Chapter 343: Chapter 343
St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, a special private ward.
The ward was located at the end of the fifth-floor corridor. A small brass plaque hung on the door, engraved with the words: Special Care Ward—No Entry Without Permission.
The room was considerably more spacious than a standard ward.
Arthur Weasley lay on the bed, wrapped from head to toe in bandages. Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood beside him; Dumbledore and several professors gathered at the foot of the bed; and Lynn stood alone by the window.
Anyone who didn’t know better might have thought Arthur was on his deathbed and that everyone had gathered to mourn him.
"Dad~"
Ron’s voice suddenly rang out, breaking the silence in the ward.
Well, with Ron crying like that, the scene looked even more like a deathbed vigil.
Just then, a nurse from St Mungo’s pushed open the door with a bang.
Ron’s crying abruptly caught in his throat.
The nurse rushed straight toward Arthur’s bed.
She placed her fingers against his wrist to check his pulse, leaned closer to examine his pupils, and then bent down to listen to his breathing.
Her expression gradually changed from tense to relieved.
After confirming that Arthur truly showed no signs of passing away, she let out a long sigh of relief.
"What are you crying for?!" she suddenly shouted. "The patient needs peace and quiet! Everyone who isn’t family, get out!"
Her gaze swept across the room.
"You, you, you, you, and you—out."
Her finger moved from person to person, her tone leaving no room for argument.
The group sheepishly filed out of the ward.
Out in the corridor, Dumbledore, Harry, and Lynn—whose path had been blocked by Dumbledore—were forced into a small meeting.
The topic went without saying. Naturally, they discussed Arthur’s attack, though the conversation inevitably touched upon Harry’s dream.
"I... I think I had a dream. In the dream, I became Lord Voldemort."
After a brief pause, Harry continued helplessly, "Well, I know that’s difficult to believe. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I’m talking nonsense."
"I believe you," Dumbledore said, staring at the scar on Harry’s forehead.
"Thank you..." Harry’s voice dropped. "Anyway—"
He took a deep breath.
"I saw everything from Lord Voldemort’s perspective. I possessed a snake. Then... I went to the Ministry of Magic and attacked Mr. Weasley."
Dumbledore frowned.
He was considering a troubling question: what about the traces of Dark Arts left on Arthur?
Those curses weren’t something a snake could have inflicted. A snake’s fangs could bite, tear through flesh, and inject venom, but a snake couldn’t cast spells.
Those curses were traces of magic—something only a wizard could leave behind.
Had Lord Voldemort’s power increased yet again? Could he cast such powerful curses while possessing a python?
"Then..." Harry’s voice rang out again, interrupting Dumbledore’s thoughts. "I let out a cry, and my perspective shifted back to Lord Voldemort himself. After that, I woke up and went to find Lynn."
Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.
"Harry," he said in a very gentle voice, "I believe you should learn Occlumency."
Harry was taken aback.
"Occlumency?"
"It is a branch of magic that allows one to seal one’s mind, preventing others from reading one’s memories or invading one’s consciousness," Dumbledore explained. "I will find a qualified teacher for you. For now, you should return and rest."
"Okay."
The corridor fell silent.
Only Dumbledore and Lynn remained.
Dumbledore turned to look at Lynn.
"Mr. Lynn, what reward would you like this time?"
Lynn’s eyes lit up.
"Let me make one thing clear first: I truly don’t have any more books to give you."
Lynn’s expression instantly changed from expectant to speechless.
His gaze swept over Dumbledore before settling on the empty space above the Headmaster’s shoulder.
"Then I want—"
"Fawkes is also out of the question."
Lynn’s eyes widened.
Then what’s the point of offering me a reward if you refuse to give me this or that?
"Why are you being so stingy again, old man?" Lynn shrugged. "I’ll tell you when I’ve thought of something."
...
A few mornings later, the final lesson of the morning was Potions, and Lynn arrived at the underground classroom on time.
Strangely, however, Snape was late.
When the bell rang, the space behind the podium remained empty.
The students glanced at one another, but none of them dared to speak or move. For all they knew, Snape might have been deliberately hiding somewhere, waiting for an excuse to deduct points.
One minute passed.
Two minutes passed.
Five minutes passed.
Snape still hadn’t arrived.
The students gradually began whispering among themselves.
"What’s wrong with the Old Bat?"
"He’s never late."
"Did something happen?"
"Who knows..."
It wasn’t until twenty minutes after the lesson had begun that Snape pushed open the classroom door and entered with a gloomy expression.
He strode across the room, moved behind the podium, and stood there without saying a word.
His gaze swept across the classroom. Every student he looked at instinctively lowered their head, not daring to meet his eyes.
This had never happened before.
Twenty minutes late, a gloomy expression, and an icy gaze—Snape wasn’t himself today.
He was very much not himself.
During the lesson, Snape was terrifyingly strict.
It didn’t matter who the student was. If they made even the slightest mistake—even something as minor as cutting an ingredient a little too thick—they were mercilessly scolded.
"Bones! Did you chop your porcupine quills, or did you grind them into powder? Are you brewing a potion or making flour?"
"Smith! Are you stirring clockwise or counterclockwise? Is your brain turning clockwise or counterclockwise?"
"Abbott! Are you raising your hand to answer a question, or merely to prove that you’re smarter than everyone else? Sit down. I don’t want to hear it."
The classroom was deathly silent.
No one dared to speak. No one dared to move. Most certainly, no one dared to make any unnecessary noise.
When the lesson ended, Snape didn’t remain for even a second longer than necessary.
Before the bell had finished ringing, he had already turned and left.
By the time Lynn walked out of the classroom, Snape had long since disappeared from the corridor.
Lynn didn’t pay much attention to the little episode.
It was Snape, after all. Being angry was perfectly normal for him.
If you ever saw him smiling happily during class, there was no need to think twice—you had to be under the influence of an illusion spell.
Snape was simply that kind of person: gloomy, cold, sharp-tongued, and strict.
It was normal for him not to smile, and it would be abnormal if he did. It was normal for him not to lose his temper, but it was equally normal when he did.
Lynn reined in his thoughts and quickened his pace, heading toward the Great Hall.
He was hungry.
He had eaten only eight steamed buns and a bowl of wontons that morning, and his stomach was already rumbling.
When he entered the Great Hall, the long tables were already packed with students.
The aroma of food drifted through the air—roast beef, fish and chips, shepherd’s pie, and pumpkin juice. The house-elves had made every dish look and smell delicious.
Lynn walked over to the Hufflepuff table, sat beside Edgar, picked up a sandwich, and took a large bite.
"Have you heard about Snape?" Edgar leaned closer and asked in a low voice.
"What about him?" Lynn replied through a mouthful of sandwich, his words coming out muffled.
"He received a letter this morning." Edgar lowered his voice even further. "I don’t know who sent it or what it said, but his expression changed after he read it. Then he was late for class."
Lynn stopped chewing for a moment.
"I don’t know," he said. "It’s none of my business."
Edgar stared at him for two seconds before shrugging. He picked up a roasted lamb chop and took a large bite.
"True," he said. "None of our business."
Lynn stuffed the last bite of his sandwich into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.
"I have class this afternoon," he said. "I’m going back to the dormitory to sleep for a while."
...
Finally, Christmas arrived.
The day before the holiday, the Great Hall was decorated anew.
Towering Christmas trees stood in each of its four corners. Every tree was more than a dozen feet tall, stretching from the floor toward the enchanted ceiling. Their branches were covered in glittering decorations—golden stars, silver bells, red berries, green vines...
Everyone was celebrating the approaching holiday.
Only Lynn left the Great Hall after dinner and headed toward the Headmaster’s office.
Yes, after being away for more than a month, Dumbledore had finally returned to Hogwarts.
When Lynn rose from the long table, Edgar was declaring, "The Seeker for the Tutshill Tornados is the fastest in the league," while Cedric argued, "What good is speed if you lose because you don’t have any tactics?"
As Lynn crossed the entrance hall, Peeves was dropping Dungbombs from the ceiling. Several younger students who had been struck were scurrying away in panic.
Peeves spotted Lynn, grinned, and raised the Dungbomb in his hand.
After hesitating for a moment, however, he slowly lowered it again.
He probably still remembered being chased through three corridors by Lynn and remained traumatized by the experience.
"Lemon sherbet."
The stone gargoyle sprang to life and leaped aside, revealing the spiral staircase slowly rotating upward behind it.
Knock. Knock-knock.
"Come in," Dumbledore’s voice called from inside.
Lynn pushed open the door and entered.
The office looked no different from how it had before Dumbledore’s departure.
However, Dumbledore wasn’t alone.
Snape and Harry were also there.
---
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