Chapter 194 — Sirius's Search
The compressed seawater burst into a storm of acidic mist. The Egyptians' silver-scaled robes melted into streams of molten lead under the corrosion. Taking advantage of the chaos, Aaron's flock of ravens swooped down, snatching dozens of enemy wands as spoils of war.
When the last Hebrew wizard staggered onto the basalt plateau of the Sinai Peninsula, the Pharaoh's daughter's final curse echoed from the depths of the Dead Sea—then was sealed away for eternity.
"Would you like to see her?" Chuck Addams asked with a pleasant smile as he lifted down the stone coffin.
Russell tapped lightly on the lid, frowning slightly. "This is a replica too, right? Otherwise you wouldn't just leave it here."
"Of course," Chuck chuckled. "Looks like you're catching on."
"When we first found her body, it gave us quite a scare," he continued. "We were worried she might come back to life on the spot—and trust me, we wouldn't have stood a chance against her."
Hermione felt oddly satisfied with the day. Not only had she and Wednesday fought off a group of dark wizards, she'd also heard two astonishing stories.
"Wait—the dark wizards…" she suddenly remembered. They had been left lying in the alley.
Chuck raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Now that sounds interesting. Take me to them."
He had Harry, Hermione, and the others remain in the shop while he followed Russell back to the scene.
When Russell lifted the Disillusionment Charm, several unfamiliar men were revealed.
Not just their faces—their builds had changed as well, taller and broader than before.
"…They've changed," Russell muttered, brows knitting. Then realization struck. "Polyjuice Potion. They must've taken it in advance to hide their identities."
"Sounds about right," Chuck said calmly. "Let's see who they really are."
"Legilimency."
He drew his wand and spoke softly.
After a moment, he withdrew it.
"Nothing too serious," he said. "Refugee wizards from the Soviet territories. Stole the Polyjuice Potion. Their plan was simply to kidnap Wednesday and Hermione for ransom."
"I'll take care of them," he added lightly. "I'll find them a… suitable place."
His tone was casual, but Russell knew better—their fate would likely be worse than death. Still, they had brought it upon themselves.
Once everything was settled, they returned to the Black Family Home through the Floo Network in Chuck's shop.
The moment they stepped inside, a wailing cry echoed through the house.
"What happened?" Hermione asked, hurrying forward, but Kreacher ignored her completely.
When she tried again, Kreacher suddenly shrieked, "Filthy Mudblood! Do not speak to Kreacher—Mistress will punish Kreacher!"
Hermione froze, her hand falling back. She wasn't used to such words, and her eyes quickly reddened.
"Enough, Kreacher," Russell said coldly, stepping forward. "Don't use that word again."
"Honored Master Fythorne… please help Kreacher," the house-elf sobbed, tears streaming down his wrinkled face. "Master Regulus is gone!"
"That's impossible—how could he break those chains?" everyone exclaimed in shock.
"Or someone else took him," Russell said quietly. He walked over to the table and picked up a letter.
"Kreacher, you can't see this?"
Kreacher shook his head. From his perspective, Russell was simply waving his hand at empty air.
So it was magically concealed.
Russell unfolded the letter, scanning it quickly—then a smile broke across his face.
"Albus Dumbledore took Regulus for treatment," he said. "If all goes well, he'll soon return to normal."
"Really? Thank you—thank you, Master Fythorne!" Kreacher cried, relief flooding his voice.
Kreacher wiped his tears at once, his sorrow turning into relief almost instantly.
"Kreacher," Russell said, seizing the moment, "I think you owe Hermione an apology. She was only trying to help. Don't you agree?"
"Of course, of course," Kreacher sniffed, turning toward Hermione. "I'm sorry, miss. I won't speak like that again."
"I accept your apology," Hermione replied without hesitation. She didn't hold a grudge and accepted it readily.
"But if Regulus is gone… where did Sirius go?" Harry asked, glancing around. There was no sign of Sirius anywhere.
"Master said he had business outside," Kreacher answered, wiping his face again as something came back to him. "He may not return until tomorrow."
Then he suddenly straightened. "I'll prepare dinner. Please wait."
With the news that Regulus might recover, Kreacher seemed almost like a different person—lighter, more alive. Perhaps this was what he had once been like.
"Strange," Harry muttered, pulling back the curtains. Rain lashed against the windows in sheets, blurring everything beyond the glass. "Where would Sirius go in weather like this?"
…
Out in Knockturn Alley, Sirius kept his hood low against the foul wind. Mud-caked boots crushed a rain-soaked copy of the Daily Prophet beneath his feet. The wanted poster showed a gaunt man with a manic grin—barely recognizable as the man he was now.
A few feet away, the shattered storefront of a shop called Howl of the Full Moon gaped open. Just three days earlier, the Ministry had raided it—a known gathering place for werewolves.
They hadn't expected much. Just a few stragglers, perhaps. Certainly not the likes of Fenrir Greyback.
But Greyback had been there—along with a pack.
And ordinary Aurors were no match for him.
Caught off guard, the Ministry forces had been overwhelmed. Under Greyback's lead, the werewolves broke through the line and scattered into the night.
Sirius had heard from a contact—Remus Lupin had been among them.
So Lupin had fallen that far… reduced to running with hunted beasts.
"…Heh."
Sirius let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. And what about him? Years in Azkaban—was that any better?
Despite the downpour, his body remained dry, protected by magic.
He crouched and picked up a half-buried scale from the mud. Under the dim light, it gleamed a dull iron-gray.
"Hungarian Horntail molt," he murmured, running a finger along its serrated edge. "Low quality."
"Only werewolves would buy something this cheap… for brewing Wolfsbane."
His eyes narrowed slightly. He was on the right track. There had definitely been werewolves gathering here.
Then—voices.
Sirius stilled instantly. Pressing himself against the wall, he shifted into a large black dog, melting into the shadows. Silent and swift, he slipped toward a nearby abandoned shop.
Inside, two Aurors were sorting through confiscated items.