lamplight, like countless silent eyes staring at him unblinkingly.
He slowly closed the manuscript and blew out the oil lamp at the corner of the table.
Outside the window, bright moonlight poured down over the Black Lake, the water ripples swaying, shattering into silver light filling the sky.
Chapter 94: The Secret Behind the Trapdoor
At the end of the term, Hogwarts should have been immersed in the atmosphere of approaching exams and holidays, but a tense undercurrent had already quietly surged deep within the castle.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione accidentally extracted key clues about the Philosopher's Stone from Hagrid, and finally confirmed that the Philosopher's Stone, coveted by many, was hidden in the restricted area on the fourth floor of the castle.
The three became even more certain that the villains coveting the Philosopher's Stone had already figured out the path and were about to strike tonight. After some discussion, they resolutely decided, disregarding school rules and danger, to go themselves to stop this conspiracy.
The night was deep, and the castle fell into a slumber, with only the dim, yellowish light burning from the wall lamps in the corridor.
Amster stood outside the corridor of the fourth-floor restricted area, his aura calm and serene. This was a task personally assigned by Dumbledore, asking him to keep watch here, secretly guard the restricted area, and at the same time look out for any unusual movements.
Leaning against the cold stone wall, his black robes merging with the night, his gaze calmly fixed on the tightly locked door ahead without the slightest slackness, he knew in his heart that tonight was destined not to be peaceful.
Not long after, three stealthy figures, wrapped in an Invisibility Cloak, silently walked toward the fourth floor.
Amster recognized the three of Harry at a glance. Without changing his expression, his fingertips moved slightly, and a silent disillusionment charm fell upon himself, completely concealing his figure in the darkness without leaving a trace.
He did not step forward to stop them, but quietly followed behind the three, maintaining a distance neither too far nor too close. In Dumbledore's commission, there was originally the meaning of observing secretly and providing timely protection; he only needed to control the situation from the shadows.
Harry took the lead in pushing open the door to the fourth-floor restricted area. Inside, the three-headed dog Fluffy was lying on the ground, its snoring making the entire room tremble slightly, and a harp was scattered nearby, obviously someone had used music to hypnotize this fierce behemoth.
The three held their breath, cautiously skirted around Fluffy, quickly opened the trapdoor on the floor, and slid down one by one along the vines.
Amster, hidden in the shadows, followed closely behind, his figure landing lightly into the secret room below without a sound, completely unnoticed by the three throughout the entire process.
Beneath their feet were soft yet clinging vines. As soon as they landed, dense vines instantly wrapped around the legs and arms of the three—it was Devil's Snare placed by Professor Sprout.
This evil plant favored darkness and dampness; the more they struggled, the tighter the vines wrapped around them. Harry and Ron were quickly choked until they couldn't move, their faces turning flushed red.
"Don't struggle! Devil's Snare fears light!"
Hermione was the first to calm down, loudly reminding her companions. She quickly drew her wand, whispered a spell, and a faint flame darted from the tip of the wand.
Feeling the scorching breath, the vines instantly curled up and retreated. The three managed to break free from the bindings and walked quickly toward the next checkpoint.
Amster stood in the dark corner, watching the three successfully pass the checkpoint. His fingertips paused slightly, and he did not intervene. This was their trial; he only needed to remain on guard in the shadows.
Passing through the Devil's Snare area, before them was a spacious room. Countless keys with gleaming wings hung from the ceiling, flying randomly in the air, and at the end of the room stood a tightly closed wooden door. Obviously, only by finding the right key could one open this door.
This was a trial set by Professor Flitwick, testing eyesight and flying ability.
"Only flying broomsticks can catch up with them!"
Harry looked around and quickly found several old flying broomsticks leaning against the corner. The three immediately mounted the broomsticks and flew into the air, carefully searching among the flying keys for that rusty, quaintly shaped small door key.
With sharp eyes, Harry locked onto the target first. The three cooperated tacitly, and after a chase, they finally successfully caught the right key and opened the door leading to the final trial.
Amster, hidden in the shadows, quietly watched the three cooperate to pass the levels throughout the whole process, watching them go from panic to composure, cooperating with and encouraging each other, and a trace of faint approval flashed in the depths of his eyes.
He never showed himself, acting like the most silent shadow as he followed the footsteps of the three into the next, more spacious room.
In the room was a huge wizard's chessboard. Black and white chess pieces stood tall, with stern expressions and weapons in hand, resembling a truly majestic army. This was a trial created by Professor McGonagall using Transfiguration; only by winning the game could they proceed.
Looking at the chessboard in front of him, Ron's eyes instantly turned firm. He was best at wizard's chess, and at this moment naturally took on the heavy responsibility of commanding.
"We must take the place of the pieces to play on, in order to continue the game."
"Harry, you take the place of that bishop; Hermione, you stand in the place of the rook; I'll be the knight."
The three walked to their corresponding positions one by one, and the original chess pieces retreated one after another, yielding their positions to them.
Ron commanded calmly, every step precise and decisive. Black and white pieces clashed fiercely, and the sounds of collisions and weapons meeting filled the entire room.
As the game progressed, to successfully checkmate the white king, a sacrifice had to be made. Looking at the situation on the board, Ron's face was pale but his eyes were firm; he knew that only by stepping forward himself and becoming the target of the white queen could Harrysuccessfully complete the checkmate.
"If I take a step forward, she will attack me, so you can directly checkmate the white king, Harry!"
Ron's voice was steady, without the slightest flinching.
"No! It's too dangerous!"
Hermione immediately voiced her objection, her voice filled with anxiety and reluctance.
"There's no time to hesitate! If we delay any longer, that person is going to get the Philosopher's Stone!"
Ron said sternly, his tone unquestionable.
He took a deep breath and resolutely took a step forward.
The white queen turned around instantly, raised her stone arm, and smashed it hard at Ron. Ron collapsed to the ground at the sound, instantly losing consciousness.
Hermione couldn't help letting out a scream, her eye rims instantly turning red, but she was sternly stopped by Harry, who reminded her that the game was not over and they couldn't fall short of success at the very end.
Harry forcefully suppressed the worry in his heart, acted decisively according to Ron's layout, and successfully checkmated the white king.
The black and white pieces retreated to both sides one after another, yielding the passage ahead.
"You stay here to take care of Ron, and I'll keep going forward."
Harry looked at Hermione, his tone firm.
Hermione squatted down beside Ron, her eye rims red, and nodded hard, her voice choked with sobs: "You must be careful, I'll take care of Ron and wait for you to come back."
The two took a final look at the unconscious Ron, without delaying any further. Harry turned around and ran toward the door ahead, preparing to face the final trial alone.
Hermione stayed by Ron's side, took out her wand, and softly chanted a healing spell, trying to awaken her unconscious companion.
Amster, hidden in the shadows of the room, took all of this in.
He watched Ron's willingness to sacrifice, Harry's resolute advance, and Hermione's steadfast care, without showing his face to interfere throughout the whole process.
Until Harry pushed open the door of the final trial and Hermione stayed by the chessboard to look after Ron, did he slowly stop his footsteps, his gaze falling on the tightly closed door ahead, his aura calm and steady, still maintaining a state of secret vigilance.
Chapter 95 Unlucky Voldemort
Harry walked through the final door, his fingertips turning white from gripping his wand tightly, the wooden wand shaft slightly damp from the cold sweat in his palm.
There were no more perilous trials in the room, no complex magical mechanisms, only a huge Mirror of Erised standing quietly in the center of the room, its carved golden frame reaching high up to the rough stone ceiling, the mirror surface glowing with a hazy silvery-white halo, and the surroundings were dead silent, so that even his slightly hurried breathing bounced off the empty room into fragmented echoes.
His heartbeat grew more and more rapid, his chest feeling like it held a wildly colliding sparrow, and every step he drew closer to the mirror, with the soles of his shoes brushing against the cold and hard stone bricks, felt like stepping on his own taut nerves.
He knew exceptionally well that the secret of the Philosopher's Stone, which concerned the safety of Hogwarts and the conspiracy of Voldemort, was hidden within this mirror that could reflect the deepest desires in a person's heart.
A faint, putrid smell of sulfur suddenly spread through the air, mixed with the chilly aura unique to dark magic, completely out of tune with the warm magical aura inside Hogwarts.
Professor Quirrell's figure suddenly stepped out from the heavy shadows beside the mirror, and that face which was usually pale and cowardly, stuttering when speaking, and not even daring to make eye contact with others, had completely changed at this moment — his complexion was livid, his forehead was covered with hideous veins, under his tightly wrapped turban, his eyes were cold and frantic, his pupils contracted into tiny black lines, and his entire body radiated a heart-palpitating dark coercion, as if wrapped in an invisible layer of black mist, so that even the surrounding light was swallowed up by this evil aura by a few shades.
Harry's footsteps stopped abruptly, his muscles instantly tensing up, and his blood seemed to freeze instantly in his veins.
He stared in astonishment at Quirrell, his lips slightly parted, unable to utter a complete sentence for a long time, his brain exploding with a roar, and all previous doubts and all guesses targeting Snape completely collapsed at this moment.
He gripped his wand tightly, his fingertips trembling uncontrollably, and his voice was dry and filled with incredible shock: "You... how could it be you? I always thought... always thought it was Snape who wanted to seize the Philosopher's Stone!"
Quirrell grinned, revealing a twisted and hideous smile, completely shedding his past weakness and stuttering, and his voice was hoarse and weird, mixed with another deep, cold voice that seemed to float from the depths of hell — that was the voice of Voldemort, sticky, vicious, and full of malice, making Harry's whole body turn cold and his hair stand on end one by one.
"Snape?"
He sneered, his tone full of undisguised sarcasm: "That old bat certainly provided the best cover for us; with his gloomy, reclusive appearance and targeting you everywhere, who would suspect the pitiful and harmless Professor Quirrell? Potter, you are ultimately still too naive."
He approached step by step, pointing his wand straight at Harry's heart position, the dark magic around his body churning wildly, even causing the air to distort and vibrate accordingly, and the sense of oppression rushed towards his face.
"Hand over the Philosopher's Stone, Potter. You don't understand its true value at all — it can allow my great master to regain a physical body and let us rule the entire magical world again. Obediently hand it over, and I can spare your life."
Harry tightly gripped the Philosopher's Stone hidden in his pocket. Just now, when approaching the mirror, with his heart thinking only of guarding the Philosopher's Stoneand never having the slightest selfish thought, this warm stone with a faint red glow inexplicably fell into his palm, as if actively delivered into his hands by the mirror.
He knew clearly that this was the final protective magic set by the Mirror of Erised; only a person with a pure heart who did not seek benefits for himself could truly obtain the Philosopher's Stone.
No matter what, he must never hand this weighty stone over to the wicked person in front of him who was possessed by Voldemort.
He clenched his teeth, his knuckles turning white from the force, and slowly raised his slightly trembling yet extremely firm wand. There was not a shred of retreat in those emerald-green eyes, only resolute courage: "I won't hand the Philosopher's Stone to you, don't even think about getting it!"
Seeing this, the smile on Quirrell's face became even more hideous and terrifying, the dark magic around his body suddenly surged, his black robe whipped loudly by the magical power, and a ball of eerie green light emitting a breath of death gathered at the tip of his wand—that was the Cruciatus Curse which made people turn pale at the mere mention, and the cruel breath of dark magic was almost going to swallow Harry whole.
Harry's whole body was stiff, suppressed by this overwhelming dark power so much that even breathing became difficult, his chest feeling as if it were weighed down by a thousand-jin boulder, his legs trembling slightly, almost unable to stand steady, yet he still pressed firmly on the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, keeping his spine straight, refusing to compromise by even a fraction.
Just at the moment when Quirrell was about to chant the dark magic spell and the eerie green light was about to shoot fiercely toward Harry, the heavy oak door of the room was pushed open violently, a loud bang of "bang" shattering the dead silence.
Two figures stood against the light, and the gentle yet powerful magical aura flowing around their bodies, like warm sun melting snow, instantly suppressed the rampant evil power inside the room, causing the churning dark magic to suddenly stall.
Dumbledore walked in slowly, his half-moon spectacles reflecting a soft glimmer, his silvery-white long hair and beard glowing with a warm and soft light under the dim light, his gaze sharp yet calm, radiating unquestionable majesty all over his body, every step unhurried, carrying a powerful aura that deterred the darkness of its own accord.
Closely following him by half a step away was Amster, who had lifted the Disillusionment Charm — as Dumbledore's biological nephew, he had been personally taught magic by Dumbledore since childhood, and Dumbledore had long since known the depth of his strength.
Amster wore a neat black robe, with his collar and cuffs ironed meticulously, his expression calm and cold, his features refined, and his gaze swept across the entire room rapidly like a falcon, instantly locking onto the churning dark fluctuations around Quirrell, the black mist looming beneath his turban, and Harry who was suppressed to a pale complexion.
His fingertips quietly gathered a refined light golden magical power, the magic being restrained without any leakage, his surrounding aura stable and flawless, calm and orderly throughout without the slightest panic.
"Good evening, Quirrell, or rather, should I call you, Voldemort."
Dumbledore's voice was calm and gentle, yet carried an extremely strong deterrent force. The moment his voice fell, the dark magic wildly churning around Quirrell suddenly stagnated, as if firmly trapped by an invisible barrier, unable to advance even half a step further.
Dumbledore looked at Amster beside him, his eyes carrying complete trust and unsurprised approval, nodding slightly to signal; without needing many words, the two reached a tacit understanding.
Amster instantly caught the hint, paused slightly to the side, and stepped out quietly to shield Harry right behind his flank, his action natural and precise, completely cutting off the line of attack between Quirrell and Harry.
His gaze locked tightly onto Quirrell and Voldemortattached to him, his magical power slowly circulating around him. Before Voldemort could make a counterattack, he took the lead to raise his hand and wave lightly, and a refined silver defensive magic instantly unfolded, forming a solid magical barrier blocking in front of Harry, completely cutting off the invasion path of the dark magic. At the same time, his fingertips lightly twirled, and several covert binding magics silently spread to all parts of the room, sealing all exits such as doors, windows, and vents, cutting off all possibilities of the opponent escaping. His strike was crisp and precise, fully showing his solid magical foundation.
Voldemort inside Quirrell felt Dumbledore's powerful coercion, and then sensed Amster's smooth and flowing defense and blockade, his expression changing abruptly, and his originally cold eyes filled with wariness and unwillingness.
He knew deeply that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the contemporary era with unfathomable strength, while the young wizard before him had a solid magical foundation, steady and decisive strikes, clearly being a backup plan arranged by Dumbledore early on, and cooperating with Dumbledore tacitly, obviously having planned this long ago.
Tonight, let alone getting the Philosopher's Stone, at the slightest misstep he would be completely trapped with no possibility of escape ever again.
"Albus Dumbledore... you always ruin my good deeds!"
Voldemort's venomous roar erupted from inside Quirrell's body, sharp and hoarse, filled with bone-deep hatred.
Unwilling to be defeated like this, he manipulated Quirrell's body to make a final desperate struggle, the churning dark magic frantically impacting the surrounding suppression, the eerie green light soaring, mixed with the afterimages of the Killing Curse, fiercely attacking towards the direction of Dumbledore and Amster.
Dumbledore's expression was calm, without the slightest panic, and he gently waved the Elder Wand. A gentle yet majestic golden magic overflowed from the tip of the wand, slowly spreading out like the warm sun shining everywhere. Wherever it passed, the rampant dark magic melted away instantly like ice and snow meeting the blazing sun, firmly trapping Voldemort's power tightly and leaving him unable to move.
Meanwhile, Amster struck synchronously, his magical power surging at his fingertips, and a strengthened imprisonment magic directly hit Quirrell's wrist, disarming the wand from his hand and cutting off the possibility of him chanting spells. The two magics were one offensive and one defensive, one primary and one auxiliary, cooperating seamlessly without giving Voldemort the slightest breathing room.
Under Dumbledore's powerful magical suppression and Amster's precise imprisonment, Voldemort's power rapidly dissipated, no longer able to attach itself to Quirrell's extremely weak body.
Hearing only a shrill roar, a thick mass of black mist frantically broke free from beneath Quirrell's turban, twisting and rolling in the air with endless venom and unwillingness, flurriedly shattering the window glass, transforming into a dark shadow, and fleeing toward the boundless darkness deep inside the Forbidden Forest, leaving only the unconscious Quirrell collapsed on the ground, his turban sliding off to reveal a pale, hollow, and lifeless face.
The evil aura inside the room gradually dissipated, the cold air slowly warmed back up, and the lingering smell of sulfur also faded away accordingly.
Amster slowly withdrew the magic at his fingertips, his expression still calm, and his gaze meticulously swept across every corner of the room, from the shadows beside the Mirror of Erised, to the sealing magic on the doors and windows, and then to the faint dark magic traces remaining on the ground. Confirming that there were no soul fragments of Voldemort remaining and no hidden dark magic hazards, he slowly withdrew his gaze, stood back by Dumbledore's side, with a posture respectful yet steady.
Dumbledore put away his wand, walked quickly to Harry's side, his gaze instantly shifting from majestic to gentle and concerned, raising his hand to gently pat Harry's shoulder with warm healing magic flowing from his fingertips to smooth out his taut nerves and physical discomfort, and asked softly: "Child, are you alright? Were you hurt by the dark magic?"
Harry gripped the Philosopher's Stone in his pocket, his tensed body finally relaxing completely, his shoulders drooping, a layer of cold sweat seeping from his back, still somewhat shaken.
He shook his head, his voice carrying a trace of lingering fear tremor, looked at Dumbledore, and then turned to look at Amster beside him, his eyes full of gratitude: "I'm fine, Professor... thanks to you arriving in time, and Mr. Amster, thank you."
Amster nodded slightly, his tone flat yet steady and powerful, without superfluous politeness: "Guarding Hogwarts is my duty." After speaking, he still quietly guarded on the side, constantly paying attention to the surrounding movements to ensure there was no further danger.
Dumbledore looked at Amster, the approval in his eyes growing even more obvious, and nodded slightly again. This recognition stemmed from a complete understanding of his biological nephew's magical strength, requiring no surprise, only heartfelt satisfaction.
Then he turned to look at Harry, his gaze falling on his tightly gripped pocket, and spoke softly: "The Philosopher's Stone is with you, right? The magic set by this mirror is only ever opened for those who are selfless in their hearts, who do not seek immortality, wealth, and selfish desires for themselves. You did it, Harry."
The Mirror of Erised stood quietly in the center of the room, its mirror halo soft and clear, without a shred of eeriness anymore.
Outside the window, the night was deep, and specks of starlight spilled into the room through the broken windows, illuminating the mess all over the floor and dispersing all the darkness.
This crisis that had enveloped Hogwarts for a whole semester, concerning the survival of the Philosopher's Stone and Voldemort's resurrection conspiracy, was ultimately completely quelled under the tacit cooperation of Dumbledore and Amster.
Harry slowly loosened his hand, took out the warm Philosopher's Stone, and handed it before Dumbledore, his palm still retaining the stone's temperature.
Dumbledore took the Philosopher's Stone, his fingertips gently rubbing it, a flash of complexity crossing his eyes, and then he smiled gently: "Well done, Harry. The bravery and pure kindness you possess are far more precious than any powerful magic; this is the true power to defeat the dark."
Chapter 96: The House Cup, Slytherin's Seventh Consecutive Win
On the last day of the term, the Hogwarts feast made the Great Hall a hundred times livelier than usual.
The four long house tables were covered with snow-white tablecloths, and countless candles floated above the ceiling, illuminating the room filled with laughter and the excited, expectant faces of the students.
Everyone was whispering and discussing this year's House Cup—Slytherin had taken the trophy home for six consecutive years, and everyone felt that this year's winners would still be them.
A crisp bell rang out, and Professor Dumbledore stood up from the high table.
The Great Hall instantly fell dead silent, with only the faint crackle of burning candles remaining.
"Another year has passed!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, "Before we fully enjoy these delicious feasts, I must trouble everyone to listen to an old man's clichés."
"What a wonderful year this has been!"
"Most of you have completed your studies and are ready to return to your homes—of course, excluding those students who need to stay at school."
He smiled kindly at the students remaining at the school and continued, "Now, as far as I know, we must first hold the House Cup award ceremony."
"The specific scores for each house are as follows: Fourth place, Gryffindor, three hundred and twelve points; third place, Hufflepuff, three hundred and fifty-two points; Ravenclaw, four hundred and twenty-six points; Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two points."
A deafening roar of cheers and stamping suddenly erupted from the Slytherin table.
Green and silver flags fluttered above their heads, students patted each other on the back smugly, and Malfoy puffed out his chest even higher, his face full of arrogant pride.
"Yes, yes, well performed, Slytherin," Dumbledore said with a smile, "however, recent events must be taken into account."
The Great Hall instantly fell silent.
The smiles on the Slytherin students' faces vanished instantly, and they all looked nervously at the headmaster on the high platform.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, his gaze slowly sweeping across the audience: "I have a few final points to award."
"Let me see... First—Mr. Ron Weasley."
Ron jerked his head up, his eyes wide.
"He has played one of the finest games of wizard's chess seen at Hogwarts in many years," Dumbledore said loudly, "for this, I award Gryffindor fifty points."
The Gryffindor table immediately erupted into cheers that almost blew the enchanted ceiling off.
Fred and George leaped up, shouting Ron's name, and Percy also wore a rare look of excitement, clapping hard.
Ron's face flushed red, and he sat awkwardly in his seat, yet the corners of his mouth couldn't help curling upward.
"Secondly—Miss Hermione Granger."
Hermione pressed her lips tightly together, the tips of her ears red.
"Faced with fire, she calmly carried out logical deduction and resolved the crisis with her exceptional knowledge," Dumbledore said approvingly, "for this, I award Gryffindorfifty points."
Gryffindor's cheers rang out once more, and Hermionelowered her head slightly, though she could hardly hide the joy in her eyes.
"Thirdly—Mr. Harry Potter."
The eyes of the entire Great Hall were focused on Harry.
"He has shown great courage and a fearless spirit, facing danger with extraordinary daring and protecting Hogwarts," Dumbledore's voice was solemn and gentle, "for this, I award Gryffindor sixty points."
This time, Gryffindor's cheers echoed through the entire Great Hall, and everyone stood up, patting Harry on the shoulders and back as Harry's cheeks flushed and he smiled somewhat embarrassedly.
Dumbledore gently raised one hand, and the noisy Great Hall gradually quieted down.
His gaze crossed the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw long tables, landing steadily on a figure near the window at the Slytherin table, his expression carrying a bit of an old eccentric's amusement.
"Besides this, there is another student who deserves special recognition from all teachers and students in the school," Dumbledore's voice clearly reached every corner of the Great Hall, "Mr. Amster Dumbledore."
A faint commotion rippled through the Great Hall, and all eyes turned in unison toward that Slytherin student.
He sat upright in his seat, his expression calm and detached, without the slightest panic or any sign of boastfulness, quietly accepting everyone's gaze.
"Senior students all know that over the past few academic years, Mr. Amster has consistently upheld an ultimate enthusiasm for magical academia, devoting himself to deep research," Dumbledore said slowly, his tone full of affirmation.
"He has successively published multiple highly groundbreaking research papers in authoritative magical academic journals such as Potions Monthly and Transfiguration Today, and this is already his fourth year doing so."
"With academic literacy and research spirit far surpassing his peers, he has won much academic reputation for Hogwarts and set an exemplary standard for the house's academic atmosphere."
"To recognize his outstanding academic contribution, I decide to award Slytherin two hundred points."
Two hundred points!
This number plunged the entire Great Hall into a brief astonishment, immediately followed by irrepressible gasps and applause erupting from the Slytherin table.
Students turned to look at Amster one after another, their eyes filled with admiration and surprise, and even the originally smug Malfoy couldn't help turning to look at him, revealing a look of genuine submission.
Amster sat upright just as before, only slightly nodding in acknowledgment, his fingertips gently rubbing the rim of his cup, his expression without the slightest fluctuation, as if this heavyweight point addition were merely an ordinary trivial matter.
Students from other houses also applauded one after another; Hermione looked at him with eyes full of heartfelt recognition, and the students of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffalso cast approving gazes.
When the applause gradually subsided, Dumbledorespoke again, his gaze falling upon a somewhat timid figure at the Gryffindor table.
"And also—Mr. Neville Longbottom." Dumbledore's voice was gentle yet powerful, "He had the courage to step forward to stop a friend and uphold the justice within his heart; this courage is equally precious."
"For this, I award Gryffindor ten points."
After a moment of silence, all the teachers and students in the school broke into applause.
Neville lowered his head, his ears turning red, his hands gripping tightly onto the hem of his robe, his eye sockets growing slightly warm.
Dumbledore smiled, his gaze sweeping across the four house tables, and finally announced the final scores in a clear voice: "That is the fact of the matter!"
"The latest scores for each house are: Hufflepuff three hundred and fifty-two points, Ravenclaw four hundred and twenty-six points, Gryffindor four hundred and eighty-two points, Slytherin six hundred and seventy-two points!"
The moment his voice fell, the Slytherin table erupted into cheers even more enthusiastic than before, green and silver flags fluttered sharply above the Great Hall, and golden ribbons drifted down one after another, falling upon every Slytherin student.
Dumbledore looked at the cheering crowd and announced in a clear voice, "This year, the winner of the House Cup is—Slytherin House!"
Amster leaned back against his chair, listening to the cheers of his companions beside him, his expression remaining calm.
He gently put down the teacup in his hand, his gaze sweeping indifferently across the Great Hall; those scores, trophies, and clamor had never stirred a ripple deep within his heart.
To him, this celebration was merely an ordinary ritual marking the end of the academic year, and what was truly worth caring about was never this fleeting glory.
The clamor of the feast continued, and his thoughts had long since drifted toward that quiet realm of his own deep within the castle.
Chapter 97 Midsummer Confession
Hogwarts report cards were finally distributed, and the commotion hovering throughout the castle suddenly surged into every corridor and onto every flight of stairs.
Excited cheers, annoyed sighs, and whispers among companions inquiring about each other's grades mingled with the sweet fragrance of Honeydukes sweets that permeated the castle year-round, drifting back and forth through the stone-paved corridors, making even the usually cold stone pillars seem warmed up a bit by this liveliness.
Some students skipped around gripping their report cards, while others lowered their heads, clutching the parchment tightly in their hands, walking hurriedly to avoid the gazes of others; the entire castle was enveloped by the emotions brought by these final grades, lively yet chaotic.
Amster walked slowly out of the Library, steadily holding three neatly stacked ancient books in his arms, all of which were to be returned to the exclusive bookshelf near the Restricted Section.
His steps were even, and he seemed oblivious to the rising and falling commotion around him. His gaze fell calmly on the corridor ahead, paying no attention whatsoever to the report card in the hands of the classmates beside him that determined their mood for the entire holiday.
He didn't need to care about these in the first place—Dumbledore's personally signed full-course exemption slip completely excused him from the final exams of all courses at Hogwarts, saving him from feeling anxious over O.W.L. grades like other students; as for the few specialized academic tests he had participated in, Professor McGonagall had privately informed him of the results days ago, which, though not the top of the grade, were secure enough, completely matching his consistently low-key style of doing things.
The castle's stairs still changed positions from time to time. Amster familiarly turned a spiral staircase corner, avoiding a few chasing and frolicking first-year students, and raised his eyes to see a figure standing by a stone pillar not far away.
It was Hermione Granger.
The girl leaned against the cold marble pillar, her originally neat brown hair slightly messy, with a few stray strands clinging to her cheeks, obviously having jogged all the way here.
Her hands tightly clutched a crumpled parchment report card, her knuckles turning faintly white from the force, even bulging slightly. Her eyes, which were usually bright and spirited, carried a hint of unnoticeable tension, and her whole person exuded a state of unease.
Until she heard footsteps, she suddenly raised her head. Seeing that the newcomer was Amster, she subconsciously straightened her back, and her originally slightly parted lips moved as if wanting to say something, but closed again in an instant, her earlobes quietly tinged with a light blush.
"Waiting for me?" Amster stopped, his tone calm and without the slightest surprise. He only lowered his eyes to look at the books in his arms, then turned sideways to gently place the ancient books in his arms onto a sun-drenched windowsill nearby, his movements soft for fear of damaging the pages.
Hermione nodded vigorously, her breathing slightly rapid, and the blush on her cheeks deepened a bit more, making it unclear whether it was the residual heat from her running earlier or the churning emotions deep in her heart at work.
Her hand holding the parchment tightened further, her fingertips trembling slightly. After brewing for a long time, she finally raised her head to meet Amster's calm gaze, her voice carrying a trace of unnoticeable tension, yet she gritted her teeth and made every word exceptionally clear.
"Senior, I... I have something to say to you."
Amster responded indifferently without urging her, just standing quietly in place, waiting for her to speak. The aura around him remained steady, as if capable of soothing all the panic around.
Hermione took a deep breath, as if making a great determination. Her previously flustered eyes gradually became firm. She avoided the gaze of the person before her, looking out the window of the corridor beside them, her voice soft yet filled with sincerity: "From the first time I heard about you on the train, I thought you were amazing. Whether it was your profound knowledge in the words of others or your solitary steadiness, it all made me unable to help paying attention to you."
"Later in Transfiguration Class and Charms class, every time you appeared, whether it was the incomparably precise spellcasting or the effortless interpretations of magical theory, I felt as if you knew everything and no difficulty could stump you, always maintaining a calm and fearless appearance."
She paused, slightly turning her head, her gaze falling back onto Amster, her eyes holding a bit more clarity: "But that day in the Forbidden Forest, I found that you aren't fearless. Facing dangerous creatures and unknown darkness, you also feel vigilance and proceed with caution. You're just used to hiding your emotions, walking a bit slower than others, quietly waiting for the people around you to catch up, and silently protecting the people behind you."
Amster still didn't speak, just quietly looking at her. His gaze had not the slightest ripple, yet he didn't interrupt either, letting her speak out all the words deep in her heart.
Hermione completely gripped that piece of parchment tight, the paper becoming increasingly wrinkled. She took a deep breath, no longer dodging, looking straight into Amster's eyes, her voice lowered a bit, yet exceptionally firm, without the slightest retreat: "I like you, Senior."
"It's not admiration for an outstanding senior, nor is it the yearning to strive to become a person like you; it's simply liking you, the feeling of wanting to stay by your side and quietly accompany you."
The corridor instantly fell into silence, the rising and falling commotion from just now seemingly isolated a thousand miles away, leaving only the faint aura between the two of them.
In the distance came the soft, faint mewling of Filch's Mrs. Norris, floating over from the end of the corridor, distant and light, as if coming from another distant world, completely unable to break this tranquility of the present moment.
Amster looked at the girl before him with firm yet slightly apprehensive eyes, gazing silently for a few seconds. His gaze was calm and waveless, making it impossible to guess his inner thoughts.
A moment later, he slowly opened his mouth, uttering only one word: "Okay."
Hermione froze instantly, her eyes widening slightly, the tension and apprehension on her face not yet fading, filled with disbelief. She subconsciously spoke, her voice carrying a trace of bewilderment: "Okay?"
She had originally prepared herself to be rejected or politely declined, and even thought the other person would remain silent and avoid this topic, but she never expected to receive such a prompt and decisive affirmative reply.
"Okay." Amster repeated, his tone still flat and without superfluous emotion, only adding indifferently: "You don't need to move over, nor do you need to come find me every day, so as not to affect your own study and life. But occasionally coming to the Room of Requirement to sit, or to chat, is fine."
Hermione stared at him for two more seconds, and after confirming she hadn't misheard, a shallow smile slowly curved at the corners of her lips.
That was not the confident smile she wore when answering questions correctly in class on ordinary days, nor the joyous smile when finding a rare book in the Library, but a warm smile after her inner feelings were gently caught and tenderly responded to, carrying a bit of shyness, a bit of relief, and joy that could not be concealed, her brows and eyes softening.
"Thank you." She said softly, her voice carrying an unhideable tenderness.
Amster raised an eyebrow slightly, asking indifferently: "For what?"
"Thank you for not making me wait too long." Hermionespoke softly, her eyes full of radiance.
Amster didn't reply further, just looking at her quietly, his expression still nonchalant.
Hermione let out a gentle sigh, slowly loosening her hand holding the report card, carefully smoothing out the crumpled parchment, tucked it into the pocket of her school robes, then tidied up her messy hair, and turned to walk in the direction of Gryffindor Tower.
Her steps were brisk, completely devoid of the tension and unease from just now, and even her back exuded a hint of jubilance.
But after walking only a few steps, she stopped again, turned back to look at Amster who was still standing in place, her brows and eyes curved, her smile exceptionally radiant: "Senior, I'll write during the summer vacation."
Amster responded softly: "Mn."
Hermione smiled and waved at him, turned and ran off quickly, her agile figure quickly disappearing around the corridor corner, leaving only a faint trace of the vanilla fragrance belonging to a Gryffindor student lingering in the afternoon sunlight.
Amster watched the direction where she disappeared, was silent for a moment, then reached out to pick up the ancient books on the windowsill, held them in his arms, and continued walking towards the eighth floor.
The commotion in the corridor gradually lingered around his ears again, yet his expression didn't change much, his steps remaining even as he slowly disappeared deep into the castle's corridors, leaving only the midsummer afternoon sunlight spilling through the glass windows onto the stone pillars, warm and lingering.
Chapter 98: The Beginning of Summer Vacation
On the final evening before the end of the term, the orange-red setting sun filtered through the stained glass windows of Hogwarts Castle, casting long, soft shadows across the cold stone corridors, bathing the ancient castle, which was year-round shrouded in magic, in a warm halo tinged with a faint sorrow of parting.
The air was already thick with an atmosphere of parting, mingling with the rolling sounds of students dragging their trunks, the voices of mutual farewells and admonitions, and the restless fluttering of owls in their cages, weaving together into the unique clamor of end-of-term departures.
Many students shuttled through the corridors dragging trunks of all sizes, with their respective house crests pasted on the cases, the rollers grinding over the flagstone floor and making intermittent sounds.
The owls in the cages let out calls from time to time, their feathers rustling and shaking, obviously hoping to embark on the journey home with their masters; and a chubby toad bounced out from some student's pocket, darting hop-by-hop across the corridor, eliciting a chorus of exclamations from the passing young wizards who scrambled after it in a flurry, adding a touch of chaotic yet vibrant life to the already bustling hallway.
Amster walked slowly out of the quiet Library, forming a sharp contrast with the noisy surrounding atmosphere.
He steadily cradled three ancient books that needed to be returned in his arms, their pages flat and well-protected by him, walking with steady steps toward the direction of the Headmaster's Office.
Gone was the aloofness and indifference he usually showed toward other students; at this moment, his expression was exceptionally relaxed, and his aura had softened considerably. After all, heading to the Headmaster's Office to face an elder he was close with in private meant there was no longer any need to maintain his usual low-key restraint.
Walking up the spiral staircase of the castle and avoiding a few waves of students busy leaving school, Amstersmoothly arrived at the entrance of the Headmaster's Office.
He gently knocked on the wooden door, and upon receiving permission, pushed it open and entered.
Inside, a warm yellow hearth burned quietly, the air floated with the sweet fragrance of lemon drops and a faint scent of magical herbs. With no outsiders present, the entire space exuded the relaxation and warmth characteristic of family members getting along.
Dumbledore was sitting behind that rustic oak desk, with half-moon spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, and his blue eyes gentle and profound.
Spread before him was a piece of parchment still bearing fresh ink, obviously having been finished not long ago, and his fingertips still pinched a quill.
Hearing the sound of the door opening, he lifted his eyes to look at Amster who walked in, a gentle smile rippling across his brows and eyes.
He casually folded the parchment carefully and put it into the locked drawer beneath the desk with natural movements, entirely devoid of any sense of deliberate concealment or estrangement.
"Sit down, child." Dumbledore spoke, his tone completely lacking the usual dignity of a headmaster, brimming instead with the gentleness and closeness of an elder toward a junior.
He pointed to the armchair opposite, signaling Amster to sit, and casually pushed over a plate of lemon drops on the desk, fully displaying his relaxation.
Amster nodded, without the slightest restraint, and sat directly in the armchair opposite Dumbledore.
The books in his arms were gently placed beside him, his posture casual, entirely in a state of getting along privately with family, shedding all external introversion and guard.
"What plans do you have for the summer vacation?" Dumbledore picked up a hard candy, popped it into his mouth, and asked with curved eyebrows, his blue eyes extra soft against the backdrop of the warm light, full of an elder's concern without a shred of a headmaster's scrutiny and inquiry toward a student.
Speaking of summer arrangements, Amster's expression was calm, and he spoke in a natural tone, directly calling out his private address: "Go to Greengrass Manor first."
"Regarding the family curse on Daphne, I promised her before that I would help start researching it. I plan to stay there for about two weeks to first figure out the basic situation of the curse."
He said slowly, clear and logical, "For the remaining time, I will set off to Mr. Flamel's place to further optimize the phoenix potion I've been studying all along, and improve the stability and adaptability of the potion."
Dumbledore nodded, his fingertips gently tapping on the desktop, his expression turning slightly more serious, while his tone remained that of family admonition: "The curse of the Greengrass Family, I've heard some things about it in my earlier years. It's a very ancient bloodline curse, stubborn and concealed. Several generations of their family have spent countless efforts without finding a way to completely break it. When you go there this time, be sure to pay extra attention."
Pausing for a moment, he continued to ask with concern: "Regarding this research matter, do you have any preliminary clues right now?"
"I have a bit of direction." Amster responded candidly without the slightest concealment, "To break it, we must first thoroughly clarify the source of the curse, as well as the way it is transmitted in the family bloodline; we cannot act rashly."
"Mr. Flamel has many rare records regarding ancient bloodline curses preserved there; before setting off, I already went and transcribed a complete copy. In addition, in the letter Grindelwald sent last time, he also mentioned similar cases of ancient curses. Once I arrive at Greengrass Manor, I will study and sort them out carefully again."
Hearing the name "Grindelwald", Dumbledore's eyebrows moved slightly, and a trace of extremely faint complex emotion flashed across the depths of his eyes, but it vanished in a flash.
He did not pursue related matters, nor did he say much else, only looking at the junior before him, his tone filled with solemn yet gentle exhortations: "No matter what you do, act with caution, and be sure to put your own safety first."
There was no redundant preaching, no harsh admonitions, only the purest worry and reminder between family members. A single simple sentence hid boundless care.
Amster nodded gently, keeping this exhortation in his heart, and then stood up, preparing to leave.
He walked to the door of the office, his hand just resting on the doorknob, when as if suddenly remembering some important matter, he stopped his footsteps again and turned around to look at Dumbledore behind the desk.
"Uncle." He called out softly, his tone adding a few more points of closeness than before.
Dumbledore lifted his eyes to look at him, with gentle puzzlement in the depths of his eyes: "Hm?"
"During the summer vacation, if there is an emergency here at Hogwarts, or if you have any place where you need to contact me, you can directly contact me using the magical notebook, and I will check and respond in a timely manner."
Amster said earnestly, explaining the exclusive contact method clearly, fully showing his attentiveness toward his elder.
Looking at the thoughtful arrangement of the junior before him, the smile at the corners of Dumbledore's mouth deepened, and his brows and eyes were filled with warmth.
He nodded gently in agreement: "Alright."
A single simple word, yet it was full of the tacit understanding and trust between family members that needed no extra words.
Seeing this, Amster said no more, gently pushed open the office door, walked out slowly, pulled the door shut behind him, leaving the warmth inside the room and the elder's exhortations together behind him.
The clamor of parting in the hallway outside remained, but Amster still carried the softness of getting along with family just moments ago.
Cradling his books, he walked slowly in the light and shadow paved by the setting sun, adding a warm backdrop to this end-of-term evening.
Chapter 99 Greengrass Manor
The rolling hills of the Dover coast were dyed with soft outlines by the twilight, and Greengrass Manor quietly sat there, embracing the tranquility and vastness of the entire coastline.
This pure-blood wizard family manor, passed down for hundreds of years, looked entirely like a classic British wizarding building.
It was built entirely of polished off-white granite, and its heavy stone walls were covered with dark green ivy and dark rose vines, which wound along the texture of the stone walls, adding a bit of vitality to the quaint and cold building, but also hiding the solemnity precipitated by an ancient family.
Twilight gradually enveloped the earth, and the scattered windows of the manor emitted a warm orange-yellow light, which overflowed through the carved leaded glass, casting fragmented light and shadows in the courtyard, intertwining with the sinking twilight on the horizon.
Clearly a warm glow, it still could not hide the inherent detachment and nobility of a pure-blood family.
The neatly pruned rose bushes in the courtyard gently swayed in the evening breeze, their petals carrying a faint magical fragrance.
The flagstone-paved paths were spotless, everywhere revealing the order and elegance passed down through generations of the family.
From the distant coastline came the faint sound of waves, low and lingering, becoming the gentlest background sound of the manor.
A pale golden magical shimmer flashed in the fireplace of the manor's living room, and the sparks crackled softly a few times.
Amster stepped out from the Floo powder transportation, raising a hand to gently brush away the non-existent dust on his shoulder.
The living room had long been lit up by lights, the gilt-carved wall lamps exuded a soft halo, and the dark oak furniture was quaint and heavy.
Portraits of past ancestors of the Greengrass Family hung on the walls, and the people in the paintings were all dressed in vintage wizard robes, with dignified and reserved expressions and calm gazes, fully displaying the heritage of a pure-blood family.
The air floated with the faint scent of lavender and the ink fragrance of ancient magic books, quiet and solemn.
Mrs. Greengrass was standing in front of the fireplace, wearing a well-tailored dark green velvet long dress with a draping hem that set off her dignified and upright figure.
Her light blond hair was meticulously coiled at the back of her head, secured by a silver hairpin inlaid with tiny emeralds, without a trace of disorder.
Her brows and eyes were extremely similar to Daphne's, both having exquisite and cold-yet-stunning outlines, except that the corners of her eyes and brows carried a bit more sharpness precipitated by the years.
Her gaze carried the reserve and calmness engraved into the bone marrow of pure-blood aristocrats, without the slightest flattery, nor excessive enthusiasm, only the propriety fitting a family identity.
Upon seeing Amster, she nodded slightly in greeting, her demeanor elegant and poised, and her voice calm and gentle, yet carrying a touch of well-measured detachment.
Her address remained as politely thorough as toward an outsider: "Mr. Dumbledore, welcome to Greengrass Manor."
Amster bowed slightly in return, his posture calm and restrained, neither deliberately close nor lacking in etiquette, completely fitting the sense of propriety in dealing with pure-blood families.
"You must be tired from the journey; your room has long been prepared."
Mrs. Greengrass said in a calm tone, giving instructions methodically, "Daphne will take you upstairs to the guest room.
As for Astoria, she is feeling unwell today, and the discomfort from the curse has worsened.
She has already returned to her room to rest early and is not receiving visitors.
You can visit her tomorrow."
As the words fell, soft footsteps came from the wooden staircase.
Daphne walked down the stairs slowly, having shed her Hogwarts school robes and wearing a plain white cotton-linen long dress.
Her long hair draped naturally over her shoulders, falling smoothly.
She lacked the aloof detachment she usually had at school, and gained a bit of domestic gentleness.
She looked up at Amster, a subtle trace of emotion flashing in the depths of her eyes, and the corners of her mouth curved up into an extremely faint arc.
Without extra small talk, she simply turned quietly and walked toward the second floor, signaling him to follow.
Amster stepped forward to follow, walking up to the second floor along the carved oak staircase.
The corridor on the second floor of the manor was wide and slender, the floor covered with a thick dark wool carpet that made no sound when stepped on.
Several ancient family portraits still hung on the walls; the ancestors in the paintings were either resting with their eyes closed or gently rolling their eyeballs to size up the passersby, all looking drowsy and lazy, yet still exuding the majesty of an ancient wizarding family.
The wall lamps on both sides of the corridor emitted a warm light, illuminating the entire corridor to be quiet and cozy.
"You'll stay in this one."
Daphne stopped in front of a carved wooden door, gently pushed it open, stood aside, and signaled Amster to enter.
The guest room was not spacious, but it was arranged extremely neatly and elegantly, with every detail showing meticulous care.
A dark wooden desk was placed by the window, covered with a clean beige tablecloth.
Next to it was neatly placed a brand-new set of parchment, a quill, and an ink bottle, and an exquisite brass desk lamp was also placed beside the table.
In the most conspicuous position on the desk, several old books with quaint covers and traces of time had already been placed in advance, all of which were ancient books related to blood curses.
"I had someone sort these out in advance; they are all ancient books about ancient curses from the family's library.
I don't know if they will be helpful to your research."
Daphne stood at the doorway and said softly, her tone carrying a trace of unnoticeable apprehension.
Amster walked up to the desk and reached out to gently flip through those old books.
His fingertips brushed across the yellowed pages, feeling the sense of time deposited in the paper.
One of them was the thickest, with its corners badly worn from repeated flipping, and the gold-stamped fonts on the spine had faded somewhat, but it could still be clearly recognized — "A Study on Medieval Blood Curses".
Just looking at the cover, one could tell it was a rare classic for studying ancient blood curses.
"It'll be useful."
He raised his head, his tone plain yet resolute.
Those simple three words allowed Daphne's hanging heart to drop slightly.
Daphne still stood at the door, not leaving immediately.
Her fingertips gently clutched her skirt hem.
Hesitating for a moment, she still spoke about her sister's situation, her tone unable to hide her worry: "Astoria… the discomfort from her curse acting up today is heavier than usual, and her spirits have been very poor all along, so she neglected you.
Please don't mind."
"I won't."
Amster gently shook his head, his tone calm, without the slightest dissatisfaction.
Daphne nodded, took a deep breath, and turned to leave, but as soon as her steps moved, she suddenly stopped.
She turned around, looking up at Amster in the room, her voice soft yet full of sincerity: "Senior."
Amster raised his eyes to look at her, and responded indifferently: "Hm?"
"Thank you for being willing to come."
Daphne looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude.
This blood curse that had plagued the family for many years and left countless wizards helpless had plunged the entire family into helplessness, and Amster's arrival was a rare hope for them.
Amster looked at her with a calm gaze, his tone casual: "It hasn't started yet."
He had only agreed to come and research, and had not made any progress yet, so there was no need to thank him like this.
"But you came."
Daphne's voice lowered further, carrying a hint of a sob.
For them, being willing to step onto this manor full of the haze of curses and being willing to lend a helping hand was already enough.
After saying this, she stayed no longer, gently pulled the door shut, and turned to leave.
Her soft footsteps gradually faded away in the quiet corridor, and finally disappeared.
The room became completely quiet, leaving only the faint sound of waves outside the window.
Amster walked to the window, gently pushed open half of the window, and the evening breeze rushed into the room carrying the moist breath of the coastline and the fragrance of roses from the courtyard.
The bright moonlight poured down, falling on the rose bushes in the courtyard.
The dark red petals shimmered with a cold dark red luster, beautiful and quiet yet carrying a hint of loneliness.
In the distance, the waves beat against the shore over and over again, their sound low and lingering, as if telling ancient stories, or whispering the secrets of the family curse.
He withdrew his gaze, turned back to the desk, took the badly worn "A Study on Medieval Blood Curses" under the brass desk lamp, and gently opened the first page.
A line of dainty handwritten characters remained on the title page; the ink had long faded through the years, but it was still clearly legible: "A curse is a double-edged sword that hurts others while hurting oneself."
Amster stared at these words, watched quietly for a few seconds without speaking, and then gently turned past the title page, starting to carefully look through the table of contents, sorting out the curse types and research contexts recorded in the classic line by line.
The moonlight outside the window slowly moved, quietly falling on a corner of the desk, illuminating the pages even more clearly.
Amster's gaze lingered on the table of contents, and a preliminary plan had already formed in his mind: early tomorrow morning, first check Astoria's physical condition, figure out the specific symptoms of the curse flare-up, and then combine these ancient classics to explore the source of the curse step by step.
The halo of the desk lamp quietly enveloped him, accompanying this quietness of beginning research, blending into the night of the manor.
Chapter 100: Silent Expectations
The morning after arriving at Greengrass Manor, the thin mist had not yet completely dissipated, and the cool sea breeze crept through the gaps in the courtyard into the buildings. The entire manor was immersed in a quiet yet oppressive atmosphere. Amster already understood that Astoria's physical condition was far more frail than he had previously anticipated.
This bloodline curse, which had entangled the Greengrass Family for generations, had slept peacefully inside her for a full eleven years without showing much danger. However, as she grew older, the curse began to accelerate without warning, frantically eroding her meridians, bloodline, and magical foundation.
The magical fluctuations within her body were chaotic to the extreme, resembling a river tightly blocked by a boulder, losing the rhythm it ought to have flowed smoothly. Sometimes it surged and churned uncontrollably, crashing against her fragile meridians and bringing excruciating pain; other times it completely dried up and fell silent, unable to drive even the most basic minor magic. These two extreme states alternated repeatedly, little by little squeezing dry her already weak body, torturing the once vibrant young girl into growing increasingly emaciated, and enveloping the entire family in a haze of helplessness.
Just as the morning sunlight crawled onto the roof of the manor, accompanied by Daphne, Amster walked slowly toward Astoria's bedroom on the second floor.
Daphne walked by his side, silent throughout the entire journey, her fingertips unconsciously gripping her skirt tightly, her eyes filled with unresolvable worry. Every step she took was exceptionally gentle, for fear of disturbing her younger sister inside the room.
The two walked to the door, and Daphne gently knocked on the panel, only slowly pushing the door open after receiving permission.
Astoria's bedroom was exceptionally spacious, with simple yet exquisite furnishings. The light beige wallpaper exuded a gentle aura, yet the large room lacked overly noisy decorations, everywhere exuding the tranquility needed by a sick person. The heavy velvet curtains were half-drawn, leaving only a gap through which the soft morning light squeezed in, piercing the faint medicinal fragrance indoors and drawing a slender, bright strip of light on the woolen rug in front of the bed.
Astoria sat leaning against the head of the bed, supported by soft cushions behind her, covered with a thick fleece blanket. She held a fairy tale book with an exquisite cover in her hands, half-flipped through. Hearing footsteps, she slowly closed the book and placed it carefully by her pillow.
The young girl's complexion was pale to the point of being translucent, her lips devoid of a shred of color, and even the action of raising her hand carried a hint of weakness. Yet her eyes were exceptionally bright, like hidden starlight untainted by the haze, and her gaze toward Amster carried a curiosity rather untimely for her frail body.
"You must be Amster Dumbledore." She spoke, her voice soft with a hint of illness-induced hoarseness, her tone calm without a shred of question, clearly having already learned of his arrival from her elder sister.
Amster slightly nodded and simply gave a faint response: "Mn."
"My sister mentioned you. She said you are very capable and will definitely be able to help me." Astoria blinked, her tone innocent, without a shred of alienation toward a stranger, instead carrying a childlike directness.
Standing at the door, upon hearing her sister's words, the tips of Daphne's ears instantly flushed with a faint blush, her eyes carrying a trace of unease mingled with a bit of heartache for her sister, as she silently stood in place without interrupting.
Amster did not take up the conversation, his expression remaining calm and steady. He walked straight over to the armchair by the bed and sat down cleanly, without any unnecessary drag. Immediately afterward, he drew his peachwood wand from his pocket, the tip glowing with an extremely faint, warm white light.
"Extend your hand." His tone was level, carrying a reassuring power.
Astoria obediently nodded, slowly raising one hand and passing it toward him. Her movements were extremely light and slow, her slender wrists revealing faint cyan blood vessels as if they would shatter at a touch, as though she was afraid that using too much force would shatter the remaining peace around her.
Amster gently grasped her slender wrist, his fingertips sensing her weak pulse. Then, gathering his focus and calming his mind, he slowly probed his gentle and steady magic into her meridians. The moment they made contact, his brow imperceptibly furrowed—that chilling aura of the curse was far deeper and more stubborn than Daphne had previously described, like a cold, coiled venomous snake deeply entrenched in the depths of her bloodline, tightly entangling every inch of her meridians, blocking the normal flow of magic, and continuously devouring her vitality.
He closed his eyes, probing downwards bit by bit along that chilling curse aura, carefully sorting out the spread trajectory and erosion range of the curse within her bloodline. Throughout the entire process, not a single sound was made; the room was left with only the steady breathing of the three people and the occasional faint sound of the sea breeze from outside the window.
After an unknown amount of time, Amster slowly released her wrist, withdrew his magic, and opened his eyes. The depths of his eyes remained entirely calm, revealing no excessive emotion.
Standing by the door with her body tensed the entire time, Daphne immediately stepped forward, her voice uncontrollably carrying a hint of tension and trembling as she anxiously asked: "How is it? What exactly is the situation, is there any way to alleviate it?"
"It is consistent with my previous judgment. It is a hereditary bloodline curse of the family, passed down from generation to generation, deeply rooted." Amster's tone was objective and calm, without deliberate concealment or the creation of anxiety. "With current magical research and existing historical records, there is temporarily no method to completely eradicate it, but we can use magical intervention to first stabilize the spread rate of the curse and alleviate its erosion on your body."
Astoria silently pulled her hand back under the warm blanket, tilting her small head and quietly looking at him for a few seconds. Her eyes were innocent and transparent as she suddenly spoke softly to ask: "Will you cure me?"
Amster looked at her pale little face, looking into those eyes full of expectation yet carrying a touch of detachment, and fell silent for a moment, neither uttering false promises nor giving a definitive reply.
Astoria did not wait for her answer either, as if she had long anticipated this outcome, and chuckled softly to herself. That smile was exceptionally fleeting; just as it emerged from the corners of her mouth, she quickly reined it back in. Before the shallow arc could fully unfold, it completely faded away, carrying a sense of release and desolation unfitting for her age.
"It doesn't matter," she said softly, her tone so calm that it made one's heart ache, "it's fine even if it can't be cured, I'm already used to it anyway."
Daphne walked quickly to the bedside and sat down, her eye sockets slightly reddening. She reached out and gently patted her sister's hand resting on the quilt, her movements gentle and cautious. Astoria did not dodge, nor did she clasp her sister's hand back, simply quietly leaving her hand in its original place, obediently leaning against the head of the bed without saying anything more, her docility heart-wrenching.
Amster slowly stood up, put his wand back into his robe pocket, and arranged the subsequent matters in a calm tone: "Starting tomorrow, I will conduct regular checks every day and record your magic fluctuation status in detail. I will need a week of continuous data to figure out the attack pattern of the curse and formulate a subsequent stabilization plan."
Astoria obediently nodded without the slightest resistance, picked up the fairy tale book by her pillow again, and slowly turned to the page where the bookmark had been placed earlier, lowering her head to quietly look at the pages without speaking further.
Seeing this, Amster turned and walked toward the door. Daphne took one last look at her sister and also stood up. The two walked out of the room on tiptoe, the carved wooden door slowly closing behind them, isolating the quietness inside the room and leaving that heavy haze behind the door.
The corridor was exceptionally quiet; the thick woolen rug completely absorbed the footsteps of the two without making a sound, leaving only boundless silence. Daphnewalked silently by Amster's side, not speaking throughout the journey, her pace much slower than usual, her shoulders slightly drooping, her entire body enveloped in a mood of low spirits and self-blame.
The two walked in silence all the way to the top of the stairs. Daphne finally could no longer suppress the emotions deep in her heart, suddenly speaking with a hoarse and low voice.
"She wasn't like this before."
Amster stopped his footsteps, turned his head to glance at her, did not interrupt, and quietly listened to her recount.
"She used to love smiling and making a fuss, she was the liveliest little sun in the entire manor. When guests came to the house, she was always the first to bounce and run downstairs, pulling the guest's hand and talking endlessly, her eyes always shining with light; as soon as the roses in the garden bloomed, she would clamor to pick them, running and jumping into the flowerbeds, unstoppable no matter how she was held back, brimming with youthful vigor." Daphne's voice grew lower and lower, carrying heavy sobs, her eyes pooling with tears. "But in recent years, the curse has become more and more serious, and her body has deteriorated day by day. All that liveliness and joy slowly vanished completely. It's not that she didn't want to, it's that she truly couldn't do it anymore. Just moving a little bit would make her exhausted, and even smiling required a great deal of effort."
Amster remained silent, not uttering any comforting words.
Daphne lowered her head, staring fixedly at the tips of her shoes, tears swirling in her eyes, her voice carrying suppressed grievance and unwillingness: "Sometimes I really think, it would be great if this curse could fall on me. She is so young, so innocent, understands nothing, and has never done anything bad. Why should she suffer this hardship, why should she bear the sins of the family?"
After these words were spoken, the corridor fell into a long silence, quiet enough to hear the sound of the wind blowing through the treetops outside the window.
Amster did not say pale and feeble comforting words like "It will be fine" or "Don't worry." He simply slowly leaned against the stone wall beside him, standing side-by-side with Daphne, looking together toward the slender window at the end of the corridor. The sky outside the window was covered with a layer of grayish thin mist, and the tree branches in the distant courtyard swayed gently in the sea breeze, carrying endless desolation and heaviness.
After an unknown amount of time, Daphne slowly raised her head, forcibly suppressing the tears in her eyes, took a deep breath, adjusted her emotions, turned to glance at Amster, and her tone returned to calm.
"Let's go, let's go downstairs, we still have to start recording data tomorrow."
Having said that, she turned and walked downstairs, her pace a bit faster than when she came, as if she wanted to escape this heavy emotion, or perhaps as if she were cheering herself up.
Amster followed behind her, still saying nothing, except that his eyes carried a few more shades of unnoticeable gravity than when he arrived.