Scarf

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

The second week of November.

Winter had arrived early in Scotland.

On Wednesday morning, Zhang Wen pushed open the office window, and a blast 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 had formed along the shores 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 arriving in this world, he had bought robes, shirts, and boots at Madam Malkin's shop, but had somehow forgotten to buy a scarf. September and October had been bearable, but November was another matter. The cold winds of the Scottish Highlands seemed determined to worm their way down his neck.

He ran one and a half miles with his robe collar wrapped tightly around him. By the time he returned, everything above his neck had gone numb from the 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 doesn't look right." She looked at Zhang Wen.

"I'm cold."

"You aren't 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 retained Artoria's body heat. It was warm. It also carried a faint scent—not perfume, but the mingled smell of tea leaves and sunlight.

"You—" Zhang Wen opened his mouth.

"My cold tolerance 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 left. Her stride was exactly as usual. Her back straight, her ponytail swaying lightly.

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

Neville, who happened to be running past, saw the scene, stopped in his tracks, and gaped.

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

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

"Why?!"

"Because your observational skills 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 purely 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 pay much attention—after all, the weather had turned cold. 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 sat down at the staff table. The scarf was still around his neck.

Professor Filius Flitwick glanced at the gray scarf around Zhang Wen's neck.

"New scarf?" the diminutive professor asked enthusiastically.

"Borrowed."

"Whose?"

"...A friend's."

Flitwick gave an "oh," his gaze bouncing between Zhang Wen and Artoria beside him before he revealed a meaningful smile and turned to talk to Sprout.

Zhang Wen lowered his head and ate, pretending nothing had happened.

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

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

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

"I can endure it."

"Your ears are red."

Artoria's knife and fork stopped 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 the 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 did not want 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 placed 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 has reached fifty meters." Zhang Wen flipped through his notes. "The afternoon magical spike still appears on schedule—starting at 3:05 and ending at 3:18. Thirteen minutes in total."

"The same as last week."

"The consistency is precise down to the minute. That means the instructions are being sent automatically—either by a timed spell or by the caster 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 the same time.

Someone who had free time every afternoon at three.

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. There was no way to narrow it down yet.

Zhang Wen rubbed his temples.

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

"The locations for the four observation points have been decided. I made four sets of Tracking Crystals—as long as we activate them at the same time when the magical 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 still determine the general direction—whether it points toward Hogwarts or London, for example."

"Ten kilometers." Artoria thought for a moment. "That will be enough. If the direction points toward Hogwarts—"

"Then the suspect is in the school."

"If it points somewhere else—"

"Then we can at least rule out someone within the school and narrow the range."

Artoria took a sip of tea.

"Zhang Wen."

He looked up. She rarely called him by name directly. Usually, she said "Master," or simply began discussing the matter at hand.

"What is it?"

"You have been wearing that scarf all day."

"Yes. Because it's cold."

"The Great Hall isn't cold. The office has a fireplace. You did not take it off even in warm places."

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

"I got used to it."

Artoria looked at him. Her emerald-green eyes carried a hint of amber warmth in the firelight.

"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 he truly 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. "I chose the extra-long version when I bought it. It was slightly too long for me. It fits you perfectly."

Zhang Wen stared at her profile as she lowered her head 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.

"Mhm."

One word.

Then she continued studying the map, lifting her tea, drinking it, and setting down the cup. Every movement flowed smoothly together, so seamless that there was not a single flaw to pick apart.

But Zhang Wen noticed that her fingers turned the pages of the map ten percent faster than usual.

The King of Knights was nervous.

Artoria Pendragon. The woman who had not even blinked in the face of Berserker's frenzied attacks. The woman whose heart rate would not increase even when she fought the Basilisk with her eyes closed.

She was nervous because of a scarf.

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

Right beside the Basilisk Fang.

Both were precious treasures.

Thursday.

Professor McGonagall sent over the visitor list from early October.

There had been twenty-three parents attending the Parent-School Liaison Day on October 2. Zhang Wen checked each name one by one.

Most were ordinary wizarding families—Mrs. Weasley, there to see Ron Weasley and Ginny; Mrs. Longbottom, there to see Neville Longbottom; 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. Parent-School Liaison Day.

On October 3, someone borrowed a book about the Dubh-Loch Beast from the library and tore out the crucial 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 could move freely around the school—visit 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—if he claimed he wanted to spend a little more time in the library, for example, or said he was "going to the bathroom" and vanished for a while—

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

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

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

Zhang Wen recalled the bandage around Theodore's wrist.

A child who had been "disciplined" by his father. A child who built a social network within Slytherin by writing essays for others.

If Old Nott was conducting Dark Magic experiments—creating Dubh-Loch Beasts—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 gaze 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 is only a suspicion. There is not enough evidence." Zhang Wen said, "I need to talk to Snape. He knows more about the Nott family than anyone else."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

After dinner, Zhang Wen went to the dungeons.

The door to Snape's office was slightly ajar. Zhang Wen knocked.

"Come in."

Snape was grading papers. His use of red ink was downright terrifying—every essay was covered in dense annotations, most of them criticisms.

"Professor Zhang." He set down his quill. "What is it this time? What am I about to be told that I shouldn't know?"

"Something about Old Nott."

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

"What do you want to ask?"

"Is it possible 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 turned cautious, "the manufacture of cursed objects."

Cursed objects.

A cursed stone.

"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 that secret surveillance useful?"

"No. The Ministry's secret surveillance is like 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. "There is nothing I can do about it. Old Nott is the head of a pure-blood family. Under the wizarding world's legal framework, 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 he rarely saw.

Anger.

Anger that had been suppressed, trapped by the system 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 criminal conduct."

Snape's gaze sharpened.

"Do you have evidence?"

"One more step. This weekend, I'll go to Glenmore Lake and conduct magical tracking. If the results point toward Old Nott's location—"

"What do you need me to do?"

"Find out about Old Nott's recent circumstances. Where he lives now, his daily activities, whether there has been any unusual behavior lately. You have an intelligence network in pure-blood circles."

Snape thought for a moment.

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

"Tell me if you find any leads."

"Fine."

Zhang Wen stood, ready 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 carried something he rarely showed, "make sure Theodore is not implicated. That child has already endured enough."

Zhang Wen nodded.

"I will."

By the time he left the dungeons, it was almost ten o'clock.

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

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

She was sitting on the window ledge at the landing, her legs dangling outside, a cup of tea in her hands. Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a silvery outline over her.

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

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

"Then what are you doing sitting here?"

"Waiting for you."

Zhang Wen halted for a moment.

"I wasn't sure how long your conversation with Snape would take. I waited in the office for a while, then realized that from this window ledge, I could see the staircase exit from the dungeons, so I moved here."

She said it very matter-of-factly, as if "sitting on an icy 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 window ledge. Below-freezing temperatures. An hour and a half.

She was not wearing a scarf.

Zhang Wen said nothing. He removed the scarf around his neck—her scarf—and walked over to the ledge.

Artoria watched him.

Zhang Wen wrapped the scarf around her neck.

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

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

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

Artoria did not move.

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

"You said earlier that this scarf was for me." Zhang Wen stepped back. "I've changed my mind. From now on, whoever is cold wears it."

Artoria lowered her head and glanced at the scarf.

The scarf carried Zhang Wen's warmth. He had worn it all day, and the wool was full of his heat.

"Accepted," she said.

One word.

Zhang Wen sat on the windowsill beside her.

The two of them sat side by side, their backs against the stone wall, facing the corridor. Moonlight came through the window, drawing two parallel shadows across the floor.

"What did Snape say?" Artoria asked.

"Old Nott's specialty is making cursed objects. It matches the method used to create the Dubh-Loch Beast."

"The suspicion has increased."

"We still need the tracking data from this weekend 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 for a while longer."

Artoria did not urge him.

The two of them simply sat on the windowsill without speaking. The corridor held only the faint glow of the torches and the moonlight outside. From afar came the soft, scattered calls of the Owlery.

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

He opened his eyes and looked down.

Artoria's head was resting on his shoulder.

Her breathing was even and slow.

She had fallen asleep.

Artoria Pendragon—the King of Knights who had never shown a 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 posture to make sure her head would not slip.

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

Her breath fell warm against his collarbone.

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, tomorrow morning's class was at ten.

He still had time.

The corridor was incredibly 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.

Six ten on Friday morning.

Neville Longbottom arrived at the third-floor corridor on time, ready for Artoria's morning training.

At the staircase, 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 window ledge. Professor Zhang's head rested against the wall, while Assistant Pendragon's head rested on Professor Zhang's shoulder. Both of them were wrapped in the same gray scarf—somehow, one of them had stretched it out in their sleep and draped it over both of them.

Morning light shone over them through the window.

Neville stood at the staircase, holding his breath.

He quietly stepped back twice, turned around, and left.

He could train by himself today.

He knew the running route. He remembered how many squats to do. As for the stones—he could find a few himself, throw them at the wall, and dodge.

The professor and assistant rarely got a chance 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 through breakfast. Ron Weasley asked why he looked so happy.

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

Ron looked at the overcast sky and cold wind outside.

"Your definition of 'nice weather' is a little different from a normal person'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 on someone else's shoulder even in her sleep.