Chapter 325 — Rotherham Church
Ron's sudden outburst completely shattered the lingering tension.
What had been a slightly heavy atmosphere dissolved almost instantly. Hagrid's reaction was subtle—his thick beard hid most expressions—but the way he began fussing over Fang, teasing and patting the dog absentmindedly, made it obvious that his fear of Voldemort had eased.
Alexander understood at once why Hagrid hadn't been visiting the castle recently.
Riddle was inside.
"Oi—why are you that afraid of spiders anyway?" Alexander asked, shooting Ron a look. He noticed that Hagrid's massive hand was still trembling slightly as he scratched Fang behind the ears.
"Well—well—fine, I'll tell you!" Ron snapped back, clearly resigned to his fate. "You forced it out of me."
"When I was three, Fred turned my—my teddy bear into a huge, ugly spider because I broke his toy broom."
He shuddered violently.
"If you'd gone through that, you wouldn't like them either. Imagine hugging your teddy bear and suddenly it grows legs and—"
The world once again entered a timeline where only Ron was injured.
Lupin and Hagrid eventually exchanged a stiff but peaceful farewell. With the argument settled—at least for now—Alexander and Ron headed back toward the castle.
"I'm telling you, let's just drop it," Ron muttered. "I didn't see Myrtle on the way to the pitch, and I haven't seen her since."
"If she really has to leave Hogwarts because of my letter, then…" Alexander hesitated, his steps slowing.
"Oh, now you're worried?" Ron scoffed. "You didn't hesitate to use my childhood trauma to cheer Hagrid up."
Ron narrowed his eyes suddenly.
"…You're not actually in love with Moaning Myrtle, are you?"
Alexander opened his mouth to retort—
—and froze.
A pearly white figure shimmered into existence right in front of them.
It was Myrtle.
"Alexander!" she cried. "Is it true?"
Tears streamed from her translucent eyes, dripping straight through the stone floor.
Before Alexander could answer, Myrtle let out a strange, choked sob and vanished downward into the ground.
From somewhere below came her echoing, overexcited voice:
"Alexander Smith likes me! I'm the one Alexander likes!"
Ron blinked. "Is… is she happy, or devastated?"
"Don't talk to me," Alexander muttered darkly.
He could already feel it—his reputation was finished. Again.
Last semester, Rita Skeeter had spread rumors pairing him with Ron, Neville, and even Draco. Compared to that, this was almost familiar territory.
He really should be used to it by now.
Far away from Hogwarts, in South Yorkshire, lay the town of Rotherham.
To outsiders, it was an unremarkable place—situated at the confluence of the River Don and the River Rother, nestled between Sheffield and Doncaster. At its heart stood Rotherham Cathedral, a structure dating back to the fifteenth century, with traces of even older Saxon and Norman foundations.
Local residents proudly spoke of its history.
They also avoided it.
"It's strange," the owner of a nearby bar once said. "Every time I think about going there, I suddenly remember something else I need to do."
"And that priest," someone else would add quickly. "He's the strangest of all."
The priest of Rotherham Church was an elderly man known only as Old Hanks.
He looked kind, gentle even—but for reasons no one could explain, people instinctively kept their distance. Recently, he had begun leaving early and returning late. Around the same time, pets started disappearing throughout the town.
Snakes, once common in the area, vanished almost entirely.
What no one in Rotherham knew was that Old Hanks was a wizard.
More than that—he was an agent.
For generations, his family had served a mysterious, unnamed wizarding family, acting as intermediaries and caretakers of their interests. Publicly, they were priests. Privately, they were something else entirely.
Only in his generation had Old Hanks grown tired of pretending.
So he began weaving subtle Confundus Charms around himself and the church, granting himself freedom to handle the family's affairs within the British wizarding world.
And truth be told—Old Hanks loved business.
Recently, the family had been making large moves: opening the Skywalker Alchemy Workshop, publishing books, flooding the market with suspiciously cheap potions.
None of it excited him.
The market was already overwhelmed.
What interested him instead were the byproducts—the failed, strange, unwanted creations.
Waste, when sold properly, became profit.
Thus, in Knockturn Alley, which had inexplicably become much safer lately, Old Hanks sold all manner of bizarre items: flashlights that only worked during the day; umbrellas that produced rain; robes that felt thin but weighed a ton; automatic vacuum cleaners that consumed dust—and occasionally the owner's hair.
But nothing made him prouder than the decorative wands.
First came a man claiming to be the patriarch of the noble Malfoy family, who purchased the most intimidating piece—the so-called Extraordinary Guide Elder Wand.
Then came three men in black robes, buying wands one after another:
Blackthorn — Dragon Knight
Acacia — Staff of Time
Pine — Thunder Feather Loop
And then… nothing.
Nearly a month had passed without another sale.
Worse still, Old Hanks felt watched.
He changed his schedule, reversed his routines, even reported the matter to the Ministry of Magic. Their conclusion was simple:
Paranoia.
The family's response was equally brief—stay put. Someone would ensure his safety.
Yet tonight, the sensation reached its peak.
It felt as though an invisible, ferocious snake were coiling around him, tightening with every breath.
For the first time, the teapot-shaped Portkey on his desk brought him no comfort.
Merlin's beard…
Something is outside the church.
Old Hanks lunged for the Portkey.
Nothing happened.
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