Encounter on the Train

Inside the Headmaster's office.

After Snape briefly conveyed Barty Crouch Jr.'s message, Dumbledore gently pushed up his glasses.

"So, Crouch wants you to pass this message to us?"

Snape nodded.

"What do you think, Harry?" Dumbledore turned to him.

Harry lifted his teacup and took a sip. "He still doesn't trust Professor Snape."

"I mean Crouch's invitation," Dumbledore clarified.

"What else can we do?" Harry set the cup down. "It's not like we can choose not to go."

Something involving werewolves, and such a grand display?

"Doesn't the Ministry have some way of managing werewolves?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore shook his head. "The Ministry is short-staffed."

He paused briefly and sighed. "They're still in self-review mode. The Head of the Auror Office is Thicknesse. Scrimgeour can barely keep the Ministry functioning. Beyond that, there's hardly anyone else available."

"In recent months, tasks that should've been handled by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, or the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, have all been dumped on Tonks, Kingsley, and a few other Aurors Scrimgeour trusts."

"But Harry, the Ministry has started discussing what sort of punishment Thicknesse should receive."

Harry shook his head with a soft laugh. "And they've been 'discussing' it for a whole month now?"

The Ministry looked serious on the surface—like they were figuring out how to punish those who had been Death Eaters.

But the truth was, many among them had once been Death Eaters. They now feared retribution. The only comfort they had was that the metaphorical sword was held by Scrimgeour—backed by Harry and Dumbledore, sure, but it wasn't their hand gripping the hilt.

Some tried to resist.

The pure-blood officials who hadn't been Death Eaters—excluding the Weasley family—all sided with those so-called "reformed" ones.

The Ministry of Magic was never a ministry for all witches and wizards. It had always been a den for pure-blood interests.

Naturally, they sought privilege—even if they messed up, they hoped to avoid the harshest punishments. At worst, like the Malfoy family once did, they could simply retreat from the Ministry and still enjoy the status of noble pure-bloods.

Not like the attitude Harry was subtly showing—ruthless toward Death Eaters.

On the other hand, half-bloods and Muggle-borns had seized the opportunity to press forward. Never before had a Muggle-born become Minister of Magic. The rare half-blood ministers still cozied up to the pure-blood elite and looked down on their fellow half-bloods and Muggle-borns.

Cornelius Fudge was a classic example.

To pure-bloods, he was clearly a half-blood.

To Fudge himself, he was the epitome of nobility.

Power politics were tearing things apart.

If not for Harry and Dumbledore, the British Ministry might have collapsed already.

"So in short, we can't count on the Ministry," Harry summarized.

Dumbledore nodded.

Harry pondered aloud. "This feels like Barty Crouch Jr. is trying to lure us out of Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "Oh?"

"Don't forget—he's managed to sneak into Hogwarts before," Harry waved a hand.

"Lupin should go," Snape said. "He's a werewolf, after all. Attending a furry gathering fits."

Dumbledore nodded. "I agree—Lupin is the most suitable choice."

"The 25th is a full moon," Harry added, pulling out a lunar calendar from the Sorting Hat and flipping to the date.

Snape coldly remarked, "All the more reason to send Lupin. You can't get re-infected with lycanthropy."

Harry stood. "Albus, go tell Uncle Remus. I'll prepare him some things for protection."

Two days later, in the Germanic region, Lupin received a heavy letter.

Inside was Dumbledore's request, Harry's personal instructions, and a ton of potions.

Geralt had already fully adapted to life in this world—so much so that it was almost too comfortable. When they hiked over mountains and ventured deep into forests, they still managed to find wizard-run inns. In the past, they would've had to camp carefully in the wild.

That same night, Lupin returned to Britain.

A few days of preparation followed.

He bought a train ticket to North Yorkshire—not from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, but a regular one—and boarded the train.

He had just sat down when a whiff of laurel perfume hit him. A tall red-haired woman with sculpted marble-like features and shimmering golden eyes sat across from him.

"A pleasure, sir. May I introduce myself?" she asked sweetly.

Lupin shook his head without hesitation. "Sorry, I—"

He paused, nose twitching.

He looked up in surprise. The woman across from him was strikingly beautiful.

"Well then, sir, can we get acquainted now?" the stunning woman leaned forward slightly, one hand resting lightly on the table.

Lupin remained calm. "Tonks?"

The woman blinked and frowned. "Tonks? That doesn't sound like a lady's name."

"Don't make me call it out," Lupin said flatly.

Her face fell. "Oh no, Remus, that's no fun. How'd you know?"

"The smell," he replied simply.

Tonks widened her eyes, burying her face in her arms. "I don't have that strong a scent!"

"It's the perfume," Lupin waved it off. "Anyway, what are you doing here?"

Tonks straightened. "The Ministry may be short-staffed, but they can still spare one Auror to investigate a potential incident."

"It's dangerous—this is a werewolf gathering," Lupin said, lowering his voice and casting a silent spell beneath the table.

He was a master of silent casting—simple spells didn't require incantation at all.

"I am an Auror, Remus," Tonks replied confidently. "The Ministry needs to know what the werewolves are planning."

Lupin sighed. "But the gathering is—"

"I know. Full moon," Tonks cut him off. "Don't worry. I'll keep myself safe. If the werewolves riot, I can always run."

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Powerstones?

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