Hogwarts: Bourne Returns from Warhammer

"Severus, you should believe what Mr. Weasley said this time. He shouldn't be lying."

A loud, breathy voice came from the doorway of the hospital wing, earning Madam Pomfrey a dagger-like look.

Dumbledore also quickly apologized to the lady. He had just arrived in such a hurry that he had forgotten the rules of this place.

"Weasley and Potter, how are the two young wizards doing?"

Snape noticed the emotion hidden in Dumbledore's words and frowned.

"They are in good condition. They are all superficial injuries. They will recover in two days without delaying their confinement. Are there any other problems? Is it possible that there are still things in Hogwarts Castle that you, the principal, are helpless to do? matter?"

Dumbledore did not answer the question, but first turned to look at Ron: "Mr. Weasley, I believe you have learned enough lessons tonight. Now you should go back to the dormitory and sleep well, right?"

Although Snape's words aroused a little curiosity, Ron still nodded vigorously as if he had been granted amnesty.

"Professor McGonagall is at the door. She will personally take you back to Gryffindor Tower. You can go now."

It wasn't until Ron walked out of the hospital wing tremblingly that Dumbledore looked away from Harry who was lying on the hospital bed.

The old wizard told Snape bluntly: "I just went to check the place where Harry fell unconscious. It was a secret room that had been sealed for a long time. I found the Slytherin logo on the wall, so that place should be It's sort of 'Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets'."

"What does 'it counts' mean? If it does, it means, if it doesn't, it doesn't mean..."

Snape's eyes suddenly widened. Although he had not personally experienced the accident, he had still heard rumors about the 'Slytherin Chamber of Secrets'.

"...Wait a minute, what are you talking about?
Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets? Is it the secret room that was opened decades ago?
I remember that a young wizard seemed to have died in Hogwarts at that time, and there was almost a big problem in the magic school. "

Dumbledore said: "Yes, so I have thoroughly checked the secret room. There is no dark magic or other dangerous magical animals there. Even the door of the secret room is an ordinary pastoral picture." Landscape portraits are not magical portraits that move at all.”

"That's what's really wrong," Snape said, not believing it at all.

Based on his knowledge of the founder of the same name as the Dean of Slytherin House, he knew that Slytherin was actually a wizard who pursued honor very much - even if the process might involve unscrupulous means, it could not hide the fact that he loved pursuing honor - Slater Lin would never leave his mark in a mediocre place.

Slytherin couldn't afford to lose that person.

"I think so too." Dumbledore agreed with Snape's point of view. "However, at this point in time, it may be difficult for us to find out the truth of the matter, so I temporarily re-sealed the secret room.

Severus, starting from tomorrow during the day, all the professors will come together to work together. We need to keep our nerves tight and pay attention to every corner of Hogwarts. After all, I don’t want the tragedy of decades ago to happen again..."

The old wizard looked at Harry who was lying on the hospital bed. He had been given a potion drip by Madam Pomfrey and was falling into a deep sleep.

"...At that time, it won't necessarily be the little wizard who gets hurt."
-
1853/10/31

Night falls in London as promised, and with it comes the city’s famous features:

Every street is transformed into the yellow mist of the miasma channel, which reduces one's vision during the day to only a few meters;
And at night, it becomes even less visible.

The remaining snow accumulated during the day gradually melted, leaving only a few ice clusters in the corners, making the cobblestones and sidewalks smoother.

The weather is still very cold, and the combination of cold wind and heavy fog makes people completely lose their desire to go out for adventure.

The warm and safe fireside at home seems more inviting than usual.

Except for the patrol policemen with duties and some excrement workers with wicker baskets and professional tools, almost no one else is willing to come out at night like this.

"Emanuel."

Gregson whispered a prayer.

Then, the young man who had just become a patrolman raised his arms and covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief without much concealment.

I don’t know if he couldn’t stand his partner, the “big smoker” Old John, who kept smoking, or he couldn’t stand the fact that he just passed a manure truck, or both.

The old John glanced sideways at Gregson, took another deep breath, and then dropped the butt of the hand-rolled cigarette at his feet.

Lift your foot - twist - press it off.

The whole set of movements, three steps, was completed smoothly, which shows that his daily... oh, no, to be precise, it should be "Ye" Chang's skills.

"Hey kid,
What the hell were you talking about? "

If it weren't for the fact that this kid was the illegitimate son of his old partner, and that damn guy had saved him several times, he would never have opened his mouth to talk to this little chick who had just joined the job.

"I……"

Old John didn't give him a chance to explain at all, and started talking directly.

“You what you.

Are you not used to the smell of cigarette smoke or the stench of feces? Having just become a patrol officer, you can achieve great things.

I know that your weekly salary is 21 shillings. Even if you include the bonus for catching thieves and risking your life, you will only get 5 or 6 pounds a month, which may not even be enough for medical expenses.

But you probably don’t know that.

The dung truck that just passed by is not included in the night wages paid by the dung collectors on this street. He sells the dung truck to factories in the city and farmers outside the city, and can make money in one night. 2 to 3 shillings.

These are ordinary excrement workers. If they are the 'gold diggers' who specialize in working underground and in the Thames River, the coins, metal tableware and other things they find in those two large cesspools can even be mined in a day. Possibly earning £4 or £5.

Why do you look down on others? "

As the first country to "complete" the bourgeois revolution, even though it is neither glorious nor revolutionary, aligning everything with "money" has long since become an important part of British values.

Therefore, faced with Old John's questioning, Gregson immediately became speechless.

As for retorting to him: Are you not a police officer patrolling at night like me?

Gregson really couldn't say it out loud. It is true that he is a "little chick", but he is also an authentic "old Londoner" who was born and raised in London.

Old John has been responsible for the night patrol in this area for almost twenty years. Let alone the distance, let’s take the manure collector who just passed by as an example. If he hadn’t sent Old John some cigarette money and match money on time every month, how could he have been able to do this all the time? Controlling the sewage wells of every household in these streets?

That's too beautiful to think about.

Since Sakura's national conditions are like this, there is no need for a Gregson to worry about the Queen and the Prime Minister. Now he just wants to earn his weekly salary of 17 shillings honestly, and his only additional ideal can be described in one sentence:
How can a man live under others for a long time?
One day, he will no longer have to do this job, no longer need to be a little Karami devised by the Lords and Commons lords based on the "boomerang strategy" (test it in the colonies first, and then move it back to the country if it works) .

He hopes that he can be promoted to Scotland Yard and become a Scotland Yard agent who inherits the tradition of the "Bow Squad" and whose main responsibility is to protect the royal family.

Of course, it is certainly not easy to complete this kind of class jump of "half-stepping into the ranks of old people".

Otherwise, in a small place like Britain, why would everyone have a hairpin for generations?
If you want to "raise the flag," you must first find an opportunity to be lifted up.

As for Gregson, he has already thought about it: he must first find a big case to solve, and then publish it in the newspapers, become famous, and show off his skills.

If it weren't for this kind of mentality, to be honest, he wouldn't be desperately trying to catch the thief. As old John said: Is it worth risking your life for only 21 shillings a week?
However, these 21 shillings per week have been saved for three months - all the 5 pounds needed to publish a tofu article in the newspaper - but the case that meets Gregson's needs, he also has Didn't come across even one.

The biggest case he has cracked so far was his involvement in the arrest of a captain who was trying to avoid debt and run away.

After the man was caught, he kept claiming that he was unable to repay the debts of the investors because the safe was stolen by the thief "Spring-Heeled" Jack.

Who doesn't know that this is a common argument used by those who avoid debts? Not only is it not credible, but it also has no special reason worthy of publicity.

Moreover, in such a case, Gregson was only responsible for the surveillance, and the final arrest work, that is, the step of handcuffing the man, was completed by his superiors, the patrol officers.

Naturally, most of the bonuses of more than ten pounds provided by several investors of the East India Company also went into the latter's pockets.

The more he thought about it, the more depressed he became, and the more he thought about it, the more aggrieved he became. Gregson couldn't help but spit out his breath: "Huh——!"

After exhaling and opening his chest and armpits, Gregson finally felt a little better.

He decided to finish patrolling Charing Cross Street in a while, and when he reached the street entrance, he would turn into the pub over there and sit for a while.

However, what was a little strange was that Gregson knew where the tavern was, but he just didn't want to remember its name.

Perhaps he subconsciously felt that just thinking of the tavern with the Broken Pot sign was a compliment to it.

Generally speaking, people who go to that kind of tavern have little money, but have too many bad habits caused by life. Basically, the people they will meet there are not very moral people - and these people are satisfying themselves When it comes to bad habits, standards tend to be lower.

They would gather in small groups to play dice, dominoes, and card games, or watch cockfights in tavern halls or bare-knuckle boxing in basements.

In addition, there are some other tricks.

The main reason why Gregson was attracted to that place was the light and noise that poured out from its windows and door.

On All Hallows' Eve, it seemed like a warm, vibrant haven to a man forced to walk the cold back streets, occasionally stuck in ankle-deep slush.

He was already considering whether to make an exception today and play a card game named after the "Italians who ruled France" with those scum.

"Cough-cough-"

Several heavy coughs beside him disrupted Gregson's imagination.

"Big | Smoking Gun" is back to his old habit.

Gregson thought to himself.

He didn't want to pay attention, he just wanted to take two quick steps to avoid the phlegm that might "miss" at any time.

However, a hand reached out and grabbed the cowhide bag issued by the authorities.

"Keep moving forward and don't look back. Don't look around. Don't slow down. Don't show your weaknesses."

Old John reminded him in a low voice.

It turned out that those coughs were just old John's disguise to cover up his speaking voice.

But sometimes people are so strange: the more others don't let you do something, you always want to do the opposite, and the main thing is to make yourself uncomfortable.

Gregson's steps involuntarily slowed down, which he really didn't mean to do, and his head glanced towards the street involuntarily.

"As stupid as a donkey..."

As Old John cursed in a low voice, Gregson immediately felt his waist and eyes tighten, and he was stabbed hard by his partner with a round-headed baton.

At this moment, he also noticed a "weird man" appearing at the intersection of Charing Cross Street on his right. The dim yellow light emitted by the gas street lamp stretched the figure of the man in a long line.

This figure is also a little too long.

Gregson suddenly realized what was wrong: the shadow was so long, and this "person" must be at least 8 or 9 feet tall, but a person of such a height looked so thin, and his coat was as thin as It looked like it was being held up by a bone stick.

"Spring-Heeled" Jack!
A name popped into his head.

And it belongs to a criminal.

In London in the past half year, "Spring-Heeled" Jack's reputation has skyrocketed.

It is said that this guy was a very clever thief, and many bankers and factory owners suffered. However, there are also rumors that although "Spring-Heeled" Jack robbed houses, he was actually a Robin Hood-like figure - he never seemed to attack the poor, and always targeted the rich.

But no matter what, "Spring Heeled" Jack is a very famous criminal. The appearance of a person suspected of this person gave Gregson an excellent opportunity to prove his abilities.

At least, that's what he thinks.

Therefore, Gregson hurriedly tried to untie the baton hanging on his belt. He felt that this was the key to whether he could stand out and be rewarded for his meritorious service.

"...What are you looking at?"

Old John finally became furious this time.

"You can see it when you see it, I can understand it; but I can't understand why you just look to one side when looking at the road?
See, there is a little boy wearing weird clothes over there. You should pay more attention to that person. "

This time, Old John spoke loudly, and while he was talking, he also took out something that the authorities would never issue, but that he would hide in his bag when he was on patrol - he The Gouda pistol acquired during elephant riding in the colony - a short-barreled spray gun with four barrels.

"Click."

With a crisp snap of the lock, the Gouda pistol, which had been loaded with paper-cased fixed-loading ammunition in advance, changed from the folded state to the ready-to-fire state.

He held the gun with both hands and pointed the muzzle at another fork in the road that Gregson had just ignored. A strange figure also appeared over there.

However, compared to the tall and thin "Spring Heeled" Jack, this figure is much shorter. That was a child wearing a robe that looked great but was definitely not mainstream.

Halloween.

Much of the night.

A strangely dressed child.

……

This is simply weird fucking opening the door for weirdness, weirdness to the core. Compared to that "Spring Heeled" Jack, Old John was actually more afraid of this person.

I can't help it, this kid is so weird.

And this child was caught in that secret room, and was brought to this place and this time by the spell of Sherlock who came out of the portrait, Burne Slughorn.

At this time, Bourne was just staring at the signboard of a tavern across the street, with complicated thoughts in his mind. He was completely unlike a normal person who became extremely panicked because he was pointed at a gun. (End of chapter)