Before personally arranging the audience seats, the students always thought such work was easy, because during the last two matches, the Ministry of Magic had always prepared the stands overnight.
It was only when they actually started working that they realized the task was not as simple as imagined. Even though they were remodeling based on the Quidditch Pitch, there were so many nuances that made one suspect whether all the Ministers of Magic from around the world would come to watch the match.
Michael even seriously suggested to Vid, "Why not customize a special uniform for the match? Dumbledore will surely agree to give you a fake approval, maybe even personally take you to Madam Morse."
Vid: "…The high-backed chair you just conjured up has an extra leg."
The twilight glow added a layer of gold to the bustling field. Though most people were so tired they were nearly collapsing, it did not affect their enthusiasm for chatting and joking.
Yet beneath this lively facade, none of the students noticed that pairs of round eyes were watching everything from hidden corners. The professors, apart from setting up the field, were mostly focused on observing the students.
Zoe sat in a small space beneath the stands, her slender fingers dancing. A line of text swiftly appeared on the parchment before her—
"Miss Brown from Gryffindor arrived at the pitch at 3:20 PM… left the field for fifteen minutes… returned with traces of pumpkin juice at the corner of her mouth…"
Habi was hanging on an oak tree, his slender body almost completely concealed by the leaves, writing as he muttered to himself:
"Macmillan from Ravenclaw, arrived at 3:31 PM… took something resembling candy from his left pocket and stuffed it into his mouth…"
Maki lurked in the shadow behind a column, scanning the crowd through the wooden fence.
"Millicent from Slytherin… complained about doing servant's work… behavior consistent with usual, no anomalies…"
"Theodore Nott… frequently touching his sleeve… one hour and thirty-five minutes later, drinking a bottle of carrot juice… suspicious…"
The other house-elves were also recording the students' behavior:
"Vid Gray… three hours without eating or drinking, no anomalies found…"
"Harry Potter… no anomalies…"
"Hermione Granger… did not eat or drink, spared time to read twenty pages of a book… no other unusual behavior noticed…"
"Leian Caro… returned to the castle at one hour and fifty-seven minutes, stayed in the lavatory for three minutes… temporarily suspicious…"
"Daphne Greengrass… arguing with her sister… unusual behavior, temporarily suspicious…"
Laughter on the field continued; a few lower-year students pulled the streamers askew, giggling as they ran back for a fix, shoving each other as they ran, nearly pushing a small boy off the steps.
Vid casually steadied the brown-haired boy, and as the boy thanked him, Vid felt as though his eyes were briefly dazzled by something.
Vid turned his head, feeling something, and saw a pair of tennis ball-sized eyes in the shadows, blinking at him before quickly disappearing.
His heart stirred, as he looked around the environment, suddenly understanding something.
Indeed… Polyjuice Potion has only one hour's effectiveness per dose; gathering all the students at the Quidditch Pitch is an excellent way to verify without causing widespread panic.
Yet, whether the school's organized "hunt" will capture the intended prey remains unknown.
Vid shielded his eyes from the slightly glaring sunset, standing high, looking down at the bustling site, feeling an inexplicable premonition—
Such detailed and thorough examination might ultimately return empty-handed.
…
Inside the Headmaster's Office, the equally radiant orange-red light streamed through the high windows, bathing the spinning silver instruments. Dumbledore sat calmly in an armchair beside the Phoenix's perch.
The room had additional members, all elite Aurors from the Ministry of Magic.
A "murder incident" at Hogwarts Castle was certainly not a matter that could be easily covered up. Fudge strongly expressed that, to prevent panic, the discovery of remains should be kept secret until the culprit was caught.
This approach also helps to identify the offender, so both Dumbledore and Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office, consented to the measure.
Beside Dumbledore, the aged house-elf was organizing all the information, conducting a detailed check one by one.
A piece of parchment several times larger than a normal chalkboard was opened and hung on the wall, marking tiny names that subtly shifted.
Suspicious individuals were marked one after another, only to be constantly erased as new evidence was discovered.
Scrimgeour stood nearby, leaning on his hands, distrusting the house-elves' judgment, continuously scrutinizing, his brows furrowed deeply as if carved by a knife, his entire face appearing extremely grim.
"Dumbledore," Moody said in a low tone, "I found no suspicious characters in the castle. The Chamber of Secret, the cellars… even the dungeons that have been sealed for decades, I checked them all."
"I also found no traces of brewed or used Polyjuice Potion," Snape said. "Neither the storeroom nor my personal reserve box had any potion or critical materials missing."
"What if… the perpetrator uses a Transfiguration Spell instead?"
Returning to the castle, Professor McGonagall glanced at the Headmaster and whispered, "Like Grindelwald back in the day, maintaining another's form for a long time… though this requires extremely advanced Transfiguration skill, it might not be impossible."
Dumbledore chuckled lightly, fingers interlocked, saying, "If that's the case, we should be grateful—for maintaining a transformation for long requires extremely high-level magic power to support it, but even I occasionally need to pause and take a breath."
"So if indeed someone does that, they'll soon reveal themselves?" Kingsley, attending, understood and said, then continued, "But if, like my subordinate Tonks, it's a Metamorphmagus…"
"Such people won't be as prolific as Doxies! I've lived so long and only ever encountered one naturally born Metamorphmagus."
Moody banged his cane on the floor, gruffly saying, "But you're right, consider every possibility! Even those right beside you might not be trustworthy!"
He cast a fierce, suspicious glance at Snape, making his face darken, his gaze skeptically sweeping over everyone in the room, even Dumbledore.
Snape sneered coldly, "Truly touching professional integrity, Mad-Eyed."
Moody eyed him critically, almost outright saying—"I suspect you the most."
Phoenix Fawkes suddenly let out a cry, landing on Dumbledore's shoulder.
Dumbledore stroked Fox's head, saying, "Our opponent is indeed more cunning and dangerous than imagined, but there's no need to be constantly on edge."
He stood, his silver-white hair glinting in the sunset, his tone exceedingly gentle.
"After today, classes as usual, life as usual, be vigilant but do not blindly startle the snake."
Looking at everyone present, he said solemnly, "The third match will be the best bait and a superb trap. The culprit hidden in the school undoubtedly will also want to do something on that day."