Before the words were finished, a thunderclap suddenly exploded outside the window, making the glass window vibrate.
The raindrops started almost immediately after the thunder, falling heavily and rapidly, as if someone had poured the entire River Thames over your head.
The rain pattered against the windowpane, and the entire outline of Baker Street was instantly blurred into a gray blur by the rain.
Looking at the torrential rain outside the window, Allen's lips curled into a slight smile, and he couldn't help but mutter to himself, "This rain really came at the right time."
He was thinking about it; there were two particularly difficult aspects to his plan.
One challenge was how to send messages out under the watchful eyes of thirty International Auror, and the other was how to contact the Muggle leadership.
The first problem was already tricky enough; the second one is even more difficult.
As soon as the rain came, all the problems in his mind were solved, and he instantly had a solution.
"System," he asked in a low voice, "Can the Limited Character Card) be used normally in the rain?"
[The use of the Limited Character Card) is unaffected by weather conditions. However, the visible light effect of the Memory Charm will further reduce visibility in heavy rainfall.]
Allen grinned, feeling much more relaxed.
He glanced back at the coat rack where his new trench coat was hanging, reached out and took it down, then neatly draped it over his shoulders.
Then he walked to the corner and picked up the large black umbrella with a long handle that was on the umbrella stand.
It was an ordinary Muggle umbrella, made of black nylon fabric with a wooden handle, without any magical modifications.
"Alright," he opened the umbrella and pushed open the door to the subspace, "It's time to go for a stroll."
The rain swallowed his figure.
The rain on Baker Street was heavier than Allen had anticipated.
Rainwater gushed down the drainage ditches on both sides of the street. All the pedestrians had long since fled, and the entire street was as empty as a gray riverbed soaked in water.
The streetlights cast a dim, yellowish glow in the rain, illuminating the raindrops that had been blown askew by the wind into shimmering, silvery curtains.
Allen walked along the sidewalk, holding an umbrella, his pace neither fast nor slow. The hem of his black trench coat was lifted and then fell back down by the wind, like a black bird gliding close to the ground.
His gaze swept casually across both sides of the street.
Lucius's scheming ability laid out a detailed map in his mind, automatically marking every potential observation point.
Behind the closed window of the old bookstore on the street corner, a figure had been standing for a long time.
Across the street, a gray sedan was parked on the side of the road. The windows were tightly closed, but a figure could be vaguely seen moving inside the windshield.
Walk about fifty steps further, next to the iron fence of the rainwater collection inlet, and a person is standing under a lamppost, holding a dark blue umbrella.
Three, Allen counted silently in his mind.
There are already three on this stretch of Baker Street alone.
There are a total of thirty International Auror, but they are distributed in different areas of London, with Baker Street having the highest density.
He kept walking, unhurriedly.
He noticed a man in a dark gray coat standing in front of a closed barbershop about ten steps ahead.
He was holding a large black umbrella, looking no different from any other person seeking shelter from the rain on the street.
But Allen noticed a slight, unnatural bulge on the other person's left chest—although it was mostly covered by the coat.
It looked like someone had pinned a badge there and then zipped their jacket all the way up.
It's highly likely to be International Auror.
Allen's breathing rhythm remained unchanged, as did his steps.
He continued walking forward, lowering the umbrella slightly to cover the upper half of his face.
As he walked, he checked the status of the limited-edition character card on the system panel.
Lockhart's card is activated, and he has about fourteen minutes left, enough for all his next actions.
Just then, the man in the gray coat standing at the entrance of the barbershop moved.
He casually adjusted the angle of his grip on the umbrella, but Allen noticed that his gaze had already fallen on him.
The person was sizing him up—from head to toe, from his black trench coat to his black long-handled umbrella, their gaze lingering on him for about a second or two.
Allen's heart tightened, but his steps remained unchanged.
The man switched the umbrella handle to his left hand, and his right hand naturally hung down to his side.
The hand was positioned very close to the inside of his coat hem, so close that if he needed to do something in the next second, the wand inside could be pulled out in an instant.
He took a step toward Allen, as if he were about to ask a question to a stranger on the street.
The rain was very loud.
Allen could hear the rain pattering against his umbrella, as rainwater streamed down the edges of the ribs, forming a fine curtain of water in front of him.
He continued walking forward, about seven or eight steps away from the man.
Five steps.
Three steps.
Allen's lips twitched slightly. He barely paused, his right hand holding the umbrella remained firmly in place, the large umbrella keeping the wind and rain out.
His left hand hung at his side, just before the man in the gray coat was about to speak—
An almost invisible silver light emanated from his fingertips, flashing almost instantaneously in the rain.
The light was so faint, as faint as a shard of glass occasionally reflecting light in a rain shower.
The rain pattered down, completely merging the already faint silver light into the gray sky.
The man's lips had just parted, and before he could utter a sound, his gaze suddenly became blank for a moment, as if someone had gently flipped a switch in his mind.
Allen calmly held his umbrella and "brushed past" the man, who didn't react at all.
He stood there, still holding the umbrella, his gaze shifting from focused to blank, and then back to the indifferent expression of a normal passerby.
He looked at the empty street in front of him; the rain was still falling, the wind was still blowing, and there wasn't a single pedestrian.
He scratched the back of his head and muttered under his breath, "This rain is really heavy."
After saying that, he readjusted his grip on the umbrella, hunched his shoulders, and turned to walk towards the other end of the street, as if he had never noticed anyone passing by.
Allen continued walking forward.
His fingers tightened slightly on the umbrella handle; the release of that Memory Charm had relied almost entirely on Lockhart's skill.
Quirrell's lingering combat memories taught him how to Nonverbal Spellcasting, Flitwick's fighting experience gave him the timing and precision to strike.
But the "texture" of this Memory Charm was entirely Lockhart's work; the silky smooth feeling of erasing a memory with almost imperceptible resistance was unlike any spell he had ever used.