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A sunflower parrot?

Aberforth felt a surge of unpleasant memories rising to the surface.

He was reminded of that wretched Gellert Grindelwald.

Arrogant, overbearing, insufferably conceited…

Yes, that was it.

That scoundrel Albus always called him Gell…

Could it be that Albus, that old fool, was scheming some sort of twilight romance, dragging him into the school under a new guise as an assistant teacher to fulfill some unspeakable desire?

The more Aberforth thought about it, the more convinced he became.

In that moment, he had already completed a full circle of suspicion in his mind.

But the two Hufflepuff students standing before him made him slightly less certain.

He vaguely recalled that Gellert had a particular disdain for Hufflepuffs.

And now, this Hufflepuff lad was saying that this “Assistant Teacher Gell” was actually teaching him?

“Can you tell me about this Assistant Teacher Gell?” Aberforth asked, feigning curiosity, determined to get some clarity from these two Hufflepuff students.

Cedric, who had never seen Aberforth take such an interest in anyone before, saw no reason to withhold information about Assistant Teacher Scamander from this Mr. Dumbledore. “Assistant Teacher Gell is likely a relative of Professor Scamander,” he said, “though we don’t know the specifics. We only know his name is Gell Scamander.”

Scamander?

Aberforth’s suspicions eased a fraction.

Would Grindelwald, of all people, pretend to be a Scamander?

That was highly unlikely.

If you asked who Gellert Grindelwald loved most in the world, the answer might be unclear. But if you asked who he despised most, it was undoubtedly Newt Scamander.

Even in his wildest dreams, Aberforth couldn’t imagine Gellert using the Scamander name to infiltrate Hogwarts.

“But I’ve noticed that Assistant Teacher Gell and Headmaster Dumbledore get along quite well,” Megan said with a cheerful smile. “At meals, Gell always sits beside Headmaster Dumbledore, and they’re often deep in conversation… Mr. Dumbledore, you must know this good friend of the headmaster’s, right?”

“I don’t,” Aberforth replied, maintaining a neutral expression, though inwardly he was roaring.

Albus! What in Merlin’s name are you thinking?

How could he let such a dangerous person into the school?

Of course, Megan and Cedric were blissfully unaware of the tangled history between Gellert and the Dumbledore brothers. They were simply enjoying the surprisingly delicious slop at the Hog’s Head.

Back at Hogwarts, Cedric handed some sweets to Ron and mentioned the meal Aberforth had prepared.

“I could never have imagined food that looked that bad,” Cedric said, his face lighting up, “but I also never thought something that looked so awful could taste that good.”

Cedric’s animated description left Ron dumbfounded. After a long pause, he muttered, “You must’ve been really hungry.”

Hermione, meanwhile, was intrigued by the gossip about Aberforth.

“Professor Dumbledore has a brother?” she asked curiously. “I’ve never heard anyone mention that before.”

“Yes, Mr. Dumbledore runs the Hog’s Head,” Cedric explained with a grin. “He’s got the same blue eyes as Headmaster Dumbledore, but he’s got a bit of a temper. If my dad hadn’t told me, I’d never have believed they were brothers.”

“A lot of people at the Hog’s Head wear hoods or cover their faces,” Megan added. “I don’t know why, but Mr. Dumbledore is impressive. He keeps everyone in line—no one dares cause trouble there.”

At that moment, Harry suddenly remembered where he’d heard the name before.

“I’ve got it!” he said. “Do you remember our first year, with the Philosopher’s Stone and Fluffy, the three-headed dog?”

Ron and Hermione nodded. “Of course we remember Fluffy,” they said. “But… what does that have to do with Mr. Dumbledore?”

Harry explained, “Hagrid told us, didn’t he? He got Fluffy from a ‘Greek chappie’ at the Hog’s Head. And he also won that dragon egg playing cards there.”

“Oh, that’s right!” the group exclaimed, realization dawning.

“Such a pity,” Cedric said. “If we’d joined the Dueling Club last year, we could’ve been part of your end-of-year adventure.”

Ron rolled his eyes, his expression remarkably Hermione-like. “Oh, come on. You do realize the final challenge was You-Know-Who attached to the back of Quirrell’s head? Oh, wait, you wouldn’t know—Headmaster Dumbledore only said Harry stopped Quirrell’s plot, not that You-Know-Who was literally stuck to his skull.”

This revelation left Cedric and Megan stunned.

All their lives, parents, professors, and relatives had told them one thing: You-Know-Who was dead, defeated by the Boy Who Lived, Harry Potter, when he was just a one-year-old baby. After that, You-Know-Who had vanished.

If anyone else had claimed to have personally experienced this, Cedric and Megan wouldn’t have believed them.

But this was Harry Potter.

They’d seen his strength with their own eyes. He had no need to fabricate some tale about You-Know-Who to bolster his reputation.

And the undeniable fact was that Harry had

defeated You-Know-Who before.

Even with their minds firmly set, they couldn’t help but wonder—had You-Know-Who truly returned?

The more they thought about it, the more plausible it seemed. As the most powerful dark wizard of the century, how could he not have some contingency plan?

“The petrification incidents this year were also caused by Voldemort’s remnant soul,” Harry told them. “Voldemort’s soul possessed a Slytherin girl I’d rather not name. She opened the Chamber of Secrets and unleashed the basilisk that Slytherin himself placed in the school.”

“But doesn’t a basilisk’s gaze kill anyone who looks directly at it?” Megan asked, puzzled.

“You’re right,” Harry said with a small smile. “But the thing is, if you don’t look at it directly, but through some indirect means…”

“That’s it!” Cedric exclaimed. “When we found Colin Creevey from Gryffindor, he was holding his camera, trying to take a picture. He must’ve seen the basilisk through the camera’s viewfinder, which is why he was only petrified, not killed.”

“And what about Filch’s cat?” Megan asked.

“She saw the basilisk’s reflection in a puddle of water,” Hermione replied. “We all know water can act like a mirror. That’s probably why Mrs. Norris was petrified.”

“I think Voldemort’s utterly shameless,” Harry said with a sigh. “From what I know, he’s got two soul fragments. One was the older one, stuck to the back of Quirrell’s head. The other was a younger version, attached to a diary.”

“Last year, the younger Voldemort disguised himself as a woman, sneaking into the Slytherin boys’ dormitory to deceive people and drain their life force and soul energy,” Harry continued, shaking his head. “And the other soul fragment was clinging to the back of Quirrell’s head like some pathetic parasite.”

“As for this year, he’s sunk even lower. I thought pretending to be a woman to scam Slytherin boys was bad enough, but this year, he went into the Slytherin girls’ dormitory… I can’t imagine what his loyal Death Eaters would think if they knew the wizard they’ve been following is like this.”

“If it were me, I’d quit the Death Eaters immediately,” Megan said without hesitation, her face twisted in disgust.

Good heavens, she’d thought You-Know-Who, at the very least, would have some dignity as the century’s most powerful dark wizard.

But to think he was… what? Sneaking around, preying on first- and second-year students like some creepy uncle?

It was downright revolting.

“If it were me, I’d rather follow Grindelwald,” Ron said, slinging an arm around Harry’s shoulders with a grin. “At least Grindelwald isn’t a lunatic.”

“You mean the Grindelwald who staged a fake Qilin bow?” Veratia’s voice cut in from beside Harry. “I don’t think following a leader who makes such foolish moves is a wise choice.”

“When did she get here?” Ron asked, startled. “Merlin’s beard, Miss Grindelwald, when did you show up?”

“I’ve been here the whole time,” Veratia said with a smile, reaching out to pinch Harry’s cheek. She pulled two magical watches from her pocket. “Here, yours, little rabbit—Harry… and yours, little squirrel—Hermione.”

As she spoke, she winked at Hermione, her gaze lingering on Hermione’s prominent front teeth. When she’d picked out the watches, she hadn’t thought much of it, but now the cartoon squirrel on the watch looked uncannily like Hermione.

“Are the watches fixed?” Harry asked, flipping open the cover to see the time ticking away.

Veratia grinned. “Mr. Flamel fixed them up for me. He said they’ll work fine at Hogwarts now, but you’ll need to regularly channel magic into the batteries in the back.”

“Batteries that use magic? Can you even call them batteries?” Hermione asked, scrunching up her face.

“You could call it a wand,” Ron quipped from behind.

Harry fiddled with the watch, marveling that Veratia had actually gone to Mr. Flamel to have them modified.

“What are you thinking about?” Veratia asked softly.

Harry opened his mouth. “I was wondering if Mr. Flamel was annoyed that you bothered him with something so small.”

Veratia thought for a moment. When she’d handed over the three watches, Mr. Flamel’s face had clearly shown a “are you kidding me?” expression.

But Veratia didn’t mind. Three pounds ninety-nine wasn’t much, but it was still money, wasn’t it?

In any case, Mr. Flamel had taken just a few minutes to enchant the watches, explaining how to maintain them before diving back into his project of modifying a computer.

“He didn’t mind,” Veratia said with a bright smile.

Harry, however, suspected Mr. Flamel had been quite irritated but was too polite to say so.

Lately, Veratia had been popping up unpredictably, though she’d been coming back to Hogwarts to help Harry with magic more frequently than before. Perhaps it was because of Cassandra’s dying words, or maybe something else.

What she hadn’t told Harry was that her meeting with Otho hadn’t gone particularly well.

Otho had shown the young great-aunt the utmost respect, but he’d gently declined her “dangerous ideas.”

Veratia hadn’t pressed the issue, only asking why he didn’t return to Austria.

She understood what Otho meant. She wasn’t the Austrian Minister of Magic or even an ordinary official—just a student at Hogwarts.

With no influence to her name, a seasoned politician like Otho wouldn’t reveal his true thoughts to a young witch based on a single conversation.

Still, Veratia planned to return to Austria after graduation and start from the bottom as a Ministry of Magic clerk.

Meanwhile, after Cedric and Megan left the Hog’s Head, Aberforth shooed out the remaining patrons.

Given Aberforth’s status and strength, none of the guests dared protest, leaving the pub one by one.

After closing the bar, Aberforth didn’t use the front door. Instead, he lifted a portrait of a young girl on the wall and slipped into a hidden passage behind it.

The passage led directly to Hogwarts.

He followed it, emerging on the eighth floor of the castle.

Why the passage led straight to the eighth floor was a matter of magic that Muggles had no business questioning.

In theory, the passage should connect to the Room of Requirement, but that was only for those who knew of its existence. For someone like Aberforth, it simply spat him out into a cluttered storage room.

“Cough, cough, cough…” Aberforth hacked, swearing under his breath and kicking at the piled-up junk.

“Bloody nuisance,” he grumbled, shoving the door open and striding toward Dumbledore’s office.

Since the headmaster’s office was also on the eighth floor, it didn’t take long for Aberforth to reach the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance.

“Password,” the gargoyle intoned emotionlessly.

Aberforth clenched his fist.

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