"Professor McGonagall's dear, sweet best friend… and you're already so old…" Kayson's words trailed off as he suddenly remembered Professor Pond, whom he had previously sent flying, and he subtly moved a little further away from Dumbledore.
"I think that's quite unnecessary," Dumbledore sighed helplessly.
Kayson remained silent, only shaking his head wildly.
"Alright, now that the goblet of fire has been repaired, it's time for us to return. Since next year's Triwizard Tournament has been confirmed to be hosted by Hogwarts, we'll take this goblet of fire with us."
As Dumbledore spoke, he looked at Kayson, who, with a touch of helplessness, waved his hand and put the goblet of fire into his pocket. Then Dumbledore patted Kayson's shoulder, and the two instantly vanished from the spot.
Upon returning to the Headmaster's office, Kayson naturally sat on the sofa and picked up a pillow, holding it in front of him.
"To prevent any misunderstanding, I think it's necessary for me to explain myself," Dumbledore said helplessly.
"Go ahead and spout nonsense! We'll see if I listen or not," Kayson nodded and said.
"You should know about my relationship with Gellert, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Then let me put it this way: my relationship with Gellert is only because Gellert happens to be male, and it has nothing to do with my personal sexual orientation."
"Mhm, mhm, mhm, everything you say is right."
Dumbledore now fully understood Roserma's feelings.
When Kayson was serious, he was truly like the sun, comfortable to be around. But when he wasn't serious, he was truly abstract and tormenting.
"I don't think you understand," Dumbledore said, his brows furrowed.
"Mhm, mhm, mhm, everything you say is right."
"Don't you have anything else to say?"
"I still have homework to grade in my office. I'll head back first." With that, Kayson was about to use Ender Teleportation to leave.
"Wait."
"Hm?"
"Gellert told me that he said a lot to you when he was in Africa… and one of the things he said was for you to convey to me," Dumbledore suddenly blurted out this seemingly random sentence.
Kayson looked at Dumbledore with some confusion. Usually, if Dumbledore was going to ask a question, he would either get straight to the point without delay, or he would have a long wind-up with a lot of preamble before finally getting to the main topic.
However, such an abrupt transition as today was a first for Kayson, who had been at Hogwarts for nearly two and a half years.
It seemed Dumbledore had finally lost his composure this time.
"What did he tell you?" Dumbledore asked with a calm expression.
"He told me about a conflict many years ago, between you, him, and your brother at the old Dumbledore family home."
"It was that, as expected," Dumbledore murmured. "What did he say?"
"He said that the tragic curse that caused the tragedy back then was cast by him." After Kayson finished speaking, he hesitated, wondering if he should stay to comfort Dumbledore.
However, he quickly dismissed that idea.
Dumbledore was not a psychologically fragile child; he didn't need comfort. Or rather, this young man, who had lived two lives but was only twenty years old in terms of age and experience, couldn't offer any meaningful comfort to the over one-hundred-year-old Dumbledore.
"I think I should let you process this on your own, right?"
Dumbledore forced a smile and nodded.
"See you."
The next moment, with a roar, Kayson vanished, returning to his office to miserably grade homework.
Meanwhile... Durmstrang...
"Karkaroff, there's a letter for you, it seems to be from England… And even though I didn't get things done for you, the spiritual damage compensation can't be a single Knut less!" Roserma slapped a letter onto Karkaroff's desk and said.
"Got it, I'll sign a slip for you, go to the Vice Principal to get the money." Karkaroff casually wrote his name on a blank reimbursement form, leaving the numbers blank.
It was another blank check case in the world.
As Roserma left, Karkaroff tore open the envelope, and almost instantly, he saw a signature that made his heart clench sharply.
Peter Pettigrew…
But wasn't he already dead? Wasn't he killed by that Sirius when You-Know-Who lost power back then?
Karkaroff swallowed, his gaze sweeping upwards from the signature.
His anxious heart made his eyes tremble uncontrollably, constantly scanning over the words.
The general meaning was that Sirius had now escaped from prison, and he was currently trapped in Hogwarts, asking Karkaroff to quickly find an opportunity to rescue him.
Karkaroff frowned, looking at the letter for a long time. As he finished reading the entire letter, he couldn't help but let out a sigh of relief.
Peter Pettigrew hadn't made any threats in the letter.
For example, if he didn't go to rescue him, then Peter would expose all the rotten things he had done before.
This eased his mind slightly, although even if that Peter Pettigrew chose to expose him, it wouldn't matter. What was his status now? The dignified Dean of Durmstrang Institute of magic, and those rotten deeds had long since been blamed on the Imperio.
Currently, although his reputation wasn't great, he could largely be considered clean.
Just as he was about to casually summon a flame to destroy the letter in his hand, he suddenly reacted.
Neither he nor Peter Pettigrew were good people who helped others for fun, so Peter Pettigrew didn't even threaten him, just directly asked him to rescue him.
Did he have some evidence he hadn't cleaned up yet, or some reason he hadn't noticed yet, that absolutely required him to go?
And Peter Pettigrew was certain that he would be able to remember that reason that would make him go…
But what the hell was that damned reason!
Karkaroff, somewhat frustrated, crumpled the letter in his hand into a ball and threw it into the corner.
However, he quickly reached out and pulled the letter back into his hand.
This letter couldn't be destroyed yet; there might be some clue he hadn't noticed.
As for the plan to rescue Peter Pettigrew…
Of course, he had to go.
But it wasn't for rescue, but for silencing him.
Peter Pettigrew couldn't live in this world anymore. No matter what evidence Peter Pettigrew knew that even he himself didn't know about, as long as he was killed, then everything would be perfectly fine!
[Seeking gifts, my dear readers, please, please, please, I beg for gifts! ! !]
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