Chapter 1249: The Administrator and Old Traditions

Most Alchemists achieve limited success, and if they want to produce something remarkable, it often requires years of dedicated research, which does not align with Percy’s life plan.

So, when choosing courses in the sixth year, he never even considered taking the Alchemy class.

However, as Vid’s fame grew and his works became more influential, more wizards learned about the name of his Alchemy Professor “Terence Morry,” and Percy naturally received similar information passively.

He knew about Morry, but never really paid much attention.

Percy flipped the application form over twice, carefully scrutinizing the signature of “Terence Morry,” not only using detection magic but even rubbing it with his fingers.

But a signature is just a signature.

The ink was clear and the strokes were smooth; after many years, the parchment had become darker in color and softer in texture, the ink slightly spread, with subtle wear at the edges…

These are all very difficult to forge flawlessly.

And if someone used the Gemino Curse or a Transfiguration Spell, Percy believed he had the ability to identify it.

Besides, being a son of the Weasley Family, who would use such tactics to guard against him?

Percy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and, with annoyance, tossed the application aside, refocusing his attention on the pile of documents.

He opened another application form—one from a Ravenclaw named Anthony Goldstein… hmm, of the Goldstein Family…

Then another.

Susan Bones… this time from Hufflepuff, a pure-blood.

Percy forced himself to forget his recent disappointment and continued recording names, signatures, application dates…

He knew well that what he was doing now was a pointless waste of time, yet this was the correct procedure.

But a name lingered in his mind—

Morry! Morry! Morry!

Why did it have to be Terence Morry?

Finally, Percy threw the pen onto the desk with a clatter, suddenly stood up, and the already unstable chair fell to the ground with a loud “thud.”

The harsh collision echoed in the archive room, Percy paused, pushed the door open, and strode away.

…

Filch hunched his back, tearing a remaining piece of lunch chicken into strips to place in Mrs. Loris’s food bowl.

“Eat up,” the old caretaker squinted and said, “Next time, you meet those unruly kids, run a little faster.”

Mrs. Loris’s squinting mimicked her owner almost perfectly; she lowered her head, sniffed, and then daintily swallowed two strips of meat.

Filch leaned back against the chair, smiling contentedly.

Beside him, two crabs leisurely crawled across the table, puffing out bubbles of various sizes from their mouths.

Those soap-like bubbles landed on the ink-stained table, bursting with a “pop,” and the stains disappeared.

Near the fire pit, several other crabs lay as if basking in the warmth, emitting faint purring noises, occasionally releasing small colorful bubbles.

The crabs wore hats of various colors—brown fisherman hats, orange berets, Santa’s pointy hats, sailor hats with ribbons, and even furry Russian fur caps.

Beside Filch was a round wicker basket, from which he pulled out a crochet hook and a ball of red yarn, starting to leisurely crochet a red bowtie as he rocked in his chair.

This was a new pastime he added in his spare time.

For many years, Filch hardly had any leisure moments.

Because whenever he had free time, he would wander the campus, catching those trying to sneak into secret passages or the Forbidden Forest or students running around at night without sleeping.

Seeing students breaking school rules showing terrified expressions, running around in panic due to his pursuit, his heart would race with excitement, blood rushing to his head, and his temples pounding.

But in recent years, Filch gradually learned to steal leisure moments amidst busyness, even entering a retirement-like mode.

Especially after the ordeal with Barty Crouch Jr, he no longer pursued elusive magical talents or obsessed over punishing errant students.

Now his greatest joy comes from preparing little gifts for Mrs. Loris and the little crabs—gifts they might never need in their lives.

“Bang, bang, bang, bang!”

A fierce knock suddenly sounded.

The bubbles “pop” burst all at once; the sleeping crabs awoke instantly, scuttling around, quickly tucking themselves into various corners of the room—

Roof, door frame crevices, atop the archive cabinet, under the bed, even in the shadows of the charcoal basin.

—This wasn’t hiding out of fear, but preparing for an ambush.

Filch slowly stood up, opened the door halfway, and saw a stern-faced Percy.

“Mr. Weasley.” Filch opened the door a bit wider and asked, “What’s the matter?”

Percy glanced into the dim room, not paying much attention, pulled out the large black key from his pocket, and handed it over.

“I’ve temporarily finished my work for today, but I still need to continue later.”

Percy raised his chin and said, “I’ve locked the archive room door; I’ll return the key to you, and I’ll come back tomorrow to borrow it again.”

Filch took the key, weighed it in his palm, and said:

“Really, you don’t need to bother; you can return it after you’re done. Anyway, it’s just a pile of useless paper that nobody needs; it won’t run away.”

“It’s better to follow the rules,” Percy pulled out a smile, “Those aren’t waste paper, but important school documents.”

“Okay, you’re the Ministry of Magic officer; you decide.” Filch casually slid the key into his pocket.

“Then I’ll come find you tomorrow morning… Eight o’clock, will you be available?” Percy asked.

“Of course.” Filch looked up sluggishly at Percy, who was much taller than him, and said slowly, “Eight o’clock… I usually stay in the Great Hall.”

“The Great Hall works too.” Percy nodded, then casually said, “By the way, Mr. Filch, I noticed a problem during the registration process…”

He paused, his gaze falling on Filch’s face, and said:

“Why are some students’ guardian signature fields signed by school professors? Isn’t that against the rules?”

“School professors?” Filch asked, somewhat puzzled, “Who?”

Percy frowned and said, “It’s Vid Gray’s form, the signature is by Professor Terence Morry! Does it mean his parents disagreed for him to go to Hogsmeade and the school professor granted an exception?”

“Oh… Vid Gray… right!”

Filch seemed to suddenly remember and said, “Generally speaking, it should be signed by the parents or other guardians, but there are exceptions.”

“According to old rules, mentors and godfathers have the same authority as biological fathers in disciplining children… a thousand years ago it was like this, and of course, they can now.”

Percy frowned and said, “The problem is—Vid Gray’s father is clearly alive; why let the professor sign instead?”

“How should I know?” Filch said, his eyes somewhat cloudy, “I don’t care about students’ family matters.”