May had already arrived with its warming temperatures, and June was steadily drawing near with each passing day.

The sun hung prominently in the sky for longer and longer each day as summer approached its peak. At seven o’clock in the evening, when dinner had just concluded, the bright crescent moon, missing just a sliver of its full roundness had already begun to cast its ethereal glow across the southeastern sky.

Meanwhile, the clouds scattered along the southwestern horizon still shimmered brilliantly with a blood-red radiance, dyed by the recently set sun.

To avoid the sweltering heat that persisted even at five or six o’clock in the afternoon, making the castle’s corridors feel like ovens, Harry and his friends had wisely taken to running their evening laps on the grounds only after dinner, when the temperature became more bearable.

When the trio arrived together at the Quidditch pitch, their usual training ground, Harry’s gaze instinctively drifted toward the edge of the dark Forbidden Forest.

He looked at Hagrid’s small stone hut draped in the evening’s crimson-gold gauze of fading sunlight, its wooden door were shut tight and no smoke was rising from the chimney. He sighed heavily in disappointment.

Hagrid had left the school not long after Voldemort’s resurrection, and like Professor Watson, had been missing for nearly two months now without any word.

Harry knew that Hagrid was carrying out some important task assigned by the headmaster, something secret and dangerous. But after such a long absence without any sign of return, Harry couldn’t help worrying constantly that Hagrid might have met with some terrible misfortune on his mission.

After all, despite his size and strength, Hagrid didn’t possess the reassuring, overwhelming magical power of Professor Watson or Professor Dumbledore.

Of course, logically, Hagrid was most likely safe and unharmed. If something truly catastrophic had happened to him, Dumbledore couldn’t possibly have appeared in the Great Hall at almost every mealtime over these two months, consistently wearing his gentle smile and chatting pleasantly with Professor McGonagall and the increasingly grim-faced, irritable Snape as if nothing was wrong.

The last conversation Harry had shared with Hagrid before his departure hadn’t been particularly pleasant or satisfying, because Hagrid had stubbornly refused to tell them what important task Dumbledore had assigned him. Moreover, Hagrid had said this secrecy was at Dumbledore’s instruction.

This refusal to confide in them couldn’t help but anger the teenage boy, who was at an emotionally sensitive age and felt he deserved to know.

However, that anger had gradually dissipated and faded over the past two months of reflection.

Now, Harry’s heart was filled primarily with genuine worry for Hagrid’s safety, so much so that he didn’t join Hermione and Ron in their discussion—one they’d had repeatedly many times over these past days: about what specific challenge Professor Watson would set for the champions in the third task of the Triwizard Tournament.

“At this rate, Harry—”

By the time they finally left the Quidditch pitch, the sky had fully darkened into deep twilight. They walked together toward the brightly lit castle, moving steadily against the flow of other students who had come out to enjoy the pleasant evening breeze after finishing dinner.

Ron rolled his eyes, muttering with envy that the tournament champions didn’t have to take any final exams this year, the lucky bastards.

Hermione fanned her flushed, overheated cheeks with one hand and said calmly to Harry.

“You’re becoming just like the Beauxbatons champion, Harry.”

It was a strange comparison to make, but Harry understood her meaning immediately. They had discussed this before.

Ever since Professor Watson had left Hogwarts on his mysterious business, Fleur Delacour had become increasingly listless and withdrawn, as if nothing at the school could interest her anymore. She barely even acknowledged her Beauxbatons classmates these days, spending most of her time wandering alone in melancholy.

“Hermione’s right, Harry, you need to snap out of it—”

Ron came around from Hermione’s side to Harry’s, draping his arm casually around his best friend’s neck.

“You need to pull yourself together, mate. Don’t forget, Professor McGonagall has already warned you that if you zone out and stare into space in her Transfiguration class one more time, she’ll give you detention every single day until the end of term and ban you from visiting Hogsmeade.

You know she means it.”

Harry mumbled something vague in response to Hermione and Ron’s well-meaning reminder, not really listening.

Seeing him so thoroughly distracted and withdrawn, Hermione and Ron exchanged worried glances over Harry’s head and both sighed in unison, sharing their concern.

In the Great Hall, at the Gryffindor table, Fred and George seemed to have just told a particularly hilarious joke that made Neville laugh heartily and uncontrollably.

His cheerful, infectious laughter drew the attention of many young wizards and even several staff members scattered throughout the hall. The sound even caused Professor Dumbledore, whose expression seemed noticeably calmer and more peaceful than usual tonight, to smile warmly at the display of innocent joy.

But Harry wasn’t interested in any of this casual happiness, couldn’t connect with it. He merely glanced briefly at the cheerful commotion before heading directly upstairs with his head hung down, lost in his thoughts—

“Ahem—”

Ron, still standing at the bottom of the marble staircase, suddenly coughed awkwardly and rather obviously. He looked as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

“If you want to go on a date with Lavender, just go, Ron. No need to rack your brains trying to invent some excuse—”

Harry turned around on the landing and said listlessly, seeing right through his friend. In his quick glance around the Great Hall earlier, he’d already noticed Lavender Brown casting eager, hopeful looks at Ron from further down the Gryffindor table.

“What? I wasn’t—I’m not—”

Ron clearly hadn’t expected Harry’s retort to be quite so sharp and direct. Combined with Hermione’s knowing, half-smiling expression of amusement, his face turned redder than the sun that had just set beyond the horizon.

“I wasn’t planning to make excuses,” Ron said vaguely, stumbling over his words. “I just, well, maybe I might need to borrow your Invisibility Cloak for a bit, Harry. If that’s okay.”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot you’d asked.”

Harry shrugged. He pulled the Invisibility Cloak from his bag and tossed it down to Ron across several steps, then turned and continued climbing upstairs without another word.

“I’m going to the library, Harry—”

When they reached the second-floor landing, Hermione called out to Harry somewhat hesitantly.

Harry just shrugged again without saying anything and continued climbing the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower.

Watching Harry’s somewhat dejected back as he ascended, Hermione blinked her brown eyes thoughtfully, wondering whether she should tell Harry that the New York Ghost newspaper had already reported that Professor Watson had left New York and was now back in Britain.

But in the end, she said nothing and kept the information to herself.

Harry’s biggest problem was that he put everything related to Voldemort above absolutely all else in importance.

But what Professor Dumbledore and especially Professor Watson had been consistently trying to teach them, trying to emphasize, was that what they should actually be doing now was arming themselves with knowledge and magical skills, focusing on their current lives and education rather than obsessing over things beyond their control.

Every summer evening, the sound of the wind sweeping through the dense Forbidden Forest was like the pleasant, rhythmic ebb and flow of ocean tides under pale moonlight.

Breathing in deeply the familiar, nostalgic scent saturating the air and gazing with satisfaction at the magnificent castle he hadn’t seen for nearly two months, Bryan couldn’t help but smile with genuine contentment.

He had to admit, he was growing increasingly accustomed to life at Hogwarts.

A suppressed cry of pain and surprise suddenly carried on the evening breeze, drawing Bryan’s surveying gaze sharply toward the marble steps outside the entrance hall, toward the source.

Watching two small figures concealed beneath Harry’s Invisibility Cloak stumble and fall rather ungracefully in their panic at some apparent danger, then help each other up hastily and sneak as quietly as possible into the entrance hall, Bryan chuckled with amusement at the familiar sight.

He was in no particular hurry to return to his office and face whatever paperwork had accumulated. Instead, his gaze turned toward Hagrid’s small stone hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where warm lights had just come on, glowing invitingly.

After a moment’s consideration, he set off in that direction.

Hagrid opened the small window to let the cool evening breeze flow in and dispel some of the oppressive, stale atmosphere that had built up in the room during his absence.

Turning around carefully in the cramped space, he saw Fang eyeing with intense, undisguised interest the raw dragon meat he was currently using to treat his various wounds, pressing it against bruised flesh.

“Oh, here you go then—stop staring—”

Hagrid tossed the bloodied dragon meat impatiently toward the fireplace with his free hand, and Fang shot across the room after it like black lightning.

Freodom approached the wooden table carefully with a teapot clutched in his small hands. Under Dumbledore’s gentle, encouraging smile, he shakily filled the two cups on the table with steaming tea.

Without waiting for Dumbledore’s thanks, without meeting anyone’s eyes, he fearfully shrank back into the shadows by the cupboard, trying to be invisible.

Meanwhile, Bryan had been staring thoughtfully at the oil lamp on the mantle and its dancing flame, lost in contemplation, and hadn’t noticed Freodom’s.

“That’s how it is, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Watson—”

Hagrid dropped heavily onto his bed with a thud that made the entire frame bend under his weight. His eyes showed deep sadness and disappointment in himself as he said in his deep, rumbling voice.

“Gurg took all the remaining giants with him when he left. I reckon they must have been won over by the Death Eaters’ promises. I could only bring Grawp back with me. I couldn’t leave him there alone—Gurg wouldn’t have spared him. I’m sorry, Professor Dumbledore, I know I messed up the mission badly. Failed you.”

“There’s no need to apologize, Hagrid.”

After a few seconds of silence, Dumbledore’s expression softened and turned even more gentle with understanding.

“I’m certain you did your very best, didn’t you? This failure was actually my oversight, my miscalculation, not yours. The Death Eaters could offer the giants the violence and conquest I couldn’t promise them.

As for your brother Grawp, Hagrid, keep him hidden in the Forbidden Forest for now—it’s vast enough. I trust you can take proper care of him, and indeed, it is your responsibility as his family.”

Hagrid pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket with tears welling in his eyes and blew his nose loudly and wetly. Dumbledore’s kind words had touched directly on his deepest concerns and made him emotional.

The giants were undeniably a powerful force. If they appeared on any battlefield in a direct confrontation, it would be like a group of dragons charging mindlessly in, creating tremendous intimidation through sheer size and dealing a severe blow to their side’s core strength and morale.

According to Bryan’s own strategic thinking, he still wanted to nip this particular crisis in the bud before it could fully develop. He wouldn’t personally mind making another trip to the giant colony in the mountains without stopping to rest. But—

Glancing at Hagrid, whose shoulders were slightly trembling with suppressed emotion at the edge of the bed, Bryan sighed privately and reluctantly dismissed the aggressive idea.

Dumbledore seemed to know instinctively what Bryan was thinking. In the dim yellow lamplight that filled Hagrid’s hut, his bright blue eyes were fixed steadily on Bryan with knowing understanding.

“Let’s put this matter to rest for now, Bryan. We have new troubles to address now.”

Although he called it trouble, Dumbledore’s expression remained remarkably calm and untroubled. He pulled a letter from inside his purple robes and handed it across to Bryan.

“An official letter from the Ministry of Magic. An owl delivered it to my office early this morning.”

Bryan unfolded the letter carefully and scanned the text and the Minister’s official seal pressed into wax in the lower right corner.

A cold, humorless smile flashed briefly across his face.

“They want to plant someone at Hogwarts? Did they even bother asking my opinion?”

unopened for a millennium, swung open with a resounding boom!

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