In mid-April, the Easter holiday quietly arrived at Hogwarts, bringing with it spring warmth and temporary freedom from classes.
It was an exceptionally long holiday, lasting two full weeks of relief from lessons, fourteen glorious days that stretched out for the students like an oasis in the desert of everyday school anxieties.
However, the Easter holiday wasn't nearly as relaxing and carefree as the Christmas break would have been, because the professors usually assigned quite a substantial bit of homework with apparently cruel glee, and students also needed to begin seriously preparing for their approaching final exams that would arrive all too soon after the holiday ended.
Therefore, the library during Easter holiday was surprisingly quite lively and crowded, with every table occupied. Students studying diligently or reviewing desperately could often be seen in the common rooms of various houses at all hours, huddled over textbooks and parchment scrolls with ink-stained fingers flying across pages.
Even Ron was uncharacteristically working with genuine diligence in the dormitory—he usually left his homework until the absolute last day of the holiday in a panic, then hastily copied from Harry or Hermione with rushed, messy handwriting, but this time he had actually started writing several days early, apparently motivated by the sheer volume of assignments.
"Merlin's socks," He muttered irritably, chewing on the end of his quill and leaving tooth marks in the feather. "Does Professor Binns honestly think we don't need to sleep at all? What do you think, Harry... Harry?"
He looked up from his parchment toward the four-poster bed opposite him, expecting agreement.
Harry was bent over something on his bed, completely absorbed in fiddling intently with some object in his hands, his brow furrowed in concentration. He clearly hadn't heard Ron's complaint at all, too focused on whatever he was fiddling on.
"Harry!" Ron called out again, this time raising his voice considerably and adding a note of exasperation.
Harry jumped slightly, startled out of his concentration. "Hmm? What? What about Professor Binns?"
"His bloody History of Magic essay!" Ron waved his quill indignantly, gesturing at his half-finished parchment with frustration.
"He wants us to compare and contrast witch hunts from different historical periods across three different countries—three whole rolls of parchment! Single-spaced! It's completely impossible to finish, absolutely impossible unless I don't sleep for a week! What about you? How far have you gotten with yours?"
Harry rubbed his tired eyes, looking up from his mysterious project. "History of Magic? Oh, that assignment... I actually finished it on the first day of the holiday. Wanted to get it out of the way."
Ron's expression froze instantly, his jaw dropping in disbelief. "The first day? You finished all three rolls? You've become just like Hermione! When did this happen?"
"Not quite," Harry said with a slight, amused shrug. "Hermione? She went to ask Professor Binns a full week before the holiday even started if he could assign the homework early so she could get a head start. Apparently, she finished absolutely everything the night before the holiday officially began. Had it all rolled up and ready to submit."
Ron was momentarily rendered completely speechless, his mouth opening and closing like a fish.
That familiar, uncomfortable feeling returned with vigor—they really were from completely different worlds when it came to studying. Hermione and increasingly Harry lived in some land of academic excellence he could never quite reach.
Though this might actually be a good thing for him right now, he realized with sudden hope.
Ron quickly stood up from his desk and walked over to Harry's bed with determination. "Well then, my genius friends, since you've both finished it already weeks ago, let me copy your homework, just this once, help a mate out..."
Before he could finish his shameless request, Ron's voice cut off abruptly mid-sentence.
He stared wide-eyed with wonder at the faintly glowing crystal sphere in Harry's hands, which was throbbing with soft blue light. "Wait, what is that thing? It's glowing!"
"A recording crystal ball," Harry explained straightforwardly, turning it carefully in his palm. "Remember? Malfoy broke Colin's crystal ball after the duel with you, so I promised to replace it for him later."
"Crystal ball?" Ron asked doubtfully, leaning closer to examine it. "Didn't Colin say these were really hard to get your hands on? Where did you buy it? How much did it cost?!"
Harry scratched his nose a bit sheepishly, looking almost embarrassed. "Actually... I didn't buy it from any shop. I made it myself. With some help."
"Since when can you make complicated things like this?" Ron asked incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up toward his forehead.
He curiously took the surprisingly heavy crystal ball from Harry's hands with both of his own, examining it carefully from all angles, tilting it to catch the light. The sphere was perfectly smooth, like glass, and surprisingly warm to the touch.
"It looks pretty much identical to Colin's," He said with genuine admiration, turning it over. "Maybe even better in appearance."
"But I haven't successfully restored all the original functions," Harry said with a hint of regret creeping into his voice, then reached forward and tapped the crystal ball lightly with his wand tip.
At Harry's light, precise tap, the crystal ball hummed with a low vibration, and the air around them suddenly rippled and shimmered like the surface of disturbed water, creating strange visual distortions.
Ron jumped backward in genuine shock—he saw another version of himself sprawled out ungracefully on Harry's bed, snoring loudly with his mouth hanging open, with a trail of drool staining the pillow at the corner of his mouth.
"Merlin's pants!" Ron practically leaped away from the bed in horror. "What... what's going on?! Why am I seeing myself sleeping?!"
"Don't panic, it's perfectly safe," Harry quickly explained, trying to suppress his amusement at Ron's dramatic reaction.
"This is just a playback of last night's recorded scene. Look—" He pointed at the sleeping projection of "Ron" with his finger, "last night around midnight you said you wanted to look at Hermione's detailed Potions notes for the essay, but less than ten minutes later you were completely out like this, snoring away."
Ron's face reddened slightly with embarrassment. "So, you used this thing specifically to record me snoring like a troll?! That's what you spent your time on in the middle of the night?"
"Just testing the functions to make sure everything works properly," Harry said with an unapologetic grin, clearly enjoying his distress. "Had to test it on something."
He had spent most of his free time and energy during this holiday period working on this challenging recording crystal ball project, reading through complex runes and enchantment theory and practicing spells.
With Professor Westeros's patient help and guidance, providing crucial advice on the runic sequences, he had finally succeeded in making a functional version.
Of course, this crystal ball only had basic recording functions for limited periods of time—maybe ten minutes of continuous recording at most. As for that advanced recorded memory storage capability that the authentic professional interrogation recorder possessed, allowing it to store hours of recordings for a long time even permanently, that was completely beyond his current magical reach, even apparently Adrian couldn't fully replicate it, or so he had claimed to Harry when asked.
While Harry and Ron were playing and experimenting with the crystal ball in their dormitory, testing its range and clarity, Adrian was deep in the Forbidden Forest with the Treants, overseeing the expansion of their territory.
In just about two weeks since his last visit, the Treant population had seen another surge in growth that exceeded even his optimistic predictions.
Adrian roughly estimated by counting the moving figures there were at least a hundred individuals now, maybe even more scattered in the deeper woods.
All the suitable trees around Bart's original territory had been successfully converted into his loyal followers.
With such a noticeable commotion happening so close to the castle grounds, the noise of falling trees and construction, Hagrid naturally couldn't possibly ignore it any longer.
After Adrian brought him personally to Bart's expanded territory, Hagrid's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates, staring in absolute disbelief at the moving, walking Treants going about their community tasks.
Just a few months ago, this had been an ordinary, unremarkable grove of silent trees, but now infront of his astonished eyes was a vibrant, almost bustling Treant tribe with clear organization and purpose.
While Hagrid was still immersed in shock, his mouth hanging open, Bart was already walking over with steady, ground-shaking steps.
"Hello there, Hagrid," Bart greeted cheerfully. "Good to see you again, friend."
"Oh, Bart, good to see you too," Hagrid said warmly, looking at Bart who was currently about as tall as he was, roughly eleven feet, and was somewhat puzzled by this. "But... have you gotten shorter since last time? I could have sworn you were bigger before."
"Bart can freely control his size within limits," Adrian explained, standing beside them. "This way he can conserve a lot of magical energy for other purposes. Being smaller requires less power to maintain."
"Amazing! Absolutely amazing!" Hagrid exclaimed with enthusiasm, his face lighting up.
He stepped forward eagerly and enthusiastically patted Bart's rough, bark-covered shoulder with his giant hand. "Bart is a Hogwarts tree originally, right? Grew up right here on the grounds?"
"Bart and his entire tribe will live here permanently now," Adrian said, his gaze sweeping across the thriving Treant community with satisfaction. "The Forbidden Forest is their true home. Dumbledore has already agreed to it officially and given his blessing."
Upon hearing this welcome news, Hagrid's bearded face immediately broke into an enormous, delighted smile.
"Wonderful! This is just wonderful!" His excited, loud voice echoed through the forest, startling birds from nearby trees. "If you ever need any help with anything at all, just come find Rubeus Hagrid! I'm always available!"
He absolutely loved these big moving creatures—they reminded him of his own misunderstood friends.
"Thank you very much, Hagrid," Bart said with warmth.
At that moment, heavy dragging sounds came from not far away through the scrub, accompanied by the crack of breaking branches.
A very tall, sturdy Treant was dragging a massive, furry black object through the dense trees, leaving a trail of furrowed earth.
It was a dead Acromantula—even after several rounds of regular clearing operations, remnants of these monsters still remained scattered in the deeper parts of the Forbidden Forest, hiding in caves and hollow trees.
Hagrid's broad smile instantly froze on his face, replaced by growing concern. "Is that... is that an Acromantula?"
"Just an Acromantula, nothing to worry about," Adrian said with a casual shrug, as if discussing something completely ordinary.
"The Forbidden Forest has been full of these dangerous things for years. The centaurs and Treants unanimously agree that Acromantulas shouldn't continue living here in such numbers. If we continue to let them breed unchecked, in just a few more years this entire place will become an Acromantula kingdom, completely overrun. So, we're steadily exterminating them for everyone's safety."
"What about Aragog?" Hagrid asked anxiously, his voice rising with worry. "Have you seen Aragog? He's... he's different from the others."
Adrian naturally knew exactly who Aragog was that was Hagrid's former pet, raised from an egg, the patriarch of the entire Acromantula colony.
But there was a problem with that.
It had already been eaten up by Torch as a snack last year.
He certainly couldn't very well tell Hagrid that horrible truth directly—it would devastate him.
Adrian was silent for a moment, his face showing a timely hint of regret.
"Hagrid," He said gently, his voice softening with what seemed like genuine sympathy,
"I think... Aragog may have already died of natural causes, at old age some time ago. Considering the general lifespan of an Acromantula, even in ideal conditions, he lived long enough, probably longer than most. He had a good life here."
Hagrid's face crumpled at these words.
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