The commotion from the direction of the Ministry Atrium grew even louder, reaching through the corridors and staircases to the crack in the Minister's Office door.
Just as Fudge was at his wit's end, on the other side, Allen was sitting at his desk, propping his cheeks up with his hands, looking at the things on the table with a rather unenthusiastic gaze.
It was a small golden hourglass, about the size of his thumb, filled with a handful of Winky gold sand.
The hourglass was fixed inside a rotating golden ring, the surface of which was engraved with a ring of fine runes, which gleamed with a warm metallic luster under the lamplight.
He reached out and flicked the ring, causing the hourglass to turn halfway. The gold sand inside began to slowly leak out, but before it was halfway out, he flicked the ring back, and the gold sand flowed back in the same way.
At that moment, a pale blue light screen appeared before his eyes, displaying a description of the item that was neither too long nor too short.
[ Time-Turner) ]
[Item Description: This small golden hourglass reverses one hour with each rotation within the golden ring. However, this time can only be used for studying and cannot be used for any other purpose.]
[Restriction: 1. During the reverse flow, the host cannot leave the currently enclosed space.]
Second, during the reverse flow, the host cannot cast spells or physically interfere with any external targets.
Third, the stamina, mana, and item losses consumed by the host during the reverse timeline will not be counted in the forward timeline.
IV. When the host stops learning or attempts to use the rewind time for non-learning purposes, the time rewind immediately terminates, and the host automatically returns to the current point in time.
[Note: This item is a customized, improved teaching version, intended solely to enhance the host's learning efficiency. It differs fundamentally from existing Time-Turner in the Wizarding World in both function and specifications.]
Allen read the explanation twice from beginning to end, then leaned back in his chair and curled his lips down.
"Study-only version." He muttered the phrase to himself. "In other words, even if we went back an hour, I couldn't do anything but study during that hour."
He reached out and turned the ring halfway around again, watching the golden sand slowly leak down.
"What if I don't study? What if I just sit there daydreaming?"
A line of text immediately appeared on the screen: [If the host does not engage in any learning-related activities during the rewind period, the rewind state will automatically terminate after thirty seconds.]
"Alright." Allen placed the hourglass back on the table and tapped his fingers twice on the edge of the table.
"It's something, at least. Although it can't compare to the direct, visceral experience of the Pensieve, it at least gives me a few more hours to work through those thick books."
He tilted his head and thought for a moment, then added, "But you were really stingy this time."
"Last time at least they gave you a character card or Pensieve, and before that, at Hogwarts they gave you a Ravenclaw's Blessing. Why did they only give you an hourglass this time?"
"I did manage to drive away hundreds of Dementor in the Forbidden Forest with a Composite Spell, right? This treatment is just too unfair."
The system did not respond; the light screen remained suspended there silently, without displaying a single word.
"Playing dead, huh? You always do this." Allen muttered, reaching out to swipe down on the light screen, preparing to turn it off.
Just then, a line of very small text popped up at the bottom of the screen. It had been hidden below the item description above, and he hadn't noticed it at all.
[The second part of * Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban * has been sent to the publisher and is awaiting publication.]
Allen's finger froze in mid-air.
He read the line of text again, and then the corners of his mouth slowly curved upwards, to a curve he himself didn't even realize.
"Finally here." He slammed both hands on the table, sprang up from the back of his chair, and sat up straight.
"The second half has finally been delivered."
"Let me think, what were the Muggle World saying about the first half last month?"
A somewhat unpleasant smile appeared on Allen's face, but it quickly turned into a genuine laugh.
"Very well, then we'll just have to wait and see."
He stood up from his chair, walked to the window, and pulled the curtains open a crack.
The winter sun in London peeked through the gaps in the clouds. Although it wasn't very warm, it was much more pleasant than the gloomy, rainy days of the past few days.
"Once the second half comes out, I'll see how those people react." He drew the curtains back closed, turned, and walked back to the table.
"Now that the manuscript has been sent, we can just wait and see what happens."
He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.
"However, once the second half comes out, the Wizarding World will probably be thrown into chaos as well."
"Once the matters concerning Sirius Black, Peter, and the Marauder's Map are made public, there will definitely be people at the Ministry of Magic who won't be able to sleep at night."
He reached out and picked up the small golden hourglass, turning it between his fingers as he watched the golden sand flow slowly inside.
" Minister Fudge, sweet dreams."
In the Bloomsbury Publishing corridor, the fireplace was burning brightly, the orange flames crackling in the hearth, warming the entire corridor.
Outside the window, the sky was the typical grey and overcast of a London winter, and the wind howled as it blew across the River Thames against the glass.
But through that thick window, the sound of the wind entering the room was reduced to a muffled background noise, which made the room feel even safer and warmer.
Christopher sat behind his desk, piled high with manuscripts, with a stack of submissions that had just arrived that day spread out in front of him.
Steam was rising from the white porcelain teacup to his left, the mist rising and dissipating in the lamplight, a faint aroma of black tea filling the air.
He turned a page of the manuscript, read two lines, then turned back and shook his head.
"It's the same old thing again." He tossed the manuscript into the "to be returned" pile on the right and reached for the next one.
"An orphan discovers he has special abilities and is sent to a special place to learn. There he makes friends and then gets into a fight with a bad guy."
He went over the main points of the manuscript in a flat tone, as if he were reading a menu.
This is the fourth one this month.
He tossed that manuscript to the right and reached for the next one.
"And while every single one is trying to imitate the writing style of that book, none of them are doing it quite right."
"They thought that by making the protagonist an orphan, giving him two friends, and adding a seemingly evil teacher, they could capture the essence of that book."
He picked up the teacup, took a sip, and sighed as he put the cup back.
"The recent articles are becoming increasingly unoriginal."
Barry told him earlier today that the new authors' works in the publishing plan for next spring have not received a great response, and less than half of the initial print run of 5,000 copies has been sold.
The publishing house recently hired two new editors specifically to conduct initial reviews of the submissions piling up in the warehouse.
The two of them worked for more than a month, but the number of recommendation articles they submitted was still less than one count.
He opened a new manuscript, and his brows furrowed as soon as his eyes fell on the first line.
The article begins with " the Dursleys, who lived at Number Four, Privet Drive." Christopher's eyelid twitched when he saw the word " Dursley."
Then he closed the manuscript, flipped to the cover and glanced at it. Sure enough—it was another imitation. This time, they didn't even bother to change where the protagonist lived.
"Good heavens." He slammed the manuscript onto the left-hand stack, a bit harder than before, making the teacup on the table wobble.
He sighed, took off his reading glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
The fire crackled behind him, as if reminding him to continue reading the manuscript.
Christopher sighed helplessly, picked up another manuscript, and turned to the cover.
Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (Part 2)