By the next day, a new notice appeared on the Gryffindor noticeboard.
A crowd had gathered around it, but no one spoke. Everyone just stood silently, staring at the contents.
Harold squeezed in for a look and immediately understood why everyone was so quiet.
The notice said that the Dementors and officials from the Ministry of Magic would enter the castle on Saturday morning. Professor McGonagall requested that everyone remain in their common rooms during that time and refrain from going out.
"Only an idiot would leave the common room then," Ron muttered to Harry. "Who wants to stroll around a castle full of Dementors?"
Harry didn't answer. He just kept looking at the notice with a worried expression, barely touching his breakfast.
"They… they're really only going to be in the castle?" he finally asked. "What if one of them comes into the common room?"
"I doubt it. Professor Dumbledore won't let them," Ron said. "My dad sent me a letter yesterday… he warned me to be careful and said Dumbledore was furious."
"Because of the Dementors?"
"Yeah." Ron bit into a piece of buttered bread. "Dumbledore didn't want them in the castle at all, but Fudge insisted. They had a huge row about it at the Ministry.
"Dumbledore finally gave in and allowed them into the castle—but he flat-out refused to let them search the common rooms or the dormitories. My dad said he was really firm about it."
"They argued?" Harry asked in surprise. "But I heard Fudge really respects Dumbledore—he always comes to Hogwarts to ask for his opinion before making big decisions."
"That was before. Have you seen him at school recently?" Ron asked.
Harry shook his head.
"My dad said Fudge's had a taste of power. He's not on Dumbledore's side anymore." Ron leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially.
"He thinks Dumbledore is a threat to his position. This whole Dementor thing might even be intentional."
"Mr. Weasley told you that too?" Harold asked.
"No, that part was my guess," Ron admitted. "But the argument's real. It happened right in one of the Ministry corridors—loads of people heard it."
Harry fell silent again.
The day before the Dementors were scheduled to enter the castle, the wind howled and rain poured harder than ever.
But Harry's mood had improved somewhat—he had an idea. Maybe there was a way to handle a Dementor barging into the common room.
Professor Lupin must know how. He had used a spell on the train that had driven the Dementor away.
And today, they had Defense Against the Dark Arts. This would be the perfect time to ask him to teach it.
With that thought, Harry arrived early to wait in the classroom.
But Lupin didn't show up. When the bell rang, it was Snape who walked in instead.
"Where's Professor Lupin?" Harry asked instinctively.
"He says he's feeling unwell and won't be teaching today," Snape replied in a mocking tone. "Does that answer satisfy you? And Potter, I believe speaking in class before raising your hand earns Gryffindor a deduction of five points."
Lupin being unwell—was it because of that goblet Snape had brought him the other day?
It had to be. Snape had always wanted the Defense Against the Dark Arts post, and now he had it, even if only for a day.
Harry stared at Snape, which cost Gryffindor another five points.
Left with no choice, Harry swallowed his frustration and whispered his theory to the others.
Ron and Hermione both gave Snape suspicious looks, but Harold didn't react at all.
He knew Lupin wasn't sick—it was just the full moon last night. After transforming, he would've been completely drained, and now was probably resting somewhere.
Speaking of the full moon, Harold couldn't help but recall his own experience chewing mandrake leaves… definitely unforgettable.
"Mr. Ollivander." Snape's voice suddenly pulled Harold from his thoughts.
"Yes, Professor," Harold said, rising to his feet.
"You're to report to the Headmaster's office. Someone's asking for you," Snape said, glancing at him. Thɪs chapter is updated by novelFɪre.net
"Yes, now," Snape replied calmly. "Although I believe you'd benefit from this lesson, the visitor is impatient. You'd best not keep them waiting."
With envious looks from Harry and Ron, Harold packed up his things and left the classroom.
"Lucky him. Doesn't have to sit through Snape's class… Why doesn't anyone ever come asking for me…"
By the time Harold reached the corridor, Ron's voice had faded behind him.
At the entrance to the Headmaster's office on the eighth floor, the hideous stone gargoyle had already been moved aside—apparently in advance. No password was needed. Harold simply stepped onto the spiral staircase.
At the top, he knocked on the oak door.
"That must be Mr. Ollivander. Come in," Dumbledore's voice called from within.
Harold pushed the door open.
Inside, along with Dumbledore, stood another man—tall, lean, with coarse, grayish-yellow hair.
Harold had seen him before—inside the crystal ball.
"Rufus, this is Harold Ollivander, the only student who encountered Sirius Black," Dumbledore said, also revealing the visitor's identity.
Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office… No wonder Snape had let him leave mid-lesson. If Scrimgeour asked, Snape wouldn't dare refuse.
Scrimgeour turned, sharp eyes locking onto Harold…
In that instant, Harold sharply felt something intruding into his mind. At the same time, Dumbledore subtly straightened in his chair behind the desk.
But neither of them reacted.
A second later, Scrimgeour let out a low groan, clutching his forehead as a flicker of pain crossed his face.
"Are you all right, Rufus?" Dumbledore asked with concern.
"I'm—fine," Scrimgeour said, his expression returning to normal almost instantly. "Just a little disoriented. It's been a hectic few days."
"I see," Dumbledore said knowingly. "Though your reaction just now reminded me of someone who once attempted Legilimency on Mr. Ollivander… Oh, don't misunderstand—I know you wouldn't do that, of course. I've said many times: Harold is an Ollivander, and surely you know what that means."
"Of course," Scrimgeour said through gritted teeth, his face tight.
He remembered now—every Ollivander was trained in a special form of Occlumency. Anyone attempting to read their minds would pay a heavy price.
He really should've remembered sooner.
But with the constant pressure of failing to capture Sirius Black, Scrimgeour had acted on instinct when he met Harold. He'd used Legilimency, hoping to see the truth directly.
What he got instead was the feeling of slamming into a spiked steel wall—each spike laced with the Cruciatus Curse.
The pain was so intense that even he, a battle-hardened Auror who'd faced death countless times, couldn't stop himself from crying out.