Cedric's bread was casually stuffed into Hedwig's mouth as William opened the package grasped by the owl.
A copy of the Prophet Daily, a well-wrapped package, and a letter.
"...Was there a photographer on the scene at the time?"
Looking at the headline of the Prophet Daily showing a giant dragon spiraling and spewing flames, William muttered as he unfolded the newspaper.
Starry Sky Circus, Fire Dragon, Muggle witnesses, an unknown powerful Black Wizard, Auror Squad successfully captured... the scattered keywords below the picture quickly conveyed the story that the Prophet Daily wanted to tell. The described events seemed quite consistent with reality, but the ending appeared somewhat different...
"... According to the author, that Black Wizard has been captured on the spot by the Auror Squad. The adult Fire Dragon has been sent to Romania, and the Black Wizard attempting to steal the dragon will face legal sanctions, potentially leading to imprisonment in Azkaban.
"All Muggle witnesses that day have successfully been resolved with the intervention of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, under the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.
"Author, Vanessa Locke."
"...Well, identified as a student of journalism."
Casually stuffing the bacon on the table into his sleeve, William placed the newspaper aside, and Cedric quickly picked it up. He glanced at the picture above, patted William on the shoulder instinctively, "Oh, it's that Fire Dragon. Are you interested in this?"
"You know about it?"
"Of course, a Fire Dragon, only half a mile away from the nearest Muggle community, so many witnesses they could flood the Ministry of Magic..." Cedric exclaimed, widening his eyes with exaggerated tone, "My dad says this is possibly the biggest crisis of the Wizarding World in front of Muggles in the past decade... almost needed the Misinformation Office to step in."
"And then, and then?"
Sitting across the dining table, Justin Finchley quickly asked curiously, as a little wizard from a Muggle background, he didn't often get in touch with these things during holidays.
"But the Minister stepped in. He seemed to contact the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom directly, and the Muggle papers explained it as an 'aerial flame show by a nearby circus,'" Cedric continued, "Sounds ridiculous, but the Ministry people used a Confundus Charm on nearly all the Muggle witnesses, combined with it being dark, the dragon being black..."
He shrugged, making it clear.
"Those Muggles just believed it?"
"What else could they do? Tell them it was a Fire Dragon?"
"Lucky it was a Black Dragon. If it were an Antipodean Opaleye... tut tut." Ernie Macmillan, who had just sat down, also joined the discussion. Not just him, nearly everyone who heard Cedric talking perked up their ears, eagerly waiting for more, and this type of discussion was clearly not confined to the Hufflepuff Long Table.
"I was on the scene; they never caught that Fire Dragon."
At the Slytherin Long Table, Daphne Greengrass confidently asserted, her head still wrapped in several layers of bandages. According to her, she just got out of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries yesterday.
"But I heard you hit your head on a chair and passed out, only waking up at St Mungo's," Draco Malfoy interrupted mercilessly, "The one who stayed conscious was your sister, but even she didn't see the dragon getting caught..." Draco murmured, shaking his head, "My father says it's because someone doesn't want people to know there's still a Black Wizard outside who can ride a Fire Dragon."
"Anyway, let's not talk about that," then suddenly recalling something, he leaned and looked over at the Gryffindor Long Table, "Hey Scarhead, did you know, the eldest Weasley got fined fifty Galleons for the Muggle car; why don't you ask your group of redheads over there if they need some help..."
While saying this, the boy took out a clipping from the Prophet Daily and flaunted it proudly, "Maybe if they bowed down and kissed the ground in front of me, I'd throw them a few Sickles..." His shrill laughter echoed in the Great Hall, followed by the Slytherin Long Table roaring with laughter.
"Ignore him, Harry."
Hermione said irritably, several Weasleys beside her stood up instinctively, Fred even pulled out his magic wand, and if Percy hadn't stopped him, Malfoy probably would've had a few evil curses coming his way the next second.
"Of course, I..." Harry didn't lift his head, only realizing Malfoy was speaking to him after Hermione reminded him.
The boy's gaze remained fixed on the Hufflepuff Long Table, at that white owl perched on William's shoulder looking for snacks—damnable, clearly, I came first... Harry angrily stabbed the pickled herring on his plate with a fork until the fish was completely shredded to pieces.
And as William finished dealing with Hedwig and opened the letter from the package, the conversation at the Hufflepuff Long Table was wrapping up—
"...Just now, you said it was the most serious incident in the past ten years, what about the one before that?"
Justin absentmindedly poked the bread on his plate, his mind wholly engaged in the discussion.
"The one before?" Cedric took a deep breath, instinctively glancing around, then leaned forward, and everyone nearby followed suit, "That would obviously be..." the boy enunciated each word, "You know who..."
"Hiss—"
The sound of people gasping echoed around the long table, and let us congratulate Hufflepuff for making a minute contribution to global warming.
Watching the surrounding little wizards tactically leaning back, William opened the letter in his hand:
Mr. Richard, I have successfully connected with the Minister, but the Polyjuice Potion consumption is quite high; currently, it can last for about two and a half more days. The next plan is France, scheduled for February 15th...
The writing is ugly, even abstract, and William frowned as he deciphered the content approximately.
However, evidently, Mundungus did quite a good job. The connections on the Minister of Magic side were found independently by Toby Drake before anything happened, plenty thanks to this werewolf capitalist who has been in the Wizarding World for decades, growing his enterprise under constant discrimination—not a fool, clearly.
Unfortunately, all intellectual strategies fail when brute strength comes into play; money was of no use.
Packing up the package and letter, then bidding Cedric goodbye, William grabbed his school bag and left the Great Hall—no matter how impressive, he still had to attend classes now.
Perhaps because the Christmas holiday had just ended, Professor McGonagall didn't introduce any new courses, only having everyone review the "Vanishing Spell" taught at the beginning of the term. And having already vanished the cup on his table early on, William could only idly stare at Professor McGonagall for a long while before suddenly remembering—
"What is it? Mr. Richard," after class, McGonagall looked at the boy approaching the podium, frowning, "This week's evening tutorial is supposed to be on... Thursday, and you should have a lesson on Defense Against the Dark Arts afterwards..."
"Attend Professor Lockhart's performance class?" William retorted.
"...Okay, what's the matter?" McGonagall hesitated for a moment, then instinctively tightened her lips.
"I heard you are an Animagus?"
"..."
"Actually, I've been considering it as well..."
"...?"