Return Journey

"How does it feel to transform into Basilisk?"

"To be honest, it's a bit strange and awkward."

"If Newt were here, he would probably be very interested."

"..."

Hermione listened to their conversation about the Basilisk, strolling slowly along the corridor, glancing at the portraits and illustrations on the walls that depicted the history of the American Magical Congress.

Following the Barebone Leak Incident, the American Magical Congress remained in Washington for a considerable period until 1892. In 1892, the head of the Magical Species Protection Organization abused his power by attacking Bigfoot had been deemed to have acted improperly. This act enraged the Bigfoot population, leading to a large influx of Bigfoot into Washington to protest and riot.

This incident forced the American Magical Congress to use a large number of Memory Charm, and the headquarters also spent considerable manpower to repair the damage caused by Bigfoot. In the following years, wizards infiltrated the construction team of a new building in New York — the Woolworth Building construction team.

Since then, the headquarters of the American Magical Congress has remained in New York, to this day.

Loren rested his chin on his hand, walking and observing, and finally concluded. "It seems that every now and then, a large-scale magical exposure incident occurs in the United States."

Hermione nodded in agreement instinctively, then realized she was being watched by the portraits. Feeling a little impolite, she glanced at the portraits in the corridor and breathed a sigh of relief when she found they weren't paying attention to her.

Dumbledore greeted the portraits on the walls as he went, as if he knew each of them and they all knew him.

"There are no pure wizarding communities like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade here. Wizards live in Muggle cities. They are closer to Muggle, and the risk of exposure is higher when they live together for a long time. Of course, it is also easier for them to absorb the cultural achievements of Muggle."

Dumbledore explained in a low voice, "If one day magic is exposed to Muggle in the world, they will integrate into Muggle society and adapt to the new environment much faster than closed-off and conservative wizards."

Hermione nodded. She could tell from the television news coverage of the Werewolf Inferi incident that high-ranking officials from both sides seemed to be in close communication. The Aurors released clouds of mist before the operation and tried to avoid making too much noise with magic during the operation, cooperating with the Muggle media to fabricate fake news.

Loren remained noncommittal.

As Dumbledore just said, from a wizarding perspective, the wizards here, due to the unique immigrant atmosphere and open social environment, are more receptive to new things and more adaptable to new environments. However, from Muggle perspective, every large-scale magical exposure in history has been accompanied by serious Muggle casualties: Scourers, Bigfoot, Obscurus ...

Even for the slightest incident, they need to undergo memory erasure.

From Muggle's perspective, they gain almost nothing and are more vulnerable to magical events.

They had unknowingly walked around once and returned to the restaurant entrance. Dumbledore stopped and said, "Excuse me, I may have to take my leave now."

"Goodbye, Professor Dumbledore," Loren and Hermione said.

"Wait a moment..." Dumbledore said, pulling a palm-sized piece of paper from his silver-white robes and handing it to him. "Loren, someone asked me to give this to you."

Someone asked Dumbledore deliver something?

Loren curiously took the piece of paper, Hermione also curiously leaned closer. It was an ordinary postcard, with a landscape photo of Alaska glaciers on the front. The back of the postcard contained only one sentence:

[Thank you for the gifts of nature and fate, and thank you, may Merlin protect you— Nagini]

Nagini?

That poor Blood Curse snake-man.

Seeing the two of them looking a little stunned, Dumbledore smiled faintly, "She's doing very well. She's currently revisiting places she's been before. I think she's looking for something, but she doesn't think so."

"If you have any reply, please give it to me when we meet next time. Well then, see you next time."

Goodbye, Professor Dumbledore.

After watching the white-bearded wizard walk towards a group of Ministry of Magic officials, Loren and Hermione finally came to their senses and looked at the postcard again and again.

Hermione had always felt great sympathy for this Blood Cursed Beastman woman and was very interested in news about her. She asked in a low voice, "Dumbledore said she was looking for something. What do you think she's looking for?"

Loren shook his head. "People I used to know, places I used to go, who knows?"

Hermione thought for a moment: A woman, due to a curse in her blood, escaped into the primeval forest before completely transforming into a giant snake and losing her mind. Decades later, she regained her human form, and the outside world had undergone earth-shattering changes. What would she be looking for?

"Who knows..."

"This concludes the formal agenda of the International Wizarding Congress. Now, please welcome the President of the International Confederation of Wizards, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the esteemed Mr. Albus Dumbledore, to deliver his address!"

Today, Dumbledore wore a wide, red-gold magical robe, which was both solemn and dignified, exuding an air of authority that made his presence impossible to ignore.

He rose from his seat, not picking up the sound amplification device provided by the American Magical Congress, but his deep voice resonated in the ears of everyone present:

"I, Albus Dumbledore, hereby warn all wizards of the world that Voldemort has returned!"

The hall was silent for a few seconds, followed by a flurry of camera flashes and panicked inquiries from various Ministry of Magic.

"Mr. Dumbledore, what do you mean by that?"

"Mr. Dumbledore, is Voodoo... is the Dark Lord not dead?"

Was he the one orchestrating this Werewolf Inferi incident?

The sound was like boiling.

New York, Manhattan.

A few wispy clouds drifted across the clear blue sky, as if it had been washed clean. The scorching July sun made the air feel hot. Central Park, like a green gem, was nestled among the city's skyscrapers, with the bustling city and the tranquil park separated by just one street.

The sounds of various insects and birds in the forest brought a touch of coolness. The lush olive green, the calm gray-blue and the yellow-brown with intertwined branches, and all kinds of tall trees whose names I don't know stood in layers, their branches intertwined freely, like a green cloud blocking the scorching sun.

The lakeside in the park is filled with fresh, clean air.

Monica flipped through the recent issues of the New York Spectator.

[The Werewolf Inferi Incident – With the International Wizarding Congress imminent, what is the truth behind the magical crisis?]

[The International Confederation of Wizards' First Topic: The Liberated Werewolf!]

[Historian Damian guides you through the first installment of the International Confederation of Wizards: The Conflict Between Great Powers]

[Mian Takes You Through the Second Phase of the International Confederation of Wizards: The Wisdom of Humanoid Magical Creatures]

[Surprise at the meeting! Chairman Albus Dumbledore warning, British Ministry of Magic refutes and clarifies]

"The Werewolf Inferi incident mentioned here, is that the wizarding terrorist attack you told us to avoid?" Monica glanced coldly at Hermione, flipping through the newspaper in her hands.

Not far away, Wendell stared at the lake without turning his head, seemingly engrossed in fishing, but he didn't even notice the float moving.

Hermione looked down and carefully examined the mesh pattern on the shoes, muttering softly, "It was Loren who told you to stay away. I just wanted you and Dad to go to the next city for a few days."

Monica laughed in exasperation, slammed the newspaper onto the picnic table, pinched Hermione's nose, and shook it. "What did you say?"

Hermione winced in pain and cried out, "Yes, that's right, it's the wizarding terror attack!"

Are you in danger?

"No," Hermione replied in a muffled voice, trying to shake her head to deny it and break free of her nose being held captive, but all she got was a sore nose.

The wicked dentist often pulls teeth with great force, and his fingers and arms are so strong that she couldn't break free.

Hermione gasped for breath, but thankfully the issue had been brushed aside, and knowing her mother well, she figured her mother wouldn't dwell on it any longer.

Hermione felt a little more relaxed.

"What did you have for lunch the day I called you?" Monica's indifferent voice drifted over.

In the sweltering heat of July, a chill enveloped Hermione, making the little Witch shiver with unease.

"Lunch... lunch... lunch is a hamburger, a beef patty, and pickles—"

The stinging sensation in her nose made Hermione unable to continue her lie, "I'm sorry, Mom, it's a cheeseburger."

The voice was mournful and helpless, sounding extremely pitiful.

Wendell, not far away, was trembling with laughter, probably because he was laughing incessantly at the fish that had taken the bait.

Monica released her daughter's nose, rubbed it gently, and softened her voice. "You're going back to do chores, mop the lawn, clean your room, and you're not allowed to use magic, understand?"

"Okay, Mom," Hermione replied, looking aggrieved. She snuggled into her mother's arms for a while before slowly raising her head a few minutes later. "I... I have a question?"

Monica tidied her messy curly hair. "You say it."

"Why do you believe what Loren says, but not what I say?"

Monica was silent for a while, then couldn't resist pinching her nose again, until it turned red.

On the other side, Loren and Grandpa Bates sat together, guarding their rented fishing rods and waiting for a bite. Loren carefully recounted the known information about the Werewolf Inferi incident, while Bates listened attentively, carefully examining the fishing license he had bought, his expression revealing nothing of his thoughts.

The United States introduced a fishing license system in the early 1950s. Whether fishing in rivers, lakes, or the ocean, a fishing license is required; fishing without a license will result in fines and arrest by fisheries police. Buying a license is easy; many sporting goods stores offer them. The fishing license usually comes with a booklet containing hundreds of regulations, though whether you'll follow them is another matter.

Anyone fishing in public waters must apply for a fishing license. The price is usually proportional to the length of the license's validity period, with one-year licenses available, as well as short-term licenses such as 1 day, 3 days, or 5 days.

"... In the end, those Werewolf Inferi were burned in one go. Our headmaster issued a warning at the International Wizarding Congress, but it was ruined by that foolish Minister for Magic, and the others didn't take it seriously."

After Loren finished speaking, he sighed, feeling sorry for Dumbledore.

Why not just replace such an idiot? Why keep him in that position just to cause trouble for himself?

Bates put down his fishing license and glanced at the float. "So the Death Eater are a terrorist organization, their leader Voldemort graduated from your school, and most of the terrorists also graduated from your school."

"..." Loren was silent for a few seconds, feeling that Grandpa Bates' ability to grasp the key points was a bit off. "There is only one school in the entire England, Hogwarts, and its students come from most of Europe, so this has nothing to do with the school."

"Oh..."

Grandpa Bates nodded noncommittally. "You mean this Voldemort, the wizarding government can't deal with him, right?"

"That's not quite right..." Loren picked up his fishing rod and glanced at it. The bait was gone, but the fish had gotten off the hook. So he rebaited and cast again. "The magical society is still in a relatively primitive stage. Many jobs rely on individual magical abilities. In terms of individual strength, only our headmaster can deal with Voldemort."

"Your headmaster can handle Voldemort." Bates keenly grasped the key point and repeated it, recalling the kind and amiable image of the white-bearded old wizard, and fell into deep thought.

Loren stood guard nearby, occasionally catching a few bigmouth bass, carp, the Americas bream... which made Wendell restless and agitated.

The shimmering water made Bates a little dizzy, and he asked in a low voice, "Can you guarantee it's safe?"

"Yes," Loren replied.

So Bates relaxed and began to focus on fishing.

Little Whinging, 4 Privet Drive, Dursley house.

Harry slept in a room on the Second Floor at the corner of the stairs. There was a large bed where he could stretch his legs, a solid wood wardrobe for storing clothes and suitcases, and a brand-new small desk that looked completely unused even after half a summer vacation.

The desk had already been set up when Harry returned. No one in the Dursley house mentioned what had happened last year, nor did they mention Aunt Marge, who had been blown up like a balloon. This made Harry's summer vacation very pleasant.

Perhaps it was the scorching heat of midsummer, but even though Harry was covered in sweat, he still felt restless and hot. He turned over in bed, and in his hazy dream, he felt as if he were in a ball of fire.

In his dream, he transformed into a black cloud and escaped the flames, speeding all the way to hide in a Castle located on a mountaintop.

"I feel like I've seen this Castle somewhere before..." Harry had a vague thought, "It's like, it's like... Ilvermorny."

Thinking about this, Harry became much more lucid, and the burning sensation in his body subsided.

After an unknown amount of time, a blurry female figure appeared beside him.

A cold voice rang out. "Resurrection, only true resurrection can grant me control over my Magic Power..."

The female voice said, "What should I do, Master?"

"Harry Potter... Harry Potter..."