I, Hogwarts Second Time Around.

Chapter 506 The Final Plan to Solve the Problem Once and For All

(Previous chapter has been revised)

The wizard's levitation spell did not frighten Alice.

She was just surprised and nervous.

The logic is simple: if the other party still had the power to kill her, they shouldn't have just deflected her gun, but rather her neck.

Since she was still alive and well, it could only mean that this dying wizard no longer posed a threat to her.

"Don't move!"

Alice said indifferently.

The value of a living person is immeasurably greater than that of a dead person.

Since she has this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, she will do everything in her power to seize it.

Moreover, he was already confident of victory.

She has the other party under control.

They pinned down the wizard's hands and head, and gagged him.

Next, all that's needed is to take the wand he just picked up from his only remaining left hand, and the wizard will have no chance to resist.

Alice breathed a slight sigh of relief.

Then, in a scene she didn't notice, a glint flashed in the wizard's eyes.

He was genuinely afraid that the woman would just shoot him in the head.

But it seems the other side wants to capture him alive.

This delighted Walton McNeil, who finally had a chance to escape.

Just as Alice was about to touch the wand, a crisp "bang" sound suddenly came from all around, like a car backfire.

Then, the reality she was witnessing began to appear unreal.

Alice hadn't had time to react.

She felt as if she had been forcibly shoved into some kind of irregular pipe. She struggled frantically, opening her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

It's as if we've lost our medium of communication.

Then she was subjected to intense pressure from all directions, making it impossible to breathe; it felt as if several iron hoops were tightly constricting her chest. Her eyeballs were forced back into her head, and her eardrums were pressed deep into her skull.

Amidst the intense squeezing and twisting, Alice's consciousness began to blur, and she felt herself crashing around inside a pipe.

Everything around her became distorted and chaotic, and her senses gradually lost their function.

Suddenly all the pressure disappeared.

Alice felt as if she had finally squeezed herself out of the tube.

Then it fell to the ground.

"Huff—"

She knelt on the ground, retching repeatedly.

His face was deathly pale.

It feels like getting on a bus with low blood sugar, and the driver slams on the brakes every ten seconds. And you have to sit there for a full hour before you can get off.

That feeling of dizziness was worse than death.

The world was spinning, and Alice felt so nauseous that she couldn't straighten her back.

After taking a few deep breaths, the dizziness subsided slightly.

At this moment, Alice no longer cared whether she was under a wizard's curse. As a well-trained agent, no matter how uncomfortable she was or how unsteady her steps were, firing a gun—killing the enemy—was something she had to do.

"Bang—bang—bang!"

Gunshots rang out.

She didn't know if she hit it or not.

"Hands up—" Alice slumped to the ground, forcing herself to stay awake as she looked at the world filled with double images. "Put down your wand."

He shouted as he fired.

"boom--"

It seems like the shot hit.

Because she heard the sound of bullets hitting flesh.

But when she tried to look closely, she suddenly realized that the wizard who was lying on the ground had disappeared.

Damn it!!!

Alice collapsed weakly to the ground.

He started panting heavily.

After a long while, he struggled to sit up.

Looking around, she found herself in a forest.

She pushed herself up with her hands and brushed the dust off her clothes. The surrounding trees were tall and lush, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground.

It was unusually cold around us, more than ten degrees colder than in London.

All she could tell was that she was probably quite far from London, several hundred kilometers away, because there weren't many clouds in the sky.

Alice was a little nervous.

This desolate place—could it be somewhere like Iceland or Greenland?

No—she shook her head, sweeping the fantasy out of her mind. Both places were too close to the Arctic Circle; it was impossible for such a large area of ​​forest to exist there.

"Sizzle sizzle—"

The static from the portable communication device hanging by her ear brought Alice back to her senses.

It is clear that this is electromagnetic noise that occurs outside the communication range.

However, as a professional overseas agent, she has more than just this as a means of communication.

Alice quickly pulled a black, old-fashioned cell phone with an antenna from her waist.

In 1996, the world's first "flip" phone, the Motorola 8900, was born.

Two years later, in 1999, the groundbreaking first smartphone, the Motorola TianTuo A6188 (capable of handwriting input, internet access, a resistive touchscreen, and the first phone to support Chinese handwriting recognition input), was officially launched.

MI5, of course, also provides each dispatched agent with a satellite phone that can connect to a communications satellite.

She entered the number.

A voice rang out approximately every ten seconds or so.

--------

London.

Victoria district, Scotland Yard, London Metropolitan Police Headquarters.

In the joint operations command center, the police chief stood in front of a huge screen, staring at the European satellite map on the screen, deep in thought.

"There are only three specific locations." Sir Ian Simpson, the Permanent Secretary of the Home Office, stood beside him, staring at the screen with him.

The Chief Executive of Scotland Yard is appointed by the Queen upon recommendation of the Home Secretary.

It is under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of the Interior.

Of course, even so, Sir Ian Simpson shouldn't be here.

As the permanent secretary of the Ministry of the Interior, his position far exceeded that of a police chief.

According to the current British government system.

The Cabinet Secretary is of the same rank as the Prime Minister and is the head of the civil service.

Next is the Prime Minister's Private Secretary, who is only half a rank below the Cabinet Secretary.

The executive secretaries of each ministry are theoretically of the same rank as the ministers of each ministry.

Their daily work also revolves around Downing Street.

Such instances of "going down to the grassroots" are almost impossible to occur.

The Permanent Secretary will only accompany the Home Secretary on a visit to the Metropolitan Police Headquarters.

And that's why Sir Ian Simpson is here.

This was naturally at the suggestion and assignment of Cabinet Secretary Sir Humphrey.

Otherwise, it would be sufficient to send a technical bureaucrat from the Ministry of the Interior, or a permanent deputy minister.

After all, secretaries don't understand military affairs. It would be more reliable for the Ministry of National Defense to send a brigadier general of staff than a permanent secretary.

Sir Humphrey made this arrangement entirely to maintain his position as the head of the civil service.

He must have complete control of the situation. The Prime Minister may not know the battle plan—of course he can, but he cannot be unaware of it.

If he knows nothing, how can he decide what the prime minister should know?

Of course, the joint command center has enough staff to do the planning, and there is no need for Sir Ian Simpson to get involved; he only needs to bring his eyes and ears.

"We cannot attack three targets simultaneously," the police chief said, "especially since two of them are not in the country."

"We have no choice but to attack!" Sir Ian Simpson added. "If we let the wizards recover, their retaliation will be something we cannot afford."

"For the United Kingdom."

"Yes, United Kingdom."

The police chief remained silent for a moment.

Now that the war has dragged on, he has learned the entire plan from his superiors.

The most important part of this "October Storm" targeting wizards is the third step of the plan.

A decapitation strike.

The United Kingdom cannot afford to drag out a fight with a bunch of madmen who can use magic for long.

The Queen will not allow it, the government will not allow it, and the people will not allow it.

The economy will not allow it.

They must resolve the disaster brought about by the dark wizard once and for all.

"Sir!"

Just as the two leaders were caught in a dilemma.

Suddenly, a switchboard operator in the command office stood up to report.

He briefly explained the whole story and then projected the coordinates onto the conference room screen.

"We have an agent report a location."

"The wizard took her to this place."

The police chief frowned and looked at the coordinates on the map.

It is located near Cape Samburg on Mainland Island.

"Is it believable? What about the Ministry of Magic?" Sir Ian Simpson wasn't entirely convinced by the information the operator had just reported, as it sounded too far-fetched, like a story.

What if this was a wizard who hijacked an agent and released false intelligence?

And that wizard—Walton McNeil.

News came from Downing Street claiming he was a member of the Ministry of Magic. In a sense, he was an ally, and while the British Empire was generally far more wary of allies than enemies, the Ministry of Magic's assistance was extremely important at this time. A complete breakdown in relations would not be a benevolent act.

"The Ministry of Magic's intelligence isn't always 100% accurate." On the screen in front of the police chief, there were several red dots near Samburg Point on Mainland Island, moving red dots.

"We've known for a long time that there are a large number of terrorist supporters within the so-called Ministry of Magic, what they call Death Eaters. Judging from the current situation," he pointed to the map, "there are still a few signals at Cape Samburg."

"The sniper rifle bullets used by MI5 agents are specially made, with each bullet carrying a small locator."

This is our bait; it helps us find big fish.

"But how can you be sure that Walton McNeil is a Death Eater? Can he show us the way?" Sir Ian Simpson said.

"I can't confirm," the director replied simply and directly. "But that's war! Nothing is 100% certain."

I can only trust our people.

If Alice's information is true, then Mr. Walton McNeil's behavior is too strange; he might be a mole, a very well-hidden mole.

Simple logic—if he really was an employee of the Ministry of Magic, and had the opportunity to escape, why wouldn't he return to the Ministry of Magic instead of running off to some deserted place?

When a person is on the verge of death, they will subconsciously grasp at the straw that gives them a better chance of survival; this is human nature.

"So I conclude that this location—" he pointed to the screen, to a point on the corner of Fort Sam where several signals converged, "is very likely the enemy's main base."

"Of course, this is just my speculation, but intelligence is fleeting. If we don't launch an attack now, the greater the chance that the big fish will move or come to London in person."

We must make a decisive decision immediately.

Sir Ian Simpson fell silent.

Logically speaking, what the director said makes no problem.

But—after all, that kind of weapon is to be used, and it's on our own soil.

After struggling for a while, Sir Ian Simpson suddenly realized that he was not the one who had the power to make decisions.

Immediately, he said in a deep voice, "Then—let's consult the Prime Minister!"

The order has been issued.

The state apparatus instantly sprang into action at high speed.

In less than two minutes, a briefing appeared on the Prime Minister's desk in the Downing Street underground fortress.

With a quick glance, Prime Minister Haq knew everything about the brief information.

He understood the immense damage such an order would inflict on Britain; the titles of hero and villain would be woven into a crown of thorns and placed upon his head the moment the sun rose.

Compared to Winston Churchill, the greatest prime minister in British history, Mr. Hack felt that his current situation was by no means any easier.

Instinctively, he looked at the old man sitting in front of him.

After their eyes met for a fleeting moment, Mr. Huck suddenly felt that all his secrets were known to the other person.

"In the magical world, Samburg Point is a desolate place, and there is no Ministry of Magic organization there."

"Dumbledore, with his grey beard and dressed in an elegant crimson velvet suit, said calmly."

"As for Mr. Walton McNeill—"

He looked at the boy beside him.

"Death Eaters, one of Voldemort's sentries," Owen replied directly. "An attack is feasible."

Of course, what he didn't mention was that Walton McNeil was now a swing vote among the Death Eaters. He was terrified by Voldemort's inhuman behavior, but dared not openly betray him. He was one of Bella's targets.

"In that case," Mr. Huck said, regaining his composure and tapping the table with his right hand.

He was still hesitating.

This was a matter of utmost importance. He couldn't help but think it over.

"Sir," Owen suddenly spoke, a cunning glint in his emerald eyes, "if you're prepared, you'd better make a decision quickly. The wizards are evacuating much faster than you think, and every second of hesitation could cause irreparable damage."

A dozen minutes earlier, after Tonks' request was relayed back to Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall immediately contacted Headmaster Dumbledore.

He was still in a meeting at the Swedish Federation headquarters when he heard the news and rushed back immediately.

As for why he was here

On the one hand, Old Deng insisted on taking him along.

On the other hand, there was Miss Granger—fearing something might happen to her parents, she hurriedly skipped class and left Hogwarts with Sirocco.

It was Harry who told him the news.

"Tsk tsk—" Owen sighed inwardly. Sure enough, Hogwarts' Sorting System was the most foolish system ever. It separated young wizards by personality, which only made the already extreme even more extreme, and the already mediocre even more mediocre.

Look at Granger—just three years ago he was a model student who followed all the rules! And now, in just a few years—he's become completely reckless in the great melting pot of Gryffindor.

It must have been Harry and the others who infected them!

Irving was so certain that he had a clean slate.

Mr. Harker's brow twitched slightly. As the prime minister of a country, he couldn't possibly fail to understand the encouraging intent in the child's words.

It makes sense—if they ultimately decide to take action, then objectively speaking, it would be helping the Ministry of Magic strike at its opponent, which wizards would naturally welcome.

Moreover, if any accidents occur, they will bear all the responsibility, and the Ministry of Magic will not have to take any risk.

The Prime Minister naturally understood the reasoning, but they were already locked in a life-or-death struggle with the Black Wizard, and if they missed this opportunity, they might never encounter him again.

Gradually, he began to realize that a one-time solution was the best option than future troubles.

"Alright—" Mr. Hack took a deep breath and made his decision, "Then please wait a moment."

After saying this, Mr. Bernard stood up and ushered Owen and Dumbledore out of the office.

The moment the room doors closed, the Prime Minister answered the phone.

It was a communication line that led directly to Norwood Naval Base. Following standard procedure, he recited a communication key, and the base communications officer responded with a digital key. After confirming his identity, the Prime Minister's instructions were issued simultaneously.

Subsequently, the base ordered a Trident submarine that was lurking in the North Sea to be deployed.

The atmosphere inside the submarine was tense and solemn, with every crew member focused intently on every indicator light on the control panel.

With the commander's order, the submarine surfaced and broke the surface a few minutes later. Then, the cover on top of the launch silo slowly opened, and a UGM-133A ballistic missile suddenly burst out with tremendous power, the deafening roar louder than thunder.

The missile's tail spewed forth raging flames, and its powerful propulsion sent this massive steel behemoth, weighing tens of tons, soaring into the sky.

The flames left a long trail of thick fog, forming a spectacular trajectory that soared into the sky.

Meanwhile, outside the Prime Minister's office, Dumbledore looked somewhat desolate, a hint of weariness about this ever-changing world visible behind his crescent-shaped glasses.

Since last year, the world has undergone tremendous changes.

The secrecy law is practically defunct, and the federation has been working on it for over a month.

They haven't reached any conclusion yet.

The Muggles' involvement in the world of magic has made the already complex situation even more unpredictable.

He was exhausted by this, both physically and mentally.

Especially now that these things have happened.

"Owen—" the old principal suddenly said.

"What's wrong, Professor?"

Am I getting old?

"..." Owen turned his head, carefully examining the wizard beside him. "What? You want to live forever?"

"If you want to retire, after Voldemort falls, let Professor McGonagall become the principal. As for the Federation, I estimate that this organization may need to be reorganized in the future, and you can also recommend a younger successor."

"A successor?" the principal murmured, then sighed imperceptibly.

Irving could probably guess why the old principal was so tired.

If a person is doing a job they enjoy, they won't feel too physically or mentally exhausted even if the workload is heavy. It's only when they are doing a job they hate that those negative emotions are amplified.

(End of this chapter)