Days at Hogwarts

Chapter 742 Making a Choice

Good evening, gentlemen.

Loren's voice was cheerful as he greeted the group with a smile. His gaze swept around the walls of the rotunda before he easily found a wooden staircase leading to the circular terrace above.

Hermione, equally delighted, followed along.

The upper terrace was very spacious and offered a wide view. It was originally reserved for professors and students to observe the Sorting Ceremony, and offered views of the massive Gordian Knot and the details atop several statues. At this moment, three professors stood on the terrace: Dumbledore, Snape, and Fontana of Iphamony.

Back in Ifamone, Piccoli and Nancy leisurely ascended the wooden stairs, admiring the carvings on the handrails on both sides, a hint of nostalgia in their eyes.

Professor Snape maintained his expressionless, cold demeanor, as if everyone present owed him thousands of Galleons.

Dumbledore stared at the massive Gordian Knot below, his azure eyes gleaming with anticipation. Loren believed that old Dumbledore genuinely wanted to go down and try it out, then bid on it and sell it to the newspapers, and soon they would hear the front-page news of Hogwarts' current headmaster, Ilvermorny, being admitted.

"My last exchange visit to Hogwarts was too rushed. The Goblet of Fire had captured all my attention, and it was only much later that I truly came to appreciate your excellence..."

Mr. Gilbert Fontana, beaming, stood on his own school grounds. The familiar surroundings gave him ample confidence. He muttered to himself, "My dear children, won't you really consider my invitation?"

Loren paused for a moment, then asked seriously, "We've been studying at Hogwarts for six years. Professor, what reasons do you have to convince us to transfer schools suddenly?"

"Evermony has its own independent alchemy testing center, and we're also exploring Muggle technology. Look at these lights! At least in these areas, we're definitely ahead of Hogwarts. Furthermore, if students have political aspirations, the Magical Congress has its own separate selection tests for schools..."

Loren looked thoughtful, seemingly genuinely interested, and began to inquire about the details: "How many years is the Iphamoni school program?"

"Like Hogwarts, seven years."

How are tuition fees calculated?

"Outstanding students are eligible for scholarships."

Loren rested his chin on his hand, deep in thought, occasionally uttering questions.

"..."

Hermione looked somewhat helpless, while the expressions of the people around her were complicated.

At first I thought they were joking, but they're getting more and more serious. This must be a joke... right?

"Do you organize summer camp activities during the holidays, like raising dragons in Romania?"

"Besides dragons, the Fantastic Beasts Summer Camp has other activities as well."

"Um……"

Loren nodded, then turned to a white-bearded old man beside him: "Did you hear that, Headmaster? Hogwarts should increase these kinds of activities too."

The others were stunned.

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, wholeheartedly agreeing.

Mr. Fontana looked surprised, then couldn't help but laugh.

……

"Upon receiving your message, we immediately launched an investigation. With the assistance of the Magic Congress's expert team, we sampled and examined all the trees in the vicinity. We specifically excavated shallow soil, potential nests in the tree canopy, and tree cavities inside the trunk..."

While listening to Professor Fontana recount the progress of the operation at the dinner table, Ifamoni focused on enjoying a sumptuous dinner. The dishes were exquisite and delicious, revealing Ifamoni's warm hospitality.

The candlesticks were no longer just decorations; the flickering candlelight on the table added a touch of softness to the dinner.

The familiar faces were still at the dining table. It was said that the experts sent by the Magical Congress of the United States had been sent back. All they knew was that some kind of dark magic item was hidden in the Iphamoni Forest. After investigating the clues, the rest was left to the school to handle.

They also invited Newt Scamander, a magical creature expert who has left several dossiers of records at the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and the two are old friends.

Pickley and Nancy looked bewildered, their eyes somewhat vacant. They had received too much information tonight, and their brains couldn't process it all.

Murder to create Horcruxes, the Horcruxes escape death and are resurrected...

The most powerful dark wizard hid a living Horcrux in his own school...

The headmaster specifically instructed that the information about the Horcruxes must not be revealed to the Magic Council...

Everything's a mess, my head's a little sore, I probably won't be able to sleep tonight.

"You might not believe it, but this investigation has uncovered a lot of contraband, some of which even have students' names on them. It's going to be quite a spectacle when the new semester starts."

Listening quietly to the news, Loren finished the rest of his juice, and a waiter from Pukch immediately came forward to refill it.

These legendary fairy relatives are about the same height as house-elves, only two or three feet tall. They are short, with long, thin ears, and wear a little dress that covers their gray skin. They hide in dimly lit corners and only appear to provide services when guests need them.

Loren nodded his thanks to the little guy.

The waiter returned the smile with a respectful yet humble attitude.

Hermione had been observing these waiters. These short, demi-humans served students and professors at the magic school, making it hard not to think of the house-elves at Hogwarts. However, their demeanor was far less humble than that of the house-elves, and they did not belittle themselves at all. They were more like ordinary waiters, receiving payment for their services.

A transaction is a transaction, and a transaction is just a transaction.

Noticing the little witch's scrutinizing gaze, the waiter looked up and smiled at her, indicating that he should let her know if he needed anything.

Hermione looked away, a thoughtful expression on her face.

It seems that Pukchi's relationship with Ifamoni is just a normal employment relationship. Is it because of Pukchi's outstanding achievements in the history of the school's founding?

It also seems to be related to the strength of the Pukchi tribe itself. These creatures possess powerful magical abilities and have a bad reputation outside of Ifamoni. They dislike contact with humans and like to play tricks on them, but they do not have any irreconcilable conflicts or clear hostile relationships.

Unlike the lowly house-elves, Pukki are positioned more like Gringotts fairies, independent and sovereign, able to converse with wizards on equal terms and engage in commercial activities.

"The bad thing is, just as we expected, the biggest anomaly in the entire forest is the snake tree. Fortunately, the snake tree is not a Horcrux, and we suspect that Voldemort hid a living Horcrux inside the snake tree trunk."

The message coming from the head of the table made everyone present focus and slow down the pace of their chewing.

The wizards at Hogwarts sat quietly in their seats, saying nothing.

The principal and professors remained silent, as did the two students. Loren lowered his eyes to observe the reflection on the silver metal knife, recalling the scene presented in the Mirror of Eris, and many clues gradually came together.

Everyone assumed that Voldemort would use the snakewood left behind by Slytherin to make Horcruxes. Voldemort took advantage of this and hid the living Horcruxes deep in the trunk, which was both the most dangerous and the safest place.

"Voldemort thought he was very clever. He thought the Serpent Tree's tenacious vitality could protect his filthy Horcrux, and he fantasized that Evamorni would resolutely defend the Serpent Tree. But he was wrong!" Fontana said in a low voice, his tone calm but resolute. "Evamorni cannot be defiled. We have enough determination to remove this stubborn stain, even if it means tearing flesh, even if it means... destroying the Serpent Tree."

Young Pickley and Nancy watched the professor silently.

……

The guests went back to their rooms to rest.

During summer vacation, no students stay at school in Ifamoni, there are almost no wild beasts on the top of Greylock Mountain, and there is also soundproofing magic around the castle. If guests from afar do not feel uncomfortable due to the mountain air pressure, they can probably get a good night's sleep.

Although there was still a corrupted Horcrux in the woods behind the castle that urgently needed to be dealt with, the two young wizards were exhausted after a long day's journey and needed rest, and Iphamoni also needed to make adequate preparations...

As night deepened, Gilbert Fontana showed no signs of sleepiness.

He turned off the lights in the room, leaving only the desk lamp on his desk, and went outside on the balcony in his pajamas. While admiring the summer night view of Iphamoni, he recalled the events of the day.

The Magic Congress needs to reply as soon as possible. After all, they suddenly and urgently mobilized other people's manpower and then sent them back in just half a day. They need to give an explanation.

The specific cause of the snake tree's illness could not be revealed, nor could any information about the Horcruxes be disclosed. It was truly difficult to know how to write this reply. No matter how it was written, the members of the Magic Congress would find it hard to accept.

Fortunately, he provided clues about Voldemort and the Death Eaters. With this achievement, he gained confidence and might be able to get away with it.

However, the source of the clues remains difficult to explain.

"Let's pin the blame on Albus..."

Fontana's mind cleared, and the slight frown on his brow immediately relaxed.

"Knock knock".

A knock sounded on the door, soft yet noticeable, followed by William Pucker's low, steady voice: "Professor, the two new guests have already turned off the lights and gone to sleep."

"Don't disturb them."

"OK."

"..."

The sounds outside the door faded into the distance. Fontana unconsciously ran his fingers along the balcony railing, the faces of the two young wizards flashing through his mind: "Loren Morgan... Hermione Granger..."

Two years ago, when they participated in the Goblet of Fire at Hogwarts, the two were considered model students by the professors and had excellent grades.

He was present when Professor McGonagall organized the special training and witnessed the two men's abilities firsthand, but he always felt that Harry Potter was the warrior worth paying attention to.

During this time, Dumbledore and Headmaster Snape would often inadvertently mention Loren Morgan, and Fontana vaguely sensed that Loren seemed to be hiding something.

This feeling was confirmed last night when several students worked together to find clues about the Horcruxes, but judging from Dumbledore's tone, it was clear that Loren was the one in charge.

How come such an outstanding student isn't Iphamoni's?

……

Wiltshire, at an estate owned by an unknown businessman.

Draco wakes up from a nightmare.

Perhaps it was because his schedule had become too disordered since he took over the Malfoy family's accounts during his vacation that even his nightmares were intermittent, as if faded photographs from decades ago were flashing before his eyes. He could only recall scattered fragments and some faces that flashed by quickly.

The first scene is from three years ago, on that night of the Quidditch World Cup finals, filled with smoke, screams, and a frenzied crowd. The Dark Mark hangs high in the sky, and not far from their family's exquisite Peacock Palace tent, Aunt Bellatrix lurks in the shadows, a lurking gaze that continues to this day, accompanied by a pair of scarlet vertical pupils.

The second scene is from a year ago. He seems to be back in that dimly lit courtroom at the very bottom of the Ministry of Magic. His mother is bound to the judge's bench by heavy chains, her once exquisite and beautiful makeup gone, leaving only paleness and weakness. He sits in the audience, watching helplessly as those contemptuous and disdainful gazes fall upon his mother, as they use intimidation, slander, fabricated charges, and extortion of the Malfoy family's wealth…

The third scene is now. Currently forced to follow Voldemort into exile, his father, whose whereabouts are unknown, is huddled in a dark corner, communicating with him through a communicator. He turns to meet Voldemort's snake-like eyes, followed by a chilling flash of green light.

The Malfoy patriarch, wearing a coat, sat at his desk, took a deep breath, and looked at the Galleons next to the parchment ledger. On it was a message his father had sent a few minutes earlier: "Don't ask where I am. Take care of your mother."

The metallic sheen of the letters proved that the scene just now was just a dream, and Draco felt himself gradually rising from the bottom of the Black Lake.

He rubbed his temples to relax his tense nerves, looked up at the clock on the wall, and felt a sense of disorientation. He felt like he had only taken a five-minute nap, but two hours had already passed.

Just as he was about to continue settling the accounts, he heard footsteps coming from the hallway outside the room, followed by a few soft knocks on the door: "Draco? Draco, are you resting?"

"Mom, I'll go to sleep after I finish this last page."

"Would you like something to eat? I'll have the house-elves make it now. Those lowly creatures have become lazy lately; they haven't even cleaned the stains on the carpet!"

Draco frowned. "No need."

"Okay, get some rest."

As the footsteps faded into the distance, Draco breathed a sigh of relief. Even her own son had to admit that a small portion of the charges brought against him by the court might not have been fabricated.

He picked up the quill pen, looked down at the parchment, and the numbers and letters became hideous, even more obscure and difficult to understand than the extended spells in the advanced textbook. The quill pen just wouldn't write anything.

Unable to concentrate on his work, Draco didn't continue trying. Having just woken up, he didn't want to rest either, so he picked up the Galleon communicator again and unconsciously pressed the buttons, wanting to confide in someone.

Without disturbing his father or choosing any so-called allies, Draco, driven by some inexplicable emotion, took out another bronze nut and sent a message to that person.

Loren Morgan's name has accumulated many messages, but there have been almost no replies.

He didn't feel slighted; on the contrary, he felt comfortable with this way of getting along because of the just-right distance.

Unexpectedly, this message received a reply.

It wasn't some meaningless consolation, but a series of intelligence reports about living Horcruxes, about Evamori, and about Voldemort.

"..."

Draco silently read the message aloud, then pulled out another Galleon communicator, found his father's message, and after a long silence, began to press the buttons, as if speaking to his father, or perhaps talking to himself:

"Playing both sides is no longer an option; the Malfoy family must make a choice."

(End of this chapter)