Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0490 Him

After leaving a group of confused young wizards in the physical education classroom, Bryan's face immediately became calm. A flash of lightning-like gleam passed through his pale purple eyes as he strode through the castle corridors towards the tower that housed Dumbledore's office.

Just as he stepped onto the walkway connecting to the small tower, Bryan's expression changed slightly, and he suddenly took a few steps back.

As soon as his feet touched the ground, a burst of dazzling fire exploded in the dim, gloomy air before him. When the explosive flames dissipated, a serious-looking Dumbledore and Fawkes suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Bryan—"

Dumbledore stepped out of the lingering embers. The collar beneath his long, silvery-white beard was a bit disheveled, clearly having hastily changed clothes after receiving the news.

"You've received the message, haven't you?" Dumbledore inquired, his tone solemn.

Bryan nodded slightly.

"Sirius sent me a letter, detailing the gist of what had happened. He also mentioned that Kingsley had already briefed you on--"

Dumbledore didn't wait for Bryan to finish, the urgency of the situation compelling him to interject.

"Remus has been taken into custody by Scrimgeour and is currently being held by the Auror Office," he explained, the words tumbling out with uncharacteristic haste. "Kingsley managed to secure a position guarding Remus alongside Dawlish to prevent them from using any... unofficial interrogation methods. Under normal circumstances, a case of this nature would fall under Amelia's jurisdiction. However,"

He paused, his brow furrowing deeply, "this particular matter came as a direct order from Cornelius himself. I have no doubt that Scrimgeour will inform Cornelius immediately. We must formulate a proper response before the situation escalates further, otherwise..."

The vast sky was filled with darkness as Dumbledore and Bryan, enveloped by Fawkes' radiance, rapidly exchanged opinions.

Dumbledore fell silent for a moment, his breath held as he concentrated intensely. Bryan studied Dumbledore's face, noting the deep lines of worry there. It had been a long time since he had seen Dumbledore wear such an expression of grave concern.

"—I fear," Dumbledore finally said, his voice barely above a whisper, "that Remus might be sent to Azkaban."

Bryan said calmly, "Remus was acting under my instructions, I won't allow him to suffer the same fate as Sirius."

"I came to find you precisely for this matter," Bryan continued, his gaze locked with Dumbledore's. "I hope you'll let me handle this situation personally." He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "No matter how you look at it, Fudge owes me a favor. He surely doesn't believe that merely sending Sirius to the Auror Office is sufficient to repay the favor from the night of the Quidditch final."

Bryan's lips quirked in a humorless smile as he continued, "However, if we both become involved in this matter, it will place an enormous amount of pressure on Fudge. It might cause him to lose what little psychological fortitude he has left. An irrational Minister of Magic would only complicate matters further and cause us a lot of trouble."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose slightly, clearly taken aback by Bryan's insightful analysis.

"You've already figured Cornelius out quite well, Bryan—" He hadn't anticipated Bryan's request for him to stay out of the matter, but after a moment of deep contemplation, he had to admit that Bryan's proposal made sense. After a moment's hesitation, Dumbledore asked cautiously,

"Are you absolutely certain you can handle this matter... properly, Bryan?"

Dumbledore emphasized the word 'properly', obviously concerned not just about whether Bryan could get Remus out, but also that the methods shouldn't be too aggressive, lest they tear down the Ministry.

"You don't need to worry—" Bryan responded with a calm nod, his confidence unwavering. "I assure you, neither Remus nor the Ministry will come to any harm."

Dumbledore's piercing blue eyes studied Bryan intently, searching for any sign of doubt or recklessness. Finding none, he finally acquiesced to the Bryan's request. "I'll lend you Fawkes, Bryan—"

Though Dumbledore harbored reservations about Bryan's claim that 'there won't be any problems,' he recognized that Bryan's involvement in this delicate situation was indeed more appropriate. With a slight sigh that spoke volumes of the burden he carried; Dumbledore finally agreed to Bryan's plan. He glanced at Fawkes hovering above and said to Bryan,

"The most crucial task at present is to buy time. Fawkes can assist you in that—"

"Thank you—" Bryan accepted without hesitation. With a brief "Wait for my news," he stepped closer to Fawkes. In a brilliant explosion of fire that momentarily illuminated the entire walkway, Bryan and the phoenix vanished, leaving behind only a lingering warmth in the air and a few gently floating feathers.

Dumbledore found himself alone on the storm-battered walkway, his brow furrowed in deep thought as he gazed out at the increasingly turbulent sky beyond the castle walls.

London, Diagon Alley.

In the heart of London, Diagon Alley pulsed with nightly energy. The famous wizarding street, far from settling into slumber as night fell, seemed to take on a life of its own after dark. While many of the local witches and wizards had retired to their homes, the vacuum left by their absence was quickly filled by foreign magical tourists, eager to experience the unique nighttime setting of Britain's most renowned magical shopping district.

The cobblestone streets gleamed with an otherworldly luster under the flickering light of enchanted street lamps. These lamps, their glass panes etched with intricate runes, cast a warm, golden glow that danced across the facades of the surrounding shops, creating an atmosphere that was both mysterious and inviting.

Iconic establishments like Ollivanders, where countless young witches and wizards had found their perfect wands, remained a hive of activity. Through its dust-streaked windows, one could see Mr. Ollivander himself, his wild white hair illuminated by wandlight as he passionately explained the workings of wandlore to a group of awestruck tourists.

Not far from Ollivanders, Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke Shop was thriving with laughter and the occasional startled yelp. Tourists and mischief-makers crowded the store, testing out the latest magical pranks and gags. Every few minutes, a burst of confetti or a cloud of multicolored smoke would erupt from the shop's entrance, accompanied by peals of delighted laughter.

Eeylops Owl Emporium, usually quieter during daylight hours, had become active with the nocturnal energy of its residents. The soft hooting of dozens of owls created a soothing backdrop to the bustling street, with occassional screech of a particularly excitable bird. Wizards from far-flung corners of the globe marveled at the variety of magical postal birds, from the tiny Scops owls to the majestic Eagle owls.

Yet, amidst this tapestry of magical commerce and tourism, another, more utilitarian side of Diagon Alley was equally abuzz with activity. The train station, a node of magical transportation often overlooked by casual visitors, was a hive of activity as the shipments arrived.

The rhythmic chug of a magical train grew louder as it approached from the misty horizon. With a screech of brakes and a great billowing of steam, the train ground to a halt at the platform. No sooner had it stopped than the cargo doors flew open, spewing a veritable army of workers who had been anxiously awaiting its arrival.

Workers, their robes bearing the insignia of various magical shipping companies, swarmed the train with practiced efficiency. Wands at the ready, they began unloading. Some used levitation charms to gently float delicate packages to waiting carts, while others employed more robust magic to maneuver heavier crates. 

The air was thick with the mingled scents of exotic ingredients and raw materials. Whiffs of dragon scales, essence of moonflower, and powdered unicorn horn mixed with more mundane smells of wood and metal.

Overseeing this controlled chaos were rows of stern-faced wizards positioned at regular intervals along both sides of the railway. Their wands were held at the ready, and their eyes constantly scanned the crowded platform, alert for any sign of trouble. These weren't ordinary security guards – the emblems embroidered on their robes marked them as representatives of some of the most influential magical families and corporations in the wizarding world.

Their presence was a testament to the value of the cargo being unloaded. These raw materials were the lifeblood of the magical goods industry, their exact compositions closely guarded trade secrets. Many of these ingredients were rare, expensive, and potentially dangerous in the wrong hands.

Under the watchful eyes of these guards and the repeated urgings of foremen, the efficiency of the workers reached fever pitch. Within just over an hour – a feat that would have been impossible without magic – all of the raw materials had been transferred from the train to an impressive array of horse-drawn carts.

These weren't ordinary horse-drawn carts, of course. The carts they were hitched to were equally extraordinary, their wooden frames inscribed with protective runes and their interiors clearly enhanced with undetectable extension charms.

As the last of the cargo was secured, a special freight passage opened up in the station wall. It was as if the very bricks had rearranged themselves, forming an archway large enough to accommodate the caravan of carts. The magical horses, sensing their cue, began to form an orderly queue, snorting hot breath that momentarily obscured them in clouds of steam.

This was the moment of greatest vulnerability – the transition from the heavily guarded platform to the open streets of Diagon Alley. The supervising wizards hurriedly found their assigned carts, leaping onto the roofs with a grace that spoke of long practice. From these elevated positions, they would escort the precious cargo to its final destination.

In the brief moment of organized chaos that ensued, as carts began to move and guards settled into position, no one noticed a shadow detach itself from a darkened corner of the platform. Taking advantage of a bank of clouds that had chosen that moment to obscure the moon, this shadowy figure silently slipped beneath the chassis of one of the carts.

As the caravan of carts departed the station, they revealed the true scope of Diagon Alley to be far greater than most visitors ever realized. Beyond the main shopping street lay a complex and vast cluster of buildings that formed the beating heart of Britain's magical industry.

The main road soon gave way to a labyrinth of narrower streets and alleyways. About half a mile from the bustling market area, the caravan began to disperse. Individual carts peeled off down different routes, each guarded by their assigned wizard, using the cover of night to make their way to various hidden factories scattered throughout the district.

The rhythmic sound of wooden wheels grinding against cobblestones filled the air. The carts swayed gently as they navigated the uneven streets, and more than one of the alert guards found themselves stifling yawns as the journey wore on. The combination of the late hour, the repetitive motion, and the aftermath of the adrenaline rush from the loading process was taking its toll.

Yet, beneath one of the carts, clinging to the undercarriage with grim determination, the shadowy figure remained ever vigilant.

For what seemed like an eternity, but was in reality about an hour, the carts looped their way through the maze-like alleys of Diagon Alley's industrial district. Finally, almost imperceptibly at first, they began to slow.

To the untrained eye, or indeed to any witch or wizard not privy to certain secrets, the area they had entered would have appeared to be nothing more than another crowded cluster of dilapidated buildings. But reality, as is often the case in the wizarding world, was far different from appearance.

Hidden by powerful magic, a spacious factory complex lay nestled in the heart of what appeared to be a jumble of run-down structures. This concealed industrial area was a testament to the ingenuity of wizarding architects and the potency of concealment charms. From above, one would see nothing but crowded rooftops and twisting chimneys. Yet at ground level, for those who knew where to look, an expansive factory grounds materialized out of thin air.

The caravan of carts came to a halt before an imposing iron gate. This entrance stood in stark contrast to the illusion of decay that surrounded it, its majesty even rivaling that of Hogwarts' own gates.

As the carts settled into position, the supervising wizards on each vehicle leapt down. Their wands were at the ready, eyes scanning their surroundings with heightened alertness. The journey might be nearly over, but they knew all too well that the final moments before securing the cargo were often the most dangerous.

A person who seemed to be a foreman briefly communicated with a group of security wizards waiting at the gate, reporting the situation during the escort. Although nothing had happened, the security-wizards guarding the gate didn't relax their vigilance. They started checking the carts one by one, beginning with the one at the front.

The inspection was very thorough. They would open the carriage, enter the space that had been magically enlarged many times, and check for any hidden personnel. Of course, they wouldn't overlook the bottom of the carts either.

A security wizard guarding the factory came to the cart where the intruder was hiding. He routinely searched the carriage, and finding nothing, he bent down and squinted to examine the chassis. His sharp gaze didn't miss any detail, but the uneven bottom was completely visible with no issues. So, the inspecting wizard passed this cart and moved on to check the next one. However, he overlooked that when he straightened up and breathed heavily, there was an extremely faint exhalation mixed in.

With a series of nods exchanged between the security team, foreman, and escort wizards, the all-clear was given.

The inspection was completed, and with the creaking sound of opening gates, the caravan that had been waiting for a long time set off again.

The caravan passed through the gates. The carts traveled along a wide, smooth road that made its way through the compound. To one side stood an immense workshop building, its architecture a blend of Victorian industrial style and unmistakably magical elements. On the other side of the road, in stark contrast to the aged workshop, stood a newly constructed office building.

As the carts approached their final destination – a large unloading area near the workshop – a flurry of activity erupted. Another group of workers, different from those at the train station, emerged from various doors and passageways. They took up positions around the unloading area, ready to begin the process of transferring the valuable cargo from the carts to the safety of the workshop.

The hidden intruder knew that this was the moment of truth. As the cart passed a carefully manicured cluster of bushes the figure made its move. Taking advantage of another cloud covering the moonlight and the momentary distraction of the escort wizards as they prepared for unloading, the intruder slipped from beneath the cart and into the bushes.

From this new vantage point, hidden from sight but with a clear view of the unfolding scene, the intruder took looked at the surroundings. The quiet factory grounds had erupted into a hive of activity. Shouts and commands rang out as workers began unloading, their wands flashing as they levitated crates and guided them towards the open doors of the workshop.

But the intruder withdrew his gaze from this bustle and turned to look at the office building where a few lights were on. At that moment, the thick clouds in the sky happened to part, and clear moonlight shone on the office building.

Floo-Pow

The huge, dark golden nameplate glittered in the moonlight.

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