0805 Meeting

“Dumbledore won’t let you tell me too much?”

Harry stared at Hagrid with an unwavering gaze that made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. When Harry spoke again, his voice was slow.

“Why? Wasn’t it me who told him everything that happened in that graveyard? Wasn’t it me who relived every horrifying detail, every moment of terror and pain, so that he would know exactly what we were facing?”

Harry’s voice began to rise, the control he had been maintaining starting to crack like ice under pressure.

“Has he ever considered that I might not enjoy watching my best friends get hit with the Killing Curse right in front of me, even if they ultimately didn’t die?

Has he ever considered that I don’t like seeing someone torn apart by dozens of Cruciatus Curses? Has he ever considered that watching Barty Crouch’s father and son turning against each other isn’t exactly a spectacular show for me to witness?”

It was only when Ron and Hermione both stared at him with wide, alarmed eyes that Harry realized he had somehow stood up from his seat during his outburst.

His chair had been knocked backwards in his agitation, and he was now high over the small table where Hagrid’s untouched rock cakes sat. His voice had risen to a shout, and he was breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon.

Harry’s face was flushed with anger and exertion, and his hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides.

“That’s not what Dumbledore wanted to see either, Harry,” Hagrid said softly, his voice carrying a gentle sadness that seemed to fill every corner of the small hut. His eyes were filled with understanding and compassion, and he made no move to scold Harry for his rudeness or the outburst.

In fact, from the very moment he had first laid eyes on the three of them today, he had known that all three youngsters had something heavy weighing on their minds.

“He didn’t anticipate it.” Hagrid tried to explain for Dumbledore, “He didn’t anticipate any of this would happen.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Harry replied, his voice now cold and flat in a way that was somehow more disturbing than his previous shouting. This shocked both Ron and Hermione into stunned silence.

Harry hadn’t told his two best friends about everything that had happened that night—he hadn’t mentioned that young Barty Crouch Jr. was now permanently finished, killed by Professor Watson.

From the fact that Professor Watson had appeared at the resurrection ceremony, many ‘interesting’ things could be inferred.

Hagrid began to look sullen, blaming himself for letting something slip again. Since he had anticipated that all three of Harry’s group had suffered severe psychological impact, he should have realized that they, especially Harry, would be particularly sensitive right now.

“He doesn’t want to tell you too much, not because he thinks you don’t deserve to know these things, Harry,” Hagrid said worriedly.

“We all know what terribly cruel things you’ve been through. The kind of experiences that would break most adult wizards, let alone someone your age. If I were in Dumbledore’s position, I wouldn’t want these dark matters to disturb you any further either. I’d want you to have a chance to return to normal school life, to find some peace and relaxation after everything you’ve endured.”

“Really?” Harry retorted, his voice dripping with bitter sarcasm. “So, your advice is that I should learn to be a coward, hide my head in the sand like an ostrich, and then maybe, just maybe, Voldemort will decide to leave me alone?”

“Then what would you have Dumbledore do instead?” Hagrid asked calmly.

“Would you prefer that he tell you all his plans in exhaustive detail, share every strategy and possibility, burden you with knowledge that would make you unable to eat or sleep? Would that make you feel better?”

Hagrid’s voice rose as he pressed his point. “Better yet, should he send you directly onto the battlefield right now? Should he have an underage wizard—someone who hasn’t even completed his magical education, duel with You-Know-Who’s experienced and dangerous Death Eaters? Would that satisfy your need to be included in everything, Harry?”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, more angry words already forming on his tongue, but he caught sight of Hermione across the room.

She was giving him desperate, meaningful looks, her brown eyes wide with concern and her head shaking. Her expression clearly communicated that she thought he was pushing too hard.

“I just—” Harry began, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. The anger that had been driving him was still there, burning in his chest like a coal that refused to cool, but he no longer had the energy or the will to feed it with more arguments.

Instead, he turned to look out the small window of Hagrid’s hut.

Under the dazzling afternoon sunlight, a group of first-year students were making the most of their free time by frolicking on the lawns between the castle and the Forbidden Forest. Their cheerful laughter reached Harry’s ears through the glass, a sound of pure innocence and joy that somehow made him feel even more irritated and isolated than before.

The sight of their carefree play reminded Harry of the averted gazes and conversations he had encountered on his way through the corridors to the Great Hall.

These children for that’s what they were, children barely eleven years old were still living in a world where magic was wonder and adventure, where the greatest dangers they faced were failing a Transfiguration exam or getting detention with Snape.

They had no idea that a dark wizard of unimaginable power had returned to terrorize their world, no knowledge of the gathering storm that would soon engulf everything they held dear.

“I just can’t accept that so many people are still pretending there’s peace,” Harry finally managed to say.

“Not everyone has the courage to face reality, Harry,” Hagrid replied, his own gaze following Harry’s out the window to watch the playing children.

“Most people will keep living in denial, keep pretending that everything is normal, right up until the day when Death Eaters’ wands are pointed directly at their noses and they can no longer ignore the truth.”

Hagrid’s expression grew grim as he continued, his eyes reflecting memories of darker times. “But we all know, those of us who are paying attention, those of us who remember what happened before, that there aren’t many days left like that. Days of peace and innocence are numbered now.”

The bitter cold of winter had completely retreated from the Scottish Highlands, leaving behind only memories of frost and snow that seemed to belong to a completely different world.

For a full week now, the sky had maintained its bright, clear blue color, unblemished by the gray clouds that had dominated the landscape for months.

Bryan stood at the entrance to Hogsmeade village, gazing into the distance. The pure white snow covering the mountain peaks was fading day by day, and was barely visible now.

The warm weather filled the air with a lazy atmosphere, at least that’s how he felt. But for the villagers of Hogsmeade, this was perhaps one of the busiest times of the year. Many fruits and vegetables needed to be planted at this time, and outside the village, in the fields divided into plots, figures could be seen bent over in busy work.

Men and women were all busy in the fields, while on the crisscrossing paths of the village, children were laughing and playing. When these children saw the gentle-faced Bryan Watson pass by, they would immediately stop their games and bow respectfully to greet him.

Bryan would smile back in response, and under these children’s respectful and envious gazes, listening to their longing for Hogwarts, he would walk slowly away.

They were so close to Hogwarts, yet might never set foot in that palace of dreams as students.

Although it was the weekend, and this was one of those days when Hogwarts students were not permitted to visit the village, the famous Three Broomsticks Inn had surprisingly a few customers.

The proprietress, Madam Rosmerta was lazily leaning on the bar counter with her chin resting on her hands.

Her appearance showed signs of the leisurely afternoon atmosphere; her golden hair was slightly tussled, and she seemed to be fighting off drowsiness as she yawned and stared with half-focused eyes at an irregularly shaped patch of moving light on the far wall.

Ding-a-ling—

The bell at the door perked up the proprietress a bit, and she walked with light steps to welcome Bryan inside.

“What would you like today, Bryan?” Madam Rosmerta asked.

“A sherry first, if you please,” Bryan replied. He glanced at the clock mounted on the wall behind the bar. “Also, I believe I’ll need a private room for a meeting I’m expecting.”

Madam Rosmerta chose a private room with an excellent view for Bryan. Opening the windows, one could see the towering castle on the cliff, the lush Forbidden Forest, and the rolling mountain ranges.

As Bryan settled into his chair by the window, the gentle breeze that wandered over the wild countryside stirred his gray hair and brought with it the fresh, clean scents of the highland spring. He gazed out at the mountain forests that stretched to the horizon and found that his mood was quite good indeed.

This sense of contentment was mainly related to the safe return of Severus from his first meeting with the resurrected Voldemort.

The first meeting with Voldemort was the most dangerous.

Severus had to explain clearly and convincingly why he had worked under Dumbledore’s direction for so many years, why he hadn’t returned immediately to Voldemort’s side after receiving the summons through the Dark Mark, and why he had done nothing to harm Harry Potter despite having the boy right under his nose for four full years.

Most challenging of all, he’d had to prove to Voldemort that he still had genuine value as a spy and double agent, that his apparent loyalty to Dumbledore was nothing more than a performance designed to gather intelligence for the Dark Lord’s eventual return.

As he had expected, Voldemort had asked Severus about why he had appeared as a little girl at his resurrection ceremony. He should know by now that he hadn’t killed anyone that night. Severus also explained why Ron and Hermione were still alive.

Although these explanations weren’t without flaws, for a Voldemort desperately wanting to prove that everything had been an accident, they were sufficient. He happily accepted Severus’s account.

Severus hadn’t brought back information about what Voldemort specifically planned to do next. For now, he had only asked Severus to monitor him and Dumbledore. He hadn’t told Severus about the other Death Eaters’ missions, which was perfectly normal and showed that Voldemort hadn’t completely lost his mind.

As for Voldemort’s current hiding place, Severus knew it, but he couldn’t tell Dumbledore or him as the Unbreakable Vow was binding him from revealing this crucial information.

However, none of this was particularly difficult for Bryan to deduce or work around. Voldemort was predictable in many ways, and his choice of hideouts would likely follow patterns established during his first reign of terror. There were only so many locations that would meet his requirements for security, symbolic significance, and strategic value.

Additionally, there was something that had slightly surprised Bryan about his recent interactions with Dumbledore. He had fully expected that the headmaster would try to invite him to join the Order of the Phoenix.

But during these past few days of observation and subtle conversation, Dumbledore hadn’t mentioned the Order at all. Presumably, he had seen through his thoughts. But he had still told him the current membership roster of the Order and their short-term action plan.

This was absolutely necessary. Although the two men shared the same ultimate goal, their routes were different. If they didn’t communicate with each other, they might very well interfere with one another.

Bryan had no immediate plans for action. He was waiting for the Ministry of Magic—waiting for Cornelius Fudge to make the first mistake, then deliver a fatal blow.

The sound of floorboards creaking under footsteps came from outside the door. Bryan temporarily emerged from his contemplation, adjusted his expression, and smiled as he faced the wooden door. But when the person outside forcefully pushed open the door and appeared in his line of sight, Bryan’s eyes widened in shock.

“Oh, my God,” Bryan breathed, his voice carrying a tone of alarm. “What on earth has happened to you?”

The visitor was indeed Vipor Dreghorn, who had come at his invitation, a wizard who, like Bryan, held the position of Vice President of the International Confederation of Wizards. However, Vipor was responsible for practical affairs and held real power, while Bryan was more like an honorary vice president.

The last time the two had met wasn’t too long ago, less than a month earlier, outside Nurmengard castle, when Vipor had gathered a group of people and aggressively tried to prevent Bryan from entering Nurmengard.

But just one month later—

Viper looked more than a decade older than before. The hard lines that had once shown on his aged cheeks now only revealed exhaustion, his hair had gone much grayer, and most importantly, there was a small piece of white gauze stuck to his forehead, as if he had been injured.

“What happened?!”

Faced with Bryan’s inquiry, Vipor put on a cold face, his expression was exactly the same as when Bryan had entered his estate uninvited that time. His sharp gaze fell on Bryan’s shocked expression with a somewhat teeth-gritting expression.

“This is all thanks to you, Watson!”

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep