"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 387: God's Will Stands Above Mortal Law!
Agnese Vieri didn't even look up. She was meticulously wiping a faint scratch from her kite shield with a spotless linen cloth—a mark left by the aftershock of Douglas's lightning.
Piero Rossi stopped in front of her, his tone icy. "I, Piero Rossi, as Director of the Law Enforcement Department of the Italian Ministry of Magic, am formally reminding you of this: The actions of the Order of Saint Sebastian are in clear violation of Article 73 of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, as well as the Italian-Vatican Magical Affairs Memorandum of Understanding, jointly signed in 1929. That memorandum explicitly states that Vatican armed forces must—prior to any operations on Italian soil—"
"Director Piero." Agnese finally looked up, cutting him off.
"We are hunting an A-class heretic on the Vatican's blacklist. Our authority comes from God, not your tedious bureaucratic paperwork."
Her voice was cold as winter stone, utterly unyielding—a simple statement of fact, not to be debated.
A young Auror in Piero's retinue couldn't hold back any longer. He stepped forward, face flushed with anger. "But you nearly caused a massive Muggle exposure! If the Statute of Secrecy is breached—"
Agnese didn't even spare him a glance. Her ice-blue eyes locked on Piero, lips curving in the faintest, most contemptuous of smiles.
"God's will stands above mortal law. When heresy threatens the very foundation of faith, purification itself is sacred—no matter the means."
Piero let out a sharp, bitter laugh.
He took a step closer, so near that his perfectly pressed collar nearly brushed her chin. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper, every word razor-sharp: "Don't forget, Vieri—this is Italy, not the Vatican! Your divine mandate means nothing to the Ministry of Magic.
You've caused a spectacle—if Muggles get wind of it, will you take the blame, or should I draft the report to the International Confederation of Wizards for you?"
"Isn't that what your Memory Modification Squad is for?" Agnese's reply was casual, but it struck right at the heart of Piero's frustration.
"After all, upholding the Statute of Secrecy is your department's job."
That supreme disdain made several Aurors behind Piero grip their wands tight.
Piero raised a hand, halting them. His smile only grew colder.
"Very well. It seems Commander Vieri has so graciously divided up our responsibilities.
In that case, let me ask you this—using divine-punishment-level magic on Italian soil, and targeting a current Hogwarts professor, is that also in your job description?
There was no notification to the Department of International Magical Cooperation, nor to the Auror Office.
Should I take this as the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith declaring... war on the British wizarding world?"
He deliberately escalated the confrontation to the level of international diplomatic crisis.
Agnese's hand finally paused in its polishing.
She looked up, her ice-blue gaze utterly calm—no anger, only the distant indifference of one looking down on a child who doesn't know better.
"Director Piero, if you object to our actions, have your Minister schedule an appointment with His Eminence the Cardinal of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith."
She paused, then added, "I'm sure you'll get a reply before next spring. Now, we're leaving."
"He will." Piero's lips curled into a frosty arc. He stepped back, putting distance between them—like a bowstring drawn taut.
"And he'll bring a complete report on the illegal experiments of Project Adam. I imagine His Eminence will be very interested to discuss the Sacred Cage and those werewolves who 'died of natural causes' in your archives."
The moment "Project Adam" left his lips, the air seemed to freeze.
Agnese's grip on her shield tightened, her pupils constricting ever so slightly. Still, her expression never wavered.
She said nothing else—just gave Piero a long, searching look. There was anger at being caught out, but also a new respect for Piero's intelligence network.
Without another word to the ashen-faced Piero, Agnese gestured to her knights.
In an instant, they all transformed into shafts of gentle holy light, shooting skyward and vanishing into the night—a Vatican-exclusive mode of travel, not Apparition, but Sacred Translocation.
Once her subordinates had departed, Agnese turned to Piero, her voice echoing as if from a great distance:
"Some shadows run too deep for the Ministry's candlelight to reach. Be careful... lest you lose yourself while staring into the abyss."
With that, she too became a beam of holy light and vanished.
Only the Italian Aurors remained, surrounded by the wreckage.
Piero stood rooted to the spot, his face livid, fists clenched so tightly that his nails nearly drew blood.
He knew: that was both a warning and a supreme act of—provocation.
A young Auror shook with anger. "Director! They're... they're so arrogant! They don't care about us at all!"
Piero crouched, scooping up a handful of mud laced with silver powder and holy water. He brought it to his nose and inhaled.
His eyes burned—not just with anger, but with a long-smoldering fury at being violated on two fronts.
"Bastards."
He spat the word, then stood and hurled the mud to the ground with all his strength.
"Two bastards! One treats my territory like his own backyard—coming and going as he pleases! The other's even worse, turning this place into the knights' open-air firing range!"
His voice was low, but it silenced the entire team of Aurors.
The dizziness of Apparition fading, Lupin found himself in a deep, ancient chamber.
The air was thick with dust and the scent of dried bones. Skulls were stacked high along the stone walls, their hollow sockets staring back in the glow of Douglas's wand.
This was an abandoned early Christian catacomb beneath Naples—a corner forgotten by the world, and a perfect hideaway Douglas had discovered years ago in his travels.
"Ugh..." Lupin barely had time to steady himself before he doubled over, retching violently against the bone wall.
His face was paler than the skulls, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.
Douglas said nothing. He quietly produced a crystal vial filled with deep violet potion.
Supporting Lupin, he brought the vial to his lips.
Lupin caught the scent—a mix of Calming Draught and something with a faint note of silvergrass, a counter-curse designed to ward off mental magic.
He drank obediently. Cool warmth spread through him, slowly taming the wildness inside.
As Lupin's breathing steadied, Douglas approached a skull with a hole in its brow, counted up three, then tapped the left eye socket with his wand in the rhythm of "Douglas Holmes."
The wall slid aside, revealing a dark passageway leading deeper underground.
Watching Douglas's actions, Lupin couldn't help muttering:
"Is this a Hufflepuff thing? I've never seen a Gryffindor use a portrait for a door..."
Douglas just shrugged as he stepped through. "Maybe some do—and you just don't know it. Come on in..."
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