The drizzle was still falling.
Crystal-clear raindrops pattered against the overlapping dark-green broad leaves before bouncing down to the next layer. After several such turns, only a few droplets reached the two people on the ground.
It was already lunchtime. The thunderous sound of the young wizards rushing out of their classrooms toward the Great Hall like a tide crashing against reefs could be heard even here in the Forbidden Forest.
"Are you satisfied, Fromid?"
Amosta put away his wand and clasped his hands behind his back, his expression calm as he admired the cabin he had built. The falling rain automatically slid away whenever it neared him.
He did not respond to Fromid's words.
Fromid nodded reluctantly.
The wooden cabin already contained some furnishings: a bed and square table assembled from planks, and a fireplace built from piled stones.
"If you need anything else, just tell me. I'll have the castle's house-elves prepare it—"
Amosta paced before the dim fireplace, speaking casually.
"You know, we do not have high demands when it comes to our living conditions, Mr. Breen—"
Fromid followed closely behind Amosta. Several times, he seemed about to speak, but in the end, he remained silent.
Mr. Breen's attitude had already made everything clear.
Amosta stopped by the window and gazed outside through the hollowed-out opening. His gaze pierced through the shadowy trees and reached the castle shrouded in mist.
"At the Quidditch World Cup last August, hundreds died in the aftermath of my battle with her—"
Amosta spoke softly. His utterly calm voice drowned out the rustling of the branches and leaves.
Fromid's eyelids trembled, and his gaze dimmed.
"She freed the Death Eater whom Barty Crouch, the former Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the Ministry of Magic, had secretly imprisoned—Barty Crouch