24

"Here it comes again..."

Malfoy stared at the ceiling with despair etched on his face.

The parrot's squawks weren't terrifying, but they still sent shivers down the boy's spine.

He tried to ignore it, burying his head under the quilt.

Then he covered his ears with both hands.

But the sound persisted like a devil's chant, echoing in his mind.

"Ah…!"

Frantically, he leaped out of bed, seizing his wand from beside the pillow, and brandished it in futile attempts to drive out the accursed fat bird.

Instead, the parrot mocked him:

"Full of lofty ideals, but your wand is as short as your… well, you know."

"Swinging it around like that is more embarrassing than feeding breadcrumbs to sparrows."

Malfoy swiftly covered himself and hurriedly pulled on his pants from the bed before giving chase to the parrot flitting around the room.

Yet the parrot proved too agile, now in front of him, now behind, even delivering a hard peck to his backside.

Soon after, Malfoy collapsed on the floor, utterly defeated.

Despairingly, he watched the parrot continue to flutter, spin, and even deposit droppings on his face.

He contemplated telling his father.

But the thought of his father's cold, stern demeanor made him abandon the idea.

If his father discovered he'd been bested by a parrot...

The mere thought sent chills down his spine.

…

Somewhere in the Scottish Highlands.

In the dim corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor McGonagall emerged from Dumbledore's office, her eyes red.

Her strides were hurried, her expression troubled.

"Oh, McGonagall, you seem rather upset," a portrait on the wall remarked suddenly.

McGonagall offered no reply, heading instead towards Severus Snape's office.

Meanwhile, in the headmaster's office.

Dumbledore sat in his chair, mired in deep confusion.

He sensed something amiss today—first Snape, now McGonagall storming out in anger.

"What could have gone wrong?"

Dumbledore's wise half-moon spectacles gleamed as he poured himself another cup of coffee, savoring its aroma.

"Knock, knock, knock."

In the darkness, Snape heard someone rapping at his office door.

He hesitated briefly before switching on the light.

Upon opening the door, Snape's eyes registered surprise.

"Professor McGonagall? What brings you here?"

McGonagall's eyes were red, her voice tinged with distress. "May I come in?"

Snape hesitated momentarily, then gestured for McGonagall to enter.

Inside Snape's office.

"So, you just left the headmaster's office?" Snape queried, visibly puzzled by McGonagall's account.

Fragmented memories began to resurface in his mind.

McGonagall nodded. "Could you fetch me the Forgetfulness Potion?"

"Well, now that you've made up your mind…" Snape hesitated before continuing, "You know, the Forgetfulness Potion doesn't erase memories permanently—it only provides temporary forgetfulness."

"And it comes with troublesome side effects."

But McGonagall's resolve remained unyielding.

"Very well." Snape reluctantly entered the potion storage room, retrieving a small vial and handing it to her.

As McGonagall reached for the Forgetfulness Potion, she noticed Snape producing another vial from his pocket.

Both of them raised their glasses in silent acknowledgment.

"To the painful pasts."

She/He spoke.

That night, Aaron couldn't have imagined how a short-term Sequence Potion could deeply affect two Hogwarts professors.

…

The night was clear, stars twinkling faintly. The Black Lake shimmered under the moonlight, Hogwarts' structures mirrored in its waters.

Near the castle's edge, beyond the dense Forbidden Forest, lay an open green meadow.

Several greenhouses and other auxiliary buildings dotted the meadow.

Including the owlery.

Where most of the school's owls, along with students' personal owls, roosted.

Silence reigned, interrupted only by occasional night bird calls.

Hualala.

Abruptly, a snow-white owl plummeted from the sky, landing next to the owlery.

The owl appeared exceedingly agitated.

If anyone had been nearby, they might have discerned an impatient expression on its face.

With its beak, it tugged at the bolt securing the owlery's entrance, then slipped inside.

Soon, the owlery resounded with the flutter of countless wings and the low "ang ang" of owls.

After about two hours, the clamor within gradually subsided.

Emerging from the owlery, the snow-white owl appeared disheveled, its feathers clumped with unknown substances. No longer as sleek as before, but its eyes still gleamed with determination.

Casting a disdainful glance back at the owlery, it seemed dissatisfied.

Yet, a moment of realization crossed its wide eyes.

Suddenly!

With a flap of its wings, it soared skyward.

Dumbledore drained the last of his coffee, then extinguished the office lights and made his way to bed.

No sooner had he departed than a snow-white owl landed outside the window.

Inside the office, Fawkes on his perch sensed something amiss, feathers quivering with anticipation.

Gliding from shelf to window, Fawkes opened it from within.

The snow-white owl slipped through.

Fawkes sealed the window once more.

In the darkness, moonlight faintly revealed the intertwining of a snow-white shadow and a fiery red shadow.

Midnight.

Frost began to form upon Hogwarts' grounds, thickening until it crystallized into dewdrops.

Slithering into the earth.

Inside Dumbledore's office, wing flaps finally ceased.

The owl seemed satisfied, dismounting from Fawkes, now collapsed into a mud-coated heap.

Time to depart.

Wings spread, it launched toward the window.

Yet, it fluttered in place, realization dawning—its body felt limp, devoid of strength.

…

Early morning.

Dumbledore stretched, entering his office. His first act was brewing a steaming cup of coffee.

But he froze in disbelief!

His majestic phoenix, Fawkes, lay sprawled on the ground, wings splayed like a discarded rag.

Feathers scattered, the once magnificent tail reduced to a few plucked remnants.

Fawkes had lost his former splendor, resembling a half-plucked chicken.

"What on earth…?" Dumbledore's voice trembled. A noise beneath the table caught his attention. Bending down, he spotted a snow-white owl huddled in the corner.

"An owl?"

Suddenly, understanding dawned. His expression soured.

"Darn it, Fawkes! Are you so thirsty?!"

"You're a phoenix, yet you can't even fend off an owl!"

Despite his irritation, a flicker of recognition crossed his face as he carefully examined the owl, recalling a talented young wizard.

"Aaron Brooke."

Dumbledore muttered, resolving to seek Aaron out for answers!

With owl in tow, he strode past the Hogwarts guard Filch, exchanging brief pleasantries.

"Apparition."

As the word left his lips, Dumbledore vanished from sight