Since the three professors had already attracted the attention of everyone in the bar, Scott did not hide it, but turned his head to look at them openly.

Suddenly surrounded by a group of drinkers asking for news, Professor Flitwick's expression was visibly embarrassed, but Professor McGonagall and Professor Barblin were very calm.

Or rather, Professor McGonagall was calm, while Professor Barblin was as cold as ever.

"We don't know more than you do." Professor Flitwick said, "But ......"

He wanted to speak, but he stopped.

"Yes, the mystery man is really back." Professor McGonagall replied solemnly.

Although they were already mentally prepared, almost everyone present gasped in unison when they heard Professor McGonagall's affirmative statement.

"Really...... Are you sure? ”

Someone probably didn't give up, and still asked in a trembling tone.

Professor McGonagall nodded affirmatively, "Of course, Dumbledore has already fought him. ”

"Knot...... The result? The questioner's voice trembled even more.

"The mystery man has fled, taking his dark wizards with him." Professor McGonagall spoke in a heavy tone, "Of course, the Ministry of Magic has captured a group of Death Eaters. ”

"Escaped?"

Hearing her say this, the people around her breathed a sigh of relief.

"Great."

"We still have Dumbledore!"

"Sure enough, only Dumbledore can resist the mystery man!"

"Dumbledore never disappoints!"

People were like grasping at a straw, desperately praising Dumbledore's greatness.

Even the Toothless Pleats who sat next to Scott were no exception.

Instead of pestering the still charming barkeeper, Lady Rosmerta, they left the bar and raised their glasses to praise Dumbledore with the others, trying to get more information from Professor McGonagall.

Scott chewed the burger in his mouth, silently watching the scene, not participating.

Because not everyone in the bar gathers together, his choice is not a maverick.

What is the use of such praise? Dumbledore was always just one man, and he couldn't save everyone. ”

Hearing Ms. Rothmerta speak softly, Scott turned his head and looked at her with some surprise.

Ms. Rosmerta gave the three professors the drinks they had ordered, and then returned them.

She leaned lazily against the bar, her chin propped up in one hand, and winked at Scott.

"What do you think, boy?"

"I don't really understand." Scott looked confused, "I was a kid at the last war, and I don't have much memory. ”

Ms. Rosmerta laughed.

Although there were a few wrinkles in the corners of her eyes along with her smile, she was strangely not old.

"If you can, go abroad, this time may be more chaotic than the last time." She said to Scott, "Maybe my bar won't be open for a few days." ”

"Thank you for your suggestion." Scott said politely.

"You're welcome."

Miss Rosmerta withdrew her gaze, waved her wand, and slowly cleaned her glass.

Scott continued to turn his attention back to the three professors.

Professor McGonagall had just said something that shocked everyone, but she refused to speak.

Professor Flitwick was not very good at refusing, and could only have an awkward conversation with those people.

At that moment, the wide-brimmed witch who had previously sung her praises to Medea stood up.

She reached out and pushed the others away, staggering over to the three professors' desks.

"I know better than you do." She was a little unconvinced and said, "Just last night! Lady Slytherin also fought the Mysterios, and it was because of this that Dumbledore was able to win the battle against the Mysterios! ”

All three professors looked up at her and did not speak.

"Why don't you speak?"

The witch seemed to be a little drunk and a little aggressive.

Before the professors could react, someone next to them said dissatisfiedly, "Who knows if what you said is true or false?" ”

"Of course it's true!" The witch retorted in a shrill voice and even began to yell, "Because my husband is there!" He's dead! It was killed by a mysterious man! ”

The bar fell silent again, and everyone looked at her in shock.

"He's dead!"

The glass in the witch's hand fell to the ground and shattered.

"Shut up, Natalie, it's time for us to go."

An old wizard with gray hair emerged from the crowd, grabbed the witch's arm, and tried to drag her away.

The witch did not resist, but she began to shout as she followed the old wizard's strength.

"Only the Slytherin lady can save the wizarding world...... Woohoo......"

The old wizard reached out and covered the witch's mouth.

He shouted at Ms. Rosmerta, "Sorry, Rosmerta, we'll check out tomorrow." ”

"It's okay." Ms. Rosmerta readily agreed.

"Let go of me!"

The drunken witch began to struggle violently.

"You're drunk, Natalie, don't say those words again." The old wizard persuaded her with a bitter expression.

"Let go of me, Daddy!"

As the witch struggled, the wide-brimmed hat on her head fell to the ground.

Her expression was full of sadness, and she shouted hysterically, "If that's not true, if Lady Slytherin can't save us, then what's the point of my husband's choice and death now!" I'm going to tell everyone he's right! ”

After shouting these words, she seemed to lose all her strength in an instant, and she couldn't stand steadily, and collapsed directly to the ground.

The old wizard silently picked up her hat, drew his wand, and took her away with a moving charm.

Everyone in the bar watched in silence as the strange father and daughter left, then looked at each other and stopped gathering at the three professors' tables.

Scott was keenly aware of the change in the atmosphere.

He inexplicably understood everyone's feelings.

When they heard the news of the return of the mysterious man, everyone was terrified, but they also lacked some sense of reality, and now, the witch who was hysterical because of her husband's death put the real war and death in front of everyone.

In the midst of this oppressive atmosphere, Scott pulled out a few silver sicos to pay the bill, then turned and left the bar.

Walking under the street lamp, his shadow was stretched long.

Rimbaud flew down from the sky and landed on his shoulder.

That witch affected not only other people, but Scott himself.

"Maybe I've been thinking too simply." He muttered.

"What?" Rimbaud asked softly.

Scott shook his head, not wanting to say more.

He didn't tell Rimbaud that before that, all he thought about was himself and the people he cared about, so he had always been in the mindset of watching the fire from the other side of the coming chaos, even if he watched last night's battle through the "live broadcast", he felt as if he had watched a movie, but his feelings were not real.

It was only to this day, when he saw the true sadness and despair, that he realized that the war brought something much deeper than he had imagined.

At this time, Scott's mind was a little confused, and for the first time, he felt that maybe it was not all a good thing to be too acute.

He can express the magic of colors through painting, and he can also perceive the changes in the magic of others through perception, which makes him more and more sensitive to emotional sensitivity, and even strengthens his ability to empathize.

He thought of the people who had died in the battle last night, and he felt a little irritable.

But Scott's sensual time didn't last long, and with the warm summer evening breeze blowing, he quickly regained his senses.

Reason told him not to be embarrassed to think about something beyond his ability, but that would only add to his troubles.

Before he knew it, he had walked to the door of Duke Honey's candy store.

Perhaps because he was in a bad mood, looking at the colorful candies in the window, he suddenly had an instinctive craving for sweets, so he walked into the store with his feet up.

After a few minutes, he walked out of the store with a bag full of assorted sweets.

Afterwards, he and Rimbaud return to the Raven Territory in the Forest via the Portkey in an uninhabited alley.

Chunks of creamy marzipan, sparkling pink coconut sorbet, honey-colored toffee, and a variety of chocolates......

Inside the Oak Cabin, Scott, who had regained his true form, ate several kinds of candy in one go, and then began to feel tired.

"I really don't like sweets."

He put down the half-eaten milk chocolate and felt that he wanted to vomit but couldn't vomit, so he was busy brushing his teeth and rinsing his mouth.

Late at night, Scott, who was lying in bed, finally calmed down completely.

He retrieved the Sailor's Astrolabe, which had been identified by his Ravenclaw mentor, and held it in his hand, and began to try to communicate.

With the input of mana, Scott suddenly felt his consciousness sink down.

Feeling weightlessness as if he had fallen from a height, this time he didn't panic.

In the blink of an eye, he reappeared on the old sailboat parked in the icy black sea.

Feeling the cold all around him, this time Scott didn't feel stagnant.

And because of the consciousness and active thinking, the cold that was about to freeze the limbs slowly faded.

Scott looked around and began to walk on the tattered deck.

He couldn't see clearly because of the darkness around him, and he thought it would be nice if he had a wand in his hand.

As soon as he thought about it, he felt a familiar grip in his hand, and that familiar feeling of heart-to-heart connection told him that it was undoubtedly his wand.

"Fluorescent flickering."

Scott tried to cast a lighting spell, and the tip of his wand succeeded in lighting up a soft light that was not blinding.

It's an amazing feeling.

Scott didn't know if he was in a dream or a fantasy, everything around him was so real, but it could be tampered with by his own consciousness.

It was as if he felt that he shouldn't feel cold because of this false illusion, and the cold really left him.

With the light in hand, Scott began to explore the ship carefully, not missing a place, the cabin, the captain's quarters, anywhere.

But Scott never got anywhere.

There is no documentation on this old sailing ship, and there is nothing recognizable, like a virtual ship modeled in 3D, with nothing to consider other than a realistic appearance.

Is it a lack of communication or ......

Back in Class A, Scott looked up at the sky.

After a long moment, he blinked.

This starry night sky is, of course, also false.

Scott thought.

But after a long time, he never retracted his gaze.

"Hopefully my knowledge of astronomy will come in handy."

He muttered, deciding to write down the fixed stars in the sky.

The wizard's astronomy, unlike Muggle astronomy, was also a form of magic, and he could tell the location of the old sailing ship by the stars.

But this also requires some very tedious calculations.

Despite his efforts, Scott did not succeed in remembering the stars of that starry sky.

While he was still trying to remember, he suddenly felt his thinking speed begin to slow down rapidly.

Although Scott struggled to memorize the stars, he failed and his mind soon came to a standstill.

So he could only get out of the illusion or dream.

The detachment was a success.

Scott, who reopened his eyes, saw the familiar ceiling of the cabin.

He rubbed his somewhat swollen head with his fingers and looked at the sailor's astrolabe in his hand.

This time the Mariner's chart did not change anything.

The feeling of dizziness was so strong that Scott did not try to communicate again, placed the sailor's astrolabe with the chain next to his pillow, and fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning, before Scott even had time for breakfast, he hurried to his small desk and recorded some of the astrological signs he still remembered.

"It seems that we can only take our time."

An hour later, he looked at the mutilated astrological chart in his hand and knew he had to piece it together through one communication at a time.

As he put down the chart and began to eat breakfast, Rimbaud flew into the cabin from the window with a new issue of the Daily Prophet.

"Here comes the newspaper!" It puts the newspaper on the table.

"Thank you."

Still a little dizzy, Scott pulled himself together and unfolded the newspaper.

"The memorial service for Connelly Fudge, former Minister of Magic, is held today."

That's the front page headline of the Daily Prophet today.

Scott glanced at the non-nutritious content and began to look at the content of the other sections.

Who can be the new Minister of Magic? 》

After seeing this title, Scott was quite surprised.

has already let Fudge's memorial service occupy the front page headlines, and there is no need to be so "-for-tat" on the sub-page, right?

Of course, Scott was just teasing inwardly.

He was well aware that the situation was tense, and the election of a new and suitable Minister of Magic as soon as possible was an urgent matter for the British wizarding community, and it was also the expectation of all British wizards.

It's just that everyone's expectations are probably different, and different people have different ideas about the word "suitable".

Scott glanced at it and found that this report was also some non-nutritious content, just a list of people who could become ministers, and a few simple comments.

Scott couldn't help but lament that it was too easy for journalists to make money.

Fortunately, in the next report, something appeared that interested him.

Azkaban is facing a rectification, where do the Dementors go? 》

This article apparently offers some decent advice on how to manage Azkaban in the event that all the Dementors have defected.