On the edge of the Ottery St Catchpole in Devon, in a field surrounded by low hills and bushes, the air suddenly began to distort.
The first green light burst forth from the fireplace of an abandoned barn at the foot of the mountain, and Scrimgeour strode out of the flames, the hem of his Dragon Hide coat still covered in soot.
Without pausing, he immediately stepped aside to clear the fireplace opening, and the second Auror rushed out, followed by the third and the fourth.
Within just a dozen seconds, the barn was packed with people.
More than twenty Auror arrived from different fireplace nodes.
This is the standard encirclement tactic of the Auror Office of the Ministry of Magic: multiple nodes teleport simultaneously, spreading out in various directions around the target to form the first encirclement.
"Report the numbers." Scrimgeour's voice was low, but everyone in the barn heard him clearly.
"The team is complete."
"Team Two is complete."
"All three teams are present."
"All four teams are present."
"All five teams are present."
Scrimgeour nodded, took a small silver badge from inside his coat, and pressed it against the stone wall of the barn.
The badge shimmered with a faint light, and a rudimentary topographical map appeared on the stone wall, an aerial view of the area.
The location of the Burrow is marked in the very center, and the crooked, multi-story building's outline stands out prominently on the map.
"Everyone check your brooms." Scrimgeour's gaze swept over everyone present. "Teams three, four, and five, proceed with the side-attack."
"Team One and Team Two, approach me from the front."
"Remember, don't go too fast, maintain formation, and don't give anyone a chance to advance alone."
"Clear."
"Set off."
More than twenty flying brooms took off simultaneously and glided silently out of the various exits of the barn.
In November, the wind on the edge of the Scotland Highlands carried a damp chill, and the low-hanging clouds painted the entire wilderness a gray hue.
The Auror flew close to the contours of the hills, using the shadows of bushes and rocks to conceal themselves.
Soon, the Burrow came into view.
The crooked building stood quietly on a lawn worn white by countless footsteps, the paint on the exterior walls peeling off, and no light shining from the windows.
It looked like an ordinary, even somewhat dilapidated, wizarding family home.
But the sky above its roof is different.
A gigantic skull, composed of countless green sparks, hovered there, slowly rotating, a writhing snake emerging from its mouth, coiling and twisting in the black smoke.
It was the Dark Mark, an existence that once struck fear into the hearts of countless people.
The Auror approached from all directions, quickly forming a complete encirclement around the Burrow.
Everyone hovered in mid-air, looking at the Dark Mark on the roof with complicated expressions.
Scrimgeour hovered due south, closest to the Burrow's entrance.
His gaze shifted from the Dark Mark to the windows and porch of the Burrow, and he frowned.
It's too quiet.
The house was eerily quiet.
This silence was more unsettling to him than the Dark Mark itself.
"Could this be a trap?"
He muttered something to himself, and the communication badge carried his voice to the ears of every Auror.
Just then, the heavy wooden door of the Burrow was suddenly pushed open from the inside.
The sound of the door hinges turning was particularly clear in the quiet wilderness, and a man wearing an old gray robe walked out of the door.
He was thin, wore round-framed glasses, and his red hair was already turning gray; he looked exactly like Arthur Weasley.
At least from the outside, yes.
Arthur stood on the porch steps, glanced up at the spinning Dark Mark above his head, then slowly looked away, sweeping his gaze over the Auror hovering in mid-air.
A knowing smile crept across his lips.
"Ah, I knew the Ministry of Magic wasn't just sitting around doing nothing." " Arthur " spoke, the voice was Arthur Weasley's, but his demeanor was nothing like his usual self.
"With this kind of entourage, it seems like all the Auror from the Ministry of Magic have come."
Scrimgeour stared at that face for a while, his expression somewhat complicated.
"You are not Arthur," he said in a low voice.
Arthur tilted his head.
" The Imperius Curse? Or something else?" Scrimgeour guessed to himself, but he clearly wasn't going to wait for " Arthur's " answer. "Are you Tom Riddle?"
When he uttered that last name, his tone carried an almost certain certainty.
Arthur's smile faded for a moment, then blossomed again.
"It's been a long time since anyone called me that," Arthur, raising his hand to touch his face. "Looks like you must have read that damned book?"
He continued without waiting for Scrimgeour's reply.
"However, I do have to thank that book."
"If it weren't for that book, I wouldn't have known I would ultimately fail."
He said this with a frank, almost genuine smile on his face.
Scrimgeour didn't reply; his fingers were moving towards the wand.
"Oh, right."
Arthur raised a finger and shook it gently.
"I forgot to remind you, it's best not to act rashly."
A smile played on his lips as his gaze swept over each Auror suspended in mid-air.
Don't underestimate my reaction speed. Otherwise, your good colleague will be blown to pieces in the next second.
Scrimgeour's hand instinctively stopped; his fingers were just a hair's breadth away from the wand handle, but that tiny distance felt like an insurmountable cliff.
He stared at " Arthur's " smiling face, slowly withdrew his hand, and gripped the broom handle.
"What do you want?" he asked, his voice laced with suppressed anger.
Arthur shrugged.
"Nothing, I just wanted to chat with you guys."
He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his robe pockets, his posture as casual as if he were entertaining guests in his own living room.
"Of course, none of you can leave here either."
Anyone who leaves here will bear the consequences.
A few members of the Auror team moved their brooms slightly, as if they were preparing to do something.
But as soon as " Arthur " finished speaking, everyone stopped.
Nobody dared to gamble.
Scrimgeour's gaze was fixed on " Arthur," as if trying to discern something from his face.
"You want to keep us here?"
Arthur looked at him with a smile.
"Maybe I'm just too lonely?"
For a moment, the two sides stopped talking, and the entire area around the Burrow fell into silence, neither able to gain the upper hand.
Meanwhile, in Diagon Alley.
The setting sun slanted in from the west, bathing half of the stone pavement at the alley entrance in a warm gold light, while the other half remained shrouded in deep shadow.
A man in a sky-blue robe stood at the boundary between shadow and sunlight.
His golden curls shimmered in the setting sun, and a small smile played on his lips; he looked as if he had just stepped off the cover of Witch Weekly.
Gilderoy Lockhart casually stuffed the black diary in his hand into the inside pocket of his robe.
He looked up at the bustling Diagon Alley in front of him. Diagon Alley was at its liveliest in the evening, with laughter occasionally breaking the silence amidst the comings and goings of people. The entire Diagon Alley was incredibly lively.
Lockhart smiled as he watched the scene unfold before him, and murmured softly:
"At Hogwarts, Ginny Weasley has been thrown into the Chamber of Secrets with the Basilisk. Dumbledore certainly won't stand idly by; we can at least stall him for now..."
"At the Ministry of Magic, using the Imperius Curse to control Weasley and threatening him and his wife's lives is enough to hold off the Auror Ministry of Magic..."
"So if trouble breaks out in Diagon Alley, who will be next to step in? A self-proclaimed champion of justice?"
"I really can't wait to see you..."
A glint of crimson flashed in Lockhart's eyes, and he could barely suppress the smile on his lips.
He gracefully drew his wand and pointed it forward:
"Burn, Fiendfyre!"