A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 619 The list is a bit long

"Ugh……"

Professor McGonagall stood at the entrance of the Three Broomsticks pub, looking at Charles who had come to "turn himself in" with a sincere expression, and felt a familiar, heavy sense of powerlessness well up in her heart once again.

She helplessly raised her hand and pinched her tightly furrowed brows and the bridge of her nose, trying to dispel the weariness.

This guy always seems to have a unique and amazing excuse to perfectly, without ever missing the Hogwarts Express.

The regulars at the Three Broomsticks pub, used to this scene, stopped drinking or talking and cast curious glances their way. Some even whispered among themselves, eagerly speculating what new excuse Charles would come up with to fob off Professor McGonagall this time.

"Busy!"

Charles sighed heavily at Professor McGonagall, his tone and expression exactly the same as when he had explained things to Voldemort not long ago, as if "busy" was the most universal, reasonable, and blameless excuse.

Professor McGonagall's lips twitched as if she wanted to say something stern, but in the end it just turned into a barely audible sigh.

Just a few days ago, Jack set off for the United States to oversee the post-production of the film shot at Farbatton Castle, with a clear goal: to release the film during this year's Christmas season.

Before leaving, Jack did mention hastily on the platform that Charles had indeed been traveling around abroad recently, handling some business matters.

Thinking of this, Professor McGonagall's anger subsided somewhat, leaving only a deep and lingering sense of weariness.

At that moment, the proprietress, Ms. Rosmerta, carrying a tray with a beaming smile, brought over a steaming, fragrant Irish roasted lamb leg with bones, the golden fat still sizzling.

Charles's eyes lit up, and he was about to dig in when he keenly sensed a cold, unfriendly gaze falling upon him as if it were a physical object.

He looked up and carefully examined the figure in front of the fireplace before recognizing, somewhat astonished, that it was Severus Snape—his newly grown hair was jet black, clean, and smooth, without the thick, greasy coating of the past. The change in his demeanor was so drastic that he almost didn't recognize him.

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” Charles quickly swallowed the food he had just put in his mouth, and asked in a casual, even slightly curious manner, “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps… you would like to try this too?”

He pointed with his fork to the leg of lamb in front of him, which was emitting an enticing aroma.

Snape ignored any topic of food as if he hadn't heard it.

He simply stared intently at Charles with his cold, emotionless eyes, as sharp as liquid nitrogen, as if trying to pierce through his skin and dig out some hidden secret from his face and the depths of his eyes.

A considerable amount of time has passed since the bizarre and mysterious explosion at Spider's End Alley, which remains shrouded in mystery to this day. The Auror Office's investigation has almost reached a standstill; they have exhausted all means but have been unable to accurately determine what kind of profound or forbidden magic caused the explosion.

The only clue, as vague as a phantom, is a vague, dreamlike prophecy that Charles made many years ago in the Potions classroom.

Three Broomsticks Bar is clearly not the right place to discuss this kind of topic.

When Professor McGonagall brought Charles back to Hogwarts Castle as usual to do his chores in the castle kitchen, Snape followed without saying a word.

The kitchen was bustling with activity as the house-elves prepared for tonight's back-to-school banquet. Their busy figures and the clanging of pots and pans seemed to make the air even more heavy and oppressive.

Charles expertly tied on his apron, picked up the heavy cleaver, and began rhythmically chopping the dumpling filling.

His hands didn't stop, but he preemptively spoke, his tone carrying just the right amount of apology, saying to Snape in front of the chopping board, "I'm so sorry, Professor, I'm really short of money lately, having some cash flow problems, and I'm afraid I can't lend you money to build your new house."

In one sentence, the possibility of the other party asking to borrow money was completely eliminated.

He secretly thought to himself, "Someone's death omen is flashing here. It's better to use it to skip stones than to lend it out. At least you can retrieve the stones."

Snape seemed utterly uninterested in rebuilding the house in Spider's End Alley, not even lifting an eyelid, his facial muscles remaining completely still, as if it weren't his property at all. His voice was deep and imposing, cutting straight to the point, asking seriously, "Regarding the prophecy you made four years ago in the Potions classroom, how many details can you still recall?"

Charles's cleaver paused almost imperceptibly in mid-air before continuing its rhythmic rise and fall, the sound of the blade striking the cutting board becoming more frequent.

“It’s been too long,” he shook his head. “My memory is really hazy; I can hardly remember what we talked about.”

It was just something I said casually at the time, but the old man didn't take action then, which is why it's only been delayed until now.

Charles chopped the meat, then, with a hint of barely perceptible curiosity, asked casually, "It's been so long, hasn't the Auror office found out who did it yet?"

Snape remained silent for a longer period, his expression growing even more somber.

The mention of the Auror office's appallingly inefficient, headless-fly-like investigation made him very unhappy, even somewhat annoyed.

“Currently,” he forced out the words through clenched teeth, “there are no definitive conclusions yet.”

His sharp gaze locked onto Charles again as he asked, "Have you heard anything recently, anything, even a single word, related to this matter?"

Charles's network of connections is now enough for him to get a lot of information, so Snape wants to use this as a starting point.

Charles shrugged, his attention seemingly more focused on the meat filling that was becoming finer on the cutting board, and asked Snape to hand him a large bowl to be used for mixing dumpling filling.

“I’ve been running around all summer, so busy I haven’t had a moment to spare. I haven’t had any time to keep up with the progress of this matter.” He paused, rubbed his forehead with the back of his oily hand, and said in a very low voice, “We only have a few clues about the thing in Gringotts right now, and it has taken me quite a bit of time.”

He glanced at Snape's left hand, then dropped the subject of Voldemort's task of finding the Hufflepuff Cup. He picked up where he left off, offering a seemingly practical suggestion: "Perhaps, Professor, you should think back carefully. Have you... well, unintentionally or intentionally offended anyone in the past, or..."

He looked up, a hint of curiosity in his eyes, and said, "Something that isn't 'human'...?"

It's not bad to make the goblins take the blame for this, since Snape was a Death Eater, so it's understandable that the goblins would retaliate against him.

This question plunged Snape into a longer, almost suffocating silence.

The list of people he has offended is probably a bit too long.

Among Death Eaters, there may be workplace grudges arising from ideological differences or the distribution of benefits.

His relationship with other potions masters is marked by fierce academic competition and complex business entanglements.

As for the students of Hogwarts, especially Potter and his inseparable little group, even more so...

Thinking of this, Snape's face turned so dark it seemed to drip water, and the surrounding air seemed to have cooled down several degrees.

He was even acutely aware that if anyone were discussing this topic at that moment, and that Potter kid happened to be standing nearby coughing twice, everyone present—including himself—would likely assume without hesitation and reflexively that he was the one who blew up the house!

Seeing that he seemed to be thinking for a long time, Charles asked, "Who will be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts this year?"

Snape gave him a deep look, a mocking smile on his face, and said, "You."

Charles:? ? ?

(End of this chapter)