Chapter 233: Late July

Throughout his life, En had never had any concept of his original body’s family.

Were they all Muggles, or wizards from the Wizarding World?

As he entered the Tower, he felt a faint curiosity.

Since the Four Founders placed it there upon the castle’s completion, the Book of Admittance’s pages had not been touched by a human finger for a thousand years.

Normally, no one except the headmasters of Hogwarts and the professors responsible for welcoming students could ever see the Book of Admittance or the Quill of Acceptance.

Now, his small bag trembled continuously, and the pouch given to him by Headmaster Dumbledore slipped out.

Indeed, it took the form of a Niffler, crawling out of the pouch just like a real Niffler, pulling a letter from its belly and handing it to En:

【I have always believed that a wizard not knowing his own birthday is an unpleasant thing—it means he has one fewer reason to celebrate in this world.】

The letter burned away within seconds, and like some form of authorization, it made the previously blurred Book of Admittance before En’s eyes grow sharp and clear.

“Thank you.”

En said, gazing toward the north where the Headmaster’s Office stood.

Far away, beyond the corridors, the spiral staircase, and the bubbling kettle in the Headmaster’s Office.

Behind the kettle, Dumbledore blinked as if sensing something.

Though he knew the Headmaster could not receive his thanks, En would remember this kindness.

He stepped forward and carefully opened the Book of Admittance, his movements as cautious and as filled with anticipation as Professor McGonagall’s each year when she came to consult it.

He not only anticipated the date, but was deeply curious about these two alchemical creations.

They were among the most top-tier alchemical artifacts of Hogwarts.

The Book of Admittance felt smooth and supple to the touch; its black dragonhide cover had begun to peel.

As he turned the pages, time itself seemed to flow between his fingers—over a dozen centuries of every name ever admitted to Hogwarts had appeared and vanished upon these pages.

Near the back, En saw his own name: En Green, born on the twenty-seventh of July.

Though there were no further records about his original body’s origins, the moment he saw that date, En felt a new connection between himself and the world.

Perhaps, as Headmaster Dumbledore had said, a birthday gave one another reason to celebrate in this world.

Before these legendary artifacts grew dim again, En seized the moment to observe them closely.

He noticed that the feather of the Quill of Acceptance differed little from the feather of a Thestral described in “Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them,” yet strangely, Thestral feathers repelled water, and the inkwell was empty.

Then how did it write?

En stared, entranced, as a silvery liquid slowly flowed from the quill’s tip.

“En—”

Hagrid’s voice called from the doorway; En gently closed the book and hurried toward the entrance.

“How did it go—Dumbledore quietly asked me to bring you—”

Hagrid’s beard was unkempt; he reached to pat En’s shoulder, then instinctively pulled his hand back.

It wasn’t easy—he had restrained himself—and so he proudly lifted his beard.

“Hagrid, I’m grateful.”

En said.

“Oh, oh—no need, oh, really—grateful for something like this—”

Hagrid’s voice grew quieter as he spoke.

He was a straightforward and just man, possessing a massive frame yet always saddened by small things.

Outside the Tower, En sensed Hagrid had finally relaxed—he no longer thought of hiding in his cabin, waiting for Headmaster Dumbledore to expel him.

Thus, En easily arranged to meet him in the Forbidden Forest that evening.

Hagrid repeatedly warned En: no more detentions, and no student was allowed to wander the Forbidden Forest at night.

Of course, he automatically ignored the school rule forbidding students from entering the Forbidden Forest entirely.

…

The gloomy March had given way to April, a month of storms and rain; many nights were drenched in wind and downpour. A rare clear day had arrived, and the edge of the Forbidden Forest was crowded with young wizards.

As evening approached, the young wizards reluctantly returned to the castle.

En walked across the lawn, still dry from the day’s sun, his path opposite to that of the students returning to the castle.

Against the crowd, he noticed certain unusually bright stars had already begun to gleam.

Stars, astronomy—it was linked to Divination magic. In simple terms, celestial patterns could help wizards who understood them foresee the future.

This was not like Professor Trelawney’s occasional accurate prophecies, but a true, traceable branch of magic.

En had always found Professor Trelawney’s prophecies terrifying: in a short time, she would utter a hundred prophecies—all false, yet somehow one would be real.

And she herself didn’t know which one was real.

Could anything be more terrifying?

En did not wish to know his own fate, but he was utterly fascinated by Divination.

Centaurs were the mysterious beings who truly mastered the magic of prophecy; En did not know if he could find them in the Forbidden Forest, nor whether Filius was currently inclined to become a Divination professor.

But he wanted to try.

He always carried the purest passion for magic.

The Forbidden Forest drew nearer; the name “Hagrid” on his plan map grew closer.

In the top-left corner of the plan map was a small booklet recording his previous practical performance at the checkpoint:

Herbology helped him pass Devil’s Snare, Transfiguration conjured a flute to lull the three-headed dog to sleep, Charms enabled him to pass the key puzzle, Dark Arts helped him defeat the chess pieces, and alchemically crafted brooms and paper airplanes bought him precious time…

It seemed clear: knowledge truly was power.

En gazed at the night sky now dotted with stars,

Magic—what else awaited him?

…

“You have two hours until curfew; I can only introduce you—but whether it will agree is another matter entirely.”

Hagrid said, glancing at the ample time remaining.

En followed Hagrid into a forest clearing, where the ground was carpeted with soft moss from which the trees grew;

Their branches, thick with lush leaves, allowed beams of soft, dappled moonlight to spill across the entire clearing.

Hagrid sat against a tree trunk on the muddy ground, arms tightly crossed over his chest. He had no interest in the confusing, incomprehensible astronomy knowledge, but he knew one thing: centaurs were not friendly magical creatures—he must keep a close eye on En.

A tall centaur stood at the center of the treeless clearing, his eyes an unusually vivid blue.

“En Green.”

He said.

At that moment, more movement came from the woods—a thunder of hooves—and soon, a large group of centaurs appeared before En and Hagrid.

“Filius, remember this is the knowledge of the centaur tribe!”

A slightly older centaur, though not by much, bellowed.

Fourth watch of the night