A Letter to the Head of the Auror Office

Dewey entered London without incident. Before crossing the threshold, he had left behind a few small preparations, just in case.

The weather in London was as wretched as ever, exactly as he had expected. Dewey strolled easily through the streets and alleys of the city. London was teeming with people, and the Ministry of Magic simply lacked the manpower and resources to investigate every individual entering or leaving the city. Order in London remained unchanged.

Wanted posters for Dewey and Sirius Black were still plastered on television screens.

Unfortunately, these two fugitives posed no threat to London.

Beyond serving as fodder for gossip among the public, these portraits were entirely useless.

The entirety of London was a scene of peace and prosperity.

There wasn't even a single policeman stationed at the city's entry points.

As for the wizarding world, the retired Aurors brought back into service—Mad-Eye Moody and his followers—had set up checkpoints in London. However, they were only screening wizards; they were completely helpless when it came to Muggles.

His heavy-handed tactics had left many wizards deeply dissatisfied. For a time, they were full of complaints about the Ministry's actions and had begun taking measures to signal their disapproval of the Aurors' conduct.

Dewey knew this because, recently, many prominent freelance writers and special correspondents had been fiercely criticizing the Ministry of Magic in various newspapers. They knew Mad-Eye Moody was a tough nut to crack, so they dared not aim their fire directly at the madman.

Instead, they used the papers to make snide, passive-aggressive remarks about Moody, while directly questioning Fudge and condemning the Ministry. Such rhetoric had sprung up like mushrooms after rain, appearing in every issue.

Dewey treated these editorials as a joke, often finding them hilarious.

In his view, Fudge would soon have to rein in Mad-Eye Moody and force him to adopt a different method for hunting fugitives.

A weak and foolish Minister.

Dewey thought to himself. He knew that the backwardness of wizards did not manifest in their methods.

The wizarding world and the Muggle world were not entirely isolated.

Newspapers, magical radios, magical cars, and magical telegrams were all essentially Muggle technology modified by wizardry.

The biggest problem with wizards was not a failure to keep pace with the times; their greatest flaw was their arrogance and their stubborn, self-imposed isolation.

Their understanding and perception of Muggles remained stuck in the Middle Ages.

They possessed no wisdom to match their magic.

Even Dumbledore was the same. He had never applied his wisdom to these matters; he did not want to change the world, nor did he want to rule it.

His conscience kept him away from power, preventing him from wielding strength he shouldn't possess, lest he cause greater destruction.

That was his conscience.

At the same time, he was chasing another power, one greater than political authority.

Resurrection.

That was his obsession.

The thing he wanted most right now was to find the Deathly Hallows and bring his parents and sister back.

He wanted to completely shatter the boundary between life and death, to defy the rules.

He had never once thought about ruling the world. From beginning to end, Dumbledore was neither a perfect man nor a saint, but he was a good man. Given the magic he possessed and the things he had done, he was an exceptional individual.

Even Dewey acknowledged this.

Voldemort was the same.

Unfortunately, Dewey had no way to exploit Dumbledore's flaws to deceive him yet; the gap in power was simply too vast.

Neither open schemes nor secret plots would work.

Lost in thought, Dewey turned into a shop.

The mist and rain hung heavy; Dewey didn't care much for this weather. He liked the sun—the bright, blazing sun. He loved the feeling of the sun hitting his skin, scorching and hot.

Dewey sat down in a family restaurant and began adding sugar to his coffee: one, two, three, four, five...

Spoon after spoon of sugar went into the coffee, making the waiter's eyes widen.

He felt as if he were witnessing something truly bizarre.

Watching the coffee thicken, the waiter wondered if the cup was even drinkable anymore.

The guest ordered fries and a sandwich. As the waiter left, he caught a final glimpse of this strange man pulling a bar of chocolate out of his own clothes.

In the kitchen, he shared what he had seen with his boss—who was also the cook and his mother.

"That guy was a real weirdo..."

He said to his mother, sounding quite certain.

Dewey had no interest in such trivialities. He ate his fries one by one, squinting in comfort. Aside from desserts, these fried foods were his second favorite. He licked the ketchup off his fingers, placed his pocket watch on the table, and waited intently.

He was deeply frowning at the efficiency of the Ministry of Magic. Whether it was Stupefy or the Killing Curse, neither would have taken the lives of those Hit Wizards; they should have regained consciousness by now.

In other words, by this time, both Hogwarts and the Ministry of Magic should have been aware that they had come under attack.

This was part of the plan, but the problem now was that the magical items he had left outside the tent had seen the Hit Wizards stumbling out, faces full of terror, as they fled to seek help from Hogwarts. On the other side, they should have been contacting the Ministry of Magic as well—they could use Floo Powder, couldn't they?

Magical communication was supposed to be quite fast.

So, where were the people from the Ministry?

Where were the Aurors?

Where are the Hit Wizards?

Where are the agents?

Where have they all gone?

Why are they still holding their positions?

Are they really that composed?

Dewey did not believe they were unaware of the consequences of all these Hit Wizards being incapacitated.

Dewey did not know much about the Ministry of Magic, but he knew Dementors all too well.

These monsters were born without morality. To say they were bound to Azkaban by the power of the Ministry's contract was a farce; the contract was nothing more than a scrap of paper, and the magical power upon it was not the primary reason for their restraint.

What truly restrained them was the overwhelming might of the wizards. The Ministry of Magic still had a few capable Aurors, and besides, if something truly went wrong at Azkaban, the Dementors would face not just the Ministry, but a multitude of powerful wizards who would not sit idly by while Dementors roamed free.

Dementors possessed intelligence, but not necessarily the capacity to weigh pros and cons. To them, the Hogwarts campus was an incredibly tempting cake; the joy of the children was so alluring it was heart-wrenching. The Dementors stationed there were starving, and having to face such delicacies every day without being able to take a bite had already made them irritable.

Once they discovered the weakness of their keepers, once they could no longer resist the temptation, the Dementors would storm Hogwarts. Dementors who had lost their reason would not mind bestowing a Dementor's Kiss upon the students of the school.

A kiss of love, wasn't it?

Dewey called this a secondary disaster.

But what made him frown was that he seemed to have been too empirical, thinking too highly of the Ministry of Magic. Even though the Hit Wizards stationed outside the Ministry had been attacked, the Ministry still made no move.

One hour, two hours, three hours.

Time ticked away second by second, and Dewey began to grow anxious. The Ministry still hadn't dispatched anyone to observe the Hit Wizards or to restrain the Dementors. Instead, Professor McGonagall emerged with Madam Pomfrey, followed by Snape, who looked hurried and grim.

He did not summon his Patronus, but rather used the silver radiance of the Patronus Charm to shroud everyone, bringing the injured into Hogwarts. It seemed Professor McGonagall intended for Madam Pomfrey to treat them.

"The Ministry of Magic, never failing to disappoint."

Dewey had long since left the family restaurant. He strolled through the streets and alleys of London, seemingly aimless, but if viewed from the sky, one could see his movements were not without pattern; he was scouting the best escape routes.

He even went to the British Library. He was neither a reader nor a member, let alone a donor, so he had to be clever, using a very magical, non-Muggle method to enter the library.

The Ministry still hadn't acted, and the contingency Dewey had left behind came into play.

The time had come.

With a "click," the door of a cage outside London swung open.

Once the ingenious Muggle timer opened the cage, the owl inside flapped its wings and took flight. A reliable owl for delivering mail was not cheap, but fortunately, it wasn't Dewey paying for it—Sirius Black was always unexpectedly generous; to him, wealth was just a number.

He didn't care about these things.

Even if his cousin had been thrown into prison and the rest of the Black heirs were dead, the Ministry of Magic could not touch their assets.

A large portion of their wealth was in Gringotts, and the Goblins were the true masters of currency and finance in the wizarding world.

The Ministry of Magic had no authority over the Goblins.

The cage opened, and the owl Dewey had left behind flew out with a flurry of feathers. It did not go to the Ministry of Magic; it arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, tapping its beak against the door of a private room rented by the Minister for Magic.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Like a woodpecker.

Rufus Scrimgeour opened the door with disheveled hair and looked surprised to see the owl. After the owl dropped the letter in front of him, it flew into the room and perched on a crossbar to rest.

Scrimgeour looked at the owl with curiosity; it didn't look familiar, nor did it look like a Ministry owl.

Was someone looking for him?

The fact that he was staying here was common knowledge; he hadn't been working at the Ministry.

The Ministry had recently been flooded with former Death Eaters who huddled together, acting snide and ostracizing others. On top of that, the Minister had been venting his frustrations on honest workers like him due to the criticism from various factions, and Scrimgeour couldn't be bothered to go to the Ministry to be mistreated.

He was staying at the Leaky Cauldron for the time being. This place was originally meant to be a resting spot for the Hit Wizards stationed at Azkaban, but unfortunately, the Hit Wizards who could cast the Patronus Charm were currently split—one shift outside Hogwarts, one shift at Azkaban.

Even if they rotated, it was just Azkaban to Hogwarts, and Hogwarts to Azkaban.

It was meaningless.

So, since the place was empty and going to waste, he might as well stay here.

Closing the door, Scrimgeour looked at the letter suspiciously. On the envelope, someone had written in ugly, crooked black ink: "To Mr. Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic, currently residing in the permanent Ministry suite on the third floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Dewey Jones."