Nightingale's Letter

Dumbledore had forgotten to give him the password...

Sagreles stood before the griffin statue outside the Headmaster's office on the castle's eighth floor, irritably tapping his wand with his fingers.

"Fizzing Whizzbee—" The carved patterns on the statue glimmered faintly before dimming again.

"Lemon Sherbet—" The statue didn't react at all.

"Cockroach Clusters—" Sparks burst from the tip of his wand as he prepared to make one final attempt.

"Toffee—" The statue's amber eyes finally turned, and with the creak of grinding gears, it slowly moved aside to reveal the passage.

Sagreles stepped onto the spiraling staircase, the rhythm of his boot heels striking the floor growing faster and faster.

"Good afternoon, Sagreles."

The old Headmaster's cheerful voice came from beside the fireplace, but Sagreles wasn't in the mood for pleasant conversation. He replied listlessly, "Good afternoon, Professor Dumbledore."

"Just back from the pitch? How was the match?"

"It was absolutely wonderful, Professor!" He pulled over an oak chair and sat down, praising it with a blank expression.

"Oh, come now, Sagreles. Every professor knows you've never liked Quidditch!" Dumbledore removed his half-moon spectacles and wiped them.

"I think you've misunderstood me..." Sagreles leaned forward. "What I meant was, the match between Voldemort's pawn, Quirrell, and your pawn, Snape, was very wonderful!"

Dumbledore looked up and said sternly, "That isn't funny, Sagreles!"

"I wasn't joking either, Headmaster!"

The old Headmaster's movements gradually stopped. The portraits of former Headmasters on the walls seemed to hold their breath. "It appears you know more than I imagined!"

Sagreles disliked this sort of cryptic posturing. With a trace of mockery, he said, "Compared to you—the wizard who knows the most secrets in the wizarding world—I know practically nothing in this regard."

"Don't mock me anymore, Sagreles. At least in certain respects, I don't compare to you."

Sagreles was noncommittal. "So, can we end the mutual flattery now?"

Dumbledore nodded and asked gently, "Then how much do you actually know about this matter?"

"They're only my guesses. At least in this matter, I truly know nothing," Sagreles answered unhurriedly.

"Very well. You're as perceptive as ever. Your guesses are nearly the truth, but there is one thing you got wrong..."

Dumbledore told him seriously, "Severus has never been my pawn, though I have indeed had him secretly investigate Quirinus."

Sagreles raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

The old man sank into his memories, murmuring as though with a sigh, "Yes, Voldemort... I never believed he was dead. I thought so more than ten years ago...

"But at that time, the entire British wizarding world was immersed in the joy of victory. I simply couldn't bear to stand up and tell everyone that cruel truth."

Dumbledore pulled himself from his memories, his eyes becoming deep once more. "I've been searching for clues about him all these years... Perhaps he truly was seriously injured back then, or he wouldn't have remained hidden for so many years."

"As for Quirinus..." The old man shook his head.

"I don't know whether he's still the Quirrell he used to be. Even as a student, he was very sensitive. He always wanted to make a name for himself and craved everyone's recognition..."

His voice gradually turned solemn. "In his pursuit of magic, he took the wrong path. He was seduced. Voldemort sent him to Hogwarts to obtain something—something that could heal his injuries!"

"What is it?" Sagreles asked instinctively.

"I can't say, Sagreles. It doesn't belong to me. I'm only keeping it for someone else."

"I understand." Sagreles chuckled. "Another secret!"

He didn't care about Dumbledore's concealment and instead brought up another question. "Have you considered that Professor Quirrell may have been coerced? After all, what he's done hardly resembles the actions of a competent infiltrator."

"Perhaps..." Dumbledore rose to his feet. "But, Sagreles, it took me a full ten years to find even the slightest trace of him. I cannot let this opportunity pass. After all, even I don't know whether I can wait another ten years."

"But I can promise you that, if there's a chance, I will guide Quirinus back onto the right path..."

Sagreles waved a hand. "You don't need to promise me anything. Professor Quirrell and I aren't close at all. Rest assured, I won't alert the enemy or interfere with your plans."

"Thank you, Sagreles." The old man finally smiled. "Would you like some candy?"

"No, thank you." Sagreles took half a step back. "If there's nothing else, I'll be leaving first."

"Wait, Sagreles..."

"What?" Sagreles asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"You did well on Halloween night, including at the Quidditch pitch today... Of course, your teaching has also been excellent. It seems I finally made the right decision." The old man spoke calmly and earnestly. "You really are suited to being a professor."

"You flatter me!" Sagreles shook his head. "As for teaching, I must live up to the salary you pay me. As for the Halloween troll... I only acted because I promised you that I would step in if the castle was in danger."

Dumbledore picked up a wriggling sweet from the amber syrup and popped it into his mouth. "All right, there's one more thing..." The old man wiped his hands and said indistinctly, "Please try not to Apparate within Hogwarts."

"Of course. Unless it's necessary, I won't do that."

Sagreles nodded in agreement, turned, and walked down the stairs out of the Headmaster's office.

"Hoo, hoo~"

A plump owl landed on his windowsill. At the sight of that familiar messenger, Sagreles showed a rare smile.

After taking out a bag of owl feed and offering it to the bird, he carefully removed the letter clenched in its beak. On the envelope's wax seal, a Nightingale crest holding a violet gleamed brightly.

Taking out the faintly fragrant parchment, Sagreles raised a hand and cast an anti-scrying charm before carefully opening the letter.

The page was blank.

He drew his wand, and the magic in the room suddenly surged.

"Secret Revelation!"

After the spell, neat handwriting slowly appeared on the parchment.

Dear Raven:

May this letter find you before the snow falls upon Hogwarts.

At Oak Market, thirty miles southwest of Black Marsh Town, I encountered the "evil wandmaker" spoken of by the wandering bard—Old Elios was indeed as strange as the legends claimed, but he was too vigilant. I wasn't able to get any useful information from him.

The only thing I can confirm is that, like Myron Waters Gregorovitch, he once possessed and studied the Elder Wand. Thunderbird sent a letter today as well, saying he found some research manuscripts on the Elder Wand in Gregorovitch's workshop, bearing both their signatures.

This is good news. At the very least, it has pointed us in the right direction. Unfortunately, I still haven't been able to contact Red Kestrel. Perhaps this operation can only be carried out by the three of us.

The crystal vial enclosed with this letter contains several drops of Felix Felicis. If you decide to try and find her, be sure to drink it before acting, because Red Kestrel once told me in a letter that when she parted ways with us at the safe house in Bulgaria, she saw two Dark wizards disguised as Gypsies.

—I suspect her disappearance is related to the Dark wizards she mentioned.

Nightingale hopes to receive your reply before the crescent moon rises.

In Dark Marsh

Second Night of Frostmoon

Scrawled on the back of the letter in invisible ink:

Beware of the camping tents east of the market. There are at least nine wizards and two werewolves there, and this morning they cast the "Venomous Serpent" curse at my tent three times.

Sagreles finished reading the letter with a frown. After a brief moment of thought, he immediately decided on his next destination.

"First, I'll meet up with Nightingale, then we'll search for Red Kestrel together!"

As for the Dark wizards and werewolves mentioned at the end of the letter, his eyes narrowed slightly, a dangerous gleam flashing within them.

"I hope they don't make any foolish decisions."

Before leaving, he poured out the crystal vial from the envelope, raised a flame at his fingertips, and burned the remaining parchment and envelope to ashes.