Similar hillsides, with tender green grass just sprouting on the ground; similar farms, where cattle and sheep grazed, and chickens and ducks of all sizes rummaged through the softening soil, searching for edible insects and seeds.
Annie Johnson had initially been quite startled upon arriving in an unfamiliar place, but the familiar scenery gradually helped her relax.
She sat on the wooden floor around the house, holding the fat, squinting cat in her arms, her greying hair falling down and seeming to glow in the sunlight.
The Obliviation Charm had severely affected her mind, but it also seemed to have granted her a different kind of peace.
Wade watched her, feeling a profound sense of complexity in his heart.
Beside them, the farm owners accepted the Potions Dumbledore handed them, nodding with a smile. "Please rest assured, Mr. Dumbledore, we will take good care of her like family and make sure she takes her medicine on time."
"From now on, her name will be Annie Bull, and she will be your cousin in name," Dumbledore said. "As for anything else, since she has already forgotten, there's no need for her to remember."
The couple nodded with a smile. In the nearby field, their two young children were chasing each other and playing.
"Annie Bull's" vacant gaze slowly shifted to the two children, watching them intently, her eyes growing softer and softer. A tear unknowingly slid down her cheek.
...
"The Bulls are both Squibs, kind and generous. Nicolas Bull's family has been running this farm since his great-great-grandfather's generation."
On the way back to Hogwarts, Dumbledore explained to Wade, "Half of Hogwarts' usual meat supply comes from Bull Farm."
"So there's a dedicated farm?" Wade said. "I always thought it was bought from ordinary people."
"Sometimes it is, but we generally don't do that," Dumbledore said.
Wade asked, "Because it increases the risk of exposing the school's location?"
"That's one aspect," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Also, buying from here, we only need a snakeskin bag to take everything back. But if we bought from Muggle farms, we'd have to hire several trucks, otherwise, it would be hard to explain how things vanished in the blink of an eye."
"It's the same with trucks, isn't it? You'd still need a transit warehouse, or the drivers would find it very strange," Wade said.
"Yes," Dumbledore sighed. "Wizards often overlook these details, especially now that some places are installing cameras... If we're exposed, we have to move in a hurry."
Wade nodded. "But you can't exactly move the castle too."
Thinking about how everyone would have cameras on their phones in the future, and reconnaissance satellites constantly monitoring the earth, Wade felt a tingling scalp for those Wizards who adhered to the Statute of Secrecy.
He changed the subject, finally voicing something he had been pondering for a while:
"Professor... Although Mrs. Johnson can mostly take care of herself, her intelligence is similar to a child's. It certainly won't be easy for the Bull family to look after her. I'd like to give them a monthly care fee... Do you think that's appropriate?"
Dumbledore looked at him gently and said, "Of course, you're very thoughtful... But I'm curious, why do you want to do this? Is it because of your friendship with young Mr. Johnson, or... guilt?"
Wade thought for a long time before saying, "...Perhaps it's sympathy? And... a feeling of sorrow for one's kind? Everything Carlyle went through could have easily happened to me. I was just luckier than him..."
Even as a transmigrator, he couldn't necessarily see the truth of the world.
He was very fortunate that the people in this world were similar to the original story, which made it easier for Wade to distinguish good from evil, understand positions, and control his own destiny.
But he had read some fanfiction before transmigrating. Although he couldn't remember the specific plot, he had a vague impression—
For example, in conspiracy theories, Dumbledore was the mastermind behind everything, deep and cunning; or Voldemort wasn't killed by Harry, and Hogwarts under his rule became like Gotham City, pure and simple.
Dumbledore didn't know that Wade was forming an image of a "sinister and vicious White Dark Lord" in his mind. Hearing this, he said with satisfaction:
"I'm glad you haven't succumbed to anger and hatred, Wade... However, if the roles were reversed, I believe you would have a more appropriate way of handling things."
Wade smiled, but thought to himself—Is there really a more appropriate way?
From Carlyle's perspective, perhaps the only choices he faced were either/or.
The only difference was whether he would be consumed by immense guilt, making a desperate choice to keep his mother alive, or rationally accept the tragedy that had occurred, carrying the pain of losing a loved one and moving forward.
...
"Eikoto Eiroche—"
In the forest, Lockhart waved his Wand, and an invisible ripple spread out with a *"thump,"* causing the dead leaves and bushes on the ground to sway twice.
"Alright, this way the Aurors won't be able to track us easily."
Lockhart put down his Wand and said happily.
Garr said nothing, sighing wearily. He walked to the stream, washed his hands and face with the cold water, and immediately felt much more awake.
Lockhart followed him, squatting nearby, and said emotionally, "I never thought you'd come back to save me, Garr. When those Vampires caught me, I thought I was done for..."
—I thought you were done for too.
Garr thought to himself.
The reason he didn't forget to bring Lockhart when he escaped, and even helped him steal a Wand, was because Garr thought the wooden house was surrounded by Aurors, and Dumbledore himself might even be outside.
As a weak Vampire, he was virtually defenseless against those brutal and powerful Wizards. So Garr had originally planned that if they encountered resistance, he would throw Lockhart out as a decoy.
He had only smuggled a few items prohibited by the Ministry of Magic; his crime was far less severe than Lockhart, who manually Obliviated dozens of Wizards.
Unexpectedly, the two of them escaped quite smoothly. Seeing Lockhart full of gratitude, Garr naturally wouldn't expose his insidious plan. He nodded, accepting the gratitude, and asked, "How does this Wand feel?"
"Certainly not as good as the old one, but it feels alright," Lockhart said, waving the Wand. "It's not very resistant to me."
"That's good," Garr said, standing up. "We're not completely out of danger yet. Dementors might be summoned by them soon. For now, let's just run."
"Okay," Lockhart agreed decisively.
Ever since he nearly died at the hands of Vampires, Lockhart had been filled with a sense of urgency. Moreover, Garr had carried him while running for half a day, and aside from his ribs aching badly, he didn't feel tired.
After a quick drink of water, the two of them continued running deeper into the forest.
A few minutes later, a Grim, as large as a bear, followed behind, sniffing among the bushes and grass before quickly trotting after them. Its paws made almost no sound on the ground.
Not long after, Locke, clad in a tattered cloak, walked along the same path. A small gray mouse scurried over tree roots, running quickly, occasionally stopping and looking back to wait for him.
"No rush," Locke murmured, as if to himself or explaining to the mouse. "If those two find out Peter Pettigrew is dead, I might be exposed the moment I appear. So I need to find the right moment… a situation they can't explain."
"Squeak—" The mouse stood like a person on a branch, its front paws tucked to its chest, and spoke in a thin voice, "Are you going to let Sirius Black approach them?"
"Hmm? Of course not," Locke said. "If he intends to, you lead him away."
"Understood!" the gray mouse replied, then darted into the bushes and scurried away like lightning.
Locke looked back towards Hogwarts, then slowly followed.
It remembered that when it was first created, its master had a plan for it: to establish the fact of Peter Pettigrew's death while also dealing a major blow to Voldemort.
But later, for some unknown reason, its master never mentioned that plan again… perhaps Voldemort hadn't appeared for a long time, forcing its master to change his original idea.
Before coming out this time, Locke hadn't received more detailed orders, so it had to figure out what to do on its own.
Fortunately, this process was not unfamiliar; it just needed a little time… and it had never lacked patience.
Locke touched its eyes, its expression as calm as ever.
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