0726 The Confrontation

Behind the exhibition hall decorated in the classical ancient Greek architectural style stood a two-story red brick square building. During the dinner hour, academy professors constantly came and went through its doors.

Within this bustling faculty dining hall, Jasna Rosier sat alone at a small, round table by one of the tall windows that overlooked the campus grounds. Her attention seemed to be focused on the newspaper in her hands.

In front of her on the table was a cup decorated with the university’s coat of arms with coffee that was still hot enough to send up thin wisps of white steam.

The dining hall around her buzzed with the gentle murmur of academic conversation—discussions of research projects, debates about theoretical concepts, complaints about administrative bureaucracy, and the comfortable gossip like that of any community.

Yet despite the collegial atmosphere that filled the space, many acquaintances and colleagues passed by Professor Rosier’s table in the corridor that ran alongside the dining area without so much as a nod of acknowledgment or a word of greeting.

This deliberate looking social isolation was not accidental or the result of any personal animosity. Rather, all the professors working here had long ago learned and accepted that Professor Rosier—despite her vast professional knowledge, her youth that made her accomplishments all the more extraordinary, and her striking beauty—had a cold and eccentric personality.

She rarely initiated communication with her colleagues and seemed to actively avoid the informal social interactions. She declined invitations to faculty parties, avoided collaborative research projects, and maintained a professional distance that made her look antisocial.

Unexpectedly, it was the school’s service staff—the maintenance workers, the groundskeepers, the food service workers who prepared meals, and the administrative assistants who handled the endless paperwork, who had somehow managed to penetrate her defensive barriers and earn what could generously be called her friendship.

Snap—

The sound was very sharp and decisive, like the closing of a book or the breaking of a twig under one’s foot.

As the last ray of golden sunset finally disappeared completely behind the silhouettes of the distant mountains, the warm, honey-colored light emanating from the small faculty dining hall suddenly became prominently visible against the rapidly darkening campus area.

Inside the dining hall, Jasna took one final, careful glance at The Daily Prophet—which she had cleverly concealed within the ordinary pages of The Berlin Daily newspaper.

To any casual observer, she appeared to be reading local news about city politics, cultural events, and social announcements. In reality, her attention was focused entirely on the magical headlines.

After completing her review of both newspapers, she folded them together and placed them neatly on the table. She then picked up her porcelain coffee cup and slowly began to stir it with a small spoon.

Her gaze drifted toward the window and fixed upon the distant forest that even from this distance seemed to emanate a cold aura.

She was extremely careful to ensure that none of her Muggle colleagues dining around her could see the trace of doubt and concern that flickered momentarily through her usual perfectly calm and indifferent dark eyes.

Nothing had happened in the past week—and that fact was beginning to worry her more than any overt action might have.

More than seven full days had passed since the message from Hogsmeade had confirmed that Hermione Granger had successfully received the package. Throughout this entire week, absolutely nothing of consequence had occurred in response to this.

Neither Hogwarts School nor the British Ministry of Magic had made any visible move in response to their actions. Both were maintaining an unsettling, almost ominous silence, as if they had no intention of investigating the matter at all.

Of course, such complete inaction was logically impossible. Aeschylus had told her that the small trap he had constructed using that Muggle’s corpse had indeed been triggered.

This meant that either the British Ministry of Magic’s Auror department or Hogwarts itself had definitely become aware of their existence and their activities.

Yet what had followed this revelation was nothing but complete, unsettling calm. The anticipated border lockdowns that should have sealed magical travel routes, the massive coordinated manhunts that should have swept over the continent for traces of their organization, the emergency alerts that should have been issued to magical law enforcement agencies across Europe—none of these predictable responses had happened.

Instead, there was only waiting, watching, and a growing sense that something far more subtle and dangerous was being prepared in the shadows.

Jasna sighed softly. The tension she had been carrying in her shoulders for days finally caused her straight posture to slump slightly, as if the weight of uncertainty and anticipation had become too heavy to bear with perfect composure.

In truth, even now, she wasn’t entirely clear why they had to execute such a plan. The strategy seemed almost suicidally dangerous—deliberately risking the wrath of Albus Dumbledore and Bryan Watson in hopes that these two would seek justice for their students by going on a bloody killing spree throughout the European wizarding world, cutting down anyone connected to their organization.

The resulting chaos and carnage would supposedly spark a new holy war between different factions of the magical community, creating the kind of widespread conflict and upheaval that would allow their organization to achieve its ultimate goals.

But this outcome seemed completely unrealistic to her. Perhaps there might have been some slight possibility of success if they had been bold enough to kill Harry Potter—the boy whom Magical Community called “The Boy Who Lived,”.

But targeting lesser figures, even ones as beloved as Hogwarts students, seemed unlikely to generate the level of outrage and desire for vengeance that their plan required to succeed.

Moreover, although they had been extremely careful and taken precautions during their transaction with the goblin banking network, it still carried enormous risks.

But her faith in their leader remained absolute and unshakeable. Mr. Raman’s wisdom had been demonstrated time and again through decades. If he believed with his superior intellect and vast experience that executing this particular plan would ultimately benefit their sacred mission, then the outcome would surely unfold exactly as he had envisioned—it was simply that her own relatively shallow wisdom and limited perspective could not yet understand the deeper complexities of his grand design.

The coffee from her spoon entered her mouth, and Jasna immediately frowned with displeasure. It was far too bitter for her—in her distraction and worry, she had completely forgotten to add the sugar that would have made coffee palatable.

The hidden worries that churned constantly in her heart, combined with the nonstop chattering of her oblivious Muggle colleagues around her as they discussed their mundane concerns about lease reviews, research funding, and departmental politics, made Jasna feel increasingly irritated and claustrophobic.

The warm hall that had once seemed comfortable now felt suffocating and oppressive. She had absolutely no mood or patience to remain in this smoky, noisy environment for even one more minute.

Just as she was beginning to roll up her newspapers and preparing to leave this place of forced social interaction behind, a young female student suddenly appeared at the top of the stairway that led to the second floor of the building. The girl paused momentarily at the entrance to the dining area, her eyes scanning the room.

After completing her brief survey of the occupied tables, the student’s gaze fixed on Professor Rosier with recognition. She immediately began hurrying across the dining hall toward her target.

“Professor Rosier?”

As Jasna listened to the girl’s breathless narration of her encounter with a mysterious, handsome stranger, and as she examined the gold pocket watch that the student handed her, confusion began to creep across her cold face. She unconsciously pressed her lips together in a thin line of concern and concentration.

This pocket watch….yes, she definitely had a clear and vivid impression of it. But a young man who claimed to be named Fraser Williams… at the mention of this name, Jasna’s heart began beating with increasing rapidity.

“What exactly did that man look like, Bull?” Jasna asked as she slowly rose from her chair. Her expression had transformed from its earlier mild confusion to something much sterner, though she remained completely unaware that the hand holding her folded newspapers was beginning to tremble slightly.

Tina was startled by the sudden change in Professor Rosier’s demeanor and took an instinctive step backward. She had naturally assumed that the elegant, charming gentleman who had approached her on the lawn and Professor Rosier were close friends, and she had fully expected the professor to be absolutely delighted upon seeing the expensive pocket watch!

“He was incredibly handsome—” Tina answered instinctively, her voice carrying a note of dreamy admiration. “His hair was gray in color, oh… and his eyes were the most wonderful pale purple color I’ve ever seen. He looked quite distinguished and sophisticated, like someone from a movie.”

Seeing Professor Rosier’s face turn completely grim, the frightened Tina shrank her shoulders and asked weakly, “Don’t—don’t tell me that gentleman isn’t actually your friend, Professor? Did I make some terrible mistake?”

‘Were they Ex-Lovers?’

….

Night was falling and behind the thick clouds that stretched across the darkening sky the newly risen moon appeared bright and full. However, instead of the silver light that should have illuminated the landscape with radiance, the moon’s glow was tinged with an ominous, streak of deep red.

On the gentle, grassy slope by the dark waters of the oval lake, Bryan sat with casually on a large stone that protruded from the soft ground. His hands rested comfortably on his knees while the wand in his right hand swayed gently back and forth with the cool evening breeze.

The cold air that flowed steadily from the deep, terrifying forest made Louise unconsciously pull her coat more tightly around herself.

Though she definitely felt cold, her attention remained focused on Bryan, who maintained his leisurely, comfortable posture despite the obvious tension of their situation. Her dark eyes flickered with unease as she studied his face, trying to read his thoughts and intentions.

“Bryan?” Louise called softly.

“Mm?” Bryan responded with a nasal sound instead of words.

“Do we really need to…” Louise began, then paused to glance nervously at Kingsley, who was some distance away, moving along the edge of their position while waving his wand in complex patterns and clearly working some form of protective magic around their location.

She looked back at Bryan’s somewhat thin silhouette, pressed her slightly pale lips together before continuing, “Should we… I mean, if they arrive with many people, if we’re outnumbered…”

“The protective barrier is complete and fully operational, Mr. Watson,” Kingsley said as he suddenly appeared beside the two of them.

“The nearby Muggles have been driven away, and if there’s any fighting later, they won’t be able to see what happens here.”

“Thank you for your work, Kingsley,” Bryan’s deep gaze was fixed on the buildings across the lake that had lit up, and the smile he revealed made Louise’s heart shudder.

As the minutes passed and full darkness settled over the landscape, the moonlight grew darker and more ominous. From the dense forest above, cold mist gradually flowed down, spreading toward the lakeshore until only the clear space where Bryan and his two companions stood remained unaffected.

Disturbed and shaped by the constantly shifting evening breeze, the thick fog began to form various bizarre shapes. Combined with the occasional sharp cries that echoed from the dark depths of the surrounding trees, the lakeside location that had been so peaceful and sunlit during the day was rapidly transforming into something sinister and eerie.

A thin wisp of white smoke began to separate itself from the main ‘fog wall’. Moving with patience, it crept silently along the ground, making its way through the grass and using the natural crevices to conceal its approach as it moved steadily toward the three figures on the hillside.

The tendril of mist was very careful in its movements. Whenever Kingsley’s gaze swept across the area during his regular security sweeps, the mysterious white tentacle would immediately freeze in place and blend perfectly with the surrounding darkness.

Only after Kingsley had looked elsewhere and his attention had moved to other potential threats would the supernatural fog slowly resume its stealthy ‘flow,’ using the steadily descending cold air currents as both cover and camouflage.

Finally, the white tentacle was less than ten feet from the three people. The tentacle raised its head slightly, choosing its target.

The tall, dark-skinned wizard was very alert and didn’t seem like a good target to attack. Bryan Watson, on the other hand, seemed to be sitting in foolish, almost careless unpreparedness…. However, by this point now, no one with any intelligence still believed that Bryan Watson’s great reputation was just the result of Albus Dumbledore’s political promotion.

That left the third member of their group—what appeared to be an ordinary Muggle woman.

Though it remained unclear why someone without magical abilities would be beside two wizards, she undoubtedly had no power to resist. She would make an ideal hostage or bargaining chip.

After a brief moment of hesitation, the tentacle resumed its approach. It was extremely patient—when Kingsley turned to sweep his gaze across the hillside during his security rounds, the attacking mist could remain completely motionless and invisible in the grass for ten minutes or more.

The distance continued to shrink: ten feet… nine feet… seven feet… five feet… three feet… one foot… until one inch!

The white smoke tentacle no longer concealed itself but revealed its vicious fangs. It suddenly raised its head, its materialized claws viciously reaching for the unsuspecting Louise’s calf. As long as it could make contact with her, this Muggle woman would fall into their hands.

Sizzle!

The sound that erupted from the point of contact was harsh, like gunpowder being ignited or acid eating through metal. This explosive noise was immediately followed by a series of inhuman wails filled with extreme agony!

This sudden commotion startled both Louise and Kingsley. They spun around to discover that somehow a ‘line of fire’ had appeared floating in mid-air behind them. Its end was behind them while its front extended several hundred feet into the fog wall. Behind that pale fog wall, a human-shaped torch could be vaguely seen writhing wildly!

Cold sweat poured down Kingsley’s forehead. Seeing this scene, he clearly understood they had nearly been ambushed.

Bryan finally stood up. He turned around slowly, looking directly at the fog wall with a smile that carried a hint of coldness.

“Don’t you want to have a civilized chat first, everyone?” He called out into the mist,

Bang. Bang, bang, bang!

After a brief moment of tense silence, a series of loud, sharp cracks suddenly sounded directly before the three of them. The noises were obviously the typical sounds of multiple Apparition arrivals.

One after another, dark figures began to squeeze themselves out from the darkness that surrounded the lakeside clearing, their bodies materializing from shadow and mist like demons emerging from some hell.

Bryan looked over these tense, hostile faces one by one, ignoring the numerous wands that were now pointed directly at him and his group, showing no sign of concern or intimidation despite being significantly outnumbered.

Instead, his gaze settled on the tall, beautiful woman who stood in the center of the group like a general commanding her troops. When he spoke again, his voice carried the faint but unmistakable trace of deep emotion—

“We finally meet face to face, Professor Rosier.”

Clatter—

The sound of metal striking stone rang out sharply in the tense air as Jasna’s face became cold and expressionless. The golden pocket watch that had been in her palm suddenly fell, though its chain remained wrapped around her fingers.

“Where did you get this, Bryan Watson?”

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