The Evil Thoughts of Hogwarts and the Genie

Edmund turned around quickly and glanced in the direction of the fireplace.

The fireplace roared, and the head of a thin, sorrowful man stood timidly in the center of the flames, looking around longingly.

Clearly, this is a conversation between Floo fans.

"Edmund—"

"Dumbledore urged. Edmund looked up at him; the old wizard's expression was very serious, completely different from when the two met in private."

Edmund admitted he was even more curious. He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, and pretending not to notice that Pollyanna was trembling more violently.

"You'll be fine. As far as I know, our principal doesn't eat people."

He offered a word of comfort and left the principal's office, considerately closing the door behind him. It was nearly curfew; if he hadn't stopped, he should have been able to go to bed just in time.

But Edmund did not do that. He walked alone through the castle shrouded in night, found a corner without any portraits, and used the magic of the batteries to cast an illusion spell on himself.

He wasn't about to invite trouble by going back to eavesdrop. The Disillusionment Charm wasn't a spell a first-year student should know; if Dumbledore found out, the cleanup would be extremely difficult.

Edmund had other plans. He moved stealthily, the moonlight shining through the high windows of Hogwarts and onto the floor. Every now and then, the shadows of a few owls would dart across the moonlit floor like ghosts.

He walked lightly into the corridor near the Potions professor's room, hoping to run into Professor Slughorn on night patrol and ask the headmaster, who had just relayed a message from Dumbledore, for some inside information.

He circled around the area twice, and when he reached a corner, he seemed to trip over something. After he regained his footing, he could faintly hear voices coming from his right front.

That was Professor Slughorn's voice. He wasn't patrolling alone; he had a tall, thin witch with him... Professor McGonagall!

Edmund was more wary of Minerva McGonagall than of his own dean.

But turning back now was absolutely out of the question. He lowered his pace even further, trying to approach the two as cautiously as possible, hoping to hear what they were talking about.

"I really don't know how long this commotion outside will last... Sigh, it's not that I'm old and frail and can't stay up all night. It's just that I really don't like this job, don't you think, Minerva?"

Professor McGonagall didn't reply, and Professor Slughorn didn't seem embarrassed. He took out a handkerchief, wiped the sweat from his nose, and sighed.

"Who hasn't been young? How many Hogwarts students over the past few thousand years haven't gotten lost in the darkness of the night?"

He chuckled a few times.

"This castle is indeed incredibly charming—you can't deduct points from me anyway, Minerva, I admit I used to sneak out and wander around quite a bit back in the day."

In a daze, Edmund thought he heard Professor McGonagall chuckle twice.

so horrible.

This is terrifying—Professor McGonagall can actually laugh! She can even appreciate Professor Slughorn's jokes…

"I really can't deduct points from you, Horace, you're a senior figure."

"Professor McGonagall said gently. Edmund suddenly realized that she was the kind of person who only called colleagues by their first names in private, and only by their titles in front of students.

"Although I would be happy to send the night-wandering wizards back to sleep—and deduct a few points from them to teach them a lesson."

"But I also agree with you. We do need a new caretaker; having teachers patrol at night isn't a good idea. The good news is, as far as I know, Albus has already sent out recruitment notices to those he deems suitable."

The two were silent for a while, and when Professor Slughorn spoke again, his voice was very hesitant.

"Hmm... I've heard some rumors about that too."

"Well, uh, we've worked together for so many years, you know me, Minerva. I value talent." The walrus-like old professor struggled to find the right words. "And right now, things are really turbulent outside, I guess you've heard?"

"Just last weekend, those Squibs were waving flags and blocking the west entrance of Hogsmeade, making a scene and demanding that the Ministry of Magic give them an explanation and restore their rightful rights."

"What do you mean?"

Professor McGonagall suddenly spoke, cutting off Professor Slughorn's words. Her tone was icy cold.

"Stop beating around the bush, just say it, Horace."

The old man's shoulders slumped, he sighed deeply, and no longer tried to hide it:

"To be honest, I feel sorry for them. The lives of these Squibs... are a nightmare! They have no magic, can't learn magic, and are considered a disgrace by their families."

"Some of them were not even adults when they were kicked out of their homes and never heard from again; others were equally pitiful, spending their lives like slaves being ordered around by their families. There are far too many of these tragedies, so it's no wonder."

"But pity won't solve the problem. This is indeed a very difficult matter! These powerless duds are only making things worse for the minister."

"You know, Minerva. These Squibs, mistreated by their families, mostly come from such families. Do you think those families will listen to the Ministry's advice? I doubt it!"

"Therefore, I don't quite understand what Albus means. I heard he wants to find a Squib to be the doorman... I really don't discriminate against Squibs, Minerva, I really don't!"

"But even the Ministry of Magic is already overwhelmed by these Squibs from the demonstrations, and now Albus has decided to pull this stunt, going against the Ministry... I feel, sigh, I feel this will bring trouble to Hogwarts!"

Professor Slughorn's voice trembled almost imperceptibly, as if he were afraid of someone.

This puzzled Edmund somewhat.

Whether Professor McGonagall noticed Slughorn's unease or not, the Headmaster of Gryffindor sighed and gently placed his hand on Slughorn's shoulder.

The two deans started walking again, heading towards the other side of the corridor. Edmund stood still, not daring to go any further.

"But that was the headmaster's judgment," Professor McGonagall said calmly. "It was Albus's decision."

Upon hearing this, Professor Slughorn slumped down like a deflated balloon. He muttered complaints, and Edmund, listening intently, vaguely heard:

"You are... loyal... Alas, Minerva... He is too good at...

This cloze test was quite easy. Edmund guessed that Professor Slughorn was complaining about how everyone around Dumbledore was so loyal.

Edmund increasingly felt that the old man was like a fully upgraded version of Grindelwald.

We've heard enough gossip. Although we couldn't confirm the identity of the man in the fireplace, the nighttime stroll was still worthwhile.

Continuing to stake out Professor Slughorn was no longer realistic, so Edmund decided to go back to sleep.

On his way back, Edmund glanced around and suddenly spotted a pair of shoes that shouldn't be there at a familiar corner. But before he could get a closer look, a familiar voice rang out in a low, soft voice.

"You stepped on my foot, Sirius! Don't you feel like the ground beneath your feet is too soft?!"

"Ha, is it possible, James, that your boots are as hard as rocks because you won't brush them..."