The match ended.

Following the flow of the crowd out of the Quidditch stadium, Dawn spotted an owl descending from the distance with a letter clutched in its beak.

“What’s that?” Slughorn asked curiously as the owl landed on Dawn’s shoulder. He couldn’t imagine who would dare send this man a letter.

“A message from Rita Skeeter,” Dawn said calmly as he opened it, making no effort to hide it.

“Her Animagus form is very convenient for staying hidden. I had her keep an eye on old Avery. This is her report.”

“Old Avery?”

At the mention of the name, Slughorn immediately recalled the disastrous banquet that had dragged him into chaos, and he reflexively rubbed his arms.

He barely even processed the revelation that the famous reporter was an unregistered Animagus.

“What are you planning to do—oh! I get it!”

Before he could finish his question, realization struck him. “You’re planning to use old Avery to lure his son out, aren’t you?”

The Potions Master shook his head inwardly.

To him, the plan sounded wildly unrealistic. With Dumbledore around, even if Murphy Avery left school, the Headmaster would certainly follow.

Dawn didn’t explain. After finishing the letter, he suddenly remarked, “Clever.”

“Huh?” Slughorn was confused.

Dawn slapped the letter into his hands. “According to Skeeter, after leaving Hogwarts, old Avery used the Imperius Curse on another wizard.”

“He used Polyjuice Potion to turn the controlled man into his own appearance, openly placing a bounty on me in the underground world, while he himself quietly slipped out of the country.”

Slughorn shrugged. He wasn’t particularly surprised; he knew old Avery well enough to recognize the man’s style.

The balding Potions Master held the thick letter and began reading with curiosity.

Then his eyes widened in shock.

“Wait a minute! How did Rita Skeeter manage to record the conversation between old Avery and Dumbledore without being discovered?

What exactly is her Animagus form?”

His astonishment was understandable.

After all, he knew perfectly well that the strongest wizard of the century was especially skilled in Transfiguration.

But Dawn found nothing strange about it.

Dumbledore was powerful, yes—but still human, not omniscient.

Just like in the original events, the old Headmaster had never discovered the true identity of Ron’s pet rat, Scabbers.

Slughorn didn’t wait for an answer and didn’t particularly care.

After finishing the letter, he asked with a complicated expression, “What are you going to do next?”

“You already know the answer,” Dawn said, glancing at him. “Since Skeeter is monitoring old Avery, the next step is obviously to go deal with him.”

Dawn was very clear on one point: whether old Avery lived or died was crucial to his next move.

So before January seventeenth arrived, the final thing he needed to do was send that man to his grave.

“Honestly, this is a perfect example of being too clever for one’s own good,” Dawn added with a chuckle.

He took the letter back from Slughorn, confirmed the address once more, and smiled.

If old Avery had been staying with Aurors from the Ministry, or with underground Dark wizards who had taken the bounty, Dawn would have had to put in some effort.

But now, with the man hiding alone abroad, his exact location exposed, he was no different from meat on a chopping block.

“Listen… do I really have to go?” Slughorn hesitated.

He truly didn’t want to face what was coming next.

The balding master wasn’t a good man—but he certainly wasn’t evil either. Smooth and self-interested, yes, but when misfortune struck, he could still feel guilt and sorrow.

Especially when it involved him directly, yet was beyond his ability to stop.

“Suit yourself,” Dawn replied indifferently. “But if you’re not coming, hurry up and brew the Anger Potions for me.”

“I need them today.”

Crack!

Dawn Apparated, vanishing from the natural scenery of Skye.

Slughorn rubbed his half-bald head and sighed heavily, unable to suppress a sense of unease.

France.

Annecy.

A small city in southeastern France, nestled between Geneva and Chambéry, known for its beautiful scenery and pleasant living conditions.

Because it was a popular tourist destination with heavy foot traffic, hardly anyone noticed a new household moving in quietly that day.

Old Avery wore casual Muggle clothes, a wristwatch on his arm.

Thanks to his habit of reading, he blended seamlessly into Muggle life at this moment.

After unpacking his belongings, he looked around at the environment so different from Britain, relaxed, and felt a wave of relief wash over him.

The world was vast. If a wizard truly wanted to hide, how could he be found so easily?

What worried him more now was his son. But recalling Dumbledore’s assurances, that anxiety gradually eased.

Another reason old Avery had refused Dumbledore’s suggestion to stay in the castle was to serve as bait outside, drawing Dawn Richter’s attention.

Of course, such a dangerous role was not something he would personally take on.

This was precisely where the advantages of the Imperius Curse and Polyjuice Potion came into play.

Lost in thought, old Avery stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and soon felt bored.

He turned his gaze toward the bookshelf he had just organized, intending to pick out a book to pass the time—when he suddenly noticed an ugly beetle perched on it.

“Shoo! Shoo!”

He waved at it in disgust.

After chasing the beetle away, his fingers traced along the spines of the books.

He originally intended to reread [The Count of Monte Cristo], but recent events killed his mood, and he instead pulled out George Orwell’s Animal Farm, published in 1945.

Knock.

Knock knock.

Just as old Avery sat down with the book, the door was knocked rhythmically.

He frowned, assuming it was a neighbor coming to greet the new arrival. He ignored it, pretending not to hear as he flipped through the pages.

Soon, the knocking stopped.

Old Avery didn’t think much of it and slowly immersed himself in the book.

“Hm… I’ve read this before—”

Then, in the quiet room, a strange murmur suddenly sounded.

The familiar voice sent a chill straight down old Avery’s spine.

“I remember this book. The animals successfully stage a revolution and drive the humans off the farm.

But the clever pigs seize the fruits of the revolution and become even more authoritarian and tyrannical than the human masters ever were.”

“Hah. A pure-blood reading something like this—hardly surprising.”

Old Avery stared up in horror.

Leaning casually with his head resting near his shoulder, reading along with him, was Dawn Richter.

In that instant, countless thoughts flashed through old Avery’s mind—but he only managed to shout one heartfelt sentence:

“Damn it!”

___________

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