Hogwarts: Voldemort, don't stop me from studying

Chapter 1003 Return to Hogwarts
"Crunch, crunch..."

In the dead of winter, three cloaked figures walked along a road in the middle of Hogsmeade Village. After a brief stop at a fork in the road, they parted ways, with one continuing on his way and the other two turning toward the Three Broomsticks pub.

As soon as the door opened, the damp, cold air was immediately swallowed up by a wave of heat carrying the scents of honey, hot butter, and smoky wood. Holly and mistletoe hung from the bar's ceiling, and the fire in the fireplace burned brightly, bathing the entire lobby in a golden, languid glow.

Mrs. Rosmerta was deftly using her wand to direct a row of glasses to be automatically wiped clean. Regular customers crowded around the newly set table, some laughing and joking, others dozing off in the corner.

Two people wrapped in thick travel cloaks walked in, bringing with them a gust of cold wind and a few snowflakes. Many people subconsciously looked over and saw that they had pulled their fur-trimmed hoods down low and their scarves up below their eyes, making it impossible to see their faces clearly.

This kind of attire was not uncommon in the cold of December. Mrs. Rosmerta asked with a smile, "Would the guest like something to drink?"

The taller one walked to the counter, put down a few Galleons, and said, "One guest room, double bed, something quiet."

His voice was low and had a foreign accent.

Mrs. Rosmerta's gaze swept over the two of them, but she didn't ask any questions. She simply took out the key and pushed it towards them: "The innermost room upstairs, do you need dinner delivered?"

"Yes, thank you for your help," said the slightly shorter man, his voice sounding a bit more lively.

Mrs. Rosmerta nodded, watching them turn and head towards the stairs. As the two stepped onto the stairs, their cloaks billowed up, revealing finely crafted dragon-skin boots underneath.

……

The door closed, and the soundproofing spell was silently activated.

The taller man lifted his hood, revealing himself to be none other than Hawthorne, the former president whom many in the Magical Congress of America missed and sought after.

He walked to the window, lifted the curtain, and saw that the street was deserted, with only a row of footprints stretching into the distance and gradually being covered by the heavy snow.

He couldn't help but lower his voice and ask worriedly, "Is it reliable to hand Ezra over to that person? Can he really convince Dumbledore to treat Ezra?"

“He doesn’t do things he’s not sure of. Since he chose to bring the child along, he must have already obtained Dumbledore’s permission on the way here.”

As Antoine spoke, he also lifted his hood, walked to the fireplace, and lit a fire with his wand.

"Who exactly is he?" Hawthorne pressed.

"He is someone who can help you... As for the rest, you will know when the time is right."

Antoine took out a flask, poured a glass for each of them, and said, "Want a little? This is top-quality Macallan whisky."

Hawthorne sat down opposite him, picked up his glass, but didn't drink. He simply sighed, "I'm sorry, it's not that I doubt your arrangements. It's just... Hughes is my only friend. If anything goes wrong, then I..."

“I understand,” Antoine said. “But whether it works out or not, I think you’ll hear from you soon.”

……

The heavy snow fell silently, covering everything in sight—the pointed roofs, the crooked fences, the dark forbidden forest in the distance, and the road beneath our feet, whose boundaries were almost indistinguishable.

In the snow, only a figure wearing a cloak walked slowly. His breath condensed into a cloud of white mist in the cold air, which then quickly dissipated, leaving behind a series of deep and shallow footprints.

He started as an ordinary-looking, dark-haired young man, appearing to be in his early twenties, with only his calm brown eyes standing out. But as he passed through the village and crossed a grove of trees, a strange and subtle change occurred—

His height seemed to have subtly decreased, his shoulders narrowed, and the contours of his face appeared softer.

When he emerged from the other side of the woods, he had transformed into a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy. His gray eyes gazed at the distant castle, and he unconsciously quickened his pace.

Just then, a series of cooing sounds came from the bundle in his arms. The baby inside had woken up and was tentatively stretching out its hands and feet.

Wade glanced down, reached out and poked the baby's soft little face, and said softly, "We'll be there soon, just a little longer."

The child was very well-behaved; he didn't cry or fuss, but just opened his mouth and yawned slightly before starting to play with his fingers.

Wade smiled, used his cloak to shield him from the snow, and continued walking toward the school.

The gates of Hogwarts were right in front of them, and Filch was already waiting at the entrance. The ever-gloomy-faced warden paced back and forth, practically flattening the snow with his footsteps.

Seeing Wade approach, he immediately smiled and opened the door ahead of time.

"Wade, when did you leave school?"

Filch muttered, "When Dumbledore sent me to open the door for you, it startled me. Next time, just tell me directly. Aren't you afraid the headmaster will scold you for wandering around and deduct your house points?"

Wade blinked.

After experiencing so much in the United States, the first thing I heard upon returning was "academic credits"... This gave Wade a strange sense of disconnect.

He paused for a moment before laughing and saying, "Don't worry, Professor Dumbledore asked me to go out and take care of something."

"That's good."

Filch initially breathed a sigh of relief for him, then muttered a complaint under his breath:

“What kind of task do you, a student, have to do? I’m not saying this to be mean, but look at everyone else, they’re all waiting at school to celebrate! And you’re running around in the snow to run errands… You should refuse when you need to, kid. The principal can’t let you do things that aren’t your responsibility… Oh!”

Suddenly, he saw the swaddled baby in Wade's arms, and most importantly, there was a living infant in that swaddled baby.

The administrator's eyes widened instantly, and he jumped back abruptly, pointing at Wade, then at the baby, before finally managing to utter a sound after a long pause.
"Merlin, Vader! You...you couldn't possibly be..."

“This is not my child, and he is not related to me by blood.” Wade knew he had misunderstood and explained, “He is a friend… well, a friend’s child, who wants to ask Professor Dumbledore for some help.”

"Oh, oh... I see..."

Filch pretended to believe him, and the eccentric and reclusive caretaker didn't ask any more questions. He walked ahead with the lantern, his eyes occasionally glancing at the swaddled baby, as if trying to see if the infant looked somewhat like Wade.

Wade was both amused and exasperated, but he didn't press for an explanation.

To him, it seemed that even if he was misunderstood, it didn't matter... Things that would have bothered him in the past now seemed insignificant.

(End of this chapter)