The school infirmary was quite lively.

Word had spread that Harry had been attacked, and after having their wands checked, several young Gryffindor students came running out of the dormitory.

“I knew it, I knew it… That Richter dared to do something like this! He really is a full-blown Dark wizard!” Ron leaned against the bedside, fuming with righteous anger.

Worried that Madam Pomfrey might come over and scold them, he lowered his voice—but his anger still simmered.

Lying in bed, Harry gave a faint smile, though he kept unconsciously rubbing his neck. Clearly, he hadn’t yet shaken off the lingering fear.

Just recently, his throat had been slit. The pain, and the experience of nearly dying, still haunted him.

Hermione wore a conflicted expression. “Harry, are you sure it was Dawn Richter? Couldn’t you have seen wrong? You know… the castle was really dark tonight.”

“Hey, Hermione!” Ron interrupted indignantly. “What’s that supposed to mean? Harry was the one attacked, and you’re questioning what he saw?”

“No, no, I just…” Hermione, unusually flustered, tugged hard at her hair and finally said, “Alright. Sorry, Harry. I apologize.”

Her feelings were complicated. On the one hand, she didn’t believe Dawn was capable of such a thing. On the other hand… perhaps he was.

“It’s okay, Hermione. I understand. It does sound hard to believe.”

Harry had initially felt unsettled, but Hermione’s apology dissolved that discomfort.

Ron started cursing Richter again.

—Clearly, none of these young first-years had heard of Polyjuice Potion yet.

Neville, who had come with them, stood quietly behind the trio. He opened his mouth, wanting to say that Dawn wasn’t that kind of person.

But after mumbling a bit, he fell silent, lips pressed tightly together.

He lifted the white curtain separating the hospital beds and stepped out.

And at that moment—

Neville saw a stout middle-aged man enter the infirmary and approach another curtained bed.

….

“Murphy, how are you feeling?” The middle-aged man gripped Avery’s hand, his voice full of concern.

“Not bad,” Avery replied, sitting up halfway. His face was pale.

The Cruciatus Curse wasn’t something easily brushed off—especially not when his own body had been used to cut open a classmate’s windpipe…

The experience had been overwhelmingly surreal.

But right now, Avery had something more pressing on his mind.

“How did it go, Father?” he asked urgently.

“…It’s a bit of a mess,” the man sighed, lowering his voice.

“It’s caused quite a stir. After all, the one you almost killed is the so-called ‘Savior’ of the wizarding world.”

“And the Ministry of Magic and the newspapers—somehow they’ve already gotten wind of the incident… One of my friends in the Ministry told me even the Wizengamot is showing interest.”

His face grew darker as he spoke.

Even as one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight pure-blood families, they had still tangled with the wrong person.

This had happened at Hogwarts, the cherished symbol of wizardkind in Britain—and with the savior of the wizarding world involved, it was a political disaster.

Not to mention the ever-present factional competition and rivalries among the other pure-blood families…

The pressure they were about to face would be unimaginable.

“Oh, don’t worry, Murphy! It’s just some trouble—I’ll take care of it.” Seeing the unease in his son’s eyes, the man forced a smile to reassure him.

Avery took a deep breath, calming himself. “Thank you, Father.”

The man wiped the sweat off his son’s forehead and handed him a cup of warm water.

After checking the time, he said, “In a little while, a reporter from the Daily Prophet will be here to interview you. Just tell them exactly what you know… Leave the rest to me.”

“Exactly what I know?” Avery caught a hidden meaning in his father’s words.

“Exactly.” The man nodded meaningfully, emphasizing each word.

“Just like you wrote in your letter—it was that little brat, Dawn Richter, who attacked you. This was all his scheme. You were nothing but an innocent victim.”

“But… I’m not entirely sure the person I saw was actually him,” Avery hesitated.

“And if it really was Richter, then why use the Cruciatus Curse on me and then turn me into him? Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose?”

He thought the plan had far too many holes.

“Oh, that’s not important, my dear son.”

The man clapped a firm hand on his son’s shoulder with a smile.

“Whether or not he’s truly the attacker will be decided by the Ministry of Magic! Our job is to give public opinion a story that clears you of any suspicion.”

After a moment of silence, Avery pressed his lips together and whispered, “You’re right.”

He let go of the weight in his heart.

Even if the article would put Richter in a terrible light… Even if he had once considered bringing Richter to his side…

Right now, clearing his name was more important than anything else.

….

Just then—

As the father and son were discussing how best to frame their statement, a rustling sound came from behind the bed curtain.

Then a slightly trembling voice broke into the conversation.

“You… You can’t do this! Dawn is innocent—he’s a good person!”

Startled, the man turned to see a pudgy boy, fists clenched, stepping through the curtain with a determined face.

Damn. He’d forgotten to cast a Silencing Charm… Old Avery frowned.

“You’re… that Longbottom kid, aren’t you?”

He examined the boy carefully, and upon recognizing him, his expression grew serious. “Are you speaking on behalf of the Longbottom family?”

“What… what do you mean, ‘on behalf of the family’?” Neville looked confused.

Old Avery studied him for another moment, then relaxed and reached out to pat Neville on the head with a kind smile.

“Nothing, child… I just mean, it’s getting late. As your distant relative, I suggest you head back and rest. The castle isn’t exactly safe right now.”

The Longbottoms still held significant sway in the Ministry, more than the Avery family. If they chose to get involved, that would complicate matters.

But it seemed the boy had only come out of misplaced loyalty.

Which made sense.

The Longbottom family, mainly influential within the Auror Office, had kept a low profile ever since the end of the last wizarding war.

Neville shrank back from the man’s touch, instinctively pulling his head away. He stared at Old Avery’s kindly face, then suddenly turned and bolted out of the infirmary.

Neville knew he was clumsy, unsure of what to do next.

So, he decided to write to his grandmother.

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