Young people had no idea about the Longbottom family, but older generations like Madam Pomfrey knew all about it.

Barty Crouch Jr. might not be dead.

She was also aware of this.

She could understand the sudden surge of motivation that came from Neville.

"You can double the amount of exercise." Madam Pomfrey said softly, squeezing Neville's arm, "But after each exercise, you have to use potions to regulate your body. Of course, don't forget to do relaxing exercises."

Neville's face turned pale and his voice trembled: "Twice?"

"Yes, my dear Mr. Longbottom, you heard it right." Madam Pomfrey smiled sweetly, "Although you are very tired today and even have to use potions to protect your body, you can still double the amount of exercise without hurting your body."

"Is it okay?" Harry looked at him.

Neville shivered, his eyes meeting Harry's vertical pupils, which showed no sign of expressing any emotion.

The body is very honest and does not want to suffer so much anymore. It is better to proceed step by step, slowly, and improve bit by bit, instead of doing it so suddenly and violently.

Laziness is hard to break.

But he nodded with difficulty, gritting his teeth: "Of course, I have no problem."

Harry waved his wand, and parchment and a quill came out of the hat. He quickly wrote a line of text, signed his name, and handed it to Neville.

Neville was puzzled, but he took it obediently. When he saw the words on it, he couldn't help but gasp: "Harry?"

This is something that can be called a contract.

"Neville Longbottom promised Harry Potter that if Longbottom showed any fear during future training, Mr. Potter could use violent coercion."

"An insurance policy," Harry said.

Neville muttered, "I'm very sad when you do this."

He complained, but without any hesitation, he grabbed the feather pen floating beside him and signed his name.

He was more worried about this than Harry was, but he just didn't think about it at the moment.

Harry put it away.

Neville thought that he had come to hell from that day on, but the next day he realized that he had just passed by heaven yesterday.

Even his favorite Herbology class couldn't make Neville happy.

At the end of a day's classes, he lay numbly beside the campfire, with Crookshanks jumping on him unwillingly, and his heavy body hitting Neville so hard that he cried out. After a day of playing, Master Crookshanks was bribed by Harry for two pounds of owl rations and became Neville's masseur.

Lactic acid has to be eliminated using the most primitive method.

Ron was a little gloating.

Fortunately, he did not act rashly and want to learn swordsmanship from Harry. Seeing Neville like this, he realized that his intuition was right.

Neville was getting thinner and thinner.

They finally had a break on Saturday, and Harry deliberately gave him a day off and didn't drag him to training in the morning, so that he could have enough energy to go to Diagon Alley with his grandmother to buy a new wand.

No one disturbed him. Neville slept soundly and snored loudly, forcing Ron and the others to cast spells on themselves to block out the sound before they could fall asleep.

Hedwig was forced to go to Hermione's dormitory, and Bors couldn't go to the girls' dormitory, so he had to go back to the Owlery to rest alone.

Eight o'clock in the morning.

There was no one else in the common room except Harry and his friends.

Hedwig yawned unhappily as she watched the hardworking owl drop The Daily Prophet and The Quibbler in front of her owner. She didn't sleep well in the girls' dormitory last night as Crookshanks kept trying to touch her.

At night, cats always become more naughty.

"Harry, are you still reading second-rate newspapers?" Ron slapped his face, looked at him, and continued to write his potions paper.

"The Daily Prophet is still quite useful." Hermione shook her head. "At least it speaks for the Ministry of Magic. Apart from being unfair in Harry's case, the other news is worth reading."

"Today, for example." Harry spread out the newspaper.

In the Daily Prophet, a photo took up almost half of the page - it was a mess. After Harry caused damage to the Ministry of Magic, it suffered another devastating blow. The elevator was destroyed and seven or eight Aurors were injured. Fortunately, no one died.

But the Unforgivable Curse appeared.

An Auror was tortured into unconsciousness and still lies in St. Mungo's Hospital.

"It seems that Fudge is really hated by many people." Ron read the content and gloated over the incident. "His approval rating is going to drop again."

"I should be thankful that the Ministry of Magic didn't pin this on me." Harry said expressionlessly.

Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Potter secretly manipulates, and followers of the Lion House break into the Ministry of Magic?" Ron thought for a while and reported a headline.

Harry shook his head. "That's not how headlines are written. Originally it was only about the Order of the Phoenix, but now it involves the entire Gryffindor. The Daily Prophet will definitely be torn down."

"Sure enough, I don't have the talent to be a reporter." Ron sighed.

Harry put his hand on the table. "And this is very interesting."

"The place that this group of dark wizards forced their way into was actually the Department of Mysteries."

Ron spread his hands and said, "This is normal. My father said that the Department of Mysteries is the most important department in the entire Ministry of Magic. It is also the only important department. All valuable things are there."

"But their goals are not normal." Harry shook his head and pointed at a group of words, "Take a look."

"Prophecy?" Ron read it out word by word.

Harry nodded.

Ron wondered, "What is that?"

"We met in third year," Hermione reminded him.

Ron was even more confused.

Have you seen it?

When have you seen me?

Today seems to be the first time this word appeared in my mind.

"Professor Trelawney made a true prophecy." Hermione still felt a little uncomfortable when she mentioned this. "Ministry of Magic officials came here to collect prophecy magic."

Ron suddenly realized and slapped his thigh: "I remember now, Dad said that all prophecies must be collected by the Ministry of Magic, so it's the thing called the prophecy ball?"

Hermione nodded.

"It seems very strange, and the prophecy ball is worthless." Ron frowned, "If you want to know the content of the prophecy, why not just ask the students directly? I remember that many people know the content of the prophecy."

Harry shook his head. "No."

"The prophecy itself has magical power, and the prophecy ball is not just a device for storing prophecies. Unlike ordinary people's tape recorders, the prophecy ball is the embodiment of the prophecy."

"That group of people not only want the content of the prophecy, but also the prophecy itself."

Harry paused and said, "Of course, there may be another possibility."

Ron and Hermione listened carefully.

"Voldemort didn't know the full content of the prophecy fifteen years ago," Harry began.

Both listeners were a little surprised.

"Voldemort doesn't know?" Ron asked, "But isn't it because of the prophecy that he..."

Harry nodded. "He only knew the first few sentences. He knew that the prophecy said that the person who could kill him would appear at the end of July. But the prophecy contained more than that. There is a long part behind it."

He paused for a moment and said, "I only know the general content. Dumbledore didn't tell me the complete and detailed content, but that's not important."

"In the past twenty years, there have been only two real prophecies, and they will most likely only be targeting these two."

Hermione moved herself next to Harry, leaned her head over, rested it on his arm, and flipped through the Daily Prophet: "If it's about the prophecy from fifteen years ago, then these dark wizards are Death Eaters?"

"Because of the prophecy in my third year, they are also likely to be Death Eaters." Harry nodded.

Ron tilted his head: "But doesn't the prophecy mention Sirius?"

He whispered, imitating Trelawney's voice: "And he, who is all alone, will be freed when the snow falls."

"Sirius was discovered by you, Harry, in December and then cleared of all charges."

"Where did you hear this?" Harry was very curious. He had never heard of this interpretation before.

"Lavender and the others interpreted it." Hermione shook her head, her tone somewhat helpless. "They have a 'Trelawney Support Club' that is dedicated to interpreting Professor Trelawney's various prophecies, whether they are reliable or not."

Harry smiled and shook his head: "Although it is very similar, maybe Sirius is also part of the prophecy, but it is not talking about him."

"Sirius' birthday is in November, November 3rd, not December."

Ron was startled.

"Could it be that Voldemort's birthday is in December?" Ron remembered the first half of the prophecy.

Harry nodded, "Tom's birthday is December 31st."

"The end of the year really fits his Dark Lord temperament," Ron muttered. "So the prophecy is actually about Voldemort?"

"Are these people really Death Eaters?" Hermione said in a gloomy tone, "But the most important thing for them right now is not to resurrect Voldemort and then..."

Before she could finish her words, Harry held her hand and said, "Wait, someone is coming."

He looked towards the boys' dormitory corridor.

From the faint footsteps that only he could hear, to the footsteps that Ron and Hermione could hear clearly, there were two people running out from inside, cheering.

"Harry! Good morning!"

It's George and Fred.

They had just come running out of the passage, jumping down the steps, raising their arms and greeting cheerfully: "Are you ready?"

"It's the weekend at Hogwarts."

"Saturday morning!"

"It's really slack. There are only five of us who got up."

"Harry, it's time for us to set off and give the whole Hogwarts some shocks, and let this morning kick off with a bang!"

Ron and Hermione stared blankly at the two brothers who were ferociously beating their teeth.

"What are you two doing?" Hermione asked puzzled.

"Have you finally gone mad?" Ron pretended to pick up a quill and paper, as if he was going to write a letter home. "Looks like I'll have to ask Dad to prepare two beds for you two at St. Mungo's. Oh, maybe one will be enough."

George and Fred ignored them and just kept winking at Harry.

Harry explained for them: "It's about the bomb. The alchemical bomb."