"Was it deliberate, or was it an accident?" the figure in the mirror asked.
"An accident, of course. Someone unexpected showed up, and they were strong. They could even interfere with transfer magic derived from the phoenix," the black-robed man said.
"..."
The figure in the mirror fell silent for a moment. The crystal ball before him slowly began to change.
A face gradually appeared within it, a figure in the middle of pulling up a hood. It was exactly the movement Leonard had made after telling Midgard to interrogate Damocles.
"Filius Flitwick? No, probably not. He wouldn't have the time, and he wouldn't be mixed up with Werewolves," the figure in the mirror said. "It should be Polyjuice Potion."
"Polyjuice Potion? That's a pain. Doesn't that mean we have no leads at all?" Harris cried.
"Not exactly no leads. At the very least, this person must be someone close to Professor Flitwick. Otherwise, where would he have gotten Flitwick's hair?"
As he spoke, the figure wiped the image from the crystal ball and continued.
"Conveniently enough, Professor Flitwick spends most of his time at Hogwarts. And aren't you headed there soon yourself? You can investigate slowly."
"It's still possible someone picked up Professor Flitwick's hair outside," Harris said with a shrug.
"That's still a possibility either way. Take your time," the figure said, then paused. "Be careful at Hogwarts."
"What, are you worried that curse might kill me?" Harris said with a grin.
The figure nodded.
"Oh, come on, teacher. Voldemort may be impressive, but a person's era limits their horizons. How powerful can his curse really be?" Harris said carelessly.
"Our previous estimate was wrong. It now seems Voldemort's curse did not come from him personally. He borrowed the power of one of Salazar Slytherin's relics, something from the Chamber of Secrets, the secret hidden by the Gaunt family," the figure said with a sigh. "According to reliable information, last year's Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was possessed by Voldemort."
"...Th... that... what do you mean?" Harris asked in confusion.
"It means the curse has gone completely mad. It doesn't even spare Voldemort himself. Or rather, Voldemort may simply be unable to control it at all," the figure said. "In any case, be careful. I don't want to outlive my student and then have Albus notify me so I can collect your corpse."
"That's a pretty terrifying way to put it," Harris said.
"I'm not trying to scare you. Just be careful. When dealing with the inheritors of ancient magic, be cautious and be friendly. If ancient magic kills you, you won't even get the chance to become a ghost," the figure said.
"Sigh... alright, teacher. I understand," Harris said, nodding.
"If there's nothing else, disconnect. Your teacher doesn't have much time left, and I should spend more time with your teacher's wife," the figure in the mirror said.
Harris was silent for a while before asking, "Teacher, do you think Mr. Cappadocia and the others are doing the right thing?"
"I don't know," the figure said. "What they seek is far older than I am. Whether it is right or wrong can only be judged by time."
"But weren't their actions set in motion because of your prophecy? Can't your prophecy see their future?" Harris asked unwilling to let it go.
"A prophecy is only one possibility among countless futures. It is a tendency, not a result," the figure said.
"People only believe the prophecies that benefit them. If a prophecy works against them, they start shouting that man can conquer fate and continue pursuing their goal. None of them are ordinary people. They won't abandon what they seek just because of outside interference."
"Tch. Then how come outside interference is exactly what got them started on that pursuit in the first place?" Harris said disdainfully.
"Because they have never changed. It's just that back then, dawn had not yet appeared."
The figure coughed a few times.
"Enough. I won't keep talking to you. Just be careful. Don't worry about all those other things."
"Got it, teacher. Hope you get some rest soon," Harris said with a nod, then cut off the connection.
The mirror melted and turned back into the listless crow Starr. It hopped onto Harris's shoulder and gave a caw.
"Stop that. What do you mean, you want a little apple right now? Where am I supposed to get one for you? Have some dried fruit instead," Harris said, taking out a piece of dried fruit from his pocket and offering it to the crow.
Crow Starr pecked at it twice, clearly dissatisfied, then jumped to Harris's other shoulder and opened its beak.
"Caw!"
"What do you mean it's too sugary and causes heatiness? You're a crow. How are you living more delicately than I am?" Harris said, stuffing the dried fruit into his own mouth. "It tastes pretty good to me."
"Caw?" Crow Starr widened its eyes. It was still negotiating, so how had this guy just eaten the dried fruit himself?
"Alright, alright, don't rush. Wow, that's some foul language. Let's head back to the tavern first. I'll buy you a whole basket of little apples then," Harris said, covering his ears.
Crow Starr looked at this shameless person, who would even steal a crow's food, in speechless disbelief. Then it flapped its wings, black feathers scattering as Harris vanished from the spot along with it.
...
Late at night, at the Werewolf settlement.
The Werewolves did not really have anything like a prison. After all, they were doing legitimate business, and business dealings were supposed to value harmony. There was no such thing as a private dungeon. At most, if they really disliked someone, they would just kill them on the spot.
In any case, most of the smugglers moving through Knockturn Alley were not good people to begin with. Killing them could even make them drop useful spoils. The whole thing was basically like dealing with a treasure chest monster.
For the sake of keeping Knockturn Alley running normally, though, the Werewolves did not kill people indiscriminately. In most cases, as long as you did not provoke them and were willing to pay the toll honestly, they would let you go.
...
So in order to interrogate Damocles, the Werewolves had specially cleared out a room just for him.
At the moment, Damocles was hanging inside it. As for whether Mr. Belby still dared to make a move now, that was another matter.
Leonard stood outside the door, listening to the screams coming from inside, and let out a yawn.
Midgard was truly furious this time and had specifically rejected Leonard's suggestion to use Veritaserum.
Leonard knew how to make both the Muggle version and the wizard version of truth serum.
Wizard truth serum was illegal, but in Knockturn Alley that hardly counted as a problem. A quick walk outside would be enough to buy the ingredients, though brewing it would take a little time.
The Muggle version was more troublesome, but if they found a wizard who could Apparate and sent him to a hospital to pick up anesthetics and similar things, Leonard could still make it.
But Midgard had refused.
She simply wanted to beat Damocles up.
Didn't matter whether he wanted to talk or whether he was even capable of talking. First, he got beaten. Everything else came after.
From Damocles's screams alone, it was easy to hear the despair in his heart. He had originally believed that as a potions master, even if he had shown signs of betrayal, as long as the Werewolves had not found a replacement for him, he would be safe.
Unfortunately, Midgard was the kind of person who acted on emotion, and betrayal was what she hated most. It did not matter if you were useful. She would beat you first and sort out the rest later.
Leonard did not think there was anything wrong with that.
After all, he had heard with his own ears what Damocles had said to the black-robed man.
Damocles had actively asked the black-robed man to get rid of Midgard, and he had genuinely made an effort to make that happen.