Scarf

Thanks to reader "Hozumiu" for the capsule reward. One bonus chapter!!

Second week of November.

Winter had arrived early in Scotland.

On Wednesday morning, Zhang Wen pushed open the office window, and a gust of cold wind rushed in, sending the parchment on his desk flying all over the room.

The temperature was probably only minus two degrees Celsius.

"Close the window," Artoria's voice came from the inner room.

Zhang Wen shut the window and glanced outside. A thin layer of ice covered the shore of the Black Lake. White frost clung to the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. The distant mountaintops were already blanketed in snow.

Physical training continued as usual.

But Zhang Wen discovered a problem today—he did not have a scarf.

Since coming to this world, he had bought robes, shirts, and boots at Madam Malkin's shop, but had somehow forgotten to buy a scarf. The weather in September and October had been tolerable, but November was another matter. The cold winds of the Scottish Highlands seemed designed to burrow straight down one's collar.

He had run one and a half miles with his robe collar wrapped around his neck, and by the time he returned, everything above his neck was numb with cold.

Artoria was waiting for him at the finish line. She wore a dark blue turtleneck sweater today, with a gray wool scarf around her neck.

"Your complexion is off," she said, looking at Zhang Wen.

"Cold."

"You're not wearing a scarf."

"I don't have one."

Artoria looked at him for three seconds.

Then she reached up and untied her own scarf.

Before Zhang Wen could react, the scarf had already been wrapped around his neck.

The wool scarf carried Artoria's body heat. It was warm. It also held a faint scent—not perfume, but the mingled smell of tea leaves and sunlight.

"You—" Zhang Wen opened his mouth.

"My resistance to cold is stronger than yours." Artoria's tone was as calm as if she were discussing a battle plan. "You need it."

"But you—"

"I'm not cold."

After saying that, she turned and walked away. Her stride was exactly as steady as usual. Her back was straight, and her ponytail swayed lightly.

Zhang Wen stood there with the King of Knights' scarf around his neck.

Neville, who happened to be running past, saw the scene, stopped dead, and gaped.

"Professor Zhang, th-that's Assistant Pendragon's—"

"Longbottom. Add five squats to today's training."

"Why?!"

"Because your powers of observation are too good."

Neville went off to do squats with an aggrieved look on his face.

Zhang Wen wore that scarf all day.

He told himself it was because the office was too cold, his robe collar was not warm enough, and the scarf happened to fit perfectly. It was entirely a practical consideration.

It had nothing to do with the lingering warmth and scent on the scarf.

Absolutely nothing.

He taught two Defense Against the Dark Arts classes that morning with the scarf around his neck. The students did not think much of it—the weather had turned cold, so it was perfectly normal for a professor to wear a scarf.

But Hermione gave him two extra looks after class. Then she gave Artoria two extra looks. Then she wrote something in her notebook.

Zhang Wen did not want to know what she had written.

At lunchtime, Zhang Wen took his seat at the staff table. The scarf was still around his neck.

Professor Flitwick glanced at the gray scarf around his neck.

"New scarf?" the little professor asked warmly.

"Borrowed."

"Whose?"

"...A friend's."

Flitwick gave an "Oh," his gaze bouncing between Zhang Wen and Artoria beside him before he broke into a meaningful smile and turned to speak with Sprout.

Zhang Wen lowered his head to eat, pretending nothing had happened.

Artoria sat beside him, working through her roast beef at her usual pace. She was not wearing a scarf today, only her turtleneck sweater. Her neck was exposed to the slightly chilly air of the Great Hall.

Zhang Wen noticed that the cold wind had turned her earlobes a little red.

"Are you really not cold?" he asked quietly.

"I can bear it."

"Your ears are red."

Artoria's knife and fork paused for half a second.

"That is because the Great Hall's fireplaces distribute heat unevenly. This side near the doors is colder."

"You can take your scarf back."

"You need it more."

"I can buy a new one."

"Use this one until then."

Zhang Wen wanted to argue, but he found that he could not bring himself to say, "Give the scarf back to you."

The scarf was warm. It carried her warmth. He could not bear to take it off.

That realization made him panic a little.

There were no classes that afternoon. Zhang Wen analyzed the latest surveillance data from Glenmore Lake in his office while waiting for Professor McGonagall's visitor list.

Artoria returned after training Neville, carrying two cups of tea. She set one in front of Zhang Wen, then took the other and sat by the window.

"Any changes in the data?"

"The activity range has continued expanding. It's reached fifty meters." Zhang Wen flipped through his notes. "The afternoon magic spike still appears exactly on schedule—starting at 3:05 and ending at 3:18. Thirteen minutes total."

"The same as last week."

"The consistency is precise down to the minute. That means the instructions are being sent automatically—either through a timed spell, or the caster is manually operating it at the same time every day."

"If it is the latter, then the caster has a very regular schedule."

"Or he is in an environment where he has free time every day at three in the afternoon."

They both fell silent at once.

Someone who had free time at three in the afternoon every day.

At Hogwarts, three to four in the afternoon was study time for most upper-year students.

At the Ministry of Magic, three in the afternoon was the standard tea break.

The scope was too broad. It could not be narrowed down for now.

Zhang Wen rubbed his temples.

"How is the tracking plan for the weekend coming along?" Artoria asked.

"The locations for the four measurement points have been determined. I made four sets of Tracking Crystals—as long as we activate them simultaneously when the magic spike appears, we can triangulate the direction of the magical connection."

"How accurate can it be?"

"Under the best conditions, we can narrow it down to a ten-kilometer radius. At worst, we can determine the general direction—whether it points toward Hogwarts or London, for example."

"Ten kilometers." Artoria considered it. "That will be enough. If it points toward Hogwarts—"

"Then the suspect is in the school."

"If it points elsewhere—"

"Then at least we can rule out someone inside the school. That narrows the range."

Artoria took a sip of tea.

"Zhang Wen."

He looked up. She rarely called him by name. Usually, she called him "Master" or simply got straight to the point.

"What is it?"

"You've worn that scarf all day."

"Yes. Because it's cold."

"It isn't cold in the Great Hall. There is a fireplace in the office. You did not take it off even in warm environments."

Zhang Wen's fingers unconsciously touched the scarf around his neck.

"I got used to it."

Artoria looked at him. Her emerald-green eyes held a hint of amber warmth in the fireplace light.

"You can keep it," she said.

"What?"

"The scarf. You can keep using it. I'll go to Hogsmeade tomorrow and buy a new one."

"Then I—I can go buy one too—"

"You're going to Glenmore Lake this weekend. You don't have time."

Zhang Wen opened his mouth and realized that he really did not have time to go to Hogsmeade.

"Besides, that scarf is the right size for you." Artoria lowered her head and continued studying the topographical map in her hands. "When I bought it, I chose the extra-long version. It was a little too long for me. It fits you perfectly."

Zhang Wen stared at her lowered profile for three seconds.

The tips of her ears had turned red again.

This time, she could not blame uneven fireplace heat distribution. There was only one fireplace in the office, and the heat was distributed very evenly.

"Thank you," Zhang Wen said.

"Mm."

One word.

Then she continued studying the map, lifting her tea, drinking, and setting down the cup. Every movement flowed together seamlessly, without the slightest flaw.

But Zhang Wen noticed that the speed of the fingers turning the map pages was ten percent faster than usual.

The King of Knights was nervous.

Artoria Pendragon. The woman who had not blinked even when facing Berserker's savage attacks. The woman whose heart rate would not speed up even while fighting the Basilisk with her eyes closed.

She was nervous because of a scarf.

Zhang Wen tucked that discovery away in the safest corner of his heart.

Beside the Basilisk Fang.

Both were precious collectibles.

Thursday.

Professor McGonagall delivered the visitor list from early October.

Twenty-three parents had attended the Parent-School Liaison Day on October 2. Zhang Wen checked the names one by one.

Most were ordinary wizarding families—Mrs. Weasley, there to see Ron and Ginny; Mrs. Longbottom, there to see Neville; Mr. and Mrs. Greengrass; Mrs. Parkinson—

Zhang Wen's gaze stopped on one name.

Old Nott.

Theodore Nott's father.

A known Death Eater.

He had come to Hogwarts on October 2. For Parent-School Liaison Day.

On October 3, someone had borrowed a book about the Dubh-Loch Beast from the library and torn out the key pages.

The day after Old Nott's visit.

A coincidence?

Zhang Wen set down the list and thought for a while.

On Parent-School Liaison Day, parents were allowed to move freely around the school—tour classrooms, speak with professors, and have lunch in the Great Hall. The event usually ended at four in the afternoon.

But if someone had not left immediately after the event ended—for example, if he claimed he wanted to spend a little more time in the library, or "went to the toilet" and disappeared for a while—

He would have had every opportunity to slip into the library early the next morning, before the students and staff had woken up.

Hogwarts security—honestly—had plenty of holes. It would not be difficult for an experienced adult wizard to hide in the castle for a few hours.

Old Nott. A Death Eater. His son Theodore was a second-year Slytherin, quiet and withdrawn, who used a Copying Quill to ghostwrite essays for his classmates.

Zhang Wen remembered the bandages around Theodore's wrist.

A child who had been "educated" by his father. A child who built a social network within Slytherin by helping others write essays.

If Old Nott was conducting Dark magic experiments—creating the Dubh-Loch Beast—did Theodore know?

"What are you thinking about?" Artoria came over and saw him staring blankly at the list.

"Old Nott. A Death Eater. He came to Hogwarts on October 2."

Artoria's eyes immediately sharpened.

"His son is in Slytherin."

"Theodore Nott. The child with the injured wrist who bandaged it himself instead of going to the Hospital Wing."

"You suspect Old Nott is the man in the black cloak."

"For now, it's only suspicion. There isn't enough evidence." Zhang Wen said, "I need to speak to Snape. He knows the Nott Family better than anyone."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

After dinner, Zhang Wen went to the dungeons.

The door to Snape's office was open a crack. Zhang Wen knocked.

"Come in."

Snape was grading essays. The amount of red ink he used was horrifying—every essay was covered in dense annotations, most of them criticisms.

"Professor Zhang." He set down his pen. "What is it this time that I'm not supposed to know?"

"About Old Nott."

Snape's expression did not change. But he put down his pen a beat faster than usual.

"What do you want to ask?"

"Is there a possibility that he has been conducting Dark Magic experiments? In particular—experiments related to Dark Magical Creatures."

Snape was silent for five seconds.

"Old Nott was an outer-circle member of Voldemort's during the First Wizarding War. His specialty was—" Snape's tone became cautious, "the creation of cursed objects."

Cursed objects.

Cursed stones.

"After Voldemort fell, he claimed that he had been controlled by the Imperius Curse and escaped trial. But the Ministry of Magic has been secretly monitoring him ever since."

"Is secret surveillance useful?"

"No. The Ministry's idea of secret surveillance is the equivalent of putting up a sign outside his house saying, 'I'm watching you.' Nott only needs to avoid the surveillance periods to do whatever he wants."

"His son, Theodore—"

"You want to ask whether I know how that child got those injuries." Snape cut him off.

Zhang Wen said nothing.

"I know." Snape lowered his voice. "I can't deal with it. Old Nott is the head of a pure-blood family. Under the legal framework of the wizarding world, parents have nearly unrestricted disciplinary authority over their underage children. Unless I can prove that his actions constitute 'serious harm'—and he is very good at leaving no evidence behind."

Zhang Wen looked at Snape.

There was something in the man's black eyes that Zhang Wen rarely saw.

Anger.

Anger that had been suppressed, trapped by institutions and reality.

It was not that Snape did not care. He cared deeply. He simply had no way to act.

"If Old Nott is suspected of creating Dark Magical Creatures," Zhang Wen said, "then this is no longer a matter of family discipline. It is illegal."

Snape's gaze sharpened.

"Do you have evidence?"

"I'm one step away. This weekend, I'll go to Glenmore Lake for magical tracking. If the results point toward Old Nott's location—"

"What do you need me to do?"

"Help me find out about Old Nott's recent circumstances. Where he lives now, what his daily activities are, whether he has shown any unusual behavior recently. You have an intelligence network among the pure-blood circles."

Snape thought for a while.

"I can ask around. But I can't guarantee I'll find anything. Old Nott is like most former Death Eaters—good at hiding, good at pretending."

"Tell me if you find any leads."

"Fine."

Zhang Wen stood, preparing to leave.

"Professor Zhang." Snape suddenly called after him.

"What?"

"If it is ultimately confirmed that Old Nott is creating Dark Magical Creatures—" Snape's voice held something he rarely revealed, "make sure Theodore is not implicated. That child has already endured enough."

Zhang Wen nodded.

"I will."

By the time Zhang Wen left the dungeons, it was nearly ten o'clock.

He walked along the corridor toward his office on the third floor. The castle was quiet at night, with only the crackling of wall torches and the distant sound of ghosts singing somewhere far away.

When he reached the stairwell on the third floor, he saw Artoria.

She was sitting on the windowsill of the landing, her legs dangling outside the window, a cup of tea in her hand. Moonlight streamed through the glass, casting a silvery outline around her.

"You weren't on patrol?" Zhang Wen walked over.

"Today isn't a patrol day," Artoria said.

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you."

Zhang Wen paused.

"I wasn't sure how long your conversation with Snape would take. I waited in the office for a while, then realized that this windowsill overlooked the dungeon stairway exit, so I moved here."

She said it very plainly, as though "sitting on a cold stone windowsill waiting for someone to return" was the most ordinary thing in the world.

"How long have you been waiting?"

"An hour and a half."

Zhang Wen looked at her.

Hogwarts in November. A stone windowsill. Below-freezing temperatures. An hour and a half.

She was not wearing a scarf.

Zhang Wen said nothing. He took off the scarf around his neck—her scarf—and walked over to the windowsill.

Artoria watched him.

Zhang Wen wrapped the scarf around her neck.

The movement was not especially smooth. He was not very good at wrapping scarves around other people, and when his fingers touched the back of her neck, they stiffened for a moment. Her neck was cold—the temperature of someone who had sat in the cold wind for an hour and a half.

But the pulse beneath her skin was warm. His fingertips could feel that steady, powerful beat.

"You need it more than I do," Zhang Wen said.

Artoria did not move.

The scarf was properly wrapped around her now. Gray wool encircled her neck, setting off her golden hair and dark blue sweater.

"You said earlier that this scarf was for me." Zhang Wen took a step back. "I've changed my mind. From now on, whoever is cold gets to wear it."

Artoria lowered her head and glanced at the scarf.

It carried Zhang Wen's body heat. He had worn it all day, and the wool was filled with his warmth.

"Accepted," she said.

One word.

Zhang Wen sat down on the windowsill beside her.

The two of them sat side by side, their backs against the stone wall, facing the corridor. Moonlight streamed in through the window, painting two adjacent shadows across the floor.

"What did Snape say?" Artoria asked.

"Old Nott specializes in creating cursed objects. It matches the method used to create the Dubh-Loch Beast."

"The suspicion has increased."

"We still need this weekend's tracking data to confirm it."

Zhang Wen leaned his head against the cold stone wall and closed his eyes for a moment.

"You're tired," Artoria said.

"A little."

"Go back and sleep."

"Let's sit a little longer."

Artoria did not urge him.

The two of them sat on the windowsill like that, neither speaking. The corridor held only the faint glow of the torches and the moonlight outside the window. From afar came the soft, scattered calls of the Owlery.

After about five minutes, Zhang Wen felt a little weight settle onto his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and looked down.

Artoria's head had rested on his shoulder.

Her breathing was even and slow.

She had fallen asleep.

Artoria Pendragon—the King of Knights who had never shown weakness before anyone in Camelot—had fallen asleep against Zhang Wen's shoulder.

Zhang Wen froze for about ten seconds.

Then, very, very carefully, he adjusted his position to make sure her head would not slip down.

Her hair brushed against his neck. It tickled a little.

Her breath fell against his collarbone. Warm.

Zhang Wen made a decision in his heart.

He would not leave tonight. He would sit here and wait for her to wake up.

After all, his class tomorrow morning was at ten.

He still had time.

The corridor was utterly quiet. The angle of the moonlight slowly shifted. The two shadows on the windowsill gradually merged into one.

Zhang Wen closed his eyes.

He fell asleep too.

At 6:10 on Friday morning.

Neville Longbottom arrived at the Third-Floor Corridor on time, ready to receive Artoria's morning training.

At the stairwell, he saw a sight he would never forget for the rest of his life.

Professor Zhang and Assistant Pendragon were asleep side by side on the windowsill. Professor Zhang's head rested against the wall, while Assistant Pendragon's head rested on Professor Zhang's shoulder. The two of them were wrapped in the same gray scarf—Neville had no idea which of them had pulled it longer in their sleep and draped it over both of them.

Morning light shone over them through the window.

Neville stood at the stairwell and held his breath.

He quietly backed away two steps, turned around, and left.

He could train by himself today.

He knew the running route. He remembered the number of squats. As for the stones—he could find a few himself, throw them at the wall, then dodge.

The professor and assistant rarely got to rest.

He did not intend to disturb them.

As Neville ran down the stairs, a broad smile spread across his face.

That smile lasted all the way until breakfast. Ron Weasley asked him why he looked so happy.

"Nothing," Neville said. "The weather is nice today."

Ron glanced at the overcast sky and cold wind outside the window.

"Your definition of 'nice weather' is a little different from normal people's."

Neville only smiled and did not explain.

Some things did not need to be shared.

Like a scarf.

Like two shadows side by side.

Like a King of Knights who was willing to rest against someone else's shoulder even in her sleep.