The Return to Hogwarts

"Where did you go this morning? I went to your office, but you weren't there. I wanted to ask if you'd still be helping Professor Lockhart write a reply at the usual time tomorrow?"

Should I write a reply for Professor Lockhart?

Amosta paused for a moment. To be honest, he hadn't thought about it since discovering those interesting little secrets in Lockhart's office last weekend, but since Hermione brought it up, it didn't seem right to ignore it.

"Excuse me, I had some business with Hagrid this morning. Same time as usual, Miss Granger."

Amos Tower nodded, then glanced at Ron, who seemed dismissive of the topic, and Harry, who appeared extremely curious about his purpose in going to Hagrid, under the eaves. His eyes darted around, a strange meaning hidden in his smile.

"It would be best to bring some help, Miss Granger. It's really too much for just the two of us to handle all that mail."

The past year of 2022 was not a pleasant one for many people.

But no matter what, we made it through. I wish everyone a fresh start in 2023 and a Happy New Year!

P.S.: The second round of recommendations has begun. Please vote, add to your favorites, and invest. Thank you!

Chapter 57 Rainy

"Bring some help."

Hermione seemed a little hesitant, not because she was unwilling to share this 'honor,' but rather, was it really appropriate to let unrelated people read Professor Lockhart's private letters without his permission?

However, to be honest, it would be very difficult for just the two of them, Professor Blaine and himself, to handle all of Professor Lockhart's week's worth of fan mail in half a day.

Thinking of this, Hermione slowly turned to look at Harry and Ron, and unsurprisingly, one of them was pretending to repair his glasses, while the other was suddenly examining an old-fashioned meteor broom with almost all its branches falling off. Neither of them responded to Hermione's gaze.

Seeing this, the Gryffindor team members covered their mouths and chuckled. Fred and George had the most exaggerated expressions, but before they could come up with any jokes, Professor Blaine's gaze made Fred and George instantly behave.

The Weasley brothers knew better than anyone that their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was no magnanimous man.

If there really isn't any, then forget it.

Amosta gave Hermione an understanding smile and then left.

"Both of you must come with me to Professor Lockhart's office tomorrow, or you'll never get to copy my work!"

"Please spare us, Hermione. I never want to do this job again in my life. I'd rather clean Filch's trophy room one more time."

Amosta, who was already several dozen feet away, could vaguely hear the arrogant voice carried on the strong wind and the wails of the two young wizards.

Inside the Great Hall, a few young wizards sat sparsely at four long tables. Over at Slytherin's side, Malfoy was proudly showing Pansy and Daphne the spells he had learned.

Over at Hufflepuff, fourth-grader Cedric walked arm-in-arm with several friends toward the foyer. As he passed the third-grader, a Chinese girl in Ravenclaw, he secretly slipped a letter into her pocket. This was the third love letter he had sent this semester.

Qiu Zhang seemed oblivious, continuing to chat and laugh with Marietta. But based on his past life's experience with romance, Amosta knew that the girl, whose cheeks were gradually turning red, was probably not far from falling completely in love.

"Is it really necessary to do this, Professor Blaine?"

Professor McGonagall looked much better than during the Christmas holidays. Firstly, it was because Salazar Slytherin's successor had been quiet since Amostella entered the school. Secondly, Headmaster Dumbledore had been spending significantly more time in his office this semester, which gave her a greater sense of security.

Amosta, who had just sat down at the faculty and staff table, pursed his lips and gave a wry smile. When Professor McGonagall addressed him by his surname, it meant that she had a lot of opinions on her mind.

"To be honest, Amosta, you're probably the most competent Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts in the last decade. Following your previous teaching methods, you should share your experience in fighting evil with the young wizards, and also teach them your interesting ideas on modifying spells. I think that would be great."

“To call Amosta’s new curse ‘funny’ would be too simplistic, Minerva!”

Professor Flitwick stood up from his chair and said with great interest,

"That's a spell that only a true genius could create!"

He looked at Amostella earnestly and suggested, "After you step down from your position as Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Amostella, I think you could open a separate course on spell model structure optimization at Hogwarts and incorporate it into the advanced Charms class. I bet the young wizards would fight tooth and nail to get into your class, Amostella!"

No problem, Professor Flitwick. As soon as Dumbledore passes away, I'll immediately return to Hogwarts to retire!

Amosta smiled and agreed. He could tell that Professor McGonagall wanted to continue their previous conversation, so he immediately greeted the professor sitting at the very edge, wearing large glasses and with countless chains and beads around his neck, in a loud voice.

"What wind blew you down from the tower, Professor Trelawney?"

"belch--"

Professor Trelawney, her hair disheveled, hiccuped and glanced smugly at Amosta.

"The approaching darkness is blurring my vision. Amosta, when did you return to school?"

"The truth is—"

Professor Flitwick whispered in Amostella's ear, "Sybil's sherry upstairs is all gone!"

"Oh, keep your voice down, Professor Flitwick!"

Amosta's face tightened, and he looked very nervous. "I don't want to be prophesied to meet with misfortune again!"

When Harry, Harry, and his friends, forced to return to the castle by a sudden downpour, prepared to recharge in the Great Hall, they found Professor Flitwick laughing so hard he fell off his chair at the staff table, and Professor McGonagall, her cheeks flushed, lips tightly pursed, and body twitching.

Professor Blaine was standing in front of a professor they hadn't met much, his hands clasped together and his face full of apology.

What do you two think they were talking about just now?

After entering the warm lounge, Hermione asked a question with a thoughtful expression.

"It doesn't matter, Hermione—"

Harry, who had gotten up early and battled the cold rain all morning, said listlessly, "All I want now is to go back to my warm bed and sleep until Professor Blaine's Defense Against the Dark Arts class on Monday afternoon."

After saying that, Harry left Hermione and Ron behind and staggered toward his dormitory.

The drizzly weather was indeed annoying, but for someone who had time to leisurely take a nap in bed, it was perfect weather. On Saturday afternoon, Harry had a rare, deep and refreshing nap. During the nap, Ron seemed to have come to call him, but Harry just mumbled something, changed his position, and fell into a deep sleep again.

When he sat up in bed, rubbing his sleepy eyes, the dark clouds that had shrouded the castle had completely dissipated, and Hogwarts was bathed in the bright moonlight.

The dark dormitory was completely silent and empty. If Harry wasn't mistaken, Ron and Seamus should be playing wizard chess in the common room downstairs, or perhaps at Gobstone.

Hermione, on the other hand, was either reading and preparing for class in the library or doing her homework in the common room.

Why doesn't anyone wake me up for dinner?

Sitting on the bed, still feeling dizzy, Harry muttered complaints as he dressed, but he knew that Ron had most likely already been there, just unable to wake him.

A faint, musty smell of sweat filled the air. The smell came from Harry taking off his jersey, which he had left on the floor next to his bed. He threw the jersey into a clothes rack, then slowly walked to his desk and opened the window to let the smell dissipate.

The breeze from the Black Lake gradually focused Harry's bewildered gaze. He sat down and stared at the half-finished essay on the history of magic spread out on the table.

After two minutes of a battle between the little figures representing conscience and laziness in Harry's mind, laziness finally stood on the corpse of conscience once again, declaring its victory.

"Perhaps Hermione can offer some good advice--"

Harry muttered as he closed the parchment, folded it up, and stuffed it into his schoolbag. In the dim light, the black notebook that had been sitting in his schoolbag for several days seemed to exude a mysterious magic. Harry stared silently at the black notebook, and before he knew it, his hand had reached for the pen once again.

Chapter 58 Testing

If he could, Harry would rather he had never discovered the correct way to read the notebook in his bag, so he wouldn't have to face the headache-inducing problem he was facing.

“Riddle may have picked the wrong person,”

Many times, Hermione's expression is strikingly similar to Professor McGonagall's. Or you could say they are the same type of Gryffindor. For example, right now, Hermione's pursed lips look exactly like Professor McGonagall's expression when she discovers Seamus has caused another explosion or Neville has injured himself in Transfiguration class.

"Perhaps, the real culprit is another monster."

"You think this place could hold a few monsters, Hermione?" Ron asked listlessly.

Harry could completely understand Hermione's desire to defend Hagrid; however, even she probably couldn't believe the flimsy excuses she came up with.

“I should have known this would be related to Hagrid,” Harry said, staring at the crackling fireplace with a melancholy expression.

“Remember, Ron, during the Christmas holidays, when Hagrid learned that Professor Blaine had returned to the school as the investigator of the locked room mystery, I felt something was off. But I thought Hagrid just knew some secrets about the locked room.”

All three fell silent. After a long silence, Hermione finally asked the most difficult question.

"Do you think we could ask Hagrid about these things?"

“That will surely be a pleasant visit,” Ron said, pursing his lips.

"How should we ask, Hermione? Should we say to Hagrid, 'Hello, Hagrid, tell us, did you let out some savage, hairy monster from the castle last semester?'"

Another oppressive silence fell, but this time, it was Harry who broke it.

"Around noon today, Professor Blaine said he visited Hagrid, but as far as I know, they don't have a good relationship."

“But the fact is, Professor Blaine didn’t arrest Hagrid, did he?”

Hermione frowned and analyzed.

"Perhaps this proves Hagrid's innocence. And, Harry, don't forget, it was Headmaster Dumbledore who left Hagrid at Hogwarts. If Hagrid really—"

"Dumbledore is a great and kind man, Hermione, we all know that!"

Faced with the undeniable truth, Hermione's feeble and powerless insistence troubled Ron, and he emphasized his words.

"No one believes that Hagrid intentionally murdered that poor girl fifty years ago, but the problem is, he sometimes just doesn't understand the danger of those hairy monsters!"

The discussion on this issue ultimately did not reach a clear conclusion.

Hermione thought that since Professor Blaine might already know that Hagrid was connected to the locked-room mystery from fifty years ago, she might as well hand the notebook over to Professor Blaine. That way, he might be able to confront Riddle in the notebook.

However, this proposal was met with strong opposition from Harry, and the reasons he gave were irrefutable for Hermione.

“I will never hand the notebook over to Professor Blaine, Hermione,”

Harry, with an annoyed expression, said, "Think about it, if Professor Blaine had no idea about this, it would be like we personally sent Hagrid to that wizarding prison Malfoy talked about. Do you want me to spend the rest of my life atoning for it, Hermione?"