Explanation

Who was the hunter?

Who was the prey?

Now that he had been caught, there was no doubt—Caranthir was the prey. No matter how much he and his kind had believed otherwise before.

Caranthir said nothing. He gripped his staff tightly, quietly gathering magical energy within his body.

Even as prey, he was the most dangerous kind.

Harry gave a gentle flick of his wand.

Caranthir's thick staff instantly shrank to the size of a finger and, before he could react, flew through the air and dropped into the Sorting Hat.

His armor melted next, cascading down like liquid, pooling into a lump the size of two fists—and followed the staff into the Hat.

Caranthir's true appearance was revealed.

A pale, slender man with sharp eyes and slightly pointed ears.

His gaze was piercing, icy as frost.

"Don't try anything," Harry said softly. He gave another flick of his wand and cast a spell.

Ropes shot from his wand tip, binding Caranthir tightly.

Iron chains slithered out along the ropes like serpents, snapping onto his fingers, locking them down bite by bite, eliminating even the smallest chance to cast a spell.

The remaining Wild Hunt members had all been dealt with by Dumbledore and Geralt.

Not one left alive.

"The Wild Hunt really picked a hell of a time," Harry muttered, hauling Caranthir up single-handedly and walking back.

Christmas.

To both wizards and Muggles, it was a holiday of special importance.

Scrimgeour was panting heavily. The potion's effect had worn off, and its side effects surged through his body—sweat poured down, and an unnatural flush bloomed across his cheeks. He opened his mouth, voice trembling, "Worse than disturbing Christmas… is making this much noise."

"Bloody hell…"

He didn't dare look at the streets or the buildings.

Though the Aurors had fought bravely, struggling to keep both civilians and property safe while battling the Wild Hunt and Caranthir, the truth was they had barely managed to survive themselves. There was little strength left to defend anything else.

The standard knights of the Hunt were bad enough—with only swords.

But Caranthir, in his unique armor, wielded magic of terrifying strength.

His spells wreaked havoc—not only upon wizards, but upon the city itself.

For a Minister of Magic, this was catastrophic.

Wizards had always hidden from Muggles—it was a strict tenet of their world. But now, whether the Ministry liked it or not, that secret was broken. Cleanup was inevitable, and likely impossible to manage in full.

But…

How many Muggles had seen what happened?

Scrimgeour wasn't some old fool. As Minister, he couldn't afford to be as ignorant of Muggle affairs as Fudge or Thicknesse.

He knew Muggles had recently created something called "the internet."

That thing spread information faster than newspapers or phones ever could.

Why did Muggles keep inventing things that made the Ministry's job even harder?

Dumbledore, having undone the freezing on Norbert, helped Scamander wrestle the not-yet-recovered dragon back into the suitcase before walking over and offering comfort: "Rufus, if you need help, you can always find me at Hogwarts."

Scrimgeour sighed. He was just about to speak—

Brrrriiing!

A sharp, sudden ring startled everyone.

The Aurors jumped in alarm.

Harry and Geralt both turned to Kingsley's pocket.

The Auror awkwardly pulled out a small black box, flipped it open, and said, "Hello?"

Both Witchers could clearly hear the furious shouting and questioning coming from the other end.

Kingsley didn't answer—he muted the device and looked to Scrimgeour. "Minister, it's the Prime Minister. He's demanding an explanation. What should I tell him?"

"What is that thing?" Scrimgeour frowned. "Isn't it against Ministry policy to give magical artifacts to Muggles, even if he is the Prime Minister?"

"This isn't magical," Kingsley shook his head. "It's a mobile phone."

"A Muggle invention—just came out this year."

"It wasn't easy to get one. I even had to use the Prime Minister's help."

"So, Minister, how should I respond?"

Scrimgeour looked up. The pressure from the Muggle leader's urgent call forced him to gather his courage and look at the destruction around him.

The street was nearly obliterated.

The damage stretched possibly over two full blocks.

Yes, a few Ministry officials and some quick Reparo spells could fix the structures…

But the scale of damage meant countless Muggles must have witnessed the event.

"Bloody hell…" Scrimgeour rubbed his forehead. "Tell him I'll visit in an hour. We'll discuss it face-to-face."

Kingsley nodded and relayed the message.

The shouting on the other end grew even louder.

The new Prime Minister hadn't been in office long—something like this posed a severe threat to his public support.

"Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore… what do we do with these Wild Hunt members?" Scrimgeour asked, uncertainly.

Dumbledore waved his wand.

The air shimmered, and a magical dome enveloped them—Harry, Geralt, Dumbledore, Scamander, and Scrimgeour—isolating them from all others.

"You can speak freely now. No one will hear," Dumbledore said softly.

Harry remained silent for a moment. Then: "You can tell the public they're former Death Eaters, refusing to accept Voldemort's death and regrouping."

Scrimgeour nodded, then looked at the figure Harry was still holding. "And this one?"

"He stays with us," Harry said firmly. "As do the bodies of the fallen."

"But… you can use the event for propaganda if needed."

Scrimgeour didn't object. "Mr. Potter, I wasn't planning to claim them. I just wanted to know—who is he within the Wild Hunt? I need something to tell the wizarding community. And the Muggle Prime Minister."

"Caranthir," Harry replied, looking down at him. "The golden boy of the Aen Elle. The most elite navigator of the Wild Hunt. One of the King's top advisors."

Scrimgeour frowned thoughtfully. "Roughly equivalent to a department head in the Ministry?"

Harry shook his head. "No."

"Aredin—the King of the Wild Hunt—is like Dumbledore."

"Caranthir… is you."

Scrimgeour flinched.

He understood what Harry meant.

The Minister of Magic didn't wield as much power as Dumbledore in the wizarding world—but… to hear it laid out so bluntly—

He sighed. Even if it was just to inflate Caranthir's value for propaganda's sake, it still stung.

"Well, that's even better," he said. "At least now, I can offer a statement that people will find… satisfactory."

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Powerstones?

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