My Letter!

The first weekend of February was bright and sunny.

With Valentine's Day approaching, many pairs of older boys and girls had suddenly appeared on the lawns in the school grounds, by the Black Lake, and at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, snuggling close together. They ignored the pointing and whispering of younger students and even turned a blind eye to the professors' disapproving stares, rubbing noses and whispering in each other's ears without the slightest concern for whether the setting was appropriate.

"Disgraceful—why aren't the prefects and professors doing something about it?"

Hermione had spotted at least five or six such couples on her way to the library early that morning. As she passed them, she fumed to herself.

The library was even quieter than usual today. Apart from stern Madam Pince, who was seated in her usual place, absorbed in a book with gold lettering on its cover, there were only a dozen or so older students preparing for their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T.S. examinations among the thousands of bookshelves in the hundreds of narrow aisles behind her.

Still, it did nothing to dampen Hermione's enthusiasm for studying. She darted skillfully and swiftly between rows of shelves, searching for the books she needed.

Ah, there it was—

Hermione stopped before a shelf holding dozens of old, thick volumes. She jumped up and pulled a copy of "Forgotten Ancient Magic and Curses" from the very top, then leaned against the shelf behind her as she read the dense, intricate text, hoping to find the cause of Colin and Justin's petrification.

Because Fred and George had vanished without even saying hello, Wood had no choice but to angrily announce that today's training was cancelled.

That gave Harry, who had risen early for practice, a rare relaxing weekend. He had originally planned to accompany Hermione in searching for clues, but Ron stopped him before he left.

"It's not often Wood lets you off the hook!"

Ron stuffed a small piece of grilled sausage into Scabbers's mouth as he spoke. "Don't waste a precious weekend on something pointless, Harry. Seamus has a new set of Gobstones. I can borrow it so we can kill some time!"

And so Harry was easily persuaded. In the end, Hermione was the only one to go to the library alone, hoping to find even the faintest trace of clues about the attacks amid the ocean of knowledge and river of history.

Sunlight filtered through the dust in the air and the gaps between the bookshelves, casting strange, shifting patterns across Hermione's young, earnest face. As time passed, the pile of books beside her grew higher and higher, almost rising above her slender shoulders.

Amosta, who had come from the Restricted Section, watched her silently for a while. For some reason, faint ripples stirred in his heart, as though he had seen his younger self in Hermione.

"Miss Granger—"

"Ah, Professor Breen!" Hermione, absorbed in her book, turned around blankly. When she saw Professor Breen approaching with a smile, she hurriedly shut the book in her arms and stood up straight, somewhat flustered. "Sorry, Professor, I didn't notice you were here!"

Other than their awkward first meeting in the Hospital Wing over the Christmas holiday, this was the first time Hermione had met Professor Breen in private.

Amosta glanced at the book clutched in the anxious young witch's arms and immediately understood. He nodded at Hermione and asked gently, "Are you looking for clues about the Chamber of Secrets?"

After Hermione gave an affirmative reply, Amosta looked around in surprise.

"Are you alone, Miss Granger? Where are your good friends, Potter and Mr. Weasley? Didn't they come to help you?"

"Oh, those two!"

The messy-haired young witch immediately became indignant. She had been about to complain about Harry and Ron, but when the words reached her lips, she instead said that Harry had to attend Quidditch training, while Ron was in the common room working on his Herbology homework. Only she had finished her coursework early and had nothing to do, so she had come to browse the library.

"Ho ho—"

Even without Legilimency, Amosta could tell it was a lie. But he did not expose her. Instead, he nodded understandingly.

"The strong are always lonely, Miss Granger. Keep up the good work."

After leaving behind that cryptic remark, Amosta turned and left.

Long after his figure had disappeared around the corner of the rows of bookshelves, Hermione still stood there foolishly, staring after Professor Breen. She repeatedly mulled over his baffling words, and somehow, it felt as though she had received powerful encouragement. The arms that had held books all morning no longer ached, and her clear amber-brown eyes regained their brightness.

"Keep going, Hermione!"

Hermione clenched her fists and spoke to herself, then threw herself back at the bookshelves with renewed vigor.

Amosta walked through the bustling streets of Hogsmeade. Perhaps because of his change in status, many young wizards coming toward him took the initiative to greet him, and Amosta nodded back at each of them with great friendliness.

But suddenly, the sight of two short wizards in black cloaks some distance ahead to his right made Amosta frown. After a brief moment of thought, he deviated from his original destination and leisurely followed them into a secluded alley.

Amosta followed them all the way to The Hog's Head Inn. However, he did not follow the two of them inside. Instead, he waited quietly outside with an amused expression.

Sure enough, only a few minutes later, the inn's bad-tempered owner let out a loud roar. The two black-clad figures staggered out of the inn, and before they could exchange a word, they looked up to find Amosta twenty feet away, coldly studying them.

Uh—

Embarrassment, fear, and helplessness tore at the hearts of the two black-robed figures. They stood trembling at the entrance of The Hog's Head Inn, waiting for punishment to fall.

"No, brother, he can't see what we look like!"

The person on the right suddenly came to his senses. He lowered his voice and discreetly tugged at his companion's sleeve. The reminded companion immediately caught on, and a hoarse voice beneath the cloak on the left gave a heavy cough.

"Cough, cough. Don't meddle in our business, kid. We've killed without batting an eye!"

For fuck's sake!

Amosta stared, face dark with exasperation, as the two Weasley brats sprinted away. He resolved to teach them a lesson when he got the chance!

He had not gone far after turning around when, through the window of a tea shop filled with mist and decorated as though everything inside had been covered in frills and bows, he spotted Percy Weasley passionately kissing his Ravenclaw prefect girlfriend beneath a golden cherub.

That whole family was packed with the wizarding world's finest talents!

Amosta turned away and pretended he had seen nothing, quickening his pace toward The Three Broomsticks Inn.

That evening, Hermione told Harry and Ron, who had spent the whole day loafing in the common room, about what Professor Breen had said in the library that morning. Unfortunately, neither Harry nor Ron could make sense of it.

"Still—"

Ron wrinkled his nose and absentmindedly waved his arms through the air.

"It sounds pretty cool, doesn't it? Say I—oh no, I mean you, Harry—were in the Quidditch final, with Gryffindor trailing Slytherin 0–140. Everyone had given up, but right before Dorian Psyche scored the decisive goal, you caught the Golden Snitch right in front of Malfoy, then dropped that line. I bet you, Harry, Malfoy would be too furious to eat for a whole year!"

"If that really happened, Ron, I'd be more than happy to eat Malfoy's entire year's worth of meals in a single day!"

Harry imagined the scene Ron described and began to snicker happily.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the two of them. Just as she was about to lecture them, a noisy commotion suddenly came from the Entrance Hall, and a large group of people rushed in around something.

Harry and Ron's cheerful expressions froze, and Hermione immediately realized something had happened. She quickly dropped her food and ran over to find out.

On the marble staircase, Headmaster Dumbledore led several professors down with grim expressions. Before long, he dispersed the crowd and guided Amosta, who was supporting Lockhart, up the stairs.

The Slytherin Heir was active again!

Harry's heart, which had been in good spirits moments earlier, plunged into icy water. He immediately thought of the worst possibility. After exchanging a look with the pale-faced Ron, the two of them hurried after them.

On a bed in the Hospital Wing, Professor Lockhart no longer looked as elegant and refined as usual. His hair was disheveled, his bloodshot eyes were wide open, and he desperately made incoherent sounds, as though he urgently wanted to say something!

Madam Pomfrey was examining him. Judging by her grave expression, the situation appeared serious.

Headmaster Dumbledore very considerately allowed the students to come in and visit Professor Lockhart. The students stood outside the bed curtains, exchanging uneasy glances, while Hermione squeezed to the very front. Looking at Lockhart's miserable state, she suddenly covered her mouth and began to sob softly!

Uh.

Seeing this, Amosta secretly felt guilty and wondered whether he had gone a little too far. But when he saw Professor Snape standing in the shadows, seemingly struggling not to laugh, his mood settled again.

"How is he, Poppy?"

Dumbledore stood beside Lockhart's bed, hiding his expression from everyone. But from the sound of his voice, he seemed deeply troubled.

"Very bad, Headmaster Dumbledore—"

Madam Pomfrey quickly glanced at the stern-faced Professor McGonagall before explaining to everyone.

"A severe alcohol allergy, Headmaster. He will probably have to spend Easter in bed. Oh, did no one know that Professor Lockhart isn't good with alcoholic drinks?"

Wasn't Professor Lockhart's most desired birthday present a case of Ogden's Old Firewhisky?

Upon hearing Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis, Hermione raised her head blankly, tears still hanging in her eyes.

"It's all my fault, Headmaster Dumbledore!"

Amosta stepped forward with an expression of "grief."

"I invited Professor Lockhart for drinks without understanding the situation. Oh, perhaps he agreed only because he did not want to refuse me. I... I feel terribly ashamed about this. If you permit it, I can resign immediately to take responsibility!"

"No, no!"

Before Professor McGonagall could even step forward, Professor Lockhart, who looked as though he were on his last breath, unexpectedly managed to speak through his own "powerful" will. With great difficulty, he shakily reached out a hand toward Amosta and murmured almost inaudibly.

"Th-th... letters?"

"What did you say, Professor Lockhart? Is there anything else you wish to tell us?"

Amosta immediately and anxiously squeezed past Dumbledore. Half-crouching beside the bed, he grasped Lockhart's hand, while his other hand, hidden in his sleeve, was ready to cast another spell at any moment!

"Gr-gr... Granger!"

To Amosta's surprise, Lockhart suddenly called Hermione's name instead. Amosta's brow twitched, but in the end, he followed Professor Lockhart's "dying wish" and summoned Hermione to the bedside as well.

"I'm here, Professor. What do you want to tell me?"

Large tears rolled down Hermione's face, and her voice was unbearably sorrowful. "What do you need me to do for you, Professor?"

"You... fans, you two..."

Lockhart, his face turning bluish-green, forced out the words one by one.

"Help me write replies!"