This Saturday was a rare day of good weather — the sunlight, like melted butter, spread its golden glow across the castle's stone walls and stairways.
After being cooped up by the recent streak of dreary rain, students who were nearly going moldy with boredom poured out of the castle. They lay on the grass or leaned against corridor walls, lazily soaking up the sunshine.
Fred and George had even set up a stall by the Black Lake to sell their newest invention: "Underwater Tournament Souvenirs." Perhaps inspired by the merchants in Hogsmeade, most of the products were small figurines.
Grindylows on the sheepskin rugs waved their arms menacingly, and the mermaid figurines perfectly captured the eerie expressions of the real ones.
When held, some would let out an enormous "pfffft" sound like a fart, some would suddenly release a puff of foul-smelling gas, while others sprouted two thin legs and ran about shrieking, "Don't touch me! Help!"
A crowd of students gathered around with laughter and exclamations rising from time to time. Many cheerfully emptied their pockets.
"Five Sickles each! Limited edition — first come, first served!"
"I want the running Grindylow!"
A breeze rustled across the grass. Under a beech tree, far from the noisy crowd, Wade and his friends could still faintly hear the Weasley twins' voices hawking their wares.
Harry, who was fiddling with a model broomstick, turned and asked curiously, "Are Fred and George short on money lately? I keep seeing them selling things in the common room."
"They're not," Hermione replied without looking up from her book. "But they plan to open a shop right after graduation, so of course the more funds they can gather, the better."
"That's great," said Michael, lying on the grass with his hands behind his head, gazing at the blue sky.
"They already know what they want to do in the future and are working step by step to make it happen. I have no idea what I'll do after I graduate. Maybe try to get into the Ministry of Magic? But that doesn't sound very exciting."
"You're thinking about that already?" Harry said in surprise. "We're still years away from graduating!"
At this, Hermione frowned. "No, actually, it's already a bit late to start thinking about it now… There's only one year left."
"What?" Harry looked puzzled.
Hermione's expression turned serious. "If you want to be an Auror, Harry, you'll need at least five NEWTs, and your grades can't be lower than 'Exceeds Expectations (E).'
So by the time you take your OWLs next year, you'll need to earn at least five high-level certificates with excellent marks to qualify for the advanced courses."
Michael added, "For example, Professor McGonagall requires at least an 'Acceptable (A)' in Transfiguration. And Professor Snape only accepts students who achieve 'Outstanding (O)' in Potions into his NEWT-level class."
Harry's face went a little pale. "Outstanding… in Potions?"
Harry's grades in Potions weren't actually bad, but getting Snape to admit that he was "Outstanding" felt as impossible as flying to the moon.
And with Snape's constant, intentional or not, hostility, though it hadn't made Harry hate the subject, it certainly made attending Potions class an ordeal — one where his foundations always seemed to lag behind.
"If you want to join the Ministry or become a Healer, you'll also need strong NEWT scores," Theo sighed. "So even though you don't have final exams this term, Harry, you really should start preparing early."
Ryan nodded silently. The talk had drained the ease and joy that the good weather had brought; his face took on a slightly bitter expression.
Compared with others their age, their grades were quite good — but until the actual results came out, who could guarantee they'd earn the best marks?
Harry: "…"
Because he was participating in the Magic Tournament, he knew he didn't have to take the final exams. So, throughout this school year, he had—consciously or not—relaxed his standards when it came to studying.
At this moment, though, a vague but powerful sense of urgency and unease suddenly welled up inside him.
At times like this, Harry couldn't help but envy Wade—he knew that even if Wade were to take the NEWT exams right now, he might very well earn "Outstanding (O)" marks. He was nothing like the rest of them, who were still nervously worrying about the upcoming finals.
It was only then that Harry realized Wade hadn't said a word during their discussion… Is it because he thinks we are being childish?
Harry turned to look and saw that wasn't the case at all—Wade was resting his chin on his hand, eyes half-closed, staring blankly at the students playing on the lawn, as if he hadn't even been listening to their conversation.
"Wade, what are you thinking about?" Harry asked curiously.
The black-haired boy turned his head, and his gray eyes blinked as though his mind hadn't quite returned from wherever it had wandered.
Then Theo suddenly remembered something.
"Oh right, Wade—weren't you walking back to the castle with Rolf the night before last? Someone said they saw you two pass through the entrance hall together, and apparently Rolf looked really pale.
He's been acting strange these past two days, like he's got something on his mind… Do you know what's going on?"
Because they all knew Wade quite well, Theo, Ryan, and the younger Hufflepuff Rolf were also on friendly terms.
Wade thought for a moment. Since none of the professors had told him to keep things secret, he recounted what had happened that night.
He wasn't the type who was good at telling stories—his voice was calm, with little inflection or effort to build suspense. It was as if he were reading aloud a potion research report.
But the story itself was no dull report—it was a real, death-tainted incident that had happened right among them, and even now still threatened everyone's safety.
The space under the tree fell silent for several seconds, the air seeming to freeze.
Hermione unconsciously crumpled the pages of her book with her knuckles turning white. Michael sat up from the grass, feeling a tingling chill crawl across his scalp. Theo quietly swallowed, but the sound was unusually loud in the stillness.
"That's terrifying… If the murderer really disguised themselves as someone else, then who in the school can we still trust?"
Hermione rubbed her arms, shivering, then looked reproachfully at Wade. "You shouldn't have told us this, Wade… If they are here —if they heard you—this could put you in danger!"
Wade replied evenly, "Transfiguration can disguise one's appearance and even mannerisms, but can it perfectly mimic every detail of how a person interacts with their friends? I made sure you were all really yourselves before saying anything."
His gaze swept briefly over their heads before he looked away.
Once he'd gotten used to it, Wade's ability to "see people's names" above their heads had become more of a useless decoration than anything else.
After all, who could go around staring at people's heads all day?
And unlike in video games—where characters are small, names are obvious, and similar-looking avatars can only be distinguished by their labels—in real life, the names floating above people's heads were faint, barely visible text, usually blending in with their hair color. From a distance, they were impossible to read. It was far easier just to recognize people by their faces or body shapes.
Over time, Wade often forgot he even had such a pointless ability. Only when meeting strangers or doubting someone's identity would he deliberately take a look.
And from yesterday until now, he had been "looking." Yet apart from making his eyes sore and dry, he hadn't found anyone whose name didn't match their appearance.
—After all, there were only so many people in the school. After years of living together day in and day out, even if Wade didn't know every student personally, he was at least familiar enough with most of their names.
Perhaps that could be considered good news — it meant that most people were still safe, and maybe the murderer wasn't even at Hogwarts.
"Why do you think the killer hid the body under the bushes?" Theo asked, rubbing a leaf between his fingers. "Wouldn't it have been better to just throw it into the Black Lake? Then no one would ever dig it up."
"That's where you're wrong, Theo. The murderer definitely wouldn't do that."
Michael shook his head. "Didn't you notice during the second task? When the tournament ended, the merpeople came up from the Black Lake and talked with Dumbledore for quite a while. If a body had been dumped in there, don't you think they would've told him?"
"So the bones weren't thrown into the Forbidden Forest either," Ryan added thoughtfully. "Because… the Headmaster's on good terms with the centaur tribes there, and Hagrid patrols the area regularly too…"
"Then why not just destroy the remains completely?" Ryan went on, frowning. "Was it because they couldn't… or was there another reason?"
Hermione speculated, "Maybe it was part of some kind of ritual?"
"Or maybe they just didn't think that far," Harry muttered. "Who would've guessed that a few random students would go digging around in a bunch of bushes?"
Everyone fell silent for a moment.
Of course… that was also… quite possible.
How to perfectly hide a corpse was, after all, a topic far beyond what school students should even be thinking about — and as for what the method of burial might signify, none of them could come to any clear conclusion.
The only thing they did know was this: from now on, they had to be careful around anyone acting unusually.
Hermione ruffled her hair in frustration. "I'll go check the library… I remember there are several Dark spells that involve bones."
Harry reminded her, "But Hermione, no professor is going to sign the note you need to borrow those books!"
Hermione snapped her head around to look at Harry, her eyes sharp. Harry froze, flustered. "W-what? Did I say something wrong?"
Hermione asked, "You still have your Invisibility Cloak, right?"
"Yes… wait— you're not thinking…" Harry's eyes widened in realization.
"We're going tonight," Hermione declared firmly, cutting him off.
Harry blinked, then nodded. "Alright… midnight then? Everyone should be asleep by that time."
"Hermione."
Michael suddenly called her name. When she turned her head, he tilted his chin in a subtle gesture.
Not far away, Krum was striding toward them — the Durmstrang champion had his brow furrowed with an intent expression on his face.
Ever since the Yule Ball, Krum had been finding excuses to talk to Hermione whenever he could.
Though most of Hermione's attention was still on her studies, Krum's intentions couldn't have been more obvious — he behaved like an awkward, lovestruck shoebill bird in the middle of courtship.
As he approached, he greeted Hermione first, as expected — but then, surprisingly, turned his attention toward Wade.
"Wade Grey, may I speak with you?"
Krum's expression was grim and heavy, and his dark eyes were intense. The weight of his presence made the others instinctively fall silent.
"Alright."
Wade gave his friends a small nod, stood up, and brushed the grass from his robes. The two of them walked together to a quiet, secluded clearing.
Krum stopped, turned to Wade, and said in a low, serious voice, "Headmaster Karkaroff is missing."
"…What?" Wade blinked.
His mind had still been wandering around the idea of Krum's pursuit of Hermione, and for a moment he thought the famous Seeker had come to question the boys about their relationship with her.
The words "We're just friends" had already reached the tip of his tongue before he swallowed them back. His pupils contracted, and his expression grew grave.
"How do you know he's really missing?"
Choosing his words carefully, Wade asked, "Maybe he just left for a bit? Perhaps he went to Hogsmeade for a couple of days—to have a butterbeer—or returned to Durmstrang to deal with some urgent matters?"
Krum shook his head. "If he had returned to the school, he would have informed us. And besides…"
He paused, his face tightening with discomfort. "He took all his valuables with him—including several magical items that belong to Durmstrang—and even two bottles of rare wine he'd never been willing to open."
Ah… well.
Wade was speechless for a moment. After the initial surprise passed, a strange sense of inevitability settled over him.
Someone like Karkaroff—opportunistic, cowardly, always bending with the wind—and with the Dark Mark behaving strangely lately… it wasn't all that shocking that he'd slipped away in secret.
If the murderer were later caught, and Voldemort forced back into hiding again, Karkaroff would probably crawl out and come up with some excuse like, "I was tracking down suspicious individuals," and try to worm his way back in.
After a brief silence, Wade said, "We found a skeleton near the maze."
Krum's beetle-black eyes widened sharply, his thick brows rising. "Who died?" he asked bluntly.
"That's the problem," Wade replied. "It was only bones—no way to identify who it was. That might be the reason Headmaster Karkaroff ran away."
He paused, then added, "If you want more detailed information, you should speak with Professor Dumbledore."
Krum's shoulders tensed, the veins at his temples pulsing. After a moment, he said, "I will."
Wade studied him for a moment, then asked, "Without your headmaster, what will happen to your next task? Will Durmstrang send another teacher to oversee it?"
Krum shook his head. "The tournament goes on as planned. We don't need a babysitter. Even when Karkaroff was here, he spent most of his time in his cabin anyway… He's not like your headmaster."
The morning light caught the sharp angles of his cheekbones, outlining his determined features.
Wade nodded. "I can tell. His leaving might actually be a good thing for your school."
Otherwise, if Voldemort decided to go after them on their way back to Durmstrang, that would hardly be a pleasant experience.
Krum's expression stiffened, and his face grew darker.
He didn't like Karkaroff any more than anyone else did—but hearing that from a student of another school, especially one who was also a rival, still made him bristle a little.
Yet he could hear the sincerity in Wade's tone, and his own uneasy suspicions echoed the same thought. In the end, Krum said nothing.
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