As the black veil, visible only to wizards, began to unfurl in the distance, Auston Greengrass strolled through Diagon Alley with his younger sister, Astoria Greengrass.
"Brother, what have you been so busy with these past few days? I haven't seen you anywhere!"
Astoria asked as she peered curiously into a shop window. Her question, however, received no response from Auston.
Annoyed, Astoria turned to look at her brother, calling softly, "Brother?"
She found Auston staring blankly into the distance. Following his gaze, Astoria saw the distant black veil drifting ominously in the air.
"Astoria, you asked what I've been busy with? This is your answer! For the glory of the Greengrass family! For a greater purpose!"
Astoria turned to him in shock at his fervent exclamation, only to notice his trembling frame and flushed face. But it wasn't fear that made him tremble—it was an indescribable excitement.
Not far away, Lucius Malfoy stood with his wife Narcissa and son Draco, their eyes also fixed on the ominous black veil.
"Father, what is that? I've never seen anything like it! It's amazing!" Draco's curious eyes sparkled as he eagerly asked.
Lucius, however, was pale as a ghost, his voice trembling as he replied, "It is the herald of legend, the return of conflict."
Standing beside him, Narcissa's face mirrored her husband's alarm. She grasped Draco's arm tightly and said, "We need to leave. Now. We're leaving Britain—immediately!"
On a busy London street, a street magician had just concluded his performance. Holding out his hat, he collected scattered bills from the appreciative crowd, bowing deeply in gratitude.
Rising from his bow, he suddenly froze, as if struck by something unseen. The onlookers murmured in confusion until the magician smiled faintly, a single tear glistening in the sunlight as it fell from the corner of his eye.
"Ladies and gentlemen, now for my final trick of the day. Watch closely!"
With a dramatic flourish, he tossed a red cloth into the air. It floated down slowly, seeming to envelop the magician. But when the cloth settled on the ground, the magician had vanished.
"Mom! Look, it's magic!" a little girl in a frilly Lolita dress exclaimed, tugging at her mother's hand.
"That's just a magic trick, dear," her mother said affectionately, scooping the girl into her arms.
"No, Mom! It's real magic!" the girl insisted.
"Alright, sweetheart, you're right—it's magic," her mother replied, stroking the child's golden hair with indulgent affection.
Yet the magician did not reappear, and the crowd slowly dispersed, leaving behind only a pile of abandoned props.
In a shadowy corner of London, a disheveled old man slumped against a wall, his bottle clutched loosely in one hand. Coins occasionally clinked into his tin cup as passersby hurried by.
He remained motionless until a shadow blocked the light above him. Blinking, the old man looked up and gasped in disbelief.
Moments later, he burst into loud, raucous laughter, startling a couple walking past. The sudden outburst caused them to recoil in alarm, drawing the attention of others on the street.
Beneath his tattered clothing, a faint tattoo was visible on his chest: a triangle enclosing a circle, bisected by a vertical line.
Elsewhere, near the British Ministry of Magic, in a Muggle hotel, a group of men stood trembling by a window, staring at the black veil in the sky. They were well-dressed, but their composure was cracking.
Behind them stood a blonde-haired, blue-eyed young woman, her striking appearance drawing the eye.
If Wentworth were there, he would have recognized her as resembling the witch hunter who had ambushed him in the forest and fled.
One of the men suddenly turned from the window, striding toward the woman and grabbing her arm.
"Christine! Christine Graves! This is all your doing! I told you we should have left Britain—at least London!" he roared.
"You thought you could kill Wentworth under Dumbledore's protection? And at Hogwarts, no less? Are you mad? I'm beginning to wonder if your grandfather conspired with Grindelwald back when he infiltrated the Ministry!"
The man's tirade was cut short as a sudden force hurled him across the room. Christine stood with her wand drawn, her expression icy.
The others hesitated, unsure of what to do.
"My plan is sound!" Christine snapped, her voice sharp. "The only way to eliminate Wentworth is through relentless attempts! We may fail countless times, but we only need to succeed once to claim victory!"
As the black veil passed the window, its dark shadow falling over the room, Christine's voice wavered slightly.
"If I made a mistake, it was trusting the intelligence division's reports—underestimating the Pureblood Party as a bunch of weak, scattered remnants!"
"Someone in intelligence made a mistake—a colossal mistake!"
Her words trailed off, her trembling voice betraying a crack in her confidence.
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