At 12 Grimmauld Place, a group of people sat around a table in a meeting.
"Achoo!"
Chris sneezed suddenly, nearly knocking the glass he was holding onto the ground.
Everyone turned to look at him, and Mr. Weasley asked with concern, "Are you coming down with a cold?"
"No, I don't think so." Chris shook his head. "I probably just didn't get enough sleep last night. Never mind, where were we?"
"Moving Harry," Mr. Weasley said solemnly. "We have to get him from his aunt's house on his seventeenth birthday."
"I really don't understand why we have to go to all this trouble!" Sirius said, looking slightly impatient. "What was Dumbledore thinking? We should have let Harry stay here when we picked him up in the first place instead of sending him back to those Dursleys!"
"Dumbledore probably had his reasons," said Mrs. Weasley. "We should trust him, Sirius."
"Yes, I know, you've said that a million times," Sirius replied, his voice rising. "If I hadn't trusted Dumbledore, I never would have let Harry go in the first place."
The room fell silent. No one spoke, because they, too, wondered why Dumbledore had made that decision—why, on the night of Harry's vacation, he had personally sent him back to Little Whinging.
"Sorry, everyone, don't mind me," Sirius said, attempting to break the silence. "So, what's the plan to get Harry back here safely?"
"Isn't it obvious?" Mundungus said lazily. "Just have Dumbledore send him over, just like he did last time."
The shifty wizard was eyeing the shiny silver cutlery on the table, clearly uninterested in the discussion. In his view, the whole thing was unnecessary. With Dumbledore around, who could possibly take Potter away?
"Did you leave your ears somewhere else last time we met?" Mrs. Weasley snapped, her patience with Mundungus wearing thin.
"Dumbledore made it clear that You-Know-Who is not powerless. We must be fully prepared, and that means keeping him out of the plan."
Under Mrs. Weasley's sharp gaze, Mundungus fidgeted and stammered, "I... I forgot... You know, I have a lot to do..."
"You mean selling and smuggling cauldrons?" Mrs. Weasley said coldly. "Or those dodgy objects of unknown origin?"
"Well... I got them all through legal means!" Mundungus protested, puffing out his chest.
Mrs. Weasley snorted. Hah. If his dealings were really legal, would he be hiding here for a week? Someone was definitely after him.
To be honest, she didn't want Ginny and Ron anywhere near someone like Mundungus, but there was little she could do. Dumbledore trusted him, and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix, Mundungus had the right to be here.
The atmosphere grew even more uncomfortable.
"Well, aren't we here to discuss how to safely transfer Harry?" Kingsley, the Auror, interjected, breaking the tension. "Molly, what are your thoughts?"
"It would be best if Dumbledore were involved," Mrs. Weasley said, shifting focus back to the plan. "But we also need to discuss how to ensure Harry's safety in his absence."
At the mention of serious business, she stopped paying attention to Mundungus.
"What about the Invisibility Spell?" she suggested, recalling the car Ron had driven to Hogwarts.
Though she had always scolded Mr. Weasley for modifying the car without her permission, she knew it had an invisibility function. If Ron had thought to use it earlier, they might never have been caught.
If they built another car with the same features, they could safely pick Harry up from Little Whinging. And they already had everything they needed.
Sirius had the car, Mr. Weasley knew how to work on it, and adding flying and invisibility functions wouldn't take more than three days.
But Moody shook his head.
"No," he said after a moment's thought. "The Death Eaters aren't Muggles. There are too many ways to detect an invisible target—Sneakoscopes, Tracking Spells..."
"Then we all go together," Sirius suggested, "and fight them head-on!"
No one responded. There was a brief pause before the conversation continued as if Sirius hadn't spoken—like a dog had just barked in the background.
A direct fight... If Sirius was suggesting something like that, it meant his thinking had sunk to the level of Mundungus.
If it were that simple, they wouldn't even be sitting here discussing plans.
The goal was to extract Harry safely, not hand him over to Voldemort on a silver platter.
Seeing that no one was paying him any attention, Sirius scowled and fell silent.
"What if we connected the house in Little Whinging to the Floo Network?" Mr. Weasley suggested. "The house is protected by Harry's mother's spell and is perfectly safe, so You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters will never be able to get in."
"We could then use the Floo Network or a Portkey to move Harry to a safe place."
"These methods are all controlled by the Ministry of Magic," Sirius said with a frown. "I don't trust them. There's also the risk of exposing Grimmauld Place's location. We can't connect the Floo Network here, either."
"That's easy. We can move Harry to a nearby location," Mr. Weasley countered. "When we make our move, everyone's attention will be on Little Whinging. We just need to get Harry out safely before You-Know-Who can react."
"Yes, that's a good idea," Moody nodded. "And the head of the Department of Magical Transportation is Barty Crouch. I won't comment on his past decisions, but I can guarantee that he abhors dark magic, including the Death Eaters."
While speaking, he subconsciously glanced at Sirius.
After all, it was Barty Crouch's misjudgment that had sent Sirius to Azkaban for twelve years. It could be argued that anyone in his position would have made the same decision, but the fact remained that Crouch had been the one to do it.
As a fellow member of the Order, Moody was still mindful of Sirius's feelings.
"What are you looking at me for?" Sirius asked, his expression composed. "As long as Harry can be retrieved safely, I won't object to whatever method is used."
"That's good," said Moody.
"But just to be safe, we need a backup plan. I propose using Polyjuice Potion—just like the Death Eaters did to lure Harry out of Hogwarts."
"As long as we have enough Harry Potters and they all leave together, it will be difficult to identify the real one in a short time."
"Good idea," Kingsley was the first to agree. "But one thing must be noted: the person taking Harry's place must be prepared to face You-Know-Who at any time."
"Need I say more?" The group exchanged knowing smiles. No one hesitated.
Well, except for Mundungus, whose eyes darted around nervously, his mouth opening as if to protest but producing no sound.
"Then I'll go prepare the Polyjuice Potion," Kingsley said, standing up. "The Ministry should still have some in stock."
"No need." Fred stopped him. "If someone notices you taking Ministry potions, they might suspect something. For example, Dawlish's loyalty has always been shaky."
"But it's too late to brew it now," Kingsley frowned. "We can't just buy it."
"Have you forgotten?" George raised an eyebrow. "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes has a potion business..."
"And we just so happen to have Polyjuice Potion," Fred added with a grin.
"That would be perfect," the group murmured in surprise.
Fred was right. Whether they obtained the potion from the Ministry or bought it elsewhere, there was a risk of exposure. But if Fred and George had prepared it in advance, there would be no problem.
"Now, there's the issue of secrecy," Mrs. Weasley continued. "With so many of us moving together, it's impossible to avoid attracting attention, but we can create diversions as needed."
"Move the date up?" Fred suggested tentatively.
"Or delay it…" George said.
"We could also make additional escape preparations," Mr. Weasley proposed. "We could modify the car so that anyone watching will assume it's Harry's escape method."
"I think you just want an excuse to tinker with the car," Mrs. Weasley eyed him suspiciously.
"How can you say that, Molly? I'm serious—it's for Harry," Mr. Weasley insisted, looking completely sincere.
"I think Dad's idea is a good one…"
Everyone started talking at once, analyzing every possible complication.
The meeting lasted late into the evening, and by the time it ended, everyone was starving.
Mrs. Weasley headed to the kitchen, quickly preparing bacon sandwiches and boiling a pot of potatoes so everyone could eat right away.
Kingsley and Moody continued their discussion as they ate.
Fred took a bite of the plain, unseasoned potatoes and couldn't help but mutter, "I really hope Kyle gets back soon—preferably in five minutes, but tomorrow will do."
"Yes, Kyle always has ideas," George agreed. "With his help, we'd get through all this much faster."
"Don't count on it," Fred sighed. "He's probably still in the Black Forest."
"Those werewolves are really unlucky. They're about to meet Kyle," George chuckled as if he'd just thought of something amusing.
"Shouldn't you say Mr. Scamander?" a member of the Order asked in confusion.
Dedalus Diggle, a longtime member of the Order of the Phoenix, had been around for decades—long enough to know Newt Scamander as a notorious troublemaker but not long enough to be familiar with Kyle.
"Your information is a bit outdated, Mr. Diggle," Fred said with a smirk.
"I don't know if you've heard, but two months ago, Kyle impaled Fenrir Greyback with a spear at Hogwarts and set a tower on fire."
"You mean Fiendfyre?" Dedalus Diggle was stunned, his eyes full of disbelief. "And Albus didn't do anything about it?"
"In fact, Dumbledore was right there," George said. "And he didn't even deduct any points."
Dedalus Diggle instinctively looked over at Kingsley, who gave a small nod of confirmation.
For a moment, Diggle was at a loss for words.
Was Dumbledore really so lenient now? He had let a student openly use Fiendfyre—black magic—inside Hogwarts?
And even the Aurors didn't intervene?
All because the student held an Order of Merlin, Second Class?
His curiosity about this Kyle grew.
"Let me put it this way," Fred said, taking a bite of his sandwich. "From what I know of Kyle, if the werewolves cooperate, they might be able to save one of their own."
"But that's unlikely," George said, waving his hand dismissively. "After all these days, Kyle's patience is probably wearing thin. I wouldn't be surprised if he just burns down the entire Black Forest along with the werewolves inside."
"No! That's impossible," Dedalus Diggle objected firmly. "Newt wouldn't let him."
…
Meanwhile, in the Black Forest.
"It's just a simple Fiendfyre Curse. It shouldn't be a problem, right?" Kyle glanced at Newt beside him, feeling a bit puzzled.
A moment ago, he had been ready to cast the spell at the cave, intending to deal with the werewolves once and for all. But just as the flames had started to form, Newt had appeared out of nowhere and interrupted him. The fire dissipated instantly.
"Have you forgotten that this is the Black Forest?" Newt glared at Kyle. "Apart from the Forbidden Forest, it's the only place in Britain suitable for most magical creatures to live. Do you want to destroy it?"
"It's just a cave. It's not that serious," Kyle muttered. "And I can put the flames out..."
Newt's expression grew increasingly serious, and Kyle's voice grew quieter and quieter.
"Fine, I won't use it."
Newt's expression eased slightly upon hearing that.
"And the Nundu won't work either," he continued. "Its venom will spread through the forest, and the first to suffer will be the Bowtruckle that led you here."
Just then, a piercing roar echoed from not far away.
Whether it was due to the incomplete spell earlier or because the two of them had been talking too loudly, they had been discovered.
A filthy man suddenly leaped down from a tree, shrieking as he aimed his wand at Kyle and Newt without hesitation.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The hoarse voice was more of a beastly growl than human speech. Kyle and Newt quickly retreated, narrowly dodging the green jet of light.
In the brief seconds that followed, more werewolves emerged from different directions, but there was no movement from the cave ahead.
It was a trap. Or perhaps just a staged entrance.
They really are werewolves, and they're cautious, Kyle mused.
But there was no time to think about that now.
As soon as the werewolves appeared, they surrounded Kyle and Newt. At first, there was a flicker of apprehension in their eyes, but upon seeing that only two wizards stood before them, their expressions turned smug.
"Hah, you scared me. I thought those pests from the Order of the Phoenix had shown up," one of them sneered. "But instead, it's just an old man and a fresh young kid..."
A lanky werewolf stepped forward. His brown hair was so matted that it tangled into his beard, and a foul stench radiated from his body.
"Tell me, how did you find your way here?"
He grinned, exposing rows of yellowed, grimy teeth. "If your answer satisfies me, I might consider—"
"Letting us live?" Kyle cut in.
"Letting you live? Ha... hahaha!" The werewolf suddenly burst into laughter, and the rest of the pack followed suit, their laughter ringing through the trees. They seemed to find the wizard's words laughably naïve, as if they were amused by the sheer absurdity of the idea.
"If you've made it here, you won't be leaving alive."
The leading werewolf raised his wand. Kyle noted that his fingers bore long, yellowed nails—much like Fenrir Greyback's.
"But if your answer satisfies me, I can make your death a little less painful."
"Hmm, okay," Kyle mused, running a hand along his chin as if deep in thought. "Do you mean it?"
"Of course. I never lie," the werewolf grinned again.
The next second, a piercing scream shattered the laughter.
Not far away, a tree vine suddenly sprang to life, striking forward like a spear and driving straight through a wizard's chest.
Because the werewolves hadn't transformed yet, their bodies were as fragile as any other wizard's. The sharp vine impaled the man with ease, pinning him against a tree.
"You damn wizard! How dare you trick me!" the lead werewolf roared, swinging his wand toward Kyle.
"Avada—"
"Expelliarmus!"
Before he could finish the Killing Curse, his wand flew from his grasp, spinning through the air before landing neatly in Kyle's hand.
"What was that?" Kyle asked innocently, twirling the stolen wand between his fingers.
Without waiting for an answer, he flicked his own wand, and a series of faint runes glowed in the air.
"Feravireo!"
The effect was immediate.
All around them, the forest seemed to come alive. Roots burst from the ground, writhing like enormous serpents. Fifty-foot-long vines slithered and coiled with alarming speed, lashing out to ensnare anything that moved.
More and more trees surged upward, their limbs stretching and twisting as if possessed, joining the chaos of the battlefield.
Some of the werewolves hesitated. They had never seen magic like this before, and for a brief moment, they froze.
A moment was all it took.
Roots snapped around their legs. Then their arms. Then their entire bodies. Within seconds, several werewolves found themselves bound, unable to move.
"Use Fire-Making Charms! Burn them!" someone shouted in a panic.
But before he could even draw his wand, he made the mistake of looking up.
A pair of bright, dark purple eyes met his.
His body sagged instantly. His eyes rolled back. And then, amidst the sounds of battle, his loud snoring filled the air.