[91] Roots and Ruin

The trees in the Forbidden Forest were tall and dense, like a giant green wall. Sunlight could hardly penetrate the canopy. The ground was covered with a thick layer of fallen leaves, rustling softly under Hall's feet. Occasionally, unknown creatures called from afar — low growls or sharp hisses.

But Hall remained calm, accustomed to this environment. His steps were light, skillfully avoiding hidden traps. He traversed each creature's territory carefully, trying not to disturb them.

Finally, he reached the deepest part of the forest. A towering castle stood among the tall trees. A tight protective barrier surrounded it, impenetrable, impossible to enter or leave without the correct symbols.

Hall entered the symbols, unlocking the barrier.

He looked up at the highest tower. An elderly man with white hair leaned against the window, frail and weak — a gentle breeze could topple him. When Hall arrived, the man extended a thin, bony hand and waved.

If one didn't know him well, one might mistake him for a terminally ill elder. But the past two weeks had given Hall a clear understanding of his character.

"What a show-off." Hall rolled his eyes and strode into the castle.

"Oh, so my brilliant student has finally remembered to visit his poor teacher?"

Grindelwald still wore his patched robe, but it looked brand new, and his complexion was much better.

Hall didn't answer. He went straight to the cabinet by the wall and opened it. Inside were the potions he had specially prepared. He tapped the vial — less than a third had been used.

Someone hadn't been taking his medicine.

"Teacher, do you still want to regain your health?" Hall felt helpless. Even if the medicine was highly effective, it was useless if the patient wasn't cooperating.

Grindelwald pursed his lips, a rare hint of embarrassment. But it vanished. "Is that even fit for a human? No way!" Guilt flickered in his eyes.

"Of course medicine doesn't taste good!"

Seeing Grindelwald's expression, Hall was exasperated. He threatened, "If you don't take your medicine on time, I'll tell Headmaster Dumbledore."

Grindelwald's face stiffened. Finally, he nodded helplessly, promising to take his medicine on time.

Grindelwald's meeting with Hall was never merely a reprimand.

Grindelwald's meeting with Hall was certainly not to receive a reprimand from this "doctor."

Hall walked to the only three-legged chair and sat down. Grindelwald, leaning against the window, gestured with his chin toward the table. Hall reached out and took the letter. The familiar patterns told him it was a reply from the Saints.

The Saints had acquired all the mines and completed all preparations, awaiting only the bidding process. The letters were from Carlo, who wanted the mines distributed according to each family's contribution — ensuring fairness while winning loyalty.

Hall had no objections. He only cared about making money.

He picked up a quill and wrote a reply, agreeing to the arrangement. The remaining task was a detailed report on the mines. As Hall had anticipated, the acquisitions included five coal mines, three oil mines, and two gold mines. The coal mines were the largest and deepest.

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Hall smiled. He was very satisfied.

"Oh, judging by your expression, you're very satisfied." Grindelwald teased him.

"Indeed. Now we can move to the next step." Hall planned to use the profits to acquire several factories for weapons manufacturing.

Grindelwald read over his shoulder. "Weapons manufacturing?"

"That's the most profitable." Hall didn't look up.

Grindelwald, having experienced war himself, understood the value of weapons. Hall paused. "I remember the war in the Muggle world ended long ago. Everything is peaceful now."

He was silent for a moment, then rolled up the letter, went to the window, summoned Grindelwald's owl, and sent it.

"There will be no lasting peace. Some people won't allow it."

The words carried weight, like a prophecy. Grindelwald's eyes darkened. He recalled Dumbledore's words from when they first met.

While the ability to foresee was said to be hereditary in the Grindelwald family, the wizarding world was only so big. Hall, having been mistaken for a relative, naturally knew nothing of this.

He glanced at the sky — already dark. He quickly said goodbye and ran toward the castle.

The new term brought an unusual calm to Hall's schedule.

Several days had passed since the start of term.

This year had been quite relaxed for Hall. Without his teaching assistant duties, he had plenty of free time to devote entirely to developing new potions and gadgets.

He had been quietly waiting for an opportunity to speak with Sirius. Perhaps because it was his first time as a full-time instructor, Sirius was extremely busy, constantly preparing lessons. Even Harry hadn't seen him for days.

Finally, after a Transfiguration class, Hall bumped into a hurried Sirius in the hallway and arranged to meet him after dinner.

"Did you need something?" Sirius asked, his tone impatient. He was busily tidying his desk. "I have a lot to take care of!"

Sirius used to think being a teacher was wonderful. Now that he actually was one, he realised how tedious the job was. Even with Lupin's help, the lesson preparation materials piled up like a mountain.

He couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration for Snivellus's meticulousness — Potions class required preparing materials in advance and grading all the students' assignments. No wonder he was getting increasingly irritable.

The topic had drifted away. Sirius pulled himself back to reality and looked at the smug kid sitting in the chair opposite him, completely at ease.

"What exactly do you want to talk about?!"

"I want to ask about the Golden Cup," Hall said lazily.

Sirius thought for a moment. His cousin must have told Hall something.

"Didn't find it," he replied.

Hall nodded. How could they find the Golden Cup without Harry by their side?

"I'll handle the Golden Cup." Hall toyed with a small ornament on Sirius's desk. "But you have to do me a favour." He paused. "No, that's not quite right — this is ultimately a matter for the Black family. Your business."

He added, "It's about Regulus."

Sirius's face showed clear doubt. Even with his level of magic, he couldn't find the Golden Cup — how could this kid? He'd even wondered if the clues were wrong. But at the mention of Regulus, his attention sharpened.

"What is it? Is it urgent? I'll go to Dumbledore tomorrow to ask for half a day off."

Hall waved his hand. "It's not that urgent. You can go this weekend. Teachers don't need special permission to leave school on weekends."

He took a wooden box from his pocket. "Take this first. Go to this place and exchange it for this cabinet. Put the cabinet in Regulus's bedroom."

Hall paused. "You're now the heir to the Black family. No one else can enter without your permission, right? Including other Blacks."

Sirius nodded.

Hall wrote the location of Borgin and Burkes on a piece of paper and drew an image of the Vanishing Cabinet next to it. He handed the box and note to Sirius.

Sirius took them, frowning. He'd heard of Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley, but hadn't expected this Weasley to be connected to such a dark magic shop.

The wooden box seemed increasingly familiar. After some thought, he remembered — it was the box he'd used to dissolve the fragments of soul.

His hand froze. He stopped trying to open it and slowly placed it on the desk. He had witnessed the corrosiveness of the liquid inside and didn't want to experience it himself.

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