Chapter 663: Records and Discussion
Before actually setting foot in the ArrangementStands, the students had always assumed this job would be easy—after all, the Ministry of Magic had managed to complete the preparations overnight during the previous two Tournaments. But once they got their hands dirty, they realized just how much more complex it truly was. Even though they were building upon the existing Quidditch Stadium, the sheer number of tiny details was overwhelming, making them wonder if every Minister of Magic in the world was going to attend this Tournament.
Michael even seriously suggested to Wade: “Why not get custom-made Tournament robes? Dumbledore would definitely approve your leave request. He might even personally escort you to visit Madam Malkin.”
Wade: “…You just made that high-backed chair grow an extra leg.”
The golden glow of sunset painted the bustling site in warm light. Though most people were exhausted to the point of collapse, their spirits remained high, laughing and joking as they worked.
Yet beneath this cheerful surface, no one noticed the pair of round, watchful eyes observing from a hidden corner of the Horn. While the School’s Professors were busy arranging the venue, most of their attention was also focused on monitoring the students.
Zoe sat in the narrow space beneath the Stands, her slender fingers dancing across the parchment. Words appeared swiftly before her:
> Gryffindor’s Miss Brown arrived at the Stadium at 3:20 PM… departed the area 15 minutes later… returned with pumpkin juice residue around her lips…
Habi clung to the Oak Tree, her small frame nearly swallowed by the leaves. She scribbled as she muttered to herself:
> Ravenclaw’s MacMillan arrived at 3:31 PM… pulled out what looked like candy from his left pocket and popped it into his mouth…
Makki crouched in the shadow behind a Pillar, peering through the gap in the wooden fence.
> Slytherin’s Mileson Borthed… complained he was doing menial labor… behavior consistent with usual patterns… no anomalies…
> Theodore Nott… frequently touching his sleeve… consumed one bottle of carrot juice in one hour and thirty-five minutes… questionable…
The other House-elves continued their silent surveillance:
> Wade Gray… no food or drink in three consecutive hours… no abnormalities detected…
> Harry Potter… no anomalies…
> Hermione Granger… no consumption of food or drink… spent twenty minutes reading books… no other unusual behavior…
> Liam Caro… returned to the Castle at 1:57… spent three minutes in the bathroom… currently under suspicion…
> Daphne Greengrass… arguing with her younger sister… behavior deviating from normal… suspicious…
Laughter still echoed across the field. A few younger students had pulled askew the Tapestry Ribbons, giggling as they dashed through the seats, shoving each other playfully—nearly knocking a small boy off the Staircase.
Wade instinctively reached out and steadied the boy. As the child thanked him, Wade felt a strange flicker in his vision.
He turned sharply, sensing something. In the shadows, two large eyes—like tennis balls—blinked at him, then vanished in an instant.
A thought struck him. He glanced around, suddenly understanding.
Of course… Polyjuice Potion only lasted for one hour. Gathering all the students onto the Quidditch Pitch was an excellent way to test everyone’s identity—without causing widespread panic.
But he didn’t know whether the School’s elaborate “hunt” would actually catch the prey they were looking for.
Wade shielded his eyes from the glaring sunset, standing high above the chaos. He gazed down at the lively stadium, a quiet unease stirring in his chest.
This meticulous, careful search… it might end up achieving nothing.
—
In the Headmaster’s Office, the same fiery orange-red light streamed through the tall window, glinting off the rotating silverware.
Dumbledore sat in his armchair beside the Phoenix Perch, his expression calm and serene.
The room now held several additional Aurors—elite members of the Ministry of Magic. The discovery of a murder within Hogwarts Castle was far too serious to be swept under the rug.
Fudge had insisted that the skeleton’s discovery be kept secret until the killer was caught, to avoid mass panic. This approach made sense for investigation, so Dumbledore and Auror Office Director Rufus Scrimgeour had both agreed.
Beside Dumbledore, an elderly House-elf meticulously sorted through every piece of correspondence, analyzing them one by one.
A parchment larger than any ordinary blackboard was stretched across the wall, marked with tiny names that shifted slightly as if alive. Suspects were flagged, then crossed out as new evidence emerged.
Rufus Scrimgeour stood with his hand on his cane, skeptical. He didn’t trust the House-elf’s judgment, his frown carved deep into his face, his expression grim.
“Dumbledore,” Moody growled. “No suspicious presence found in the castle. I’ve searched the Chamber of Secrets, the Dungeons—even the forgotten, dust-covered ones from decades past.”
“I found no traces of Polyjuice Potion brewing or usage,” Snape added. “Neither in the Storage Rooms nor in my private chest. No ingredients are missing.”
“Suppose… the killer used a Transfiguration Charm?” Professor McGonagall, returning from the Castle, spoke softly. “Like Gellert Grindelwald long ago—maintaining another’s form for an extended period. Though such mastery would require extraordinary skill, it’s not impossible.”
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, smiling faintly. “If that were the case, we should actually be relieved. Sustaining such a transformation requires immense magical power. Even I need to rest every now and then.”
“So if someone truly did this,” Kingsley realized aloud, “they’d likely exhaust themselves quickly—exposing their true leg sooner than expected?”
“But if they’re an Animagus… like Tonks?” he added.
“A true Animagus doesn’t reproduce like some fox-witch!” Moody snapped, tapping his cane hard on the floor. “I’ve lived long enough to see only one born with that gift. But you’re right—every possibility must be considered. Even someone standing beside you might not be who they seem!”
His fierce, distrustful gaze swept over Snape. As the Potion Professor’s face darkened, Moody’s eyes swept the room—lingering on everyone, even Dumbledore.
Snape sneered. “How touching. Your professionalism is truly inspiring, Mad-Eye.”
Moody shot him a look that practically screamed, “I’m the most suspicious of you.”
Suddenly, Phoenix Fawks let out a sharp cry and landed on Dumbledore’s shoulder.
Dumbledore stroked the bird’s head gently. “Our opponent is indeed more cunning—and more dangerous—than we imagined. But we need not live in constant fear.”
He rose, his silver-white hair catching the sunset like molten gold. His voice was soft, reassuring.
“After today, we return to normal routines—classes, daily life. Stay alert, but don’t panic. Don’t start chasing shadows without reason.”
He looked at those present, his tone firm.
“The Third Tournament will be the perfect bait—and the ideal trap. The killer is hiding within the School. They must be planning something for that very day.”
(End of Chapter)
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