Kayson and Dumbledore were initially strolling leisurely as they left Wizengamot Hall, until a figure appeared beside Kayson.
Kayson glanced out of the corner of his eye, his pupils contracting—Lester.
Honestly, when he was on trial, he had specifically looked at Lester, who had cast the vote for his acquittal.
In fact, Kayson had hoped even more that Lester would vote for his guilt, so that Kayson could consider the matter of him quickly, rhythmically, and regularly contacting Lester's head with an anvil as a return favor.
Moreover, then Lester would just be an ordinary Auror from the Ministry of Magic in Kayson's eyes, a mindless lackey who supported Fudge, and Kayson would have no psychological pressure whatsoever to avoid him or spew trash talk.
But now it was different; even though Kayson had almost smashed him to death with an anvil, Lester still voted for his acquittal.
What kind of person was this?
A noble person, a benevolent person, a wise person, a kind person.
Kayson felt that if he were to run away now, it would be somewhat impolite to such a person.
"What are you thinking?" Lester asked curiously, watching Kayson's eyes dart around.
As for Dumbledore, he had long since given the two young men their space.
"I'm thinking, why did you vote for my acquittal? Don't we still have some grievances?" Kayson asked, shaking off all the strange thoughts in his head.
"You did the right thing. Why shouldn't I give a green light to a correct matter and a righteous person? Of course, I still don't agree with you doing any 'renovations' with magic in the Muggle world," Lester said earnestly.
"You're actually quite nice," Kayson said with a smile.
"Thank you for the compliment… Although I don't like you, because of our first meeting, you are indeed a good person." Lester happily accepted the compliment, seemingly quite pleased by this unintentional praise.
"Me? I'm just generally good. Oh, right, aren't you an Auror? If you just vote for acquittal like that, will Fudge target you?" Kayson continued to ask.
"No, because ever since that day when you, Dumbledore, and Fudge were in the office, and I said I forgave you all… I was fired," Lester said with some embarrassment.
"So you are now…?"
"Aside from the dozen or so shops left by my family in the most prosperous areas of Diagon Alley, a family estate that occupies an entire island, the highest-grade trust fund at Gringotts, the Wizengamot seat my father passed down to me, mountains of Galleons in the vault, and my own great magic experiments currently underway, I truly have nothing," Lester said bitterly.
"Oh…" Kayson listened somewhat silently to Lester's humblebragging. His rational mind told him that Lester was probably saying this on purpose, with the aim of eliciting exclamations of surprise from others.
And since Lester had just helped him in the Wizengamot, it was only fair for Kayson to reciprocate by indulging Lester's little humblebragging quirk; there was nothing wrong with it at all.
Unfortunately, the world doesn't always go according to his thoughts. For example, his mouth, which was clearly very fast, and more than twice as fast, blurted out an unconscious sarcastic remark.
"Then you're truly pitiful, having nothing left…"
Lester's mouth twitched: "I have things to do; I'm going home to sleep."
"Uh-huh, s-see you," Kayson waved awkwardly.
Witnessing a new friend refuse to communicate due to his high emotional intelligence, he could only sigh helplessly.
Finally, he even reached out and patted his own mouth: "Why so quick-mouthed?"
Back at Hogwarts, Kayson stretched and leaned back on the sofa. In fact, he had a lot more to say and many complaints he hadn't vented at the Wizengamot.
For example, Fudge's impulsive decision had basically cut his beautiful holiday in half.
Connecting block magic using Runes—he had actually developed this into a course in his first year at Hogwarts, but that course was only offered to fifth-years. Otherwise, he wouldn't have taught the method for creating a Wither to fifth-years last semester, as creating a Wither was basically second nature to them.
However, it wasn't the same for third-year Alchemy freshmen. Fifth-years had two more years of Alchemy knowledge than them. Some knowledge that was common sense to fifth-years was a brain-exploding topic for third-years, so naturally, the fifth-year course couldn't be directly used for third-years.
He still needed to break down the fifth-year course into small knowledge points and techniques, hand-feeding them to the third-years.
This alone had him wasting most of his time at his desk.
He hadn't even felt comfortable pouring out such abstract grievances at the Wizengamot.
But such things were the kind that you couldn't keep inside; it was always uncomfortable to bottle them up. At the Wizengamot, it wasn't really relevant, and Burns hadn't given him a chance to complain either.
But now he could talk, he just needed to find a poor soul to confide in.
Just then, Sirius emerged from a painting plastered to the corner of the wall near the office door, from a great distance.
Then, with practiced ease, he stood up anthropomorphically and pressed the launcher. A small boat was sprayed onto the ice track, and soon he was driving the boat over.
"…" Kayson watched Sirius's smooth operations and nodded in approval. This dog was intelligent and suitable to be the poor soul he was looking for.
Saying that, he scooped up Sirius: "Bruce, let me tell you, that Fudge is just too damn…"
The next morning, Sirius weakly crawled out of the office painting passage in Kayson's office. He had done nothing all night but have nightmares.
Basically, every time he closed his eyes, he would see Fudge's disgusting large face. Whenever he was startled awake by Fudge, he would let out a whimper, and then Kayson's descending big slap would hit him on the head.
Followed by a remark: "Go to sleep, Bruce, stop howling."
Sirius sighed somewhat helplessly. Kayson, having vented his frustrations, had slept soundly last night, but it was a pity for him…
As a dog, I apologize.
Meanwhile, Kayson once again pulled out his Newborn Magic Art instruction manual. He had spent an entire holiday procrastinating on writing new textbooks. Now that the task was done, it was time to improve himself.
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