Before they actually had to set up the stands themselves, the students had always thought this kind of work was easy. After all, during the previous two matches, the Ministry of Magic had managed to prepare the spectator stands overnight without a hitch.
But once they truly started working on it, they realized that the task wasn't nearly as simple as they had imagined.
Even though they were only modifying the existing Quidditch pitch, there were so many tiny, complicated details that it made them wonder if perhaps every Minister for Magic in the world was planning to come watch this match.
Michael even seriously suggested to Wade, "You should get custom-made uniforms tailored for the match! Dumbledore will definitely approve your leave, and who knows—he might even personally take you all to visit Madam Malkin."
Wade replied, "…The high-backed chair you just conjured has an extra leg."
The setting sun cast a golden glow over the busy grounds. Though most people were so tired they could barely stand, it did nothing to dampen their cheerful chatter and teasing.
However, beneath this lively surface, none of the students noticed that several pairs of round, gleaming eyes were secretly watching them from hidden corners.
While the professors were occupied with setting up the venue, much of their attention was actually devoted to observing the students.
Zoe sat in a cramped space beneath the stands, and her slender fingers moved swiftly as lines of text appeared on the parchment before her—
"Miss Brown of Gryffindor arrived at the field at 3:20 p.m.… left the grounds for fifteen minutes… returned with traces of pumpkin juice at the corner of her mouth…"
Happy was hanging from an oak tree, and his small body was almost completely hidden among the leaves. Muttering to himself, he wrote:
"McMillan of Ravenclaw arrived at 3:31… took an object resembling a candy from his left pocket and put it in his mouth…"
Maggie was lurking behind one of the wooden pillars with his eyes scanning the crowd through the slats.
"Millicent Bulstrode of Slytherin… complained about doing servant's work… behavior consistent with usual, no abnormalities…"
"Theodore Nott… repeatedly touched his sleeve… at 1 hour 35 minutes, drank one bottle of carrot juice… suspicious…"
Other house-elves were also recording the students' behavior:
"Wade Grey… no food or drink for three consecutive hours, no abnormalities observed…"
"Harry Potter… no abnormalities…"
"Hermione Granger… did not eat or drink, read twenty pages of a book in between tasks… no other unusual behavior…"
"Ryan Carrow… returned to the castle at 1 hour 57 minutes, stayed in the washroom for three minutes… temporarily suspicious…"
"Daphne Greengrass… argued with her younger sister… abnormal behavior, temporarily suspicious…"
Laughter still filled the air on the field. A few younger students had hung the ribbons crookedly and were now dashing back and forth through the seats to fix them, giggling and shoving each other as they went—nearly pushing a small boy off the steps.
Wade instinctively reached out to steady the brown-haired boy. As the child thanked him, Wade felt as though something had just flickered across his vision.
Sensing something, he turned his head—just in time to see a pair of tennis-ball-sized eyes blink at him from the shadows before vanishing in an instant.
A realization stirred in Wade's mind as he looked around at his surroundings—suddenly, everything made sense.
Indeed… The Polyjuice Potion only lasts for one hour with each dose. Gathering all the students at the Quidditch pitch is an excellent way to test for any impostors—without causing widespread panic.
The only question was whether this "hunt" organized by the school would actually catch the prey they were hoping for.
Wade raised a hand to shield his eyes from the dazzling sunset. From his high vantage point, he gazed down at the bustling field below, a faint premonition stirring in his heart—
Even with such a meticulous and thorough investigation, they would likely end up empty-handed.
…
Inside the headmaster's office, the same brilliant orange-red light poured through the tall windows, glinting off the polished silver instruments that slowly turned and spun.
Dumbledore sat calmly in an armchair beside Fawkes' perch with a serene expression on his face.
The room now held several additional guests—Aurors, all elite members of the Ministry of Magic.
A murder within Hogwarts Castle was, of course, not something that could easily be concealed. Cornelius Fudge had insisted strongly that, in order to avoid mass panic, the discovery of the skeleton should remain secret until the killer was caught.
This approach could also aid the investigation, and so both Dumbledore and Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, had tacitly agreed.
Beside Dumbledore, an elderly house-elf was organizing all the gathered information, sorting and cross-referencing every detail.
A huge sheet of parchment—several times larger than an ordinary blackboard—was unfurled and hung on the wall, covered with tiny names that shifted subtly on their own.
The list of suspects was marked and re-marked, with names constantly being crossed off as new evidence emerged.
Scrimgeour stood nearby, leaning on his hand. He clearly distrusted the judgment of house-elves and kept his sharp gaze fixed on the parchment. Deep furrows carved his brow, and his face was dark with worry.
"Dumbledore," Moody said in his gravelly voice, "there's no sign of anything suspicious in the castle. I've checked the secret chambers, the dungeons—even the old cells that haven't been opened in decades."
"I've also found no traces of Polyjuice Potion being brewed or used," Snape added. "Neither the storeroom nor my private supplies show any missing potions or ingredients."
"What if…" Professor McGonagall, newly returned to the castle, looked at the headmaster and said quietly, "the murderer used a Transfiguration spell? Like Grindelwald once did—maintaining another form for an extended time. It would require extraordinary skill in Transfiguration, but it's not impossible."
Dumbledore's fingers interlaced. At her words, he smiled slightly. "If that were the case, we should consider ourselves fortunate—maintaining such a transformation demands immense magical power. Even I, on occasion, must stop to catch my breath."
"So if someone really tried that," Kingsley said thoughtfully, "they'd soon expose themselves, wouldn't they? But if it's someone like Tonks—"
"A Metamorphmagus," Moody finished gruffly, striking his staff against the floor. "Aye, that's another matter. But such folk don't grow on trees! In all my years, I've only ever met one born with that gift."
He swept his fierce, suspicious eyes around the room—lingering especially long on Snape—before adding, "Still, you're right, Shacklebolt. Every possibility must be considered! Even the person beside you might not be who you think!"
Snape let out a cold laugh. "Truly an impressive professional paranoia, Mad-Eye."
Moody glared back at him and his magical eye whirred, all but saying aloud: You're the one I suspect most.
Just then, Fawkes let out a clear, ringing cry and glided down to perch on Dumbledore's shoulder.
Dumbledore gently stroked the phoenix's head and said, "Our opponent is indeed more cunning—and more dangerous—than we imagined. But that doesn't mean we must live in constant fear."
He rose to his feet, his long silver hair shimmered gold in the setting sun, and his tone was calm yet resolute.
"After today, classes and daily life will continue as normal. Stay alert, but do not act rashly. We cannot afford to startle the snake before it's ready to strike."
His gaze swept across the room. Then, in a low, steady voice, he said:
"The third task will be our best bait—and our perfect trap. The killer is hiding within the school, and they will surely make their move that day."
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