"Yeah, yeah, that's for sure. Since it's a sanatorium produced by the ministry, it can't just serve the rich. We have to consider those who have distinguished merits," he said.
Slaghorne perked up, smiling warmly.
"So, how do they charge?"
"Oh, it depends on the situation, Horace—"
Amoshta rested his elbow on the armrest of the sofa, supporting his cheek, and his eyes seemed less alert.
"Those who own properties in the wealthy district automatically acquire the qualification to stay there, paying their fees on time. However, the department believes that outstanding contributors should be entitled to free accommodation——"
"Oh, free!"
Horace's small eyes sparkled, and his breathing grew heavier.
"That's really good. I've worked hard all my life, and it's just right for me to rest there. But the Grand Cross of Merlin, that's not easy to get. If you say you've made a contribution——"
Horace rubbed his palm, smiling.
"My dear Amoshta, in your opinion, do I have such qualifications?"
"Oh, Horace, do you also have such plans?"
Amoshta, pretending to be drowsy, opened his eyes and looked at Horace. He hesitated for two seconds before continuing.
"I can't say for sure, Horace. Of course, I know that you hold a high position in the field of potion-making, and you have trained many outstanding young wizards. However, to be honest, I must say that——"
"What am I lacking?"
Horace asked anxiously.
"The department certainly can't invite all the retired old professors of Hogwarts, or any prominent academic in a particular field of magic. The plan they have there is for a world-class sanatorium, not a refugee camp," he said.
Amoshta spoke with difficulty, "
"Even at the present Hogwarts, only Dumbledore might have such qualifications, and perhaps myself as well," Amoshta said, sounding troubled.
Horace opened his mouth, then closed it again, and repeated the process several times before asking with great care, "
"So, according to your view, Amoshta, I should say, is there any way?"
"If you could improve the Wolfsbane potion and completely restore those poor souls who don't want to become werewolves, I reckon Amelia might even gift you a mansion."
Amoshta chuckled twice, and he casually looked at the corner clock on the wall.
"Oh my god, it's already two o'clock, time flies so quickly——"
Amoshta leaned on the armrest to support himself and stood up, taking deep breaths several times before turning to Horace, who seemed taken aback.
"Thank you for your generous hospitality, Horace. Conversing with you has truly been beneficial to me."
"Oh, you're leaving, Amoshta?"
Horace looked somewhat surprised and awkwardly twisted the cuff of his blue striped pajamas.
"Yes, it's too late. I have to return to Hogwarts tonight. There are some tasks waiting for me to arrange——"
Amoshta picked up his suitcase and held out a hand to Horace,
"Though I would very much like to have an evening of deep conversation with you, Horace, I suppose it's a stern test of an elderly person's energy. So, goodbye—-"
"My energy isn't that poor, Amoshta——"
Horace shook Amoshta's hand, his eyes hesitating.
"Alright, goodbye——"
"I look forward to our next meeting, Horace——"
Amoshta smiled slightly and turned to leave the living room.
Horace stood in the living room, his light green eyes constantly glinting with inner struggle. He watched as Amoshta, swaying slightly, left the living room and walked away, listening to the gradually receding sound of his footsteps until the door slamming shut!
"Hey, wait!"
In an instant, the consciousness, blurred by alcohol for several hours, became clear again. Horace leaped nimbly over the bottles and empty boxes of sweets on the velvet carpet and rushed out of the living room into the narrow corridor, calling out to Amoshta who was about to step out of the door.
Under the cold moonlight, the young man's purple eyes were also free of any signs of drunkenness, accompanied by a polite smile.
"What's the matter, Horace? Is there anything else I can do for you? I'm about to leave now——"
For some reason, Horace suddenly felt a sense of being tricked. He angrily glared at Amoshta.
"You're leaving. Oh, well, no problem. But aren't you supposed to be here as a representative of Dumbledore!"
"Oh, that's true--"
Amoshta smiled and nodded, bowing slightly towards Horace inside the room.
"But when our conversation began, you told me that you knew nothing about that issue, and Dumbledore was completely mistaken, wasn't he?"
"Oh, that's definitely the case!"
Horace's breath caught, his cheeks flushed slightly.
"But. But, are you just going to go back and give Dumbledore a report like that?"
"I've never enjoyed putting people in difficult situations, Horace——"
Amoshta laughed softly.
"I'll tell Dumbledore that I have had a thorough discussion with you about the soul piece of Lord Voldemort. I believe you are truly unaware of it, and I will also try my best to convince Dumbledore not to disturb you in the future."
Amoshta raised his head and looked around at all the buildings in this small village in the wilderness, most of which were not too impressive.
"Disturb your 'leisurely' retirement life. But seriously, Horace—"
Amoshta's calm voice contained a strong sense of confidence.
"Teaching at Hogwarts is not a bad choice, at least as long as I'm around, Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters will never dare to invade Hogwarts and trouble you. This is much better than living in this remote and poor village in fear every day, isn't it?" Amoshta said with a strong sense of confidence.
Horace, shrouded in shadows, remained silent.
"By the way, since the teachers at Hogwarts have started to operate independently from the Board of Governors, their salaries have increased significantly."
Amoshta said this with a smile and turned around, about to step into the void.
"Just increasing salaries isn't enough!"
Horace stepped out onto the creaking floorboards and called out to Amoshta's back, "I can't just sit here and do nothing!"
"That sanatorium should still have a place for me. I know you have the power to decide this!"
Amoshta softly chuckled and disappeared into the depths of the starry sky.
The owl carrying the letter flew north, bathed in the morning sun and moonlight, soared over towering mountains and great rivers, and finally arrived at that eternal barren land.
It seemed that last winter's snow had just melted, the black earth had only just poked its head out for a few breaths of fresh air, and the dim sky was beginning to snow flakes again.
The piercing cold wind seemed like the wailing of countless spirits after their deaths, hovering around this cursed black tower all day.
The owl made several circuits around the tower before making a diving attack into the highest window of the tower, landing exhausted on the desk outside the window, gasping for breath.
The elderly man with tangled, gray hair and eyes obscured by a layer of white cataracts was reading a newspaper.
He noticed the owl flying into the room, but he didn't look up; he simply continued to read the newspaper with attention.
"《Amoshta·Bryne Sounds the Call for Change!'"
The article on the newspaper's headline seemed especially obscure and difficult to understand. It took the elderly man nearly half an hour to finish reading the article and turn to the second page.
The photograph on the second page of the newspaper was still that young man, composed and calm on a square made of rammed earth, facing many wizards dressed in fine clothes.
"A great victory!"
And then the third page:
"Destroy or renew?"
The photograph on the third page was a picture of Amoshta·Bryne signing his name on the agreement.
And then the fourth page:
"Ministry of Magic! Ministry of Magic!"
Article:
"After a long century of futile efforts, the Ministry of Magic has finally realized that it should make real contributions to the people of the British magical community."
"The above paragraph quotes Rita Skeeter, a well-known current affairs journalist, during an interview with the author. When asked how she views the Ministry of Magic implementing the 'low-income assistance' policy, she said:"
It is reported that several well-known figures in the magical community have publicly expressed their positive views on this policy.
And then the fifth page:
"The Legendary Career of Amoshta·Bryne"
It's also usual to bring out Amoshta's achievements over the past few years for promotion again. The picture used is of the great day when he transformed into a blazing sun and rose skyward during the Battle of Diagon Alley.
Flipping through a few pages quickly, every page of the newspaper featured photos of that young man with profound features and a steady gaze.
The elderly man's facial features, etched with age and lined with wrinkles, looked even deeper.
As if losing interest, he folded the newspaper neatly and with difficulty stood up, shambling to the wall opposite, placing the newspaper on top of a pile of other newspapers.
"Hoot~"
After struggling through the mountains and rivers, the owl finally regained some of its strength. It flapped its wings and stood up, the brown eyes showing the elderly man standing opposite the wall, staring blankly.
The elderly man slowly turned to look at the owl. He stared at the letter tied to the owl's feet for a long time in silence.
