A certain Hogwarts professor of runes.

Felix slipped into the room, his eyes scanning the surroundings as he cautiously moved across the floor. He avoided the moldy, dusty clutter and anything that might be a trap, before finally settling on a reasonably clean chair.

The house's owner regained his composure, at least outwardly. Mosel gripped his wand, his gaze fixed intently on Felix. Seemingly to distinguish himself from his earlier cowardly demeanor, he said in a low voice, "You shouldn't be here, Hyp. I'm not one of those lone wizards you drove away. I have friends, they—"

"Are you talking about Bonal, Enolin? Or Kendic?" Felix asked.

Mosel looked at him in surprise. "What did you do to them?" The wizard was now looking around, as if searching for an escape route.

“Well, after my persuasion, they clearly realized how unwise it was to stay in the current situation, so they decided to go out and avoid it for a while,” Felix said lightly. “It took some time to convince them, but fortunately, the result was gratifying. I told them that they would be completely safe once the news of Voldemort’s death spread.”

“That’s quite a wait,” Mosel said with a mocking expression. “How long did the last war last? Ten years?”

“Don’t blame me,” Felix nodded toward the documents, “I just followed the rules.”

Mosel's nose twitched unnaturally, and bright red blood crept up half of his face along the scar. He growled, "You're eliminating dissidents! You didn't convict me more than a decade ago, and now you want to kick me out of England for some inexplicable reason?"

There is simply no evidence.

"What--"

"The reason we didn't arrest you back then was because you were very discreet, Mosel. The Ministry of Magic didn't have any solid evidence, but don't pretend you're innocent just because of that. You can't fool me, you can't fool a master of memory, so this job fell into my hands."

Felix calmly pointed to his eyes, where several silver specks of light shimmered around his pupils, like a ring encircling a blue planet. Mosel recoiled and looked away; he had never seen such terrifying eyes.

Felix waved the document in his hand again.

“There are hundreds of cases like yours. The Ministry of Magic is in a difficult position with you. If we let this go unchecked, you might be pulled to the other side before long. But to do anything in advance, like locking you up, would be too harsh, even though—uh, please forgive me, your crimes are so obvious in my eyes—”

"Don't read my thoughts!" Mosel growled. "Memory can never be used as evidence!" His wand glowed, black mist swirling around its tip, plunging the entire room into darkness.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Felix asked softly.

Mosel's courage deflated like an old tire, and he leaned against the table in the corner, avoiding looking at Felix.

"What do I need to do?" he asked in a low voice, his wand gripping loosely.

"Like I said before, leave here, find a place to take a vacation, travel, and just get by... Once Voldemort is defeated, you can come back without worry and continue your promising illegal work. At that time, I won't be in charge anymore."

Mosil muttered something under his breath.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you?” Felix asked.

"When did you start working for the Ministry of Magic? Aren't you a professor?" Mosel couldn't understand how he had bumped into him.

Now it was Felix's turn to sigh.

"There was no way I could refuse their offer—though I could, but my morals wouldn't allow me to owe them a favor, and frankly, I don't mind this temporary job; it's a good opportunity to practice my magical abilities."

He touched the ring on his left hand, where an hourglass obtained from the Ministry of Magic was stored, half of which was even filled with time energy.

After the Wizengamo meeting, Ms. Burns asked him to eliminate some destabilizing factors, saying, “They all have criminal records but have escaped punishment for various reasons. Although they may only be minor figures who cheer on others, they are still worth being wary of. They have become part of the Mystic’s inner circle.”

She also subtly mentioned the intrusion into the Department of Mysteries at the Ministry of Magic.

“Whoever it is, I just hope that person isn’t on the side of the Mysterious Man,” she said with a headache. “The Silent Man has concluded that there’s nothing to worry about, but I think… well, maybe it’s a good thing. At least it’ll be too late for the Mysterious Man to come up with something similar again.”

Burns' attitude represents the Ministry of Magic's own attitude—that is, wavering. They want to get back the Time Energy, but they are also worried that Voldemort will snatch it away before they can even get a chance to use it.

The latter can cause significantly greater harm.

……

Mosier stared at the black square table, on which were several newspapers and two booklets. One was a "Wartime Survival Handbook" sent by the Ministry of Magic, and the other was a "Simple Illustrated Guide to Ancient Runes" published a few months ago by Felix and his co-publishers. The cover was colorful and looked like a children's book.

"Ancient magic script? How enviable..." he said sourly.

"You bought one too?" Felix asked in surprise, following his gaze to the booklet. He asked with interest, "How is it to read?"

“Not good,” Mosel shook his head. He stretched out his hand, his face flushed, and spent a considerable amount of time conjuring an ancient magic rune, but the rune shattered the next second. “I’m getting old, and I’m not very comfortable in this new realm…”

"Could it be because you're researching dark magic? The feedback from others has been quite positive," Felix discussed calmly.

"Really? I'll try again..."

Felix spent some time guiding him. Then Mosel began packing his luggage. Although the Ministry of Magic forbade the misuse of the Unseen Stretching Charm, this obviously couldn't restrain dark wizards. Besides, Mosel himself was practically an alchemist, and he could make similar storage items himself.

All the furniture was discarded, and Mosel picked out bottles and jars from every corner of the room, some of which were clearly enchanted, able to hold things many times their own size. Finally, with some effort, Mosel squeezed them all into a box, panting slightly.

"Are you going to keep an eye on me while I use Apparition?" Mosel picked up the box, glancing around wistfully. "My magic is limited; I can only guarantee that I'll leave tonight."

“Oh no, I can provide some anonymous door keys.” Felix waved his hand, and a row of junk appeared before him: boots, cans, butterbeer bottles, and a piece of rotten wood.

Mosel hesitated for a moment, "Any recommendations? What if I teleport there and the opponent is an Auror?"

Felix shook his head slightly. "There's no need for that. What you need to worry about is whether to continue doing shady things or to start over in a new place and honestly accept the constraints of the local Ministry of Magic."

Mosel sneered as he tore open his clothes, revealing large magical scars.

"Someone like me?"

He said nothing more, casually picked up a key and held it in his hand; where he went didn't matter much to him. "So, see you in ten years, Mr. Hyp?"

"It won't be that long. Remember to read the newspaper more often."

Felix waved at him.

"Are you really just letting me go like this? Don't we need to sign a magical agreement? What if I sneak back..." Mosel seemed confused.

“Mosel,” Felix said calmly, “who do you think benefits from this? Don’t be silly. If it were Death Eaters showing up at your door today, you would have had no choice, but I—when I saw you mixed in with the Death Eaters, I would have shown no mercy.”

After the wizard in front of him disappeared, Felix put a checkmark on the document.

"all the best."

Chapter 494 Hermione Arrives at Privet Drive

Meanwhile, at No. 4, Privet Road.

"So, that guy found himself a job?" Uncle Finnon asked, his eyes wide.

“Yeah,” Harry said listlessly. He thought it was a good thing that Sirius was working at the Ministry of Magic, because as far as he knew, apart from a few months as an assistant teacher at a Muggle school, Sirius had never had a proper job in his life.

In Harry's imagination, his godfather would be like Mr. Weasley, with a fixed get off work schedule and a very regular routine. But he overlooked one thing: things were different now, completely different. He hadn't seen anyone from Sirius for several days in a row.

In the first few days of the holiday, Sirius was quite happy to sit down with Harry and laugh at how he had tricked Prefect Amelia (even though it was very wrong) and how he had the upper hand in the verbal battle. It was clear that Sirius treated it as a very serious fight, and the two went back and forth like a boxing match.

But soon, almost at a visible rate, the time he spent with Harry decreased dramatically.

One night, Harry stayed in Sirius's rented room until 11 p.m., but Sirius didn't return. This terrified Harry. Had something gone wrong? His mind was in turmoil, filled with all sorts of terrible speculations. Harry could only desperately convince himself that Sirius had been held up by something. It took a lot of willpower for him not to act impulsively. Instead, he went back to the Dursleys' bed and tossed and turned all night. As soon as dawn broke, he got up immediately, skipping breakfast, and rushed to Sirius's rented room with a stomach full of air.

There was still no one inside.

Harry panicked and tried to Apparate to the Burrow or Diagon Alley… He even drew his wand, only to find a hastily written note on the table. It was quite conspicuous, actually. Looking back, Harry realized he had acted rashly out of concern, but thankfully his impulsiveness hadn't caused any bigger trouble.

The note relieved Harry. Sirius had come home very late last night and thought he could get some rest the next day, but he was called away again before dawn. Sirius had no choice but to leave Harry a note explaining the situation.

After that, Harry wanted Sirius to wear the Two-Way Mirror so he could contact him anytime. But every time he saw his godfather looking exhausted, he was too embarrassed to bring it up.

Over the next week, Harry only saw Sirius twice, and each time he returned very late. Sirius's eyes were badly swollen, and he started to doze off after saying only a few words. When Harry offered him chips, he stuffed them up his nose.

……

"What kind of work does he do now?" Uncle Fern asked at the dinner table.

“He hasn’t done anything,” Harry said, trying to keep his tone calm. “He’s now the Minister of Magic’s assistant.”

The Dursleys looked puzzled.

“It’s equivalent to a Muggle prime minister’s secretary,” Harry rephrased, pleased to see their surprised expressions. He tried not to let his smugness show too much. “It’s nothing special. His last job was as a teaching assistant at a school. Dudley should know that, right?”

Dali was immediately choked by the dry salad and coughed incessantly.

"What have you done, boy!" Uncle Vernon glared at Harry fiercely, while Aunt Petunia patted Dudley on the back, calling out in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Daddy, my darling, what's wrong? Did you choke on your food?" Dudley's face turned red, and he used his fat arm, which was piled up with three layers of flesh, to push Aunt Petunia's skinny arm away, his shoulders shrugging.

Although he wanted to watch a little longer, Uncle Vernon's face had turned a deep purplish-red, as if he were the one choking on the salad. He kept flexing and extending his fingers, as if he were about to pounce and strangle Harry at any moment.

“I didn’t do anything,” Harry said hastily. “I guess he just misses his teaching assistant, the gym teacher, who taught him for six months.” He met Uncle Vernon’s small eyes and said, “Yes, Sirius’s last job was teaching at that Medstone School.”

“It’s Smedin School!” Uncle Vernon roared. It was his alma mater, and he was very proud that Dalli could go there.

Dinner turned into chaos. Uncle Vernon's reaction to Sirius's appearance at his and Dudley's alma mater far exceeded Harry's expectations. He seemed to think that the wizards (whom he called freaks) had finally set their sights on his precious son. "Are they going to start monitoring us from all angles?"

Aunt Petunia also started yelling and began to berate Harry relentlessly. It was strange how she could shed tears while uttering such vicious words so clearly and precisely.

“It was a complete accident. Sirius went to the Muggle school to gain experience; he was going to teach at Hogwarts next year,” Harry explained. “And he’s already resigned.”

“That hippie can be a professor?” Vernon said dismissively, just as Dudley finally stopped coughing and started hiccuping intermittently. For a while afterward, Uncle Vernon grumbled discontentedly, “Look at you lot! You even have schools and a government—how many of you are there?” he asked, turning on the television.

“Probably tens of thousands,” Harry said dryly.

“No wonder!” Uncle Vernon exclaimed, as if all his previous doubts had been answered. He wanted to say something more, but the evening news came on TV—“People need not worry! The economic slowdown and soaring unemployment are temporary and will soon improve…” The man on TV was giving a speech with a hoarse voice.

“Only an idiot would believe him!” Uncle Vernon’s attention was drawn to the television. He stared at the screen and said, “This prime minister is terrible…”

Harry glanced over as well, but the next second he was drawn to the man next to the Prime Minister—tall, dark-skinned, wearing a dark suit, exuding a very composed air. Harry looked again; yes, it was Kingsley Shackleton.

What on earth was going on? Harry could hardly believe his eyes. He stared at the television screen without moving, but the image remained fixed on the Prime Minister's face. For the next ten seconds or so, the camera didn't show anyone next to him. Harry was so anxious that he scratched his head.

As the Prime Minister finished his rambling speech, wiped his bald forehead with a handkerchief, and prepared to leave, the camera finally captured the person next to him. Harry held his breath and checked again and again, finally confirming that he hadn't seen wrong.

"You still watch the news?" Uncle Vernon said gruffly to Harry. "Damn it, what business is our news with people like you—"

“What a shame,” Harry said calmly, pointing to the television, “I just saw someone I know.” Uncle Vernon stared in disbelief, then shrugged. “Yeah, it seems the connection between wizards and Muggles is much deeper than you think…”

Before Uncle Vernon could erupt in anger again, Harry hurried back to his room. He lay on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sirius should still be working; he could go check on him in an hour… but how to kill time was a considerable problem. Harry picked up a small purple booklet beside his pillow, its cover bearing striking text:

"Wartime Survival Handbook - Authorized Publication by the Ministry of Magic: Protect Your Home and Family from Dark Magic"

Harry turned to the first page, which had something like a table of contents on it—

The wizarding world is currently threatened by an organization calling itself the Death Eaters. Following these simple safety guidelines will help protect yourself, your family, and your home from attack.

1. Do not leave home alone.

2. Be extra careful at night. Try to return before dark if you go out.

3. Check the security measures around the house and make sure the whole family knows some emergency measures, such as using the Ironclad Charm or the Disappearance Charm. Underage children in the family should learn to appear.

4. Agree on a security code with relatives and friends to identify Death Eaters who are impersonating others using compound decoctions (see page 2).

5. If possible, master the anti-dark magic spell, the Bright Fire Spell.

……

Suddenly, a sound of knocking on the window came from outside.

Harry sat bolt upright in bed, not even noticing the pamphlet that had been covering his face fall to the floor. He looked toward the source of the sound and saw a furry, flattened ginger head pressed against the window. He was so startled he nearly fell off the bed.