Hogwarts, on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.
The door to the gamekeeper's hut had been sealed with an Anti-Alohomora Charm, locked tight.
Bang...
A soft explosion sounded.
Wisps of silvery-white light scattered in all directions, smooth as silk, landing on the Dementor's cloak with a dull thud.
Compared to the magic of the Patronus Charm, it felt more like the force of impact repelling the Dementor.
The Dementor glanced at the tightly shut doors and windows, then at the indifferent witch beside it, and slid down the wall in despair.
Holding the practice session here was the result of Hagrid's strong request. After all, using an XXXXX-class dangerous creature as a teaching aid meant Hermione didn't want close contact with the Dementor. To avoid a repeat of the accident in the Room of Requirement, she needed a reliable teaching assistant.
And a certain gamekeeper needed to practice the Patronus Charm. As the professor of Care of Magical Creatures, he felt embarrassed to practice with students in the Dueling Club.
So the two hit it off immediately. Hagrid provided the venue and supervision, while Hermione provided the teaching aid and guidance. This was what Professor Levent often called a "win-win."
Hermione stood still, pondering quietly.
As an invisible spell that used sight as a medium to probe emotions, Legilimency practice had few limitations. She didn't need to take turns facing it like in dueling practice. Hagrid's Patronus Charm attacks actually helped Hermione break through the Dementor's defenses and penetrate that hollow head.
After repeated practice during this period, and with the help of Yurm's scale, she had accumulated some experience with Legilimency.
But there was still a distance to go before truly mastering it.
Legilimency was extremely difficult. She had no special talent in this area, and combined with the unique structure of a Dementor's head and soul, progress was slow.
In comparison, Hagrid was quite talented with the Patronus Charm. He was optimistic and kind by nature. Seeing a few birds could make him happy for half a day. Patrolling with Fang, every spot in the Forbidden Forest could become a happy memory.
It was just that being expelled as a teenager and having his wand snapped meant he lacked systematic magical training. Casting such advanced magic still required long and arduous practice.
"Expecto Patronum!"
The half-giant chanted the incantation in a muffled voice.
Wisps of silver light bloomed from the tip of his wand, appearing dazzling in the dim room. They struck the Dementor again, sending the weak dark creature flying backward, the accompanying white fog thinning further.
"Hermione, did you see the rudimentary form of any animal in the light of these spells?" Hagrid turned his head and asked impatiently.
Hermione hesitated for a moment. "Not for now."
"Then I'll keep practicing."
Hagrid waved his wand again, muttering under his breath, "Maybe I should switch to another happy memory. Fang falling into Pomona's dragon dung compost pile, Aragog and Mosag getting married, receiving my acceptance letter and lifting my dad onto the wardrobe..."
The burly half-giant's head was full of happy memories.
Hermione also got busy again.
For forty minutes, the two ravaged the Dementor physically and mentally respectively. The dull thuds of silver light hitting the cloak were ceaseless, and weak but sharp magic drilled into its head through its eye sockets.
"Hatred... anger... exhaustion?"
Various elusive emotions flashed by.
Dementors were monsters bred from various negative emotions. She needed to distinguish which were the emotions in that shell and which were the Dementor's true emotions.
Although Hermione found it difficult to distinguish for now, her casting technique was more proficient than yesterday. She could sense her own progress.
Seeing the sky outside darkening, Hermione called a halt to the practice, recalled the Dementor back into the scale, picked up her small bag, and returned to the castle with Hagrid.
...
The setting sun slanted westward, its afterglow spilling onto the outer walls of Hogwarts, setting off the verdant hills of late spring. It made one feel exceptionally comfortable. Without delaying too long, the pair of teacher and student walked to the Entrance Hall.
There was still some time before dinner. Inside and outside the Great Hall seemed lively, with students scattered in twos and threes in the courtyard and corridors.
Hearing sharp, vicious curses coming from the Entrance Hall, Hermione paused, and Hagrid frowned too. Did Gryffindor and Slytherin clash again? Someone was cursing so nastily.
Turning a corner, the cursing became clearer. But it wasn't a dispute between houses, but an internal conflict within Slytherin.
"Who gave you the nerve! Who told you to do that!"
Pansy Parkinson's face was flushed, the freckles on her cheeks looking somewhat hideous due to her distorted expression. "Acting on your own, self-righteous! Daphne, you should see your own status clearly!"
Both the curser and the cursed were third-year Slytherin girls. Pansy Parkinson had a sharp face and slightly high cheekbones. In memory, the corners of her mouth always turned down, carrying a hint of ridicule.
Daphne Greengrass's face wasn't outstanding, but she was taller than Pansy. Yet at this moment, she was scolded until she couldn't lift her head, drooping, her face exceptionally pale.
Listening to that person's hysterical abuse, Hermione's fair brows knitted together, and Hagrid clenched his fists.
"Who do you think you are! Really should let your parents come and see what kind of witch they raised!"
"Oh, I forgot. Your parents don't care about you; they only care about your sister!"
"..." There was almost no color on Daphne's face. She pursed her lips, daring not refute.
Although both were from pure-blood families, due to the deformed hierarchy within the house, the Parkinson family's wealth and power were superior. Pansy was the absolute center of the girls' group, while Daphne was just an inconspicuous follower among many.
With Hermione and Hagrid's identities, they really shouldn't interfere in this kind of conflict between pure-blood witches in Slytherin House. It was easy to get into trouble, and Daphne might not appreciate it.
But they still walked straight over, separating Pansy and Daphne. Hagrid stepped forward actively, looking down at the young but vicious witch:
"What are you doing here? What kind of language is that? Scatter immediately, or I'll call Professor Snape over and give you two weeks of detention!"
Hermione nodded along. "If she did something wrong, you can report it to a professor instead of blocking the Entrance Hall and shouting abuse!"
Pansy looked up, her gaze slowly sweeping across the half-giant's face, then looking at Hermione beside him. She narrowed her eyes slightly, a trace of disdain flashing through.
"No one asked you, you smelly..."
Pansy paused, making no sound, only mouthing the words: "Little Mudblood."
Hermione was no longer a freshman just entering magic school. In the past two years, she had contacted many pure-bloods and read many folklore books under the professor's influence. She knew this was an extremely nasty slur.
Reporting it to Professor McGonagall could get this guy detention until the end of the term, cleaning toilets all over the school until she smelled like sewer.
But this Pansy was cunning. She only mouthed it without making a sound.
Hagrid couldn't see it from his angle, so there were no witnesses.
"..."
Reporting without evidence wouldn't work. She had to teach her a lesson in another way.
Hermione stared into Parkinson's eyes, a faint light shining in her brownish pupils.
"Look... what are you looking at?" Pansy's tongue seemed to be tied. The meeting of gazes felt like a sting. The look in those eyes was too sharp, making her dare not look directly.
Legilimens, the spell derived from Latin words for "read" and "mind." Magic that read emotions and thoughts, even obtaining memories, by looking directly into the other person's eyes.
The mind of a thirteen or fourteen-year-old wizard was not as complex as a Dementor's. It was easy to detect those burgeoning anger that almost overflowed, mixed with some mockery, sneering, and resentment.
What made her so angry?
Imperceptible magic continued to extend, trying to dig out buried memories. But the beginner's spell was still clumsy. Having just learned to identify emotions, the tentative search for memories was awkward and inefficient.
Some external factors were needed to assist.
"Nothing."
Hermione thought while tentatively guiding: "I'm just curious what exactly Daphne did wrong to make you hate her so much, blocking the Entrance Hall regardless of your image and scolding so nastily."
Pansy knew this Miss Know-It-All, but hadn't had close contact. She didn't understand why, even after using such rude words, this person still refused to leave.
Her fist inside her sleeve slowly clenched. Her expression was gloomy, and she was just about to curse something even nastier. Hearing Hermione's question, her mind moved slightly, subconsciously recalling that incident, fragments surfacing in her mind.
Unknown what she remembered, a blush flashed across Pansy's cheek, followed by an angry shout out of humiliation: "What does it have to do with you! Mudblood!"
Hermione blinked slowly, connecting the memory fragments she just saw. Understanding the reason for the other party's anger, the corners of her mouth curled up slightly, and she said with a smile:
"You should know that kind of language violates school rules, right? I'll give you two choices now. One is to actively go to Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape to admit your mistake and accept punishment... or I'll tell him that you wrote him a love letter."
Pansy's pupils shrank slightly. "You... how do you know?"
"Do I need to say his name?" Hermione smiled still, mimicking her, lips moving slightly without making a sound: "Malfoy."
Pansy turned and left, her steps hurried, appearing somewhat wretched.
...
Mid-April.
The Easter holidays were running out.
Aberforth wrote a letter instructing his employee to take good care of the tavern business, and lived at Hogwarts thereafter.
Business at the Hog's Head was really nothing noteworthy. Except for a few wizards who inconveniently revealed their identities, only old patrons supported the business. Normal residents were used to going to the Three Broomsticks. Over the past two years, business had become increasingly bleak.
Originally, he ran the shop with other purposes in mind. Now that he had directly infiltrated Hogwarts and could monitor Dumbledore at any time, the business of the Hog's Head wasn't that important anymore.
It was just that brothers living too close also had many inconveniences. After nearly a hundred years of justified hostility and resentment, they finally opened their hearts completely for a talk. Not to mention letting go of past grudges, it counted as a reunion breaking the ice.
But now when the two were alone, they often didn't know what to say.
Aberforth regretted it a little in his heart. He shouldn't have agreed so decisively to stay temporarily at the school.
The consequences of momentary impulse began to show. When hot blood rushed up and he became angry out of humiliation, he didn't feel anything wrong. Instead, he thought he saw through this guy's scheme and took advantage. After calming down and coming back to his senses, he completely didn't know how to get along.
But Dumbledore was extremely patient. If Aberforth didn't know what to say, Dumbledore didn't speak all day either. Sitting behind the desk, holding a book, reading for a whole day, like a statue.
Because the two looked too similar, Aberforth couldn't go out for a stroll either. His days at school were always secluded.
Easter holidays were different from Christmas holidays; young wizards couldn't leave school. Corridors, grounds, and the Great Hall were full of students. Being seen could easily cause unnecessary discussion.
Aberforth could only pace back and forth in the office, attracting Fawkes's eyes to turn with him. Birds' heads came with gyroscopes, but after spinning for several days, even the phoenix couldn't stand it.
Halfway through, he met Professor McGonagall several times coming to discuss final exam affairs. In the conversation between the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress, the Deputy Headmistress seemed more dominant. Big and small affairs arrangements already had detailed plans. Coming to the office was just to notify Dumbledore and let him sign by the way.
Aberforth mocked heartily from the side.
But sometimes he also encountered embarrassment. That eccentric young professor occasionally came back to discuss magic. The Patronus Charm was just the foundation. What source of magic, soul and emotion, and Dementors and Boggarts.
Dropout Aberforth couldn't interject. He pricked up his ears trying to collect some news about Ariana, but every time it was confusing.
"Albus, you just want to torture me, make me retreat in the face of difficulties, right?"
Aberforth stood by the window at this moment, gazing at the verdant grass and forest outside. The world outside was so beautiful, while the office was dull and boring. He was full of stifled annoyance.
Facilities in the Headmaster's office were complete, from bathroom to rest room. No need to go out all day. Three meals were delivered to the room by house-elves.
From sneaking into the school that night to now, he had lived here for two days. He felt like he was in prison, serving a two-year sentence.
Dumbledore looked up, a faint smile in his eyes: "Why do you say that?"
"Locking me in the office, not allowing me to go out for activities!"
"You can read books. If you aren't interested in the books outside, there's a study inside. Or if there's something you want to read, I can borrow it from the library for you?" Dumbledore said unhurriedly.
"Books, books, books. What else besides books? Sooner or later I'll pour some goat urine on your bookshelf!" The tavern owner's mouth wasn't very clean.
"If you aren't used to living here, you can go back to the tavern."
"See! I knew you wanted to force me back, then play with Ariana behind my back!"
Dumbledore rubbed his brow, somewhat helpless: "Then what do you want to do?"
Aberforth looked calm and said righteously: "I have to go out for a stroll. The weather is so good; goats should go sunbathe on the grass!"
He thought Dumbledore would refuse and bargain a few times. Unexpectedly, he just pondered slightly, mused for a moment, and nodded in agreement: "Okay, but not with this appearance. You need a little disguise."
"I know. Pretend to be you."
Aberforth waved his hand impatiently, took out his wand, and tapped his beard. Sparks jumped from the wire-like beard and hair. The gray, coarse short beard began to lengthen, transforming into silver, hanging all the way below the belt.
Tapping the glasses again, the thin black frames immediately turned into half-moon shapes.
Azure eyes, slightly crooked nose, paired with loose gray robes—walking on the grounds, anyone who saw him would have to call him Headmaster.