Hogwarts Study Panel

Chapter 125: Hope

"Disillusion spell, Silence spell, Levitation spell..."

In the headmaster's office, Dumbledore's muttering broke the long-standing silence.

This is almost entirely a special attack targeting stealth and trolls.

Nothing is a coincidence, especially for a child who doesn't go out at night but has learned the Disillusionment Charm.

He had sensed the danger long ago...

The danger could only come from the room on the fourth floor, and his excellence is beyond question to reach the troll alone.

This means he passed at least four tests.

But he didn't say a word... That's interesting, isn't it?

If such behavior would make Dumbledore uneasy, then the name "Grimm," coupled with his constant lurking near the trolls...

Dumbledore chuckled softly.

Perhaps the entire Hogwarts Castle is in his hands—the greatest white wizard of this century, but this Grimm… he has done everything he could.

“Albus, you imagine him as one of those heinous wizards…”

A calm and gentle voice came from behind.

"Oh—Principal Derwent, please forgive an old man for worrying too much, but people often can't see things clearly when they get old... The weather is nice, where is my Lemon Olaf?"

"Perhaps in your wool socks?"

Ms. Devont said softly.

"Oh—of course, of course, they're my wool socks."

Dumbledore was wearing a pair of thick socks, which felt soft and warm just by touching them.

What makes his mustache even more prominent is that it's not just one pair—they all come from that little Green.

Happy Halloween. Thank you for your generous help.

Dumbledore's blue eyes narrowed.

Who wouldn't like a child who knows how to repay kindness?

……

cellar.

A chill emanated from the stone walls. The coldness in the potions classroom was heavier than elsewhere; the damp chill seemed to have gained weight, pressing down heavily on the room.

Water droplets condensed on the wall dripped slowly down the rough stone surface, reflecting the light of the torch.

Many of the materials in the storage cabinet had become exceptionally fragile due to the dampness. Professor Snape's private storage room door was tightly closed, but a faint scent of potions still seeped out from under the door.

In that unchanging gray and white, some candies, a box of packaging, and a blue notebook stand out conspicuously.

"Looks like you received some gifts too, Severus?"

The visitor was an elderly man with a long, white beard.

He was wearing a purple robe, and his tone was not sarcastic, but rather showed a gentle concern.

"Ah--"

Professor Snape kicked Dumbledore out without hesitation.

At the cellar entrance, Sir Cadogan was having dinner with two or three monks, several former Hogwarts headmasters, and his fat little grey zebra.

He pushed his helmet up and raised a jug of mead to greet Headmaster Dumbledore.

"Happy Halloween—uh—Happy Halloween! Headmaster Dumbledore, didn't he see your wool socks?"

Sir Cadogan shouted,

"what a pity……"

In the cellar.

Snape, who had been angry and irritable just moments before, was now somewhat annoyed.

Uninteresting gifts serve no purpose other than to further bind idiots together and make them more likely to do stupid things...

He opened the packaging.

Inside were carefully selected nettles and porcupine thorns of varying lengths, packaged in a small bottle.

Next to the bottle was a notebook that detailed Sheen's latest progress on the guiding method.

Although not many, there were still quite a few, the result of Sheen's extensive experimentation. Snape waved his wand and threw the candy, which "just happened" to land in a small compartment of the glass case.

He then opened the letter:

Sometimes, looking at problems with hope makes them clearer.

Professor, I found some decent materials among a pile of inferior ones.

Although it's rare, it's always there.

correct,

Happy Halloween, Professor Snape!

He talks so much it seems unnatural...

Snape snorted and threw the letter into his bag at the same time.

……

As he emerged from the cellar, Sheen's breath turned into white vapor that rose and fell rhythmically.

"Come in, child."

Professor McGonagall was still sitting in her tall chair, the only difference being that the mountains of assignments and all sorts of complicated documents had disappeared.

Only one owl remained, arriving with a letter. It shook its head, causing a few snowflakes to fall with a soft rustling sound.

Sheen found it quite amusing, and with a wave of his wand, the snowflakes danced a few times.

"Cuckoo?"

The owl tilted its head and landed on Sheen's shoulder, rubbing its round face against him.

Not good, Sheen thought, Mr. Owl will be hooting again when we get back.

"Little wizard! You little wizard who's fallen for someone else! You smell like another owl!"

It sounds as if Sheen has let it down in some way.

"Child, come to me."

Professor McGonagall suddenly spoke.

Sheen moved closer silently. He thought the professor would ask him about trolls, but the professor didn't say a word.

She simply held his hand.

“Listen, kid, protecting your friends is important, but protecting yourself is just as important.”

The crackling sound of the fireplace grew louder.

Sheen stood in front of the barrier and began his practice of object-oriented "magic".

He waved his wand, and the flames danced like sprites at some chance moment.

Sheen suddenly remembered the scene where the professor conjured a fire lizard.

He flipped through the professor's notes and found that section, which detailed the transformations of the fire lizard.

Sheen initially thought this was the advanced section, but some strange guidance compelled him to give it a try—

[You have practiced an advanced Transfiguration spell to a beginner level; proficiency +100]

A lizard-shaped flame suddenly appeared!
[Within the bodies of magical creatures lie circuits perfectly suited to magic, and gifted wizards can capture them.]

Just as Sheehan was looking at the professor's notes with a slight smile on his lips, Professor McGonagall was reading a letter that had been sent from afar.

[Dear Minerva McGonagall:]
When I received your letter, I could hardly believe it. That child, God's blessed child, had not been deceived after all.

Forgive my skepticism, but I've seen far too many things like this. Even as life deceives us time and time again, we, living in Croydon, still choose to believe.

Because there couldn't be a worse outcome.

I have no idea how much effort you went through to find me—I know that those mean people never reply—they would rather never receive a letter so they don't have to face those poor children.

In any case, it's enough that you have this intention.

If you need more information about that child, please let me know. I've been a volunteer in Holliss for a long time.

I look forward to your further replies.

Your loyal companion: Roland Taylor

(End of this chapter)