Hogwarts: I will not become the Dark Lord

"Knock, knock, knock!"

"Come in!"

The door on the second floor opened in response, and Jerry and Catherine entered the room, finding an old woman with white hair but a vigorous spirit sitting inside.

Wizards have long lifespans, and living to be one hundred and fifty or sixty years old is not uncommon for them. Therefore, despite her white hair, Jerry did not feel the old woman's age.

"Dumbledore wrote to me saying that he has a grandson vacationing in America, and at first I was skeptical," Seraphina Picquery said, putting down her teacup, her eyes twinkling with a smile. "Good children, come and sit down!"

Seraphina Picquery enthusiastically pulled the two to sit on the sofa. She carefully examined Jerry's appearance, and the originally kind and enthusiastic smile on her face suddenly froze, as if touched by some deep memory, while Jerry's gaze was immediately drawn to a wand on the coffee table.

"Oh, this wand," Seraphina Picquery noticed Jerry's gaze and explained softly, "This is my wand, a hawthorn wand with summer meadowsweet, carefully crafted by Violetta Beauvais, 13 ½ inches long, with a core of hair from a Rougarou. Violetta Beauvais once said that this wand's desire for dark magic is as strong and irresistible as a vampire's desire for blood."

As Seraphina Picquery finished speaking, she quickly put away the wand.

"Jerry Green, can I call you Jerry directly?" Seraphina Picquery asked, "Your face is quite similar to that of an old friend I knew when I was young."

"Dumbledore?" Jerry asked curiously.

"Yes, indeed, you do resemble him somewhat." Seraphina Picquery nodded with a smile, but her eyes seemed to hide a hint of deeper meaning.

"Is your hair color inherited from your grandmother? What about your parents? Why have I never heard Dumbledore mention this?" Seraphina Picquery continued to press.

"Actually, I'm not very clear about my own background. Dumbledore didn't say much about it, and I grew up in an orphanage." Jerry smiled awkwardly, unable to tell her that he had no grandmother, only two grandfathers!

"As for my hair color," Jerry continued, telling a lie, "I actually dyed it myself later." He tried to change the subject, "Do you think there's something wrong with it?"

"No," Seraphina Picquery smiled and shook her head, her eyes revealing a special meaning, "Just don't dye it gold!"

Seraphina Picquery's gaze fell on the quiet and elegant Catherine beside Jerry, and a hint of doubt arose in her heart: "And this is?"

Catherine immediately noticed her gaze and introduced herself with a smile: "Hello, I am Catherine Faircloth, it's a pleasure to meet you. I am Jerry's fiancée, you can call me Catherine directly."

"Faircloth?" Seraphina Picquery responded warmly to Catherine's greeting, but her thoughts drifted elsewhere.

She remembered that among the mysterious organization called Apostles, there seemed to be a bishop also named Faircloth. What does Dumbledore mean by this? Asking her to help investigate the Apostles one moment, and then having his grandson marry a high-ranking member of the Apostles the next?

"Jerry, you're still studying at Hogwarts, right? I didn't expect Dumbledore to have arranged your marriage so early!"

She turned to look at Jerry, only to see him still wearing that signature smile, while Catherine snuggled close to him, holding his arm tightly, as if announcing their intimate relationship to the world.

"When are you leaving America?" Seraphina Picquery asked suddenly, her tone tinged with urgency.

Jerry looked blank, and couldn't help but wonder.

She's asking when I'm leaving as soon as we meet. Did I do something wrong? Or do I look like a terrorist? Are the American people really so unwelcoming to me?

"In the next couple of days, I guess!" Jerry replied, "We have to go back to England!"

"You're leaving so soon?" Seraphina Picquery's words revealed a hint of regret, but Jerry keenly noticed that she seemed to have secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Child, you must remember, Dumbledore is not only an outstanding wizard, his wisdom and courage are unmatched. However, the reason he is deeply revered is even more because of the righteous faith he upholds, which guides people like a beacon!" Seraphina Picquery took Jerry's hand, her expression serious, as if she was instructing Jerry, which made Jerry feel a little inexplicable.

…

The light from the crystal chandelier cascaded down, illuminating the banquet hall as if it were daytime. Amidst the rustling of clothes and the gleam of hairpins, toasts were exchanged, and the low murmur of conversation flowed like a stream.

Jerry and Catherine finally managed to find an empty seat and sat down, looking around at the well-dressed men and women, all bigwigs of the Magical Congress of the United States.

"Tonight's banquet seems to have gathered quite a few old acquaintances!" Catherine's gaze swept leisurely across the crowd, and she teased in a low voice, her beautiful eyes flashing with a hint of playfulness, "It seems they haven't forgotten what happened at the coffee shop last time!"

Jerry appeared calm and unconcerned. He shrugged and casually raised the champagne in his hand to his lips, taking a small sip.

"That wasn't my fault, they were asking for death themselves, so they can't blame me! I was already being merciful!" Jerry replied casually, a cynical arc appearing at the corner of his mouth.

"Jerry Green? I already know your background, but so what? Don't forget, this is America, not Europe, and certainly not England!" Jefferson Picquery lowered his voice, almost squeezing the words out from between his teeth, his fist clenched tightly under the table, his knuckles starting to turn white.

"Oh, really!" Jerry replied casually, his tone tinged with sarcasm, as if looking at a clown, "Last time you came out of the coffee shop, your legs weren't as tough as your mouth!"

Hearing Jerry mention the coffee shop, Jefferson Picquery stood up abruptly and pulled out his wand, pointing it directly at Jerry's throat.

"Are you sure you want to point your wand at me?"

Jerry calmly put down the glass in his hand, met Jefferson Picquery's gaze with a calm expression, and his tone did not contain the slightest fear, but rather a hint of playfulness, as if saying: Are you worthy?

The surrounding guests turned their heads one after another, whispering to each other, and the atmosphere in the banquet hall instantly became tense.