The Wind and the Wings of Hogwarts

Michael unleashed a long string of foul language.

Scott couldn't help but say, "Your secret stash of money is hidden behind that painting in the shop that never sells. Maybe I should tell Mom."

“Okay, you are my son,” Michael said immediately. “Oh, Scott, this is a secret between us men, don’t tell Millie.”

“Remember to do what I just said; it’s related to my safety,” Scott emphasized.

Michael couldn't help but ask, "I'll take care of it, but what girl and alien? What exactly did you go through?"

“I’ll explain everything to you when I get back,” Scott said. “I’ll rent a car from Maidstone to come back. I’m hanging up now.”

“Okay, Millie has prepared a special feast today, so don’t miss it,” Mike said with a smile.

"No, see you later." Scott hung up the phone.

He stepped out of the phone booth, put his hands in his pockets, and walked forward.

Michael acted quickly.

When Scott arrived in the town center, the town's resident police and reporters sprang into action.

Scott, of course, wouldn't join in the fun.

He quickly found a taxi, negotiated the price, and left Maidstone.

It is foreseeable that the exposure of the house-elves' corpses to the Muggles will cause a huge uproar.

It might immediately become the front page headline of major newspapers that day.

This undoubtedly violates the wizards' international secrecy law.

It is foreseeable that in order to continue to conceal the existence of the magical world, the Ministry of Magic's focus will inevitably shift.

Scott estimated they would be swamped with this.

According to his understanding, the English Ministry of Magic does not have a large staff.

The Memory Deletion Command of the Department of Magical Accidents and Disasters and the Muggle Problem Mediation Committee alone cannot handle the situation.

Faced with such a major event, the Minister of Magic will inevitably mobilize other departments to help, especially the Auror Command of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

This means they might not have the time or energy to investigate Jasmine Travers's and the house-elves' deaths thoroughly.

Although Scott dealt with the situation and did what he could, he didn't feel safe.

After all, he was just a wizarding apprentice who had only been exposed to magic for a little over three years, and he couldn't fully understand the methods the Aurors used to investigate cases.

So he resorted to the tactic of "fearing nothing more than a peaceful world".

He didn't know if it would be useful or not, but at least it would divert most of the Ministry of Magic's attention, adding an extra layer of security for him to hide himself.

Scott sat in the back seat of the car, leaning against the cushions and watching the scenery pass by outside the window.

Only then did he have time to recall something—

He caused one person's death.

Although he had thought about this question before enrolling in Hogwarts, and although he had been mentally preparing himself all along...

In the magical world, which is not peaceful now and is likely to be engulfed in war, he is very likely to experience killing.

But after experiencing it firsthand, he realized that all those assumptions were useless.

He could watch the girl die for his own survival, but he still couldn't accept it calmly.

Scott closed his eyes.

He knew he had to let this go; he couldn't leave a void in his heart.

That could very well cause his magic to change.

Thirty minutes later, the taxi arrived at its destination, Hastings.

Scott, who had been resting with his eyes closed, opened them; his eyes were the same clear blue as always.

After handing the money to the driver, who hadn't spoken to him the entire time, he got out of the car and headed straight for the restroom in the fast food restaurant next door.

The time for the compound decoction is almost here.

When he came out of the restroom, he had already returned to his original appearance.

Hastings is a somber seaside town, famous for the Battle of Hastings in 1066.

Scott walked all the way to the old town on the cliff edge by the sea.

He walked familiarly to the antique shop with the [Trolop] sign and pushed open the door.

Jingle Bell……

The copper bell hanging on the door rang.

Rimbaud, who had flown all the way from the sky, landed and remained on his shoulder.

Scott went inside the store.

A very familiar smoky aroma wafted over.

In the cramped space, the man sitting behind the counter smoking looked up when he heard the bell.

He looked to be in his thirties or forties, with the same black hair and blue eyes as Scott, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, and sporting a rather old-fashioned mustache.

“Mike.”

Scott walked toward him.

"Scott."

Michael stood up, stubbed out his cigarette, walked over to the counter, and hugged his son.

"Are you alright?" He patted Scott on the shoulder. "To be honest, you gave me quite a fright today."

"and many more."

He turned around, picked up the coffee pot from the wooden shelf next to the counter, poured two cups of coffee, and walked to the small display window, placing the cups on the worn-out table.

“Come on, since you’re still a minor, you should share your experiences with me, son.”

He turned to look at Scott, his mustache twitching.

"Then I will determine whether your experience is suitable to be told to Millie."

"Ok."

Scott shrugged and walked over to sit down.

……

Chapter 097 Father, Michael Trollope

After finishing his coffee, Scott briefly but clearly recounted all his experiences this semester.

Michael's expression looked somewhat complicated after hearing this.

He couldn't resist lighting another cigarette, taking a puff, and looking up at Scott.

Through the rising smoke and the reflective lenses of his glasses, Scott couldn't see his eyes.

Michael said softly, "You know, until today, I thought you only resembled me in hair color and eyes, and your personality was more like your mother's."

Scott understood what he meant.

Michael looks like an old-fashioned gentleman, but he's actually a scoundrel and dropped out of high school.

Emilia, at the very least, graduated from a local university—Sussex Coast Hastings College.

Scott was much better at school than Mike was when he was a child.

Michael exhaled another puff of smoke. "But you're still a Trolop, son!"

He couldn't help but burst into laughter.

Scott squinted at him. "Is this funny?"

Michael grinned and said, "We are descendants of the Normans, the Normans who followed William I in conquering England during the Middle Ages."

He pointed to the ground.

"That battle took place right here, right beneath our feet..."

Scott continued in a emotionless, recitation-like tone: "The Normans were descendants of the Vikings, descendants of pirates."

He looked up at Michael, who was speechless, and asked with a smile, "You always have to get to the bottom of things? Why don't you start with something closer to home?"

Michael turned his head, pretending to look at the unchanging scenery outside the shop window.

But Scott didn't stop.

“My great-great-grandfather was a smuggler, my great-grandfather was a smuggler and intelligence broker, my grandfather was a smuggler, intelligence broker, and antique shop owner, and as for my father…”

He shrugged.

"It's a pity that he couldn't build on his grandfather's legacy and went on to be a delinquent who dropped out of school when he was young."

"Oh wait!" he exclaimed, feigning a sudden realization. "Now he's even lost his jobs as a smuggler and an information broker!"

"Hey!"

Michael raised his hand to take off his glasses and turned to look at him with displeasure.

Scott continued talking, “My father, Michael Trollope, was just an ordinary antique shop owner.”

He spread his hands out again and tilted his head.

"Isn't it a shame? He's a descendant of Vikings; perhaps he could have picked up his old profession to prove it."

"hiss……"

Michael gasped.

He put his glasses on the table, then held the cigarette between his fingers and brought it to the ashtray, tapping it to remove the ash.

"It seems you really are more like Millie when it comes to being quick-witted," he said with a laugh.

Scott pursed his lips. "I'll tell my dear mother about that."

Let's get back to the main topic.