I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 500 A Plan for Each to Fight Their Own Battle

October 27, 1996, 3 PM.

Westminster Abbey, London.

As the largest Gothic building in Britain, it is considered one of the three great Gothic cathedrals in Europe, along with Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and St. Petersburg Cathedral in Russia.

Upon entering the cathedral, the first thing that catches the eye is the enormous Catholic chapel.

The interior is exquisitely decorated, with the arches and vaults intricately carved, each detail meticulously crafted. In particular, the numerous funnel-shaped floral ornaments hanging from the vaulted ceiling add a touch of delicate and mysterious beauty.

The surrounding area features a large expanse of colorful stained glass, and the light streaming through the stained glass windows creates a sacred and solemn atmosphere.

The fan-shaped vaulted roof is decorated with colorful banners featuring medieval knightly medallions, beneath which sit diplomats from various European countries.

Everyone looked serious, as if they were waiting for some kind of major trial.

The majestic sound of police sirens came from afar, growing louder as they approached.

On a cold, gloomy day, the chilling light of police lights pierced through the heavy atmosphere.

Slowly cross Westminster Bridge.

In the distance, the magnificent Houses of Parliament sit on the banks of the Thames, with the last rays of the former empire shrouded in clouds beneath Big Ben.

Under the watchful eyes of countless people, the convoy slowly drove up to the church.

Several hundred people had already gathered there. Most of them were journalists from various countries and regions, as well as some protocol staff arranged by the municipal government.

Due to security reasons, ordinary people are not allowed to come here.

The reporters had bulging waists—either holding cameras or gripping microphones—eager to record every detail.

This was a historic moment, a moment that captivated the world. Only during the last Apollo moon landing, when Armstrong stepped onto the lunar surface, was there such a grand occasion.

Everyone wanted to see clearly what the wizard's face looked like.

Is she like the old witch described in bedtime stories, aged and faded, with her face covered in chickenpox?

After the police car came to a stop, the door slowly opened, and a man in prison garb was escorted out by two police officers. His face was clearly captured by the camera and displayed to a global audience.

"Snap!"

"Snap!"

In an instant, countless flashes went off.

However, to everyone's surprise, the wizard in the footage was not what they had imagined. On the contrary, this wizard criminal looked like nothing more than a middle-aged man, with a haggard face and eyes revealing deep weariness and confusion. His hair was somewhat disheveled, and his stubble was thick, making him appear somewhat unkempt. But it couldn't hide his former handsomeness.

This unexpected scene caused an uproar among the crowd and reporters.

As the live television broadcast began, people started whispering and discussing the wizard's true identity and the story behind him.

The reporters adjusted their angles, trying to capture more details about the witch criminal.

The wizard was escorted towards the church doors by several fully armed police officers, their chests adorned with various medals. His hands were completely bound by some kind of metal sleeve, and his mouth was gagged with some kind of metal mask.

The prison uniform he wore was also specially made, more like the straitjackets worn by patients with bipolar disorder in mental hospitals.

My legs can only move slightly, and I might fall if I walk too fast.

The wizard was being escorted, making a difficult journey toward the church doors, each step feeling exceptionally heavy.

Although he tried to remain calm, a barely perceptible fear was still visible in his eyes.

But it was clear that his gaze, when it fell on the Muggle police officer beside him, revealed a strong sense of disdain.

This shows that he was not afraid of Muggles, but of someone else.

Inside the church, the solemn and dignified atmosphere was breathtaking.

The judge and jury were already seated, awaiting the arrival of the wizard.

Because of the straitjacket, the wizard walked very slowly.

The journey was short, but he reached his destination a few minutes later.

The moment he appeared in the auditorium, the entire hall fell silent. Everyone stared at him.

The judge spoke first.

As is standard court procedure, the first step is naturally to verify identity information.

"Jacob Levy," the nearly seventy-year-old Supreme Court Justice began solemnly.

But—just as he was about to utter the next sentence.

Suddenly, a huge explosion rang out.

"boom!"

Immediately afterwards, the cathedral's stained glass windows shattered completely.

Then, a cloud of black mist rushed in.

Accompanied by a kind of eccentric laughter.

A beam of green light shot out and struck the wizard named Jacob Levi directly.

"Avada Kedavra—"

He didn't even let out a scream.

Like a light bulb that has lost its power, an empty shell that has fallen to the ground, devoid of its soul.

The figure of the Death Eater appeared in the black mist.

If a wizard were present, he would recognize the man at a glance—Amicus Caro, one of Voldemort's most loyal henchmen.

He and his sister, Alecto Caro, caused many bloody horrors during the First Wizarding War and were the Ministry of Magic's most wanted criminals.

He looked around strangely.

His eyes were filled with cruelty and madness.

With a slight wave of his wand, he unleashed several spells.

It struck directly at the Muggle police officer who was escorting Jacob Levy.

He then walked past them and approached the representatives of various countries.

In front of him, the Ironclad Curse blocked the bullets from the task force that rushed into the auditorium.

The bullet seemed to be stuck in a quagmire, stopping just inches from Amicus.

He stared at the Muggle army, which he saw as nothing more than clowns, a maniacal smile playing on his lips.

Perhaps he was thinking about how he should kill these people.

"boom--"

Suddenly, a silver bullet pierced Amicus's brow from behind him.

The blood reflects the spinning bullet, shimmering with an industrial aesthetic.

"."

Amicus's expression was as if someone had pressed the pause button.

He fell to the ground silently.

His pupils looked behind him.

He couldn't understand why—why those Muggles who he had petrified would break free of their restraints.

The instant his gaze disappeared.

He seemed to see the policeman behind him, and one of the medals on his chest suddenly broke off, the fragment falling to the ground.

------

Let's go back to the previous day, October 26th, at 9:00 AM.

The Prime Minister's Office.

Mr. Hack was asking about his plans for the day.

"Bernard, who am I meeting this afternoon?"

Upon hearing this, Mr. Bernard slightly opened the document in his hand and replied, "Hmm—women's suffrage groups, the Federation of British Women's Associations, the London Workingmen's Association, the Home Secretary, and—hmm—the Conservative Party leader."

"Could we get those three associations to come together?" Mr. Hack asked, pointing to his watch with a pained expression. "Time Compression Bernard!"

"Of course, no problem, Mr. Prime Minister." Bernard smiled slowly and then dialed the phone next to him.

"So early in the morning—"

As he was speaking, there was a knock on the office door.

Cabinet Secretary, Sir Humphrey, walked in.

He carried heavy documents in his hands. He walked listlessly to his desk.

"What's wrong, Humphrey? You look like you just got beaten up."

The Prime Minister said cheerfully that he certainly knew the reason.

That Ming Dynasty diplomat was quite the smooth talker. For the first time, Humphrey was defeated in a verbal battle, especially since the other party was speaking English.

This was undoubtedly a beating, and it was done with the weapon he was most familiar with.

Sir Humphrey straightened his face and once again displayed his English gentlemanly demeanor.

"They have absolutely no manners; they won't budge on a price difference of a few pounds."

"I almost got into a fight with the Foreign Minister at the negotiating table. As a senior civil servant, I..." He placed the documents in his hand on the table.

"In the end, we still lost out?" Mr. Hack shut down Sir Humphrey's next defense with just one sentence.

Indeed—he suffered a great loss.

This negotiation resulted not only in Britain losing billions of dollars, but also in the loss of some technical data.

In return, they received only some unverified 'dark magic defense items'.

Moreover, their numbers are extremely limited.

From the moment the negotiations began, Sir Humphrey felt like he had been taken advantage of.

"Actually, strictly speaking, we're not exactly at a disadvantage—" Mr. Harker paused. As an official, he had a much longer-term vision than these civil servants. "Billions of dollars for data and goods from a brand new world—if we were to make this deal, we would never trade it so easily. The price would have to be at least several times higher."

"Have all the items been delivered?"

"MI5 is taking over."

"Okay," Mr. Huck replied.

"Sir, I don't understand why we don't cooperate with Kingsley and his men?" Bernard asked, voicing the question that had been bothering him.

Before this, they had contacted the wizards under Kingsley's command. Although they were refused, business is about testing the other party's bottom line through repeated tug-of-war. Bernard didn't understand why they would give up after only one test.

"Bernard—" Sir Humphrey pulled out a chair, sat down, and looked at the little angel Bernard. "What do you think is the most crucial element of this operation?"

"."

Bernard's eyes darted around, and after a long pause, he tentatively uttered a single word, "Secret?"

"So, who should we keep this a secret from?"

"Our enemy?"

"Oh—Bernard," Sir Humphrey said in a sagely tone, "of course not. NATO messages get to the Kremlin much faster than 10 Downing Street."

"Of course, it's for the British."

"An Englishman?" Bernard paused, his face showing surprise.

"English wizards!" Sir Humphrey added. "Although none of us think so."

Nobody would think that way.

The troublemaking dark wizard—without any evidence—is believed by the public to have been born in England.

"Accurate word choice, Humphrey," the Prime Minister exclaimed.

"Thank you." Humphrey smiled and nodded to the Prime Minister.

"So, we must keep this a secret from the British wizards?"

"Of course—most of the wizards in this country are that person's servants. Can you guarantee that the wizards we're dealing with won't leak information?"

"And what about inside us? I mean, wizards have so many magical methods, if someone's mouth is pried open and their tongue is grabbed," Bernard made a gesture of being strangled and sticking out their tongue.

"Alright, Bernard, thank you for your excellent performance." Humphrey glanced at him, then turned his gaze to Prime Minister Harker. "So, MI5 broke this operation down into several parts, with each department only responsible for one part. No one will know the complete plan, not even you, Prime Minister. I'm sorry, I don't know who the sole planner is."

"I have never been in favor of this plan," Mr. Harker said. "What if things go wrong at any point? Or what if there are problems with the coordination—you know what will happen tomorrow, the whole world is watching us, and if something goes wrong, it won't just be a matter of being kicked out of our positions."

"No, no, no—Mr. Prime Minister," Sir Humphrey shook his head. "It will succeed."

"Moreover, this plan distributes responsibility evenly, and you don't know the full picture of the plan. If anything unfortunate happens, everyone will bear the blame."

"Is this considered bleaching?" Mr. Hack frowned.

"It can be called bleaching," Bernard interjected appropriately.

"Okay! It looks like we've reached an agreement." Mr. Hack immediately perked up.

"It is foreseeable that if our plan succeeds, I can foresee a new future for Great Britain, a grand blueprint for Harker."

When a country is on the decline, someone has to sit in the driver's seat.

People will remember this leader's name, just like famous figures in history.

"Oh—yes!" Sir Humphrey replied with a wave of his arm and a smile.

"Of course, now is not the time to celebrate." Mr. Hack snapped out of his grand plans, his gaze fixed intently on the two of them. "Now—let's begin!"

Following the Prime Minister's order.

In addition to Scotland Yard headquarters, hundreds of police stations across London, including large municipal police departments, were mobilized.

The Special Operations Department has three command groups: the Security Command Group, the Counter-Terrorism Command Group, and the Security Command Group, all of which have been secretly deployed to their operational positions.

The Joint Special Operations Task Force Headquarters—the Department of Defense Special Operations Bureau—comprising the Army Special Air Service Regiment, the 22nd Air Service Regiment, and the 21st Special Operations Regiment.

The Royal Navy's Special Boat Regiment, the Joint Services' Special Reconnaissance Regiment, and the Special Support Group were all stationed in London.

A Royal Guard infantry division, along with about two infantry divisions based at a military base on the outskirts of London, began their march toward London.

A squadron of Royal Air Force reconnaissance planes circled over the city 24 hours a day.

NATO satellites had been pointed at London several days earlier, but subsequent weather conditions may greatly reduce their effectiveness.

In short, the last glory of the empire was the arrival of nearly 30,000 police officers and troops from the army, navy, and air force in London.

They were almost all the troops that this dying country had quickly mobilized; any more would have taken even more time.

—The Prime Minister’s order tightened rapidly in every corner of London, like an invisible chain.

The city's rhythm was forcibly disrupted; it wasn't paused, nor was it sped up or rewound.

The citizens of London felt a sense of unease, and there was a noticeable decrease in traffic on the streets.

Suddenly, there were many strangers in the city.

Their upright posture and sharp eyes were qualities that no city dweller should possess.

There were also more police officers than before.

This change is like dropping a drop of gray paint into clear water. At first, it's not noticeable, but after stirring, the water gradually becomes murky, and you can immediately feel the difference from before.

The atmosphere at Scotland Yard headquarters was extremely tense.

The director and his team were holding an emergency meeting to discuss response strategies. A large screen on the wall displayed real-time surveillance footage from various areas of London; every tiny movement was on their nerves.

Meanwhile, the three command groups of the Special Operations Division were also busy at their respective operational positions. The Security Command Group was responsible for coordinating the actions of various branches to ensure no oversights; the Counter-Terrorism Command Group was developing contingency plans for various possible terrorist attacks; and the Security Command Group was responsible for the safety of the Prime Minister and important officials, which could not be compromised.

Inside the Joint Special Operations Task Force headquarters, commanders of various special forces units are intensely discussing the details of the operation.

The Royal Guard and troops stationed at military bases in the suburbs of London took off their uniforms, changed into civilian clothes, and picked up cameras, banners, flags, and slogans that the city government had prepared in advance at Westminster Abbey.

All troops, all personnel, all organizations, and command posts received only a portion of a grand plan.

The most important aspect of this plan is that each person fights their own battle.

Apart from those who strategize and plan.

As night deepened, the streets of London grew increasingly quiet.

But beneath this silence lay the tension and anticipation of countless people. They were all waiting, waiting for the moment that could change everything.

------

Let's go back to October 27th, at 11:00 AM.

The sky in London was a clear blue in the morning, but now it has begun to be covered with dark clouds.

Alice drove her old Chevrolet slowly across Westminster Bridge.

The buildings lining both sides of the street are simple and elegant, and traces of history can be seen everywhere here.

According to MI5, a safe house is indeed hidden nearby, meticulously set up by the department to deal with various emergencies. There are multiple such safe houses in London; they act like secret fortresses hidden in the urban jungle, protecting the nation's security.

The location of the safe house is highly classified; almost no one knows it except for personnel from a few special departments, such as MI5 and MI6.

This place is not only a shelter, but also a fully-equipped combat base. It is fully stocked with weapons, ammunition, medicine, food, and other supplies, enough to deal with any emergency.

After Alice parked the car, she led her two companions toward the safe house.

I knocked on the door and waited for a response from inside.

The woman who opened the door was an elegant and composed English lady, a stark contrast to the three women outside. Her golden-brown hair shimmered in the sunlight, and she wore a magnificent long dress, the hem swaying gently with her movements.

"Hello, I'm here to see Mr. Smith," Alice said politely, her voice calm but firm.

(End of this chapter)