A certain broken Hogwarts

Chapter 30 Ghost Gathering (Part 1)

On Sunday morning, not many people came to the auditorium for breakfast. As usual, the owls diligently passed through the open windows and delivered mail to everyone.

Irving opened the package that had been sent from home and first took out the letter inside and read it.

The letter from Mr. Albert Shafik reads as follows:

"Owen, the saltwort seeds and the salting agent they produce are in the package. If it's not enough, just contact your Uncle Mike, and he'll send it to you. Also, don't bother me with these kinds of small things in the future. Just write to Mike. As long as it's not a very rare herb, he can send it to you."

"I do hope you can learn more about potion-making from Severus. If you're proactive, you can always get a lot of insider tips from him. You can practice potion-making freely; the shop has plenty of herbs. I've told Mike to stop providing you with ready-made potions, but of course, if you can convince him, I have no objection..."

Seeing this, Owen curled his lip. Mike was a long-time subordinate of the Shafik family, in charge of managing the family's largest potion shop—Miracle Potions Shop. He was notoriously stubborn and only took in money, but also very loyal.

He continued reading the letter: "...As for Occlumency, it's quite reasonable that it's listed as a forbidden art. I'm afraid you'll practice it recklessly and turn yourself into an idiot. I don't think you need to learn Occlumency at your age, even if your theoretical knowledge is quite solid... I've sent you a book of spells; some of the little spells in it are quite interesting, I believe you'll like them..."

Owen quickly skimmed through the rest of the contents, then took out an old, black-covered spellbook from the package and flipped through the table of contents. It contained some everyday functional spells, prank spells, and poison spells, with a few small dark magic spells at the end—the simplest and relatively harmless kind, with effects similar to some of the poison spells mentioned earlier.

This book is excellent in every way, except that it's not the one Irving needs.

Owen stuffed the spellbook into his bag and couldn't help rubbing his temples. His dad, always shifting between reliable and unreliable, was a real headache…

"Since I can't mess with the books in my house, I'll just have to sneak into the restricted section sometime." After finishing the last mouthful of porridge, he discerned the message about the Truth Transmission Machine from the noisy discussion at the Gryffindor table.

The fax machine that Owen had been searching for all night was not found in the main castle, but was instead found in a boys' washroom in Gryffindor Tower. A boy who had confirmed the authenticity of the fax machine was vividly recounting his experience from the previous night.

"I asked it why Professor Snape didn't wash his hair," the boy said with a grin. "Guess what?"

"What's up?" A deep, cold voice sounded in his ear. Snape stood silently behind him like a ghost, his greasy black hair hanging down on either side of his sallow face. The boy was so startled that he couldn't catch his breath and plunged headfirst into the bowl of porridge in front of him.

Under that invisible yet cold and oppressive aura, the Gryffindor students trembled with fear. Even Owen, who was watching from afar, felt that an overwhelming black aura was about to emerge from behind Professor Snape.

"Disrespecting a professor, Gryffindor loses twenty points." Snape stared down at the man, then his empty, cold eyes swept over the surroundings. The once lively atmosphere in the Great Hall instantly plummeted to freezing point; even the sound of breathing ceased.

In the end, Owen and the other young wizards still couldn't get the answer to the question. The boy was dragged away by the back of his collar by Professor Snape, his pitiful, trembling appearance resembling a chicken waiting to be slaughtered.

"He'll be silenced, he definitely will..." Blaise looked at the man as if he were looking at a true warrior.

Harry watched the scene absentmindedly, his mind preoccupied with who was most likely to have tampered with the Sorting Hat... If that person was at Hogwarts, the prime suspect seemed to be Professor Snape?

But that doesn't make sense. Although the dean is indifferent to everyone else, he has high hopes for him... but the dean's disdainful expression when looking at him seems genuine...

After hearing the information he needed, Owen carried the seeds from the package out of the auditorium—something he had promised Mr. Filch. Although he knew Filch would be unlikely to use the fax machine after learning it appeared during curfew, Owen had no intention of breaking his promise.

These past few days, Mr. Filch has been quite pleased with himself, and even Mrs. Lorris's demeanor as she patrols the corridors has become much more haughty. This is probably because they've been lying in wait and catching quite a few Hufflepuff students, sending them one by one to solitary confinement—something that couldn't be more satisfying for the castle caretaker.

After handing the items over, Owen "casually" mentioned that many Gryffindor students had recently started going out at night like Hufflepuffs. He then found an empty classroom, sat down, and carefully wrote three letters, reciting a unique spell on them.

"Hmm, if I want to send a letter to a ghost, this spell should be enough." Owen read the letter again, then carefully folded it, sealed it in a black hard envelope, and went to the owl hut to mail it.

For the rest of the time, Owen immersed himself in the wall-facing space, practicing spells and transfiguration, quietly waiting for night to fall.

……

Before nine o'clock in the evening, Owen put on a warm black cloak with silver buttons and went to the vicinity of the classroom on the far right of the castle's first basement level.

It was even colder and more gloomy here than the deeper underground. The air felt like it was filled with a chilling lake, and even the candlelight on both sides of the corridor had a sinister, luminous blue hue.

As Irving drew closer to his destination, his breath condensed into white vapor in the air, as if he were entering a freezer.

One by one, silvery-white ghosts drifted past him, some glancing at him curiously, others showing little interest. When Owen arrived at the door of the underground classroom, he saw Ms. Grey, dressed in a magnificent robe, floating there waiting for him.

"Good evening, Ms. Grey. I hope I'm not too late," Owen said politely.

"Perfect." Ms. Gray nodded demurely and gestured to the closed classroom door.

"It's locked." Owen watched as the ghosts passed directly through the wall. He drew his wand and chanted, "Open Alohomora!" The lock clicked open, and Owen pushed the door open. Dozens of silver-white heads in the classroom turned to look at him.

"This is a gathering place for ghosts, lost little fellow," said the fat monk from Hufflepuff in a lively tone.

"Good evening, Fat Monk. I was thinking, perhaps we could add one more person to the party tonight?" Owen gestured to Ms. Gray beside him, then followed her inside.

(End of this chapter)