the next day.
The owls arrived earlier than usual in Hogwarts Great Hall.
Before it was fully light, all the candles in the Great Hall were already lit.
Steaming breakfasts were laid out on four long tables, the aroma of toasted bread and fried eggs mingling together and wafting under the dome.
But not many people are actually eating properly today.
As if by prior arrangement, the owls poured in in flocks through the domed windows, their wings flapping loudly.
They had rolled-up newspapers tied to their claws, some with brown hemp rope and others with silver-gray ribbons, with the logos of different newspapers printed on the covers.
The Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, The Witch's Home, the Quibbler...
Dozens of newspapers fell from the sky, landing on the long table or on the heads of the young wizards.
"What the hell..." Ron grabbed a newspaper that had almost fallen into his cereal bowl, flipped it over, and glanced at the front.
Then his mouth opened wide involuntarily, and the piece of bread he was holding fell out, bouncing twice on the table.
"What's wrong?" Harry leaned closer to take a look.
The front page of the Daily Prophet featured a large photograph in the center: Fudge standing on a high platform in the Ministry Atrium, in front of a huge screen of light, on which were purple Fiendfyre and the figure in the black trench coat.
The photo's title was printed in bold black font:
Minister Fudge nominates mysterious man in trench coat for the Order of Merlin, First Class!
The subtitle reads, "Full footage of the Diagon Alley incident released; Ministry of Magic says 'Justice has finally been served.'"
Harry snatched the newspaper and quickly scanned the article.
"' Order of Merlin, First Class '..." he murmured the words, then looked up at Ron. "Is this medal really that prestigious?"
"Are you stupid?" Ron finally swallowed the bread in his mouth and pointed at the newspaper with his fork.
"This is the medal that Headmaster Dumbledore received; he got it after defeating Grindelwald."
"So now we need to give it to that mysterious man in the mask and trench coat?"
" Fudge nominated him." Ron flipped to the second page of the newspaper. "There's a long article at the end, about what really happened in Diagon Alley."
Hermione peeked over from the side, already holding another newspaper in her hand—a supplement to The Witch Weekly.
"I saw it." Her voice was faster than usual, and her eyes shone with excitement.
"The article says that Lockhart was controlled by the remnant spirit of the sixteen-year-old You-Know-Who, and that's how he set the fire in Diagon Alley."
" Lockhart?" Harry paused, "That bumbling professor?"
"He's not a fool." Hermione turned to page three of the newspaper and pointed to a passage.
"He's actually a very skilled master of the Memory Charm. All his adventure stories are stolen; he erases other people's memories and then writes their experiences into his own books."
"So everything in that book is true?" Ron's mouth dropped open again.
"Really." Hermione nodded. "Although he can't even beat House-elf, his Memory Charm is indeed powerful."
Ron paused for several seconds, then slowly shook his head:
" Merlin's beard, I was wondering why Lockhart didn't show up to show off his healing abilities when Headmaster Dumbledore brought Ginny back to life that day?"
"So he was already under the control of the You-Know-Who and had left Hogwarts..."
"Not You-Know-Who," Hermione interrupted him, "It's the sixteen-year-old You-Know-Who."
"Okay, okay, they're pretty much the same anyway," Ron muttered.
Discussions rose from the long tables in the Great Hall.
"Look at this!" A fifth-grade girl held up a newspaper high on the Ravenclaw Table, pointing to the description.
"The masked man used the Fiendfyre and split the Fiendfyre trail in two!"
"And Parseltongue!" the boy opposite her added. "The newspaper said that Lockhart summoned a bunch of snakes with Parseltongue, but then the masked guy could also Parseltongue, and all the snakes ran away!"
"Who exactly is he...?"
"Who knows? But Minister Fudge said he'd give him a First Class medal, which at least means the Ministry of Magic thinks he's a good person, right?"
"What about the article in that previous supplement?"
"You haven't read today's article yet? Everything in that supplement has been overturned today."
"The rescue scene was only described in one sentence in the supplement, but the footage from today's press conference showed the complete scene."
"Tsk tsk, Rita Skeeter really went all out this time..."
"Shh, don't talk about her, look over there."
At the Gryffindor Table, Fred and George had torn the newspaper to pieces and were huddled together studying the photograph of Fudge standing on the high platform.
"What were you thinking when he nominated that man in the trench coat?" Fred asked, tilting his head.
"I guess he's thinking, at least he's not the scapegoat for this," George replied without looking up.
"That makes sense." Fred flipped the newspaper to the back and glanced at it. " Wizengamot is going to tighten its scrutiny; that's quite a clever move."
Do you think that man in the trench coat will come to claim it?
"Collect what?" George slammed the newspaper on the table, his tone carrying an inexplicable certainty. "He doesn't even dare to show his face. Do you think he'd come to collect a medal?"
"Then why doesn't he dare to show his face?"
"Maybe they don't want to be disturbed? Think about it, if everyone knew who created the Dungbomb,' would their family still be able to live peacefully?"
"Um... that makes sense."
Harry sat in the middle of the long table, listening to the surrounding chatter, looking down at the newspaper in his hand.
He flipped to the second photo, which showed the back of the man in the black trench coat, the hem of which was billowing up, and opposite him was a giant purple flame wolf.
Next to the photo was a line of small print quoting Fudge's exact words from the press conference:
"His contributions are real and undeniable."
Harry stared at the figure in the black trench coat for a while, then suddenly remembered the young man in the black trench coat he had met at the Quality Quidditch Supplies at the end of his first year.
The person got his autograph and wished him a happy summer vacation.
He felt that the person was a bit strange, but he couldn't quite put his finger on why.
Thinking about it now, the figure in the trench coat from behind does seem to bear a slight resemblance to the masked figure in the newspaper.
But it was just a blurry shadow, and Harry quickly dismissed the idea.
He took a bite of his fried egg, listening to Ron continue muttering "First Class Medal, First Class Medal" beside him, a hint of longing flashing in his eyes.
Whoever that person is, at least what they did was right.