Sagres spent the night in the library. At dawn the next day, Professor Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes, came looking for him.
It carried a letter in its beak, its fiery tail feathers shimmering brilliantly.
For some reason, Noctis was always hostile toward the phoenix—perhaps jealous that its feathers were brighter, or that its singing was more melodious?
Sagres could understand. After all, his foolish raven's call was truly nothing to praise.
But it had its advantages: even if its voice was unpleasant, it could speak (When near his magic); even if it couldn't shed tears, it could relieve itself; even if it couldn't Apparate, it could gnaw on mithril; even if it didn't have fiery red plumage, it had its own multicolored black sheen.
Sagres slipped the letter into his pocket and issued an order to Noctis, who was still glaring at the phoenix:
"Go to this address and keep watch over Harry Potter's home. If anything unusual happens nearby, inform me immediately."
He handed the raven the address Dumbledore had given him the night before. Since he had accepted the commission, he needed to be ready.
The raven looked extremely unwilling, but it had no choice. It flapped its wings resentfully and flew off.
After Sagres finished breakfast in the Great Hall, he used Swift Shadow Form to arrive outside Lyle Lupin's house.
The cottage walls were mottled, and a few slightly wilted herbs sat on the windowsill.
Thump, thump, thump.
He knocked lightly on the weathered wooden door.
A faint sound of footsteps came from inside the house, followed by a creak as the door opened.
"Who are you?"
An old man with white hair and a stooped figure looked at the extraordinary young man standing outside. His cloudy eyes were filled with confusion.
"Hello, Mr. Lupin. We just exchanged letters yesterday," Sagres replied calmly, his gaze sweeping briefly over the simple furnishings inside.
"Hmm?" Lyle Lupin froze for a moment. Then his eyes widened, deepening the wrinkles on his face. "Are you Mr. Greengrass? I mean—Professor!"
His voice carried a hint of surprise; he clearly hadn't expected the writer of the letter to be so young.
"Please, come in. Have a seat."
The old man hurriedly stepped aside, his tone restrained yet respectful.
"Just call me Sagres." Sagres smiled slightly and naturally walked into the small cottage, faintly scented with herbs and old books.
He chose the sturdiest-looking wooden chair and sat down.
"Is Peeves getting used to staying here?" he asked casually. "I imagine he's not too happy with my arrangement."
"Oh, indeed."
Lyle cleared a cluttered table, then turned to fetch a cup of water. "It's been… uncooperative. And my research on non-human spirits has been shelved for too long; things are still in the observation phase."
As he gently placed the cup in front of Sagres, he couldn't help giving the young visitor another discreet glance.
Sagres, noticing the glance completely, picked up the cup and said in his usual steady tone, "I hope my unannounced visit hasn't disrupted your research."
"No, no!" The old man waved his hands repeatedly, looking somewhat flustered. "Disturb? I should be thanking you."
He lowered his voice and carefully sat down on another creaky old chair, his hands resting uneasily on his knees.
"It's just… I have a question," he began hesitantly. "How did you know… about the feud between Fenrir Greyback and me?"
His voice carried years of buried pain and a faint, almost imperceptible wariness.
Sagres took a sip of water and slowly set the cup down.
"Does that really require such rigorous deduction?"
He lifted a hand and pointed to the yellowed newspaper clippings and werewolf wanted posters pinned to the wall—Fenrir Greyback's grim face at the center of them all.
Old Lupin followed the gesture. His lips moved, but in the end he said nothing—only a faint dimness passed through his eyes.
"Besides," Sagres added, his tone calm and even, "my raven can ..tell me everything it observes."
Lyle Lupin understood immediately. He nodded heavily, his shoulders sinking slightly.
"Two years ago, I encountered Greyback and his accomplices at Oak Market, southwest of Black Marsh Town. For certain reasons, I had to deal with them."
Sagres spoke with the same steady composure as always.
A hint of astonishment flashed across Lyle Lupin's face, clearly surprised by the strength Sagres had shown.
But when he recalled the magic recorded on the parchment, that astonishment shifted into understanding. Not every Hogwarts professor deserved their title, but anyone capable of creating original magic was unquestionably powerful.
"So… what is the purpose of your visit this time?" Lyle looked up and asked cautiously, unable to hide his curiosity.
"Just passing by to check in and deliver a message."
Sagres spoke calmly. "Professor Dumbledore is preparing to hire a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. His chosen candidate is Remus Lupin."
"What?!" Lyle Lupin couldn't conceal his shock—bordering on disbelief.
"I'm guessing he's your son?" Sagres ignored the old man's astonishment and asked with certainty.
Lyle swallowed down the surge of emotion in his chest and slowly nodded. "..Yes."
Dumbledore knew their situation, yet still wished to hire Remus? This was… impossible to understand. Joy, fear, worry, and disbelief all tangled together on his face.
Sagres, however, clearly had no intention of elaborating. He simply nodded at the old man. "I'm going to see him now. If you have any letters you want delivered, I can take them."
After saying this, he took out a heavy pouch of Galleons and placed it on the table. "This is the research fund for Peeves. Further payments will arrive on time at the end of each month."
He raised a hand to stop Lyle from declining or expressing gratitude. "It's not free. By accepting my funding, all your future research results must be shared with me without reservation."
The old man's body visibly stiffened at those words.
He stared at the pouch of Galleons for a few seconds, then looked up at Sagres's calm, composed expression. At last, he nodded heavily, his voice firm. "No problem."
"Alright." Sagres stood and straightened his robes. "Do you have a letter? If not, I'll be on my way."
"Wait! Please wait!" Old Lupin quickly got to his feet, his movements unsteady from urgency.
He hurried to the desk in the corner, grabbed a piece of parchment and a nearly bald quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing rapidly. The quill scratched across the parchment, leaving hurried, uneven strokes behind.
Sagres took the letter from Lyle Lupin's hand. The ink hadn't fully dried; the parchment was filled with the marks of rushed writing.
Without lingering, he gave a simple farewell. Then he cast Swift Shadow Form again—his figure twisting and vanishing from the old cottage.
...
Pop!
A faint popping sound echoed through a dark back alley in East London, thick with the smell of fish and coal dust.
Sagres's figure materialized beside a pile of damp, musty wooden crates.
He frowned slightly, brushed imaginary dust from his robes, and sharply surveyed his surroundings.
This place was even more dilapidated and oppressive than where he had just been.
The narrow alley opened toward a noisy dock at the far end, where rough shouts and the thud of heavy cargo could be faintly heard.
Following the address Dumbledore had given him, Sagres walked deeper into the alley toward a rickety, cheap apartment building.
The stairwell was dark and damp, the plaster peeling from the walls, and the air reeked of cheap tobacco and rotting food.
He reached the top floor and found the room, its doorplate smudged and barely legible.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sound rang sharply in the silent stairwell.
No response came from inside—only complete silence.
Sagres was not surprised. Realizing the room was empty, he turned and descended the stairs, heading straight toward the noisy dock.
At the dock, under a dreary sky, cargo ships were being loaded and unloaded.
A group of shabby, grime-covered laborers hauled heavy sacks and wooden crates, staggering back and forth across the slick gangplanks.
Sweat, rain, and seawater mixed together, soaking through their coarse clothing.
Sagres quickly found his target among them—Remus Lupin.
________
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