William didn't answer, just quietly watched.
How did Krum become like this? Probably... because he got stuck with a "good" teacher.
Due to Voldemort's intervention, almost all of Karkaroff's actions were involuntary—Voldemort was constantly monitoring him, and this man could only try to find room for maneuver within a limited "space," whereas—Krum was clearly a victim of Karkaroff's maneuvers.
Krum's madness was exactly the excuse Voldemort needed to make a move on William; he was attempting to strip the "power" from William's hands.
So, William followed Voldemort's steps, and at the critical moment, gave a push, sending Karkaroff, who bore Voldemort's influence, into Azkaban—
At this moment, William's gaze became somewhat profound, but it wasn't sympathy.
A few seconds later, he slowly turned his head back with a smile on his face that Neville couldn't decipher, it wasn't a denial, nor an affirmation.
"How did things turn out like this?"
William's voice was very soft, as if answering Neville, but also as if talking to himself, "Bad luck, perhaps? But, it's nothing serious actually."
Then, William did not offer further explanations, just patted Neville on the shoulder, "Let's go, it's getting late." Then he stepped forward, signaling Neville to follow.
This ambiguous answer left Neville feeling heavy-hearted; he took one last look at Krum's lonely figure, sighed, and quickly caught up with William.
The two descended the staircase without pausing, until they entered the bustling hall of St Mungo's Hospital filled with all sorts of strange patients, preparing to return to Hogsmeade Village through the Floo Network.
But, right at this moment, a disheveled, dusty-looking white owl shot in like a mini cannonball from outside the door, aiming directly for William—it completely ignored the hurried patients and medical staff, stopping precisely on William's raised forearm, with the gust from its wings blowing off some brochures placed on the inquiry desk.
"Hoot hoot!"
Hedwig flapped her wings, stood firm on William's arm, and with a cheerful chirp, affectionately nuzzled against William's cheek, then raised a foot with a letter tied to it, gently shaking it towards William.
Neville curiously watched the owl that should have belonged to Harry.
William's expression didn't change because of the sudden appearance of Hedwig, as if he had anticipated it.
After feeding Hedwig some cookies, William untied the letter tube and pulled out a roll of parchment—the paper unfolded, and as William's gaze swept over it, his eyes gradually became sharp, but then turned into a kind of understanding. He nodded and rolled the letter back up.
"Neville."
William's voice remained calm, "I need to handle some matters, can you return to Hogwarts on your own? And take Hedwig with you?"
Neville hesitated for a moment, instinctively glanced at the letter William had tucked into his pocket, then remembered that rare glimpse of sharpness from William, and nodded quickly, "Don't worry! It's absolutely fine, Senior—I promise to deliver it to Harry's hands, go on assured."
"..."
It sounded somewhat odd, but William didn't dwell on it, directly placing the owl from his arm onto the boy's hand; although Hedwig was slightly discontent, she merely ruffled her feathers and nodded towards William.
William nodded as well, refraining from saying anything unnecessary, turning and leaving the hall directly. As he exited the room, his shadow seemed to melt into the air like mercury, leaving no ripple or attracting anyone's attention—except for Neville who had been watching him.
Staring at the spot where William had disappeared, Neville shook his head slightly, throwing off a bit of inexplicable unease, raised his hand to hold Hedwig's beak as she pecked at his fingers, and cradled the snowy owl in his arms, walking towards the corridor leading to the fireplace room.
Time to go back.
The green Floo Powder flames flickered, and Neville emerged from the fireplace of the Three Broomsticks Inn in Hogsmeade Village, stepping into the gradually quieting village. Hedwig immediately flapped her wings, escaped from Neville's embrace, transformed into a drift of "dandruff," and vanished into the dark grey sky—
Neville paid no more attention, instead, he followed the familiar path back to Hogwarts Castle, the sky now completely shrouded in indigo night, where the twinkling stars and the castle towers' light seemed to be pulsating gently—
"Why so late?!"
Filch, who opened the door for Neville, was presently cradling a cat at the entrance, and cast a suspicious glance over Neville's face, as though if the latter couldn't give a reasonable explanation, he might display a myriad of "instruments of torture."
"I was out with Senior William..." Neville said truthfully.
"Ha, it's William again!"
Filch interrupted impatiently, "Hmph, words prove nothing... come closer, you little rascal!" Saying so, Filch moved Mrs. Loris in his arms closer to Neville; the sleek grey cat carefully sniffed at Neville, then let out a gentle meow.
"...Alright, you passed! Get to your common room—" Filch appeared somewhat disappointed but didn't continue to trouble Neville, instead gave him a push towards the staircase, "Don't let me catch you night wandering past curfew again! Gryffindor brat..." Filch muttered while leaving the entrance hall.
In the warm fireplace of the Gryffindor common room, the flames were dancing joyfully, making a crackling sound.
The air was filled with a mix of the scent of parchment, old furniture, hot chocolate, and some kind of cake being baked. The portrait of the Fat Lady was not in the frame; replacing her was a napping lion, which lazily moved aside to let the boy enter after Neville spoke the password.
Crawling through the low passage, the common room was incredibly lively, looking like a warm-toned ukiyo-e painting.
Ron Weasley was hunched over a low wooden table covered with a chessboard, his mass of red hair almost standing on end—he was playing against the long-absent Percy Weasley, who had been elusive lately. At this moment, Percy was wearing immaculate loungewear, his glasses reflecting a shrewd light in the fire.
"You're about to lose again, Ron."
Percy's voice was calm and unwavering. He pushed his glasses, and on the chessboard, the black rook ruthlessly trampled Ron's knight. "That's... the seventh game. Do you need help analyzing it? Your attacking strategy is too reckless, and the defense on your king's side is too weak. Being taken down by the rooks on the back rank was inevitable—"
"Ah!"
Ron let out a frustrated growl, ruffling his hair even more. "Percy! Go back to your own dormitory! You've already graduated! And who said I lost? That was a strategic retreat, you damn... Ugh, let me take back a couple of moves!" Ron said in a frenzy, and some lower-year students watching couldn't hold back their snickers.
Then, they were shooed away by an irritable Ron waving his arms.
By the fireplace, at a table covered with tools and small objects, Hermione put on her glasses, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with a focused expression.
Her slightly frizzy brown curls hung down with gravity, partially covering her side profile. In her hand, she held a short carving knife, slowly and steadily moving it over an oval piece of silvery-gray metal—blue patterns slowly crept across the whole piece along with her carving.
"This is?"
Neville looked on curiously, not recognizing the material of the metal, and Hermione seemed startled when the boy suddenly spoke. Luckily, she instinctively lifted her wrist; otherwise, the intricately patterned metal might have been cut in half.
"...My mistake."
Seeing Hermione squinting her eyes and staring at him without a word, Neville quickly pleaded for mercy.
"Hm... Where's the senior?"
Hermione hummed lightly, pouting without answering Neville's question. Instead, she asked back—the girl knew what Neville had been up to today. After hearing Neville's explanation, she immediately asked, "So, how is it? You seem in a good mood?"
"Indeed, quite good—"
Neville nodded. "My mom and dad have woken up, the Dark Arts curse on their wounds has been completely removed. The senior said that to be fully healed is just a matter of time."
"Congratulations!" Hermione nodded happily.
"Thank you, Hermione, so—"
Neville nodded, his eyes scanning over the table in front of Hermione. By the girl's hand, a silver chain was lying in a delicate velvet-lined small box with a lonely pocket watch—a kind without a cover. Next to it, under some heavy reference books, was a sheet of paper with a scribbled sketch of a cake.
Neville blinked, "Alright, let me guess, is the senior's birthday coming up?"
"Yes, I'm not letting you carve your name on my cake—"
Hermione protectively gathered the things on the table into her arms, watching Neville vigilantly, almost ready to hiss.
"Ha—"
Crookshanks jumped onto the table, supplementing the missing hiss for Hermione.
"That's too low! Who'd do that?!"
Neville and Crookshanks stared wide-eyed at each other for a moment, then instinctively asked.
"What do you think?"
Hermione said irritably, her gaze shifting. Following her eyes, Neville saw Harry, sitting snugly in an armchair with Cedric, who somehow got in. Both of them looked troubled, holding a sheet of parchment with a maze drawn on it—
"These two have been studying it all afternoon—"
Hermione shook her head, lowered her head again, and began sanding the small connecting parts of the pocket watch and chain.