Hogwarts' Golden Glory

"However, I still need you to do one more thing!"

When the clerk produced the "Provisional Alliance Agreement" written in the blood of Hungarian bee ink.

Signas suddenly sneered, "You don't trust us?"

"This time is different." Cobbon held the agreement in the air with his wand. "It concerns the interests of every one of us. If any of us informs Malfoy..."

The penalties stipulated in the agreement terrified everyone.

Bound by magic, they would never betray them.

Soon, five magic wands touched the parchment, and the blood-red text twisted and took shape.

The morning frost and mist had not yet dissipated.

Kane Malfoy was already standing at the door of the infirmary.

He gently pushed open the oak door, and was greeted by the strong scent of white succinate and mandrake ointment.

The bed at the very back of the school hospital.

Neville Longbottom was lying quietly.

His face was so pale it was almost transparent, his forehead was wrapped in bandages soaked in medicine, and his exposed skin was covered with bloodstains from being scratched by tree branches.

"He's still not awake."

Harry Potter's voice came from the corner.

Kane turned his head and saw the Golden Trio huddled together on a small sofa.

Ron's robes were covered in mud, and Harry didn't look too good either.

“Mrs. Pomfrey said,” Hermione’s voice was hoarse, “that his spine was fractured in three places when it hit the tree trunk, his right hand was comminuted… and…”

Her lips trembled. "Traces of some kind of dark magic."

Ron suddenly jumped up from the sofa: "You definitely know something!"

He pointed at Kane, "That man in black last night—"

"Ron!" Hermione shouted, but it was too late.

It turns out that Ron, with his wild imagination, had actually suspected Kane of being the man in black.

Such baseless suspicion naturally prompted the two to offer their rebuttals.

Harry took a deep breath, a resolute glint in his green eyes: "It's Voldemort."

The temperature in the ward seemed to drop as he uttered the name. "He needs unicorn blood to stay alive... Neville and I saw him with our own eyes last night—"

A violent cough interrupted Harry.

Neville woke up at that moment.

Kane immediately drew his wand and tapped it three times on the silver bowl on the bedside table.

The steam from the mixture of mint and fig immediately rose into the air.

"Mr. Longbottom, you'd better not try to sit up."

Kane used the tip of his wand to wrap the slipped blanket back around Neville's trembling shoulders.

"Ms. Pomfrey added five drops of salamander blood to your potion, which will give you the illusion that you can lift a giant."

Neville's eyelids twitched, and his pale face was covered in cold sweat.

Kane poured some pumpkin juice into the glass by his bedside.

"Listen, Mr. Longbottom,"

He slapped the parchment on the bedside table. "Professor McGonagall said your homework this week can be halved—but only if you can successfully turn a match into a needle."

The quill pen automatically highlighted the key points on the paper, and the last line suddenly popped up with crooked handwriting: Permit application to go to St. Mungo on Saturday.

Neville's fingers trembled violently, and the parchment nearly slipped from his grasp.

His eyes instantly reddened, and his lips trembled: "But...but Grandma said—"

"I will inform Mrs. Longbottom in advance," Kane interrupted him, his tone as calm as stating a perfectly ordinary fact, "and Professor Dumbledore will be coming along as well."

Neville's breathing became unsteady, and tears welled up in his eyes.

But he bit his lip hard to keep it from falling.

"But there's a condition," Kane continued, his grey-blue eyes looking directly at Neville.

"You must finish all your assignments on time this week, or Professor McGonagall will be the first to object."

Ron clung to the bed railing and leaned closer: "If you ask me, I'd rather pretend to have a stomachache. Fred gave me those fever-reducing candies last time—"

"Ron Weasley!" Hermione's curls practically stood on end. "They're leaving school, it's not like they're just asking for leave!"

In recent days, they had also heard that Kane could help treat Neville's parents.

So at this moment, it's clear what they're planning to do.

"Thank you, Kane."

Just then, the ward door was suddenly pushed open.

Mrs. Pomfrey strode in, carrying a bottle of medicine that was emitting purple smoke.

Visiting hours are over!

With a wave of her wand, the curtains snapped shut automatically.

"Mr. Longbottom needs to rest, and you—"

A broom flew up from the corner, chasing after Ron's heels. "We need to get out of here right now!"

Ron jumped back awkwardly, nearly bumping into Harry.

Hermione wanted to say something more, but Madam Pomfrey's sharp gaze silenced her.

The three reluctantly walked towards the door, and Harry glanced back at Neville.

The boy was clutching the permission Kane had given him, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Kane was the last to leave.

He had just stepped out of the ward when he heard a cold voice come from the shadows:

"What a touching act of kindness, Malfoy."

Snape appeared from around the corner of the corridor like a giant bat, his black robes billowing silently.

His dark eyes were fixed on Kane, his thin lips pressed into a sharp line.

"Dumbledore wants to see you about Sirius."

He spoke slowly and deliberately, with a dangerous calm in his voice, "I think you have a lot to say about what happened in the Forbidden Forest last night."

Kane's expression remained unchanged; he merely adjusted his cuffs slightly. "I thought you were more concerned about Potter and the others' safety, Professor."

A flash of anger crossed Snape's eyes.

He took a step forward, his tall figure exuding an imposing aura: "Kid. The potion smell on that 'Quirk' last night—" he lowered his voice, "—was it euphoria?"

Kane narrowed his grey-blue eyes slightly: "Professor, you really know the smell of potions inside and out."

"And your 'concern' for Neville Longbottom is even more intriguing."

Snape sneered. "A sudden interest in St. Mungo's long-term patients? Or perhaps..."

His voice suddenly dropped to a whisper, "You have other ideas?"

"Professor, isn't the principal busy? Let's go ahead first, so as not to keep him waiting."

Snape's expression instantly turned ashen.

"The Headmaster's office," Snape finally managed to squeeze out the word through gritted teeth, "now."

The spiral staircase carried Kane and Snape slowly upwards.

Behind the door, Dumbledore stood beside the Pensieve, his blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles gleaming with an unfathomable light.

"Ah, Severus, Kane," he said gently, his fingers lightly stirring the silvery memories in the bowl. "Please sit, Lemon Olaf?"

Snape didn't move, his black robes standing still like a frozen shadow: "I thought you were going to ask about the Forbidden Forest last night."

Dumbledore sighed and picked up a letter bearing the Ministry of Magic's seal from the table: "That's true... but before we talk about that, there's something you should know."

He unfolded the parchment. "Wiseengamo has just passed a resolution postponing Sirius Black's trial for another month."