When Sirius was still a fugitive, he'd had plenty of run-ins with the Finger-Eater.
Ocsa the Finger-Eater had always been something like a hitman or bounty hunter. With that massive bounty on Sirius's head, he'd hunted him for quite a while.
"Well, look at this—Sirius Black, the noble and ever-pure Black."
Ocsa's face was full of mockery. He clicked his tongue at Sirius and said, "Why do you look like a stray dog? Don't tell me you're wanted again?"
"Ocsa, what are you doing here?" Sirius's face was full of wariness.
He cursed his rotten luck—of all times to run into him, it had to be when he was in such bad shape.
Had this been any other day, he wouldn't have been so worried.
Ocsa could clearly see Sirius's guard up. He shrugged and used his finger to lift the brim of his hat, smiling. "Relax, I've changed professions."
As he spoke, Ocsa revealed a silver scythe hidden under his trench coat and said softly, "I hunt Death Eaters now."
"Star Disciple," Sirius's pupils contracted.
He'd seen the bounty notice at the Blind Pig Pub. That new group of Star Disciples hunted Death Eaters exclusively.
Technically, they should be considered allies of the Order of the Phoenix.
But the Order didn't see it that way—because the people in the Star Disciples were almost all dark wizards, each one soaked in blood.
The number of Star Disciples remained a mystery, but every single one had once been a notorious dark wizard.
Finger-Eater, Gemini, Executioner's Stand...
These guys were even more dangerous than Death Eaters—especially the Finger-Eater. He was someone who took pleasure in killing.
"What's the matter? Thinking about joining?" Ocsa chuckled. "I could put in a good word for you."
"No thanks," Sirius said coldly. "With people like you in there, I'd rather stay out."
"Heh~ Weren't you a wanted man once too?" Ocsa sneered. "Don't act so righteous—you've killed people too."
His gaze shifted to Watson, and he said indifferently, "A Muggle—were you going to kill him?"
"Just a memory wipe," Sirius muttered. If he'd really meant to kill Watson, he wouldn't have gotten so badly injured.
"Alright then, good luck." Ocsa shrugged, and as he moved, a piece of human skin fell out of his pocket.
Suplch~!
He picked it up without batting an eye, casually brushing off the dust.
Sirius's eyelid twitched. Only after watching the man leave did he finally breathe a sigh of relief.
He turned around, preparing to cast the Memory Charm—only to see a running car, its taillights already disappearing down the road.
"Oh.. for the love of Merlin!" Sirius wanted to curse.
...
Number 12, Grimmauld Place.
Upstairs, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had finally regrouped once more.
They entered the room, where the lighting was rather poor, giving it a dim, gloomy feel.
Two single beds were placed side by side.
Too much had happened today, and the trio found it hard to process everything all at once.
"So... you were attacked by a Dementor?"
It was Ron who broke the silence first, curious about what had happened to Harry.
Hermione said angrily, "Harry's the victim, yet he still has to go to the Ministry for a hearing! I've looked into it—they can't expel you, absolutely not. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery clearly states that magic may be used in life-threatening situations."
Her mouth went on and on. Ron and Harry exchanged a look, silently agreeing—yep, that's Hermione alright.
As the door closed, Harry noticed Hedwig was also in the room.
Ron complained, "She's been agitated the whole time—nearly pecked us to death."
Harry looked a bit embarrassed at that.
He'd instructed Hedwig to pester Ron until he wrote a proper reply—if he didn't, she was to keep pecking him until he did.
"I'm really sorry about that. I just... wanted to get a reply, you know?" Harry's mood soured as he thought back on how he'd been kept in the dark this whole time.
"We wanted to write you back too, mate," Ron said. "Hermione was worried sick. She kept saying if you stayed there without hearing from us, you might do something reckless... but Dumbledore made us..."
"He made you swear not to tell me?" Harry's expression darkened.
The joy of reuniting with his two best friends was quickly fading. He had spent an entire month longing to see them, but now he almost wished they'd leave and let him be alone.
"He seemed to think it was for the best," Hermione said nervously. "I mean... Dumbledore did."
"I think he believed being with Muggles was the safest place for you," Ron added.
"Really?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "Which one of you got attacked by Dementors this summer?"
Safest with Muggles?
What a joke—he was the one who had been attacked by Dementors.
And he'd been the only one kept completely in the dark.
Ron was at a loss for words. "Well, no one... That's why he had members of the Order shadowing you the whole time."
"Didn't seem to help much, did it?" Harry said coldly, trying to keep his voice steady. "Still had to protect myself, didn't I?"
"Maybe... there was another reason," Hermione said after a moment's silence. "He thought... because John was there too."
John.
That name again—already mentioned several times downstairs.
Harry let out a cold laugh. "And John was supposed to keep me safe, was he?"
"At the very least, John is more reliable than most people, isn't he?" Hermione said hesitantly. "John would never hurt you."
"You don't know... during the summer, I didn't even—"
Harry stopped mid-sentence, something coming back to him.
Those black threads, like strands pulling at his soul.
If what Hermione said was true, then... was that John's magic?
Harry was certain—whatever that was, it wasn't good.
Was John studying dark magic?
Ron quickly jumped in to defuse the tension. "Dumbledore was furious—we saw how mad he was at Mundungus."
"I'd rather he had just left," Harry said coldly. "If he had, I wouldn't have used magic in the first place. Dumbledore would probably have made me spend the whole summer stuck on Privet Drive."
He was resentful—furious, even—about being excluded from everything by Dumbledore.
Just as the trio were talking, Sirius came back.
Another bout of chaos broke out downstairs.
Especially Tonks—she was nearly laughing.
"'Just a Muggle,' huh?"
Tonks looked on gleefully, while Sirius's face was as dark as thunder.
Who would've thought that Muggle would be so unpredictable?
This wasn't America—why on earth would you carry a gun around?
After receiving treatment, he brought back a piece of news.
Something about the Star Disciples.
...
John's father, Watson, came home very late.
The next day.
John actually suspected his dad might've been drunk-driving last night—he noticed a dent at the back of the car.
"Dad, did you crash the car?" he asked the somewhat dazed Watson.
Watson asked, "Do you think there's any way to deal with wizards?"
"?"
Why was his dad suddenly asking that?
John was a little confused and replied casually, "Of course there is. Just take away the wizard's wand."
"No, not that," Watson hesitated, then said, "I mean, is there any way to resist a wizard's magic?"
Watson had actually managed to escape last night—he'd emptied his magazine and seriously wounded Sirius.
After returning home, Watson tossed and turned, unable to sleep.
Magic was just too dangerous. As an ordinary person, he had no means to defend himself—wasn't that a little too unfair?
John glanced at him sideways, wondering if his dad had his eyes on the equipment down in the basement.
He replied cautiously, "There is a way, but… what do you want to do with it?"
"Really?!" Watson's eyes lit up. He was starting to realize that not all wizards were kindly old men or elderly women who turned things into mice.
After some relentless coaxing from his father, John finally showed him a protective charm.
This thing was the magical world's equivalent of a bulletproof vest—it could block most spells.
Watson's eyes lit up. If he'd had this yesterday, there's no way he would've been controlled so easily.
He sneaked a glance at the basement—packed full of protective charms, enough to arm an entire squad.
John shut the door. He knew his dad wouldn't ask these things for no reason.
Could it be… he'd encountered a wizard?
Thinking of the powerful people who always had wizards at their side, John figured maybe it was time to start seriously considering his own family's protection.
...
Gringotts.
A young man claiming to be the last blood heir of the Lestrange family appeared in Diagon Alley.
The goblin stared at the authorization documents in his hand, then looked at the youth's young face—deep suspicion glinting in his eyes.
"It's real, isn't it?"
The young man smiled faintly, pulled out a pocket watch, glanced at it, and urged, "Time is money."
Though extremely skeptical, the contract was authentic.
The goblin had no choice but to comply.
He led the young man toward the Lestrange family vault.
On the way, they passed beneath a waterfall that could wash away all magic. The goblin kept a close eye on him—but beneath the cascade, the man remained completely unaffected.
Riding the cart through winding tracks, they finally arrived at the Lestrange vault.
A chained dragon crouched nearby. Led by the goblin, who jingled a set of enchanted chimes in his hand, the dragon flinched and backed off, too conditioned to attack.
The young man's eyes darkened slightly at the sight.
Passing the dragon, they reached the vault itself.
Compared to the others outside, this one was clearly far more secure.
The goblin ran a finger along the door, and the sound of locks unlatching echoed out.
Then, the vault door slowly opened.
As expected of an ancient pure-blood family—inside, treasures were piled high in dazzling array.
Just this alone was enough to rival the entire Silverhand Shop's content.
The goblin stood behind him, obsequious and respectful. The young man glanced at the goblin and said coolly, "You may leave now."
The goblin froze for a moment, muttered something under his breath, and departed.
The young man shifted his gaze back, tugged at his gelled hair, and locked eyes on a particular shelf.
A sword inlaid with rubies caught his attention, freezing his expression.
"Gryffindor's Sword?"
After examining it for a moment, he shook his head and said, "A counterfeit, but looks like it's worth something."
The young man was John.
The waterfall could wash away magic, but it didn't affect basic cosmetics.
Heh~
He'd hired a makeup artist to subtly alter his appearance. Same face, but it gave off a completely different vibe.
Looking at the vault full of treasure, John curled his lips into a grin and said, "All mine."
___________
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