"So... beneath the forbidden corridor's trapdoor are trials for Harry?"
"Exactly. I've never interfered with him this term, and I've incorporated every trial's content into the curriculum... This trial will let me see Harry's mettle. Yes, mettle."
Dumbledore's figure appeared ethereal under moonlight, pearly beams spreading across the office's silver instruments.
Sterling suddenly realised that before being Hogwarts' headmaster, Dumbledore was the "most powerful white wizard".
"I will do everything possible to give Harry the ability to compete with Tom on equal footing. Even if his mettle shows me he cannot fulfil the Saviour's role, I will pave the way for him to bury Tom..."
"But then, I cannot guarantee Harry's safety."
"James and Lily both gave their lives fighting Tom... Harry is the child they left behind. As long as there's any possibility, even one as tiny as dust, I don't want to throw his life beyond planned calculations."
"So, with my utmost sincerity, I request you... Sterling, please help me give Harry the qualifications to stand on the same battlefield as Tom."
Looking at the sincere old man with tears in his eyes, Sterling found his throat moving on its own, saying quite readily:
"Leave it to me, Professor Dumbledore."
The moon slanted west, hanging atop the mountains. Fragmented whispers in the office were buried in moonlight scattered on silver instruments.
The eternally silent moon was the best witness, recording secrets hidden by night... It held the most stories but always remained silent.
Sterling left the headmaster's office and stretched.
Even Dumbledore's comfortable high-backed chair would cause discomfort after sitting too long. So it was already this late? He probably couldn't get hot pies now.
He could practically count as night-roaming now. Of course, Dumbledore's note was in his bag. He was hoping to encounter Filch.
Imagine: Filch happily rubbing his hands, approaching you, saying he'd test those instruments in his office that could never actually be used, and then you pull out the headmaster's orders from your bag!
Sterling slapped his head, stopping his wild thoughts.
But missing hot food was real. Terry hadn't learnt warming spells yet. After so long, those originally fragrant soft pies probably differed little from rock cakes now.
"I think it was in the dungeons?"
Sterling recalled Hogwarts kitchen's location. Neville had mentioned in Utopia that Hufflepuff's Hannah told him. They'd once ordered Sterling's cake there.
Actually, Sterling hadn't particularly liked cake before.
But since that day, every cake reminded him of that cake's taste, as if joyful times were carried by cake.
"Find a painting with a bowl of fruit... then tickle the green pear..."
Sterling muttered the kitchen entry method, wandering dungeon corridors, quickly finding that frame leading to deliciousness.
But his attention was drawn elsewhere.
A small figure flashed through the air, wearing a ridiculous tattered top hat. Bright clothes and shoes with split soles exposing toes seemed mismatched on one person.
Sterling knew such an appearance indicated a special being.
Peeves.
Hogwarts' acknowledged troublemaker king, currently surpassing even the Weasley twins as top nuisance.
According to Prefect Robert's explanation, unlike house ghosts, he was defined as a "poltergeist", seemingly born from students' yearning to "break rules".
He dedicated himself to pranks. Among current first-years, most had encountered him, whether being pranked or watching him prank others... except Sterling.
He'd never seen Peeves. One could even say Peeves seemed deliberately to be avoiding him. Once, when Peeves was tormenting someone where Sterling would pass, he actually fled the instant Sterling appeared.
Leaving only a clothing corner for Sterling.
So Sterling was curious. Very curious.
Kitchens could be visited anytime, and missing one dinner wouldn't starve robust Sterling. So undoubtedly, the rarely seen Peeves was now most important...
Sterling immediately abandoned the fruit bowl painting and ran chasing Peeves' direction.
Strangely, since briefly possessing "Nature Spirit", all his physical qualities seemed enhanced. Such physical labour was completely trivial now.
Of course, the most beneficial aspect was obviously "Witness of the Author".
Now Sterling no longer approached collapse after minor reality modifications. For small details, he could even use it multiple times consecutively.
Peeves felt very unlucky.
He'd habitually wanted to find night-roaming students to properly torment, only to suddenly spot a plague god!
Sterling Page, that Ravenclaw brat, currently the only stinky kid not blessed by Lord Peeves...
Peeves didn't actually know why he feared him. Even Slytherin's Bloody Baron only received courtesy due to his supreme soul mastery.
But this young upstart's appearance made him restless like a rabbit seeing an eagle.
As if instinctively rejecting him.
Finally, when the panicked Peeves was cornered, he finally deigned to look straight at Sterling.
How could he not? Spells were gathered on the wand. Keep running, and he'd take eighteen curses to ensure his death.
"Filch! There's a student not sleeping..."
A Draconic sphere-transformed Muffliato enclosed Peeves' head. He kept opening his mouth in the transparent hood, but no sound emerged.
"Don't speak, Peeves... Just look what this is."
Sterling smiled, pulling out Dumbledore's note. Peeves frantically opened his mouth again. Just from his expression, Sterling knew how nasty his words were.
Regardless of Peeves' abstract expressions, Sterling continued smiling at him without response.
Finally, unable to bear the cold treatment, Peeves made surrender gestures.
"What do you want, ugly brat!"
Peeves glared viciously, draughting a hundred prank methods in his head.
Fear aside, being bullied right to Lord Peeves' face. If he swallowed this, who could tell him apart from the good-natured Fat Friar?
"Why do you avoid me?"
After watching him without seeing anything special, exactly as upperclassmen described, Sterling directly asked his question.
After asking, he rubbed his eyes.
"?" Peeves felt confused. "I don't prank you, yet you're unhappy?"
"If you want an answer, Lord Peeves hates you terribly! Doesn't even want to see you!"
Finished, Peeves suddenly darted past the inexplicably dazed Sterling, cackling as he vanished into night.
Long after Peeves left, Sterling recovered.
"Peeves... already looking forward to our next meeting..."
Sterling felt his curiosity dancing, even wanting to find him again for a good look.
In magical vision, Peeves didn't exist.
Not "no threads on Peeves," but the ghost was completely absent from his view.