Veteran Members of the Order of the Phoenix

The Basilisk is not a natural creature; it has been a symbol of evil for thousands of years.

Because the first Basilisk recorded in history were usually created by black wizards for some evil purpose.

Starting with the second batch, more and more wizards began to pursue research purposes.

Salazar Slytherin's goal was simple: to protect Hogwarts in what he considered the most appropriate way.

Vincent had finally touched Jormungandr's forehead, exclaimed:

"The last heir of the Gaunt Family is Tom, and when he truly dies, you will no longer need to fulfill the Slytherin mission."

Jormungandr seemed to understand what he meant.

It rubbed its little hand against its forehead, and its curled-up body completely relaxed.

Hiss—

Vincent tilted his head and thought for a long time.

"You mean Harry?"

Hiss—

He seemed to understand what Jormungandr was saying, "Harry's Parseltongue wasn't innate?"

"Hiss--"

The seven people present all knew that this was an affirmative answer.

They may not speak it, but they can all understand some of the Parseltongue.

The only one I'm certain of is Vincent.

Do you know where Harry's Parseltongue came from?

Hiss—

This is a negative answer.

Jormungandr seems to possess the ability to discern the Creator.

He sensed it from Tom, but found no trace of it with Harry.

"What exactly happened?" Even Hagrid understood the importance of this news.

He was too late twelve years ago.

When they arrived at Potter's Cottage in Godric's Hollow, the only one still alive was Little Harry in his swaddling clothes.

The lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead was proof, proof of surviving Voldemort's Killing Curse.

Vincent recalled the scene when Harry first saw Quirrell's head tucked under his scarf—that is, Voldemort's.

Does the scar feel burning?

It's impossible to cast spells in a spirit state; Quirrell wasn't holding a wand or muttering anything at the time.

After digesting the important news brought by Jormungandr, Hermione reminded everyone, "We need to tell Professor Dumbledore right away!"

"Thank you for the news." Vincent moved his hand away from Jormungandr's forehead. "That's all for today. I'll come over again when I have time."

It watched the seven people emerge from the cave, its intact right eye seemingly anticipating their next meeting.

Hiss—

Hogsmeade, the Hog's Head Pub.

Dumbledore sat at the dilapidated wooden bar, opposite Aberforth, who had white hair and a long beard just like himself.

They look somewhat alike, especially their similar deep blue eyes.

"I intend to regroup the members of the Order of the Phoenix."

Aberforth paused slightly as he wiped the wine glasses. "Are you in a hurry?"

"Yes, I visited an old friend yesterday and have uncovered the secret of his immortality."

"Whatever you like."

Dumbledore didn't care about his younger brother's attitude.

For more than a century, this has been his attitude toward himself.

The two remained silent for the rest of the time, neither breaking the tacit understanding.

Until the bar door was opened from the outside and a short, elderly man walked in.

He was wearing a well-fitting woolen overcoat, and his silvery-white hair was somewhat sparse.

"Ephias!" Dumbledore stood up and bent down to embrace him warmly.

"Albus Dumbledore, it's been a long time."

The short, old man's name was Ephias Elphias Doge, and he was a special advisor to the Ministry of Ministry of Magic and Wizengamot.

He was a classmate who had made plans with Dumbledore to go on the graduation trip, and also a founding member of the Order of the Phoenix.

Elphias Doge greeted Aberforth, received a cold reply, and then sat down at the bar.

"Ephias, didn't you bring any luggage?"

"I brought them, they're all here." He patted the two pockets of his wool coat lightly. "Honestly, you should have invited me sooner."

Dumbledore smiled. "You are my last hope. If there were a more suitable candidate, I would never have invited you to experience that curse."

"I've heard about it," Elphias Doge, bringing up another matter. "The Ministry of Magic has decided to pin everything on Gilderoy. You can probably guess what price Lucius will have to pay for that, right?"

"I know."

The Malfoy Family has always had excellent judgment.

It's not like twelve years ago anymore; the entire Ministry of Magic has changed its tune.

If the diary incident hadn't been discovered, Hagrid, with his prior record, would have been the first to take the blame.

Maintaining a semblance of peace is the real reason why Fudge resorts to scapegoating tactics.

He didn't want Voldemort to come back, nor did he want any news of him to leak out.

Completely severing ties with certain former Death Eaters will postpone that day.

The longer the better, ideally not during his term.

"Cornelius has changed." Dumbledore's bright blue eyes dimmed slightly.

"He became the person he used to hate the most, trying to refuse to receive any bad news by covering his ears."

"Albus Dumbledore, I know you won't regret it—"

With a loud thud, Aberforth slammed a glass of whiskey down in front of Elphias Doge.

"Thank you, Aberforth." Elphias Doge smiled, picked up his glass, and took a small sip.

He and Dumbledore were friends for over a century, so of course he knew the story of the two brothers.

"Albus Dumbledore, if you have this idea—I mean if you want to—many people would be happy to see Fudge step down."

"You know I wouldn't do that, Ephias."

"Yes." Elphias Doge took another small sip of whiskey.

The wine initially has a spicy flavor, but gradually transforms into a unique floral aroma.

"Aberforth, is this the wine you brewed last year?"

"I picked it up from the roadside."

He knew it was a joke, and he also knew that interrupting the conversation was just a momentary impulse.

Dumbledore looked at the empty bar in front of him, shook his head, and took a simple little cloth bag from his robe.

"A prototype of Honeydukes?" Elphias Doge glanced at it curiously, then involuntarily shivered.

"Yes, Ambrose said that eating it will make your teeth chatter and make you squeak like a mouse."

As Dumbledore spoke, he picked up a small, transparent candy that emanated a chilling aura.

"Albus Dumbledore, I must remind you, it's November now."

"That way the flavor is better preserved." He put the candy in his mouth. "Won't you try some?"

Elphias Doge carefully picked up a piece, and as soon as he put it in his mouth, he shrugged and his whole body trembled.

"It—squeak—it has a name—squeak—does it have a name?"

"Ambrose hasn't decided yet. What do you think of the name 'Ice Mice'?"

"Pretty good—squeak squeak—pretty good."

Dumbledore smiled silently and enjoyed the magical transformation brought about by the candy.

Perhaps my taste buds were frozen; the initial slight sweetness had disappeared, leaving only a coldness far exceeding that of ice cubes.

He figured it must contain fresh ice grass from Siberia.

This is a very soft plant, making it particularly suitable for long-term preservation.

Five minutes later, Elphias Doge stopped trembling.

He drank all the whiskey down his throat and into his stomach before his numb tongue could even properly savor its spiciness.

"Ah—I'm alive again!"

If you were to have an Ice Mice on a hot summer day, that would be an incredibly blissful experience.

I'd rather skip it in winter; eating too much of it will definitely turn me into an ice sculpture.