"Scrimgeour's Patronus?"
Harry caught on to Tonks' words, turning to look at the silver owl and Kingsley's noticeably darkened expression.
Tonks nodded cautiously.
"Are you all afraid of getting caught by Scrimgeour?" Harry asked hesitantly.
Tonks froze for a moment, then suddenly realized, "Oh, right! It's Christmas today! It's completely normal for us not to be on duty!"
Harry remained expressionless.
That didn't sound normal at all—it was absurd. But considering this was how Ministry employees thought, suddenly, it all seemed perfectly reasonable.
Sirius barked furiously.
He had transformed into his Animagus form, making it difficult to speak.
"What's up with Sirius?" Tonks dodged a lunging werewolf, levitated a massive rock, and smashed it down on its head. She still had the leisure to glance at the handsome black dog. "Is he excited because he met his kind?"
Harry translated for him, "No, he's saying your reasoning makes no sense."
"Doesn't make sense?" Tonks muttered, darting behind Harry. "What doesn't make sense? If anything's messed up, it's having to work overtime on Christmas!"
"And for only two Galleons an hour!"
"That's not even enough to buy my skincare potions!"
Kingsley finished listening to the owl's message, then looked up. "Mr. Potter, I'm afraid we need to wrap this up quickly."
"Something unexpected has happened."
"Granger and Longbottom have done an excellent job."
Harry nodded. He tapped his hat lightly, and a potion bottle flew out. The cap twisted itself open, and dark brown liquid poured into his mouth.
Magic surged.
He flicked his wand.
Vines coiled around the werewolves, binding them. They struggled, biting and clawing in an attempt to tear through the vines. Their blood-red eyes glared viciously at the one responsible for restraining them.
Greyback wasn't thrashing as wildly as the others—he silently gnawed at his bindings, trying to break free.
Harry raised his wand.
The Transfiguration spell spread over all the vines except those binding Greyback. A powerful wave of magic rippled outward, forming a visible gust of wind.
Many of the werewolves howled in pain.
In an instant, the vines transformed into steel.
They bit down hard—only to shatter their own teeth.
Schlk!
The steel branches extended, piercing through their bodies and shredding their organs.
The scent of blood filled the air.
Kingsley's pupils contracted. He stammered, "Mr. Potter, I-I didn't mean that—"
"Hmm? Was that not fast enough?" Harry sheathed his Serpentbone Sword back into his hat, humming in mild confusion.
Kingsley shook his head.
He had always disliked the title the Daily Prophet had given Harry—"The Butcher of Little Hangleton."
But now, it suddenly seemed eerily fitting.
Nineteen werewolves, and in the blink of an eye, only one was left alive.
"Too fast," Kingsley muttered, his tone strange. "And it shouldn't have—"
Harry shot him a calm glance. "You're an Auror. They're vicious criminals."
"You actually sympathize with them?"
Kingsley remained silent, lowering his head.
Harry waved his wand, summoning his Patronus. He gave it a few instructions, and the silver griffin flapped its wings, soaring toward Hogwarts.
"What did Scrimgeour tell you?" Harry asked.
Kingsley shook his head, clearing his thoughts. "Bad news. The escaped Death Eaters broke into Gringotts."
"Gringotts?" Harry frowned. "What for? Robbing Galleons?"
"No." Kingsley shook his head. "They're probably after—"
He suddenly stopped, glancing at the three young wizards.
Even though they had fought alongside them and proven their abilities, he wasn't sure if they knew—or should know—about this.
"They're after that?" Harry tightened his grip on his wand.
Kingsley nodded. "I strongly suspect it. The goblins discovered someone entering Gringotts carrying a Lestrange family heirloom. They opened the vault—but instead of taking something out, they put something in."
"The goblins were curious."
"You know how they are—they think all valuable items rightfully belong to them. And Scrimgeour had been keeping an eye on the Death Eaters' vaults."
"So they investigated and found that what was stored inside the Lestrange vault wasn't treasure—it was people. Living people. Both Muggles and wizards."
"And since breaking in, the Death Eaters have been hiding in the vault, making no attempts to fight back or escape."
Harry took a deep breath. "Bellatrix Lestrange?"
"She's there." Kingsley nodded. "Scrimgeour saw her in the goblins' memory."
"I have to get there."
"Mr. Potter, inform Professor Dumbledore. This situation is bad enough that we might need him to step in."
He raised his wand, attempting to Apparate. His body flickered and began to fade—
But a moment later, he snapped back into place, fully solid again.
His dark face was flushed red.
Harry looked at him, puzzled.
Kingsley scowled. "They've sealed off Diagon Alley with Imperturbable Wards—no Apparition allowed."
"That's… unusual."
"The Ministry wouldn't go this far?" Harry asked.
Kingsley's face darkened further. "Of course not. It's unnecessary!"
"Sure, Hogwarts offers training for the spell, and many students pass their Apparition exams every year—but that doesn't mean every wizard can use it smoothly."
Harry said softly, "But the Death Eaters aren't just any wizards."
Kingsley took a deep breath. "No. They're not."
"But they're inside Gringotts—where Apparition is already restricted. There was no reason to lock down Diagon Alley too—"
He suddenly stopped.
He and Harry exchanged a look.
They both realized it.
"They're buying time," Harry said, turning to Greyback. "These werewolves were meant to be found. They were thrown at us as bait."
"Even if it weren't for Remus, we'd still have to stay behind to protect Hogsmeade and Hogwarts—their biggest threats: Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and me."
"Meanwhile, the Death Eaters broke into Gringotts. Once they were sure the Aurors were drawn there, they locked down Diagon Alley."
"I bet Scrimgeour hasn't even realized they sealed it off."
"The Order of the Phoenix can't get there in time. The Aurors won't be a threat."
"They're stalling for Voldemort."
Kingsley shuddered.
"What a terrible development."
A slow, oily voice spoke behind him.
"Even Mr. Potter and Mr. Dumbledore make miscalculations?"
Harry sneered. "Who would've thought Voldemort trusted goblins enough to hide one of his treasures in their bank?"
Kingsley ignored Snape and quickly countered, "Gringotts is our bank!"
"Heh."
Harry and Snape chuckled coldly—simultaneously.
Kingsley's face flushed red with frustration.
Harry waved a hand, releasing a few of the werewolves. "Professor Snape, take these back for research. The one still breathing is Fenrir Greyback—be careful not to let him escape."
Snape flicked his wand, sending ropes flying to bind them.
"Take Hermione and the others back too," Harry added. "And my godfather."
Sirius transformed back into human form, grimacing. "Harry, I can— I'm not—"
"There's no room." Harry shook his head. "I'm taking Kingsley on my motorbike. You have to stay behind and drive Dumbledore to London—unless you want to let an old man wander the city alone."
Sirius grumbled but relented. "Fine."
"Crouch is there, isn't he?" Neville pushed past Ron, his eyes firm. "Harry, he has to be there."
"Maybe," Harry said. "But fighting Death Eaters is different from fighting werewolves."
Neville lifted his bloodstained sword. "I'm ready, Harry. I can—"
"I'll leave him to you," Harry interrupted. "But not now. We might be facing something worse—Voldemort could be resurrecting tonight."
Neville fell silent.
Then he raised his hand. "Harry, promise me—you'll leave Crouch and Lestrange to me."
"Of course." Harry high-fived him.
Kingsley opened his mouth, ready to remind them that Death Eaters were meant to face a trial.
Harry added, "No one will stop him—not even Dumbledore."
Kingsley shut his mouth immediately.
Neville took a deep breath and reluctantly nodded.
Harry pointed at his hat and cast a spell. In the distance, a sleek motorbike shot toward them at high speed.
"Hey, Harry! What do you need me for? I was just racing Buckbeak—uh, I mean, we were teaching a young Thestral how to fly," the Sorting Hat called out as the motorbike approached.
"You know, the one Hagrid loves—Woo-Woo, the Thestral."
"We've got a big problem." Harry patted the hat lightly. "Flying lessons are on hold. We need to get to London."
"It's flying class," the Sorting Hat corrected, flashing its headlights. "Well, hurry up, then!"
Harry swung his leg over the bike.
Kingsley was about to climb on when he suddenly paused and turned to Neville. "Mr. Longbottom, this might be a bit late to ask, but… after you graduate, would you consider becoming an Auror?"
Neville shook his head firmly. "No, Mr. Shacklebolt, thank you for the offer."
"But I'd rather become a Herbology professor—like Professor Sprout."
Kingsley stared at him, stunned.
Especially since Neville was still holding his bloodied sword, droplets of crimson dripping onto the snow.
How, in any way, did he resemble Professor Sprout?
Powerstones?
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