Chapter 109 Effect Verification
The curse slowing potion rested quietly on the oak tabletop, the silver-gray liquid emitting a warm yet aloof shimmer in the dim daylight, and the bottle wreathed in a faint halo of magic, resembling a handful of congealed, shimmering moonlight.
Amster sat at the desk, his fingertips pressing against the surface, his gaze locked entirely on this potion that had cost him days of painstaking effort, without shifting away for even a fraction.
The air inside the room was quiet and serene, the firewood in the fireplace burning gently. The orange flames flickered, stretching his shadow long, while Nagini curled up on the rug by the fireplace with steady breaths, the faint mark on her dark green scales still clear—a trace of vitality left by the phoenix potion.
He was not a man eager for quick success, but facing this potion, which held the key to lifting the curse, a lingering sense of unresolved caution hung in his heart—theoretical validity was never equivalent to practical utility, and before conclusive verification, not even half a step could be taken rashly.
Flamel walked slowly out of the study holding a cup of warm herbal tea with steady steps. He sat down in the chair opposite Amster, gently placing the cup on the table. The bottom of the cup met the wooden surface with a soft click, breaking the quietness inside the room.
The old man raised his eyes to look at the solemn-faced Amster, his gaze lucid and piercing, instantly seeing through the concerns hidden deep within him, and spoke in a calm tone: "What are you worried about?"
"It is not worry, but uncertainty." Amster withdrew his gaze, his fingertips gently tapping against the table. His tone was steady and rational, devoid of any restlessness, "The core logic of this potion is the reverse alchemical application of the phoenix potion, but theoretical reverse derivation does not necessarily translate into actual utility against the curse. I must first obtain solid verification results before I can determine its value."
Flamel nodded slightly, his fingertips rubbing against the wall of the teacup, deeply approving of this rigor, and then asked in a deep voice: "How do you plan to verify it?"
Amster did not hesitate, leaning down to open the drawer beneath the desk. From among layers of experimental samples, he took out a tightly sealed small glass bottle containing a small amount of dark red liquid. Within the liquid, an extremely faint, chilly aura fluctuated slowly—covert yet stubborn, like a weakly beating heart trapped inside the bottle, with every undulation carrying the distinctive texture of a blood curse.
This was the blood curse sample he had intentionally extracted from Astoria's body when he previously left Greengrass Manor. It was securely sealed, and its magical characteristics had not suffered the slightest loss.
He placed the curse sample flat on the table, picked up the bottle of silver-gray curse slowing potion, pulled out the cork, and carefully drew a drop of the liquid using a clean silver dropper, precisely dripping it into the dark red curse sample.
Within a mere instant, the previously calm sample liquid suddenly churned violently, and the bottle even vibrated slightly. Two streams of magic collided and neutralized each other in the confined space. The originally thick, chilly curse aura instantly became restless, but under the infiltration of the silver-gray potion, it gradually calmed down bit by bit.
Both Amster and Flamel intently watched the changes inside the bottle, not daring to miss a single detail, until the liquid completely returned to calm. Both of them clearly perceived that the curse power within the sample had not been forcibly suppressed or dissipated, but had genuinely been disintegrated in part, as if a chunk had been gnawed away from the inside, making the magical foundation loosen by several shades.
Flamel leaned in slightly, his fingertips lightly touching the bottle to perceive the internal magical changes, and then raised his eyes, his tone resolute: "Effective, and it is a targeted disintegration, not mere suppression."
"Indeed effective." A trace of imperceptible relief flashed across the depths of Amster's eyes, yet he still did not relax, "But this is only aimed at the Greengrass Family's blood curse, which can only prove the general effect of the potion. The curse on Nagini is far more complex than this and requires more verification."
As his voice fell, he once again took out another sealed sample bottle, which also contained dark red liquid. The curse aura was fainter than Astoria's sample, but it shared the same origin and roots with the former—this was the blood curse sample taken from Daphne.
He still dripped a drop of the curse slowing potion in, observing the changes inside the bottle without blinking. A moment later, the result was completely identical to before—the curse power was directionally disintegrated, and the magical entanglements around the anchor point became loose, verifying the potion's universality against the Greengrass Family's blood curse.
Amster picked up a quill and quickly recorded the change data and magic fluctuation details of the two sets of samples in his experimental notebook. The nib glided across the page, leaving behind neat and rigorous handwriting.
"The Greengrass Family's curse is the most typical hereditary blood curse. The potion has a clear disintegrating effect on it, which is enough to prove that the direction of the general formula is correct."
He put down the pen and looked at Flamel, his tone still solemn, "However, Nagini's curse is completely different. She inherently carries a maternal hereditary blood curse, and has been additionally stacked with a solidified Dark magical curse from a dark wizard. The dual curses intertwine with each other and are deeply rooted. I must confirm whether this general potion can also work on that outer layer of solidified curse."
Flamel fell silent, his fingertips gently tapping against the table. He was well aware of the perils of the dual blood curses; the two curses intertwined and reinforced each other, making them far harder to lift than a single blood curse. While the general potion could take effect, it might not necessarily reach the core.
After a long while, he raised his eyes and asked: "You plan to test it on her?"
Amster's gaze slowly turned toward Nagini by the fireplace, his eyes carrying a touch of prudent tenderness as he nodded: "We can only try a small dose first, testing her body's tolerance to the potion and observing the immediate reaction of the curse. We must never rashly use a normal dose."
Newt, who had been quietly sitting in the corner flipping through notes, immediately stood up upon hearing this, strode over to Nagini's side, and gently squatted down, cautiously pressing his palm against her slightly cool scales with movements so tender that he was afraid of startling her.
He lowered his eyes, his gaze filled with worry and heartache. His voice was so soft that it was almost drowned out by the crackling of the fireplace, making it impossible to tell whether he was comforting Amster or soothing himself: "Don't be afraid, she will be fine, she will definitely be fine."
Having made thorough preparations, Amster picked up the potion bottle again and exceptionally cautiously poured out an extremely tiny drop—the dosage was even less than one-tenth of the conventional trial dose, so faint as to be almost imperceptible.
Concentrating his magic, he firmly wrapped this drop of potion with a layer of gentle magical film to prevent the potion from directly stimulating Nagini's body, and then slowly guided this wisp of magic-infused potion into her body.
The next second, the previously dormant Nagini suddenly tensed her body, and her relaxed scales instantly stood on end. The muscles beneath her scales violently contracted out of control, and her massive serpentine body trembled slightly.
She abruptly raised her head, her amber slit pupils widening sharply before shrinking into thin lines, and let out an extremely low hiss filled with discomfort from her mouth. Yet there was not the slightest intent of attack; she merely endured the collision between the potion and the curse by instinct.
Newt immediately increased the force of his hand, pressing steadily against her scales, soothing her with his own gentle magic without ever letting go. His eyes were full of anxiety, yet he still forced himself to remain calm.
The short span of a few seconds felt exceptionally long.
Nagini's tensed body finally relaxed slowly, her scales smoothed out again, and her head slowly drooped down, returning to her previous docile state, save for breaths that were slightly hurried.
Amster immediately squatted down, clearing away all distracting thoughts, and probed an extremely gentle wisp of magic into her body, carefully perceiving the changes in the dual curses.
The potion had taken effect. The solidified curse magic entwined around the anchor point was forcibly pried open by a tiny gap, like the entangled roots of an old tree having a fraction of their foundation pried loose. Although it had not diminished significantly, it clearly proved that the potion was likewise effective against the dual blood curses.
"It works." Amster opened his eyes, his tone carrying clear certainty, "The general potion can reach her curse anchor point, but the dosage was too minute, and coupled with the dual curses having too deep a foundation, the effect was negligible. Even a normal dose would struggle to achieve an ideal disintegrating effect."
Flamel walked to the table, his gaze falling on the silver-gray potion bottle. His brows furrowed slightly, and after pondering for a long time, he spoke: "The research and development direction of the curse slowing potion is entirely correct, and it has an excellent universal effect on single blood curses. However, the dual curses on Naginiare too deeply intertwined; it requires stronger and more precise magic stripping power. The potency of this universal formula falls far short of what is needed, and we must readjust the proportions according to her curse characteristics to make a dedicated, targeted improvement."
Amster nodded without hesitation, carefully sealing the potion bottle and storing it properly in the drawer before closing his experimental notebook, his eyes resolute: "Then we will abandon the universal formula and develop an exclusive, targeted disintegration potion tailored to her dual blood curses."
The sky outside the window gradually darkened as the setting sun sank into the coastline of Dorset. The last touch of golden afterglow spilled over the sea surface, shattering into a sky full of sparkling ripples, while the sea breeze carried a salty, damp scent, gently brushing past the window lattice.
Amster stood in front of the window, looking at the gradually darkening seascape, his mind incomparably clear.
The Greengrass Family's blood curse and Nagini's dual blood curses—the two matters intertwined, yet they were orderly amidst the chaos.
He always remembered Grindelwald's assertion: the essence of a curse is binding, and the core of lifting a curse is to find this invisible contract and then completely sever it.
Now, the universal curse slowing potion had successfully verified the research and development direction, but what Nagini needed was never a universal potion adapted to all blood curses, but an exclusive antidote belonging only to her that could precisely disintegrate the dual curses.
Chapter 110 Targeted Customization
Over the next few days, Amster poured all his mind and soul into the research and development of Nagini's exclusive antidote, not sparing a single ounce of energy elsewhere. Even the alternating day-and-night sea views of Dorset outside the window failed to draw away even a sliver of his gaze.
The oak long table in Flamel's home was packed full of all kinds of materials and magical objects. The basic formula of the curse slowing potion was placed flat right in the center, alongside Flamel's treasured ancient blood curse grimoire, Newt's old notebook filled with annotations on magical creatures and blood curses, letters sent in full by Grindelwald, and a crystal bottle containing a pale golden shimmer—inside the bottle was a pure, homologous magical imprint extracted by Dumbledore through top-secret channels of the Ministry of Magic from the descendants of the dark wizard who had cast the solidified curse back then. The shimmer slowly flowed inside the bottle, like a sleeping little flame, perfectly piecing together the complete puzzle to lift Nagini's curse.
Inside the room, besides Amster, Flamel, and Newt, Dumbledore was also sitting quietly to the side, not saying much.
Newt's wife, Tina, lived right next door. Learning from Newt this morning that today was the critical day for Nagini to test the removal of the double curse, she proactively came over to help, staying guard in the living room together with Perenelle for easy care at any moment.
Amster's fingertips brushed across the yellowed pages, integrating all the information. He raised his eyes and analyzed in a deep voice to the crowd gathered around the table: "The universal curse slowing potion has the effect of loosening pure hereditary blood curses, but Nagini has a double curse. One layer is the innate maternal primal blood curse, and the other is the solidified transformation curse cast by a dark wizard. The universal formula can at most loosen the first layer, and it has almost no effect on that dark magic that permanently locks her into a snake form."
Wearing reading glasses, Flamel slowly turned the heavy ancient book. His rough fingers steadily stopped on a page recording runes of the lost solidified curse, with a tone both resolute and insightful: "The essence of a solidified curse is using dark magic to forcefully and permanently seal the transformation state, severing the possibility of form switching."
To untie it, relying solely on Alchemy to strip away the curse's magic is far from enough; you must use the homologous blood magic of the caster as a key to precisely unlock the curse's shackles."
Amster picked up the crystal bottle containing the magical imprint, gently touching the bottle body with his fingertips and feeling the exclusive magical fluctuation within: "Integrating this homologous magical imprint into the curse slowing potion, using the imprint as a guide and the potion as a blade, theoretically we can directionally disintegrate that solidified curse without harming Nagini's primal bloodline."
"Only theoretically." Flamel nodded slightly, his tone carrying a well-tempered caution: "The proportions must be utterly exact. One fraction more of the magical imprint will trigger a backlash, assaulting Nagini's bloodline foundation; one fraction less and it won't pry open the curse's shackles, rendering it entirely useless."
Amster said no more, picking up his quill and leaning over the desk to repeatedly calculate and verify the proportions, his nib writing continuously on the paper.
The precise ratio of moonstone essence, the purified dosage of Unicorn tail hair, the integration concentration of the magical imprint, the arrangement order of the alchemical runes—every single parameter was scrutinized repeatedly.
Whenever a page was filled, he would cross it out and recalculate, and after filling another sheet, he would deliberate and modify it again. Scrap paper gradually piled up at the corner of the table, yet his expression remained consistently focused, without a shred of fatigue.
Newt sat in the chair in the corner, his gaze constantly falling on Nagini by the fireplace, full of gentleness and worry.
Nagini quietly curled up on the wool rug, her eyes half-closed, her dark green scales gleaming with a warm, dim light under the fireplace firelight. Her head was always slightly turned toward Amster's direction, as if she could sense everyone running around for her, exuding complete trust.
Tina walked slowly to Nagini's side, squatted down, and gently stroked her scales with gentle magic, accompanying her quietly.
Twilight spilled over the windowsill, and the setting sun sank into the sea. The candles inside the room were lit one by one, and a warm yellow halo filled the room.
Amster finally put down his quill, let out a long breath, stood up, walked over to the alchemical workbench, and began preparing the exclusive antidote.
This time, he completely overturned the previous potion base, no longer starting with moonstone essence and Unicorn tail hair. First, he slowly integrated the homologous magical imprint from the crystal bottle into the life Alchemy framework of the phoenix potion to stabilize the potion's core, and then added the stripping components of the curse slowing potion layer by layer, controlling the temperature precisely throughout the entire process while pinching alchemical runes with his fingertips to guide the magical fusion.
The liquid medicine in the crucible continuously changed, slowly transforming from its original silver-gray into a warm, light amber color, like diluted honey. Under the candlelight, it shimmered with a soft yet resilient halo, its magic steady and ripple-free, fully demonstrating a state of balance.
Flamel walked quickly to the side of the workbench, lowered his head to gaze at the potion, and asked in a deep voice: "Are you sure about testing the medicine?"
"I can't be a hundred percent certain, but this is currently the formula closest to the answer." Amster carefully poured the potion into a small crystal vial, plugged the cork tightly, his tone carrying the determination of burning his boats.
He took the potion and walked to the fireplace to squat down. Tina and Perenelle immediately stepped forward, standing by Nagini's side and making preparations for thorough care.
Newt followed with a heart full of anxiety. Just as he wanted to approach, he was stopped by Amster raising a hand, and Dumbledore also shook his head gently, signaling him to stop.
"Nagini is female. Once the human transformation begins, her body shape and posture should not be seen by males. This is the most basic respect." Amster's tone was thorough and solemn, "Tina and Perenelle will stay behind to look after her. The four of us must withdraw from the living room and wait outside the door until she is completely stable."
Newt woke up to realization instantly. A trace of guilt flashed across his eyes as he looked at Nagini, and he immediately nodded in agreement.
Dumbledore and Flamel also nodded knowingly, raising no objections at all.
Amster gently supported Nagini's head, his tone gentle: "Drink it, and you will get better."
Nagini opened her amber slit-pupils, glanced at him, opened her mouth without any resistance, and drank down the entire bottle of potion.
Confirming the potion was swallowed, Tina and Perenelleimmediately stood firm beside Nagini, forming a gentle barrier, and softly signaled towards outside the door: "You guys go out first, leave this to us."
Amster took one last look at Nagini, then turned around, leading Newt, Dumbledore, and Flamel out of the living room slowly. He gently closed the door, leaving only a tiny crack, and guarded outside the door in quiet anticipation to deal with any sudden situations at any time.
Inside the room, Tina and Perenelle guarded by Nagini's side, soothing her softly and paying constant attention to her changes.
For the first few moments, everything was calm and tranquil. Then, a faint shimmer emerged around Nagini, and the transformation quietly began.
There was none of the hurried and violent onset of the phoenix potion taking effect, only a slow yet firm transformation from the inside out. The dark green scales slowly lightened, turning from dark green to grayish green, and then fading to light gray. The muscles beneath the scales twitched gently, and the bones emitted a subtle cracking sound—the sound of body shape reshaping.
A few minutes later, the scales began to recede piece by piece from the forehead, revealing pale and delicate human skin. The forehead, cheeks, and jaw were revealed in turn, and slender palms stretched out from the snake body, with five distinct fingers firmly opening and closing. This time, they never retracted again.
As the transformation deepened, her upper body completely turned into human form, and her dark brown long hair clung wetly to the side of her neck. Perenelle had long since prepared a soft robe, ready to drape it over her at any moment, while Tina carefully protected her with magic to guard her privacy.
Outside the door, the four of them stood quietly. Newtclenched his hands tightly, full of anxious anticipation; Dumbledore closed his eyes to sense the magical changes inside the room; Flamel concentrated on judging the trend of the curse's dissolution. No one spoke out to disturb them.
I don't know how much time passed, but Tina's gentle voice came from inside the room: "You can come in now, she has stabilized."
Amster slowly pushed open the door, and the four of them walked in one by one.
At this time, Nagini had already put on a soft robe, her upper body completely restored to human form with delicate eyebrows and eyes. Her amber eyes had lost their slit-pupils and turned into human pupils, but her lower body still retained a part of the snake form, not yet completely transformed.
Newt's eye sockets instantly turned red. Standing outside a suitable distance, he called out with a trembling voice: "Nagini."
Nagini raised her eyes to look at him, her lips moving slightly. She raised her hand to gently cover his hand, and though she could not make a sound, it was full of the gentleness of something lost and regained.
Flamel stood by the bookshelf, holding a teacup, revealing a relieved smile; Perenelle and Tina stood to the side, their brows and eyes full of gratification.
Amster walked to the window and pushed it open. A slightly cool sea breeze rushed in, carrying the salty smell of seawater and the calls of distant seagulls.
The night was deep and dark, and a full moon hung high, casting clear radiance onto the sea surface and shattering it into silver light all over the sky.
Nagini had not yet fully recovered her human form, the double curse had not been completely eradicated, and the Greengrass family's curse also remained to be resolved, but every direction was already correct, and the effect of the antidote far exceeded expectations.
He leaned against the window frame, looking at this shimmering sea surface, extremely resolute deep in his heart.
Two things, one by one, no rush.
Nagini's curse was finally close to being lifted.
Chapter 111: Tenth Courtroom
The Tenth Courtroom of the Ministry of Magic is buried deep underground in London, far away from all light on the surface, making it the coldest and most solemn place in the entire Ministry of Magic.
Amster followed behind the guiding Auror, passing through one heavy and cold iron door after another, the doors emitting a muffled creak as they opened and closed, echoing through the empty corridor.
The flagstone path beneath his feet was damp and slick; the deeper they walked, the dimmer the light became, and the air carried a heavy smell of mildew and the lingering aura of ancient magic, as if this place had been forgotten by the world for hundreds of years, never once touched by the footprints of the living.
On the walls, torches in rusted iron brackets burned crackling, their dim yellow flames flickering on and off, stretching the shadows of the group into changing lengths, twisting and swaying against the mottled stone walls, adding a bit of oppressive dead silence.
Until the final heavy stone door was pushed open, the full view of the courtroom finally came into sight.
This was a narrow, cramped, and dim hall; the bare stone walls stood tall and straight, and the vaulted ceiling completely vanished into the pitch-black darkness, with no end in sight, as if it could swallow all sounds and emotions within it.
The trial members of the Wizengamot wore uniform purplish-red robes, sitting upright on the tiered stone benches high above, with straight backs and grim expressions, resembling a flock of silent crows perched high up, exuding an unquestionable dignity and oppressive aura all over their bodies.
In the central seat right in the middle of the benches sat Dumbledore, still clad in that familiar robe, his silvery-white beard hanging down his chest, glowing with a soft, pale light in the flickering firelight, and his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles were calm and deep, as if able to see through the secrets hidden deep in everyone's hearts, yet always gentle and reserved.
Sitting to his left was Barty Crouch; this Ministry of Magicofficial had graying hair, meticulously combed, with a rigid and stern face, his brows and eyes filled with the cold hardness of official business, his fingertips pinching a roll of parchment, his gaze constantly fixed on the text of the paper, not even sparing a shred of peripheral vision to his surroundings, exuding an alienation that kept people thousands of miles away.
To his right was Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; she had a square face and a gaze as sharp as a knife, and when her eyes swept across the entire room, they carried the sharpness and decisiveness unique to an enforcer of the law, as if capable of piercing through all lies.
The four Heads of House of Hogwarts had long since taken their seats.
Professor McGonagall sat in the left-hand seating, her back held as straight as a javelin, her hair bun combed meticulously without a shred of untidiness, exuding the dignity and majesty unique to the Gryffindor Head of House all over her body.
Catching a glimpse of Amster standing at the door, she gave a very slight nod, her mouth moving almost imperceptibly without making a sound, yet already conveying silent recognition and reassurance, entirely fitting her consistent, calm, and reserved style of conduct.
Snape leaned against the back of his chair, his entire body tightly wrapped in a large black robe, revealing only a pale and cold face, expressionless like a statue.
His gaze slowly swept past Amster, devoid of the slightest warmth, without scrutiny or approval, lingering for just a brief instant before moving away indifferently; deep within his eyes remained his habitual indifference and detachment, hiding a subtle consideration that was hard to detect, perfectly matching his cold, arrogant, reclusive personality that disliked showing emotion outwardly.
Professor Flitwick was short in stature, most of his body blocked by the armrests of the high-backed chair, revealing only a head of graying hair and a pair of bright, gentle eyes, sitting quietly in his original spot without a sound.
Professor Sprout sat at the very edge with a gentle expression; when looking at Amster, the corners of her mouth curved up into a soft smile, like the only thread of fragmented sunlight in the gloomy hall, gentle yet understated.
Amster stood beside the witness stand, not rashly taking a seat, his gaze sweeping calmly past the door—the the Weasleys had not yet arrived.
He withdrew his gaze and stood quietly, his aura steady, blending completely with the oppressive atmosphere.
McGonagall leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice, her tone firm and clear, every word exuding strength: "You did very well."
The voice was not loud, but it managed to reach Amster's ears just right, free of superfluous emotion, containing only the most solid affirmation.
Snape remained silent, only gently tapping his fingertips against the chair armrest, his gaze sweeping over Amsteronce more; hidden within that look was a trace of hard-to-detect confirmation—confirming that he had arrived on schedule, confirming that he was standing in the place he ought to be without the slightest deviation—throughout remaining entirely silent, maintaining his habitual reticence and coldness.
Flitwick poked his head out from behind the armrest, his shrill voice lowered to the extreme, yet still carrying a bit of its unique clarity: "I read your potions essay; the argument is rigorous, and the proportioning approach is quite brilliant."
In the empty and silent courtroom, this voice appeared slightly abrupt, yet it did not draw any sideways glances, fitting his gentle and slightly shy persona.
Sprout's voice was soft and soothing, full of well-meaning reassurance: "Don't be nervous, just state the facts as they are, no need to overthink it."
Amster nodded slightly, responding to the several professors' gestures with silence.
Just then, a hurried yet slightly chaotic sound of footsteps came from the doorway, shattering the silence of the courtroom—the the Weasleys had finally arrived.
Molly walked at the very front, her face as pale as paper, both hands tightly gripping Arthur's hand, her knuckles turning white from the force, her eyes filled with undisguised worry and anxiety, yet forcing herself to maintain composure as she walked in a hurry.
Arthur walked beside her, her pace a bit faster than usual, his expression steady and gaze firm, silently supporting his wife, fully manifesting the responsibility of the head of the household.
Fred and George followed side by side at the rear; the cheeky grins that were forever plastered on their faces on ordinary days had vanished without a trace, their brows and eyes filled with an unprecedented solemnity, their mouths tightly pursed, remaining completely silent throughout without a shred of joking around, entirely enveloped by the oppressive atmosphere of this trial, matching their composed and sensible side when facing major events.
Percy walked in the middle, his back held straight, the prefect badge on his chest polished to a bright shine, his expression rigid and stern, single-mindedly upholding rules and decorum, no different from usual.
Ron walked at the very back of the procession, his head hanging low, his shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes filled with timidity and unease, his eye sockets red, yet holding back tears, fully displaying his inherent cowardice and sensitivity.
Ginny closely followed by Ron's side, her lips pressed into a straight line, her expression stubborn, yet unable to hide the nervousness deep in her heart, quietly remaining silent.
Amster stepped forward quickly to meet them.
Molly immediately let go of Arthur's hand and tightly grasped Amster's hand; her palms were ice-cold and still trembling slightly out of control, but her voice tried hard to remain steady, filled with boundless gratitude: "Thank you, Amster, thank you truly so much, you have helped our the Weasleys far too much."
Amster shook his head slightly, not saying any superfluous polite remarks.
Arthur stepped forward and heavily patted his shoulder, his palm strong; all gratitude and recognition were hidden within this action, without any extra words.
Fred stepped closer, lowering his voice, his tone carrying suppressed resentment and determination: "This time, it is time to make him pay the price he deserves."
George stood to the side, nodding silently with a solemn gaze, not chiming in, yet sharing a telepathic connection with his brother.
Ron finally raised his head, the look he directed at Amstercarrying timidity and gratitude, his voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the firelight: "Thank you, Senior."
The words carried a trace of an undetectable choke in the throat, yet he never let his tears fall, matching his timid yet proud personality.
Ginny stood at the very back, merely giving Amster a slight nod, her eyes stubborn, without speaking, yet conveying the gratitude deep in her heart.
After the the Weasleys took their seats one by one, the courtroom's seating was almost full.
The Wizengamot members high above began to converse in low voices, the rustling sound of parchment turning intertwined with the fragmented whispers, resembling the sound of distant surging waves, making the already oppressive atmosphere grow even heavier.
Amster turned around, preparing to walk toward the witness stand.
"Amster."
Dumbledore's voice was calm and soothing, yet it carried a strange power that instantly made the entire noisy courtroom fall completely silent, so quiet a pin drop could be heard.
Amster turned around, walking slowly to the front of the trial bench, looking up at Dumbledore on the high seat.
He paused, the corners of his mouth curving into an extremely faint arc carrying a bit of intimacy, his tone natural: "Is there something the matter, Uncle?"
As the words fell, it was as if he suddenly remembered he was in a trial setting, slightly changing his words, "Oh no—I mean, Mr. Chief Warlock."
Dumbledore's mouth moved almost imperceptibly, without revealing a smile, his eyes remaining gentle yet solemn: "I need you to do me a favor."
His voice was not loud, but it carried unquestionable weight: "Cast Grindelwald's fire shield protection, encircling the trial bench just in case."
Amster raised an eyebrow slightly, his tone carrying a trace of puzzlement: "Just in case?"
"To guard against sudden accidental situations."
Dumbledore did not explain much, his tone decisive.
Amster was silent for two seconds, then nodded in agreement.
He stepped back several steps, standing directly in front of the trial bench, slowly drawing his wand and raising his arm.
In an instant, icy and deep blue flames surged and dispersed from the tip of his wand, not the crimson and orange-yellow of ordinary magical flames, but a cold blue resembling the deep sea's eerie light, carrying a tranquil yet powerful magic as it slowly flowed and expanded along the edge of the trial bench, instantly forming a stable ring of fire that firmly protected the entire trial bench.
The cold blue firelight cast down, reflecting off the purplish-red robes of the Wizengamot members to give off an eerie blue tinge, making the atmosphere solemn.
Following closely, the fiery magic slowly harmonized, its color gradually transforming from the chilling deep blue into a soft pale blue, ultimately turning into a warm orange-red, resembling a fire steadily burning in a fireplace, full of warmth yet entirely non-aggressive, isolating the inside from the outside without obscuring the line of sight, the mastery of magic being extremely precise.
Amster withdrew his wand, looking at the ring of fire before him, his tone calm and waveless, as if speaking the most ordinary sentence: "Dumbledore-brand gas stove."
The corners of Dumbledore's mouth finally curved into an extremely faint smile, fleeting, before returning to his original calm and solemnity.
The ring of fire burned quietly, clearly separating the trial bench from the outside world without affecting anyone's line of sight in the slightest.
The four Heads of House sat outside the ring of fire; McGonagall's expression remained calm without the slightest change; Snape's gaze lingered on the ring of fire for a brief instant, the corners of his mouth twitching almost imperceptibly with a hint of tacit acceptance toward such a bantering tone, yet ultimately not opening his mouth to mock, fitting his restraint under the present occasion; Flitwick poked his head out, staring at the ring of fire for several seconds with eyes full of amazement, then shrank back; Sprout looked toward Amster, once again revealing a gentle smile.
The the Weasleys sat in the rear seating; Molly was still gripping Arthur's hand, though the force was a few fractions looser than before, the unease in the depths of her eyes slightly relieved; Fred and George looked at that stable ring of fire with complex gazes, containing amazement as well as certainty about the upcoming trial; Ron shrank his shoulders, yet because of this layer of fire ring, his mind eased up just a bit.
Amster put his wand back into his pocket, standing back beside the witness stand once more, his posture upright as he waited quietly.
The courtroom fell completely into silence.
The members of the Wizengamot stopped talking, and the sound of parchment turning vanished completely; Crouch gently placed the documents in his hands onto the table, crossing his hands to quietly await the opening; Amelia Bones straightened her body, her quill hovering above the parchment with a sharp gaze, ready to record at any moment.
Everyone quieted down, holding their breath in anticipation.
The ring of fire burned quietly in the center of the hall, its warm light flickering.
Amster looked calmly toward the tightly shut courtroom doors; outside the door, clear footsteps were approaching step by step, steady, yet carrying an oppressive sense of pressure as they came toward the courtroom.
Chapter 112: The Belated Trial
The heavy doors of the courtroom slowly pushed open in the dead silence.
Breaking into the hall even earlier than the sound of the door opening were the heavy and deeply rhythmic footsteps of the escorts—thud, thud, thud. Each strike slammed heavily onto the cold stone floor, sounding like a hammer repeatedly beating against metal, vibrating the air slightly and striking at the heart of everyone present.
Amster slowly raised his head, looking toward the door at the sound. The first thing that came into view was a tall, robust, and straight-backed man.
He wore a shabby yet still crisp dragon-hide coat, with grayish-white long hair casually draped over his shoulders. His hair was coarse and messy, and his face was covered in crisscrossing scars of varying depths, resembling a dried riverbed—fierce and glaring. A piece of his nose was missing, making his contours appear exceptionally fierce.
Most eye-catching were his eyes: one eye was cloudy yet sharp, exuding the vigilance and sharpness unique to an Auror, while the other was a magically fabricated fake eye that spun around frantically, flipping up and down and scanning left and right, as if it could pierce through walls and clothing, taking in every corner of the courtroom and the expression of every person, leaving no detail to hide anywhere.
It was Mad-Eye Alastor Moody, the most renowned Auror in the history of the Ministry of Magic. Nearly half of the dark wizard prisoners in Azkaban had been captured by his own hands. The biting aura radiating from his entire body was enough to chill the hearts of anyone with ulterior motives.
Behind Moody closely followed two young men and women wearing standard Auror uniforms. Their expressions were tense and solemn, and their right hands had long since steadily drawn their wands, the wand tips precisely aimed at the person being escorted between them, their fingertips applying slight pressure to show a high state of alert.
The one escorted right in the middle was Peter Pettigrew.
Heavy magical shackles were worn on his hands and feet, and the cold-glinting iron chains dragged on the stone floor, making a harsh, sharp scraping sound wherever they passed, appearing particularly abrupt in the silent hall.
He hunched his already not-so-tall body, curling up into a ball. He was even thinner and shriveled than when Amstersaw him in the Headmaster's Office earlier, his messy hair greasy and plastered against his scalp, his face full of panic and cowardice. His small eyes darted around, his gaze evasive, not daring to make eye contact with anyone present, looking exactly like a stray rat beaten and chased in a gutter, exuding cowardice and humbleness all over.
Moody strode to the front of the judgment seat, suddenly stopping his footsteps, the biting aura around his body not diminishing in the slightest.
His normal eye slowly swept across the whole audience, finally locking onto Dumbledore, his gaze softening slightly, while that frantically spinning fake eye gradually slowed down in speed, yet still exuded scrutiny.
"Alastor."
Dumbledore sat in the presiding seat, nodding slightly, his tone peaceful and steady.
"Albus."
Moody spoke, his voice rough and hoarse, like sandpaper repeatedly rubbing against hard stone, full of the vicissitudes left by years of battle, "The person has been brought."
As his voice fell, he took a horizontal step to the side, and the two young Aurors immediately escorted the shivering Peter to the defendant's stand, forcefully pushing him down onto the cold seat.
Peter curled his body, burying his head even lower, gripping the armrests tightly, trembling all over uncontrollably.
Moody did not leave the scene, standing right beside the defendant's stand, leaning on his wand with both hands, his posture as upright as a cold stone statue, motionless.
That fake eye finally completely stopped spinning, locking dead onto Peter, its gaze as sharp as a knife, as if wanting to pierce him alive.
The courtroom fell into a brief dead silence, with only the crackling sound of the burning torches echoing faintly in the empty hall.
Not long after, the door was gently pushed open once again.
Sirius Black walked in slowly.
He wore no shackles, dressed in a clean and neat black robe. His originally messy long hair had been cut short, and the beard on his face was shaved clean, revealing clear and sharp contours. The whole person had shed his previous down-and-out vicissitudes, looking refreshed and spirited, completely different from how he looked when seen at the Ministry of Magic previously.
His steps were steady and firm, his gaze calmly sweeping across the entire courtroom, lingering briefly on the seats of the the Weasleys with a slightly warmer look, then walking to the empty seat beside the witness stand and quietly sitting down.
Amster turned his head to look at him, and Sirius noticed the gaze, nodding slightly to him in indication, his expression calm yet carrying relief.
Barty Crouch on the seat cleared his dry throat, slowly standing up, spreading out the trial parchment in his hands with both hands. His rigid and cold voice clearly echoed in the spacious and silent courtroom, piercing every corner.
"The 137th Special Trial of the Wizengamot," he said word by word, his tone without a single ripple, "regarding Peter Pettigrew—betraying James Potter and Lily Potter, causing them to be tragically murdered by the Dark Lord; deliberately bombing a Muggle neighborhood and killing twelve innocent Muggles; falsifying the scene and framing Sirius Black; as well as illegally practicing as an Animagusand hiding in escape for twelve years, several charges, the trial is officially in session."
This trial is presided over by Chief Warlock Dumbledore, and supervised throughout by Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
He paused, his sharp gaze sweeping across the audience, and continued speaking: "Is the defendant present?"
Moody beside the defendant's stand immediately responded in a deep voice, his voice sonorous and powerful: "Present."
"Is the witness present?"
Hearing this, Amster immediately straightened his posture and reined in all his thoughts.
Dumbledore turned his head to look at him with a gentle gaze, nodding gently to give silent approval.
"Present."
Amster's voice was steady and clear, without a trace of panic.
Crouch lowered his head to glance at the parchment, then raised his eyes, turning his gaze toward the direction where Sirius was located, his tone slowing down slightly: "Sirius, as the core person related to this case, do you already know that all charges leveled against you have been legally dropped in full?"
Sirius slowly stood up, his posture upright, his voice steady and strong without any fluctuation: "I know."
Crouch was silent for two seconds, then solemnly announced: "The Ministry of Magic hereby formally announces the withdrawal of all charges against Sirius, effective immediately. Starting from today, Mr. Black has all his civil rights in the magical world restored and regains his freedom."
As his voice fell, Sirius sat down calmly, his face still without much expression change, but Amster clearly saw that the hand he had previously gripped tightly around the armchair's armrest slowly loosened, and his tense shoulders also relaxed slightly. The grievances accumulated over twelve years were finally vindicated at this moment.
Amelia Bones on the side closed the folder in front of her, raising her eyes to look at the witness stand with a solemn face and a clear, crisp tone: "Witness Amster Dumbledore, please state the entire process of how you discovered the defendant's true identity."
Amster stepped up to the witness stand, and after standing still, looked calmly at Peter on the defendant's stand.
Peter trembled all over, burying his head deeper, not daring to make eye contact with him at all, shrinking in the chair and shivering.
"I discovered it through the Marauder's Map."
Amster's tone was flat and waveless, objectively stating the facts, "I saw a person's name on the map that should no longer exist in this world."
"What name?"
Bones immediately pursued, her pen tip hovering over the parchment, ready to record at any time.
"Peter Pettigrew."
As soon as this name came out, the originally silent courtroom instantly rang with a wave of suppressed whispers.
Members of the Wizengamot whispered among each other, their purplish-red robes swaying slightly in the candlelight of the torches, their expressions full of shock and discussion. After all, this name had long been deemed a deceased person following the tragedy back then.
Bones did not interrupt the whispering crowd, nor did she urge them, just quietly waiting until the noise gradually subsided before looking at Amster, signaling him to continue.
"This name constantly appeared by Ron Weasley's side, accompanying him day and night, every morning and night, never leaving."
Amster continued his statement, his tone remaining steady throughout, "I found the the Weasleys twins and asked them to recall what objects or creatures had accompanied Ron for many years. The answer they gave was Scabbers, a pet rat that had accompanied Ron for years."
He paused slightly to sort out the logic and continued: "Afterwards, I sought verification from Professor McGonagall and confirmed that Peter Pettigrew himself is an unregistered illegal Animagus, and his transformed form happens to be a rat."
As the voice fell, Professor McGonagall slowly stood up from her seat with a dignified and solemn expression, holding an organized parchment transcript in her hand. She stepped forward slowly and handed it to Crouch, her voice clear and strong: "This is the complete transcript of the confession truthfully given by the defendant under the influence of Veritaserum. Every item has been verified by him one by one, all true, without any falsehood or concealment."
Crouch took the transcript, quickly browsed through it, and then handed it over to Amelia Bones.
Bones read it word for word, closed the transcript, raised her eyes to look sharply at the curled-up Peter, and said in a serious tone: "Defendant, do you confess to all the charges stated above?"
Peter trembled violently, his lips twitching, staring fixedly at the ground, failing to make any sound for a long time, maintaining silence throughout, trying to escape his guilt with cowardice.
"Defendant, I am asking you, do you admit to all the charges?"
Crouch's voice instantly turned cold, carrying the dignity and oppression of a high-ranking Ministry official, his tone becoming increasingly stern.
"I... I was forced..."
Peter finally squeezed a weak voice out of his throat, intermittent, full of panic and evasion, "It was the Dark Lord... he forced me, I had no choice..."
Hearing this, the stationary fake eye of Moody beside him instantly spun frantically again, the vicious aura around his body rising abruptly, and his hand holding the wand tightened sharply, his knuckles turning white, clearly filled with anger and disdain for Peter's cowardly and evasive words.
"Forced you?"
Bones's tone remained calm, but every word was like a sharp nail, fiercely piercing into Peter's lies, "Forced you to blow up an entire Muggle neighborhood? Forced you to kill twelve innocent Muggles with your own hands? Forced you to cut off your own finger to fake a death scene? Forced you to transform into a rat and hide in escape for twelve years?"
A series of cross-examinations hit home word for word. Peter's face turned instantly pale, unable to say any words of defense anymore, dropping his head and completely falling into silence, trembling all over like a chaff-sifter.
On the seats of the the Weasleys, Molly gripped Arthur's hand tightly, her knuckles white, her face full of emotion and lingering fear; Arthur's expression was steady, gently holding his wife's shoulders in silent comfort; Fred and George were ashen-faced, staring coldly at Peter in the defendant's stand with full of anger; Percy's lips were pressed tightly into a straight line, his expression serious and rigid; Ron still lowered his head, not daring to look at the scene before him, his heart full of complexity; Ginny looked straight at Peter, her eyes stubborn, saying nothing.
Bones put down the transcript in her hand, turned to look at the Wizengamot members on the high seats, and said in a solemn tone: "All members of the Wizengamot, regarding the charges against defendant Peter Pettigrew, cast your vote immediately."
On the high benches, members wearing purplish-red robes began to move one after another, arms slowly rising, the posture of unanimous approval already very clear.
Crouch and Bones silently counted the heads, exchanged a glance, and nodded in confirmation simultaneously.
"Voting is over, passed unanimously."
Crouch stood up once again, his voice sonorous and powerful, reverberating boisterously in the courtroom to declare the final result: "Peter Pettigrew, for betraying James Potter and Lily Potter and causing their deaths, the charge is proven; for murdering twelve innocent Muggles, the charge is proven; for deliberately framing Sirius Blackand causing him to be wrongly imprisoned for twelve years, the charge is proven; for illegally practicing as an Animagus and hiding and escaping for a long time, the charge is proven."
He paused for a moment, and with a majestic tone, announced the sentence: "Sentencing the defendant to life imprisonment in Azkaban, stripping all civil rights in the magical world, reclaiming the Order of Merlin, permanently confiscating the wand, without parole."
As the sentence fell, Peter finally raised his head abruptly, his eyes bloodshot, filled with extreme fear, his mouth wide open, but due to excessive panic, he could not make any pleading sound.
Two Aurors immediately stepped forward, forcefully pulling him up from the chair. His legs were weak, trembling constantly, almost unable to stand, and he was half-dragged and half-carried outward by the Aurors.
Moody stood in place the whole time without moving, watching coldly as Peter was escorted away in disarray, only slowly withdrawing his gaze after his figure disappeared at the doorway.
The heavy doors closed heavily, and the escorting footsteps gradually faded away, disappearing deep into the corridor.
The courtroom fell into a long dead silence, with everyone silent, digesting this trial of justice that was twelve years late.
For a long time, Dumbledore slowly stood up, his voice peaceful yet weighty: "Dismissed."
Members of the Wizengamot stood up one after another, their purplish-red robes swaying in the firelight, their footsteps gradually fading away.
Crouch tidied up the parchment in his hands, nodded slightly to Dumbledore in indication, and turned to leave; Amelia Bones closed the folder, and before leaving, intentionally looked at Amster, nodding slightly to express approval, then briskly leaving.
The four Hogwarts Heads of Houses also stood up successively.
Professor McGonagall walked up to Amster with a gentle gaze, without saying another word, just nodding gently, full of approval; Snape walked slowly past from the side, his wide black robes fluttering at his feet, not looking at Amster even once the whole way, his expression cold and stern, leaving directly without saying a word; Professor Flitwick, being short in stature, was blocked by the high-backed chair, and Amster only saw his greyish-white top of the head moving slowly from behind the bench, then leaving; Professor Sprout revealed a gentle smile toward him and left together with Professor McGonagall.
The the Weasleys still sat in their seats, Molly leaning on Arthur's shoulder, letting out a long sigh of relief, her tense expression finally relaxing; Fred and George stood up, walking up to Amster with solemn expressions.
"Thanks."
Fred spoke in a sincere tone.
"Thanks."
George followed closely behind, the two speaking in unison, then simultaneously patted Amster's shoulder and turned to leave the scene.
When Ron passed by Amster, he stopped, opened his mouth wanting to say something, but in the end still blushed, said nothing, and left briskly; Ginny walked at the very end, nodded slightly to Amster in indication, and silently followed her family's footsteps.
Sirius still sat in his place without leaving, bowing his head and quietly looking at his own hands, his expression complex, carrying relief as well as emotion.
Dumbledore stepped down from the judgment seat, walked slowly to Amster's side, raised his hand, and gently patted his shoulder, saying in a gentle tone: "Well done. Next, go back and have a good rest."
Amster nodded.
He turned around to leave the scene, and when passing by Sirius, Sirius slowly raised his head, looking at him with eyes full of sincerity: "Thank you. I owe you this favor."
Amster gently shook his head, his tone flat: "What you owe is not me."
Sirius was stunned for a moment, then suddenly enlightened, a shallow yet genuine smile lifting the corners of his mouth. For the past twelve years, this was the first time he had smiled so relieved and so full of worldly warmth.
"Let's go."
Dumbledore looked at Amster with a gentle tone, "I'll walk you back."
Amster did not refuse, following by Dumbledore's side as they walked out of the courtroom together.
The two walked slowly along the narrow, dim corridor, the light and shadow of the torches dancing on the walls, stretching their figures very, very long.
Behind them, the heavy courtroom doors slowly closed completely, completely sealing away that trial which was twelve years late.
Chapter 113 Relics of the Founders
The moment Dumbledore led everyone to grab the Portkey, a familiar sensation of spinning and pulling enveloped their entire bodies, and when they stood steady again, they had already returned to the front of Hogwartscastle.
The sky had grown almost completely dark, dusk dyeing the castle's stone walls a deep, somber ink blue. Most of the portraits in the corridors had their heads drooping as they dozed, occasionally letting out a few muffled snores that gently echoed through the quiet hallways.
Dumbledore escorted the group to the first-floor entrance hall and waved gently.
"You've all worked hard, head back and get some good rest."
With that, he turned and stepped onto the spiral staircase leading to the Headmaster's Office, his silvery-white beard swaying slightly in the dim light before quickly disappearing at the end of the corridor.
The four Heads of Houses also split up and left accordingly.
Before leaving, McGonagall cast a deep look in Amster's direction and gave an extremely light nod. Without a single superfluous word, it was already the most reassuring approval.
Snape walked past his side unhurriedly, the hem of his wide black robes gently brushing against his feet. From beginning to end, he did not turn his head or leave even a sidelong glance, maintaining that same cold, aloof, and keep-people-at-a-distance demeanor.
Flitwick was blocked behind McGonagall, and Amster only heard his shrill yet gentle voice drifting over softly: "Today... went reasonably smoothly."
Sprout, on the other hand, flashed him her customary gentle smile and, following McGonagall's footsteps, disappeared together around the corner of the corridor.
The the Weasleys also left one after another.
Molly held tightly onto Ron's hand, her steps still carrying a trace of lingering tension; Arthur gently wrapped an arm around Ginny's shoulders with a calm expression, comforting his family in low voices all the way.
Fred and George walked at the very back, their complexions much more relaxed than when they set off from the Ministry of Magic. Yet today's momentous trial had ultimately robbed them of their usual joking and bantering mindset, leaving them silent all the way.
Percy walked at the front with his back held rigidly straight, the prefect badge on his chest glowing intermittently under the corridor wall torches, meticulous as ever.
The people in the hall gradually cleared out, leaving only Sirius standing at the main entrance, gazing in the direction where everyone had left. He did not move, nor did he have any intention of leaving.
Amster glanced at him.
"Aren't you heading back?"
"No rush."
Sirius shook his head gently, his voice a few shades lower than usual, "I'll stay here a bit longer."
Amster didn't ask further, nodded, and turned to walk towards the eighth floor.
Behind him, a slight footstep from Sirius echoed in the hall, and then it grew completely quiet.
The door of the Room of Requirement stood open as usual, the fireplace inside burning brightly with warm yellow firelight blanketing the floor, but the room was completely empty, with not a single person inside.
Fleur was probably still organizing things in the Ravenclawtower, Penelope was mostly likely still immersed in the Library, Cassandra had no doubt gone off to drink tea in some quiet tearoom, and Poppy should still be baking today's cookies in her hut.
Amster sat down by the table and casually opened his notebook, intending to briefly jot down a few lines about what happened in the courtroom today. But his pen tip hovered over the paper for a long time, and after writing only a few sparse words, he could not write anymore.
His mind was a mess—the scenes from the courtroom during the day, Peter Pettigrew's panicked face, Moody's sharp gaze, the rows of plum-colored robes of the Wizengamot—all tangled together, making it temporarily impossible for him to calm his mind.
He leaned back against the chair, gazed at the leaping flames in the fireplace, and let out a soft sigh.
There was a place he hadn't visited in a very long time.
He stood up, walked out of the Room of Requirement, and walked quietly toward the other end along the eighth-floor corridor.
Moonlight slanted in through the high window lattice, shining onto the stone walls and casting a cold, faint gray light.
He stopped in front of a stone wall that looked completely ordinary, closed his eyes, and gathered his focus to calm his mind.
The stone wall in front of him had no bricks moving, nor did a stone door open; instead, it was like a pebble being dropped into a calm lake surface, with faint ripples slowly spreading outward in circles.
At the very center of the ripples, a point of soft light slowly lit up, expanding larger and larger until it gently enveloped his entire person.
When he opened his eyes again, Amster was already standing in the center of an incomparably vast hall.
The dome was so high its top was invisible, and four colossal stone pillars stood supporting the heavens and earth. Carved onto the shafts of the pillars were the emblems of the four houses: Gryffindor, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, with clear lines and a steady, imposing aura.
Innumerable fine specks of light floated in mid-air across the hall, like gathered stars across the sky or quietly flying fireflies, illuminating the entire hall brightly and softly.
Four high-backed chairs formed a regular circle, with four people sitting on them.
Godric Gryffindor leaned lazily against the back of his chair, his red hair and beard fluffy and disheveled, with the faint phantom of a long sword hanging at his waist.
As soon as he saw Amster enter, he immediately grinned, bright and hearty.
"You've finally come."
He jerked his chin toward the empty chair beside him, "Sit, don't just stand there."
Amster sat down in the chair.
This time, he felt much more relaxed than the previous few times.
Salazar Slytherin sat beside him, the silver snake patterns embroidered on his black robes flowing gently beneath the specks of light. He looked at Amster with half-closed eyes, his lips moving ever so slightly—not quite a distinct smile, but long since lacking that initial cold, aloof appearance.
"How did that hearing of yours go today?"
Gryffindor spoke first, his tone straight and direct.
"It's over."
Amster's voice was calm, "Peter Pettigrew has been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban."
Gryffindor let out a disdainful snort.
"That sort of trash should have been locked away long ago, it's years too late."
Rowena Ravenclaw's voice was clear and faint, like wind brushing past windchimes in the distance, yet every single word was clear to the ear, landing steadily.
"Regarding the Horcruxes, we have sensed them using the lingering imprints left within ourselves."
Her gaze fell gently on Amster, "Gryffindor's sword remains clean and untainted."
Gryffindor immediately laughed triumphantly, looking completely as if it were a matter of course.
"But our respective relics are all not quite right."
Helga Hufflepuff sighed softly, the smile on her round face fading a bit, her tone carrying a hint of worry, "On my golden cup, something very unclean has stained it."
"My diadem as well."
Ravenclaw picked up calmly.
Slytherin was silent for a moment, his voice deeper and heavier than usual.
"My locket."
He paused, every word clear, "I can roughly sense its location—London, in the northwest direction, not far from King's Cross Station."
Amster made a quick mental correspondence. Northwest of London, near King's Cross Station. That square, that old house concealed by magic year-round.
"Grimmauld Place,"
he said softly, "the ancestral home of the Black family."
Slytherin glanced at him, neither nodding in acknowledgment nor shaking his head in denial, just looking at him quietly, which was already tacit consent.
Gryffindor leaned back against his chair again, his tone becoming a bit more relaxed as he brought up the matter directly.
"We want you to retrieve it."
He paused slightly, exchanging a glance with the other three founders. Then, all four of them raised their hands simultaneously.
Four beams of light detached themselves from their respective portraits—no, from their respective "main bodies"—and slowly drifted toward the center of the hall, converging together. After the light dissipated, four rolled-up scroll paintings floated mid-air, each tied with ribbons of different colors: gold-red, silver-green, blue-bronze, yellow-black.
"These are not those ordinary portraits in the castle,"
Gryffindor's voice grew solemn, "They can be truly taken outside, can speak, and can travel along. You can hang us in the Headmaster's Office; that headmaster gentleman of yours now would surely be very pleased."
Amster extended his hand, and the four scroll paintings gently fell into his palms. They weren't heavy, but he could feel the ancient magic contained within each scroll—this was the founders' final remaining "main body" left in this world capable of interacting with the outside.
"Call the headmaster, bring all four Heads of Houses, and take action together,"
Gryffindor continued, "Destroy the locket right on the spot, and bring back safely everything else that ought to be brought back."
Amster recalled the words clearly written in that record—he possessed the qualification to use Gryffindor's sword at any time, not as a temporary loan, but to be able to access and use it at any time, directly.
"I have this right,"
he said. It wasn't a question, merely a statement.
Gryffindor stared at him, grinning broadly once more, frank and affirmative.
"Of course you do."
Slytherin's gaze fell upon him once more, sharp and steady, carrying a hint of heavy warning, "In that house, there is more than just one locket that is unclean. Exercise caution yourself."
Amster slowly stood up and stowed the four scroll paintings inside his robes.
"I'll notify Dumbledore tonight and call a meeting of everyone tomorrow."
Ravenclaw gave a slight nod, her voice clear and gentle.
"Go."
Gryffindor laughed and stood up as well, his phantom hand patting against the chair back with a low, solid thud, "Hurry back. When you return, we still have a whole heap of things to teach you slowly."
Amster turned and walked outward.
Behind him, the specks of light across the sky gradually faded, and the light and shadow of the hall gathered and shrank bit by bit, finally closing back up behind him into an ordinary stone wall, as if everything just now had been nothing more than a quiet and vivid dream.
The corridor remained dead silent, the moonlight casting down section by section from the high windows, projecting neat light and shadows onto the ground.
He stood quietly in place for a moment, the presence of the four scroll paintings inside his robes clear and steady.
He did not return to the Room of Requirement.
He turned and walked toward the Headmaster's Office.
The night was already deep, but he knew Dumbledorewould not rest so early.
Too many things had happened today—Sirius's release, Peter Pettigrew's imprisonment, and the locket spoken of by Slytherin's portrait—any single one of them was enough to keep the old man awake all night.
As he walked past the third-floor corridor, Amster's steps paused slightly.
Outside the window, sporadic lights were lit in the direction of Hogsmeade village.
Poppy's hut was right there.
He pulled the magic notebook from his pocket, flipped it open, and his pen tip hovered above the paper surface for a fraction of a second before descending.
"I have to deal with the founders' matters tonight. After tomorrow's meeting ends, I'll come find you at the hut."
The handwriting lingered on the paper surface for a moment, then slowly vanished.
Seconds later, a new line of handwriting surfaced—Poppy's round and somewhat playful penmanship.
"I'm leaving cookies for you. Don't be too late."
The corners of Amster's mouth curved up slightly.
He closed the notebook and continued walking toward the Headmaster's Office.
The stone gargoyle leaped aside after he stated the password, and the spiral staircase rose slowly.
High up in the tower, a warm yellow light still shone through a window.
He needed to let Dumbledore know first—number twelve, Grimmauld Place concealed Voldemort's second Horcrux.
And they must destroy it before anyone else noticed.
Chapter 114: The Founders Returned to Their Loyal Hogwarts
Amster left the Room of Requirement.
He walked straight through the eighth-floor corridor and headed towards the tower along the moonlight-paved stone steps.
Inside his robes, the scrolls of the four founders' portraits pressed heavily against his ribs, and with every step, he could feel the ancient magic contained within them pulsing faintly.
He stopped in front of the stone beast of Dumbledore's office and gave the password.
The spiral staircase rose slowly, sending him into that circular room.
Dumbledore indeed was not resting.
The old man sat in the high-backed chair, his half-moon spectacles slid to the tip of his nose, with an unfolded copy of the Daily Prophet spread out before him, the front page prominently printing a photograph of Sirius Black being acquitted in court.
Hearing the footsteps, he raised his head, his blue eyes showing not a shred of surprise.
"Ah, Amster.
I was just wondering when you would come."
Amster did not sit down.
"I need you to gather some people."
Dumbledore folded the newspaper and placed it on the desk.
"What people?"
"The four Heads of House.
And Sirius Black — he should not have left the castle yet."
Amster paused, took out those four scrolls from inside his robes, and gently placed them on Dumbledore's desk.
The ribbons shimmered with their respective colors under the candlelight — scarlet and gold, silver and green, blue and bronze, yellow and black.
"In addition, the four founders gave me their portraits.
The kind that can truly speak and can travel along.
I need to hang them on the walls of the Headmaster's Office.
Salazar Slytherin has a matter to confirm in front of everyone."
Dumbledore's gaze fell on those four scrolls, lingering for a moment.
He did not ask any questions, stood up, and walked towards the fireplace.
"Minerva."
He sprinkled Floo powder into the flames, speaking to the rising green firelight, "Please come to the Headmaster's Office for a moment.
Notify Severus, Pomona, and Filius on the way."
After the flames turned back to orange-red, he turned to another fireplace.
"Sirius.
If you are still in the castle, please come to the Headmaster's Office."
When the last syllable fell, Dumbledore turned to the portraits on the wall that were feigning sleep.
The portraits of past headmasters filled half the wall, some snoring, some half-eyeing the room lazily.
And above them, close to the ceiling, were four blank wall spaces — as if waiting for something for a thousand years.
"Respected Founders."
Dumbledore's voice was not loud, yet it carried a clarity that penetrated the frames, "Lord Salazar Slytherin, Amster says there is a matter that needs to be confirmed with you in public."
Amster unfolded the first scroll — the one with the silver-green ribbon.
On the canvas, Salazar Slytherin's face emerged from nothingness, thin and arrogant, his dark eyes looking down at the room.
He unfolded the remaining three in turn: Godric Gryffindorleaned out from a gold-and-red background, his red hair as fluffy as a lion's mane; Rowena Ravenclaw sat upright beneath a blue-and-bronze starry sky, her gaze cold yet gentle; Helga Hufflepuff wore an eternal smile on her round face, the yellow-and-black background resembling a harvested wheat field.
The four portraits were hung in turn on those four blank walls.
When the last one was in place, an almost imperceptible ripple swept across the entire Headmaster's Office — the portraits of all past headmasters opened their eyes simultaneously.
"Has the time finally come?"
Salazar Slytherin's portrait spoke first.
His voice was low, carrying an ancient tone, echoing in the silent room.
"Faster than I expected."
Godric Gryffindor's portrait lit up, the gold-and-red light almost spilling out from the canvas.
"Salazar, what mysterious tricks are you playing again?"
The portraits of Rowena and Helga emerged successively.
The four founders gathered at the highest part of the Headmaster's Office walls, overlooking this room that bore a thousand years of history.
The door opened.
Professor McGonagall walked in first, her pointed hat slightly askew, obviously put on in a hurry.
Snape followed behind her, his black eyes quickly sweeping over everyone in the room and the four newly added portraits on the wall, his pupils contracting almost imperceptibly.
Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick arrived almost simultaneously — the latter slid in stepping on that stack of his usual books, and as soon as his gaze touched the four portraits high up, he almost tumbled off the book stack.
The last to enter was Sirius Black.
He was still wearing the clothes from the trial, his face emaciated, his eye sockets sunken, but the whole person exuded a vitality he hadn't had in twelve years.
His gaze met Amster's, and he nodded slightly.
There were no words of thanks, but that look was already enough.
"Close the door."
Dumbledore said.
The door panels closed accordingly.
Amster stood in the center of the room, not sitting down.
Everyone's gaze — living and in the paintings — fell upon him.
"This morning, Sirius Black was acquitted in court.
Twelve years of grievances have been vindicated."
His voice was steady, "But this is only the beginning."
He turned to the portrait of Salazar Slytherin at the highest point of the wall.
"After the trial ended, Lord Slytherin informed me of a matter.
I believe everyone present needs to hear it with their own ears."
Salazar's portrait leaned forward slightly.
In the frame, he sat in a silver-green high-backed chair, his fingers crossed and resting on his knees, with the posture of a monarch about to pronounce judgment.
"I once created an item during my lifetime — a locket.
It later fell into the hands of my descendants, the Gaunt family.
And later still, it was obtained by Tom Riddle and made into what you call a Horcrux."
Snape's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
Professor McGonagall's expression became even more stern.
"The Gaunt ring has been destroyed,"
Amster said, "But the locket is still around.
Lord Slytherin told me that, according to his tracing of the faint resonance between his own bloodline and the Horcrux, the most likely hiding place for that locket is the ancestral home of the House of Black — 12 Grimmauld Place."
Sirius's expression changed instantly.
Not fear, but a complex expression mixed with disgust and pain.
His Adam's apple bobbed.
"My parents' house."
His voice was hoarse, "I haven't been back for twelve years."
"Who is there now?"
Professor McGonagall asked.
"A house-elf.
Kreacher."
Sirius spat out the name, like spitting out a spoiled nut.
His lips twisted slightly.
"And my mother, that old madwoman's portrait.
And the portraits of past House of Black heads — if you can stand their screaming and insults."
"Those very portraits."
Salazar's portrait interrupted him, his voice carrying a trace of coldness, "The House of Black is one of the branches of Slytherin's bloodline.
I can perceive through the resonance of bloodline that the locket has a connection with something in that mansion.
But the specific location, you need to find yourselves."
"When do we set off?"
Sirius asked.
He had already stood up, as if ready to Apparate at any moment.
"Tomorrow."
Amster raised a hand, "Before we set off, there is one more thing that needs to be completed here."
He did not explain what it was, but instead turned around and walked towards the dusty corner beside Dumbledore's desk.
There, amidst a pile of old books and rolls of parchment, sat a tattered, patched pointed hat.
The Sorting Hat.
Amster bent down and picked up the hat.
The hat squirmed slightly in his hands, the folds beside the brim opening and closing like a face waking up.
"Oh."
The Sorting Hat said in its hoarse and ancient voice, "It's you again.
Slytherin's boy — no, not just Slytherin.
You have Gryffindor's courage, Ravenclaw's wisdom, Hufflepuff's loyalty upon you.
You remind me of someone."
"Who?"
Amster asked.
The Sorting Hat did not reply.
It only frowned more deeply, as if recalling a very distant matter.
The folds of the brim trembled slightly, as if something was stuck deep within the fabric, unable to be spoken out.
Amster did not press further.
He held the Sorting Hat in his palm, and slowly raised his other hand.
Chapter 115: The Sword is Drawn
A silver-blue light lit up from his palm.
That was the aura of Ancient Magic—not an aggressive force, but a gentle, spring-like purifying power.
The light flowed out from between Amster's fingers, gently wrapping around the entire Sorting Hat.
The hat let out a low hum.
Not of pain.
It was relief.
The dust, stains, and chaotic magic accumulated over a thousand years, tainted from the minds of countless students during countless sorting ceremonies, were peeled away layer by layer in that light.
The hat's color gradually faded from grayish-brown, revealing its true underlying color—an ancient, soft-glinting silver-white.
The tear on the brim still existed, but it no longer looked dilapidated.
They now looked like the natural traces left by time, the way an ancient, carefully preserved artifact should look.
When the light dissipated, the Sorting Hat lay in his hands, entirely silver-white, like a moon that had fallen to the ground.
No one in the room spoke.
Professor McGonagall's lips parted slightly.
Professor Sprout wiped the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief.
Professor Flitwick stood on tiptoe, his whole body almost leaning off the stack of books, trying to see more clearly.
Sirius Black leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on that silver-white hat, with an indescribable expression on his face.
Snape stood in the furthest shadows, unmoving.
His face was like stagnant water, without a trace of ripples, but his eyes never left that hat.
Dumbledore quietly watched all of this.
There was an expression in his blue eyes that Amstercould not read—it was gratification, pride, or perhaps something deeper related to distant past events.
His hands were folded on his knees, fingertips tightening slightly.
"For the first time in a thousand years." The Sorting Hatmurmured.
There was an emotion in its voice that Amster had never heard before—gratitude and relief.
"I feel truly clean."
High up on the wall, in the portrait of Godric Gryffindor, the corners of the red-haired wizard's mouth curved up slightly.
He didn't speak, just nodded very lightly, as if acknowledging something.
Amster gently placed the Sorting Hat, which had restored its true colors, back onto the desk.
The hat wobbled slightly on the desk, then calmed down, the silver-white fabric shimmering with a soft luster under the candlelight.
"But this is not enough." He said.
He turned to the Sorting Hat again and reached out his hand.
This time, he didn't touch the hat itself, but hovered his hand above the brim, palm facing down.
His fingers curled slightly.
"Before setting out to destroy the second Horcrux, there is something that everyone present needs to know."
The silver-blue light of Ancient Magic lit up once more.
This time it was more concentrated, like a thin beam of light reaching from his palm into the depths of the Sorting Hat.
The hat trembled, the folds of its body undulating violently, the whole hat shaking slightly—not in resistance, but with some awakened power surging from within.
Then, a golden light shot out from the mouth of the hat.
Dazzling and fierce, more so than the silver-blue Ancient Magic, like a sunrise compressed in the hat for a thousand years finally finding an outlet.
Amster's hand grasped something.
He slowly drew his hand out from the hat's opening.
The golden light extended outward with his movement, growing brighter and more solid.
Professor McGonagall gasped.
Professor Flitwick let out a sharp gasp.
Professor Sprout covered her mouth with both hands.
When his palm completely left the hat, everyone finally saw clearly what he was holding.
A sword.
Rubies shone brilliantly on the hilt, like solidified flame, or like a still-beating heart embedded in metal.
The silver-white blade flowed with moonlight-like luster, and ancient runes were engraved on the blade—not decorations, but real ancient inscriptions still emitting faint magic.
At the connection between the hilt and the blade, the golden-red Gryffindor emblem shone brilliantly in the candlelight.
Godric Gryffindor's sword.
"Merlin's beard!" Professor Flitwick screamed, almost tumbling off the stack of books.
Sirius Black took a step back, his lower back hitting the bookshelf behind him.
Several thick magic books slid off the shelf, hitting the floor with a dull thud, but he was completely oblivious.
His gaze was nailed tightly onto that sword, his lips quivering slightly, but making no sound.
Professor McGonagall's hands tightly clutched the front of her robes, her knuckles turning white.
Professor Sprout let out a short gasp, then covered her mouth with her handkerchief.
Snape's pupils shrank abruptly.
This was his only obvious reaction all night.
His right hand lifted almost imperceptibly, then quickly dropped back to his side, tightly clutching the fabric of his black robes.
Dumbledore still sat quietly.
His expression barely changed, but Amster noticed that the old man's fingertips had tightened completely, his knuckles pressing against the back of his other hand, bluish veins slightly protruding under his aged skin.
That was a physical reaction he rarely displayed.
On the wall, within the portrait of Gryffindor, Godric Gryffindor stood up.
His figure filled the entire frame, golden-red light overflowing from the canvas, almost illuminating half the wall.
When he spoke, his voice was completely different from his usual joking tone in the portrait—low, solemn, as if coming through the years from a battlefield a thousand years ago.
"You have never relied on the Sorting Hat," Godric said, "From the very first moment you picked it up, you summoned it directly."
Amster held the sword horizontally in front of him.
The blade reflected the moonlight outside the Headmaster's Office window and the candlelight inside, casting moving patches of light on the wall, like shimmering ripples on water.
"Gryffindor's sword. From the day it was forged, it was hidden in the Sorting Hat."
His voice wasn't loud, but every word fell clearly into the ears of everyone present.
"Only a true Gryffindor, when truly needing it, can draw it out from the hat."
He looked around the room.
"This is what most History of Magic books record."
He paused.
The ancient runes on the blade flickered slightly with his breathing, as if also waiting for his next words.
"But the fact is—"