Harry's voice wasn't loud.
It made Dumbledore's heart skip a beat, and his motion of reaching for another jar of Cockroach Clusters came to an abrupt halt.
"I trust Honeydukes." He hesitated for a moment, then resumed reaching for the candy.
"Cockroach Clusters are a hot seller," Harry helpfully reminded him, twisting the knife further. "You do know that, aside from you, almost no one buys them to actually eat."
"Mr. Flume knows that too. Cockroach Clusters are a popular prank item. Do you think, when making them, he might have been a little careless? Maybe accidentally mixed in a few real cockroaches?"
"After all, it's just a prank candy. No one would actually eat it, right?"
"If that's what he was thinking."
Mr. Flume, the owner of Honeydukes, was also a master confectioner.
"I trust Ambrosius," Dumbledore said firmly, emphasizing his words. "He is a very responsible wizard."
Even so…
That mental hurdle was too much. With a sigh, he put the candy jar away.
"You don't trust him," Harry exposed his pretense.
Dumbledore sighed. "Harry, you're punishing me."
"Yes," Harry nodded without hesitation. "That's what you get for planning to send me to Voldemort and have me killed."
"It was for the cure." Dumbledore shook his head.
Snape sneered. "Albus, the one who needs a cure is you."
The other three Heads of House didn't object. In fact, they looked eager to join Snape in diagnosing Dumbledore's illness.
Professor McGonagall escorted Harry away.
Snape stayed behind to continue discussing the Horcrux problem with Dumbledore. They had intended to solve it that day, but the situation was more complex than expected, rendering many of their planned methods useless.
Professors Flitwick and Sprout went out on patrol.
Dumbledore and Harry's suspicion of a "Death Eater" was no small matter. Hogwarts had been infiltrated once again, and the students' safety was at risk—again.
Wait.
Why use the word "again"?
But as the professors increased their patrols around the castle, the pet thief disappeared without a trace. Except, Slytherins were still losing their pets.
After investigation, it was confirmed that this had nothing to do with the criminal. It was just the usual bullying within their own house.
Of course, they had their excuses.
They never intended to kill the pets. It wasn't bullying—just a joke that got out of hand. Magic went wrong. It was an accident. Somehow, inexplicably, the pets just… died.
They sincerely admitted their mistakes, accepted detention, and even offered to pay compensation.
That word—offered—made Deputy Headmistress McGonagall feel a pang of discomfort.
Their expressions were too sincere.
As if they truly hadn't meant to kill those pets.
But according to school rules, their attitudes left no room for punishment beyond a scolding and detentions under Snape's supervision.
On Dumbledore's Marauder's Map, no further intrusions were detected.
It seemed…
Dumbledore and Harry had been overly jumpy.
September and October passed.
After two months of relative peace, the fifth-year students finally felt the weight of their O.W.L. year. The professors all simultaneously increased the workload.
They planned to finish the entire year's curriculum in the first half of the school year.
The second half would be dedicated to reviewing everything from first to fifth year.
All the professors had great confidence in this year's students, hoping to break previous records for the best scores.
Hogwarts had, admittedly, been slacking for the past decade.
Even Sirius had been forced to add more magical theory to his curriculum—at Professor McGonagall's insistence. The Defense Against the Dark Arts exam wasn't just practical; there was a significant theoretical component as well.
He found it a headache.
Theory wasn't something he knew much better than his fifth-year students. But as a professor, he had to fulfill his responsibilities. He had no choice but to start learning from scratch, spending hours each night discussing Defense topics with Lupin.
The job wasn't as great as he had imagined.
Halloween Night.
In a year with no major incidents, the young wizards finally got to enjoy a lively celebration.
Last year's Halloween had been overshadowed by the Triwizard Tournament. This year, they wouldn't miss out.
And while Hogwarts reveled in the Ghosts' Night…
Somewhere far away, in a place truly haunted by ghosts…
On a rugged reef island in the British Isles, the ocean waves crashed violently, stirring up dark storm clouds and torrential rain.
A small boat docked at the shore.
The helmsman jumped into the sea, secured the rope tightly to the dock, and climbed back aboard.
He bowed deeply to the passenger inside, his attitude extremely respectful. "Mr. Thicknesse, we've arrived."
"Oh? Finally?" The man inside the boat stepped out, lightly waving his wand to cast a rain-repelling charm.
He was a tall man with a goatee.
Pius Thicknesse, the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. With the current Head growing old and disinterested in daily affairs, Thicknesse was effectively the highest authority, second only to Scrimgeour.
His status in the Ministry was high.
At least, to the guards of Azkaban, he was someone to look up to.
"Yes, sir. May I ask who you're here to see?" The guard nodded eagerly. As far as he knew, Mr. Thicknesse had no relatives or friends imprisoned in Azkaban.
"Oh, just some old friends. You probably wouldn't know them." Thicknesse raised his wand as if casting a rain-repelling charm for the guard as well.
He drew out the syllables.
And then—an unexpected spell.
"Avada Kedavra."
In the curtain of rain, green light flashed. The guard's expression didn't even have time to turn to horror. He still wore that same flattering, humble smile.
"You shouldn't have killed him." Someone stepped out of the boat's cabin. "We should have offered him to the Master."
"We don't need any unstable variables right now." Thicknesse nodded. "Let's go. I'll deal with the Dementors. You two—get our comrades out."
"We should have brought Severus," muttered another man as he stepped onto shore. "He'd be good at handling this."
Thicknesse sneered. "Professor Snape."
"I highly doubt his loyalty to the Master. He didn't even show up at the Quidditch World Cup."
"He's not a reliable ally."
"Forget him."
The man hesitated before muttering under his breath, "Severus only lost his left hand…"
But his words held no weight. Among this group, the only one with true authority was the one whom the Master had personally promised power.
Azkaban's guards were Dementors. But since they oversaw human prisoners, human intermediaries were still required. The harsh conditions and high risks meant that, despite the generous salary, few wizards were willing to take the job.
Counting the boatman, there had only been three human guards on the island.
Now, there were none.
All dead to the Killing Curse.
The rain fell in torrents. The Dementors seemed inclined to intercept them, but some unseen order held them back. They suppressed their hunger for happiness and souls, clearing a path for the intruders.
Before long, over a dozen Death Eaters were selected and freed.
They were led out of the Dementors' domain into the spacious, warm quarters of the dead guards.
The fireplace crackled.
Hot chocolate in their hands slowly restored their senses.
"Amicus." A pale-blond man looked up. "You…"
"Ah, Lucius, my dear Lucius." Amicus Carrow nodded with a smile, raising his wand. "If you're wondering why I'm here, could you wait just a moment?"
"I have something to do on the Master's behalf."
His tone turned cold.
"Cruciatus."
The curse struck Lucius.
Already stripped of his dignity after prolonged torment in Azkaban, Malfoy immediately collapsed to the ground, writhing and twisting in pain. The hot chocolate spilled all over him, but the burning sensation was nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to the agony of the Cruciatus Curse.
"The Master trusted you," Amicus Carrow spoke in a low voice. "He entrusted you with something precious."
"Even we were not deemed worthy."
"And you betrayed that trust."
"You coward. You deserter!"
A woman's voice cut in. "Enough, brother. Our mission isn't to torture Lucius."
Amicus withdrew his wand.
Among the freed Death Eaters, a woman with wild, disheveled hair, looking as though she had been burned by smoke and fire, stood up. Her voice was sharp and manic.
"The Master—was it the Master who sent you to free us?"
"I knew it!"
"Our great, invincible Master could never have been defeated by a mere infant!"
"Bella," Amicus interrupted, "calm down. The Master was defeated by that infant."
The madwoman froze.
"But it was only a temporary setback," Amicus continued, his voice steady and unwavering. "Dumbledore sacrificed dozens of lives to make it happen. He thought that would be enough to kill the Master—but our Master is immortal."
"The Master is preparing his return."
"He needs our strength."
Bellatrix shrieked like a banshee.
"I would give everything for the Master!"
"Let me see him! It has been so long since I last basked in his presence—"
"Bella, you can't see the Master right now." The door creaked open, and Thicknesse stepped inside. "Neither can you. Neither can I."
Inside the room, all the Death Eaters stiffened.
Aside from the Carrow siblings, the others tensed with suspicion.
"Thicknesse?" Mulciber narrowed his eyes. "Since when were you one of us?"
Thicknesse tilted his head, gazing at them with amusement.
"No, no, no," he chuckled. "I'm not Thicknesse. Just a little Polyjuice Potion."
He raised his hand, glancing at his watch.
"It should be wearing off soon."
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