From Azkaban to Hogwarts.

“Headmaster, look at the Horcruxes we’ve found,” William said, pointing to the tiara encased in glass on the table. “The Ravenclaw tiara is an antiquity, the Slytherin locket is an antiquity, and that ring from that day—”

William looked it over but didn't see the ring on the table. "It's an antique too. If it's not an antique, the diary belongs to the Dark Lord. So the next item will most likely be some kind of antique. Do you think the fairy will let it go?"

This reason successfully convinced Dumbledore—Hordeal weapons were too dangerous, and who knew if the goblins hiding them would create another Voldemort.

"So, where should we go first?"

"The Lestrange family—that is, the Bella family."

William pulled a list from his pocket. "She's known as the Dark Lord's favorite Death Eater, even more favored than the Malfoys. Let's check that family's treasury first."

"In addition, we also need to search for..."

William's finger traced across the list, making Dumbledore feel uneasy for the first time ever—how many vaults were they going to break into?

-

"Is this the place?"

The last leg of the journey was the most difficult—to maintain secrecy, they couldn't simply Apparate to Iphamoni's vicinity; they had to use flying brooms and the Disillusionment Charm to fly all the way.

This was a rather arduous journey. The Death Eaters, who were already used to Apparition, were not good at this kind of travel. Moreover, their bodies, which had been severely damaged in Azkaban, had not recovered much during this transfer.

However, everyone, including the Purifiers, was in good spirits. The Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban even began to unconsciously stroke their left arms, but hesitated and moved away just as their arms were about to fall.

Barty the Younger was the first to dismount his flying broom. It was midnight, but he didn't feel sleepy at all. "How much longer?" he asked.

"It'll be ready soon. I've sent our arrival time via owl using a code."

The Purifiers answered quickly, but with a hint of trepidation in their voices—they weren't sure how well their mission had gone. Their primary target, Barty Crouch Jr., had been brought back unharmed, but the prisoners of Azkaban…

The death of Umbridge, who was known in the British magical community as the first Death Eater, in particular, greatly diminished the success of their operation.

"The side door will open..."

The Purifier spoke softly, sensing that the Death Eaters around him had gone even more mad, which was truly frightening.

His feeling was right—this madness increased almost relentlessly over the next few hours, and before heading to the Dark Lord's office, he even felt a little scared and wanted to run away.

But the door opened after being knocked once.

The Dark Lord sat on his large desk and looked down at the group of visitors.

"Welcome, my Death Eaters."

The Dark Lord stood up. "Welcome home. Fourteen years... It's been fourteen years since our last gathering."

"thump…"

The purgers heard the noise, followed by the sound of knees hitting the floor.

"Master...Master..."

The Death Eaters who had terrified him on the journey knelt down, crawling on their knees, their eyes filled with disbelief and repentance, until they reached the Dark Lord. They kissed his robes, then stepped back, stood up, and made room for the next person.

Little Barty was the first to complete this strange ritual, his eyes filled with piety and unease.

"Master...Master, I messed up...I messed up..."

After everyone had risen, Barty Jr. knelt again. "Umbridge was killed before I could rush in... I underestimated Azkaban's defenses. I have killed your loyal servant..."

'...'

Voldemort looked at his loyal follower, who had been imprisoned one after another, and wanted to punish him but couldn't muster any anger—was Umbridge really his Death Eater? Barty, you were one of his most loyal followers back then, you should know that, right?

At a time when manpower was somewhat stretched thin, Barty Jr. and the Death Eaters he brought back were important and absolutely loyal reinforcements—most of the people rescued by Barty were among the first prisoners imprisoned in Azkaban, and they were the kind of people who would rather be imprisoned in Azkaban than betray their cause.

That's good, he likes it. The rest of the Death Eaters, although they didn't directly betray him, weren't exactly loyal—not absolutely loyal... so it's not a big loss that they were sacrificed.

The only regret is Umbridge's death—if she was truly the most deeply hidden Death Eater, then she must have had a group of more loyal and capable subordinates under her command, but now, with Umbridge's death, their means of communication have also disappeared.

But he has no memory of it at all…

“You’ve done your best, Barty, but a mistake is a mistake,” Voldemort raised his狰狞 face and sniffed through his two narrow nostrils. “You should know what to do.”

Barty closed his eyes, and the Dark Lord quickly raised his wand.

"Heart-piercing and bone-scraping!"

He began to writhe and scream in agony, but the Death Eaters around him showed no fear; in fact, a hint of fanaticism appeared on their faces.

The spell ended quickly, and Little Barty lay on the ground in pain, letting out soft, incomprehensible screams.

"You are also welcome, my loyal Death Eaters."

Bella's face contorted with rage.

"I can tell you're not doing well. You were tortured in that living coffin in Azkaban. Voldemort won't let the loyalty of his loyalists be paid for in vain. Get some rest and recover. We have a very big show coming up."

“Bertha,” Voldemort’s smile froze for a moment, but he quickly recovered, “Bertha will take care of everything for you. She may not always do the right thing, but she is absolutely loyal and trustworthy.”

'Bertha?'

The unfamiliar name reached the ears of the Death Eaters, stirring up a bit of jealousy in them—why was Bertha so trusted?

-

"Is this the place?"

Deep in the underground passage, William compared the surrounding environment and signs, and roughly determined that this was their target.

He is now wearing an invisibility cloak—lent to him by Dumbledore.

That's right, it was a loan, not a gift, which is quite puzzling—Dumbledore couldn't even afford to give away an Invisibility Cloak?

But Dumbledore clearly didn't share William's thoughts. He was still feeling awkward—he had been living openly and honestly in the wizarding world for almost fifty or sixty years, and now he had to steal things!

“That’s right,” Dumbledore said, suppressing his odd expression. He carefully examined the target and, after confirming that he hadn’t made a mistake this time, raised his wand. “This is it.”

"Wait, Principal!"

William lowered his voice and shouted, "Please try not to make a move!"

This strange statement made Dumbledore glance at William—he had gone to so much trouble to trick him into coming here, but now he wasn't going to let him do anything?

"I'll try to crack it. You can help me stop the alarm from going off using a slightly clumsy method."

As William spoke, he pulled out various magical tools from his bag and explained, "If you were to use them, you wouldn't leave a single trace, which would be a huge problem."

'This is a big problem?'

Dumbledore paused for a moment, then understood what William meant.

No trace is the biggest trace—given Gringotts' security, if someone sneaks in without leaving any trace, it's practically like pointing a finger at someone and telling everyone that the culprit is Albus Dumbledore.

While this could be considered a recognition of his abilities, he clearly had no intention of signing his name or checking in at such a place.

William took two steps back when he saw that Dumbledore didn't speak, and he was immediately delighted—who in the entire wizarding world could have Dumbledore holding the door while he was unlocking the door, and then break into Gringotts' vault?

'This won't work…'

'This... won't work either.'

After about twenty minutes, William tried sixteen or seventeen unorthodox methods, and then found a suitable method around the twenty-third minute. This method of violently dispelling the protective magic naturally triggered a series of alarms, but Dumbledore quickly intercepted them before they could reach the outside world.

"It's open!"

William didn't know where this inexplicable sense of pride came from, but it was indeed very gratifying—even without Dumbledore's assistance, he would probably have been blocked by batters or even Aurors ten minutes ago.

"Next—we need…this!"

As William spoke, he took a lamp out of his backpack and carefully turned it on.

"These are items I found at a dark magic prop shop, used to roughly determine the age of objects. The more the light changes color, the older the item. Of course, Horcruxes might be immune, but that would be even better—this is..."

He froze, then looked at a prominently displayed gold cup, which shimmered with a diamond-like iridescence under the light—bearing a very clear, unmistakable Hufflepuff logo…

"Are you kidding... you found it already?"

William swallowed hard, looked at Dumbledore, and Dumbledore looked back at him; disbelief crossed their eyes.

That's it?

"How about... we look a little further? Maybe other Death Eater families have them too?"

William looked on in disbelief.

Dumbledore's expression turned conflicted, but he ultimately nodded helplessly. "Search the entire area thoroughly, and try not to make any mistakes..."

Chapters 546: Students' Reflections

Gryffindor, the common room… The atmosphere in the common room just wouldn’t be cheerful after returning from Azkaban.

Well, the seventh graders have watched the students below them grow up step by step. There are no higher grades above them. When the seventh graders are unhappy, it is difficult for the students below them to act recklessly.

After the special lesson on visiting Azkaban concluded, all the students fell into a considerable silence—which is a key reason why William only opened this lesson to the seventh-year students, who were adults.

The effect is remarkable.

Seeing is believing. After witnessing everything inside Azkaban with their own eyes, even the twins temporarily restrained themselves.

The Azkaban system, far more treacherous than any magical society they had ever witnessed, the rampant Dementors, and the filthy yet realistic environment—which hadn't been specially cleaned—deeply shocked these students who were about to enter the magical world. Little did they know that their headmaster and professors were currently conducting a competition to get someone else into Azkaban.

"Fraud...selling items related to dark magic...abuse of curses...illegally breeding magical creatures..."

Fred placed a thick stack of case studies on the library table. "Let's work on these for today..."

Since returning from Azkaban, the two had been wondering if what they had done had anything to do with Azkaban—and this wasn't just their wild imagination; it was because later, when the Slytherin guys were arguing, they insisted on saying all sorts of nonsense.

"You Weasleys, take a good look and reflect on this—based on your current school disciplinary records, you two are the most likely to end up in Azkaban!"

The seventh-year Slytherin greeted the two with his nostrils flared, while making a curse-like warning with ill intent.

But it worked really well—although they didn't back down during the argument, the two were very aware of how many times they had been locked up, and after a little planning, they went to the library to try to find help from the books.

While theoretically they should ask the professor to arrive sooner—but what difference would that make from walking into a trap?

What should I ask when I get there?

Dear Professor, we have a friend who was planning to create something, but he's unsure if such an action would violate the Ministry of Magic's requirements.

Are you kidding me—they're not stupid, and neither is the professor…

Fortunately, it wasn't difficult; Hogwarts' library had a vast collection of books on judgments, enough for their reference. A year of intensive, rote learning in their fifth year had given them a systematic study method… though it was exhausting.

"Tsk tsk, look at this one—George."