Slytherin common room.
Malfoy had been living quite comfortably these past few days, slowly reverting to his role as the little tyrant of Slytherin.
Though he had been on edge for two days after possibly being controlled and involuntarily releasing the Dark Mark, the fact that no one had come to question him suggested that nobody knew. This allowed his tightly strung nerves to finally relax.
The only thing that annoyed him was the return of those damned Dementors. Sure, it was nice not having to attend class, but being cooped up in the common room all afternoon was unbearably dull.
"Malfoy, Crabbe—did you hear?" Goyle whispered. "A few of the younger Durmstrang students were crying in their sleep last night."
Crabbe, munching on some snacks, muttered, "Why? Are they homesick?"
Malfoy sneered, "They're probably terrified because their Headmaster got arrested." He cast a sidelong glance at the Durmstrang students huddled together. "Even the upper years didn't cry, but they're clearly scared stiff—clinging to each other all day like they're afraid of being taken next."
Goyle snickered gleefully.
"If it were me, I'd be scared too," Crabbe added.
Just then, an owl swooped in through the window and landed on Emily Larsson's arm—the owl carried a letter tied to its leg.
Emily unwrapped the letter and scanned it briefly before announcing, "No, we can't return until the Headmaster has cleared his name."
"Why not?"
"Even if he did do something wrong, what's that got to do with us?"
"Exactly!"
Viktor Krum's expression was grim. "It's not that simple. If there really is a problem with the Headmaster, then maybe…someone among us is involved too."
"Hey, what are you trying to say?"
He shook his head slowly. "I'm just stating what the British Ministry of Magic might be thinking…They're terrified of You-Know-Who."
"Emily, aren't you worried at all?" someone asked.
She immediately burst into a grin. "What's there to worry about? You all know Transfiguration is my favourite subject. And here at Hogwarts, not only do we have Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall—two masters of Transfiguration—but also Professor Edward, who might not be any worse than them…"
A girl muttered under her breath, "Edward? He's only in third year, and you're in sixth!"
Emily shrugged. "So what? As long as he can teach me to be as powerful as he is, I'll call him whatever he wants~"
She pulled out a few insects and fed them to her owl, which flapped its wings and flew off into the sky.
"Hmph, have you guys noticed? Ever since we came to Hogwarts, even the pets are getting picky."
"Maybe the food here is just better," said a student lying across the table. "Not like Durmstrang…always short on everything. Actually, staying here might not be such a bad idea."
"…I'm telling Headmaster Karkaroff you said that."
"You wouldn't dare!"
A few girls began to "fight," bursting into laughter, attracting the wide-eyed, unblinking stares of several nearby boys.
Malfoy was one of them.
"Yoo-hoo~"
Suddenly, Audrey's voice rang out behind him, making him jump. "You—what do you want?!"
Audrey smiled sweetly. "What? Did you have your eye on a girl? Want me to help introduce you?"
Malfoy immediately raised his chin and huffed, "Hmph! Like I'd be interested in some bumpkins from the North!"
"Tut tut tut~" Audrey knocked him on the head. "At your age, you should care about looks and personality when it comes to girls. What would a little brat like you know?"
Malfoy's eyes twitched with mischief. "You seem to know a lot! Then why don't you introduce them to Edward? Oh wait—you don't have to. They'll go running to him on their own!"
"…"
Audrey knocked him again. "Did you just call him Edward? It's Professor Edward, thank you very much!"
As she spoke, she looked toward the Durmstrang students. Emily, still laughing with her friends, felt the gaze and looked back. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but in the end, only gave a wave and a cheerful smile.
———
The next morning.
Following last night's Dementor incident near the Whomping Willow, Hogwarts expressed strong condemnation and outrage.
Many people had witnessed what happened—the five Dementors suddenly broke free from control and surged toward the Whomping Willow, then disappeared into the Shrieking Shack tunnel and slipped into Hogsmeade, vanishing without a trace.
Letting five such dangerous creatures—capable of slaughtering wizards and Muggles alike at any moment—roam free was an act of reckless irresponsibility. It endangered not just the magical world but also risked a major breach of the International Statute of Secrecy, significantly increasing the likelihood of wizardkind being exposed.
And the cause of this disaster?
None other than Minister Fudge, who, without evidence and against the advice of all parties, insisted on flooding Hogwarts with Dementors.
So that very morning, the Minister's office was flooded with complaint letters, howlers, and even formal motions of censure. This sent Cornelius Fudge into a frenzy, pacing and bellowing in outrage until, finally, he grudgingly agreed to withdraw half of the Dementors.
That outcome was something Edward truly hadn't expected.
Meanwhile, Umbridge was left jittery and uncertain by Fudge's retreat. Come on, Minister, she thought, are you even reliable? Yesterday, you were bragging to me that Dumbledore was finished, and today you're backing down already?
During the first period Defence Against the Dark Arts class, she stormed into the classroom with a frosty expression, her gaze instantly catching that one of the Hufflepuff students was missing. It wasn't that she had memorised every Hufflepuff's face—only that this particular student had been her top target since arriving at Hogwarts:
Edward.
She slammed her book onto the podium and said in a syrupy yet cutting voice, "Can anyone tell me where Edward is today? Off again on a school-funded exchange trip, perhaps?"
The students exchanged looks with each other in silence. They were all quite used to Edward's absences by now—these days, seeing him in class was more surprising than not.
"No one?" she asked again.
"Professor, maybe Professor Edward is teaching a Transfiguration class for another year group," a Ravenclaw student offered cautiously.
Umbridge's eyes bulged. "Professor Edward? Teaching Transfiguration? What utter nonsense!"
"Professor, didn't you ask around before you came? Professor Edward has been helping Professor McGonagall with teaching Transfiguration to the first through third years. If there's a schedule conflict, he prioritises those lessons. It's an arrangement all the professors have agreed to."
Umbridge immediately snapped, "You mean to tell me a third-year—a mere student—is standing in as a teaching assistant? Has McGonagall gone completely mad? Fine then! If she no longer wants to be the Transfiguration professor, I'll submit a request to the Ministry to appoint someone else!"
With that, she turned to storm out of the room. But just before she reached the door, she whirled back around and barked, "All of you—copy page 112 ten times!"
"Outrageous! Absolutely outrageous! Dumbledore and the rest of them have clearly gone senile! Fine! This only proves that they are unfit to remain at Hogwarts!"
She sneered, a sinister smile gradually spreading across her face. "I'm sure the Board of Governors will seize this opportunity. As expected, only I have what it takes to help the Minister in his time of need!"
———
[Diagon Alley]
Edward hadn't even had time for breakfast that morning before being summoned by Dumbledore. The two of them immediately set off for Diagon Alley, arriving before Gringotts had even opened its doors.
As they stood in front of the snowy white building, Edward yawned. "Professor, why are we here so early? The place isn't even open yet."
Dumbledore coughed lightly. "If we come too late, there will be too many eyes and ears inside Gringotts…"
Edward immediately caught the flicker of discomfort in the old man's gaze. Considering the last time he'd tried to retrieve the cup from the vault and had been denied, Dumbledore was probably worried about being rejected again by the goblins.
It made sense—how could the greatest light wizard of this era, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and a potential candidate for Minister for Magic, be repeatedly snubbed by goblins in front of everyone?
At 8 a.m. sharp, the shining bronze doors of Gringotts creaked open. A goblin in a crimson-and-gold-trimmed uniform stepped out and took his place by the entrance, as per routine. Once he stood still, he finally noticed the two figures waiting outside.
"Oh! Mr. Dumbledore, back again I see! And...a gentleman I don't recognise. Welcome, welcome."
The two walked up the white stone steps and passed through the second set of silver doors, upon which a warning was inscribed:
"Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed…"
Edward couldn't help but chuckle. Every word of that inscription perfectly summed up the goblins' own nature—greedy, acquisitive, taking without giving. And yet here they were, using it to warn others.
It reminded him distinctly of a certain unspeakable group from his previous life.
Soon, they arrived in a grand marble hall. Over a hundred goblins sat on high stools behind long counters, some weighing coins on brass scales, others examining gems through monocles while scribbling hastily in massive ledgers.
Dumbledore led Edward with practised ease toward a raised platform, where an aged goblin, who somehow managed to sit even higher than Dumbledore, was stationed.
"Good morning, Claw," Dumbledore greeted.
The old goblin adjusted his spectacles and looked up through cloudy eyes.
"Oh, Mr. Dumbledore, welcome. What can I do for you today?"
As he spoke, he rubbed his long, spindly fingers together, the motion automatic and habitual.
"Do you remember I came to see you some time ago?"
"Ah, yes. Of course," the goblin said, feigning sudden recollection. "You mentioned that the Lestrange vault might contain a dangerous dark artifact and requested to have it removed and destroyed. But as I explained then, we goblins are merely custodians. We don't concern ourselves with what clients store inside."
"Unless you have the key to the Lestrange vault," he continued, "or the owner's direct authorisation, no one—not even a goblin—may access it."
Dumbledore smiled. "Even if doing so might prevent catastrophic consequences?"
"Of course!" the goblin replied cheerfully. "You know our policy—Gringotts safeguards vaults, not moral responsibilities. If anything dangerous causes damage, the liability lies entirely with the vault's owner. Any losses to Gringotts would also be charged to them."
Edward: "…"
At this point, Dumbledore pulled out a document and handed it over. "What if I have this?"
"Oh? A Ministry-issued search warrant?" The goblin quickly took it and examined it carefully. "But as you must recall, Mr. Dumbledore, the founding charter of Gringotts includes a treaty with the Ministry: they may not interfere with our operations unless they present clear evidence of wrongdoing. Do you have such evidence, sir?"
Dumbledore fell silent.
The old goblin gave a sly smile. "So you don't. Still, we must show the Ministry some courtesy."
He knocked on the counter. "Raal, go inspect the Lestrange vault and confirm if there's any issue."
"Yes, Mr. Claw," a uniformed goblin replied and quickly made his way toward a door in the hall.
"Now then, gentlemen, do you have any other business you'd like to attend to while we wait for Raal's report?"
"No," Dumbledore said.
"Very well. Please wait a moment."
Three minutes later, the goblin named Raal returned.
"Mr. Claw, there's nothing unusual in the Lestrange vault."
Behind his half-moon spectacles, Dumbledore's eyes flickered.
The Lestrange vaults were located deep beneath the earth, far below the other vaults—especially the primary one, which was near the very bottom. Three minutes wasn't even enough time to reach the vault, let alone ride the minecart, unlock it, and check its contents.
This wasn't just evasion.
This was a blatant act of provocation.
———
[Note]: Don't forget to VOTE. It keeps me motivated.