Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 707 A Spring Rain

In the principal's office.

The lazy phoenix perched on the windowsill, its eyes half-closed, sometimes looking out at the open space, sometimes at the people talking inside the room.

The portraits of the past principals sit quietly in the frame, their hands folded in front of them, some facing forward, others with their heads slightly turned, each displaying a calm and amiable demeanor.

The tea in the exquisite porcelain cup was steaming, and the silverware on the table was also steaming. The warm steam had a refreshing effect. Scrimgeour took a few deep breaths, and his brain, which had been groggy from not having rested all night, cleared up a bit. Even his sore body felt relaxed.

Dumbledore, wearing crescent-shaped glasses, leaned back in his chair, dressed in a light blue robe embroidered with stars and moon, the silk draped naturally, soft and smooth.

"You must give me an explanation, Albus!"

Scrimgeour picked up his teacup, took a big gulp of tea, and let out a long breath: "Muggle universities and many geological research institutes have detected abnormal fluctuations. People in several nearby communities have felt the tremors, and at least several hundred people have seen beams of light illuminating the sky. The Muggle government is even planning to set up a special investigation team. In order to mitigate the impact, my staff were woken up in the middle of the night and haven't been able to rest until now."

"Stay calm, Rufus."

The old man slowly added sugar to his teacup, putting in four or five pieces before calmly stirring it with a spoon. "I have good news and bad news about what happened last night. Which would you like to hear first?"

"Albus Dumbledore! I'm not in the mood for this boring game of choices."

"Very well, I hope this good news will cheer you up." Dumbledore continued stirring, his movements even and unhurried. "You can retake the Ministry of Magic building now."

"What!?"

Scrimgeour exclaimed in surprise.

Since the fall of the Ministry of Magic and his forced exile, the minister has been under unprecedented pressure. He has been organizing the remaining forces to maintain power, safeguard basic order, and actively restore international affairs. He has been so busy that he has barely had time to rest. For the first two months, he relied on strong tea to stay awake, and later he started using Buffet to stay awake. He has even become somewhat mentally unstable.

The prisoner exchange incident further fueled his doubts, with the temporary outpost receiving numerous complaints daily. Had it not been for the special circumstances, Wissengamo would have almost dismissed him.

Upon suddenly hearing the news that he might be able to retake the headquarters, he could no longer remain calm. He stood up abruptly, his bloodshot eyes staring straight at Dumbledore, his surprise and joy intertwined, so excited that he could hardly speak.

He opened his mouth, somewhat incredulously asking, "What exactly happened last night? Why were we able to take back the Ministry of Magic? Has Voldemort fallen again?"

"And now for the bad news."

"What bad news?"

Dumbledore tapped the silver spoon against the rim of the cup with delicate elegance, then picked up the cup and took a small sip.

When Scrimgeour heard the bad news, his heart skipped a beat. It felt as if a group of giant eight-eyed spiders were wriggling and scratching inside him, curious and anxious. Seeing his unhurried movements, they gritted their teeth in frustration, wishing they could grab his teacup and pour the contents down his throat.

"Well……"

The sweet honey tea flowed down his throat and into his stomach, dispelling the fatigue from lack of sleep. Dumbledore let out a satisfied sigh, looked up and met a pair of eyes that were staring intently at him, their pupils red and wide. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow: "Rufus, as Minister for Magic, especially during times like these, you should always remain calm."

"..." Scrimgeour's eyebrows furrowed tightly, looking like a furious lion.

Dumbledore smiled and said, "The bad news is that Voldemort hasn't fallen. He's still alive, just seriously injured and needs to recuperate. He'll recover soon."

"So..." Scrimgeour's nostrils flared, his breathing quickened, "So last night's commotion was because you were dueling Voldemort, and you successfully defeated him without being injured at all."

"Indeed, someone thwarted Voldemort, but I'm sorry, Rufus, I cannot reveal his name without his permission."

Why?

Scrimgeour looked utterly bewildered and found it hard to believe: "Albus, I have no ill intentions towards him. The wizarding world needs such a powerful wizard; the Ministry of Magic simply wants to seek cooperation. It's a win-win situation; it will bring him unprecedented honor, wealth, and even power!"

"Knowing him as I do, he doesn't care about these things."

Dumbledore lowered his eyes slightly, his gaze deep and unfathomable.

Rufus wouldn't have used such rhetoric a few years ago. I remember meeting him that summer in St. Mungo, where the Auror Chief of Staff was one of the few officials who was willing to believe him.

In just a few short years, he has already displayed the ugly traits of someone in power.

"Could it be Grindelwald?"

"Gellert will not hide his name, nor will he steal someone else's victory."

Scrimgeour paced anxiously back and forth on the empty space in front of the table, watching Dumbledore remain unmoved. Under the watchful eyes of all the headmasters, he finally slumped down and sat down dejectedly: "Fine, I respect your choice, but I need to know what exactly happened last night?"

"I'm sorry." Dumbledore picked up his teacup and silently drank his tea.

"..."

Scrimgeour stared at him and couldn't help but ask, "What can I possibly know? Albus, you've gone too far!"

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said sincerely.

The effect was poor; Scrimgeour wasn't comforted, but instead became even angrier, his heavy breathing returning: "At least give me an explanation. If Voldemort reappears, will that mysterious wizard help us?"

"It should be possible."

"..."

In the end, the Minister of Magic left Hogwarts with an indignant expression, but when Dumbledore relayed the story to the Vice-Headmaster, he insisted that it was a pleasant conversation.

……

The shore of Black Lake.

The Easter holiday is drawing to a close.

The sky was grayish-white, neither overcast nor sunny, with low-hanging clouds resembling a thick quilt.

Having spent several years at Hogwarts, the young wizards were already familiar with the climate. They knew that the sky was brewing the pre-summer rains, and this was just the calm before the storm. All the students cherished the moment, scattered around the grounds and by the lake, making the most of the tranquility.

Loren sat under a beech tree by the lake, discussing wands with Hermione.

The Elder Wand differs from other wands not only in appearance, but also in actual use. This difference applies not only to Loren, the wand's recognized wielder, but even to Hermione, who is not recognized, who can utilize some of the Elder Wand's effects.

It's just a little weaker.

"Windbell Flame..."

Hermione murmured softly, pointed her excessively long wand into the air, and a stream of silky blue flames poured out, not slowly in small bursts, but flowing continuously like a stream.

They circled around her, the soft blue light illuminating her fair cheeks, and the little witch's eyes brightened slightly.

Temporarily halting the flow of flames, the tip of the staff gently circled, and under the effect of the Transfiguration spell, the silken flames slowly gathered and merged into a warm and bright ball.

"Orchids in Full Bloom"

A flash of light, and the flames burst forth, transforming into a bouquet of flowers that landed in my hand.

Hermione smiled sweetly, patted Loren on the shoulder, and handed him the flowers: "Here you go."

"Miss Granger is quite romantic."

After experimenting with Transfiguration and common spells, Hermione then tried several minor curses and weaker dark magic, conducting experiments with a few broken plants and some fish floating belly-up, much to the chagrin of plant and animal rights activists. Sitting down next to Loren, Hermione pulled out her notebook and wrote as she spoke, "The Elder Wand can enhance all kinds of magic in a comprehensive way, but the wizard casting the spell is still the primary factor. The wizard's will is key, and the specific effect is related to the strength of the magic and the precision of control..."

"Bala..." Loren mimicked her tone and got punched.

The quill pen makes a slight hissing sound as it glides across the paper.

Miss Know-It-All was only slightly curious about the legendary Deathly Hallows. After learning a little about their characteristics, she didn't delve any deeper. After all, she knew nothing about wand-making techniques and only had a superficial understanding of alchemy. She had no interest in studying the materials and cores of the wands for the time being.

After finishing her notes, Hermione put them into the pendant. Facing the lake, she leaned against a tree trunk, her head tilted slightly towards Loren. A few strands of her hair were in his hand, and he played with them by circling his fingers, but she didn't seem to care.

"Loren, don't you have a feeling?"

"How does it feel?"

Suddenly I felt relieved. The sense of crisis disappeared, and the Voldemort and Death Eaters that had been weighing on my mind were gone.

"No, you're the only one in my heart." Loren pointed to the bouquet of flowers beside him.

"..."

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, disgusted by his crude pickup lines.

A gentle breeze rustled through the grass and skimmed across the lake, creating delicate ripples; a spring rain was on its way.

……

Before the rain got too heavy, the young couple by the lake held hands and returned to the castle.

Hermione had to go see Professor Bubbaggie again to revise her manuscript, so Loren had to return to the common room alone. While saying the password, he casually inquired about the Fat Lady's recent situation, and they ended up chatting.

Ten minutes later, Loren said goodbye to the fat lady and went into the common room.

Several familiar figures sat around a small round table by the window. Harry sat alone on one side, while Ron and Seamus sat on the other, engrossed in their homework, their pens flying across the paper, the quills almost leaving afterimages.

Loren approached the group with flowers in hand, glancing at the contents of the parchment.

It's a paper for Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and it involves magical principles, so it's a bit difficult.

"Why are you two the only ones rushing to finish your homework?"

"Harry just gave up and cobbled together a piece hoping for a low score and criticism. We're different; we have ambition."

"What are you pursuing?"

"Of course, we should strive for excellence!"

"Your excellent paper is a bit profound."

"Of course, I did a lot of research."

"Could you explain what 'Taopan' means?"

Ron turned to look at where he was pointing, immediately made a blot of ink, and rewrote the correct word in the blank space: "This... is misspelled, it's 'provocation'."

Professor Bashat is old and quite kind, and his teaching style is gentle; one or two ink blots are no problem.

Loren nodded, then pointed to another spot: "So what does this 'Ancient Ten' mean?"

"Uh... I misspelled it again. It should be 'divination'."

"And here, and here, and here..." Loren pointed to several places in succession, finally pointing to the signature, "And when did you change your name, Mr. Luo Niao Weiqili?"

"hiss……"

Ron's eyes widened, and he gasped.

One ink blob is a matter of ability, but a whole ink blob is a matter of attitude. Professor Bashat certainly won't tolerate that, and he'll probably make him a prop for practical exercises.

"Oh no, Fred and George's proofreading pens are malfunctioning..." He stared at the quill in horror, letting out a wail. "Am I going to have to copy everything again?!"

Simo quickly checked his quill pen; it was brand new, only opened this morning!

Relieved to find he hadn't been harmed, he offered a perfunctory consolation to Ron, though a smug smile played on his lips.

"Don't worry, Ron. The Defense Against the Dark Arts paper isn't due until next Tuesday. You'll have plenty of time."

"What are you laughing at? Is it that funny? Don't forget that your quill broke yesterday, and you borrowed it from me for your Transfiguration paper!"

"!!"

"..."

Loren quietly sat down across the round table, not getting involved in the feud between the two outstanding students, and watched with amusement. By the time the two had figured out how many papers needed to be rewritten, the rain outside had intensified. Only then did Loren notice Harry, who had remained silent all along, and reached out to nudge his arm:

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry turned his head, his eyes vacant, and it took him a while to refocus before he sighed, "I miss my mom."

"It's normal to miss someone after going through something like that. If it's really painful, take out your mother's photos and look at them, or write to Professor Lupin and the others." Loren wasn't joking. "You still need to cheer up and not dwell on the past."

"I know……"

Harry's eyes glazed over again. "But whenever I have a spare moment, I think about that night, about what my mother said. She said we'd meet again. What does that mean? Will we meet again? When? Where?"

"..."

Meeting those expectant eyes, Loren could only remain silent, saying helplessly, "You should go find Dumbledore. Even if you don't get an answer, you can at least apply for the Resurrection Stone."

Harry's eyes lit up, then dimmed again: "Dumbledore won't agree."

"Give it a try. If all else fails, you can always get some cookies and desserts. It's better than you just sitting here like an idiot."

"I...I, okay."

Harry's eyes flickered, and after hesitating for a long time, he finally got up and walked towards the portrait cave.

"..."

This time they'll push him to Dumbledore, next time to Ginny, and the time after that, they'll have Ron take him to practice Quidditch...

Loren sniffed the flowers in his hand, leaned back tactically, and said, "What a master of distraction!"

Seamus, who was sitting opposite him, overheard some incomprehensible words. He only vaguely knew that Loren and Harry hadn't come home on Easter Sunday and couldn't get up the next day, but he didn't know the specifics. Even if he asked Ron, he wouldn't get any answers.

Mrs. Lorice seemed to be scratching at her curiosity, itching all over.

What kind of thing is that?

What, that night?

What resurrection stone?

He'll die if he doesn't hear any adventure stories!

(End of this chapter)