A Free Bee

Dewey looked at the newspaper, his expression complex.

"1993."

He stood before the mirror, observing his own reflection.

In the glass, he looked as thin as a skeleton draped in a beige trench coat.

Long-term malnutrition and a lack of sunlight had left his skin as pale as a vampire's, yet devoid of any luster; his face was so gaunt it looked somewhat terrifying.

He extended a finger slightly, touching his rough skin before beginning to shave.

"Is this what I really look like?"

Dewey muttered to himself.

The master of this house was not as tall as he was.

Yet, when he put on the man's trench coat, it hung loosely, as if draped over an empty frame.

So much time had passed since he lost his freedom.

At this thought, he bared his teeth and let out a grim, chilling laugh.

He turned and walked into the kitchen.

Barefoot, Dewey stood in the kitchen, found honey and white sugar, boiled water, and dropped a tea bag into a cup.

One spoonful of honey, two spoonfuls, three spoonfuls—half the cup was honey.

Then, he added sugar!

Finally, he poured in the boiling water.

The aroma of black tea wafted up, and Dewey inhaled the scent with great enjoyment.

"The scent of sweetness."

He looked out the window at the rising sun, then turned on the television and began to make breakfast.

He was currently in Surrey, in the southeast of England, not far from London.

This was a middle-class neighborhood; with summer vacation arriving, the owners had taken their children to London for a holiday, leaving the entire house empty.

Lettuce, tomato, onion, a fried egg—he stuffed a simple sandwich into his mouth. There was no sauce, but he still ate it with relish.

"The taste of freedom."

He took a sip of the tooth-achingly sweet tea, finally feeling as though he had come back to life.

The television was broadcasting the news. Just as Dewey, full and satisfied, was planning to take a nap, two wanted posters appeared side-by-side on the screen.

Sirius's unruly eyes, messy beard, and tangled hair appeared on the television.

Next to him was the gaunt, gloomy Dewey.

The host stated that they were two extremely dangerous murderers, armed with guns, and requested that residents call the police if spotted.

Dewey looked at the wanted posters, his sleepiness vanishing instantly.

He suspected that the number on the screen would likely summon Aurors from the Ministry of Magic.

"Sirius escaped too? That was fast."

He was not surprised by Sirius's escape.

Knowing it was the summer of 1993, he had expected Sirius to break out.

The timing of Sirius's escape was right around this period.

After Fudge inspected Azkaban, Sirius had made his move.

Compared to his own method of hitching a ride with Fudge, Sirius had transformed into a large black dog and swum across, which was far more difficult.

Their motives for escaping were also different.

Sirius sought the safety of his godson, while Dewey sought freedom.

Most importantly, Dewey had emerged from Azkaban alone, without even a deposit in Gringotts; he couldn't even afford to buy clothes.

Without a single Galleon or even a penny, he was brazenly penniless.

When Sirius came out, he remained the last heir of the Black Family, capable of buying the top-tier broomstick in the wizarding world, the Firebolt, without blinking.

However, they faced the same situation.

Pursuers!

It seemed they were both being hunted by both the wizarding world and the Muggles, living on borrowed time.

Dewey sat up, crossing his arms as he carefully considered his next move.

Escaping prison was a continuous operation.

To remain at large, he had to continue resisting the Ministry of Magic and increase his magical power; only when his power reached a certain level could he ignore the threats of the Ministry.

For now, he had nowhere to go.

The Death Eaters were untrustworthy, Voldemort was untrustworthy, and the White Wizard was even less so.

The Death Eaters still at large are either traitors, spies, or fence-sitters.

They will not help Dewey.

The White Wizard and the Dark Lord cannot cross paths, either.

Dumbledore and Voldemort are the two greatest Legilimens of the age.

Any thought he harbors would be impossible to hide from their eyes, unless he had mastered Occlumency to an extremely profound level, much like Snape.

The problem is, Severus Snape does so because he is a pawn planted by Voldemort at Dumbledore's side; Voldemort knows the old headmaster's strength and tacitly permits his subordinate to do so.

Snape is important to Voldemort, and Voldemort is a man of great tolerance.

Even knowing that Snape lies at times, Voldemort does not care.

He needs Snape.

But he does not need Dewey.

The same goes for the White Wizard; Dewey does not want anyone constantly stirring his mind, flipping through his memories like a book.

"Then where should I go?"

Dewey watched an owl flutter past outside, lost in thought for a moment. Even now, a fire was burning in his heart.

Yesterday, he had slept on the cold floor.

It was hard, but he had fallen asleep nonetheless.

It wasn't that he didn't want to sleep in a bed.

It was that he was no longer accustomed to one.

He had slept on the cold ground for eleven years; the arthritis pain made it impossible for him to bend his joints.

He curled up on the floor like an infant, plagued by countless nightmares, his back soaked in sweat.

When he woke, however, he felt no emptiness.

Because he knew what he had to do.

He was going to throw those idiots at the Ministry of Magic into Azkaban.

He would take out the high-ranking Death Eaters.

And if possible, he would take out the Dark Lord while he was at it.

Revenge was the eternal flame burning in the depths of his soul, impossible to extinguish.

"I need more cards, more magic."

Dewey carefully and earnestly considered his next move.

He needed to strike a balance; he needed to attack wizards, yet he could not attract too many of them to hunt him down.

If he were to go looking for wizards, places like Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, the Ministry of Magic, Hogsmeade, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, or Nurmengard all had them. But he was not Voldemort; if he went to those places, he would only be beaten to death or captured by Dementors for an intimate kiss!

Therefore, the safest place was, in fact...

Dewey stood up and began to tidy himself.

The safest place was 4 Privet Drive.

Before long, Harry Potter would blow up his detestable Aunt Marge like a balloon and run away from home.

Ten minutes after that, two members of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad would arrive at 4 Privet Drive to clean up the mess Harry Potter left behind.

"Yes, yes, two Ministry members. They aren't Hit Wizards, they aren't Aurors, and they aren't skilled in combat."

More importantly, they were qualified wizards.

They had two wands, and information on their colleagues.

Dewey quickly finalized his plan. He rummaged through boxes and cabinets, found a pair of leather shoes that didn't quite fit, put on his clothes and trousers in a crooked fashion, and used Apparition to leave.

"Thank you for your generosity."

Before leaving, he found a piece of paper and wrote, looking aggrieved.

"Once I succeed, I will pay you back. This is an IOU."

Dewey's Apparition had flaws, specifically regarding spatial distance.

For those with immense magical power, such as Voldemort, long-distance Apparition was possible, but Dewey could not. He could not Apparate directly to Privet Drive; he had to do it slowly, in multiple jumps.

"I hope I won't be late."

Dewey said to himself.

Fortunately, he arrived just in time. When he reached the area, poor Harry Potter had not yet been tormented by his aunt; he was in his attic room, racking his brains over his homework.

Dewey did not approach Privet Drive; it was a closely monitored area. If he were spotted by the Squib stationed there, Dumbledore would teach him a lesson.

Dewey did not feel he was a match for Dumbledore at the moment.

As night fell, he picked up a stone and precisely smashed the streetlights on Privet Drive and the surrounding streets, plunging the area into darkness.

Angry shouts erupted from the surroundings, but they did not affect Dewey's actions. He hid in the shadows, wreaking havoc without restraint.

After he knocked out all the streetlights and plunged the area into darkness.

"What are you doing here?"

In the dead of night, a pair of bright eyes stared at Dewey.

A large black dog emerged from the bushes and transformed into the tall figure of Sirius Black.

Sirius looked at Dewey, radiating pure menace.

Spring lethargy and autumn fatigue, I overslept.