Hogwarts: The Way Home

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For several days, continuous heavy snow had blanketed everything impure on the streets of London, but the sky remained grim and murky, never bright, seemingly portending a more intense blizzard brewing. On the old streets, many Muggle sanitation workers strained every nerve to clear the snow from the roads, diligently sweeping open a passable path.

Amostas Braien, dressed in a moss-green, worn-out overcoat, stood in the bare yard, gazing deeply at the unfinished building before him. In his pale violet eyes, an extraordinary magic seemed to reside.

Unlike the surrounding buildings steeped in historical vicissitudes and ancient charm, it was a plain, square, six-story building with no particular style, resembling a student dormitory. Each floor had over a dozen rooms, and it was foreseeable that once completed, it would house many people.

"Amostas!"

A call from the street outside the iron gate brought Amostas back to reality. He turned and looked. Upon seeing the hurried middle-aged woman, a gentle and kind smile appeared on his young face.

"Good morning, Mrs. Reagan."

"Oh, you should have greeted me in advance, Amostas."

After a hurried embrace, Mrs. Reagan said in a chiding tone.

"Hmph, sorry. Actually, I hadn't planned on being so rushed, but something came up that might make me unavailable for the next few months, so I came back temporarily to check on the progress."

Amostas pouted, his tone relaxed and casual.

"Yes, yes, you're always in a hurry."

Mrs. Reagan proudly scrutinized the handsome Amostas. This most promising child to come out of the orphanage in recent years, her face was filled with satisfaction,

"You don't need to worry, Amostas. Mr. Parker from the construction team said they'll resume work after the Christmas holiday. In just two months, the children can move into their new home!"

"Yes, I think that's what they're looking forward to."

Amostas chuckled. He then opened the briefcase he carried and took out two stacks of pounds, handing them to Mrs. Reagan.

Gringotts indeed had a service for exchanging Muggle currency. However, both the exchange rate and the exchange limit had strict restrictions. So Amostas preferred to turn his Galleons into gold bricks, then find a less reputable gold shop in London to exchange them for pounds. This would still incur some unnecessary losses, but compared to doing business with greedy goblins, the losses incurred were acceptable.

"This is the final payment for the project. Please hand it over to Mr. Parker for me."

Mrs. Reagan's lips mumbled. The words of thanks had been spoken too many times, so there was no need for further formalities. She carefully hid the money in her oil-stained apron, her tone filled with gratitude and anticipation.

"Do you want to see the children, Amostas? They're very much hoping to see you, especially little Hammer. He's been complaining for days that you didn't keep your promise to spend Christmas with them."

"Tell him I'm sorry, Mrs. Reagan. I'll bring him presents when summer holiday comes."

"Alright."

Mrs. Reagan's tone showed clear disappointment, but she didn't try to persuade him further. She knew that if Amostas had time, he would never refuse to see the children. It seemed he had indeed encountered something urgent to deal with.

The exchange of pleasantries didn't take too long. Mrs. Reagan still had to rush back to care for the hungry children, and after Mrs. Reagan left, Amostas only stayed for a short while before walking out of the desolate courtyard.

He walked with steady steps, heading east along the newly cleaned street. The old buildings lining the road, saturated with countless childhood memories, did not make him slow down.

He only paused when he passed a ten-foot-wide river. Standing on the dilapidated arch bridge, he gazed at the frozen river surface for a moment, then walked towards a barren area sparsely planted with white birch trees.

Situated in the center of the barren land was a graveyard enclosed by a crooked fence.

"Sweeping Cyclone."

Amostas's hands, tucked into his pockets, did not emerge. He merely moved his lips, and several small whirlwinds spontaneously rose from the desolate graveyard. After sweeping away the snow from rows of tombstones and small islands of black-grey pebbles, they silently dissipated.

"Sorry, Grandma Felenna, I forgot to bring flowers."

Amostas paced to a white tombstone. He bent down and brushed away the lingering ice water from the marble slab carved with the epitaph. Then, standing straight, he quietly gazed at the kindly smiling old woman in the black and white photo on the stone, muttering softly.

Buried beneath the tombstone was the old woman who had meticulously cared for him in the orphanage since his birth as an infant in this world. She was the only family he recognized.

As if sensing his sorrow, the owl, carried by the biting cold wind, did not rush to complete its task. Instead, it perched on the nearest white birch tree, tilting its head to observe Amostas below, occasionally preening its wind-ruffled wing feathers with its sharp beak.

"For the next few months, I'll be returning to that school that teaches 'sleight of hand.' That school is currently in a bit of trouble. Someone wants me to find something amidst the chaos. To be honest, this doesn't quite align with my personal wishes—

Albus Dumbledore, that white-bearded old man who always pretended to 'casually' meet me in the library late at night, warning me about staying up late, won't like what I'm doing now. And I'm not too keen on sneaking around under his nose... But there's no other way. They're paying too much. It's equivalent to my hard work for half a year.

Moreover, once the new dormitory is built, I also hope to help the children with their education—"

The biting cold wind carried away Amostas's melancholic sigh, but it couldn't wipe away the vexation on his handsome face.

"Unfortunately, if I could recall the plot, I'd probably finish things as quickly as possible, take the money, and leave."

A light sentence exposed the deepest secret hidden within the heart of the young man standing in the desolate graveyard.

Yes, Amostas Braien was not a 'native-born' local. His soul came from a blue planet where no supernatural forces existed.

The story of Harry Potter was his beloved reading material in his previous life's youth. But it had been over twenty years since he received his Hogwarts acceptance letter in this life. All his memories were blurred. Even ten years ago, when he received that owl post in the cold room of the orphanage, he thought it was some new popular prank.

It wasn't until a greasy-haired, hooked-nosed man came before him and, with a small stick, turned his bed into a toilet, that he suddenly realized that the script for this life was not some urban superpower drama.

After that, he desperately tried to recall the Harry Potter plot, but all he got were some vague terms: Horcruxes, Hallows, love and scars, Voldemort and resurrection. What he recalled was far less than the information he had personally gathered since entering the wizarding world.

Of course, after mastering his magical skills, Amostas had also tried to trace his memories using unconventional methods.

But those memories were so stubbornly forgotten. No matter how hard Amostas tried, they remained hidden in a flowing grey mist, as if someone had protected them with unimaginable magic. In the end, after trying many methods and nearly causing himself harm, he had no choice but to give up.

"That boy named Potter is in his second year this year. He still has several years until graduation, so I don't think I'll have to face the most dangerous situation.

After all, Dumbledore is there—oh, no, the danger comes from Dumbledore..."

Whoosh...

Looking at the white mist blown away by the wind, Amostas's face contorted into a wry smile.

"No matter what world it is, survival is an extremely arduous thing, isn't it, Grandma Felenna?"

Fine snowflakes fell again from the sky. The owl on the tree branch hooted with increasing impatience. Amostas reached out his hand into the air. A small piece of paper from under the owl's claw sharply sliced through the grey curtain of snow, illuminated by the dim sky, and landed steadily in Amostas's palm.

Esteemed Mr. Braien,

I have completed negotiations with the Hogwarts Board of Governors. The Board has approved our plan. You need to arrive at Hogwarts by 8 PM tonight to present to Dumbledore how you intend to investigate the perpetrator of the attacks.

Additionally, Lucius Malfoy strongly rejected the proposal to dispatch an investigator. He believes Albus Dumbledore should be directly dismissed. The Greengrass family was the only one to second his motion.

Your loyal, Carcus Free

The messy handwriting clearly showed the urgency of the letter writer. The dissatisfied grey owl, having completed its task and not receiving a reward, hooted and flew up, quickly disappearing into the swirling snowflakes.

Amostas closed his hand. Carcus's note transformed into a seed, growing a flawless white carnation in his palm.

"Like this trick, Grandma Felenna?"

The old woman on the tombstone smiled with satisfaction.

Amostas also smiled. He turned and walked into the wind and snow. After a burst of sound, the desolate graveyard was empty once more. Only a low vow lingered in the sparse woods:

"Fated train, are you ready to drive towards the unknown?"