1. October 3, 1992, Hogsmeade, Hog's Head Inn, the third table on the right after entering will have a woman in a deep purple cloak sitting there.
2. Using Ancient Magic to manipulate emotions still needs improvement, adjustments in force are required.
3. Severus Snape was once a Death Eater.
4. Werewolf Community...
...
He returned the pen pulled out from the Niffler's belly to it, and William scratched his hair—he certainly wasn't swayed by Fenrir's mention of a "Werewolf Army," quite the contrary, he always thought these child-endangering beasts all deserved to die—
His current dilemma is—using the werewolf's hair to make Polyjuice Potion, shouldn't have any negative effects, right?
Looking at the nearly liquid Grasshopper in the cauldron, William casually fiddled with the "weeds" in the adjacent flowerpot, the soft green leaves drooped upon touching his fingers but soon returned to their original state—
According to the Polyjuice Potion recipe, Fluxweed must be harvested during the full moon, and there's still time before meeting in early October.
To ensure Polyjuice Potion works, the person being transformed must survive, so this werewolf can't die anytime soon. But William didn't intend to kill him directly anyway; just like the emotional amplification magic, he had a ton of potions and Charms awaiting validation, and this werewolf is destined to be the perfect guinea pig.
However, during this interrogation, the thing that surprised William the most—yet seemed justifiable—was Snape's past as a Death Eater. William didn't fully trust the werewolf's information, but he believed the truth in this matter was quite likely.
William had plenty of reasons in mind; first, upon meeting Snape, his Black Wizard Radar went off immediately, if it weren't for the other explaining his identity as a Hogwarts Professor, William's plan was to follow him after he left to see if he could catch a big fish.
A Black Wizard being a Professor wasn't uncommon at Hogwarts a hundred years ago, in fact the faculty lineup back then was even more... unusual—former Aurors, former Unspeakables, former Professor of Uagadou... there was even a Patriarch of the Sacred Twenty-Eight serving as Headmaster.
It's just a former Death Eater, and the current configuration is pretty ridiculous too—like having a Half-Blood Giant guarding the Forbidden Forest.
Learning of a certain "former" Death Eater Professor's negligence during holidays, in the first week of the new school year, almost all professors, under Professor McGonagall's guidance, offered one-on-one tutoring to quickly familiarize him with magic. Just as it was a hundred years ago, though the Charms they taught, William even knew better than the professors, he still completed all the tutoring sessions.
Not only because Professor McGonagall mentioned it might reduce written assignments—like the seven inches of essay about Vanishing Spell.
He naturally gained other "unexpected gains" too, looking at rows of Chinese Chomping Cabbage on the other side of the Room of Requirement, along with a few pots of Mandrake stacked in the corner—
Professor Sprout's greenhouse was almost plucked bare by him, although this remained in the scope of natural classroom consumption, the speed of consumption still raised alarms with the professor—he needs to keep a low profile recently.
He also attempted to sneak into Snape's office—Professor of Potions' office is practically a treasure trove, it's common knowledge—but Snape's vigilance and hostility were as he said; during the one and a half hour of brewing Vitality Potion, he found no method to escape Snape's gaze.
After all, Snape's office and the bathroom aren't in the same direction.
Of course, the professors providing after-class tutoring to William didn't include Lockhart, though he was on the tutoring list too.
Pulling out the Niffler sniffing into the hat, William put down the notebook. The "side quest" received from Fenrir would keep him busy for a while—but tonight, he has an even more arduous task.
"...Alright, you can come with me tonight."
Watching the Niffler biting his sleeve, refusing to let go, William cradled its butt and tucked it into his arms. He wasn't afraid of the Niffler stealing anything from him, as all Golden Galleons were secured in a magically sealed pocket, with no way for it to get inside.
Tossing a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace, William returned to his dormitory with the Niffler. The brick wall spun, and the simple fireplace reverted to a bare wall again.
The Niffler, rarely silent after days without stepping out, sat quietly on William's shoulder, its sparkling eyes watching the warm light burning at the foot of the bed.
......
For Harry, if there's anything more disgusting than helping Lockhart respond to admirers' letters in the world—it's definitely sitting with Draco Malfoy, then helping Lockhart respond to his admirers' letters.
Enduring dual physical and psychological disgust, Harry even felt somewhat envious of Ron—
Though Filch wasn't better than Lockhart either, at least in the medal room he had Gryffindor friends for company, while sitting with Malfoy.
Thinking this, Harry almost instinctively turned his head for a glance.
And as if telepathically connected, Malfoy sitting to his left also instinctively lifted his head. Noticing Harry's gaze, the boy's face, even paler than usual, squeezed out a sinister smile, "Don't guess, Potter—I already wrote to my father, he'll have the principal expel that red-haired fool from Hogwarts soon..."
"Tell him what? You vomited two liters of slugs?" Harry lowered his voice and snapped back without hesitation, "Where do you usually hide them? In your head?" Saying this, Harry deliberately looked Draco up and down a few times.
Draco's pale face instantly turned a shade redder; he seemed to want to explode but quickly remembered they were in Lockhart's office. He glanced at Lockhart, utterly absorbed in fan mail, then gritted his teeth and spoke low, "Just wait, first Weasley, then that filthy Mudblood, and finally you—all of you will be expelled, Hogwarts isn't the place for people like you—"
"Ha—"
Harry seemed inclined to sneer in response, but before he spoke, a hoarse voice suddenly echoed in his ear.
It was completely different from Malfoy's curses and Lockhart's mutterings; it was a creepy, chillingly malicious voice: "Come... come closer... let me tear you... tear you apart... kill you..."
A deep, hollow voice as if from Hell.
"What's wrong, Potter? Scared?" Malfoy's lip curled instinctively upon seeing Harry's suddenly frozen expression, "Or perhaps I can give you a chance, kneel and apologize to me now, I might consider sparing you, how about it?—but that Mudblood and Weasley will still be expelled!"
"What did you say?!"
Harry's voice involuntarily rose, causing Lockhart, entranced in his own world, to snap back to reality, "What what? Wait a minute, Merlin's red underpants—has it been four hours already?" The man glanced at the time, instinctively standing up.
"Time really flies, doesn't it?" Lockhart looked at the two sitting at the table, smiling, "Alright, your detention is over, you may go now, but remember, not every detention will be as light as this one..."
"Didn't you hear it just now?"
Harry abruptly interrupted Lockhart's prepared closing remarks.