The originally tidy apartment seemed to have been through a minor explosion; the coffee table lay against the wall, chairs and tables were overturned, the couch was splattered with coffee, and fragments of bowls and cups covered the floor, with a dining knife deeply embedded in the door frame.
The hostess clutched her endlessly crying child, shrinking in fear in the corner of the living room, while her husband, Soren Minden, the Deputy Minister of the Memory Erasure Command Headquarters, faced the uninvited visitor with a ghastly pale face.
"What do you... really want?!"
Soren Minden's voice quivered with fear and anger, his fingers spasmodically tightening and loosening.
Opposite him, Laira, who had altered her hair color and facial contour, waved her Magic Wand, causing a still intact chair to jump to her side as she gestured with a smile:
"Have a seat, Deputy Minister Minden. Relax, I mean no harm; I just happened to recall... before becoming a Deputy Minister who didn't need to be on the front lines, you never really managed to master the Forgetfulness Spell, right? Sometimes you erase Muggles' memories too thoroughly... turning them into fools."
Soren Minden's face stiffened: "I... I just wasn't careful..."
"Really?" Laira tilted her head: "How many times weren't you careful? Five times? Ten times? Do you really remember? I remember... back in school, the Forgetfulness Spell was actually the spell you mastered best."
She leaned forward, staring into Minden's eyes, asking with a smile: "You did it on purpose, didn't you? You hate Muggles, hated them so much you didn't even want to kill them, just wanted them turned into idiots, using their suffering for amusement, right?"
Minden's wife looked at him in disbelief, while he was drenched in cold sweat, tightly pursing his lips, making no sound.
Laira continued to ask: "Remember who cleaned up the mess for you back then? Who accepted your mistake-ridden reports, and who polished them just enough to keep you from being held accountable?"
"Think again..." Laira stretched her tone, saying meaningfully: "If this truth becomes tomorrow's front page headline of the New York Ghost, accompanied by the list of victims and their tragic ends, what would happen?"
Minden's pupils contracted abruptly, blood draining from his face completely.
A glint of ferocity flashed in his eyes, his fingers trembled twice, itching to move, but before he touched his Magic Wand, he saw the Wizard in black robes standing at the door turn slightly to look at him.
All courage to resist instantly vanished.
Agilbert Fontaine, the headmaster of Ilvermorny, even though he's now a fugitive, his accumulated power and immense Magic Power remain a force that Minden cannot contend with.
His legs softened as he knelt down, desperately saying: "What do you, you want? I'll cooperate for sure, I beg you, spare my wife and child..."
Laira's smile deepened, carrying a kind of cat-and-mouse-like pleasure:
"Dear Soren, I've never meant to harm your family. I only... need a little bit of help."
"Well... first, tell me everything that happened in the Congress after I left, as detailed as possible. Then, I will also need you to provide us with a bit of assistance..."
...
On the afternoon streets of New York, the crowd was bustling, and this bustling tide of people offered a sense of secure comfort to the fugitives.
Laira changed into a nondescript outfit, transforming herself into a woman who appeared to be fifty years old.
There wasn't any Polyjuice Potion at Minden's home—of course, ordinary people wouldn't need it—but there was an Aging Potion, the effect of which would last three days, enough for Laira.
Out of some hidden pride, Fontaine didn't use the Aging Potion, only lengthened his beard and hair considerably, making him look like a bohemian old artist.
"Cringe Bullet..."
Laira chewed on this name, her tone full of undisguised contempt:
"That old do-gooder in the Disaster Supervisor? Ha! A worthless person who just knows how to muddle through! If it weren't for Grindelwald secretly advising him, could he have stabilized the situation on his own?"
"Are the people in the Congress blind? They can't even see such a simple fact!"
Fontaine glanced at the old woman beside him, fully understanding Laira's internal fury and envy.
To become the Magic Congress's President, she worked tirelessly for many years, making efforts unimaginable to ordinary people, only to be met with total failure at the last moment.
And what about Cringe Bullet? Just by being sufficiently worthless, he effortlessly snagged the prize.
How could Laira readily accept such an outcome?
Perhaps due to extreme anger, the familiar fire in her eyes ignited again for Fontaine, even her previously hobbling steps accelerated significantly.
"Hmph, though it's good, this is precisely our opportunity!"
She plotted: "Grindelwald is already old, perhaps he'll die after a few more years! No matter how formidable the Witch Pure Party is, once the populace realizes the new Congress President has the terrifying Dark Lord behind him, how will the deceived react?"
"And what about those guys in Congress who haven't been entirely cleansed, plotting their little calculations in their hearts?"
"Even the Witch Pure Party cannot control everyone! Otherwise, how did they fail back in the day?"
Fontaine isn't as optimistic as her, but a gleam of thought re-emerged in his somber gaze.
"Can't directly attack the core, too risky, facing them head-on we have no chance."
He analyzed in a hoarse voice: "Start from the fringes, especially middle and lower-level officials. Slowly infiltrate, accumulate information and connections."
Laira nodded happily: "You're right, Professor. I need to be more cautious and can't rely entirely on previously gathered intel; some people may have been bought by the Witch Pure Party."
Fontaine added: "Magic Congress doesn't respond as quickly; the ones chasing us are probably the Witch Pure Party. If necessary, we can first hide abroad for a while, then return once the coast is clear."
Perhaps seeking forgiveness, even Laira seemed less obsessive, nodding and saying: "Alright. We'll first go to Echo Alley to buy some necessities, especially Magic Potions and Peeping Mirrors, then probe into deeper-level information..."
The two reached a new understanding; it seemed they had already traversed the valley of despair, and they were both beginning to actively act to improve the situation.
In view of the deadly traps encountered in secluded locations before, they tacitly abandoned those hidden entrances, choosing to always mingle in paths dense with Muggle crowds, letting the noisy populace become their shield.
As they strolled along the street, a low, mournful yet powerful sound of a brass band came to them. Shortly after, a large group of people turned the corner and came towards them.
This was a street protest march, with a considerable size of over a hundred people. Some were dressed in furry animal onesies, others had strange paint on their faces, and some had cardboard turtle shells hanging on their backs, holding up various handmade signs and occasionally chanting slogans in unison:
"Protect wildlife!"
"Stop developing the primeval forest!"
"Our planet, our responsibility!"
"Humans are not the only masters of the earth!"
Bystanders stopped to watch with curiosity, taking pictures, and some, caught up in the atmosphere, spontaneously joined the end of the procession. The entire street instantly became noisier and more crowded.
Fontana frowned, looking at that group of strange people, and asked in a low voice: "What is that? A Muggle... carnival?"
Laira squinted at them for a moment, then sneered:
"Oh, it's just... a little self-emotional trick. Muggles are always like this, expanding their lands endlessly, driving other creatures to extinction; meanwhile, they dress in ridiculous costumes, hold up signs, and shout about 'protecting the earth.'
Fontana snorted through his nose, saying nothing, but his eyes showed the same cold indifference.
Wizards are actually also victims of the ever-expanding Muggle activity space; it's unimaginable that one day, these guys might dress in such ridiculous ways, marching along the streets chanting: 'Protect Wizards!' 'Protect Magical Creatures,' and the like.
Protection is charity from the strong to the weak, but wizards never consider themselves weak.
The two didn't want to attract any attention, so they stepped back to a shop window by the roadside, planning to wait for this noisy parade to pass.
However, the crowd was more dispersed and fluid than expected. As the slogans rose and more onlookers joined, the edges of the procession spread like ink into water, unwittingly engulfing Laira and Fontana standing by the roadside!
"Ouch!"
"Sorry!"
"Don't push!"
Sounds of shoving and collisions kept coming.
Laira cursed under her breath, trying to steady herself, only to stumble with the flow of people. Fortunately, someone in the parade noticed this elderly lady and kindly pushed her into a nearby shop to prevent her from falling and getting trampled.
But the robust-looking Fontana didn't have such luck, with pedestrians carelessly bumping into him from all directions. Some offered a mumbled "sorry," while others impatiently remarked, "Get moving! Are you blocking the road like a potted plant?"
Suddenly, Fontana felt a sharp pain in his back, as if something had stabbed him. In fury, he secretly grasped his Magic Wand, ready to teach the reckless offender a lesson.
Then he turned around and saw a pair of panicked yet clear deer-like eyes.
"I'm really sorry, I'm terribly sorry!" The girl dressed as a rhinoceros hurriedly covered the "horn" on her head, saying anxiously: "I didn't do it on purpose!"
Her crisp voice was as melodious as a nightingale's, attracting the attention of surrounding Muggles.
The sudden attention heightened Fontana's tensions; he barely managed to suppress his impatience, gesturing with his hand: "It's fine, be careful!"
He now just wanted to escape this chaos quickly.
The girl expressed muddled thanks, then quickly plunged back into the crowd, vanishing.
Fontana withdrew his hand, continuing to try and move against the flow to reunite with Laira. But after just a couple of steps, he suddenly felt a surge of dizziness, followed by a sharp gasp as though an invisible hand was choking his throat, or as if cold needles from the collision site in his chest stabbed into his heart!
His vision darkened, his legs weakened, and his trembling hands groped for an Antidote, only to be bumped, spilling the Crystal Bottle with a clang that got kicked far away by other pedestrians.
Fontana immediately reached for his Magic Wand.
—Just a Spell... just an Explosive Spell... to draw the attention of the Magic Congress, even if he ends up in prison, there might be a chance for rescue...
"Thud!"
The surrounding Muggles seemed oblivious to an elderly man suffering here; someone bumped him from behind, inexplicably forceful, causing Fontana to fall helplessly.
"Huh... huh... help... help me..."
He lay on the ground, gasping arduously, reaching out for help.
But apparently, no one "saw" him, as someone stepped on his arm, and another even trod right over his stomach.
With the last of his strength, Fontana suddenly grabbed hold of one pedestrian's ankle, only to find countless spikes in his palm piercing it, causing him to release uncontrollably.
Vaguely, there seemed to be a chuckle overhead, perhaps a delusion in his daze.
"Tap, tap, tap..."
The crowd surged past him, forming an uninterrupted, rapid river of feet tightly flowing by the edge of his body.
No foot paused; not even a moment's hesitation or stumble.
Those feet lifted and went down, marching towards the parade direction, as if he was merely an incidental stone on the road or a puddle to be stepped around without concern.
In the instant before consciousness slipped into darkness, Fontana suddenly felt as if he wasn't a person, but an insignificant, discarded object stripped away. The immense chill was even more vivid than the gradually spreading pain.
"Boom!"
His arm fell to the ground, then was kicked away by a foot.