Sugar was a great friend to the thinking brain.
The first time Dewey used Apparition, he had meant to go to London. But it was obvious that the distance from Privet Drive to London was too much for a Level 2 Apparition.
Dewey fell out of the air halfway there.
He appeared by the River Thames.
A few Air Force guys were fishing nearby.
They stared in astonishment as Dewey appeared out of nowhere—and saw his face.
"Well, brothers, you're in for some bad luck."
Dewey took out his wand.
The Air Force guys didn't recognize it. They thought Dewey was joking.
One unlucky fellow stood up.
"Maybe you'd be better off sitting down."
Dewey said, looking at the men and flicking his wand to cast Stupefy.
"Because it'll hurt more when you fall."
Dewey said.
He didn't need to speak the incantation. Casting Nonverbal Spells as he walked, he used Stupefy on the men. They were no match for him. In just a few moments, six or seven of them lay sprawled on the ground.
Only one man remained standing, trembling all over.
Dewey thoughtfully gathered the unconscious men together, dragging them along as he offered his assessments.
"Nice jacket."
"Nice trousers."
"Mm, a fisherman's hat, too."
"Right, a scarf. I really like this thing."
"Sunglasses."
"Mm-hmm, boots. What kind of boots are these?"
Without a second thought, Dewey stripped the clothes off them and put them on.
"Thanks for nature's generosity."
He thanked the unconscious men, then turned to the bespectacled man who was still standing. The man was shaking like a leaf, unable to make sense of what he had just seen.
"Okay, it's fine. It's fine. I just want to ask you a couple of questions. Where are we? And where's the nearest supermarket?"
Dewey asked. The man stammered out his answers, and Dewey hit him with Stupefy, sending him to the ground.
He even gently caught him, letting him sink down slowly.
"Thanks."
He said to the man who had passed out.
After resting for a little while, Dewey used Obliviate on them, making them forget the clothes they were wearing and the person they had encountered.
"Hope this spell works."
After finding some money on them, Dewey toyed with the wand in his hand and left, humming a tune.
The wand he held belonged to the male wizard: oak, Dragon Heartstring, twelve and a half inches long. It felt great to use.
But it wasn't the wand Dewey wanted.
"Walker, Walker, my precious little darling, where are you?"
Dewey couldn't stop thinking about Walker.
Whenever he slept, he had nightmares. He dreamed that the Hit Wizard named Walker used a curse to bewitch his ribs, making them pierce through his skin and leap out to torment him.
Every day, he woke from those nightmares. He hated feeling that way.
To overcome fear, he had to face it.
He wanted Walker's wand. It would be his trophy for conquering his fear.
Dewey walked into a supermarket, dressed in a hodgepodge of clothes: boots, trousers much too big for him, a scarf covering half his face, a fisherman's hat, sunglasses, and a khaki trench coat.
He looked ridiculous.
He picked up a map, then bought more than thirty chocolate bars and stuffed them into his clothes before paying.
"Keep the change."
He said to the cashier, then turned and left. Unfolding the map, Dewey gave it a careful look.
The city was more than seventy kilometers from London.
That wasn't too far.
The place he wanted to go was, of course, the Leaky Cauldron.
But he wasn't going there to walk into a trap. He simply knew that to find Sirius, he had to get close to Harry Potter.
One person was always at a disadvantage.
While sleeping alone in an unoccupied corner, he had come up with a dangerous idea.
It was so crazy and risky that even thinking about it made him feel utterly mad.
But the crazier it was, the more it made his heart race—and the more Dewey liked it.
"I'll do it this way."
Dewey said to himself.
The more complicated a plan was, the likelier it was to fail. To pull off a plan of earth-shattering proportions, what you needed was a reckless beginning, a muddled process, and a bizarre ending.
Whether that ending was good or bad, you'd never know unless you tried.
"Do it, Dewey. Do it."
Dewey told himself. "If you don't do these things, you'll never know how they turn out."
He set off for London on foot, following the road. He was counting on finding a kind soul to give him a ride on a road without cameras that night.
Then he could go to the Leaky Cauldron and meet Sirius.
He wanted a partner.
He knew what Sirius wanted.
It might be the best news he'd heard so far.
He could easily find an accomplice to join him in doing these dangerous things.
August 20, 1993.
Diagon Alley.
Harry Potter reluctantly dragged his eyes away from the Firebolt.
As a Seeker on the Quidditch team, his love of flying broomsticks ran deep.
But when he saw the words "Price negotiable," all thoughts of buying one vanished.
He was only in his third year. He still had five years of school ahead of him, and he needed to save for his future.
Just thinking about having no money and asking the Dursley Family for some made his stomach feel terribly uncomfortable.
Back outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour, Harry sat down in his usual spot. In the Wizarding World, he didn't have to suffer at the Dursley family's hands. He could do his homework right outside the ice cream shop without having to hide.
Florean even gave Harry free ice cream and helped him with his schoolwork.
There were ten days left until September 1, when he had to go to King's Cross Station. Harry needed to catch up on his homework as soon as possible.
As he worked, two wizards came over. A couple, radiating an acrid, sour smell, sat close together nearby and chatted.
Before long, they were talking about Dewey.
"Have you heard?"
The wizard said to the witch. "A Death Eater—I mean, one of the Death Eaters who escaped from Azkaban—Dewey. He's begun taking bloody revenge on the Ministry of Magic.
You know, just a few days ago, he subjected two wizards from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's Department of Accidental Magic Reversal to unimaginable torture.
The Wizarding World is so dangerous these days."
In their telling, Dewey had become a fiendishly evil, deranged monster. He had beaten the two wizards until they suffered such severe psychological trauma that they still hadn't recovered.
"Death Eater, Dewey."
Hearing this, Harry Potter couldn't help worrying. In the past few days, he kept thinking about the Grim he'd seen when he fell on Magnolia Street. He didn't know what it was, but he always felt it was an ill omen.
It might be a bad sign.
And then there was Dewey.
The two wizards from the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal—he couldn't help thinking of what he'd done to Aunt Marge.
He shook his head, trying to push away the frightening thought that Dewey might have attacked the two wizards who'd gone to deal with Aunt Marge.
"It can't be that much of a coincidence."
Harry told himself.
He was trying to reassure himself.
Not far away, several Hit Wizards were keeping an eye on Harry Potter. They were the backbone of the current Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's team, responsible for watching Harry around the clock and keeping him safe.
As for why Aurors weren't looking after Harry, that was something to ask Fudge about.
Even Rufus Scrimgeour, the current Head of the Auror Office, was scouring the land for Dewey. The Aurors simply had no time or energy to watch over Harry.
In the Wizarding World, where could they find spare manpower to keep watch over Harry Potter?
The task of protecting Harry Potter had fallen to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.
They were nearly driven mad with work!
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