The Return to Hogwarts

Oliver Wood wouldn't let the cold weather and drizzle hinder his path to victory. His training program started in the first week of the second week of school and continued at a high frequency of four times a week until the final.

"As you all know, Slytherin is going to be very strong this year!" Wood roared at his broomstick-riding teammates as they swayed in the wind. "We're going to have a tough fight in the finals this year. Of course, if we get eliminated by Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw beforehand, then never mind!"

"Please, is there anyone who can calm Oliver down?!"

Katie Bell, who was in the same grade as the Weasley twins, almost slipped off her broom while dodging a running ball from George. She yelled in frustration, "My clothes are soaking wet, and I haven't been feeling well these past few days!"

“Perhaps you could ask Harry for help, Kitty,” George said with a grin as he swept over her head. “You could ask Harry to release the servants from his Chamber of Secrets. I bet Wood would feel a bit better if Flint and Malfoy were turned to stone!”

George's words elicited a burst of laughter, and Harry couldn't help but laugh along.

"Harry, Harry!"

Ron hurried from the castle toward the pitch. He had been playing wizard chess with Seamus in the common room, but Neville's message prevented him from enjoying his leisurely time.

"What's wrong, Ron!"

Under Wood's murderous gaze, Harry controlled Nimbus 2000 and flew to the edge of the playground. When he saw Ron's pale face, he immediately realized that something terrible had probably happened again.

"Go check the foyer, Harry, now!"

Ron grabbed Harry and ran towards the castle, not even giving him time to ask for leave. The rest of the team, mistaking it for another attack, descended one by one and followed them to the castle. In the end, only Wood was left alone in the sky.

When the team arrived at the lobby, a large crowd had already gathered there, whispering among themselves about the newly posted notice on the bulletin board.

Upon Harry's arrival, the crowd automatically parted in the middle. Ernie and her gang from Hufflepuff, as well as Susan Burns, looked at him with unreadable expressions. Percy's expression was very serious, while Ginny, standing behind Percy, clutched her chest tightly, her face deathly pale.

"For you, Weasley, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, isn't it?"

Standing at the very front was Draco Malfoy, his two loyal henchmen having squeezed out the best spots for him. Seeing Harry and Ron arrive, soaking wet and pale-faced, he grinned maliciously.

"You only have this one chance in your life to have the money to buy yourself a new wand. Are you going to give it up?"

"Get out of my way, Malfoy! I don't need you to worry about what I use!" Ron said bluntly.

Perhaps seeing that the Gryffindor team was all there and that they were outnumbered, Malfoy actually ordered Crabbe and Goyle to step aside and stare at Harry with ill intent. This finally allowed Harry to see what had caused such a commotion.

A new public notice, large enough to cover all the other auction notices for secondhand spellbooks, Filch’s regular reminders of school rules, a note about exchanging Chocolate Frog pictures, a lost and found notice, and a huge signature written in red ink at the bottom of the notice.

To all Hogwarts teachers and students:

Given that the attack remains unresolved and the safety of all teachers and students cannot be effectively guaranteed, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and Vice-Headmaster McGonagall Minerva have approved the following: Young wizards with any information regarding the locked-room attack are encouraged to provide relevant information to the Board of Governors' special investigator.

If the information is confirmed to be true and valid, the Board of Trustees will award a cash prize of 200 Galleons.

Amosta Blaine

Harry's face turned deathly pale, and it sounded like a thousand Cornish elves were screaming in his ears.

"So this is the kind of tactic the school board had high hopes for in its investigators, huh?" Fred lowered his voice, his tone a mix of sarcasm and anger. "Encouraging everyone to report on each other—their methods are truly ingenious!"

Ginny looked like she was about to cry at any moment, and Neville's whispered warning made Harry's heart sink even further, and he saw stars.

"Filch went straight to the third floor the moment he saw the announcement, Harry, you need to be careful."

Harry didn't need to ask Neville what he meant by "be careful," and he was almost certain what Filch would say to the investigator: Mrs. Lorris was the first person attacked that school year, and unfortunately, Harry and his friends were the first to arrive at the scene. This convinced Filch that the three of them were responsible for turning his beloved pet into a stone.

“Go talk to him, Harry,” Ron said worriedly in his ear.

Harry understood what Ron meant; he wanted him to talk to Mr. Blaine first, before most of the young wizards in the castle reported him.

Hermione suggested the same thing last night at the school hospital, but Harry refused. There were many reasons for this, such as his fear that if he told others that he heard a strange, terrifying voice clamoring for murder before each attack, he would be seen as crazy.

For example, he didn't want to see that poor little elf named Dobby subjected to questioning and punishment because of his testimony.

But what else can he say besides these things? How can he defend his innocence?

Moreover, Harry found it odd that he didn't tell Headmaster Dumbledore about his hidden secrets, but instead went to an investigator he didn't know very well.

Harry staggered out of the hall and headed toward his dormitory, ignoring even Malfoy's laughter as he told Professor Sprout that she would soon receive a fresh batch of fertilizer.

Behind him, Fred and George exchanged a knowing glance, both seeing the same thoughts reflected in each other's eyes.

Chapter 32 A Failed Conversation (Part 1)

In any case, Harry ultimately decided to take Hermione's advice and talk to Amostrath Blaine. Otherwise, he might be driven mad by strange looks and terrible rumors before the monster in the Chamber of Secrets turned someone into a stone again.

He went back to his dorm, changed into clean clothes, and frantically smoothed his hair in front of the mirror, hoping it would make him look less rebellious.

"You're wasting your time, darling!" said the mirror in the dormitory, its gold patterns gleaming in a panting voice.

"Thanks for reminding me!" Harry replied with an annoyed expression.

Harry made a point of going to Mr. Blaine's office around dinner time so he wouldn't have to face too many gloating glances on the way. However, when he got down to the third floor, he still unexpectedly bumped into the castle caretaker, Argus Filch.

Filch looked like he had just had a good cry; his bulging eyes were bloodshot, and snot was hanging from his ugly nose, reaching down to his double chin. When he saw Harry, he immediately dropped his disheveled expression and stared at him fiercely like a wounded hyena.

"Someone will get what they deserve, Potter, it won't be long!"

“What do you mean, Mr. Filch?”

Harry's voice was so weak it sounded like someone was choking him. He desperately wanted to understand what Filch meant, but unfortunately, Filch just stared at him, gave a series of cold laughs, and left.

Filch went to report himself, there's no doubt about that.

Harry couldn't convince himself that this wasn't the case. His heart was pounding, and he wanted to just walk away because he was afraid that the investigator had already accepted Filch's accusation, and that going to his office would be like walking into a trap.

However, he eventually knocked on Blaine's office door, because the other man was a ruthless person who had gone toe-to-toe with Dumbledore in his fifth year. If he was determined to send him to prison, Harry couldn't think of anyone besides Headmaster Dumbledore who could save him.

After being given permission to enter, the office door opened by itself. Harry stood in the doorway, nervously looking around the room, afraid that a rope would fly over and tie him up at any moment.

Aside from Dumbledore's distinctive round office, Mr. Blaine's office was the largest Harry had ever seen. Of course, this wasn't anything special, as it was originally a classroom.

The fireplace in the wall behind the window made the room warm and cozy. On the far end of the room were a desk, bookshelves, and a simple bed. There was a strange smell in the air, as if Mr. Blaine had been brewing a potion in the room.

The most striking thing in the room was the wall to the right of the entrance, which was covered by a huge black curtain. A faint light could be seen flickering behind the curtain. For some reason, Harry suddenly thought of movie theaters in the Muggle world. Although the Dursleys had never taken him to the movies when he was with them, Harry had seen them on television a few times.

"So, you're just going to stand there and talk to me, Mr. Potter?" Amosta smiled gently from behind the desk.

“Oh, sorry, Mr. Blaine.” Harry quickly closed the door and came in, stammering an explanation as he approached the desk, “I was just a little curious about that wall.”

“I understand,” Amostall said with a smile. He gestured for Harry to sit down, then went to the fireplace to make tea.

"I don't have any good drinks to offer you, but if you don't mind, please have some tea, Mr. Potter—"

As Amosta walked back with the tea, Harry's attention was drawn to the framed photograph on Mr. Blaine's desk. It was a picture of an elderly man and Mr. Blaine. There was nothing particularly noteworthy about the man; he was probably an elder who was close to Mr. Blaine.

To Harry's surprise, Mr. Blaine, who was about the same age as Percy in the photo, looked a little off.

"Thank you."

As Harry nervously accepted the steaming tea, he quickly glanced at Mr. Blaine's slightly haggard face, and then he understood why he felt something was wrong.

Because Mr. Blaine in the photo, during his student days, had brown eyes similar to Hermione's, but the investigator standing in front of him had strangely pale purple eyes.

Was it the effect of magic? Harry wondered, somewhat dazed, but then he snapped back to reality; now was not the time to think about such things.

"Are you wondering why the color of my eyes looks off?"

Amosta leaned back in his chair, holding his tea. The hazy steam made his expression a little blurry, but judging from his tone, it wasn't the kind of angry questioning that came after being offended.

“Oh no!” Harry said awkwardly.

Amosta chuckled at the nervous young wizard sitting opposite him. No matter how famous Harry Potter was, or how brilliant his future might be, at least for now, the naivety and immaturity he displayed were still within Amosta's perception of a second-year wizard.

"You must have just met Mr. Filch, right?" Amosta sipped her bitter tea, her voice gentle.

As Mr. Blaine began to speak, Harry suddenly recalled his abrupt encounter with Ron and Hagrid near Professor McGonagall's office during the Christmas holidays. Afterwards, Ron remarked that Mr. Blaine was very much like Headmaster Dumbledore. Harry hadn't felt it too deeply at the time, but now he somewhat agreed with Ron's assessment.

Unlike Professor Snape or Professor McGonagall, who exude a stern aura wherever they go, Mr. Blaine's intimidating quality lies precisely in his tolerant and gentle nature. It is a natural confidence that brings a high degree of suppression, making it impossible for you to even think of rebelling.

“Yes, Mr. Blaine, I saw Filch. He looked like he had just had a good cry.” Harry nodded hesitantly.

"What do you think it's for, Mr. Potter?"

Amosta blew away the floating leaves on the surface of the tea and asked with great interest.

Harry's gaze lingered on Amos Tower's worn wizard robe collar, but he didn't speak, because the question didn't need an answer.

Seeing that the atmosphere had been set enough, Amosta decided not to frighten Harry any further. He put down his teacup, ready to get straight to the point. However, to his surprise, Harry, who had been silent all along, suddenly mustered his courage and looked Amosta directly into his eyes with his bright, resolute emerald eyes.

"Mr. Blaine, do you also believe that I am a descendant of Slytherin, and that I opened the Chamber of Secrets?"

P.S.: My nucleic acid test result was abnormal, so I had to get another single-tube test done. So annoying!

Chapter 33 A Failed Conversation (Part 2)

Harry stared nervously at Amos Tower, who seemed lost in thought. His hands, resting on his knees, gripped his robes tightly. The courage he had mustered vanished the moment he asked the question.

What would Mr. Blaine say?

Deep down, Harry felt that this investigator, who seemed quite unusual, wouldn't be so easily swayed by the rumors circulating in the school, but if he couldn't withstand the pressure from the board of trustees and was desperate to hand over a murderer.

"If you're asking for my personal opinion, Potter—"

Amosta began to speak, and Harry's clenched fists turned white at the knuckles.

“I personally believe you are not the murderer who opened the locked room, Mr. Potter.”

Harry's eyes widened instantly, and his heart pounded as if he were riding a flying broomstick through thin, cool clouds for the first time, feeling light and joyful. Even the dimly lit office suddenly felt bright and spacious.