Now that they'd gotten the answer they wanted, one of the Aurors promptly drew his wand.
"Obliviate!"
With a flick of his wand, the bald, burly man was sent on his way, his mind wiped clean. The Auror gave his partner a pat on the shoulder and said casually, "Alright, we're done here."
His partner, younger and visibly more eager, frowned and replied, "Sir, this is the second incident like this just this month. It's obvious a magical creature has made its way into the area. We don't yet know what kind of dragon it is. Shouldn't we follow the trail and investigate?"
As he spoke, the younger Auror pointed to the bloodstains on the ground—thin, scattered droplets leading deep into the dense forest and, it seemed, all the way out the other side.
The Austrian Ministry of Magic Auror Supervisor, whom the young man had addressed as "Sir," gazed at the trail with a distant look in his eyes.
"No need," he said at last. "Beyond this forest lies the Forbidden Zone. There's no written rule barring entry, but believe me—that place is absolutely off-limits to wizards."
The young Auror, perplexed by his supervisor's certainty, couldn't help but ask, "Sir, I'm curious—what's in there? Why is it treated like a forbidden area? Everyone at the Ministry avoids the topic like the plague."
The supervisor fell silent for a few seconds before answering in a low, deliberate voice.
"Because in there… dwells a true Dark Lord."
The young Auror's eyes widened in shock. But almost immediately, his fear was overtaken by a thrill of ambition.
"A real Dark Lord? Then shouldn't we—"
His words were cut off.
"Settle down," the supervisor interrupted sternly. "It's good to have ambition. But ambition aimed in the wrong direction will get you killed."
Still frowning, the young Auror pressed on. "With all due respect, sir—I don't understand. If we know there's a Dark Lord in there, why are we just leaving him be? We're Aurors! Isn't it our duty to bring him to justice? Who decides that he gets a free pass?"
The supervisor looked at his subordinate for a long moment before replying.
"Because this Dark Lord… came within a breath of being elected Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards."
"No one may judge him—not even Merlin."
And with that, the Austrian Ministry Auror Supervisor vanished on the spot with a sharp crack, Disapparating before the younger man could speak again.
He reappeared in a picturesque mountain valley, where a modest courtyard lay nestled among the hills. In the courtyard, an old man was tending to a garden brimming with flowers.
Without looking up, the old man said, "You're here, Muller."
The supervisor—Muller—walked into the garden, took the watering can from his father's hands, and began helping him water the plants.
"Father, today…" Muller began.
As the two worked side by side, Muller recounted the day's events. When he finished, the old man lowered himself into a reclining chair and gave a small nod.
"You've done well, Muller."
Muller shook his head. "It's nothing. Everything I do is for the greater good."
The old man chuckled. "The young master's dragon—it sounds like a fine specimen indeed!"
At that, Muller couldn't help but grin.
But then the old man sighed, his smile fading. "You must keep working hard, Muller. We must secure the position of Minister for Magic in Austria."
Muller nodded solemnly.
"Though it pains me to say it," the old man continued, "the old master made a grave mistake back then. He could have secured the position of Supreme Mugwump with a simple vote. It was all but guaranteed. But instead, he pinned everything on that bloody Qilin—gave Dumbledore and his allies their chance to strike."
A flicker of bitterness crossed his face. "The young master has the right idea—convert every candidate to our cause. That way, no matter the method—election, prophecy, or ritual—the chair is ours."
He fixed his eyes on Muller, voice full of fervent hope.
"What we lost then—we must not lose again. The young master is paving the way. All you have to do is follow his lead, step by step. The future belongs to the Alliance."
At that same moment, the one regarded as the cornerstone of the Alliance's revival—Wentworth—was slumped at his desk in a Hogwarts classroom, glaring at the Ancient Runes text in front of him as if it were written in gobbledegook.
"Are we sure ancient wizards came up with this? Looks more like a chimpanzee scratched it out with a stick…"
Wentworth groaned inwardly, his brain aching. Still, he followed the professor's lecture, comparing the magical runes in his textbook and mimicking the strokes with his wand. Then, suddenly—
BOOM!
A flicker of ghostly blue fire flared up at the tip of his wand, and Wentworth barely managed to duck back in time. If he'd hesitated for even a second, his golden hair might've been permanently singed.
The flame leapt to his desk, devouring it rapidly. Wentworth whipped his wand toward the fire.
"Aguamenti!"
But the spectral blue flames paid the charm no mind, roaring ever brighter. They were even beginning to spread.
Fortunately, aside from the occasionally unreliable Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Hogwarts professors were among the best in the magical world. The situation was quickly brought under control before any serious damage was done.
Looking down at the four scorched stumps that remained of his desk, Wentworth's eyes gleamed with excitement.
Now this is magic.
He could barely contain the thrill surging through him.
When he finally left the Ancient Runes classroom, his mind was still buzzing with the professor's lesson. But his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden commotion up ahead.
Frowning, Wentworth looked up in irritation—just in time to see three students in Gryffindor robes sprinting through the corridor, drawing complaints from those around them.
Annoyed by the disruption, Wentworth reached for his wand, ready to teach them a lesson in discipline. But then one of them called out loudly:
"Wentworth! Hey, Wentworth!"
He looked again and saw that the one shouting his name was none other than Harry Potter. The other two, of course, were unmistakably Ron and Hermione.
With a slight scowl, Wentworth tucked away his wand and turned to leave. His mind was still completely engrossed in the mysteries of Ancient Runes.
Perhaps it was the sheer excellence of the witches and wizards surrounding him—having seen so many powerful spells and magical feats, much of what Hogwarts had to offer no longer stirred his curiosity.
But Ancient Runes? That had awakened something inside him. A spark. The same wonder he'd felt when he first entered the magical world.
As far as he was concerned, those three Gryffindor busybodies could carry on without him.
With a few swift steps, Wentworth disappeared into the crowd, leaving Harry and the others behind with no choice but to stop, frustrated.
And then, from behind them, came a shout:
"Harry! Wait for me, Harry!"
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