Hogwarts Study Panel

Chapter 127: The Discarded Note
"You should go and take a look..."

Before Justin could finish speaking, Professor Snape came toward them.

"That's my book!"

Hermione looked both anxious and angry; she stomped her foot, her eyes flashing with frustration.

We shouldn't have lent the book to Harry and the others!

Harry and Ron watched Professor Snape walk slowly away, then were somewhat surprised to find that he was heading in the direction of Sheen and the others. They began to whisper among themselves:
"We're doomed. Did you see that? Harry, Sheehan also has a copy of 'Quidditch Origins'..."

Ron was referring to the book Sheen had borrowed from the library. Mrs. Pince had made Sheen keep it so she wouldn't be bothered by the other eager little wizards; she had wanted to do that for a long time.

"We need to remind them."

Harry frowned, a look of worry flashing in his eyes.

In the cold courtyard, the blue flames didn't seem to possess much warmth.

Sheehan took the copy of "Quidditch Origins" out of his bag and handed it to Hermione. The Quidditch season had begun, and Hermione was somewhat affected, especially when her friends were showing interest.

She's been really into Quidditch lately, and she lent out "Quidditch Origins" only because of Harry and his friends' heroic deeds.

But now things are different; Professor Snape has confiscated them—no one dares to ask Professor Snape to return the books.

"Quick! Quick! Hide!"

Hermione panicked as she saw Professor Snape getting closer and closer.

Sheehan stared at the professor's injured leg, the gaping wound faintly visible behind his robes. As Professor Snape drew closer, Hermione's face paled, and even Justin trembled slightly, perhaps from the biting wind.

"Ha—a stupid book for idiots—"

Professor Snape's lips curled into a mocking smile.
"It suits you quite well...heh—"

He didn't say the words, but just glared at Sheen before forcing himself to walk away as if nothing was wrong.

"Our books weren't confiscated?!"

Hermione exclaimed.

"This is—no, I mean, it's absolutely incredible!"

Ron's face was filled with disbelief.

"He must hate me to the core..."

Harry muttered to himself again.

Only Sheen's gaze never left Professor Snape's injured leg.

As far as I remember, although Professor Snape was injured, he did not go to Mrs. Pomfrey to treat his wound. He simply asked for a roll of bandage in Mr. Filch's office and treated it himself.

The good thing about Mrs. Pomfrey is that as long as you tell her what kind of wound it is, she will treat it accordingly, without probing for the true cause of the injury. The bad thing is that anyone can get information from her.

Therefore, the professor did not choose to go to the university hospital, because his own position was sensitive enough.

But Sheehan didn't have this concern; no one would pay attention to him, a first-year wizard.

"He's badly hurt."

Justin blurted out those words suddenly, his eyes also filled with worry, and then he stole a glance at Sheehan.

The entrance to the administrator's office.

A large package floated beside Sheen. Mrs. Lorris would purr on Sheen's shoulder for a while, and then run to the stained-glass window to catch the dappled sunlight that flickered between light and shadow due to the clouds.

After playing for a while, it ran onto the large package and became a cat floating in the air. Soon, Sheen gently knocked on the door, only to be greeted by Mr. Filch's mocking voice:
"Another idiot—do you think knocking is some kind of secret? Get out of here if you don't want your hand bitten off!"

Sheen naturally ignored the sarcasm; a faint smile remained on his face.

Biting a doorknob seems quite useful...

“It’s me, sir.”

Before Sheen could finish speaking, he heard a loud bang from behind the door, followed by a series of hurried footsteps.

The door was opened.

The dark, dirty room, without windows, was much brighter—thanks to some candles floating in the air.

Next to a jar on the desk was a letter, with a quill pen and many crumpled pieces of paper on top of it.

Upon seeing Sheen's crumpled scarf, the administrator was suddenly speechless.

"Meow-"

Mrs. Lorris slapped her paw on the letter, on which was an unfinished passage:
Happy Halloween...

Along with the letter was a brand new scarf.

It seems that he was so conflicted that he didn't send any gifts throughout Halloween.

"Happy Halloween, Mr. Filch."

No wonder Mrs. Lorris wanted to bring me here from noon onwards.

The administrator's office was always filled with a faint smell of salted fish, but Mr. Filch didn't like fish. His room was often filled with a pot of bone broth, and Mrs. Lorris would go out at those times.

In general, even though they are of one mind, they still make concessions to each other.

Sheen remained energetic. He put down the potion and gauze he had brought from Madam Pomfrey, then waved his wand, and the items in the package flew out.

This is a magical window that can display any kind of weather; it was something Weasley went to great lengths to get.

It was also used by the Ministry of Magic, which was located underground.

The employees at the Magic Repair and Maintenance Department once caused a hurricane to blow through the window for two months because they wanted a raise.

The Ministry of Magic has many strange occurrences—such as using paper airplanes to send messages; and during Voldemort's reign, officials would flush themselves into the Ministry of Magic through the toilet…

All of this makes this organization, which should be in control of the magical world, seem like a makeshift operation.

However, some parts were quite unexpected, such as when Fudge ordered the Aurors to capture Dumbledore, and they actually went:
"So you say,"

In the original story, Fudge sneered.
"You're planning to take on Dexter, Shackles, Dolores, and me all by yourself, is that it, Dumbledore?"

Sheehan sometimes felt that wizards did indeed have an untimely recklessness, and as a result, a few breaths later—Fudge, Umbridge, Kingsley, and Dexter were all lying motionless on the floor.

They were braver than Voldemort.

In November, snow began to fall at Hogwarts School. When Filch came to his senses, he found that the castle was covered with a thin layer of snow and the lake was beginning to freeze.

That shouldn't be visible from a room without windows.

A fierce wind howled across the table, and crumpled pieces of paper rolled into the fireplace, but nothing could be written on them.

What can he write?
Writing endless trivialities, desperate longings, a window that cannot see the outside world?

Or perhaps it should be about the sorrow of someone gazing longingly at the lonely moon, the loyalty of someone who has never had faith…

(End of this chapter)