0323 Revenge?

Rita Skeeter was furious, slamming the door shut as she left.

Bryan just shook his head lightly and proceeded to his desk, where he resumed composing the reply he had been forced to interrupt.

Rita Skeeter, standing in front of the door, had a pale face and was panting.

"Damn Watson. No one has ever dared to do this—intercept my reports, destroy my things!"

Rita's eyes, filled with malice, fixed on the door as she plotted her next move.

"There must be something shady going on, right? Oh, of course, that's a given. These influential figures are all cut from the same cloth. It's never easy to uncover the truth, and Watson is so mysterious, no one knows what he has been doing in the two or three years since he left Hogwarts. There's something fishy here."

Before visiting today, Rita Skeeter had investigated Bryan Watson, who suddenly appeared in the public eye, but the results of the investigation were not very satisfactory.

All the information she could find was about Bryan Watson before he graduated from Hogwarts. After graduation, until last year when he was hired by the Hogwarts Board of Governors to search for the Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets, Bryan Watson seemed to have completely disappeared from the wizarding world, and there was no information available.

Bryan neither chose to work in the Ministry of Magic nor held any positions in the famous companies in the wizarding world, and he had cut off all contact with his former classmates.

There remained only one plausible possibility: Bryan Watson had returned to the Muggle world and ceased all interaction with the wizarding community.

But was that possible? For a wizard of great power to leave the wizarding world and mingle with Muggles was as inconceivable as a centaur leaving the forest to make a living in Diagon Alley.

And how did he establish connections with those influential figures?

There was only one possibility, he had hidden his identity and had been secretly working for those decadent pure-blood families, and corrupt politicians who were just figureheads.

A gleam of satisfaction flashed in Rita's eyes as she believed she had discovered the truth of the matter.

But she lacked crucial evidence now.

Rita was not one of those clueless rookie journalists. She knew what kind of report could attract the public's attention. It wouldn't be enough to rely on rumors; there had to be some truth in the lies to make it difficult for people to distinguish between truth and falsehood!

Rita's eyes sparkled with a mischievous light as she remembered the pile of letters on the desk in the room.

"You will soon pay the price."

After making up her mind, Rita's expression became cheerful. She disdainfully glanced at the door, then turned and walked away with an arrogant stride.

If a few harsh words were enough to make Bryan tremble in fear and live in constant anxiety, he likely wouldn't have slept a wink over the years. Rita's visit was just a minor incident he soon put out of mind.

Perhaps because the letters had been cleared out, the desk in the room looked much neater. Glancing at the clock on the wall, where the hour and minute hands were frozen, Bryan stretched and yawned, closing the magic book in front of him.

Late February, in the middle of the night, the gentle breeze wafting between the tall buildings was already mixed with the rich scent of spring.

Standing on the balcony, looking out, the quiet city was still brightly lit, and even the clear moonlight from the bright moon melted into the murky glow.

Perhaps it was because he had been preoccupied with many things recently, his head would intermittently feel swollen, and when the discomfort disappeared, deep fatigue would follow.

A wizard with extraordinary magical power should have an abundance of energy that ordinary people could not reach. This phenomenon was unusual, indicating that there was some problem with his body, and the problem had already begun to show its severity.

"I'm getting old."

Bryan chuckled self-deprecatingly, then turned and walked into the room, closing the glass door and lying down on the bed, closing his eyes to rest. However, from the slight twitching of his eyebrows, it could be seen that he was probably enduring something.

The last light in the hotel building finally went out, and on top of a pine tree in the courtyard below, a chubby beetle, not commonly seen at this time of year, took off with a flutter of its wings, flying swiftly towards the room that had just gone dark.

The beetle perched on the top of the glass railing, and when it saw that the room's occupant had already laid down through the gap in the curtains, the buzzing sound of its trembling wings revealed its joyful mood.

It behaved patiently, not attempting to break into the room immediately, but instead pretended to crawl up and down the glass panel like a normal beetle, feigning interest in the mosquito carcasses stuck to the glass railing.

There was still no sign of any disturbance in the room. After twenty minutes, the beetle could no longer contain itself and landed on the balcony floor. Taking aim at the gap between the sliding door and the floor, it charged forward, trying to squeeze into the room through the crack!

Boom!

In an instant, a burst of firework-like flames dazzled, and the thunderous explosion caused the nearby rooms to tremble with a rattling sound. The rooms, previously dark, lit up one after another, and people panicked and ran around, screams filling the air. People on the Third or Fourth floors were shouting that there had been a gas explosion!

Looking at the completely shattered glass door and the reinforced glass railing, as well as Rita Skeeter, with half her body hanging hundreds of feet in the air, her golden hair and cheeks charred black, her mouth spewing black smoke as she fainted, Bryan raised an eyebrow and revealed a strange smile.

...

*Scenebreak*

...

In the aftermath of the earth-shattering announcement by the British Ministry of Magic that the notorious Sirius Black had been successfully detained and taken into custody, a veritable tidal wave of reporters descended upon the Ministry's entrance hall, swarming in from across the European continent and even the far reaches of the Americas.

These bold journalists were utterly determined to uncover every miniscule detail surrounding Black's capture, as well as the unfathomable means by which he had managed to plot his escape from the Azkaban prison in the first place. With an insatiable hunger for information, they relentlessly attempted to approach and interrogate every single employee of the British Ministry who dared to pass through the crowded lobby.

However, the specifics of this highly sensitive matter remained shrouded in an impenetrable veil of secrecy within the uppermost echelons of the Ministry, and apart from the select few Aurors who had been entrusted with the responsibility of guarding the captured Sirius Black, as well as the privileged department heads involved in the operation, the vast majority of Ministry workers remained utterly oblivious to the greater facts of the unfolding saga.

Even the sociable Mr. Weasley, a man who could typically rely upon a network of well-placed friends spanning various ministerial departments to keep him up-to-date of the latest developments, found himself at an utter loss to understand the seemingly inexplicable surge in efficiency that had gripped the typically overstaffed and lethargic British Ministry in recent days.

Then, in a moment that would permanently etch itself into the collective consciousness of the wizarding world, Barty Crouch Sr., an esteemed member of the Wizengamot and the head of the International Magical Cooperation Department, dropped a bombshell with a grim expression that left everyone stunned. The Ministry, already wobbling on the brink of overcrowding, exploded into utter pandemonium as reporters from the most renowned newspapers across Europe and the Americas promptly abandoned their current assignments and embarked upon a frenzied exodus towards London, desperate to be among the first to break this momentous story.

Unable to force their way into the Ministry's overstuffed confines, these legions of journalists instead converged upon the surrounding streets, effectively blockading the entrance to the British Ministry of Magic in their relentless pursuit of answers. The commotion they generated was so huge, that even the journalists from several prominent Muggle newspapers, bewildered by the inexplicable gathering of oddly-attired foreigners upon an otherwise unremarkable street, hurried to the scene in the hopes of unraveling the mystery.

Norrus used a stern gaze to drive away the reporters seeking information about the foolish Sirius Black, as well as the former "hero" Peter Pettigrew, who had been awarded the First Class Order of Merlin by the International Confederation of Wizards, only to have that unceremoniously stripped from him a mere three hours after Crouch's shocking announcement of his seeming resurrection from the grave.

"Ah, Norrus, thank you--"

With a flash of emerald fire in the fireplace, a sweating Mr. Weasley stumbled out, nearly falling to the ground, but Norrus supported him with his tall frame.

"Hello, Arthur," Norrus acknowledged with a curt nod, his expression etched in unyielding coldness.

"It seems the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office has been exceptionally busy these past few days?"

"Perhaps," Mr. Weasley replied weakly, too utterly drained to even consider complaining about the upheaval wrought by the flood of foreign journalists. He mustered a feeble smile and asked, "These newcomers aren't quite accustomed to our rules. By the way, are you heading out for work?"

"No—" Norrus said in an emotionless tone, "I'm off duty."

With that, he lowered his head and stepped into the roaring flames of the fireplace, disappearing from sight in an emerald blaze.

'Off duty?!' Mr. Weasley mused enviously, casting a mournful glance at his watch, which proclaimed the hour to be 10:30 AM.

'Why, oh why, had I never tried applying for the Department of Mysteries all those years ago?'

<-Diagon Alley->

Norrus Deman emerged from the public fireplace, neatly brushing the soot from his garments before casting a wary, scrutinizing gaze about his surroundings to ensure he had not been followed. Satisfied with the absence of any potential pursuers, he set off at a brisk pace towards a secluded alleyway situated not far to the west of the magnificent white Gringotts building, whose towering presence could be discerned from virtually any vantage point within Diagon Alley.

However, Norrus's destination was not the wizarding bank, but rather an obscure yet infamous alley that lay in its foreboding shadow – the dreaded Knockturn Alley.

As he slipped through the narrow passage, the very sky above seemed to darken ominously, the air growing thick with a faint yet oppressive sense of malice. Yet, rather than recoiling from this sinister atmosphere, Norrus instead visibly relaxed, his demeanor akin to a fish finally returning to the familiar embrace of the sea after enduring hours under the merciless glare of the sun.

After confirming that no one was spying on him, Norrus flipped his wrist, and a black traveling cloak draped over his forearm.

Putting on the cloak and donning his mask, Norrus let out a heavy sigh and relaxed. The cold and emotionless face hidden behind the mask became somewhat cheerful. For Norrus, raised from a young age to embrace the ancient traditions of the Unspeakables, the modern wizarding lifestyle held no comforts whatsoever. It was the filthy, dangerous underground world that brought him true joy and contentment.

If it weren't for his mentor's insistence that he take over the position of the Unspeakable, and the fact that working in the Department of Mysteries did offer some conveniences, he would never have associated with those wizards who had forsaken their honor.

The underground world, which had hardly changed for hundreds of years, obviously wouldn't undergo any unexpected changes in the few weeks he had been away. Everything remained the same, chaotic yet orderly.

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