Thousands of miles away in Switzerland, at the headquarters of the International Confederation of Wizards at the foot of the Alps, the atmosphere was as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water on it.
It was the same conference room with the same circular stone table, the same few high-backed chairs, and the same ministers dressed in robes of various colors.
But Dumbledore didn't come this time.
The chair in the very center, which belonged to him, was empty, and the crescent-shaped engraving on the back of the chair gleamed coldly in the candlelight.
The secretary-general sat at one end of the circular table, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface. His expression was not good; to be precise, it was very bad.
That face, which usually held a composed and dignified air, now resembled a stiff cloth that had just been starched, with its brows furrowed into a deep furrow.
He glanced down at the open report in front of him, then looked up, his gaze sweeping across the faces of each minister.
"Gentlemen," he began, his voice a few octaves lower than usual.
"I think I don't need to repeat myself; everyone knows what happened."
No one responded.
Ms. Winslow of the Lighthouse Country gently placed the quill pen she was holding on the table, leaned back in her chair, crossed her arms, and calmly looked at the Secretary-General.
Minister Pierre of Gaul remained silent, his gaze fixed on the intricate pattern on the table, as if he had suddenly become extremely interested in it.
The minister from Maple Leaf Country adjusted his glasses, his lips twitched slightly, but he ultimately said nothing.
The retired advisor from Kangaroo Country sat against the wall, holding a cup of now-cold tea, his head bowed, seemingly lost in thought.
The representative from Cherry Blossom Country sat there quietly, his hands respectfully folded on his knees, his expression indifferent, as if he hadn't heard anything.
Fudge sat at the other end of the long table, in the seat furthest from the Secretary-General.
His expression was more complex than anyone else's, a mixture of exhaustion, anger, and an indescribable sense of unease, something he couldn't swallow or spit out.
The silence lasted for almost half a minute.
Ultimately, it was the Secretary-General himself who broke it.
"Thirty people." His voice was low, and he emphasized each word.
"Thirty professionally trained International Auror from six different Ministry of Magic, equipped with the full operational support of the International Confederation of Wizards."
"They set up surveillance in London for less than a day, without even catching a glimpse of their target, before the whole city heard the commotion, and they slunk away."
He turned a page of the report in front of him, the paper making a crisp sound between his fingers.
"The report says the sound echoed throughout the city, almost covering all of Greater London. Muggle alarm systems were triggered, and the Muggle government issued an emergency broadcast statement overnight."
He paused for a moment.
"We don't even know how the other side did it."
The Secretary-General closed the report, placed his hands on the cover, and glanced at everyone present.
"Among you all, can anyone tell me how a wizard, no matter how powerful, could possibly create that level of commotion in central London under the watchful eyes of thirty International Auror and remain completely undetected?"
The meeting room was so quiet it was as if even the air had stopped moving.
Minister Pierre of Gaul finally raised his head, a barely perceptible wry smile playing on his lips, "Unless he's not even in those places we're monitoring."
"Or," the old advisor from Kangaroo Country placed the herbal tea on the table, speaking slowly, "He knew where we were from the very beginning."
This sentence was like a pebble thrown into a pond.
The ministers' eyes flickered simultaneously.
The secretary-general slowly nodded. "The advisor is right."
"That's the most unsettling part. He not only knows where we are, but also what we're listening to, what we're looking at, and what we're watching."
"He knew our deployment like the back of his hand, as if he had seen our operational plans with his own eyes."
The minister from Maple Leaf Country couldn't help but speak up, his voice carrying an undisguised urgency:
"But only a few of us knew about the operation plan. Even the Auror sent by the various national Ministry of Magic only received their specific assignments after arriving in London."
"How did he know?"
No one can answer this question.
Fudge sat at the end of the long table, listening to the discussion with a somewhat unnatural expression on his face.
Of course he knew how that You-Know-Who had done it, that guy with the fox mask, that "righteous man driven by interest," that guy who lifted up the entire Black Lake.
He had personally witnessed that person's strength through that light screen.
But he couldn't say anything in this situation, because if he did, everyone would ask, "If you knew, why did you let the operation fail?" and then he would be completely unable to explain himself.
So he just sat there, without saying a word.
The Secretary-General waited a few seconds, but no new remarks came. So he cleared his throat and moved the topic to the next segment.
The issue now goes beyond 'why he knew'.
His voice was even lower than before.
"The question now is, what will he do next?"
The Secretary-General turned to the last page of the report and pushed it to the center of the table.
The page was blank except for a small picture clipped from Muggle newspaper, showing a dark green poster.
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (Part 2)
Released globally on November 15th.
All eyes were on the clipping, that small, blurry picture, which now seemed like a red-hot iron, so hot that no one dared to look at it for long.
"He released his new book the day after our operation failed."
The Secretary General's voice carried an barely suppressed anger, "It was released just as our people were withdrawing from London and hadn't even settled in yet."
"What does this mean? It means he doesn't take us seriously at all."
Minister Pierre finally couldn't hold back any longer, his voice carrying the bluntness of a Gaul: "We've been played."
"He knew we were coming. He waited for us to set up our trap, then no one showed up. After we left, he swaggered around handing out books."
"From beginning to end, he never even showed his face. We didn't even know if he was tall or short, fat or thin."
"Then he just handed out the books, like he was dusting himself off, and said, 'Oh, you guys are done? I'll continue then.'"
After saying this, he leaned back in his chair, spread his hands, as if he were talking about something he had given up trying to understand.
Ms. Winslow seemed to be thinking about something before she finally spoke.
He was responding.
"What?" Pierre turned his head to look at her.
"He's responding to us." Ms. Winslow released her arms, sat up straight, and glanced at everyone present.
"We sent people to arrest him, but he chose the most direct way to tell us that you can't touch me."
She paused for a moment.
"He chose to publish the book after the operation failed so that each of us could see that he was still doing what he wanted to do, and that there was nothing we could do."
Another silence fell over the conference room.
The old advisor from Kangaroo Country placed the empty teacup on the table, the bottom of the cup making a soft, crisp sound as it touched the surface.
He raised his head, his cloudy but still sharp eyes looking at the secretary-general. "So what do we do now?"
"Continue to send people to arrest him? He's already proven it's useless. Don't arrest him? Where will we put our face?"
"What's more troublesome is," he paused, his voice becoming slower and deeper, "That if he wanted to, he could write everything he knows about us into that book."
"He's already writing Hogwarts, who knows if his next book will be about Beauxbatons, and the one after that about Durmstrang, and the one after that—"
He didn't finish his sentence, but everyone present knew what he meant.
In his next book, will he write about things that the Ministry of Magic in various countries don't want people to know?
Will he lay bare all those secrets hidden at the bottom of the filing cabinet and locked in the deepest recesses of the Chamber of Secrets, revealing them one by one to the Muggle?
No one dared to think about this problem.
Because no one can guarantee that he doesn't know those things.
If he knows about Hogwarts, Dumbledore's plans, and the Ministry of Magic's attitude towards the return of You-Know-Who, then why can't he know the secrets of the Ministry of Magic in other countries?
The secretary-general closed his eyes briefly.
"This matter must not be blown out of proportion."
"No matter what he posts next, no matter what he writes, we must make sure that the Muggle world doesn't know too much about this."
"If he exposes everything about the Wizarding World, then none of us will be in a good place."
He opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping across the faces of each minister, finally settling on an unseen point in the air.
"It's not like we haven't experienced this before."