A day at Hogwarts.

Chapter 658 still needs further consideration.

As Ron donned the robe that originally belonged to Oliver Wood, Charles strolled out from the depths of the Forbidden Forest, a few withered leaves inadvertently clinging to the hem of his robe. He examined two dried mushrooms given to him by Twilight, which were said to be delicious when boiled with eggs.

As soon as he stepped onto the grassy field connecting the stadium and the forest, he saw Dumbledore standing quietly in front of him, his hands casually behind his back, a smile on his face, as if he had been waiting there for a long time.

The principal's deep blue robe, embroidered with flowing starlight, shimmered subtly in the soft autumn light, blending wonderfully with the primitive and rugged forest backdrop.

Behind the glasses, a pair of insightful eyes were gently gazing at Charles, a faint, enigmatic smile playing on the corners of his aged lips.

"Good afternoon, Charles," Dumbledore's voice was like honey soaked in sunlight, "I hope to hear good news from you and our neighbors."

"How is the centaur tribe doing lately? Is there anything I can help you with?"

His tone was calm and normal, like an elder chatting with a younger person.

Charles stopped, a slight smile playing on his lips, and said, "Everything is as usual, Headmaster."

"Their interpretations of celestial trajectories are, as always, full of profound wisdom."

“I have relayed Professor McGonagall’s instructions to them, forbidding you from receiving any sweets.”

As he finished speaking, his smile grew wider and wider.

Centaurs need to eat sweets, and sweets are never in short supply in trade.

Dumbledore actually obtained quite a lot of supplies through them, which infuriated Professor McGonagall so much that she almost scratched his face.

“Very good, very good.” Even though he felt like the sky was falling, Dumbledore remained calm. “There are always unexpected gains from communicating with these ancient wisdoms.”

He subtly changed the subject, elegantly making an inviting gesture, and said, "Would you be willing to accompany this old man for a walk here?"

Before Charles could give a clear response, Dumbledore had already turned around leisurely and walked briskly toward the Quidditch pitch, the hem of his robe trailing softly on the grass.

Charles's eyes flickered slightly, and he silently followed, maintaining a respectful half-step distance throughout.

He himself had never been interested in Quidditch and rarely ventured into this place where sweat, passion, and youth were poured out. At this moment, Dumbledore leading the way made him almost frown slightly.

The closer you get to the stadium, the clearer the lively voices become.

Scattered in the stands were the team members' relatives and supporters, whose cheers and exclamations rose and fell with the training, sometimes bursting into applause, and sometimes falling into tense, breathless concentration.

In addition to the team members' energetic shouts, the hissing of brooms cutting through the air, and the cheers of the cheerleaders, there were also some particularly shrill mocking noises.

On a bleachers stand with a superb view, a small group of Slytherin students dressed in silver-green house robes stood out conspicuously.

These Slytherin students, led by Draco Malfoy, were brazenly taunting the Gryffindor players who were training on the field, their faces filled with undisguised malice and smugness.

This deliberate interference clearly affected the players' performance, especially goalkeeper Ron. His movements became increasingly stiff after another failed save, his face was flushed and covered in sweat, and a hint of panic flashed in his eyes.

Dumbledore and Charles stood on the sidelines, watching the tense scene unfold from afar.

The headmaster sighed softly, his gaze sweeping over Malfoy and the others with a hint of helplessness. He then turned to Charles beside him and asked in a calm tone, "It seems our Slytherin friends are being a little...overly enthusiastic." "In your opinion, should we ask them to find another place to enjoy the training in a more civilized manner?"

Charles's indifferent gaze swept over the noisy group of students, his face calm and composed, as if he were scrutinizing a clumsy drama that had nothing to do with him.

He slowly shook his head, his voice so calm that it betrayed no emotion: "No need. Interference is the norm in the arena. If they can't even withstand this much verbal pressure, then perhaps they shouldn't be standing here in the first place."

Dumbledore gave Charles a deep look, but did not insist further, only nodding slightly.

He turned his gaze away from the noisy stadium, his tone becoming low and serious, and his voice lowered slightly as he said, "Alright, let's get down to business."

"Regarding Stödl Podmore... he was officially transferred to Azkaban this morning."

Charles showed no surprise whatsoever, as if this was simply an expected and routine step.

Arrested on a rest day and sentenced in the afternoon while working overtime—it doesn't seem normal at all.

Charles's gaze remained calm as he looked at Ron, and he replied indifferently, "I understand."

"Later, I will personally go to Azkaban and tell the Dementors there that I will not make things too difficult for him."

He spoke of it casually, as if he were talking about something trivial with his family at home.

A complex and unreadable expression flashed across Dumbledore's eyes, a mixture of gratitude and a deep sense of solemnity.

“Thank you, Charles,” he said softly, his words carrying an undeniable sincerity. “In these times, any act of kindness is invaluable.”

He learned that Voldemort was trying to win over the Dementors, and that the fact that the Dementors weren't flying around recklessly was a result of Charles keeping them in check.

“No need for thanks, Principal,” Charles replied calmly. “This is simply a necessary measure to ensure stability.”

He paused slightly, lowered his voice, and said in a tone that only Dumbledore could hear clearly, "Also, I just received some news."

"The special agent who infiltrated Farbatton Castle has successfully reported to his master the preliminary assessment of the Department of Mysteries' defense system."

"At present, he has gained deeper trust and has not aroused any suspicion."

After Charles finished speaking, he said no more, only turning his gaze back to the stadium, as if his earlier, potentially dramatic report was nothing more than a casual comment about the weather.

Dumbledore stood silently, his gaze once again fixed on the unknowable distance, his eyes becoming incredibly deep.

The undercover agent at Farbatton Castle had been lying low for a long time without being activated. Now that news had spread that Charles was cooperating with the Ministry of Magic, Voldemort ordered Lukewood to be mobilized, taking the opportunity to test the security situation of the place where he used to work.

Dumbledore made the necessary arrangements accordingly.

Now that Voldemort's location has been discovered, Dumbledore, with his understanding of the Department of Mysteries, quickly figured out Voldemort's purpose.

How to respond requires further consideration.

(End of this chapter)