HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them

Hogwarts first floor, a corridor leading to the hospital wing.

Professor McGonagall walked silently ahead, carrying Harry in her arms. Her face showed no expression, but the aura around her was like a volcano about to erupt.

Behind her, Hermione and Ron followed like two timid quails, trembling at every little sound.

Fortunately, Professor McGonagall didn't seem to plan on scolding them right now. She had to first complete Dumbledore's commission and deliver Harry to Madam Pomfrey.

Thinking this, Hermione temporarily breathed a sigh of relief.

But Harry was alive, and Ron was fine too. What a relief!

When she had seen Dumbledore carrying Harry out of that corridor, she had almost broken down completely. Fortunately, Dumbledore told her that Harry was fine, just very tired, which finally put her mind at ease.

However, she hadn't expected Ron to be basically unharmed, just with a slight headache.

Hadn't he been hit in the head by the White Queen's stone fist?

Standing at the hospital wing entrance, Professor McGonagall's eyes moved slightly, and the hospital wing doors opened automatically. Madam Pomfrey, who had been writing something with her head down, looked up and showed a surprised expression.

"Minerva? Is this... Harry Potter?"

She came out from behind the desk, placed her hand on Harry's head, and after a few seconds, showed a shocked expression.

"My goodness! How could his spirit be so severely depleted?"

Quickly taking Harry from Professor McGonagall's arms and placing him on a nearby bed, Madam Pomfrey turned around and began rummaging through the bottles and jars in a cabinet nearby.

"Madam Pomfrey, is Harry... is he badly hurt?" Hermione and Ron approached the bed, looking worriedly at Harry lying there.

"Hurt? No, he's not injured, just severely spiritually depleted." Madam Pomfrey explained seriously while mixing potions. "Ordinary young wizards simply can't overdraw their spirit to this extent. In his current state, he'll need to be unconscious for at least three days."

"Just unconscious?" Hearing this answer, Ron and Hermione both sighed in relief, smiles appearing on their faces.

Then they were startled into trembling by a voice behind them that was clearly suppressing anger.

"Since Harry is fine, shouldn't we discuss the matter of sneaking into the forbidden corridor that school rules strictly prohibit?"

"How dare you! The three-headed dog, Devil's Snare, and other obstacles. Any one of them could have killed you! You should each lose at least fifty points! Fifty points each!"

In a corner on the other side of the hospital wing corridor, Dumbledore's face wore an interested smile as he carefully listened to the stern scolding coming from the hospital wing entrance.

Just as he was listening with enthusiasm, a voice suddenly sounded beside him.

"Does eavesdropping on these young wizards getting scolded provide you with a lot of pleasure?"

Turning his head, he saw Evans standing not far away with a look of disdain. His hands and clothes looked very clean, but Dumbledore could clearly see spots of blood on his shirt sleeves.

Wizards generally wouldn't let themselves get stained with blood. It was obvious he had just employed some rather unsavory methods.

Withdrawing his gaze from the sleeves, Dumbledore looked at Evans with a smile.

"How did it go?"

Shaking his head slightly, Evans said quietly. "I used some techniques and, as you suggested, tried to get something out of him, but he was very tight-lipped and wouldn't confess anything."

"Moreover, after he died, I saw a shadow float away from his body. No method could stop it." Having said this, Evans looked at Dumbledore.

"Is he a lich?"

Having studied the entire medieval magical history, he naturally knew about the existence of liches. After all, Herpo the Foul was quite famous in medieval times.

Infamously so.

And if Voldemort was a lich, it would explain Dumbledore's fishing behavior and why Harry Potter could make seven movies.

Before finding the Horcruxes, such a thing couldn't be killed.

So the later plot of Harry Potter should be about destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes?

Wait, couldn't a lich's Horcruxes only be destroyed by a few specific methods? Was this something school-age young wizards could accomplish?

Complaining internally, Evans spoke again, his tone carrying some reproach.

"If I had conducted targeted interrogation about the Horcruxes, I might not have come up empty-handed like this."

Dumbledore shook his head. "He wouldn't tell you the locations of the Horcruxes. I had you try questioning him to see if we could learn something else."

"Something else like what?" Evans immediately looked at Dumbledore, his eyes full of inquiry.

But Dumbledore didn't respond, just looked directly into his eyes with a faint smile on his face.

Tch, boring. That expression again.

Such an expression meant Dumbledore was brewing his evil plans and didn't intend to tell anyone.

However, he felt like he was operating at a loss this time. He didn't get to kill Voldemort as he wanted, and he had helped Dumbledore interrogate for half an hour for nothing.

"No way! I feel like you used me as a tool. You owe me another favor!"

"Alright, alright." A hint of subtle amusement flashed in Dumbledore's blue eyes. "I'll give you compensation. A clue about a Horcrux. How's that?"

"What kind of condition is that?" Evans pursed his lips in dissatisfaction. "Let's hear it."

"I've obtained some clues before. The descendants of Lady Helga Hufflepuff haven't been completely severed. One branch is in France."

"What does that have to do with Horcruxes?" Evans asked with confusion.

"When Tom was at school, he was very obsessed with the relics of the four founders. I suspect that except for Gryffindor's sword, which is still in my possession, the other relics may have all been made into Horcruxes by him."

"And Hufflepuff's cup is one of them."

"There are only a few more weeks until vacation. You could visit that Hufflepuff descendant during the holidays." Saying this, Dumbledore suddenly smiled mischievously. "Besides, don't you really want to go back to France and have a look?"

Meeting Dumbledore's gaze, Evans slowly turned his head away.

Tch, you're really pretentious, acting like you understand me so well.

But France, huh?

Images flashed through his mind. After a long silence, he nodded lightly.

"Alright."

He raised his head again, his face showing a business-like expression.

"As a Hogwarts professor, I have a duty to find Voldemort's Horcruxes!"

"Oh? Is that so? Then I heard there seem to be some Horcrux leads here in Britain as well..."

"Eh? My house seems to be on fire. I'll be going now!"

Walking on the path back to his hut, Evans's mood gradually calmed down.

Today's experiences were really too rich, worth savoring carefully.

Personally casting the Great Memory Recovery Technique on Voldemort. That feeling was indescribably pleasant.

Walking while reminiscing, soon the magical creatures hut appeared before his eyes.

Scanning the area by the door, Evans suddenly paused slightly.

He saw an old man standing in front of the hut, carrying a huge suitcase in one hand and holding three small cats in the other. Probably hearing his footsteps, the man looked over, revealing his characteristic gentle smile.

"Senior Newt?"