London, at the break of dawn.

The Christmas holidays and its festivities had finally passed, and the world-renowned metropolis of London had reluctantly returned to its usual rhythm of everyday existence.

Perhaps because the city’s residents had expended far too much emotional and physical energy in the enthusiastic celebrations and merrymaking of the holiday season, the Muggles now walking along the frost-filled streets all had signs of fatigue on their slightly pale faces as they hurried determination toward their respective workplaces.

But regardless of this collective weariness that seemed to blanket the city like an invisible fog, on the northern side of the Westminster Bridge spanning the River Thames, east of the Muggle Houses of Parliament, the magnificent great clock known to Muggles as Big Ben surrounded by three hundred and twelve cat’s eye stones on the Victorian Gothic architectural style tower, still sounded its far-reaching chimes on time, awakening the drowsy city.

Drawing open the curtains with a motion of his hand, Bryan stood motionless by the window. He gazed thoughtfully at the Palace of Westminster through the expensive full-length glass windows of his suite, holding a cup of tea that had gradually transitioned from scalding hot to just lukewarm in his distracted grip.

And the list he had obtained from Verrence last night was spread out on the tea table behind him.

After a full night of careful pondering, weighing various factors and calculating probabilities, Bryan had purposefully prioritized visits to the three individuals located in France and Germany.

The reason for this decision was simple– on the surface, the attack Hermione had suffered seemed inseparably linked to her status as a Triwizard champion, and France and Germany were the main regions from which the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were.

Although Bryan did not believe that Madame Maxime or Karkaroff would commit such an unwise and diplomatically catastrophic act against a rival school’s champion. Nor did he truly believe the reason for this sophisticatedly executed attack was merely the impulsive, fanatical action of a single resentful individual.

But one indisputable fact which could not be ignored was that after the conclusion of the first round of the Triwizard Tournament, these two countries undeniably had the highest number of people who strongly hated or detested Hermione.

The spotless glass window reflected back a somewhat weary face. Bryan stared contemplatively at his slightly blurred reflection in the window, simultaneously conducting a thoughtful examination of his recent thought patterns and priorities.

For some time, he had devoted most of his energy to contemplating the imminent return of Voldemort to the magical world, contemplating Merlin’s various actions before his disappearance centuries ago, contemplating the memories the four founders of Hogwarts had shown him, while completely forgetting that in this real magical world, dangers did not entirely stem from the matters that concerned him, and unexpected situations could occur at any time.

He should not, he now realized, limit his thoughts to only those few issues, but rather should broaden his perspective and vigilance. After all, he was different from Dumbledore, who had only one goal remaining in his life to permanently defeat Voldemort.

Taking a deep breath, the exhaled air left a fine mist of water droplets on the glass. Bryan glanced at the tea in his hand that retained only a faint warmth, not taking another sip, but loosening his grip and allowing the teacup to float gently onto the table.

Then, Bryan opened his arms, and the coat hanging on the rack behind the door flew over with a swoosh, dressing itself onto Bryan. The parchment on the tea table folded into a square and darted into the coat pocket. As Bryan adjusted his cuffs, the leather shoes on the shoe rack also walked over on their own.

Swoosh—

Bryan was patiently waiting for the shoelaces to complete their self-tying pattern when he suddenly seemed to sense a disturbance in the magical atmosphere around him. His entire demeanor transformed in an instant from relaxed preparation to intense alertness. He turned his head as his gaze focused outside the glass window while his wand had already appeared in his palm.

A silver flickering object appeared in the distant pale horizon and within a few breaths it had arrived directly outside the hotel room window. It penetrated the glass and landed on the floor in front of Bryan.

“Good morning, Mr. Watson, I hope I haven’t disturbed your rest—”

Seeing the nimble lynx on the ground, Bryan raised an eyebrow, immediately recognizing to whom this loud, mellow voice belonged.

“Kingsley?”

Bryan moved his fingers slightly, and the wand retracted into his sleeve and a glint flashed through his eyes.

“What news brings you here at this hour? Has the Ministry finally traced where that package was mailed from?”

Perhaps sensing the dissatisfaction in Bryan’s tone, Kingsley’s Patronus continued with a hint of apology,

“I’m very sorry for the delay in providing you with this information. You know, of course, that the package sent to Miss Hermione Granger did not specify any return address or identifying marks that would facilitate immediate tracing. So, It took us quite some time to locate its origin. Mr. Watson, we have already surrounded the location. Minister Fudge and Madam Bones have personally instructed that we report any and all progress on this matter directly to you without delay—”

Bryan did not speak, waiting for Kingsley to state the location.

“We found—” Kingsley’s voice paused for a moment, “The answer is rather surprising and unexpected, Mr. Watson. Our investigation has determined that the package was mailed directly from the Leaky Cauldron—”

The absence of a return address on the package mailed to Hermione was a detail Bryan had immediately noted yesterday after the incident. He had naturally anticipated that the perpetrator would have used comprehensive protective measures and enchantments designed specifically to avoid exposing their identity or location.

Therefore, recognizing the expected futility of investigating along with such a direct approach, he changed his investigative procedure to examine the origin of the matter from multiple angles simultaneously.

But perhaps due to the serious attitudes displayed by both himself and Dumbledore during yesterday’s meeting, the Ministry had finally, fully recognized the true extent of Hogwarts’ outrage over this attack on a student under their protection.

In just one night, they had successfully determined the package’s place of origin.

The Leaky Cauldron—This was indeed an unexpected and puzzling location. But upon receiving this crucial piece of information, Bryan did not show any specific delight or excitement at this investigative breakthrough. His face remained composed as he considered the significance of this revelation for several thoughtful moments before giving a slight nod.

“Thank you for your efforts, Kingsley–“

The probability of directly obtaining a clear, definitive answer to the identity of the attacker through this lead was certainly nearly zero. But that mathematical improbability did not mean the location was unworthy of his personal attention and thorough examination. Bryan nodded once more with decision.

“I’ll head over immediately to join your team—”

In that moment, Bryan did not spare even the slightest consideration for what confusion and unease the Muggle hotel manager would inevitably face upon discovering that the guest occupying this expensive suite had inexplicably vanished without properly checking out or settling his account.

With one step, Bryan disappeared into the distorted air. When he reappeared in the real world, he had already arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.

In the early morning hours, the golden sunlight rising from the eastern horizon leaped over the low stone back wall of the Leaky Cauldron.

At this early hour, the Leaky Cauldron typically had minimal business activity, with only a handful of resident travelers and overnight guests leisurely coming downstairs to enjoy a pleasant breakfast. The occasional individuals entering the establishment at this hour typically used the tavern as a convenient passageway between the Muggle world and the magical world, hurrying in and out without lingering.

But today’s situation was different from this normal routine. Approximately half the available space in the deserted morning pub was densely packed with unfamiliar figures standing in strategic formations, and every single person who had assembled in this space had an unmistakable air of professional competence and severity in their attentive eyes.

A difficult to describe yet tangible atmosphere of extreme solemnity permeated the air. A yawning traveler, completely unaware of the situation unfolding below, walked down the stairs from the second floor with carelessly swaying steps, still half-immersed in the fog of recent sleep.

When his drowsy gaze finally registered the situation on the first floor, his hand which had been absently rubbing his sleep-coated eyes, suddenly stiffened and froze in mid-air, and in a single heart-stopping instant, the expression on his face transformed from drowsiness to terror and dread!

Gulp!

The audible sound of the traveler’s fearful swallowing was embarrassingly clear in the silence that had fallen upon the Leaky Cauldron. The dozens of intensely scrutinizing gazes that suddenly and simultaneously assaulted him from all directions frightened the poor man so much that his knees visibly trembled beneath his rumpled nightclothes.

“I’m very sorry for this inconvenience, sir—” A deep voice broke the tension.

Kingsley looking tall and imposing in his formal purple wizard robes embroidered with golden wide stripes denoting his senior status within the Auror Department emerged from behind several similarly dressed colleagues.

“I’m afraid the tavern’s usual breakfast service will unfortunately have to be temporarily suspended for a while. We need some of the proprietor’s time for an official matter of some urgency. Of course, I assure you our business won’t occupy his time much. Perhaps you might consider returning to your room to rest a bit longer until we’ve concluded our investigation—”

The terrified traveler nodded in acknowledgment so rapidly and vigorously that his head became nearly blurred. He dared not utter even the slightest word of protest or refusal and instead turned and fled back upstairs with the desperate speed of one granted unexpected pardon from certain doom.

Only when turning sideways at the landing did the corner of his eye unintentionally swept over the tavern’s owner Tom, who seemed to be on the verge of fainting as he stood surrounded by stern-faced Aurors at his usually peaceful bar counter.

“There’s no need to be nervous or alarmed, Tom—” Kingsley said in a reassuring tone.

In a very real sense, the Leaky Cauldron’s owner Tom was himself also a somewhat renowned figure in Britain’s magical community, having served generations of witches and wizards who passed through his Pub.

Kingsley certainly recognized him both personally and professionally. As he watched the frightened traveler leave hastily to the second floor, Kingsley turned his gaze toward the bar and gave an amiable smile intended to put Tom at ease,

“We’re simply here to investigate certain matters. I give you my personal assurance that as soon as the relevant issues are satisfactorily clarified, we’ll leave and allow your business to resume its normal operations—”

“I— Whew, I truly don’t quite understand what this is about, Kingsley—” Tom stammered, clearly distressed by the unprecedented situation.

The badly startled owner’s already sparse and wispy hair seemed to be falling out strand by strand under the extreme stress of the moment. His two bulging eyes had grown bright red around the rims as he pitifully pouted in confusion and distress,

“This place is just a humble—”

Bang—

An abrupt sound unexpectedly rang out from the small courtyard in the back. The experienced Aurors immediately determined it was the sound of Apparition.

Whoosh—

Over twenty fellows in similar black coats swished out their wands from their sleeves, their eyes were cold and stern as they pointed it at the back door from which the newcomer would inevitably appear.

These gazes touched together, filled with intense vigilance and hostility, were more dazzling and oppressive than sunlight. Bryan stood at the juncture between the hall and the rear courtyard. His eyes swept across the tavern’s main hall, then he calmly walked in.

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