London, the dawn of the morning.

The Christmas holidays are over, and London, one of the world's most famous cities, is back to its old rhythm.

Perhaps it was because people were spending too much energy on the carnival of the holidays, and the slightly pale faces of the Muggles who walked on the road in the cold breeze and rushed to work in the pale morning light were engraved with deep exhaustion.

But no matter what, on the banks of the River Thames, north of Westminster Bridge, east of the Muggle Houses of Parliament, on the Victorian Gothic bell tower, the large clock surrounded by three hundred and twelve opals still rang on time, waking up the sleepy city.

Pulling back the curtains, Amosta looked out over the priceless floor-to-ceiling glass window at the Palace of Westminster, quietly contemplating a cup of green tea that had turned from hot to warm.

The list I got from Willorence last night was spread out on a glossy mahogany coffee table behind Amosta.

Two in Albania, one in France, one in the British mainland, two in Germany, and the remaining one is far away in Russia.

After a night of thinking, Amosta was ready to visit the three people from France and Germany, for no other reason, and on the surface, Hermione's inexplicable attack seemed to be related to her status as a warrior, and France and Germany were the main sources of students for the two schools of magic and wizardry, Beauxbatons and Durmstrand.

Although, he did not think that Madame Maxim and Karkaroff would do such unwise acts.

I don't think the reason for this attack was a personal extremism, but it is an irrefutable fact that after the first round of the Triwizard Tournament ended, Hermione had the most black fans in these two countries.

The spotless glass reflected a slightly tired face, and Amosta stared at himself in the blurred window, reflecting on it in his heart.

For a while, most of his energy was spent thinking about Voldemort, who was about to return to the wizarding world, thinking about Merlin's actions before he disappeared more than a dozen centuries ago, thinking about the memories that the Hogwarts Big Four showed him, and completely forgetting that in this real wizarding world, danger did not come entirely from what he feared, and that the unexpected could happen at any time.

He shouldn't limit his mind to those few questions, but should open his eyes, after all, he is different from Dumbledore, who has only the goal of killing Voldemort for the rest of his life.

After taking a deep breath, the exhaled breath left a fine drop of water on the glass window, and Amosta glanced at the tea in his hand with only a faint heat, and instead of taking another sip, he let go of the cup and let it slowly float down on the coffee table.

Then, with open arms, Amosta's coat hanging on the hanger behind the door flew over with a thud, and he put himself on Amosta's body, and the parchment on the coffee table was folded into squares and spilled into the pocket of his coat. While Amosta was tidying up his cuffs, the leather shoes on the shoe rack were also kicking over on their own.

Sou--

Amosta was waiting for his shoelaces to be tied on his own, when suddenly, he came back to his senses, his wary gaze pointing out of the glass window, his wand already in his palm.

A shimmering silver light appeared in the distance beyond Pale Vision, and in just a few breaths, it appeared outside the room, and, unhindered, pierced through the glass and landed on the ground in front of Amosta.

"Good morning, Mr. Brean, I hope it doesn't disturb your rest--"

Looking at the light lynx on the ground, Amosta moved his eyebrows, and then the loud, deep voice sounded to who belonged to it.

"Kingsley?"

Amosta moved his fingers, his wand retracted into his sleeve, and a hint of discoloration flashed in his eyes,

"Why, the Ministry of Magic finally traced where that package came from?"

As if hearing the dissatisfaction in Amosta's tone, Kingsley said apologetically,

"Sorry for the delay, you know, that package sent to Miss Hermione Granger didn't have a shipping address on it, it took us some time to find its source, Mr. Blaine, we've surrounded this place with people, Minister Fudge and Ms. Bones have told you that any progress on this matter needs to be reported to you--"

Amosta remained silent, waiting for Kingsley to say the location.

"We found out--" Kingsley paused, the consciousness in the Patronus was a little confused by Amosta Blaine's calm at this time, however, he didn't question it, just said the answer,

"The answer is surprising, Mr. Bryan, that package is from the Leaky Cauldron—"

There was no address on the package mailed to Hermione, which was something that Amosta had discovered since the accident yesterday, and he expected that the person who did it must have comprehensive protection in order not to expose himself, so he changed his mind to investigate the source of this matter.

But perhaps it was his and Dumbledore's gesture yesterday that made the Ministry fully aware of how annoyed Hogwarts was with this.

After only one night, the Ministry of Magic was able to figure out where the package was sent.

The Leaky Cauldron Bar - this is indeed an unexpected location, but Amosta, who received the answer, was not very happy, but after a moment of thought, he nodded slightly.

"Thank you for your efforts, Kingsley—"

The probability of getting an answer directly is almost zero, but that doesn't mean it's not worth paying attention to, Amosta nodded,

"I'll go over now--"

When the Muggle room manager found out that the guests of this room had never checked out, and had somehow disappeared, it was not in Amosta's mind to see what kind of confusion and anxiety they would face.

With one step, Amosta disappeared into the twisted air, and when he reappeared in the real world, he was already in the Leaky Cauldron.

In the morning, the glow of the rising sun in the east leaps over the low back wall of the Leaky Cauldron Bar, creating light and shadow on the bar's grey floor.

At such a point in time, there is generally no business at the Broken Axe Bar, and only tourists who stay in the hotel go downstairs and have a comfortable breakfast. Occasionally, those who enter the bar are just borrowing the road through the Muggle world and the wizarding world, walking in and leaving in a hurry, and they will not linger here.

But today the situation is different, half of the space in the deserted bar is crammed with people, and everyone who appears here has a competence and coldness between their eyebrows.

The air was filled with an indescribable breath of slaughter, a passenger with a sigh of breath walked down from the second floor with swaying steps, and when he found out about the situation in the bar on the first floor, his hand that rubbed his sleepy eyes stiffened and couldn't move, and in an instant, the expression on his face changed from years of quiet to frightened and fearful!

Grunt!

The sound of the traveler swallowing his saliva was very clear in the dilapidated cauldron where the pins could be heard, and the sudden twenty or thirty scrutinizing eyes made him tremble.

"I'm sorry, sir--"

Kingsley, dressed in a purple wizard's robe embroidered with gold bands and stripes, stepped out from behind several of his colleagues, calmly looked at the travelers at the top of the stairs and said,

"I'm afraid the breakfast business at the bar will be suspended for a while, we need to take up a little time for the boss, of course, it won't be too long, maybe you can go back to your room and rest for a while--"

The speed of the traveler's nodding was about to appear, and he didn't dare to say anything to refuse, but turned around and ran upstairs as if he had been pardoned, but the moment he turned sideways, the corner of his eye swept over Tom, the bar owner who was blocked at the bar and was about to faint.

"Don't be nervous, Tom—"

In a sense, Tom, the owner of the Leaky Cauldron Bar, is also a well-known figure in the British wizarding world, and Kingsley will not fail to know him, watching the travelers return to the second floor, Kingsley turned his eyes to the bar, and smiled gently at Tom,

"We're just here to investigate something, just get the problem clear and leave-"

"I-whew, I don't quite understand, Kingsley-"

The boss who was strongly frightened didn't have much hair left to fall down one after another, his eyes were red, and he pouted pitifully,

"I'm just here--"

Bang--

There was a sudden sound in the small courtyard behind them, and the experienced Aurors immediately judged that it was the sound of the phantom manifesting.

Whoop -

More than twenty men in similar black coats popped their wands out of their sleeves, their eyes pointing coldly at the comer.

These fierce and hostile gazes converged more than daylight, and Amosta stood at the intersection of the hall and the backyard, his gaze swept over the bar hall, and then walked in with a calm expression.

(End of chapter)