[168] The Weight of a Gaze

Vinda Rosier recalled her brief meeting with Hall. Clever — but merely clever. That was her impression. She glanced at Russell. "Since the young master trusts you, handle the aftermath. Whatever you want to achieve, you need to prove your strength. Unless you want to be an unappreciated waste."

"I understand, Aunt."

The two-way mirror went dark.

Russell stared at his own reflection. Flirtatious, passionate, romantic, profound — every aspect had once been his pride. In France, those looks were a ticket to high society. Add the Rosier name, and almost every door opened.

Except one.

The first time he'd heard the legend of Grindelwald, his heart had raced. He'd wanted to follow someone like that. But Grindelwald was defeated by Dumbledore. He'd never leave Nurmengard. Russell's dream shattered.

He thought he'd drift aimlessly forever.

Then — a turning point. Just as he was about to graduate, he encountered someone as powerful as he'd imagined. Dazzling. Eye-catching. The sole focus among millions. Even if he was only a second-year.

Russell took a deep breath. "Aunt is right. I need to demonstrate sufficient strength."

He clenched his fist. He had to do it quickly, well, beautifully. Satisfy Hall.

And pass his Wizarding Level Exams, which were approaching fast.

In the Chamber of Secrets, Hall began brewing.

"Helena, why can't your memory be any better?" He added dragon liver, beetle eyeballs, and evening primrose to the cauldron.

The potion turned a ghastly green. Failed.

"As expected."

"Hss~" You're really good at making potions, aren't you? Helena didn't understand. She clung to him, begging. Make it! Only by making the potion can she find her master!

"The potion I want to brew lets us share a memory. I only have the theory. No existing potions to reference." He shrugged. "At least the materials aren't too expensive. We have three Siren feathers — three tries."

Siren feathers could help recall deep memories. The most crucial ingredient. He also had unicorn materials, but he wasn't using them. The final potion was for Helena — a basilisk. He couldn't guarantee unicorn components wouldn't conflict.

"Let me think of another way."

He checked his talent panel. Should he upgrade again? He hesitated. He didn't lack Galleons. What he lacked was understanding. Independent thinking would help him master the abilities better. It just took time — and Voldemort couldn't get up anytime soon.

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"Hss~" Helena complained softly, but she wrapped around his hand, comforting him.

Hall patted her. "I'm not frustrated. Research is never smooth. But trust me — I just need time."

"Hss~" You're already amazing~ Compared to that other redhead~

Ron got caught in the crossfire.

"Achoo — " Ron sneezed loudly in the library, drawing Madam Pince's glare.

"Quiet, Ron." Hermione looked up from her book.

Ron pouted. "But I don't want to — "

Harry clamped a hand over Ron's mouth. Hermione shot him an approving look. Harry smiled shyly.

Ron's eyes bulged. "Traitor! Harry, you traitor!"

He bit Harry's hand.

"Ouch — "

They were all kicked out.

Harry and Ron breathed sighs of relief. The library atmosphere was unbearable. Finally, they were free.

But Hermione looked agitated. "No! I have to read more!"

Ron blinked. "Hermione, you've read enough! Gryffindor know-it-all!"

He couldn't understand her intensity at all.

"No — that's far from enough."

A year ago, Hermione had simple ambitions: become a powerful witch, learn as much as possible, not waste her talent. But being outmatched by Hall had frustrated her.

She'd bounced back quickly. Hall was amazing. Powerful. Her goal became catching up, surpassing him. Having a firm target felt good.

Then came that exchange with Hall — like a spiritual connection. She'd glimpsed a broader world in his mind. She'd also understood the gap between them: she lacked his unwavering determination.

The idea of becoming Minister for Magic — which Hall had joked about — felt perfect. She refused to be mediocre. Being an Auror or Ministry employee wouldn't satisfy her ambition.

Minister for Magic. The one who governed the British wizarding world.

She wasn't someone who just talked big. She had to work toward it. What should one study to become Minister? Not just magic — pure-bloods, half-bloods, Squibs, Muggles. The Ministry's power struggles. Each department's function. Power distribution.

She had more to learn and less time. She wished she could stretch each day into two.

Weekend. Third-years and above went to Hogsmeade. Ron and Harry watched enviously as the older students left Hogwarts.

"Hall, our dear little brother! We won't forget your candies from Honeydukes!" Fred shouted.

"And mine!" Ron added.

"Good heavens — who was that?"

"Maybe Peeves?"

"Never mind!"

Fred and George strolled out arm in arm.

Ron looked at Hall with teary eyes. "Hall... I want to — "

"No, you don't." Hall held up a hand.

His older brothers had started treating him like he was omnipotent. Whenever they had a problem, they came to Hall. He didn't want to spoil them into helpless children. He wasn't their personal problem-solver.

"Next year you can get Mum's signature and go properly. Even if you sneaked out now, could you hide it from everyone?"

Hall glanced at Harry. Harry winked shyly, looking like the most obedient child.

Hall rolled his eyes. Judging by Ron's darting eyes, they'd planned to use the Invisibility Cloak. Harry knew Ron's thoughts and hadn't stopped him — they were accomplices.

Ron's shoulders slumped. "I knew it..." He muttered resentfully. "I just wanted to try..."

"Want some pudding tarts?" Hall didn't know how else to comfort him. He was curious about Hogsmeade too, but he didn't mind waiting until next year.

"Taste about seven-tenths like Mum Molly's."

Ron perked up instantly. "Really? That's Molly's cooking! The Hogwarts house-elves are that good?"

Hall mumbled something noncommittal. It wasn't the Hogwarts elves — it was Misty, the elf who cared for Grindelwald. Grindelwald had left behind more than money: the loyal remnants of the Saints, and Misty.

Misty's culinary skills were superb. Hall had described Molly's cooking to Grindelwald a few times, and Misty had recreated a pudding tart that tasted six or seven parts similar. If she could taste Molly's original, she'd nail it perfectly.

Hall swore he wasn't a glutton. But at Hogwarts, unlimited Molly-quality pudding tarts were irresistible.

Misty appeared in the Slytherin common room and, after a series of clattering sounds, a perfectly presented pudding tart — sweet, eggy, milky — appeared on the Slytherin table.

Harry and Ron: "?"

Draco, who happened to be looking for Hall: "?"