Chapter 1065
Dumbledore's Letter
Chapter 1065 Dumbledore's Letter
"After the banquet, he left overnight."
A hint of worry unconsciously flickered in Professor McGonagall's eyes as she looked at Wade and said:
“I don’t know exactly where they went or what they did… but you should know that this matter needs to be kept secret.”
Her voice lowered further: "Don't tell anyone else, not even your friends, or... not even people who seem like they should know."
Wade nodded silently.
"Go."
Professor McGonagall forced a smile and said, "I have to go to class now. You can ask me any questions about Transfiguration next time."
"Yes, then I'll come see you another day, Professor."
Wade picked up the package, turned around, and went out.
As he reached the door, he looked back one last time.
Professor McGonagall sat at the table, her head resting on one hand. The sunlight streaming through the window illuminated her face, making the shadows under her eyes stand out even more.
Wade gently closed the door.
He returned to his dormitory, opened the brown paper package, and found two items inside the box.
One of them gleamed with gold, its hourglass framed in exquisite pure gold. The sand inside, which was originally shimmering with gold, turned a grayish-white and quietly piled up at the bottom of the hourglass.
The other one was a letter.
Vader unfolded the letter, which bore Dumbledore's signature thin handwriting:
Dear Wade:
I originally planned to talk to you about the time converter the day after school started, but I received a message at the last minute and had to leave immediately. I can only leave this letter to explain to you and hope you can understand my decision.
Just as you told me before, there are indeed some people in Kosovo making dangerous attempts. I have only found some clues so far, and I have not yet found the whereabouts of Rek and his collaborators.
But I can confirm that their research has touched on some very ancient things that no one should have touched.
At the same time, I guess you've also noticed that they lack the necessary caution and reverence for the mysterious and terrifying power of time.
This misuse of the magic of time is creating ripples on a broader scale in ways we never expected.
Recently, the Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic has detected more and more anomalies. Some converters start to operate without warning, and sometimes the Silent Ones there hear sounds that do not belong to the current time, or even see images that do not belong to the current time.
This is not a collective hallucination, but rather time itself is being excessively disturbed, causing it to "echo."
Under these circumstances, continuing to use the time converter would have unpredictable consequences:
You might unexpectedly encounter your past self; you might find yourself years in the future, or even long ago, after going around in circles; you might even wander onto an island of time, never to return.
Therefore, I have to make this decision: you can no longer use the time converter.
But I can leave this broken converter to you.
Although it has stopped operating, its connection with time itself has not been completely severed.
If one day you find that it begins to change—even if it's just a tiny grain of sand that changes color—it must mean that the situation in Kosovo has changed dramatically.
When that time comes, I believe you will have your own judgment on what actions need to be taken.
I don't need you to be a hero, child. I want you to know that your most important task is always to protect yourself, and only then should you think about what you can do.
As I write this, there is one more thing that I regret.
I promised you that I would teach you memory magic after school starts.
I've always looked forward to sharing those profound insights about memory with you, and seeing how they can bring about surprising changes in your hands.
But now it seems that I cannot fulfill this promise for the time being.
However, I've found you an excellent teacher. He may not be good at expressing himself, but his understanding of memory magic is more detailed, rigorous, and more... practical than mine.
His demands are strict, but I believe you will be able to distinguish between deliberate nitpicking and genuine teaching, will not misunderstand his attitude, and will learn truly useful things from him. You've probably guessed it—he is Professor Severus Snape.
Every Wednesday at 8 PM, in the Potions Department office, remember to go see him on time.
The letter was signed, as always, "Albus Dumbledore".
……
Percy stood at the door of the archives room and handed Filch the newly signed permit.
The administrator took it, brought it close to his eyes, and squinted as he read it word by word.
He read very slowly.
The gaunt Mrs. Lorris squatted at her master's feet, her tail swishing slowly, her bulbous eyes fixed on Percy with a somewhat unfriendly gaze.
"Well."
Filch finally finished reading it, returned the license to Percy, and made a muffled murmur.
Percy guessed he was complaining about the increased workload again, maintaining a polite smile on his face while he was already very impatient.
He said, "If you still have any questions, you can ask Professor McGonagall for confirmation."
“Ah…no need,” Filch said. “Since you have permission, of course you can go in.”
He took down a large, densely packed bunch of keys from his waist, slowly fiddling with them while muttering to himself:
"This isn't...this isn't either...ah, this is the key to the secret passage entrance..."
Percy waited as patiently as possible, his smile frozen on his face.
He thought angrily: "Does this old bastard know who I am now? I'll get him kicked out of school sooner or later!"
He recalled that when he was in lower grades, this old man had stopped him in the corridor and berated him several times, simply because his feet had a little mud on them.
And later, he became a prefect, and Filch ordered them around doing this and that... even though he was just a Squib who couldn't use magic...
Anger, like a ferocious monster, swelled continuously in Percy's heart.
Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly heard the person in front of him say:
"Ah, found it."
Filch, carrying a large, dark key, dragged his somewhat lame leg into the depths of the corridor, with Percy quickly following behind.
They went down the stairs, through corridor after corridor, the dark stone walls cold and damp, some even frozen in the corners.
After passing several dusty windows, the two stopped in front of a heavy wooden door.
There were no signs on the door, only a line of small characters, almost worn away by time, engraved above the door:
[Archives - Entry not permitted without permission]
Filch inserted the key into the lock and struggled to turn the brass lock.
The door creaked open, and a musty smell wafted out.
Percy covered his nose and squinted to look inside.
The archives were much larger than he had imagined—or rather, much more chaotic than he had imagined.
Rows of wooden shelves, seemingly weathered by time, stretched from the entrance into the deep shadows. The shelves were piled high with all sorts of file boxes, scattered parchment scrolls, bundles of old ledgers, and even piles of paper directly on the floor, forming small mountains.
In the corner were several dusty wooden crates and an old table covered in wormholes, on which a few worn-out quill pens were carelessly tossed about.
The room didn't look like a magic school's archives; it looked more like an old warehouse that hadn't been cleaned for centuries.
"It's right here."
Filch stood in the doorway and said slowly, “You can look it up at your leisure, Mr. Weasley.”
(End of this chapter)