0717 Berlin

The Spree River, originating from the mist-shrouded northern foothills of the Lusatian Mountains in southeastern Germany, breezes its path through vast, marshlands and plains before finally merging with the Havel River in the heart of Berlin.

In February, the flood-swollen Havel River rushed forward with intensity. On its wide channel, the swift currents crashed against each other, creating mesmerizing patterns of white, fish-scale-like spray that fleetingly danced above the misty depths before being swallowed again by the hungry waters.

Rows of lush spruce trees stood on both banks providing a welcome splash of color against the unicolor winter landscape. These plants added a touch of tranquility to Berlin’s frost-bitten morning, though they ultimately failed to dispel the oppressive feeling brought by the heavy gray industrial smog that hung over the city.

Louise’s attentive gaze, filled with a mixture of curiosity and melancholy, followed the slow walk of an elderly couple walking arm-in-arm along the cobblestone riverbank. She watched as their hunched silhouettes gradually blurred and finally disappeared completely into the swirling mist.

Then, with a barely audible sigh that carried traces of resignation and loneliness, she somewhat dejectedly turned her attention back to the rushing river before her as its constant movement seemed to provide a hypnotic distraction from her troubled thoughts.

The dense moisture that filled the air by the riverbank had gradually condensed into crystalline dewdrops on Louise’s long eyelashes. As her lashes fluttered against the cold, the dewdrops were freed and rolled down her pale cheeks like tears, their icy, unexpected touch causing her momentary discomfort and pulling her abruptly from her pensive state.

She hurriedly wiped them away with the back of her gloved hand but in doing so somehow lost her earlier enthusiasm for staying to admire the haunting, winter-touched scenery of this strange and unfamiliar city she had never visited before today.

Making a decisive though somewhat reluctant turn away from the flow of the river, Louise began walking into the riverside forest. After just a few steps into the dimness of the woods, a countryside wooden cottage began to faintly appear in front of her eyes.

This particular area was in Berlin’s quiet, less populated outskirts away from the bustle and eyes of the inner city. The house they were staying in had been specifically designed and constructed as comfortable lodging for tourists visiting from out of town who preferred privacy than convenience.

Similar old-fashioned lodgings weren’t particularly uncommon in the vicinity, catering to those who appreciated nature and solitude, but they were intentionally spaced far apart from one another to ensure complete privacy for their lodgers.

Reaching the front door, Louise hesitated briefly and didn’t immediately push it open, her hand was frozen in mid-air as she found herself lost in thought once again.

Today was their third consecutive day in this city, having arrived via something referred to as a “Portkey”.

This marvelous, unbelievable mode of magical transportation that could instantly traverse thousands of miles without any visible means of force or energy source far exceeded Louise’s wildest imagination and everything she had previously believed possible with magic.

If Muggles like herself could somehow harness and utilize this extraordinary method of travel, the entire global civilization would undoubtedly undergo tremendous, revolutionary change overnight. International borders would become meaningless, and the entire structure of society would be completely altered in ways that were simultaneously thrilling and terrifying to consider.

Of course, this magical method of transportation wasn’t without drawbacks. When traveling by Portkey, it felt as if one’s entire body was being flushed down a rapidly spinning toilet while simultaneously being stretched and compressed in all directions.

The sensation was so intensely unpleasant that Louise found herself genuinely wondering how on earth wizards could possibly tolerate such an awful, nauseating experience on a regular basis.

At least after her first tormenting Portkey journey three days ago, she had not only vomited uncontrollably until her stomach was completely empty but also had been forced to lie on the cottage’s sofa for nearly two hours before her body had recovered enough for her to stand without the room spinning around her.

Wizards undoubtedly possessed truly enviable, reality-defying abilities that seemed to break all the natural laws she had learned throughout her education. Over the past two increasingly eye-opening days, Louise had nearly bitten her tongue in astonishment countless times as she witnessed casual displays of magic that challenged everything, she had previously believed possible.

She had seen Kingsley wave his wooden stick (which the wizards called a “wand”) and made the cold fireplace burst into flames with a startling bang that had caused her to jump backward in alarm.

She had watched in disbelief as Kingsley, without even approaching the kitchen area, somehow made sharp knives chop potatoes rather crookedly through the air as if used by invisible hands, and household clothes scrub themselves vigorously in the old wooden washtub until they were unfortunately tattered.

“Sorry, I’m not very good at household magic—” After magically twisting Louise’s coat into an unrecognizable ruin of threads and fabric, Kingsley had fallen into embarrassed silence for a moment before saying apologetically.

In short, wizards clearly possessed all sorts of incredible, physics-defying powers that could revolutionize every aspect of daily life, but in some surprisingly essential ways, they were also quite unusually backward compared to modern ‘Muggle’ society.

When Louise first saw Kingsley solemnly writing what appeared to be an important letter on yellowed parchment with an actual feather quill dipped repeatedly in a small pot of ink, she was stunned into speechless disbelief.

Quills! In their society, these had been completely obsolete for at least a century or more. And she couldn’t believe her eyes when she discovered that wizards actually used owls to deliver their mail.

“Why on earth do you not use telephones?” After witnessing this primitive communication method, Louise finally gathered her courage to ask the question that had been burning in her mind.

She pointed at the black telephone on the side table near the sofa and said to Kingsley, “If you need to contact someone urgently, using a telephone would be immensely more convenient and faster than writing letters and waiting for birds to deliver them. It seems so inefficient.”

“Telephones are indeed convenient for instant communication, but most wizards simply aren’t accustomed to using them, Louise—”

Kingsley explained patiently in deep voice. “Muggle technology, despite its obvious practical applications, is extremely difficult to popularize among the more traditional parts of wizarding society. Many older wizards actively resist incorporating such innovations into their daily lives, often out of a combination of stubborn tradition and genuine unfamiliarity.

Of course, we also have our own more convenient magical ways to contact others almost instantly—the Floo Network, for example—”

Kingsley had casually introduced yet another new magical term that Louise didn’t understand as he simultaneously pointed toward the stone fireplace.

“But unfortunately, we can’t safely use it now for communication,” He continued more seriously. “Domestic Floo Networks are strictly monitored and regulated by each country’s Ministry of Magic for security purposes, and since we entered German wizarding territory illegally without proper magical documentation, using the Floo Network would almost certainly expose our presence and location to them.”

Louise nodded with partial understanding, consciously restraining her burning desire to ask dozens of follow-up questions and learn more fascinating details about this mysterious ‘Floo Network’ that apparently allowed communication through fireplaces.

Although between Bryan and Kingsley, Bryan was clearly the higher-ranking wizard based on their interactions and the respect Kingsley showed him, at least in terms of personal demeanor and approachability, Bryan seemed significantly more friendly toward her and gave her a greater sense of security and acceptance.

Kingsley, on the other hand, was taciturn and somewhat intimidating at first glance, with his impressive height, deep voice, and serious expression. For the majority of their time here in the cottage, he had been busy with his own secretive affairs inside the house which thwarted Louise’s plans to learn more about the world of magic in general and Bryan’s background in particular, leaving her with a growing list of unanswered questions.

Whoosh, whoosh—

A sudden, powerful gust of chilly wind sweeping in from the river valley caused the tall spruce trees surrounding the wooden cottage to vigorously sway their branches, making a rustling sound. She had just managed to cover her hair with her hands when she suddenly heard a gentle voice speaking from behind her.

“Why not go inside where it’s warmer? You look half-frozen standing out here.”

Louise drew in a sharp, surprised breath and turned around abruptly. When she saw Bryan Watson walking toward the house along the cobblestone path, her expression suddenly brightened, but then she quickly contained her emotions and pressed her lips together.

“Oh—um, I was just about to go in, actually—” She stammered slightly, feeling annoyed at herself for being caught off-guard.

Click—

Inside the house, the ever-vigilant Kingsley seemed to sense something and quickly strode to the door with his wand partially drawn. He opened it before Louise could even turn the handle, causing her to stumble forward as the support she had been reaching for suddenly disappeared.

“You’re back, Mr. Watson!” After instinctively steadying Louise, Kingsley completely ignored the dissatisfied look she cast him and gazed over her head with evident relief toward Bryan.

“Let’s talk inside, Kingsley—” Bryan responded with a slight nod of acknowledgment.

The cottage’s main living room wasn’t particularly spacious by any standard, especially after being furnished with several mismatched single armchairs with comfortable soft cushions and a low, dark wooden table, leaving very little open floor space for movement. The brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling in a somewhat unusual tire-like shape further compressed the already narrow space.

Bryan stepped onto the thick woolen carpet, looking at a complete deer hide hanging on the wall above the stone fireplace, and clicked his tongue.

Turning around, he saw Louise standing by a sofa, twisting her hands and looking at him anxiously.

“Everyone should sit down—”

Taking the teacup handed to him by Kingsley, Bryan raised it to his nose and sniffed it, a faint herbal aroma wafted up to greet him. Bryan wrinkled his nose slightly in some dissatisfaction at the unfamiliar blend. After taking a small, cautious sip of the German tea that tasted of unfamiliar herbs and spices, Bryan settled himself comfortably into the armchair and naturally gestured to Kingsley and Louise to do the same.

‘Some people truly possess natural, innate leadership qualities that cannot be taught or acquired,’ Louise thought with fascination as she sat nervously on the edge of the sofa cushion.

Even though she and Kingsley had moved into the cottage first and had established something of a routine in Bryan’s absence, once Bryan appeared, he had naturally and effortlessly assumed the role of host and leader, and remarkably, she felt absolutely no sense of strangeness about this immediate shift.

Without wasting time on small talk, both Kingsley and Louise’s expectant gazes fell simultaneously on Bryan’s face. Fully aware of their barely contained eagerness for information, Bryan took another sip of the steaming tea, sighed deeply as if gathering his thoughts, rubbed his slightly furrowed forehead, and finally said:

“A new suspect has unexpectedly entered our sights—”

Bryan paused for a moment before continuing, “Jasna—”

Louise’s eyes immediately showed bewilderment at this unfamiliar name, while Kingsley’s eyebrows moved upward in what might have been recognition.

“Jasna Rosier… Is that a name from the smuggling list?” Kingsley asked, leaning forward slightly in his chair.

It was clear from context that Angus Aeschylus and this newly mentioned Jasna Rosier hadn’t left England at the same time, probably to avoid potential exposure and detection. Kingsley didn’t waste time questioning how Bryan had identified this particular name from among dozens of possibilities but chose to trust his judgment and methods directly.

“Rosier,” Kingsley repeated thoughtfully, chewing on this noteworthy surname with obvious dislike, his expression growing increasingly unpleasant as he considered its implications. He said softly, almost to himself, “Could it possibly be that behind this…”

“It has absolutely nothing to do with Voldemort—” Bryan interrupted calmly but with unmistakable conviction.

“In fact, this witch Jasna probably didn’t use her real surname during her time in England. Her real name should actually be Jasna Vogel—”

“Jasna Vogel?” Kingsley repeated slowly, testing the unfamiliar name on his tongue as his eyebrows furrowed tightly in concentration. He vaguely felt the name carried some significance or familiarity but couldn’t immediately recall where he had encountered it before.

“Kingsley—” Bryan suddenly called Kingsley’s name, breaking his intense concentration, and after receiving a startled but attentive response, he asked, “You’ve been regularly writing to Dumbledore these past few days, informing him of our ongoing investigation progress and findings, correct?”

Kingsley looked slightly surprised at this unexpected change of subject. Bryan had certainly known about this before their departure from England, and Kingsley didn’t fully understand why this was being brought up now. But after a brief moment of hesitation, he slowly nodded in confirmation.

“Yes, Mr. Watson, I have indeed been writing to Headmaster—”

“Hmm—” Bryan nodded thoughtfully. After a moment of silence, Bryan’s expression remained calm and unruffled, but his steely gaze was fixed on Kingsley, and he said:

“From this moment forward until this entire matter is completely resolved, all our investigation progress, will be temporarily stropped from being reported to Dumbledore. Understood, Kingsley?”

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