https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-410-Professor-Abigail-of-Cat-Panther-Academy/13685421/
https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-412-Gellert-Grindelwald-Give-me-your-Wand/13685425/
Chapter 411: How Can You Forget?
"...Ministry of Magic Determines: To swiftly restore safety and order in Britain’s magical community, Dementors will be deployed to track down the elusive Silent Shadow..."
The streaming mirror resting on the table broadcasted the magical version of today’s news. Fudge, clad in a purple suit, forcefully waved his fist as he declared:
"Dementor attacks on Hogwarts students are utterly baseless! In fact, they were merely boarding the train to conduct safety inspections."
"Of course, we did make a minor mistake—due to poor communication between the Ministry of Magic and the school, some misunderstandings occurred. A few students were frightened to the point of fainting. Beyond that, no further harm was done..."
Harry, mid-bite into his toast, froze. He slowly lowered his bread, a cold knot forming in his chest.
"Any student or professor who attacked Ministry staff while they were on duty committed a serious error! However, considering the children’s emotional state, the Ministry Determines not to pursue responsibility..."
Michael let out a quiet, bitter laugh. He shook his head and sliced open the fried egg on his plate with a knife.
"I can personally guarantee that Dementors remain fully under the Ministry’s control at all times—there has never been, and will never be, a case of them going rogue. Fears about Dementors harming innocent bystanders are completely unfounded. Once the Silent Shadow is apprehended, the Dementors will immediately return to Azkaban."
"It was just a misunderstanding... lucky we weren’t punished," Fiona sighed in relief, then tilted her head curiously. "What do Dementors actually look like?"
"Like a giant cloaked in black, but the kind that’s gone rotten and stinks," Michael grimaced. "Absolutely hideous!"
"Haha!" Fiona burst into laughter. "Sounds like they’re pretty impressive prison guards, though. Is the Silent Shadow really no match for them?"
"No idea," Wade said. "There’s no historical record of a battle between the two."
"Maybe Dementors are stronger," Fiona mused simply. "After all, there are so many of them."
"Either way, I just want those homeboys back in Azkaban as fast as possible," Harry muttered. "I don’t want to go through another 'safety test' ever again."
The news segment ended, and the screen switched to a Muggle musical—dozens of handsome and beautiful people dancing and singing joyfully, their vibrant energy washing away the lingering unease from the earlier broadcast.
"I can’t believe it!" Michael grumbled, visibly frustrated. "A scandal this big, and they just sweep it under the rug like nothing happened!"
"Given how Dementors behaved on the train, it was hard to tell whether they were testing or attacking," Wade said calmly. "After all, no one inside actually... suffered any real harm."
He glanced at his mother, swallowing the words soul-sucked before they could leave his lips.
While Ferdinand often focused on the dangers and darker corners of the magical world, Fiona tended to dwell on its wonder. Her understanding of Dementors came entirely from the streaming mirror and The Daily Prophet—reports that carefully avoided mentioning their true evil, instead repeatedly emphasizing:
Dementors are the most reliable guards in the magical world.
In Fiona’s imagination, they were towering, powerful, solitary figures—mysterious warriors who walked through darkness, never revealing their faces. After the Hogwarts incident, however, her mental image had updated to a group of rude, cold, and barbaric intruders.
Dementors—dementors—the name itself, derived from “demented,” made it nearly impossible to picture them as anything other than creatures of decay and darkness.
After breakfast, the three magical puppets bounced around, tidying up cutlery. Fiona and Ferdinand headed upstairs to change into clothes for going out.
"We’re visiting a few friends," Ferdinand instructed. "You two can play freely at home. The fridge has drinks, the cabinet has new snacks. For lunch, order pizza or Chinese food—number’s on the phone by the wall."
"Got it, Dad," Wade replied.
"See you tonight, my sweet loves!" Fiona kissed Wade’s forehead, then leaned in to kiss Harry and Michael too. Smiling warmly, she added: "Don’t be shy—treat this place like your own. If I come back and find everything perfectly neat, I’ll be furious."
"You’re underestimating Coco and the others’ job capability, Mom," Wade shot back.
"Relax," Michael said with a confident grin. "We won’t let ourselves down."
Harry, still rubbing his forehead, stared blankly, dazed and slightly bewildered.
The Gray parents chuckled, put on their coats, and left.
Wade walked them to the door, then turned back and asked, "So, what now? Watch TV? Play games? Or do homework?"
"...Other than the last one, anything goes!" Michael slung an arm around Wade’s neck, feigning complaint. "But Wade, how come you never told me your home was this cool?"
"Yeah..." Harry chimed in, looking around with wide eyes. "I thought it’d be like the Dursleys’ place. But this... looks just like a pureblood wizard family’s home."
By the door and windows, protective spyglasses hung, ready to warn of danger. The living room held a streaming mirror and a television—though the latter looked long unused. Three magical puppets scurried about, cleaning with surprising efficiency. The dressing room mirror loudly commented on each person’s outfit, offering surprisingly sensible suggestions.
"Your scar is ugly—but the lightning-shaped one? Stylish! Boy, you should wear a blue beret!"
Harry had been startled the first time he heard that voice.
Above all, the attic housed a large telescope, and in the center of the room sat a glass orb containing a moving model of the stars—something Harry adored.
The bookshelves were filled with History of Magic books, all well-worn from frequent reading. Ferdinand also collected a thick stack of The Daily Prophet, some with dense handwritten notes scrawled on the margins.
Harry felt a pang of guilt. He’d toss his newspaper aside after reading it, and most of the time, the only thing he ever took seriously was the crossword puzzle.
"At least my parents are just deeply interested in magic," Wade said, leading the two upstairs. He pulled out a pile of unopened boxes. "What do you want to play? I’ve got Contra, Desert Wind Storm, and... Indiana Jones?"
He flipped through the box covers.
Most of these were Christmas gifts from last year. Some were brought by Ferdinand’s business partners—aware of the fact that he had a teenage son—imported from abroad.
Though Wade wasn’t interested in video games, Harry and Michael were both thirteen-year-old boys, and they’d definitely enjoy this.
Harry picked up another box. On the cover: three grumpy, bearded old men with big noses, each holding a sword or shield and wearing a cow-like hat. His eyes lingered on the gem-encrusted sword.
For some reason, he felt an instant connection. He whispered the title aloud:
"The Lost Vikings?"
"Vikings? Sounds cool," Michael said eagerly. "Let’s play this!"
Harry’s eyes lit up. At the Dursleys’, there was a games console—but everything belonged to Dudley. Harry had never even been allowed to touch it. He’d always pretended to disdain it, but inside, he’d burned with curiosity and envy.
"Sure!" Wade said, unfazed. They opened the box, connected the console, and powered it on.
With a familiar dum-dum-dum beat, the screen went black, then flashed to life. Three pixelated, tiny humans appeared on screen.
...
Crunch... crunch...
The sound of boots crunching through snow drifted through the air.
Abigail and Majer Byerd walked down the street, their blank expressions starkly out of place among the cheerful crowds.
They passed one alley after another, until Majer Byerd stopped before a small inn.
Above the door, a crooked sign read: "Deer Horn Inn". Near the handle, a tiny wooden plaque read: "Temporarily Closed."
Majer Byerd ignored it. He tapped the door with his fingers. A moment later, the sound of chains rattled from within.
An elderly woman with a vacant stare opened the door.
"Come in," she said flatly. "Brolin’s been waiting."
Majer Byerd took a deep breath, his face tense with emotion. But then he stepped back, signaling for Abigail to go first.
She pressed her lips tightly, then strode inside. Majer Byerd followed closely.
The wooden door slammed shut behind them.
The inn was half underground, half above ground—dimly lit, with only a few weak lamps casting shadows. The white-haired bartender expertly mixed drinks at the counter. Seated there was a man in his forties, handsome and sharp-eyed, sipping a chicken tail cocktail. He wasn’t drinking, though. He was reading a flashy, garish newspaper.
Abigail recognized it instantly: The Quibbler—a popular but wildly unreliable magical tabloid, full of unverified rumors and wild speculation.
"Serah. Majer. Long time no see," the man said, turning with a gentle smile.
"Brolin," they both said, bowing slightly.
"Hmm." Brolin nodded, then suddenly asked, "Have you read this week’s Quibbler?"
They exchanged glances. Both shook their heads.
Majer Byerd explained, "The Quibbler only publishes strange, bizarre nonsense. I personally see no value in subscribing."
"I used to think the same," Brolin replied. "It’s mostly jokes. But sometimes, it slips in tidbits that never make it into The Daily Prophet. For example..."
He turned his gaze sharply toward Abigail, smiling faintly.
"Serah, I heard you used a Patronus Charm on the train—protected the students?"
"Yes," Abigail replied, eyes down. "Dumbledore knew I was on board. In that situation, if I hadn’t acted, I’d have been questioned..."
"Mm. No need to explain. I understand," Brolin said. "But the Quibbler claims the two Patronuses that drove off the Dementors were an eagle and a Doberman. Tell me, Serah—could that possibly be true?"
"Impossible," Majer Byerd said, relaxing slightly. "The young wizards must’ve confused the breeds—or just misseen. Right, Serah?"
He turned to her, but found her silent, head lowered.
"—Serah?" Majer Byerd frowned, confusion clouding his face.
Brolin sighed softly.
"Patronus Charm, Serah," he said firmly. "Show me yours."
Abigail slowly drew her wand.
After a moment, a silver-white guard dog materialized in the room, circling twice before coming to stand beside her.
Lean and agile, with a narrow, elongated head—powerful, elegant, and unmistakably a Doberman.
Majer Byerd’s face paled. He stared at her, as if seeing a stranger.
"Abigail," he said, voice tight. "Your Patronus was always a bulldog. When did it become... this?"
The silver dog dissolved into mist.
"I don’t know," Abigail said.
If she’d known her Patronus had changed, she wouldn’t have been able to cast the spell at all—certainly not with that form.
When she’d seen the Patronus charging toward the Dementors, her own shock and unease had matched that of every other student on the train.
Brolin asked softly, "What kind of situation causes a Patronus to change, Abigail?"
"In..." she paused, "when someone experiences a deep emotional impact... or when emotions shift drastically..."
"Did the school change you?" Brolin pressed. "Did they make you weak? Did they make you start believing in love, friendship—poisonous things—while forgetting your true purpose?"
"I didn’t forget!" Abigail snapped.
"A Patronus reveals your truest thoughts—far more than words ever could," Majer Byerd said coldly.
"Be gentle, Majer," Brolin said, voice still calm. "It’s not uncommon for a child’s innocence to rub off. But Serah, the world of children is pure, kind—yet they won’t stay children forever."
"They’ll grow up. They’ll use magic recklessly, harm ordinary people—become exactly the kind of wizard you despise."
"Did you forget how your parents died?" Brolin continued. "Thirteen years ago, two wizards chased each other through the streets. One spell killed twelve innocent Muggles—just because they happened to be walking on the same road."
Abigail’s eyes flashed red. She clenched her teeth. "I haven’t forgotten!"
Brolin looked at her with pity.
"No reason. No explanation. No apology. Your parents are gone—no bones left, no name even mentioned in the wizarding press."
"Such a poor child... Once, you joined the organization driven by revenge. Then you heard rumors—both wizards had been punished. One dead. The other imprisoned in the world’s most feared prison."
"But what if it’s not true?" Brolin said softly. "One became a celebrated hero—rumor has it, he might even join the Ministry as an Auror. The other? Still free. Still unknown."
"And you... you’re the only one who remembers the dead. The only one who still holds your parents in your memory."
"Abigail... how can you forget? How can you grow weak?"
(End of Chapter)
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