The Return to Hogwarts

Amosta rested his elbows on the table, his fingers interlaced in a fist under his chin, using talking to organize his thoughts.

"Based on my and Kingsley's investigation this morning, the person at the top of this student organization is undoubtedly Field Wittelsbach, and he has some real wizards around him. I mean, his trusted followers are not students, but below these followers are students like Fraser, who may have research talent in Wittelsbach's eyes. These three levels can be considered the core of the organization, while the people on the periphery can only be considered hobbyists. So, they survived."

"Has a talent for research"

Louise pursed her lips, the jumbled thoughts in her mind subsiding. She never imagined that what had imprisoned Frazier and ultimately led to his demise was his talent.

“Mr. Blaine—”

While Louise was immersed in grief, and Amosta was formulating her next course of action based on the information she had, Kingsley, with a serious expression, strode in from an unnoticed alley across the street from the restaurant.

"Some new discoveries might interest you--"

Chapter 775 The Monastery

2024-02-28

Thanks to the prosperity of the textile industry, Bologna was once crisscrossed by canals, earning it the nickname "Little Venice".

However, after that world war that was equally famous in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds, most of the city's canals were passively submerged underground, leaving only a portion that allowed people to glimpse the former glory of Little Venice.

Sunlight streams down a shimmering, meandering river within the intricate network of low-rise buildings in the university district.

In the sparse woods that protect the riverbanks, there are many young men and women carrying heavy books, bathed in dappled sunlight. These Muggle teenagers are discussing something in small groups, and their cheerful laughter occasionally startles flocks of birds into flight.

"Where did you go to university, Amosta?"

As Louise continued walking along the river, the relaxed and pleasant atmosphere of the forest eased her worries. Recalling her wonderful student days, she noticed Amosta in front of her also looking at the students and asked curiously.

"Well?"

Amosta blinked, looking somewhat caught off guard.

"University--"

Louise spoke with emphasis, tilting her head to look at his profile. His fair skin and delicate features made it easy to tell that Amosta was young. However, his composed demeanor and deep, unfathomable eyes always made one subconsciously perceive him as an 'old-fashioned' person.

"I'm guessing you graduated no more than three years ago, right?"

"Ah—" Amosta chuckled, "Probably—"

Knowing that such an answer would not be satisfactory, Amosta pursed his lips, his gaze sweeping over the spirited faces in the forest, and said with a touch of melancholy,

"I'm so busy with work that I hardly have the time or energy to reminisce about the good old days of my student life."

Kingsley, who was leading the group, seemed to sense something and his pace quickened slightly. Louise noticed this keenly, and as if remembering something, her curious gaze kept shifting between the backs of the two men in front of her.

"Speaking of -"

Louise raised an eyebrow.

“Amosta—and Kingsley, you two are in the same government department, aren’t you? But you look quite different in age—that’s unusual, especially in government. Amosta, how did you become Kingsley’s boss? Hmm. Let me guess, I have indeed heard of a high-ranking official in Downing Street, Blaine.”

Louise slowly guessed as she observed Amosta's expression, hoping to find some clue in his demeanor.

"There's no single possibility, Louise—"

Amosta smiled calmly as he looked ahead, his smile revealing nothing to Louise. "Is it because of my excellent work performance?"

"Outstanding work ability? In a government department? Hmph—"

As if recalling some unpleasant memory, Louise gave a few disdainful snorts.

Louise was very interested in this question, and she tried to subtly probe through conversation to find out why Amosta was able to become Kingsley's boss, and also hoped to use these questions to pinpoint their true identities.

But against Amosta and Kingsley, her professional skills were far from sufficient to help her achieve her goals.

In a short while, instead of getting any information out of her, Louise was led to reveal a lot of information about herself. By the time Louise realized she had said too much, she had already followed Kingsley to a deserted and desolate area.

The river that had always accompanied the stream gradually shrank into a trickle, and finally disappeared into an underground river under a gray brick arch bridge. On the other side of the arch bridge, the riverbed was filled with silt and decaying leaves.

On the other side of the riverbank is a red brick monastery, now dilapidated, with even the window frames detached from the main building.

The monastery's walls facing them were covered with withered vines, and the corners, mired in damp mud, showed signs of mold decay. At the highest point of the building stood a white, openwork bell tower with a gilded cross.

Judging from all indications, this ancient monastery no longer fulfills its original function; now, it is probably a paradise for rats in the gutter.

“This is where Onisto Pastore currently resides, Mr. Blaine—” Kingsley stopped in front of the arched bridge and turned to look at Amosta, who was examining the monastery.

"And his daughter, Valeria Pastore, was the only one who disappeared before the magic-studding society disbanded—before his daughter's disappearance, Onisto Pastore ran a small, well-known boot workshop in the area—a factory, and he himself seemed to be a patron of that hobby society—"

Kingsley paused for a moment, then continued,

"--According to what I've heard, after his daughter went missing, Pastore lost all interest in running his factory. He quickly sold all his companies. People who knew him say he also sold his house and car at the same time. Finally, he donated a large sum of money to charity and then chose to live on the streets."

For some reason, Amosta was not moved by the story at all; instead, a cold glint flashed in her dreamy pale purple eyes under the sunlight.

"I never expected this--"

Louise blew her nose loudly, and said with a mixture of sadness and anger,

"The first time I came here, it was Valeria who led me to the basement where Frazier was. She was a very pretty and cheerful girl, and she was also a member of that magic research club. Apart from not wanting to talk to me about the club, Valeria was very talkative. Because of her, I changed my opinion of the club Frazier was in at the time—"

Amosta did not comment much on the matter. He gazed at the forgotten monastery amidst the overgrown weeds, his penetrating gaze scanning the situation through the mottled walls.

"Let's go in and say hello—"

Amosta said calmly, and then took the lead, walking past Kingsley toward the monastery.

The weeds growing inside the courtyard were even more luxuriant than those outside the walls. These weeds had cracked the original stone bricks that had been laid in the courtyard. Because the sewer openings were silted up, half of the courtyard had turned into a 'pond' filled with rotten silt.

Although the sun was still shining brightly, Louise shivered a few times as soon as she stepped inside. Although there were no clouds in the sky, a strange shadow fell over her view.

“Mr. Blaine…”

The colorful stickers on the shattered stained glass windows of the dilapidated church have not yet completely faded. The colorful light scattered by the sunlight reflects off the intruder, silently telling the story of the place's former prosperity.

Even Kingsley frowned inwardly at the chill in the air, lowering his head and calling out softly.

"It's obvious, isn't it—"

Surprisingly, Amosta didn't rush to explore the monastery. He stood behind the decaying doors, closed his eyes, and carefully sensed something, listening to the mournful cries of the eerie wind. After a moment, he slowly opened his eyes, smiling slightly, but there was no trace of joy in his eyes.

"I bet it'll be really scary here at night—"

Louise failed to grasp Amusta's veiled meaning; her brows furrowed as she scanned her surroundings.

“I don’t understand—” Louise said, puzzled. “Unless he’s insane, why would he live here?”

"Perhaps he really has gone mad, Mr. Pastore—"

Amosta shook his head slightly. He did not rush into the main hall to praise the god on the cross, nor did he search each room. Instead, he walked briskly along the corridor towards the backyard of the monastery.

Standing amidst a patch of weeds is a snow-white building. This was once, and now it is just as dilapidated. The purpose of this not-so-tall, round, pointed-roof building is unknown. Apart from a small square window about seven or eight feet off the ground, the thick brick walls look like solitary confinement cells or a prison.

Where is he?

Kingsley's deep voice betrayed a hint of wariness. He noticed a series of crooked footprints on the ground leading from the end of the corridor to the sunlit building, yet still to a dark, gaping doorway. For some reason, Kingsley felt an urge to draw his wand, but a glance at Louise, who also seemed hesitant and trembling at the entrance, stopped him.

“Let’s go visit Paz. Oh, I’m not sure if it’s him, but he should be the ‘owner’ here—”

Amosta said calmly.

Boom!

Just as he took a step, a heavy knocking sound suddenly rang out from inside the building, causing Amosta's steps to freeze again.

Louise's expression turned horrified instantly. In a very short time, she chose the one who made her feel safer between Amosta and Kingsley—she pressed herself against Amosta's back and grabbed his sleeve.

Boom, boom, boom!

The dull thumping grew more rapid and frantic with each strike, as if the person making the noise was desperately trying to do something.

Let's go--

In Amostella's slightly bright, pale purple eyes, swirling vortexes slowly like millstones, he uttered a statement that puzzled both Louise and Kingsley.

Let's go help him.

Chapter 776 Magic Exists (Part 1)

2024-02-28

A sudden gust of cold wind swept through the desolate courtyard, causing the waist-high weeds to bend over in the wind. The chill in the wind diluted the heat contained in the pale sunlight. Louise, whose eyes were stung by the grass fluff, shivered a few times and instinctively hugged her arms.

The rapid pounding continued inside the white building, carrying a hint of hysteria.

Amosta stepped out of the corridor and walked towards the tower-like circular building. His flowing robes rustled against the dense grass. For some reason, as Louise looked at Amosta's suddenly tall figure, she had a strange feeling that there was a thick barrier between this man and his surroundings, as if he came from another world.

Kingsley glanced at Louise, his right arm still strangely straight, and quickly followed.

"Hey, wait for me—"

Louise snapped out of her daze, called out guiltily, and ran over again to grab Amosta's sleeve.

As expected, the solitary building standing in the center of the large courtyard did indeed appear to be a confinement room. The narrow interior and the doors and windows facing away from the sunlight maintained the sense of confinement to the greatest extent. When the view shifted from the bright light to the dark interior space, even Amosta's vision blurred for a few seconds.

Boom, boom, boom——

When Louise saw what the strange noise was and who had created it, her face, which had been terrified by the sound, couldn't help but show surprise and confusion.

The cylindrical room was completely exposed. Most of the floor was covered with withered weeds pulled from the yard. Scattered on the 'grass' were many odds and ends, such as a coat soaked in mud and then dried, a dented square iron box used as a food container, and a hammer. But the hammerhead and handle were separate—

Kneeling on the grass was a disheveled man, judging from his tangled, gray hair, who appeared to be quite old. He resembled the beggars Louise had encountered outside the Kirkworth industrial area, who had no means of livelihood; every inch of his exposed skin was covered in nauseating filth.