"We found Freddy, Nia, and Bruce, and finally obtained from them, the list of all wizards who smuggled themselves out of the country in the days immediately after the package was sent. It's all documented here, Mr. Watson—" Kingsley's deep voice carried a note of hard-won success as he extended the parchment.
It was undoubtedly a terrible day by anyone's standard; the white snow that had blanketed the flower beds along the cobblestone road and snow accumulated on the slanted Victorian rooftops had not completely melted.
In the early morning hours, the oppressively gloomy gray sky had begun to drizzle again. The damp cold air caused a thick layer of ethereal, mist to float over the dark, churning waters of the Thames, which, occasionally disturbed by the gentle breeze, began to creep toward the row of historic houses along the riverbank.
Standing by the bed, Bryan withdrew his pensive gaze from the misty, melancholic world visible through the rain-streaked windowpane and turned to accept the list handed to him by Kingsley. He studied the document intently, his finger occasionally pausing to touch a particular name.
There were indeed several familiar names on the parchment list, but that circumstantial evidence alone proved nothing conclusive in their investigation. He looked at the countries these smuggled individuals had fled to after leaving England. After a thoughtful moment, he offered new strategic advice:
"—We have limited manpower at our disposal, Kingsley, and realistically cannot interrogate everyone on this list within our timeframe. In my opinion, we should focus our immediate resources on tracking those suspects who went to France, Germany, and Albania—"
Kingsley's reaction was also very quick; after only a two-second pause, he realized why Bryan Watson had given such instructions.
"You mean those countries directly matching the locations where the wizards particularly skilled in ancient and forbidden curses are currently residing, according to the list you provided?" He asked, his deep voice lowered despite their privacy charms.
"Exactly—" Bryan confirmed with quiet satisfaction at Kingsley's understanding.
Bryan pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, momentarily closing his eyes as he did so, appearing somewhat fatigued from the sleepless nights and relentless pressure of the investigation.
"This judgment isn't entirely rigorous but we're pressed for time in this matter and can only select the most promising investigative options—"
It was undeniably a rational and strategically wise decision, given their restrictions. The efficient Kingsley nodded silently, as he prepared to leave the guest room to immediately arrange the necessary surveillance and tracking work.
But before completely exiting through the door, he paused with his hand on the doorknob, turned back with an expression of recalled importance, and said hesitantly,
"The Muggle girl, Mr. Watson, I just received word that she's finally awake—"
Last night, when they had brought the visibly shaken Muggle girl named Louise Williams to the room where the Muggle youth called Fraser had died, the situation had quickly deteriorated.
Although Louise had clearly anticipated from their serious expressions and subtle warnings that something terrible might have happened to Fraser, when she actually saw Fraser's pale, lifeless body lying on the bed, her emotional composure immediately collapsed.
She cried uncontrollably, and no matter how Bryan or Kingsley tried to comfort her, they couldn't stop her tears. Louise's grief was understandable given the circumstances, but when she threw herself onto Fraser's cold body and stubbornly refused to leave the house under any circumstances, loudly saying she would never abandon her brother again, it greatly troubled Kingsley and his team of Aurors.
Therefore, Bryan had had no choice but to discreetly and silently cast a carefully adjusted stunning spell on her and subsequently feed a dose of calming potion to gently soothe her overwhelming emotions before carefully transporting her here to the safe house.
The house they were in was a restored three-story Victorian villa with a small private garden by the Thames River. The garden was enclosed on three sides by iron railings preventing unauthorized people from casually entering the premises.
Curious Muggles who occasionally liked to stroll along the scenic riverside pathway naturally assumed it was simply an exclusive private holiday villa belonging to some eccentric, wealthy aristocrat who valued their privacy above all else.
In reality, it served as a strategically positioned, magically well-protected safe house established years ago by the British Ministry of Magic's elite Auror Department for sensitive operations in central London.
Upon hastily arriving here in the early hours, the team of Aurors had urgently modified the interior furnishings and removed or disguised numerous magical objects to ensure they wouldn't inadvertently expose the wizarding world to the traumatized Muggle woman in their care as a breach of the International Statute of Secrecy would only compound their current troubles.
"Something that Muggle Woman said unintentionally last night during her emotional breakdown deeply concerns me—"
After a brief silence, Bryan finally said, "I must speak with her as soon as possible."
The fireplace burning with vigorous flames made the deep-colored entrance hall as welcomingly warm as a spring afternoon, but even this pleasant physical comfort couldn't begin to dispel the somber atmosphere permeating the villa.
Bryan walked out of the room, momentarily gazed through the rain-spattered windows at the thoroughly rain washed plants in the enclosed yard, which appeared an unusually vibrant dark green against the gray backdrop, and then turned to ascend the spiral staircase along the wall leading to the second floor.
Hanging conspicuously on the wall directly facing the top of the stairs was a row of oil paintings depicting renowned Aurors of previous generations who had heroically passed away in service to the wizarding community.
Bryan glanced at them and could immediately perceive that these usually dignified Aurors' faces contained unmistakable anger and frustration in their eyes—clearly disapproving of having themselves suppressed, even temporarily.
The Aurors who had hastily prepared the place last night hadn't completely removed the living portraits of their predecessors; they had just applied a special magical treatment to temporarily prevent the figures in the paintings from moving or speaking while the Muggle remained on the house.
After smiling apologetically to the silenced figures, Bryan turned decisively to the right and followed the corridor to the furthest bedroom, which had been specially prepared for their guest.
The heavy wooden door was partly open, not fully closed. Bryan didn't knock, judging it might unnecessarily startle her, but instead walked directly in.
The four-poster bed with its blue silk drapes was empty, the covers were thrown back hastily, and the steaming breakfast tray on the bedside table showed no signs of being touched. The spacious room was as eerily quiet as if completely unoccupied, creating an atmosphere of abandoned desolation.
Sighing slightly with concern, Bryan passed the foot of the bed and walked toward the balcony doors, drawn by some intuition about where their troubled guest might have sought refuge from her overwhelming emotions.
He gently drew back the woolen curtains, allowing the dim, gray daylight to filter into the shadowy room, brightening it slightly. Then, he slowly opened the glass-paneled wooden door separating the balcony from the bedroom's interior and stepped onto the balcony.
Louise Williams was curled up tightly in the farthest corner of the balcony like a wounded animal seeking shelter, her arms were wrapped around her with drawn-up legs, creating a barrier between herself and the world. Her reddened eyes were fixed on the gloomy, storm-tossed landscape beyond the railing, and her eyelashes still held a few unshed tears.
She hadn't bothered putting on her coat despite the cold weather, but wore only a thin sweater. The partially covered balcony's slanted roof couldn't completely shield her from the, fine icy rain; the dark, spreading wet marks on the stone floor extended to Louise's feet and had already silently crept up her trouser legs in darkening patches, causing her body to tremble involuntarily from the cold, though Louise herself seemed completely oblivious.
Bryan pursed his lips. He moved his fingers slightly, and immediately the wind and rain visibly changed their course in the vicinity of the balcony. The chill in the air was quickly dispelled by some invisible force that seemed to create a bubble of comfort around them, making the temperature no longer so unbearably cold.
"Would you like to talk?" Bryan said walking slowly to Louise's side, his gaze carrying traces of compassion.
Louise's eyelashes fluttered as reality partially attracted her attention. She looked blankly at the gray-haired young man who had somehow appeared silently beside her without her noticing his approach.
An instinctive fear of the unknown made her curl up even tighter.
The grief of losing a loved one cannot be soothed by empty consolations. Bryan, having experienced such torment in both past and present lives, knew this truth well. He didn't say anything more but turned and walked back inside.
Moments later, he returned carrying Louise's coat.
When this man named Bryan Watson approached with her coat held in his hands and gently placed it around her trembling shoulders like one might care for a child, Louise suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to burst into tears again, but ultimately, she managed to restrain herself.
"Thank you—" Louise said in a hoarse, dry voice that showed how much she had cried, and the man in front of her simply pursed his lips and gave her a gentle, understanding smile.
In the silence that followed, Louise found herself recalling all the beautiful, precious memories related to her brother—their childhood, common secrets hidden from parents, inside jokes that no one else understood—before gradually awakening again from the desolate internal land of her grief to the reality around her.
During this period of silence, Bryan Watson beside her hadn't made any sound or movement, just quietly accompanying her in her mourning, offering the gift of patient presence.
This considerate restraint filled Louise with immense gratitude. As a professional reporter accustomed to the urgency of deadlines and information gathering, she knew perfectly well that Bryan must have countless urgent questions for her regarding her brother's death, yet he had said absolutely nothing to pressure her, allowing her the dignity of her grief.
'He is truly a considerate man—' Louise thought.
"Who exactly are you—" When Louise finally began to speak on her own, even Bryan felt subtly relieved.
If this traumatized Muggle girl had remained locked in her uncontrollable grief much longer, he would have been reluctantly forced to use some unconventional magical methods on her, which, truthfully, he was reluctant to do to a young woman who had so recently lost a family member, whether she was a Muggle or a wizard.
His ethics had always drawn certain boundaries that he preferred not to cross unless absolutely necessary.
'But this perfectly reasonable question was destined not to receive a truthful answer—' Bryan thought regretfully, weighing how much he could safely reveal.
"You can consider—" Bryan deliberately didn't look directly at Louise as he voiced his carefully crafted half-truth. Gazing at the river surface being gently rippled by the fine rain, he said in a low voice, "We are a specialized organization affiliated with the government. Our duty is to investigate some, um, particularly special cases that regular police forces cannot handle—"
"You're special agents? Like MI5 or something similar?" Louise's eyes widened slightly with the first spark of professional curiosity, and she blurted out the question.
"You could say that—" Bryan smiled, neither confirming nor denying it.
'No wonder this unusual man had told me during our chance encounter that he wouldn't stay in this country often,' Louise thought as curiosity rose in her mind.
After all, being a special government agent was a profession shrouded in mystery and fascination for ordinary citizens being the stuff of films and thriller novels rather than everyday reality for common folks.
However, the thought that subsequently arose in her mind like a dark cloud extinguished her momentary curiosity. Her expression darkened and even her golden hair seemed to lose its natural shine in the dim light, becoming as dull and lifeless as her spirit felt.
"May I ask—" Louise hesitantly brushed aside a strand of wet hair that had stuck itself to her pale cheek, and her voice was filled with sadness, "How exactly did you find Fraser?"
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