After a whole day of searching, the Ministry of Magic had no results. Fudge's reputation suffered a devastating blow.
In reality, this didn't have much to do with him, but who prevented him from sending more guards? Who allowed him not to condemn Peter to a Dementor's Kiss on the spot? Who made him the current Minister of Magic?
Fudge dispatched all his Aurors, but the progress in the search was minimal. Meanwhile, Amelia Bones had already secretly contacted her confidants. The response to this contact was surprisingly good, with many people considering you, Minister Bones, to be the new Minister of Magic.
Amelia Bones's power was growing stronger and stronger, and she seized the opportunity to play her "Dumbledore card," which had a very positive effect in gaining the support of a large group of neutral forces. After all, just three years ago, a large group of wizards chose Dumbledore as Minister of Magic. Although there are fewer people now who want him to be Minister of Magic, his prestige still holds, and he has a great influence among Ministry of Magic officials.
Fudge heard about Amelia's movements but didn't have the energy to confront her. All his power was focused on capturing Peter Pettigrew. Who has time to deal with ambitious individuals appearing out of nowhere?
The turmoil at the Ministry of Magic naturally affected Hogwarts. The most direct impact was that the Dementors, who were supposed to leave, stayed. However, the impact was limited. Apart from becoming a topic of conversation over tea, it didn't really affect the students' lives.
In this atmosphere, Christmas arrived.
Students who were going home had packed their bags early and boarded the Hogwarts Express under the watchful eyes of the Dementors, returning to their homes.
There were many young wizards heading home this time. Even Harry, who normally didn't go home for Christmas, boarded this train. In the same compartment were his friend Ron and Sirius Black. This year, Harry would spend Christmas at Sirius's home. This would be the first time since he was born that he would spend Christmas at someone else's house.
Tom and Hermione had reserved a compartment for themselves. They sat facing each other in the compartment, while Crookshanks curled up in the middle of the table like a ginger rug.
"Do you have any places you'd like to go during the Christmas holidays?" Tom was searching for something in his bag as he asked Hermione.
Hermione looked away from Crookshanks and gazed at Tom, responding seriously, "Tom, we don't have free time for sightseeing. We'll spend all of Christmas writing the assignments assigned to us by the professors."
"Really?" Tom looked up in surprise. "I always thought we had at least two or three days to go to the museum or stroll along the Thames..."
"We originally did, but a certain gentleman spent several weeks doing other things, which caused all progress on the essays to come to a halt," Hermione said while hugging Crookshanks and casting a glance at Tom.
Beneath her long brows were almond-shaped eyes, and her black pupils seemed to speak, revealing a hint of reproach.
Tom gazed at Hermione's eyes tenderly. It made her feel uncomfortable, and she said, "What's wrong? Isn't what I said true?"
"Some people describe a girl's eyes as almonds, I think that's very accurate," Tom blinked.
"Oh, if you like them so much, then go ahead and look at them all you want!" Hermione leaned in a bit, simultaneously lightly kicking Tom's leg under the table.
"Ouch! Tom sharply inhaled from the pain, his face contorting in agony! Though Hermione hadn't used too much force, being hit in the shin with a girl's small boots was something no one could endure.
Hermione pouted and shot a mischievous grin at Tom, but she didn't have much time to savor it as the next moment, Tom leaned in and grabbed the foot she had extended.
"Let me go!"
"I won't!"
Hermione tried to free her foot from Tom's grasp, but she failed. No matter how hard she tried to pull it away, she was unsuccessful, so she finally gave up. Instead of pulling away, she placed her other foot on Tom's leg.
"I don't understand what's so special about it. You treat it as if it were a treasure," Hermione scoffed with disdain, but the blush on her face gave her away.
"There are scientific fundamentals to this. In the cerebral cortex responsible for perceiving body parts, the sensory cortex of the foot and the sensory cortex of the reproductive organs are adjacent," Tom suddenly stopped, as according to research, the sensory areas of the foot and reproductive organs were next to each other. Thus, when nerve signals from these two areas intermingled, a person could feel sexual stimuli even when their foot was touched. It was this physiological structure that had gradually led to establishing a connection between feet and sexuality, i.e., the origin of the foot fetish.
It was completely logical!
But how could he dare to tell Hermione this directly? Would it be considered harassment if he said it? He...
"Okay, stop making excuses. Did you bring the wizard's chess?" Hermione's words quickly resolved Tom's uncomfortable situation. "It's just Ramachandran's research; I read it a long time ago."
"Of course," Tom took out his own wizard's chess set from his bag, and they started playing. However, Tom soon found himself at a clear disadvantage because every time Hermione finished moving her pieces, she unconsciously started shaking her leg, which made Tom lose interest in the game entirely.
The fun didn't last long. Shortly after the snack trolley passed by, the train arrived at the station. The young wizards hurried to disembark and lined up to pass through the wall and return to the Muggle world.
Tom and Hermione were in no hurry to get off the train. They changed into Muggle clothing leisurely, grabbed their suitcases, and exited the compartment carrying the cat in their arms.
There were hardly any people left in the aisle when Tom and Hermione passed by a compartment, and the door suddenly opened, revealing Harry and Sirius coming out together.
The four of them met and stood there in bewilderment for a moment, until Sirius broke the silence: "I was thinking of inviting Harry to spend Christmas at my house; no one has lived there for a long time, and it would be nice to have some help with cleaning up a bit."
Harry chuckled. "Actually, I'm quite good at cleaning."
Harry wasn't bragging. Under Aunt Petunia's insistence, who had obsessive-compulsive disorder, his cleaning ability was comparable to that of a professional. At the Dursleys' house, he was always forced to clean. In Sirius's house, it probably wouldn't be much different, except he would go willingly to do it.