Hogwarts: Homecoming

Chapter 12: Provocation

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Amos paused and glanced towards Hagrid's hut. The simple wooden cabin was dark, and he could feel no magical presence. It seemed Hagrid was not at home.

It was common knowledge that the Hogwarts groundskeeper was one of Albus Dumbledore's most trusted confidants. Dumbledore often entrusted the big man—who appeared gruff but was always reliable in a crisis—with extremely important and private matters.

Amos wasn't sure if Hagrid was out on an errand or patrolling the forest. To ensure he wouldn't be disturbed, he walked a good distance further south before striding into the woods.

The dense forest was pitch-black and silent. Aside from the crunch of dry leaves underfoot, even the bone-chilling winter wind seemed to hold its breath in the face of the oppressive atmosphere.

Amos walked deep into the forest, veering off the winding path. He skirted a logged area, now just a field of moss-covered stumps, and continued until he could no longer see even a sliver of light from the castle. Only then did he stop and step onto a large, flat greenstone.

"This is the place, Grandma Filena."

Amos spoke to the photo of the old woman, her kind smile forever frozen in time. He placed the frame on the ground, propping it up with a broken branch.

"According to the customs of the world I used to live in, on the seventh night after a person passes away, their soul has one chance to return to this world to visit their family," Amos explained, shaking his sleeve. A twelve-inch wand of ebony with a dragon heartstring core, well-maintained, slid into his palm.

He pointed his wand at the ground. A fist-sized stone at his feet immediately levitated and, in a blur of rapid motion, transformed into a brass-colored basin.

"At this time, the living family members will use a special method to pay tribute to their departed loved one—"

Amos sat cross-legged on the stone, oblivious to the damp, icy cold seeping into him.

He pulled a cloth pouch from his robes. It was a bag expanded with an Undetectable Extension Charm that he had bought for two Galleons from Dervish and Banges in Hogsmeade. Being inexpensive, its initial space was limited. However, after his own modifications, it could now hold a small car and had features for sorting and batching items.

"I wonder if you'll like this method?"

A large stack of yellow paper and a small mountain of gold-colored paper ingots poured out, scattering on the ground.

WHOOSH!

A brilliant golden flame ignited from thin air, rapidly consuming the yellow paper and handmade gold ingots in the brass basin. The intense heat quickly scorched the edges of the basin black and dried the moisture from the cold air.

The flickering firelight reflected off the glass of the picture frame, illuminating a pale, drawn face.

"I'm so sorry I couldn't be with you in your final days," Amos said, his chapped lips barely moving. He continued to feed paper into the basin, speaking to the smiling old woman in the flames. "That will likely be the greatest regret of my life."

The flames danced, and the golden light swayed with them, making the old woman in the photograph seem to move like a magical portrait, as if she were gently comforting the grief-stricken boy.

"—If it weren't for you, I probably would have died at that woman's hands sixteen years ago. I never would have had the chance to know this wondrous world."

The biting north wind, upon entering the fire-lit area, became gentle. It softly lifted the ends of Amos's hair, like an invisible hand stroking his head.

Amos gazed at the photograph, quietly speaking the secrets buried deep in his heart. These were absurd things he could never tell anyone, no matter how close. Only before his departed family could Amos speak without reservation.

The gentle moon gradually sank towards the horizon. In the latter half of the night, a mist swept in from the depths of the forest, shrouding everything in a hazy ambiguity. The dense leaves were coated with fine ice crystals, hanging limply from the branches like lost souls.

"What do you think he's doing, Prian?"

Lost in his thoughts, Amos had let his usual vigilance slip. He failed to notice that fifty feet behind him, two figures in red Gryffindor Quidditch robes, carrying broomsticks, had been quietly observing him for some time.

"I can't say for sure, Phyloia, but it looks like he's performing some kind of evil ritual... Using Dark Magic to summon the spirit of that old woman in the picture, probably. You know how those Slytherin snakes are, always studying that sort of thing," said Prian, a fourth-year Gryffindor Beater with a round face and small eyes. He lowered his voice, speaking to the girl beside him, who was both his teammate and his girlfriend. "He's Amos Blaine. A real weirdo bookworm."

"A weirdo bookworm?" Phyloia, a pretty girl with long, pale-blonde hair, arched a slender eyebrow.

"Exactly," Prian said, puffing out his cheeks with a mischievous grin. "I heard from Haelson in Ravenclaw that he sees Blaine in the corner of the reading area every Saturday morning, a huge stack of books in front of him, not talking to anyone. He seems to be really into studying, but his grades are way worse than Charlie's brother. Probably because he's not very bright."

Phyloia giggled, leaning her Nimbus 1700 against Prian's side. "Maybe we should go back to the castle and get a professor, sweetie. We can't just watch him use evil Dark Magic to curse a dead old woman, can we?"

"That's not a good idea, Phyloia." A playful glint appeared in Prian's small eyes, and he rejected his girlfriend's suggestion without hesitation. "Charlie and the others are still in the forest playing hide-and-seek with that big spider. If we bring a professor here, they'll all be exposed."

"Charlie said his brother Bill is on prefect duty tonight. We could go tell him. I don't think Bill would sell out his own brother," Phyloia suggested again with a blink.

"That's a good idea, Phyloia," Prian said, a wicked smile spreading across his face as he looked at Amos's solitary back on the greenstone. "But I have a more interesting way to punish this evil wizard. Come on, Phyloia, take out your wand. Let's teach him a lesson!"

There was little of the yellow paper and gold ingots left on the ground. Amos gathered the last of it with his hands and tossed it all into the red-hot basin, whispering a final farewell. "—I hope the good deeds of this life will become blessings for your next, Grandma Filena. The place I lived in my last life was a very nice country, too. If you have the choice, you could be reborn in..."

"Hey! Face your judgment, you Slytherin Dark Wizard!"

The sudden shout startled Amos, pulling him from his fragile emotional state. Before he could even process it, the sharp whistle of two spells shot from behind him.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

"Confringo!"

In that split second, the jolted Amos had no time to wonder who was attacking him. He instinctively tried to draw his wand, only to realize with a jolt that he had inadvertently trapped it under his leg. After sitting cross-legged before the fire for over an hour, he was dizzy and his legs were severely numb. He was in no position to react effectively.

Dammit, too careless!

A curse formed in Amos's mind. He slammed his left hand on the ground, throwing his body to the side. As he rolled off the greenstone, he snatched his wand and, in the nick of time, dodged the spells.

But Grandma Filena's photograph and the basin he had conjured were not so lucky.

Prian's Petrification Curse missed Amos but struck the basin. Instantly, a shower of fiery serpents erupted into the sky, illuminating the dark forest as if it were dawn.

And Phyloia's Blasting Curse, with unerring accuracy, hit the photograph. With a sharp crack, the shattered picture was swallowed by the golden fire-serpents, instantly turning to black ash...

As Amos struggled to his feet, a fragment of the photograph, its edges being eaten away by the flames, drifted past his eyes and fell powerlessly to the ground.

His gaze followed it, a maelstrom of shock, disbelief, and fury flashing in his pale violet eyes. The moment the last piece of the photo turned to ash, Amos, his face a mask of rage, finally lifted his head to look in the direction the spells had come from. Slowly, but with unwavering resolve, he raised his wand.