"Creak, creak..."
In the dead of winter, three cloaked figures walked down the road in the middle of Hogsmeade Village. After a brief pause at a crossroads, they separated, with one continuing forward and the other two heading towards the Three Broomsticks Inn.
As soon as the door was pushed open, the wet chill of the snow was immediately swallowed by a wave of warmth wrapped in honey, hot butter, and the scent of wood smoke. Holly and mistletoe hung from the ceiling of the inn, and the fire in the hearth burned brightly, casting a golden and lazy light over the entire hall.
Madam Rosmerta was deftly using a Magic Wand to direct a row of cups to wipe themselves clean. The regulars gathered around the newly arranged tables, some joking and laughing, while others dozed off in the corners.
The two figures in thick Travel Cloaks walked in, bringing with them a gust of cold wind and a few snowflakes. Many people instinctively glanced over and saw that they had pulled their fur-edged hoods low and raised their scarves to below their eyes, leaving their faces completely obscured.
Such attire was not uncommon in the cold December. Madam Rosmerta asked with a smile, "What would you like to drink, guests?"
The taller one walked up to the counter, set down several Golden Galleons, and said, "A room with a double bed, something quiet."
His voice was very low, carrying a hint of a foreign accent.
Madam Rosmerta's gaze swept over the two of them, but she didn't ask any further. She just took out a key and pushed it over: "The innermost room upstairs. Would you need dinner sent up?"
"Yes, please," the slightly shorter one said, his voice a bit livelier.
Madam Rosmerta nodded, watching them turn and head towards the stairs, seeing their Cloaks flare up on the steps, revealing the finely crafted Dragon Skin Boots underneath.
...
The door closed, and an Imperturbable Charm was silently cast.
The taller one lifted his hood, revealing none other than Hosone, the former president nostalgically sought by many from the American Magic Congress.
He walked to the window, lifted the curtain, and saw that the street was already deserted, with only a line of footprints stretching into the distance, gradually covered by the heavy snow.
He couldn't help but lower his voice, asking worriedly, "Is it reliable to entrust Ezra to that person? Can he really persuade Dumbledore to treat Ezra?"
"He doesn't do anything he's not confident about. Since he chose to take the child, he must have already obtained Dumbledore's permission on the way here."
Antoine said, lifting his hood as well, and walked to the fireplace to light it with a Magic Wand.
"Who exactly is he?" Hosone pressed on.
"He's someone who can help you... As for the rest, you'll know when you need to know." Antoine took out a flask, poured a cup for each of them, and said, "A little? This is top-quality Macallan whiskey."
Hosone sat opposite him, picked up his cup, but didn't drink. He just sighed, "I'm sorry, it's not that I doubt your arrangements. It's just... Hughes is my only friend, and if anything were to go wrong, then I..."
"I understand," Antoine said, "but whether it succeeds or not, I think you'll soon receive news."
...
The heavy snow fell quietly, covering everything in sight—the pointed houses, the exterior fences, the distant, dark Forbidden Forest, and the road underfoot, where the boundary line was almost imperceptible.
In the snow, only one cloaked figure walked unhurriedly. His breath condensed into a cloud of white mist in the cold air, which quickly dissipated, leaving behind a trail of deep and shallow footprints.
He began as an unremarkable black-haired young man, appearing to be in his early twenties, with only a pair of calm brown eyes setting him apart.
But as he passed through the village and walked past a small grove, a subtle transformation occurred—
His height seemed to shrink slightly, his shoulders narrowed, and the contours of his face became gentler.
When he emerged from the other side of the grove, he had transformed into a fifteen or sixteen-year-old boy. His gray eyes looked toward the distant castle, and he quickened his pace unconsciously.
Just then, a cooing sound came from the bundle he carried, the baby inside waking up and tentatively stretching out its arms and legs.
Vid glanced down, reached out to gently prod the baby's soft cheek, and whispered, "Almost there, just hold on a little longer."
The baby was very obedient, not crying or fussing, merely opening its mouth for a small yawn before starting to play with its fingers.
Vid smiled, using his Cloak to shield the baby from the falling snow as he continued towards the school.
The gates of Hogwarts loomed ahead, with Filch already waiting at the entrance. This perpetually sullen caretaker paced back and forth, almost flattening the snow beneath him.
Upon seeing Vid approach, he immediately broke into a smile, quickly stepping forward to open the gate.
"Vid, when did you leave the school?"
Filch grumbled, "When Dumbledore asked me to open the gate for you, he gave me quite a scare. Next time, just tell me directly and it'll be fine. Aren't you worried the Headmaster will dock points from your house?"
Vid blinked.
After all he'd been through in the United States, upon returning, the first thing he heard was "house points"… this gave Vid a strange feeling of disconnection.
He paused and then smiled, "Professor Dumbledore sent me on an errand, so there's no worry about losing points."
"That's good then."
Filch first breathed a sigh of relief for him, but then began to mumble and grumble again, "What kind of task would require a student to go? Not to be nosy, Vid, but look at everyone else, just waiting to celebrate the holiday at school! Yet you have to go out in the snow... Sometimes you should just say no, kid, the Headmaster can't make you do someone else's job... Oh!"
Suddenly, he noticed the bundle in Vid's arms, most importantly, that there was a living baby inside that bundle.
The caretaker's eyes widened, pointing first at Vid, then at the baby, as his throat caught, finally managing to say, "Merlin, Vid! You... you couldn't have..."
"This is not my child, nor is he related to me by blood." Vid hastily explained, "He's a... a friend's friend's baby, and there's something we'd like to ask Professor Dumbledore about."
"Oh, oh... I see..."
Filch pretended he believed it. The strange and reclusive caretaker didn't ask further, stepping ahead with his lamp, occasionally stealing glances at the bundle as if trying to discern if the baby's features resembled Vid's at all.
Vid, amused and exasperated, didn't pursue further clarification.
To him, it seemed that even if he were misunderstood, it wouldn't be such a big deal... Things that used to concern him a lot now seemed irrelevant.