I didn't arrive in London alone—Maria accompanied me on this mission. Hermione, Fleur, and Isolde remained behind in Paris. I don't yet have a concrete plan of action. Once I arrive, I'll reach out to some of my contacts to gather preliminary information about the situation.
When we landed on the shores of England, we were met by a fierce wind—so strong that even the sparse trees bent beneath its force. The Channel behind us was no calmer. But what can you do? Autumn has already claimed full dominion.
Even the air felt different here. Whether it was familiar or not is another question, but there was something distinct about it—that much was clear.
"What next, my lord?" Maria asked.
"You're going to observe the Malfoy estate," I told her calmly. "I need to assess how well they're prepared for defense."
"My lord, does that concern you?" she asked, a hint of surprise in her voice.
"Well, not exactly concern," I replied, understanding her reaction. She knows I could stroll through their house like a hot knife through butter—or do it so discreetly that no one would even realize anything had happened. Just in and out—a two-minute adventure. "But I have a feeling there's a surprise waiting for me there."
"Understood," the demoness exhaled.
She left my side. For a while, I tracked her thoughts with mine—subtly enough that she wouldn't notice. Then, I Apparated to Diagon Alley in London.
Once, the magical street had greeted me with an air of freedom and whimsical charm. Now, it reeked of caution, neglect, and poverty. The deaths of so many wizards during the Quidditch World Cup will surely be chronicled in future History of Magic textbooks, but for now, we live with the aftermath.
Magical pests had already begun to infest the street corners—gnomes, pixies, wooden locusts, and others easily identified without deeper scrutiny.
Large Ministry of Magic billboards displayed the faces of Death Eaters. The Ministry sought them alive or dead, with varying bounties attached. These same boards also listed job openings, supply shortages, and food requests. In short, the locals were doing their best to survive. Not long ago, they had basked in the glow of others' failures abroad.
The mass loss of life also meant fewer enforcers of the law, though the laws themselves had grown stricter. This allowed Knockturn Alley—the city's criminal quarter—to push its influence into Diagon Alley. What was once a haven has now become a danger zone.
As I passed Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, I nodded in approval at the waitresses serving the few remaining customers. The owner had taken my advice seriously. Now, all the staff wore provocative, attention-grabbing uniforms with playful accessories—cat ears, bunny ears, little devil horns, and the like.
Well then, let's go in and take a look.
At the entrance, a waitress greeted me. She wore a white blouse unbuttoned nearly to her navel, revealing a sheer black lace bra underneath. Her ultra-tight skirt barely concealed anything, and her high heels accentuated her shapely legs. Atop her head, a pair of white bunny ears completed the look.
"Mister—" she began, then her eyes flickered with recognition, quickly followed by a flash of panic. "Lord Jody, we didn't expect you today."
"It's alright, darling," I replied. "I didn't warn anyone."
"Just a moment, sir. I'll fetch Mr. Fortescue."
"Hold on," I stopped her. "Show me to my seat in the VIP lounge first. Then you can bring him."
"But…" she murmured, a trace of fear in her voice, before nodding as if to herself. "Alright, sir. Follow me, please."
And so I did. As she ascended the steps, the view ahead became even more... intriguing. Let's just say Fortescue had embraced the theme a little more enthusiastically than I expected. Was that a magical squid? Best not to ask questions we don't want answers to.
The VIP area was nearly full, occupied by wizards with a certain... criminal air. They stared in silence, their wolfish eyes tracking me. I smiled. The waitress, on the other hand, cursed under her breath and visibly trembled.
"Sir, please have a seat here," she said, gesturing to a solitary table in one of the less glamorous corners of the lounge.
"Thank you," I nodded.
"Here's your menu."
She handed it to me and practically ran off. The click of her heels echoed long after she vanished—if one were paying attention. The menu hadn't changed much since my last visit, which was a pleasant surprise.
"Hey," a gruff voice called out. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a tattooed man rise and approach. Really? Now? A thug looking for trouble? Ridiculous. My face is unmistakable. So I ignored him.
"Hey, you!" he barked louder, then kicked my table in an attempt to shove it aside. But the wandless sticking and reinforcement spell held perfectly. Instead of a dramatic flip, he recoiled, yelping in pain. "Ouch! What the hell?!"
"Mister," I finally said, as the light shifted just enough to illuminate my face. "You'd be wise to calm down and return to your seat. You're ruining the atmosphere."
"Who the hell do you think you are, huh?"
I scanned the room. No one seemed to recognize me. Disappointing. Not long ago, my face was splashed across every British paper. Either they don't read, or they're too dim to match faces with headlines. At least the waitress figured it out.
"Tsk," I sighed. "You're joking, right?"
"The Basti-Boys don't joke," the man replied.
"Hah," I snorted. "Then clown costumes would suit you perfectly."
Yep, I was heading straight into conflict. That much was obvious to anyone. But if they wanted to escalate things, who was I to stop them from making poor decisions? People need to learn from their own mistakes.
They all drew their wands—and that was their mistake.
I didn't even have to lift a finger. Their wands simply appeared on my table, as if by magic. Well, it was magic. The wands looked poorly maintained—no wonder I could snatch them so easily. Honestly, those wands seemed eager to be anywhere but in those filthy hands.
Silence followed.
Only now did the wizards begin to realize things weren't exactly tipping in their favor. Peeking into the minds of those who've never heard of Occlumency? That's a guilty pleasure of mine. Some of them even had flashes of fear—thoughts of death.
But I didn't plan on killing anyone. I'm not some maniac, after all.
That's when Fortescue entered the VIP lounge. The man looked visibly nervous, though he tried to mask it with a wide, unnatural smile. It didn't take him long to grasp the situation. The wands on my table were hard to miss. He faltered mid-step, then quickly composed himself and approached.
"Lord Jody," he greeted, his smile stretched thin.
I noticed a shift in the thugs' thoughts—like the slow grinding of rusted gears as realization began to dawn.
"Delighted to welcome you to my restaurant," he continued.
And there it was—comprehension flickered in the thugs' eyes. Recognition spread quickly among them. They finally understood who I was—and who they'd been messing with. Fear settled in, thick and heavy. I couldn't blame them. Heh-heh-heh.
"I'm also looking forward to tasting your signature ice cream again," I said with a nod. "I see you went through with my idea—and clearly, it's a hit."
"Yes," he said, casting a wary glance at the thugs. "Though it's brought... complications. For me and the girls."
Another subtle glance. Now things were becoming clearer.
"If you need help, just say the word," I offered. "I'd be happy to explain to these 'complications' that this isn't how things are done. There are a few ways to handle problems... You can take the long road—teach people not to make them in the first place. Or deal with them quickly. As they say: no body, no case. Or is that from a different genre?"
My words made the thugs visibly uneasy. As they should have.
"Well, that wouldn't be a bad idea," Fortescue replied, a trace of amusement slipping into his thoughts.
"What can I offer you in return?"
"First, I need to handle these problems," I said, rising to my feet. "So then…"
"Uh—" a timid voice interrupted. It came from a short man whose belly strained against his shirt. "No offense intended, but we actually have... business elsewhere."
"Yes, yes," the others chimed in, quickly grabbing their things. Not a single mention of their wands.
"Thank you for the lovely ice cream," one of them added awkwardly.
On top of that, they started turning out their pockets, leaving full Galleons on the tables.
"I think I'll add a few protective wards," I said quietly—but just loud enough for the thugs to hear. "That way, information gets to me quickly, and then... a couple of curses, and it's handled."
A little mental nudging stoked their fear just a bit more. And as the saying goes—fear has big eyes. Soon enough, every one of them would be spreading the story that Fortescue's ice cream shop was now guarded by a terrifying monster named Timothy Jody. That alone would be enough to scare off most "gangsters" trying to muscle in for protection fees.
Once they were gone, Fortescue looked at me with a silent question.
"Don't worry," I said, my tone relaxing. "I really will put up a few alert and protection spells."
"In that case, Lord Jody," he said, "if you truly are going to protect my establishment—or at least if your spells will—then I'll offer you a private room whenever you want, the best ice cream in the house, and the prettiest waitresses. But I do hope you understand—they're not love priestesses. If they want something and agree to it, I don't mind... but..."
"Don't worry about that," I waved it off. "I'm not going to force anyone into anything."
"Excellent," the wizard exhaled in relief.
Setting up the defense and alert system was easy enough. The wizards on the first floor watched curiously as magical symbols appeared on the walls, accompanied by pulses of arcane energy tailored to specific protective functions. But that was just the passive defense. For active protection, I transfigured a few creatures designed to act as mobile guardians. They would draw ambient energy from the air, making them mostly autonomous. I gave Fortescue one of the control keys so he could assign them additional tasks—strictly within the scope of security and protection.
Fortescue didn't hesitate to add a note beneath the shop sign. It read: "Under the protection of Timothy Jody." Fine by me. I didn't mind.
I returned to the now-empty VIP lounge and waited for the person I'd arranged to meet before arriving in England. Glancing at my watch, I nodded—still a few minutes to spare. Not that I had to wait long.
Brock Tennerberry entered the lounge. An old friend, and one of the first true teachers I'd had in the magical world. He hadn't changed much since I last saw him—maybe a few more silver strands in his hair, but otherwise still the same sharp, strong wizard.
"Timothy," he greeted, walking over.
"Likewise, Brock," I said, shaking his hand. The former hunter gripped it firmly, just like old times.
"How long are you staying in England?" he asked, settling across from me. A waitress in a red costume with cat ears appeared and handed him a menu.
"Not long," I shook my head. "Just need to take care of a few things on the island."
"Putting this restaurant under protection—was that part of the plan?" he smirked.
"No," I waved it off again. "That just sort of happened. Besides, I like the ice cream here."
"Yeah," Brock agreed. "So, what are your plans?"
"To be honest, I need to talk to the Malfoys about something important. Also, I wanted to ask if you've heard anything about Andrey Bolshanov."
"I'm not interested in your business with the Malfoys," he said with a nod, then his expression darkened. "But Andrey's been causing trouble. He's got a silver tongue—easily manipulates young, foolish wizards."
"Do we know what for?"
"My friend Alexei—he knew Andrey before he ever came to England—says the guy's trying to form a political party."
"And this Alexei…" I prompted.
"I trust him as much as I trust myself," Brock replied. "He was a well-known hunter along the eastern borders of Eastern Europe."
"Alright," I nodded. "So, he wants to build political power... I'd love to have a conversation with him. Any idea where I can find him?"
"According to Alexei, he's trying to become the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts."
"Is that so," I murmured. "Very interesting. Do we know what Dumbledore thinks about that?"
"The Headmaster hasn't said anything yet."
"Then that's fine."
"Tell me—do you have any issues with Andrey?" Brock asked, clearly starting to piece things together.
"I just want to talk to him," I said calmly—but Brock didn't buy it.
"Talk... as in with a wand buried in his guts?"
My silence told him everything he needed to know.
"Alright, that's your business," he said, brushing it off.
After that, our ice cream arrived, and the conversation shifted to different topics—mostly about magic and some intriguing magical theories. Since retiring, Brock had taken a keen interest in the theoretical side of the craft. I offered a few insights that gave him plenty to think about. Even my reading recommendations proved useful.
"It was good seeing you," Brock said with a nod, glancing at the clock on the wall. "But I've got to run. Things to do."
"Same here," I agreed. "Thanks for the updates on what's going on in England."
"Think nothing of it," he chuckled. "And thanks for the insights—and the book tips. They'll help, I'm sure. If you need more info on political movements, reach out. I'll dig something up if I can."
"Appreciate it."
We shook hands and went our separate ways. Brock left quickly, and I requested the bill. That's when Fortescue surprised me—he said everything was on the house, as long as I didn't bankrupt them. Which, frankly, I doubted would happen.
After that, I headed to one of my properties to meet with Chiara. She'd been managing the business quite well in terms of "generating" income. However, the death of so many wizards had impacted those opportunities. Miss Daly had somehow rearranged things to keep us out of the red. For that, I gave her a bonus—which she was absolutely thrilled about.
The night passed without incident. By morning, I received my first report from Maria—one that gave me pause. She'd arrived at the Malfoy estate and conducted a thorough observation. To see things for myself, I teleported to her location and began a careful survey of the grounds.
"So you're saying there aren't just three people in the house right now?" I asked her quietly.
"Yes," she nodded.
Reviewing her memories, I saw several interesting individuals inside the Malfoy residence—besides the Malfoys themselves. Every single face matched wanted posters I'd seen on Ministry boards. In addition, two figures hadn't been seen in the daylight. One exuded the presence of a very powerful wizard. The other was just a boy.
As the pieces fell into place, a conclusion emerged in my mind. That boy—Potter. And the powerful wizard? The Dark Lord. If that's the case, then things line up quite nicely.
"Hmmm," I murmured. "The Dark Lord... that's Dumbledore's problem. Potter too. My interest lies with the Malfoys. Should I storm in, wand drawn? Or inform Dumbledore and let him gather his friends for a noble battle and Potter's heroic rescue?"
"I don't know, my lord," Maria replied thoughtfully to my musings.
Harry Potter is a killer with the tendencies of a maniac.
If he were just an ordinary fourteen-year-old boy, I might have considered whether or not he was worth saving. But in this case? I couldn't care less. They could carve him into pieces and I wouldn't lift a finger. Dumbledore, on the other hand, will likely do everything in his power to save his favorite.
Though I suspect that after the Quidditch World Cup—when he rifled through the boy's mind—Potter might not be so favored anymore.
So... what to do, what to do...
I don't harbor any deep hatred toward the Malfoys. Sure, I want revenge. But I've already fed that fury to goblins, Corsican leaders, and Otton VI's people.
Revenge, in this case, can be served cold.
Alright. I'm sure Dumbledore would relish the chance to face the Dark Lord himself—so I'll give him that opportunity.
"Maria, make yourself invisible to everyone," I told the demoness. "I'll summon Dumbledore. Let's see what kind of show they put on."
"As you command, my lord."
Moving a short distance away from the Malfoy estate, I sent a Patronus to the Headmaster, sharing my thoughts on Potter and Voldemort. The reply came swiftly. A bird-shaped figure shimmered into view, speaking in Dumbledore's voice: he asked me to stay put—he was coming, accompanied by several allies.
True to his word, he didn't keep me waiting long. Ten wizards arrived on broomsticks, most of whom I recognized. Among them were Hogwarts professors: Snape, Flitwick, and McGonagall. Also present were Alastor Moody and Molly Weasley. The rest were unfamiliar to me.
"Timothy," Dumbledore greeted as his team positioned themselves at the vantage point Maria had vacated moments earlier. "It's a curious world we live in, isn't it?"
"Certainly, Albus," I replied. If he was using my first name, I'd return the favor. My level of power allows it.
"How did it come to be that you're here?" he asked.
"Business," I said simply.
"The Malfoys?" he asked quietly, his tone neutral.
"Yes," I nodded.
"He's in there," Moody muttered. "The Dark Lord... and Potter."
Snape, lingering at the rear, looked tense—his hand repeatedly brushed against his left forearm. When our eyes met, he quickly feigned indifference. He wasn't fooling me.
I turned away from him, pointed toward the manor, and asked,
"So then... what's the plan?"
At that moment, Snape tapped his forearm with his wand. Through Maria's eyes, I saw a magical signal pulse outward. Seconds later, dozens of responses echoed from within the house. Subtle—almost invisible. If you didn't know what to look for, you'd miss it entirely.
Looks like Severus Snape is playing for another team.
Oh well… their internal power games are none of my concern.
"Alastor?" Dumbledore asked the old Auror. "What do you say?"
"That depends—what's the objective? Rescue Potter, or strike at the Dark Lord?"
"Our goal is to save Potter," Dumbledore answered, casting a glance toward Molly.
Curious about her deeper motivations, I brushed against her thoughts. Grief poured through—an ocean of sorrow for her husband and sons. That grief had curdled into obsession, driving her to fixate on her youngest daughter. Her goal now? Bind Potter to the girl. She had no idea he was the one who killed one of her sons.
"Then here's the plan," Moody said, stepping forward. "We break into the house—bust the wards. Before they know what's happening, Timothy and I will engage the Dark Lord. Minerva, Filius, and Severus—you push through to Potter. He's on the lower floor. Molly, you'll provide support alongside Kingsley and Tyra."
"And what will the Headmaster be doing?" I asked.
"The Headmaster will be our backup. And if the opportunity arises—we might just be able to take the Dark Lord out as well."
"Of course," Dumbledore nodded.
Not that I trusted any of them. So, silently, I instructed Maria to watch my back. If there was even the slightest sign of danger, she was to raise every alarm she could. I had no intention of dying here—not by a knife, nor a wand, slipped into my spine.
Moody turned toward the house and scowled.
"They're getting ready," he muttered. "By Mordred…"
"Hmmm," Dumbledore murmured, adjusting his glasses. "We can't leave young Potter. We must act."
His group stirred, resolve rising.
As for me—I just wanted to spit. There was a bitterness in my mouth I couldn't explain.
Why did the whole thing feel so stupidly theatrical?
"Then we move," Moody declared.
With a sharp flick of his wand, a powerful Bombarda spell blasted from its tip. Moments later, the spell struck the house's magical barrier, lighting up the shield in a bright flash. The impact rippled across the dome in waves of color before fizzling out at the ground.
The other wizards—and even Snape—joined in, unleashing spell after spell to break the defenses. If the occupants inside didn't have something clever planned, the wards wouldn't last long.
They didn't.
I don't know why, but... the wards gave out. Just like that.
"Move in!"
The wizards grabbed their brooms and shot toward the house. I followed—but kept a safe distance behind. Snape waved his wand, and one of the mansion's outer walls simply vanished.
The Malfoy estate erupted into chaos, transforming into a battlefield. Spells flared in every direction—curses, shields, bursts of magical light. I avoided the main conflict, slipping past dueling Death Eaters as I searched for the Malfoys.
I found them soon enough.
Lucius and Narcissa were locked in combat with Kingsley and Filius—and they were losing. Behind them, Draco stood trembling, his wand raised but shaking too violently to aim.
I raised mine, and with a crackling burst, a portion of the wall near the Malfoys exploded.
"Go help Alastor," I told Kingsley and Filius. "I'll handle things here."
"Understood," Filius nodded. "Good luck, Mr. Jody."
Both wizards rushed off to join the next skirmish. I turned to the white-haired trio and pressed my lips together.
"Do you have anything to say?" I asked, looking directly at them. "Lucius?"
"—Timothy," the man addressed me, "this is a misunderstanding! If I had known, I definitely wouldn't have taken such reckless action. Forgive me!"
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Narcissa's face twist slightly. That wasn't the reaction she had expected from her husband. The expression lasted only a moment, but it was enough for me to catch. In that instant, a plan formed—how to get back at Lucius. A smirk crept across my face. The Malfoys paled in response, clearly misinterpreting it.
"Behind you!"
Maria's warning came just as I sensed a magical surge rushing toward my back. The rest was pure instinct and technique.
One step to the side, conjuring an icy surface beneath me with wandless magic, I slid several meters away. The spin was effortless. The attacker turned out to be Snape, and the spell he'd aimed at me wasn't exactly one that would extend my lifespan. Avada Kedavra rarely brings good vibes.
"Get out of here!" he snapped at the Malfoys.
They didn't need to be told twice.
A house-elf appeared beside them, and in a swirl of magic, they vanished. A flick of the wand, and only the elf returned. Looks like the blondes had a spark of intelligence. But it would cost the elf its life.
The house-elf's head separated from its body and rolled across the floor.
"Professor Snape," I said, turning to the dark-haired man, "do you realize what you've just brought upon yourself?"
The surrounding battle no longer concerned me. Sure, it was a pity the Malfoys had escaped, but I'd deal with them later. Right now, Snape needed an answer.
"I had no other choice," he replied, giving his wand a subtle shake—ready for a fight.
A sharp, powerful spell burst from my wand. Snape, as I knew well, was an exceptional combat mage. He wasn't some kid with a knife—you couldn't treat him like one. I was sure he had tricks up his sleeve.
He didn't waste time showing off. With smooth precision, he slipped to the side, dodging my spell. Since it didn't hit its mark, the magic tore through one wall, then another, and another. The edges of the holes glowed green, cursed by the spell itself.
He retaliated, but the odds weren't in his favor. I had "rooted" myself into the ground, focusing solely on defense as I weathered his barrage of spells. Snape, I could see, was a classic practitioner of the English school of combat magic—precise, calculated strikes, minimal variety, but potent enough to completely disrupt spell chains.
At one point, when Snape had to shift his position to continue the fight, it gave me an opening. The ground beneath him transformed into vegetation that shot upward, wrapping around his body. The dark-haired wizard didn't have time to block my next spell.
But then, a phoenix appeared in the path of the blast. It absorbed the magic and vanished, only to be reborn moments later from its own ashes. Dumbledore—clearly unafraid to step in and protect his subordinate—had already removed the bindings from Snape.
"Timothy," he addressed me sternly.
Just then, a spell tore through one of the walls. Through the dust stepped a tall figure. The headmaster and I both turned to look. I'll say this up front—he wasn't winning any beauty contests. But in a freak show? He'd make a fortune. Red eyes, a snake-like face, green skin, and a strange, feather-light tunic.
"What in the hell is that freak show?" I asked.
"The Dark Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore introduced the wizard.
"Well, nice to meet you," I said with a nod, then pointed my wand back at Snape.
"Timothy Jody, I will not allow you to harm my subordinate in any way," Dumbledore said, voice firm. His beard swayed slightly from the magic he was ready to unleash.
"Old man Dumbledore," came the hissing voice, "I see you've lost quite a bit since our last encounter."
"Thomas," the headmaster replied evenly. "And you're still the same. Look at what you've turned yourself into in your pursuit of power."
"Mr. Jody," the Dark Lord said, trying to sound charming, "I saw you had a few questions for Lucius Malfoy, didn't you?"
"Let's say I did," I answered.
"Then how about joining me?" Voldemort offered. "I'll tell you where the Malfoys are hiding. I'll give you power beyond your wildest dreams."
"Look here, freak," I said to the Dark Lord. "I don't need your scraps. Power? I've got so much of it I could chew it with my ass, and you'd still never understand. You're just a mutant who threw away his human body for the illusion of strength."
"Very well," he hissed. "Then, for the first and last time, I'll help Dumbledore destroy you."
His wand trembled slightly in his hand, eager for action. Dumbledore remained outwardly indifferent, but there was a strange satisfaction in his eyes as the situation unfolded.
"Snape," I said, turning to the dark-haired wizard. "You're cursed. All your failures, your broken dreams, your shattered hopes and desires… they'll become ghosts that haunt you to the grave. And even beyond that, you'll only find peace if you stop being anything at all."
My curse, glowing in blue and red light, surged toward Snape. Nothing could stop it—because it was one of those rare spells that simply couldn't be removed. Sure, in the magical world, nothing is truly impossible—but this came pretty damn close.
Dumbledore couldn't let it go. A spell flew from his wand. At the same moment, Voldemort cast his own spell at me. And just then, a woman with curly black hair—who looked a lot like Narcissa—peeked around the corner and didn't stay out of it either. Apparating out wasn't an option, so I'd have to fight.
But I didn't want to.
My spell traced a circle around me, deflecting every incoming attack. It was a complex piece of magic, requiring the ability to cast without a wand. Before the second wave hit, I transfigured the ground beneath me into a pillar of earth that shot upward at high speed—and from there, it was all about execution.
A hundred decoy spells and another hundred weak jinxes and curses filled the air. I pushed off the rock, transformed into a bird, leveled my flight, and climbed even higher.
A few flashes of magic streaked toward me mid-air, but they missed. I shifted back into human form and leapt onto my Lightning. With it, I blasted away from the Malfoy estate at high speed. Once I had the space to apparate, I unleashed another wave of weak spells—each designed to trigger after my departure and eliminate any chance of being traced.
Meanwhile, Maria remained in the house, quietly observing the unfolding events. My order had been clear: do not interfere. She followed it precisely and simply watched.
The situation played out in an unexpectedly intriguing way. Dumbledore and Voldemort exchanged dramatic, meaningless words, flung some powerful, destructive spells—and then retreated. Their respective backup didn't contribute much after that either.
McGonagall and Flitwick were guarding Potter, who didn't look too great. It was obvious the guy hadn't been fed anything remotely nutritious—more like prison slop. His body was thin, bones jutting out. His skin was covered in crude, obscene tattoos in various places. And if Maria's eyes weren't deceiving me, they'd been done with magical ink—which meant removing them would be reeeeally difficult.
After the area cleared out, Aurors and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement arrived and began investigating. Of course, they more or less pieced together the scale of the battle. A while later, Dumbledore showed up again, saying something to the wizards and a few reporters who were listening closely. No idea what kind of story he spun—but I'm sure it was something worth hearing.
"What are we going to do next, my lord?" Maria asked upon returning to me.
"Nothing," I replied with a smirk. "Let them sort through everything that's about to unravel here. While the locals are busy entertaining themselves, I've got other, far more interesting matters to attend to."
"I understand."
Really, if you think about it, this little trip to England to handle the Malfoy situation turned out to be a bit of a flop. I didn't resolve the Malfoy problem, nor did I take care of Andrei.
Finding him wasn't hard, but since he was in Hogwarts—under the protection of the headmaster and a few other powerful wizards—I decided not to eliminate him just yet. Sure, taking him out wouldn't have been difficult, but with students nearby, I didn't want any collateral damage. Andrei had chosen a very smart tactic to stay alive.
A small tracking spell—a kind of magical tag—will serve as my guide from here on out. So now, he can't hide from me. There won't be any students in Hogwarts over the summer. That's when I'll destroy him.