The gunfire ceased, and the writhing stone hands on the corpses gradually retreated. Moonlight filtered through the stained glass of the church, illuminating the floor tiles. Blood, mingled with rain, seeped slowly into the cracks and soaked Hoffa's shoes.
Straightening his back from the wall, Hoffa wore a grim expression.
Nobber lowered his gun, his fierce demeanor giving way to frustration. Holding his injured arm, he cursed, "Damn it, why did I ever get involved with people like this?"
"The Wizarding Association surely knows our location by now," Nobber said through gritted teeth. "We can't stay here. If they catch us, we're done for."
"What about the weapons shipment?"
Hoffa remained surprisingly composed. "Without those guns, our funding chain breaks. If that happens, all the effort we've put into this business will go down the drain."
"You think those guys are just third-rate thugs using Muggle weapons? They're well-equipped wizards," Nobber retorted. "We're in no position to fight them."
Hoffa's tone was steady. "Respect the facts, please. We're already on the brink of bankruptcy. Without that shipment, this entire year will have been wasted."
"Are you insane, kid?" Nobber snapped.
"I'm not insane."
"Then what's your plan?" Nobber scoffed. "Go to the Wizarding Association and tell them those illegal goods are ours, so they belong to us?"
"No, I'll check Durant's warehouse first," Hoffa replied.
Nobber grew agitated. "What if they're lying in wait by the goods?"
"I have a unique invisibility technique—they won't catch me," Hoffa said. "You don't have to come. You can leave, just like before. I don't mind."
Without another word, Hoffa calmly retrieved a set of keys from Durant's corpse and started walking toward the church doors.
Nobber watched Hoffa's retreating figure in disbelief. After a long pause, he muttered, "Bastard."
But even after cursing, he chased after him.
Seeing him return, Hoffa didn't say much.
The warehouse was located at the end of a street in the East District.
It was late, and the rain had started to ease.
When they arrived, both men were unusually cautious. Hoffa entered his stealth mode early, ready to activate his ghost-like movement at any moment. Nobber, clutching his injured arm, gripped his gun tightly and moved carefully through the shadows.
They were on high alert but encountered no resistance—no enemies, no ambushes.
When they finally reached the warehouse's battered wooden door, both wore puzzled expressions.
"Anyone in there?" Nobber asked, sweat dripping from his forehead.
Hoffa shook his head. His senses confirmed the place was empty. Nobber exhaled in relief, quickly tucking his gun away and pushing the warehouse door open with a creak.
Inside, the old arched metal warehouse was packed with rows of wooden crates. Upon opening a crate, they found it filled with seemingly ordinary pots, pans, and utensils.
The two began carefully inspecting the items. Occasionally, Hoffa picked up an object, and in his hands, it writhed and transformed into a cold, sinister black firearm.
When he placed the weapon back, it reverted to an ordinary kitchen item. These were all the products Hoffa and Nobber had painstakingly crafted over the past six months.
Designed to look like Muggle household items, the weapons were cloaked with a Transfiguration Charm to bypass Muggle customs inspections.
"They're all here," Nobber said, visibly relieved. "No matter what, let's get these out of here."
Hoffa, however, stroked his chin, his brow furrowed. "Doesn't it feel too quiet to you?"
"Who cares if it's quiet? Not running into those Germans is pure luck," Nobber replied, pulling out an Undetectable Extension Bag. With his wand, he began tapping the crates one by one.
Each tap caused a crate to float and disappear into the seemingly bottomless bag.
Before long, they had packed everything. Like overstuffed hamsters, they crept out of the warehouse, eager to leave the area quickly.
At the street corner, Hoffa's heightened senses picked up on a presence twenty meters away. Grabbing Nobber's arm, he signaled for silence. Nobber, startled, instinctively drew his weapon.
They stood hidden in the shadows, eyes fixed on the far end of the road.
A tall, slender figure emerged from the other side of the rain-slicked street.
It was a woman in a gray robe, around twenty-three years old. She had sharp features, pale skin, and not a single hair on her head, resembling a European monk.
She stared unblinkingly at their hiding spot.
Hoffa froze for two seconds, immediately recognizing her as the woman who had approached him at the bar earlier.
But now, at 1 a.m., in a Germany under oppressive rule, anyone wandering the streets at this hour was suspicious.
The realization dawned on him: their previous meeting at the bar had been premeditated.
"So, you got here first. I suppose Durant is dead," the woman said in crisp English, her voice cutting through the quiet street.
"I know your skills, Mr. Bach. But I'm not with the Wizarding Association, so there's no need to flee just yet."
Realizing there was no point in hiding, Hoffa and Nobber stepped out from the shadows.
"Who are you?"
Hoffa's nerves were on high alert. In a world fraught with danger, anyone could turn out to be an enemy, especially an inexplicable bald woman who had appeared out of nowhere. She looked anything but ordinary.
The woman unfastened the buttons at the chest of her gray outer garment, revealing a sleek black uniform underneath. On the uniform was a gleaming silver badge.
"Delphina Rayburn, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, British Ministry of Magic. I am also the assistant to the current Minister of Magic," she introduced herself.
Delphina. Hoffa was momentarily taken aback. He recalled hearing about her in the church tunnels when a Black friend mentioned that someone from the British Ministry of Magic was also searching for Durant. He hadn't expected it to be her.
Nobber glanced at Hoffa, puzzled by the stranger's identity. She wasn't a German wizard, which only added to the confusion.
"Have we met?" Hoffa asked with a frown, feeling as though her name sounded familiar.
The bald woman shook her head, her smile widening. "If you don't remember, then we haven't. But I know you, Mr. Bach."
"What do you know about me?"
"I know you left Hogwarts in 1941. A year ago, you were accused of being a dangerous wizard involved in the bombing of London. Later, you were arrested by the Ministry for allegedly manufacturing hazardous items, though you managed to escape. Am I wrong?"
Hoffa remained silent, his facial muscles twitching slightly.
"In the past six months, you've gone quiet, yet a large number of construct weapons have surfaced worldwide," Delphina continued. "The Wizengamot banned construct technology in 1939. Who would have thought that one of Hogwarts' brightest students—the so-called pride of Ravenclaw—would turn into an arms dealer right after graduation?"
After a pause, she added slowly, "Aren't you ashamed, Mr. Bach?"
Click.
Nobber raised his pistol and sneered, "You seem to know a lot about him. Are you in love with him or something?"
Hoffa pressed down Nobber's arm, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Well said. So, are you here to apprehend me? With the Ministry's current state, I doubt it could even protect itself."
Delphina's eyes narrowed mischievously, and she laughed. "You're not wrong. We're struggling to keep things together. That's why I'm not here to arrest you."
"Then what do you want?"
"I'm here..."
She stepped forward casually, ignoring the barrel of Nobber's gun pointed directly at her. Folding her hands, she stopped in front of Hoffa, staring at him unflinchingly.
"I'm here to ask for your help."
"You just painted me as a disgrace, and now you want my help? I think it's safe to say I'm not interested," Hoffa replied.
"That was just a joke," she said with a dismissive wave. "It was Minister Muen who issued the warrant for your arrest, but he has since resigned in disgrace. The new Minister, Minister Drases, specifically asked me to find you."
Hearing that name again, Hoffa's eye twitched slightly. He stepped around Delphina, intending to leave without further conversation.
But she spread her arms, blocking his path.
"Hey, don't be so cold. I mean no harm. I just want to have a friendly chat."
"We don't chat with Ministry people, sweetheart," Nobber interjected.
"Did I ask for your opinion?" Delphina shot Nobber a disdainful glance.
That remark infuriated Nobber. "Listen, Baldy, I don't care who you are. Step aside, or you die."
Delphina's gaze turned icy. "Hagrid, over the past thirty years, you've been wanted by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures no less than fifteen times. Two years ago, you even killed two Azkaban escorts."
"You could kill me and walk away, but your son, Rubeus Hagrid, is still at Hogwarts. Surely, you wouldn't completely disregard his well-being and growth, would you?"
"You!"
Nobber yelled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. "If you dare touch my son—"
Hoffa grabbed his irate companion, cutting him off. "What do you want to talk about?"
Delphina responded, "Durant captured many Jewish people from here. Among them is someone with close ties to the Ministry of Magic. Minister Drases wants someone to escort her back to Britain."
"And what does that have to do with me? This is clearly your job."
"The British coastline is entirely blockaded by Grindelwald. No wizard can escape the watchful eyes of the Imperial Wizards' Association. To smuggle someone out of his grasp, only you have the means to succeed."
Listening to her, Hoffa let out a derisive laugh. When she finished, he flatly refused.
"I can't do it. Find someone else."
"If you and Hagrid can transport weapons to Britain, how hard could it be to smuggle a person?"
"Things are things. People are people. I can't do it."
"You can."
"I can't."
"You can."
The woman's stubborn insistence grated on Hoffa's nerves. He was already irritated by being sought out by the very institution he had been evading, now tasked with an absurd mission. He had no desire to involve himself with the British Ministry of Magic.
So, he stated bluntly, "What if I don't want to do it?"
"You must help."
"No one can force me to do anything, especially return to London."
"Not even to help Minister Drases?"
A flicker of disdain crossed Hoffa's eyes. "The last person I want to see in this lifetime is him."
Seeing his firm resolve, Delphina slowly lowered her arms.
"Then this conversation never happened."
"Goodbye."
Without hesitation, Hoffa turned on his heel and strode away.
Nobber shot the woman a glare, full of menace.
"Don't follow us."
"I won't. I promise," she said, watching Hoffa's retreating figure.
Nobber finally lowered his arm and hurried after Hoffa, glancing back every few steps. When the tall woman's figure was no longer visible, he muttered,
"This has to be a Ministry ploy. They want to trick us into returning to Britain so they can imprison us. Those people are experts at infighting, and even now, they can't stop stirring up trouble for us."
"Forget about her," Hoffa said. "I've already made up my mind. I'm not involving myself in anyone else's business."
"Hah, you're a clever little fox, aren't you?"
Nobber chuckled, though it was unclear whether he was praising or mocking him.
(End of Chapter)
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