The Return to Hogwarts

"I only heard Professor Dumbledore say a few words: young wizards, safety, and something about consulting with the Board of Governors—"

Neville looked frightened.

"Perhaps this morning's Daily Prophet led Professor Dumbledore to believe that Black might storm into Hogwarts and slaughter us at any moment!"

"Don't talk nonsense, Neville!"

Hermione glanced furtively at Harry's sullen expression and quickly said,

“Black couldn’t possibly break into Hogwarts. Professor Dumbledore said on the first night of school that no disguise can fool the Dementors. As long as we stay in the school, no one can hurt us!”

Neville blinked his round eyes, and judging from his expression, he seemed to think that Hermione was the one who didn't understand the situation.

It wasn't until evening, after finishing their day of classes, that Harry and Ron finally managed to find time to go to Professor Sprout's office. Because Professor Lupin had warned them beforehand, Harry and Ron didn't dare to make up any excuses to deceive the Headmaster of Hufflepuff. They honestly explained why they had missed Herbology class, and this honesty earned them a bit of luck. Professor Sprout didn't put them in solitary confinement, but she asked Harry and Ron to find a way to complete their paper on cultivating Bubble Branches and how to safely extract the fruit from the pink pods.

"Bubble branches and fruit--"

Ron, emerging from Professor Sprout's office, looked at Harry with a puzzled expression.

"If my brain wasn't clouded by Hagrid's reeking of alcohol, Harry, Hermione went to visit Hagrid with us this morning, how did she end up with a head full of beans too?"

"And she went straight to the library after dinner,"

Harry's face showed just as much confusion as Ron's, he added.

"She doesn't seem worried at all that Professor Sprout will put the three of us in solitary confinement, which is not like her at all."

After discussing for a long time in front of the office, they still couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation. Since it was still early, after a brief discussion, Harry and Ron decided to go to the library to ask Hermione for advice.

To take care of the flowers and plants, Professor Sprout arranged his office on the first floor of the castle, which was quite a distance from the library. Harry and Ron ran wildly down the first-floor corridor. When they reached the foyer, Harry, as if sensing something, subconsciously glanced at the shaman's courtyard bathed in the bright moonlight. With just one glance, he stopped in his tracks, his face showing surprise and doubt.

"Oh, watch out, Harry!"

Ron, who was following behind Harry, was caught off guard and his freckled nose made intimate contact with the back of Harry's head. He rubbed his sore nose and said with dissatisfaction.

"Look, Ron!"

Harry ignored Ron's rambling and hurriedly pulled Ron to the door, pointing to two figures talking under a large, leafy tree in the courtyard.

"Snape and Malfoy?" Ron looked surprised, as expected. "Who are they plotting to harm this time?"

“We can figure this out,” Harry said, quickly pulling his heirloom, the Invisibility Cloak, from his bag.

As was his usual practice, Harry would hide his Invisibility Cloak under his bed in his dormitory, but his failed attempt to follow Professor Blaine during the summer holidays and Professor Blaine's instructions before the start of the semester led Harry to change this habit.

The sound of the wind in the courtyard made the rustling of the grass as the two walked became less jarring. Harry and Ron crouched low and moved quickly closer with soft steps. When they got close enough and Malfoy's figure became clear, Harry's face immediately turned ashen.

"See that, Ron? Malfoy's just putting on an act!" Harry said angrily through gritted teeth.

Under the moonlight, Malfoy's hand, injured by Buckbeak, was still bandaged, but it was no longer suspended from his neck by a rope; instead, it hung down naturally, showing no signs of distress.

Ron nudged Harry in the ribs, signaling him to shut up.

The conversation in the courtyard was drawing to a close. Harry and Ron held their breath, only able to hear Snape's final question through the soft rustling of the wind.

"If you still refuse to tell us who is threatening your mom and dad, Draco..."

Although Snape's tone was somewhat impatient, it was still much more humane than when he spoke to the other young wizards.

"So what do you think I should do to help you?"

Chapter 178 The Screaming Shed

Friday is a very important day for the residents of Hogsmeade, especially the first Friday of the new term.

Because tomorrow is the first weekend after summer vacation. At that time, the senior wizards who have saved up their pocket money all summer will be carrying wallets full of cash. As soon as the castle gates open, the little guys will rush here without stopping. The native inhabitants of Hogsmeade will not let them leave until they have spent every last nut in their pockets.

Amosta, who hadn't left the house all morning, could hear the noise from the main road just a few dozen feet away.

Lady Rosmerta, the proprietress of the Three Broomsticks tavern, is busy filling the cellar that Hagrid emptied. Cicero Haggis, the owner of the Honeydukes Candy Shop, and his shop assistant Ambrose Froome are changing the billboards for their products. Mr. Bans, who was once ripped off by Amostall, is riding through the streets in a carriage carrying the latest magical items from his family's alchemy workshop.

The entire village was bathed in a joyful and thriving atmosphere. In such a peaceful environment, even the tedious task of repairing houses gave Amosta a lot of energy.

The original owner of the house supplied food to the Hogwarts kitchen. Before leaving, he gave Amostella some of the food stored in the cellar, which saved Amostella a lot of trouble.

As Amosta repaired the last shard of glass in the window and turned around, the Screaming House, perched on the hillside, suddenly came into view. Covered in dust, Amosta pondered for a moment and decided to strike while the iron was hot and tidy up his reserved research base as well.

The summer heat of late summer and early autumn was gone, and Amosta, feeling as if he were on an autumn outing, climbed the grassy hillside with a relaxed attitude. The breeze carrying the scent of fresh grass and earth refreshed his slightly tired spirit.

The Screaming Shed is rumored to be the most haunted house in Britain. It is built taller than other houses in the village. Due to the distorted legends, the dilapidated house looks a bit creepy even during the day. The windows on all four sides are boarded up, leaving only the frames. The small garden enclosed by a fence is similar to that of Potter's old house, overgrown with weeds and nettles.

Apart from a few overly curious young wizards, the locals basically never come here. Amosta walked around the house but found no footprints.

The house is isolated on the highest hillside in the vicinity, with a wide view. Apart from the village to the south, the northwest stretches to the horizon with endless, grassless hills, while to the northeast, more than ten miles away, lies an endless, dark, forbidden forest.

Amostah nodded in satisfaction. This open terrain made it difficult to hide, and any wizard who tried to approach could not escape his notice.

While attending Hogwarts, Amosta had heard many terrifying tales about the Shrieking Shack. Legend had it that on every full moon night, the house would echo with the mournful wails of a female ghost and the whispers of spirits. But Amosta wasn't one of the Gryffindors' busybodies, and this was his first time approaching the haunted house.

Out of reverence for those terrifying legends, Amosta still took out his wand, removed the door panel, and waited for the dust to settle before slowly putting on the Bubble Charm and walking inside.

The room was in pretty much as Amosta had expected: it was messy and gloomy, most of the wallpaper on the walls had fallen off, and all the furniture looked like it had been thoroughly wrecked.

Amosta's gaze fell on the still relatively intact wooden floor, and his brows furrowed slightly.

The floor, covered with a thick layer of dust, was marked with a number of messy footprints, suggesting that quite a few rats lived here.

After thinking for a moment, Amosta squatted down, lifted a broken wooden plank, and examined the situation under the floor.

"Oh my god!"

The moment the floorboards were torn off, a dozen frightened rats squeaked in terror and scurried about wildly. The spotted ground worms that were corroding the foundations of the house also wriggled and desperately tried to escape, their eyes, covered with fur, staring warily at Amosta.

With a wave of his wand, an invisible wave swept through the air, and Amosta locked the fleeing rats one by one into the wooden cages he conjured from a lamp stand. Given the tight budget, these rats were excellent experimental subjects.

Fearing the same fate as the rats, the spotted stalks fled and changed their habitat. Amosta was somewhat troubled by these small creatures that looked like large clumps of fungus and emitted a pungent odor.

He knew there was a cleansing spell that could effectively control the stigma, but only if their numbers were limited. Judging from the small patch of space exposed by the lifted floorboards, the dark corners of the house were probably overgrown with stigma. Amostah feared that if he cast a spell, the entire house would collapse.

After a moment's thought, Amosta decided to get along with the little guys. Since the house had lasted for so many years, there was no reason why it wouldn't last once he moved in.

"A massive engineering project—"

Amosta muttered.

The wine rack separating the living room and kitchen had collapsed, and the claw marks and teeth marks left on the broken wooden planks seemed to be left by a canine. Amosta guessed that it was probably the work of a stray dog ​​in the village or a wolf from the neighborhood. After throwing a spider the size of a teapot into the wooden cage, Amosta looked away and continued walking into the house.

The door to the only bedroom on the first floor was blocked by a few rotten logs. The room was filled with the remains of furniture, and the ornate light fixtures on the ceiling had fallen down. Amusta stood at the door and glanced around, noticing a large hole in the floor at the far end, which he guessed was the work of those spotted sedges.

That was roughly the state of the room. Amosta, back in the living room, glanced at the nearly collapsed staircase leading to the second floor, but had no interest in going upstairs to check.

Amosta does not have high requirements for the research environment; as long as there is no one to disturb you and a test bench and a chair, that is enough.

pat!

With a crisp snap of the fingers, a whirlwind appeared out of nowhere, lifting the overturned wine rack. In a rapidly spinning phantom, a wooden chair with a backrest appeared in front of Amosta and followed him into the kitchen with tap-dance-like steps.

Unexpectedly, the monster-shaped drip spout in the kitchen was still spewing out brownish-yellow sewage. Amosta let the cold water jets wash over the cobweb-covered stone basin, his gaze falling on what might be the only piece of furniture in the room that was still intact—the kitchen counter.

"Oh, a Boggart."

Amosta, who had crouched down, peeked through the gap in the sliding door and muttered to himself.

He took two steps back, gently flicked his wand, and the rusty sliding door opened with a series of grating creaks. A dark figure darted out from the moldy dish compartment, but before the Boggart could unleash its full power, Amostali landed and waved his wand again.

boom!

With a sound like a balloon bursting, the unfortunate Boggart was blown to pieces by the Amosta.

"So--"

His gaze swept around, and after confirming that there were no other living creatures in the kitchen and hallway, Amosta shook his neck and rolled up his sleeves.

"House-elf Amostra Blaine is now officially available!"

The night was not yet deep, and the brightly lit Gryffindor common room was still bustling with noise. Wizard chess, Gobstone, the Weasley brothers' jokes, Quidditch, Professor Lupin and Professor Blaine, Black who had once again escaped from the Ministry of Magic, and the things that Dumbledore and the professors had secretly discussed at lunch—these topics were common among the young wizards of Gryffindor.

You mean—

Under the ornate chandelier near the fireplace, Hermione's pretty face, still carrying a stack of heavy books, held a serious expression.

"Were Malfoy's parents threatened by a dark wizard?"

Chapter 179 The Master Writer

Harry and Ron were clearly pleased with what had happened to Malfoy, but their expectations differed. Ron was fed up with Malfoy constantly mocking his family's poverty, so he hoped this would bankrupt the Malfoy family, preventing Malfoy from ever flaunting his wealth in front of him again.

Harry's idea was very simple: he just wanted Malfoy's parents to be so anxious that they would be so afraid that they would run away. In that case, Malfoy would not be able to stay at Hogwarts, and Hagrid's crisis might be resolved.

"This isn't as simple as it seems, Harry!"

Hermione patted a stack of documents on the table related to magical creatures causing harm, her expression serious.

“We all know that Malfoy’s father is no ordinary person. Last semester, if it weren’t for Professor Blaine’s timely resolution of the basilisk and the notebook left by the mysterious man, Lucius Malfoy, who had the power to control the entire Board of Governors, might have actually expelled Professor Dumbledore from Hogwarts, but—”

“Professor Dumbledore would never lose to someone like that!” Harry said dismissively.

"Listen to me, Harry!"

Hermione glared at the defiant Harry, speaking rapidly.