{…The Ministry of Magic has decided that, in order to quickly restore safety and order to the British wizarding world, Dementors will be dispatched to search for traces of the Obscurus…}
On the table, the Streaming Mirror was broadcasting the magical version of today's news. Cornelius Fudge, dressed in a dark magenta suit, was vigorously waving his fists as he declared:
{The claim that Dementors attacked Hogwarts students is utter nonsense! In fact, they boarded the train to ensure the students' safety during inspection.}
{Of course, there was a small mistake on our part, as the Ministry and the school failed to communicate in time, which led to a misunderstanding. A few students fainted from fright, but beyond that, no serious harm was done…}
Harry, who was eating breakfast, froze mid-bite and put down his bread.
{The students and one professor on the train who took it upon themselves to attack Ministry officials in the line of duty were absolutely in the wrong! However, considering the children's emotional state, we've decided not to press charges…}
Michael gave a silent, scornful laugh, shook his head, and cut into the fried egg on his plate with his knife.
{I can assure you, Dementors follow the Ministry's orders at all times and are in no way out of control. Any concerns or suspicions about them attacking innocent bystanders are completely unnecessary…
Once the Obscurus is captured, the Dementors will immediately return to Azkaban…}
"So it was all a misunderstanding… It's really a relief the Ministry isn't holding it against anyone," Fiona let out a sigh and then asked curiously, "What do Dementors actually look like?"
"Like a big black rag draped in a cloak—one that's gone moldy and stinks," Michael made a face and said, "Hideous!"
"Hahaha…" Fiona laughed at his joke, then asked, "Sounds like pretty strong prison guards… So that Obscurus thing isn't a match for them?"
"Not sure," Wade replied. "There's no record in history of those two creatures ever fighting."
"Maybe the Dementors are stronger… after all, there are so many of them," Fiona speculated simply.
"Either way, I just want those things to go back to Azkaban as soon as possible," Harry muttered. "I don't ever want to run into another one of their 'inspections' again."
The news in the Streaming Mirror ended, and a cheerful Muggle musical replaced it.
Dozens of handsome men and beautiful women sang and danced in the mirror, filling the room with energy and helping dispel the gloomy atmosphere left by the earlier report.
"Unbelievable!" Michael said angrily. "Something this serious, and they just sweep it under the rug like that!"
"Judging by how the Dementors acted on the train, it really is hard to tell if they were inspecting or attacking," Wade said calmly. "After all, no one actually… got seriously hurt."
He glanced at his mother and swallowed the words "had their soul sucked out."
Unlike Fred, who focused on the dangers and darker sides of the wizarding world, Fiona usually paid attention to the wonders and fascinating aspects.
Her understanding of Dementors came entirely from the Streaming Mirror and the Daily Prophet, which never mentioned how terrifying and evil such creatures could be—instead, they simply kept repeating…
[Dementors are the most reliable guards in the wizarding world.]
In Fiona's imagination, they were a mysterious force—tall and strong, used to solitude, walking in darkness, never revealing their true faces.
Of course, after the attack on the Hogwarts Express, the image in her mind had been updated: now they were an extremely rude and cold group of savages.
Dementors—just hearing the name made it hard to imagine how dark and decayed such creatures really were.
After breakfast, the three little magic dolls bounced around clearing the dishes, while Fiona and Fred went upstairs to change into clothes for going out.
"We're going to visit a few friends. You can play all you like at home. There are drinks in the fridge, new snacks in the cabinet, and for lunch, order pizza or Chinese from nearby. I've left the number by the phone," Fred reminded them.
"Okay, Dad," Wade replied.
"See you tonight, sweetheart."
Fiona kissed Wade on the forehead, then did the same to Harry and Michael, smiling as she said:
"Make yourselves at home—if I come back and find everything neat and tidy, I'll be angry."
"You're underestimating how good Coco and the others are at their jobs, Mom," Wade shot back.
"Don't worry, we won't neglect ourselves!" Michael added confidently.
Harry was still holding his forehead in a daze, looking like he hadn't recovered from the kiss.
The Greys left with cheerful goodbyes and coats in hand.
After seeing them off, Wade turned and asked, "So, what do you want to do? Watch TV? Play games? Or… do homework?"
"…Anything but the last one!" Michael said, throwing an arm around Wade's shoulders with a mock groan. "But Wade, I can't believe you didn't tell me your house was this cool!"
"Yeah…" Harry chimed in. "I thought it'd be more like the Dursleys'. But this place…"
He looked around.
"It feels more like a pure-blood wizarding family's home."
Near the doors and windows were enchanted mirrors for early warning; the living room held both a Streaming Mirror and a TV—though the latter clearly hadn't been used in a long time.
The three little magic dolls were busily tidying the house, and the mirror in the dressing room would loudly comment on the viewer's outfit and offer surprisingly helpful suggestions.
"Scars are ugly, but a lightning-shaped scar? That's cool! Boy, you'd look great in a blue beret!"
The first time Harry heard that voice, it gave him quite a shock.
On top of that, the attic housed a large astronomical telescope. In the center of the room was a glass sphere with a moving model of the constellations inside, which Harry absolutely loved.
The bookshelves up there were filled with magical history books, many of which showed signs of frequent reading. Mr. Fred also had a thick stack of old Daily Prophet newspapers, many heavily marked with notes.
Harry felt a little guilty—he usually tossed his papers after reading them, and the only part he ever paid serious attention to was the crossword puzzle.
"Luckily, my parents are just really into magic, that's all," Wade said.
Wade brought the two of them up to the attic and pulled out a pile of unopened boxes. He asked, "What do you want to play? I've got Contra, Desert Strike, and... Indiana Jones?"
He flipped through the boxes, reading the names printed on them.
Most of these were Christmas gifts from last year. Some had been brought specially from abroad by Fred's business partners, knowing there was a teenager in the house.
Though Wade wasn't particularly interested in them, Harry and Michael were both actual thirteen-year-olds—they'd definitely be into these kinds of games.
Harry picked up another box from the side. On the cover were several big-nosed old men wearing bull-horned helmets, holding swords or shields.
He looked at the gem-studded sword and felt an inexplicable fondness for it. He read the title softly: "The Lost Vikings?"
"Vikings? That sounds cool—let's play that one!" Michael said with interest.
Harry's eyes lit up too—in the Dursley household, there were game consoles, sure, but everything belonged to Dudley. Harry wasn't even allowed to touch them.
Though he always pretended not to care, only he knew how curious and envious he really was.
"Sure!"
Wade didn't mind what they played. They unboxed the game, plugged it in, and powered up the console.
As the dun-dun-dun-DUN music kicked in, the screen flashed from black to bright, and three pixelated little characters appeared on the screen.
—
Crunch… crunch…
Leather boots crunched in the snow as Abigail and Major Baird walked along the edge of the street, their expressionless faces were a stark contrast to the joy all around them.
They passed through street after street until Baird stopped in front of a small tavern.
Above the door hung a crooked sign—"The Antler Tavern"—and near the doorknob was a small wooden placard that read "Temporarily Closed."
Baird ignored the sign and knocked on the door with his knuckle. A moment later, they heard the clinking of chains from inside.
An older woman with a dull expression opened the door.
"Come in," she said. "Brolin's been waiting for you."
Baird took a deep breath, visibly stirred. But instead of entering, he stepped aside and gestured for Abigail to go first.
With tightly pressed lips, Abigail strode inside. Baird followed close behind.
The wooden door slammed shut behind them.
The tavern was half-underground, half-aboveground, and the room was quite dim. Even the few lit lamps weren't very bright.
An elderly bartender with graying hair was mixing drinks with practiced ease, and at the bar sat a handsome man in his forties or fifties.
A cocktail sat next to his hand, untouched, while he read a gaudy-looking newspaper.
Abigail immediately recognized it—it was a tabloid fairly popular in the British wizarding world which often published unverified gossip and wild speculation.
"Sierra, Major, long time no see."
The man turned around and said gently.
"Mr. Brolin," the two greeted, bowing their heads.
"Mm." Brolin nodded, then suddenly asked, "Have you read this issue of The Quibbler?"
The two exchanged glances and shook their heads at the same time.
Baird explained, "The Quibbler publishes all sorts of bizarre garb—articles. I personally don't think it's worth subscribing to."
"I used to think the same. It's good for a laugh, sure—but now and then, you'll find something in there you won't see in The Daily Prophet. For instance…"
Brolin suddenly turned his gaze to Abigail and said with a smile, "Sierra, I heard you used a Patronus on the train to protect the students?"
"Yes," Abigail said with her head lowered. "Dumbledore knew I was on the train—in a situation like that, if I hadn't acted, I'd surely be questioned…"
"No need to explain. I understand," Brolin said with a warm smile.
"But this magazine, as ridiculous as it is, claimed the two Patronuses that drove off the Dementors were an eagle and a Doberman. Do you think that's possible, Sierra?"
"Of course not," Baird said casually. "Those wizard kids probably couldn't tell dog breeds apart, or just saw wrong. Right, Sierra?"
He turned his head—only to see his companion staring down in silence.
"—Sierra?"
Baird frowned, confused.
Brolin let out a quiet sigh.
"Expecto Patronum, Sierra," he said firmly. "Let me see your Patronus."
Abigail slowly drew her wand.
Moments later, a silvery-white dog darted twice around the room before returning to her side.
It was lean and agile, with a narrow, elongated head—both powerful and elegant in appearance.
It was unmistakably a Doberman.
Baird's expression shifted slightly. He slowly lifted his eyes to look at Abigail, as if he were staring at a stranger.
"Abigail, your Patronus used to be a pit bull!" Baird asked. "When did it change to this?"
The silver hound faded and disappeared. Abigail replied, "I don't know."
If she had known her Patronus had changed form, she wouldn't have cast the spell—or at the very least, she would've tried to hide its shape.
When she saw the Patronus charging at the Dementors, her shock and unease were no less than those of the students on the train.
Brolin asked gently, "Under what circumstances does a Patronus change form, Abigail?"
"When…" Abigail paused, then said, "When someone experiences emotional trauma… or a significant shift in their feelings…"
"Did that school change you?" Brolin pressed. "Did they make you soft? Did they make you start believing in love or friendship—those poisons—and forget where you stand?"
"I did not!" Abigail snapped.
"A Patronus reflects your true thoughts far better than words ever could," Baird said coldly.
"Don't be so harsh, Major," Brolin said gently. "It's not so unusual to be influenced by naïve children."
"But Sierra, as pure and kind as a child's world may seem, they won't stay children forever."
"Soon they'll leave school, using magic recklessly to harm innocent Muggles, becoming the very kind of wizards you hate most."
"Have you forgotten how your parents died? Thirteen years ago, two wizards were dueling, chasing each other through the streets—they used a single spell and killed twelve innocent Muggles—just because those people happened to be nearby!"
Abigail's eyes turned red in an instant. She gritted her teeth and hissed, "I haven't forgotten!"
Brolin looked at her with a mixture of pity and sorrow as he continued:
"No reason. No explanation. Not even an apology. Your parents' bodies were never recovered, and their names weren't even deemed worthy of appearing in the wizarding newspapers."
"Poor child… You joined the organization out of a thirst for revenge. Then you thought justice had been served—those two reckless wizards, one dead, the other imprisoned in the most terrifying prison in the world."
"But what's the reality? One of them became a world-renowned hero—rumor has it he might even join the Ministry as an Auror. The other? Still at large, never held accountable."
"Only you… Only you still remember those who died. Your parents live on only in your memory."
"Abigail, how could you forget? How could you grow soft?"
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⭐Harry Potter: Becoming a Study God (HP:BSG)- +235 Chapters
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