章 413: 0412 The Letter
Thanks to Bryan's quick response and timely tracking, coupled with the fact that the two wizards who hastily left the old mansion didn't put much effort into concealing their traces, Bryan seized the opportunity and saw some crucial information.
The Druids and Voldemort had become allies.
This was no longer in doubt. The priestess had made an extremely unwise choice. In the twisted psyche of a dark wizard like Voldemort, there was no concept such as allies. To him, the world was starkly divided into two categories: those foolish enough to stand against him, destined to be crushed beneath his heel, and those who would serve him, willingly or otherwise. There was no middle ground, no room for equals or true allies in Voldemort's vision of domination.
Bryan's mind drifted back to the brief time he had spent in Cliodna's company. Though their interaction had lasted only a few days, it had been enough for Bryan to form a solid impression of the priestess. She was many things - powerful, enigmatic, and at times inscrutable - but a fool she was not. Her intelligence and cunning were evident in her every calculated action.
This made her decision all the more baffling and concerning. Due to Dumbledore's relentless efforts to contain the growing threat, Voldemort's reign of terror had primarily affected the British wizarding community at its peak. While other European magical societies had been spared the brunt of his malice, stories of his cruelty and the atrocities committed in his name had spread far and wide.
It was inconceivable that Cliodna, with her vast network of followers could be ignorant of Voldemort's true nature. The Dark Lord's reputation as a ruthless, power-hungry tyrant was well-established. Yet, despite all this, she had chosen to ally herself with him.
Bryan's sharp mind began piecing together the puzzle, drawing connections between seemingly disparate events. After departing from the Isle of Avalon, Cliodna had swiftly made her way to Albania. This was no coincidence - Albania had long been rumored to be Voldemort's hiding place. It was clear now that Cliodna's journey had been purposeful, seeking to establish contact with the Dark Lord.
Thinking back to what happened in the temple at the end of their journey to Avalon, the strange behavior of the Caduceus, and the shock and bewilderment Cliodna had shown at the time...
The source of Cliodna's irrational behavior was becoming clearer.
Then there was that unfortunate female employee from the Ministry of Magic. Now, Bryan knew her name was Bertha Jorkins.
Voldemort had interrogated Bertha Jorkins, so what exactly had he heard from this female employee's mouth?
Needless to say, the Triwizard Tournament must have been leaked. Although this event was still in the confidential stage, that was only for the general public of the wizarding world. Those with some status and position knew the basic situation. When Bryan was in Paris participating in the specific implementation of this event, many people in the British wizarding world had written to him, asking if they could help advertise products from their alchemy factories during the tournament.
But beyond this widely-anticipated event, what other crucial information had Bertha provided?
At this point, Bryan had no way of knowing. Everyone has countless secrets in their hearts. What did this ordinary female employee of the Ministry of Magic know, and was this information valuable to Voldemort?
In the scene he had just reconstructed, Voldemort and Cliodna's conversation had also mentioned Harry...
Using that boy... no weaknesses...
Bathed in moonlight, Bryan shook his head slightly. Dumbledore, that old fellow, really had thought of everything...
Voldemort probably wanted to use the Triwizard Tournament to involve Harry, which meant that Harry would definitely have to participate in the event.
Bryan had been involved in formulating many of the rules for the tournament. For safety reasons, they had clearly stipulated the age of the champions participating in the event selection, and Harry didn't meet the requirements. So, he was planning to...
Voldemort and Cliodna must have guessed that their conflict had attracted the attention of Muggles, so after hurriedly cleaning up here, this time, they had left by Apparition. Moreover, to prevent being located, they must have cast some defensive spells on themselves, which had rendered the snake scale in Bryan's possession ineffective.
With measured steps, Bryan glided out of the room where he had made his startling discoveries. Rather than leaving the mansion entirely, he soared to a room on the second floor, one featuring an open terrace that offered a wide view of the surrounding landscape.
Standing there, bathed in the soft radiance of moonlight, Bryan's gaze swept across the boundless wilderness stretched out before him. The night sky above was a tapestry of twinkling stars, their eternal light a stark contrast to the darkness that threatened to engulf the wizarding world. In this moment of quiet contemplation, Bryan's mind worked furiously, weighing options and considering the best course of action.
Indeed, Dumbledore hoped that he could remain restrained about what would happen in the coming year. He wanted to let Voldemort expose himself from the darkness, even at the cost of putting Harry at some risk. He hoped Bryan could remain restrained, standing by idly.
The night wind suddenly gusted, and the glow in Bryan's eyes became as deep as the night sky.
Standing by idly was one thing, but allowing events to spiral beyond his control was quite another. Everything must remain within his sight, within his sphere of control. Next...
Screech!
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a sharp, distinctive screech that cut through the howling wind. Bryan's body tensed, his hand instinctively moving towards his wand. But he quickly recognized this sound. It was the call of Kakus Fawley's owl.
Unfolding the letter, there was only one sentence written:
"Dear Mr. Watson,
The situation is urgent. Please set out for London immediately upon receiving this letter to meet me in person.
Yours faithfully,
Kakus Fawley"
An hour later, Bryan returned to London and met Kakus Fawley in Diagon Alley.
This fellow wasn't even staying in the underground world, but was squatting at the entrance of Knockturn Alley, anxiously pacing back and forth. Bryan had known this guy for quite a few years, but he had never seen him in such a panicked state.
"Kakus—" Bryan called out, his voice low and cautious.
Bryan was now a well-known celebrity in the wizarding world. Wherever he went, he would always attract people's attention, so he had to disguise himself with a cloak from afar. Hearing the call, Kakus Fawley was stunned for a moment, but when he noticed the golden strange snake on the caller's collar, his face, full of anxiety, suddenly lit up with joy.
The entrance to Knockturn Alley was near Gringotts. Although it was nighttime, the place was still bustling with people coming and going.
Kakus, his forehead now glistening with nervous sweat, grabbed Bryan's arm with surprising strength. Without a word, he pulled them both deeper into the Knockturn Alley. They moved swiftly, dodging around others until they found themselves in a secluded alleyway, far from prying eyes and curious ears.
Once satisfied with their isolation, Kakus turned to Bryan, his eyes wild with a mixture of fear and urgency. "Would you mind removing your disguise completely, Mr. Viper?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
It seemed that there was indeed something urgent; otherwise, Kakus wouldn't have the guts to make such a request. While thinking this, Bryan pulled back his hood and dispelled the magical disguise concealing his face.
As the magical vortex dissipated, revealing Bryan's familiar face, Kakus let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. The tension in his body seemed to ease slightly, but his next words were spoken through gritted teeth, showing the stress still coursing through him.
"Don't tell me you have nothing to do with what happened at the Soul Eater's Den, Mr. Watson!"
The accusation, veiled thinly as a question, caught Bryan off guard. His eyes narrowed, a hint of toughness entering his voice as he responded, "You called me back in such a hurry just to question whether I killed those scums?"
Kakus faded at Bryan's tone, realizing his misstep. "Oh, of-of course not because of that," he stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Well, there's an urgent matter!" He paused, struggling to catch his breath before continuing, "I've just found out about it myself, and after thinking it through, I'm afraid only you can solve it. It's an urgent matter, please allow me to cut to the chase—"
Once again, Kakus glanced around nervously, ensuring their privacy. Then, under Bryan's stern and expectant gaze, he said urgently.
"It's like this, Mr. Watson. Half a month ago, Lucius Malfoy approached me, which surprised me greatly. We all know that Lucius Malfoy is desperate to convince certain influential circles that he has completely severed ties with his notorious past. In recent years, he's been meticulously avoiding any dealings with people of my... particular set of skills and connections."
Fawley's reputation as a broker was built on discretion and reliability. The fact that he was now breaking his own strict code of conduct by disclosing a client's identity and the nature of their business spoke volumes about the direness of the situation. This breach of professional ethics would undoubtedly damage his standing in certain circles, but Kakus seemed to not care about such consequences at this moment.
"I immediately sensed something was amiss with this unexpected approach," Kakus continued, his voice low and urgent. "My instincts were screaming that this was no ordinary commission. So, I took a calculated risk and made some... 'creative' adjustments to the contract. These modifications allowed me to circumvent certain limitations that would normally be in place for such tasks."
Bryan listened intently, his mind already racing ahead, considering the implications of what Kakus was revealing.
"For instance," Kakus explained, "I was able to discreetly inquire about Malfoy's true intentions behind issuing the contract. And now, I am able to disclose details of the commissioned task to you. Malfoy, not being one of us 'insiders' in the true sense, failed to notice my little... insurance policy."
"What exactly did he do?" Bryan's brow furrowed deeply.
Kakus took a deep breath, "Lucius provided me with an obscene amount of galleons - more gold than I've seen in one place in all my years in this business. My task was to recruit individuals possessing exceptional skills, people capable of executing orders faithfully and without question."
He paused, swallowing hard before continuing, "But here's the truly alarming part, Mr. Watson. Malfoy kept the true nature of the task hidden from these recruits until just yesterday afternoon. He gathered everyone in a secret location - a house owned by the Malfoy family that's not on any official records. And then... then he revealed his true intentions."
Kakus's voice dropped even lower, forcing Bryan to lean in close to hear his next words. "He wants them to disguise themselves as Death Eaters, Mr. Watson. And not just for show. Their mission... their mission is to carry out a full-scale terrorist attack at the Quidditch World Cup."
"Mr. Watson," Kakus continued, his voice trembling, "there are a hundred thousand wizards from all over the world there! Men, women, children - all gathered in one place."
A chill ran down Bryan's spine and he shouted sternly, "When does the World Cup match start?"
"It's—" Kakus's face turned ashen, and he said tremblingly, "Right now."
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章 414: 0413 The Last Day
The Last Day of July
The relentless heatwave that had gripped the area for the past fortnight reached its peak on this scorching day, the final one of July.
The scorching temperature caused the beautiful lush raspberries in the garden outside Number Four, Privet Drive to droop their heads listlessly. Even the lush green grass on the lawn had taken on a yellowish tinge.
Despite the suffocating heat, the road outside remained impeccably clean, as though even the dust dared not settle on its surface. The air shimmered slightly, creating an almost mirage-like quality to the deserted street. Not a single soul ventured out into this furnace-like day; the residents of Privet Drive had wisely retreated into the sanctuary of their air-conditioned homes, leaving the outside world to bake in eerie silence.
Within the stifling confines of his small bedroom at Number Four, Harry lay sprawled on his bed, feeling as wilted as the plants outside. Though he hadn't caught sight of his reflection in a mirror, he was certain his spirits must be as low as the drooping flowers in the Dursleys' garden. The cause of his wasn't solely attributed to the fact that the blazing sun had rudely awakened him well before six in the morning. No, there was another reason, one that he found difficult to express even to himself – today was his birthday.
For the first eleven years of his life, prior to his life in Hogwarts, this supposedly special day had held no real significance for Harry. The Dursleys, his only living relatives, had never once acknowledged the occasion. In fact, it often seemed as though they got a perverse pleasure from assigning him extra chores on this day, as if to emphasize just how little he meant to them and how insignificant his existence was in their eyes.
However, the past three years since his entry into Hogwarts, his birthday had finally gained some semblance of meaning and joy. His best friends, Ron and Hermione, along with Hagrid, never failed to remember the date. They took great care in preparing something special for him, be it heartfelt cards, thoughtful gifts, or in Hagrid's case, a somewhat questionable but undeniably well-intentioned cake.
This year was no exception. A collection of birthday cakes, cards, and carefully wrapped presents had already arrived, buried away under a loose floorboard in his room.
This year was even more special because earlier in the year, something he had dreamed of for fourteen years had finally come true—he now had a real family member.
Just a few days ago, Sirius, who had been missing for half a month, had finally sent word. In his reply to Harry, he said he would arrive at Privet Drive before the last day of July to take him away from this house.
Since receiving that letter, Harry had been consumed by eager anticipation. His mind constantly wandered to vivid daydreams of celebrating his fourteenth birthday surrounded by warmth and genuine affection – with Sirius and the loving Weasley family. However, as the hours of his birthday ticked by with no sign of his godfather, a creeping sense of disappointment began to take hold.
Despite his unwavering emotional faith in Sirius– the harsh reality of the situation was beginning to weigh heavily on his heart. As much as he tried to rationalize the delay, to conjure up plausible explanations for Sirius's absence, he couldn't help but feel a bit disheartened.
The ancient clock on Harry's bedside table, a hand-me-down from Dudley like everything else in his possession, showed it was approaching half-past eleven. It was going to be Lunchtime, yet the usual shout from Uncle Vernon summoning him to the dining room remained conspicuously absent.
Harry knew, however, that if he didn't make an appearance downstairs within the next ten minutes, Aunt Petunia would invariably materialize outside his door. With cat's steps, she would approach, leaving a plate of food. A timid knock would follow, and before Harry could even respond, she would hastily retreat, leaving the meal as though it were an offering to appease some temperamental deity.
Sigh—
A deep, weary sigh escaped Harry's lips as he surveyed his messy room. Clothes lay strewn about, spell books were piled haphazardly on his desk, and owl droppings from Hedwig dotted the floor near her cage. With great reluctance, he hauled himself off the bed and trudged towards the door slowly.
If circumstances beyond Sirius's control had indeed delayed his arrival, Harry thought that he would at least make an effort to assert his presence in the house. He was tired of being treated like a ghost, mute and invisible, for the rest of his time under the Dursleys' roof.
As Harry descended the stairs, the sounds and smells of the Dursley family's lunch wafted up to greet him. The three members of his adoptive family were already gathered in the dining room, a scene of domestic normalcy that always seemed to exclude him.
Uncle Vernon's considerable bulk was mostly hidden behind the morning's copy of the "Daily Mail," his fat face just visible over the top of the newspaper. The rustle of pages turning was mixed with occasional grunts and muttered comments about the state of the world.
At the kitchen counter stood Aunt Petunia, her horse-like face pinched in concentration as she meticulously divided up the family's lunch. With practiced precision, she placed half of the bacon and grilled sausages onto Harry's designated plate(this wasn't the rule before, but since the start of this summer holiday, Harry had his own plate). This equal distribution was also a recent development; prior to this summer holiday, Harry's portions had been significantly smaller. Whether this change stemmed from fear of Sirius or a grudging acknowledgment of Harry's growing needs, he couldn't be sure.
Of the remaining half, Aunt Petunia allocated two-thirds to another plate – undoubtedly Dudley's – while the final third was split equally between two smaller portions, presumably for herself and Uncle Vernon.
Dudley sat at the dining table; his beady eyes fixed on Aunt Petunia's every move. It was clear from his expression that he was acutely aware of which portion was destined for his plate. His face bore an even sulkier expression than usual, if such a thing were possible. Despite being on a diet mandated by his school nurse, Dudley seemed to be taking up more space than ever, his massive frame stretching the limits of the sturdy dining chair.
The tension in the room was palpable as Aunt Petunia prepared to bring the food to the table. Dudley, realizing this was his last chance to protest the unfair (in his eyes) distribution, finally erupted.
"It's not fair!" he roared, his multiple chins quivering with indignation. "You always give him the most!"
Aunt Petunia's pursed lips trembled at her son's outburst. Her eyes, already watery from the strain of the past few weeks, began to overflow with tears. "Oh, my sweet darling," she began, her voice wavering, "It's not because... we've discussed this before. The school nurse thinks... well, she thinks you should control your nutrient intake appropriately."
This explanation, rehearsed and repeated countless times over the summer, couldn't convince Dudley at all. His face reddened, nearly matching the hue of the bacon on his plate. "But that freak can't even finish it!" he shouted, jabbing a pudgy finger in the direction of Harry's portion.
At this latest outburst, Aunt Petunia's composure finally crumbled. Tears began to stream down her bony cheeks as she wrestled with the conflicting desires to appease her beloved son and sticking to the diet plan. The stress of the summer – caught between Dudley's new dietary restrictions and the unwelcome boy in the house – had taken its toll. She had lost countless hairs, and dark circles had taken up permanent residence under her eyes.
But regardless of her personal turmoil, the problem at hand needed addressing. Clutching her chest dramatically, Aunt Petunia opened her mouth to attempt another round of persuasion. However, the words died on her lips as her gaze fell upon Harry, standing silently in the doorway of the dining room.
Dudley, puzzled by his mother's sudden silence, caught the shift in Aunt Petunia's expression. A flicker of confusion passed through his small, watery eyes. The act of turning around seemed to require an excessive amount of effort for someone of Dudley's size. After much grunting and shifting, he finally managed to spin in his seat. The moment his eyes landed on Harry, the intimidating expression he had been wearing vanished instantly. Harry could practically see the fear taking root in Dudley's scrunched-up features.
How to describe the scene before him? Harry thought internally. Despite the general misery of his situation with the Dursleys, he had to admit that the expressions on Dudley and Aunt Petunia's faces were quite amusing. It seemed that the fact that the 'murderer' Sirius was his godfather had indeed terrified the Dursley family.
"I think Dudley is right," Harry said, his voice cutting through the tense silence. He shrugged nonchalantly, his emerald eyes pointed towards his designated plate on the kitchen counter. "The portion is indeed too much for me."
Harry's sudden interjection nearly catapulted Uncle Vernon out of his chair. The large man finally lowered his newspaper, his bushy mustache quivering non-stop like an agitated caterpillar on his upper lip. His beady eyes darted between Harry and the rest of his family, unsure of how to react to this unexpected development.
Years of living under the Dursley's roof had conditioned Harry to instinctively brace himself, expecting Uncle Vernon to roar at him for his unannounced appearance. Indeed, Uncle Vernon's face contorted with fury, his complexion shifting rapidly from red to purple. But then... nothing happened.
The small dispute in the kitchen quickly dissipated under the tacit understanding of the Dursley family. Aunt Petunia, her hands trembling slightly, swiftly brought the food to the table. Dudley, intimidated by Harry's presence, stopped his tantrum and lowered his head, suddenly finding great interest in carefully dissecting his sausages. Uncle Vernon, after muttering "What a sight" under his breath, also began attacking his food with knife and fork, avoiding eye contact with his nephew. Just like that, they had reverted to ignoring him again.
The familiar impulse that had been welling up in Harry's heart frequently this summer surged once more. He could feel the magic thrumming beneath his skin, responding to his turbulent emotions. His face turned ashen, jaw clenched tightly as his chest heaved with rapid breaths. He found himself desperately resisting the temptation to pull out his wand and give Dudley another pig's tail, or perhaps make antennas sprout from Aunt Petunia's forehead.
Just as Harry's internal struggle reached its peak, the shrill sound of the doorbell pierced the tense atmosphere.
In past, Uncle Vernon would have immediately roared, "Go answer the door, boy!" But today, he laboriously hauled himself up from his chair and waddled towards the hallway himself, muttering under his breath about unexpected visitors and the inconvenience of it all.
Regardless of the change in routine, Harry knew he couldn't let the dark thoughts swirling in his mind manifest into reality. If he stayed in this charged environment any longer, he was certain the Ministry of Magic would be sending him another stern warning about underage wizards using magic without permission. He cast a fleeting glance at the food allocated to him on the kitchen counter but made no move to take it. Instead, he turned directly towards the stairs.
However, just as he placed one foot on the bottom step, a roar of fear and anger suddenly erupted from the hallway!
It was Uncle Vernon!
The sudden outburst froze Dudley and Aunt Petunia in the kitchen, their forks suspended midway to their mouths. Harry, after a brief moment of shock, quickly regained his senses. Professor Watson's rigorous physical education classes had honed Harry's reflexes and agility. Without a second thought, his right hand lightly touched the handrail, and with a slight push, he effortlessly vaulted over it.
Before Harry could rush towards the source of the commotion, a terrified Uncle Vernon came charging down the hallway like an out-of-control bull, his face a mask of pure panic. "Hide quickly, Petunia, Dudley!" he roared, eyes wild with fear. "It's that murderer!"
The front door stood wide open, allowing the dazzling midday sunlight to flood the entryway. Silhouetted against this brilliant backdrop were two human figures, their features momentarily obscured by the intense light.
Harry's heart raced wildly, a mix of excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins. Amidst the subsequent terrified screams of Aunt Petunia and the whimpering of Dudley, Harry felt as if he'd been jolted by electricity.
Step by step, he walked towards the hallway.
As his eyes finally adjusted to the intense light, the faces of the two figures standing in the interplay of light and shadow became clear. A grin of pure joy spread across Harry's face.
"Sirius, Professor Lupin!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with a mixture of relief, excitement, and sheer happiness. At last, his birthday was about to take a turn for the better.
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