Hogwarts Homecoming

"Yes, yes, that's for sure. Since it's a sanatorium created by the ministry, it can't just serve the rich. We must take into account some people who have made special contributions."

Slughorn became energetic and said with a smile,

"So, how does it cost?"

"Well, it depends, Horace—"

Amosta rested his elbows on the armrests of the sofa, supporting his cheeks. His eyes seemed less focused.

"Those who own property in wealthy areas are automatically qualified to live in it and pay fees on time every year. But if they are meritorious people, the ministry believes that they should be cared for for free——"

"Oh, free!"

Horace's little eyes were shining, and his breathing was getting heavier.

"This is really good. I have worked hard all my life, and it is suitable for training there. But the Merlin First Class Medal, this is not easy. If I say I have made a contribution."

Horace rubbed his palms and smiled,

"My dear Amosta, do you think I am qualified for this?"

"Oh, Horace, you have this plan too?"

Amosta, who pretended to be sleepy, opened his eyes. He looked at Horace and hesitated for two seconds.

"I can't say that, Horace. Of course, I know that you have a respected position in the potion academic world, and you have trained many outstanding young wizards, but... I am telling the truth, please don't mind-"

"Where am I missing?"

Horace asked urgently.

"The Ministry can't invite every retired Hogwarts professor or academic expert in a certain magical subject. What the Ministry is planning there is a world-class sanatorium, not a refugee camp-- "

Amosta said awkwardly,

"Even in Hogwarts now, I'm afraid only Dumbledore has such qualifications, and maybe I also count."

Horace opened his mouth, then closed it again, repeated it several times, and then asked carefully,

"Then as you see it, Amosta, I should mean, is there any way."

"If you can improve the wolfsbane potion and completely restore those unfortunate guys who are unwilling to become werewolves, I think Amelia might give you a manor."

Amosta chuckled twice and glanced at the clock in the corner inadvertently.

"Oh, my God, it's already two o'clock, time flies so fast——"

Amosta stood up using the armrest, exhaled several times, and then looked at Horace who was caught off guard.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Horace. I really benefited from chatting with you."

"Oh, you're leaving, Amosta?"

Horace was a little surprised and at a loss as he pinched the corners of his blue striped pajamas.

"Yeah, it's too late. I have to rush back to Hogwarts tonight and I have some work waiting for me to arrange——"

Amosta picked up the suitcase and stretched out a hand towards Horace.

"As much as I want to talk to you by candlelight at night, Horace, I think this is a severe test of the energy of a retired old man. So, goodbye-"

"My energy is not that bad, Amosta——"

Horace grabbed Amosta's hand and shook it, his eyes hesitant.

"Okay then, bye--"

"Looking forward to our next meeting, Horace——"

Amosta smiled slightly, turned and walked out of the living room.

Horace stood in the living room, his small light gray-green eyes flashing with struggle. He watched Amosta, who was visiting late at night, staggering out of the living room, listening to the footsteps that were getting further away, until , the sound of sliding the door sounded!

"Hey, wait!"

In an instant, the consciousness that had been blinded by alcohol for several hours regained consciousness. Horace quickly jumped over the wine bottles and empty preserves boxes on the velvet carpet, rushed out of the living room and into the narrow corridor. He stopped and was about to go out. of Amosta.

Under the cold moonlight, the young man's purple eyes were also not drunk at all, with a polite smile,

"What's the matter, Horace, is there anything else? I'm leaving now-"

Somehow, Horace suddenly felt like he was being teased. He glared at Amosta angrily.

"You're leaving. Oh, okay, no problem, but aren't you here to be a lobbyist for Dumbledore!"

"Oh, it's true--"

Amosta smiled and nodded. He bowed towards Horace in the room.

"But when our conversation started, you already told me that you knew nothing about that issue. Dumbledore was completely in the wrong direction, wasn't he?"

"Oh, of course!"

Horace took a breath, his cheeks turned red slightly,

"But. But, are you just planning to go back and deliver a report to Dumbledore?"

"I never like to embarrass anyone, Horace——"

Amosta chuckled,

"I will tell Dumbledore that I have fully communicated with you about Riddle's Horcrux. I believe you know nothing about it, and I will also try to help you convince Dumbledore not to come again in the future. Excuse you."

Amosta raised his head and took a look at this house, which was quite decent among all the buildings in the small village in the wilderness.

"Interrupting your 'comfortable' retirement. But seriously, Horace—"

There is strong confidence in Amosta's calm voice,

"Going back to Hogwarts to teach is not a bad choice. At least as long as I am here, Riddle and his Death Eaters will never be able to break into Hogwarts to harass you. This is better than hiding here. It’s much better to live in fear in a remote place, isn’t it?”

Shrouded in shadow, Horace remained silent.

"By the way, since Hogwarts got rid of the school board and began to operate independently, the salaries of professors have increased a lot——"

Amosta finished speaking with a smile, turned around, and was about to walk into the void.

“Just raising wages is not enough!”

Horace stepped out on the creaking floorboards and shouted at Amosta's back,

"That nursing home still has to leave a place for me. I know you have the final say on this matter!"

Amosta smiled softly and disappeared under the deep starry sky.

The owl carrying the letter headed north, bathed in the morning light and moonlight, soared over mountains and rivers, and finally arrived at the eternal desolate land.

It seems that the snow from last winter has just melted away, the black soil has just emerged to breathe a few breaths of fresh air, and the dark sky has begun to fall with bits of silver again.

The biting cold wind seemed to be the roar of countless undead souls who died tragically, lingering around this cursed black tower all day long.

The owl circled the tower several times, and finally, it swooped and flew into the window sash at the highest point of the tower, falling onto the desk in front of the window, gasping for breath from exhaustion.

The old man with messy gray hair and a layer of white eyes sitting on the edge of the bed was reading a newspaper.

He noticed an owl flying into the room, but he did not raise his head and just read the newspaper seriously.

"Amosta Blaine sounds the clarion call for change!" 》

The article on the newspaper's headline seemed particularly obscure. It took the old man almost half an hour to read the article and turn to the second page.

The picture on the second page of the newspaper was still that of a young man calmly facing many brightly dressed wizards in a plaster square.

"A great victory!" 》

Then comes the third edition:

"Destruction or Rebirth?" 》

The accompanying picture is a photo of Amosta Brain signing the agreement.

Fourth edition:

"Ministry of Magic!" Ministry of Magic! 》

article:

'After centuries of inaction, the Ministry of Magic finally realized that it should make some real contribution to the British wizarding community. ’

The above paragraph is quoted from the original words of Rita Skeeter, a well-known current affairs reporter of this newspaper, when the author asked her what she thought of the Ministry of Magic's implementation of the "subsistence allowance" policy in an interview.

It is reported that many well-known figures in the wizarding world have publicly expressed positive views on this policy.

Fifth Edition:

"The Legendary Wizarding Career of Amosta Blaine"

As usual, the examples of Amosta in recent years were brought out and promoted again. The picture used was a photo of Amosta's incarnation of the sun rising into the sky during the Battle of Diagon Alley.

After flipping through a few pages, every page of the newspaper was filled with photos of the young man with deep features and steady eyes.

The wrinkles on the old man's chiseled cheeks were even deeper.

Seemingly losing interest, he folded the newspaper neatly, stood up with difficulty, staggered to the opposite wall, and placed the newspaper on the top of the stacked 'newspaper mountain'.

唳~

The owl finally regained some strength after trudging through mountains and rivers. It flapped its wings a few times and stood up. Its brown pupils reflected the old man who was facing the wall in a daze.

The old man slowly turned around and looked at the owl. He looked at the letter tied to the owl's foot and remained silent for a long time.