Over the next two weeks, Maverick remained at Hogwarts, making no evening departures for outside matters.
Classes went on as usual, and aside from the dreadful creatures still flying about the school, a sense of calm settled over the castle.
That was, until the third weekend.
The trials to select the school's All-Star team had been progressing smoothly under the supervision of Steven and Professor McGonagall. But on the second day, during the mock matches to narrow down the final fourteen from the twenty-eight students who had advanced past the first day's challenge, an accident occurred.
The Dementors, it seemed, simply could not resist interfering whenever they sensed happiness nearby. The joy radiating from the students was like a beacon—bright, irresistible—and they began to descend. Slowly at first, then lower still. And then, at last, they gave in. One by one, unable to resist the lure of that warmth and laughter, they broke formation and began to attack.
It happened all of a sudden. Though McGonagall, down below, sensed the creatures descending from the very first moment, she didn't have time to instruct the students to stop the game.
Furious, the deputy lioness of Hogwarts immediately unleashed the most powerful Patronus her magic could muster. The entire castle lit up in a dazzling white, forcing even the Dementors that hadn't dared to descend further to be blasted far away from the school's vicinity.
And at that moment, a certain professor happened to be standing by the window of his office, holding a recorder and capturing the entire incident from start to finish.
After putting the camera away, Maverick curled his lips into a smile, thinking this was more dirt on Fudge. Honestly, he hadn't expected something like this to happen.
Remembering the original story, an attack like this didn't happen until the last semester—or was it before Christmas? He couldn't quite recall. All he remembered was that Harry had been attacked mid-game, Dumbledore had rescued him, and afterward, the old man had been furious and gone straight to the Ministry.
It should be McGonagall storming the Ministry for an explanation this time, he thought with a chuckle, sensing her rage thundering all the way up to his office.
Anyway, he shrugged and brushed the thoughts aside, then prepared the footage to be sent to every newspaper in the country.
The following day, as expected, news broke across the country: a direct attack by Dementors on Hogwarts students. This time, there was undeniable footage of the incident, leaving no room for denial.
Even Magic Vision's wizarding news program aired the story to every household equipped with one of their sets, replaying it repeatedly while openly criticizing the Ministry's half-baked measures—measures that had risked the lives of innocent children in the name of catching a fugitive.
Fudge was no doubt under heavy fire now, but Maverick paid little attention to the matter after sending the footage. At this point, it was only a matter of time before the regime changed—and from here on, Jameson could handle things on his own. Unless it came down to a direct confrontation with a powerhouse, Maverick had no intention of interfering.
Back at the school, many expected the Dementors to be recalled to Azkaban after the incident, but Fudge remained stubbornly insistent on keeping them. Whether it was pride or a petty desire to spite Hogwarts' administration, they were still stationed outside the castle. At best, their patrol perimeter had been pushed slightly farther back, but they continued to linger near the grounds.
---
On the last Friday of September, after wrapping up his final class for the day, Maverick left the school grounds and headed straight home. He spent some time with his family first, enjoyed a home-cooked meal prepared by his mother, and slept in his own bed after a long time.
The next morning, Maverick met up with Isabella. Though it hadn't been that long since they had spent a full day together—dinner in space and all that—she had become so busy lately that he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.
They spent the better part of the morning curled up on her living room sofa, as she briefed him on the latest updates regarding the news network. She talked through her plans, and Maverick chimed in now and then with a few ideas of his own—not that she needed much help.
By late afternoon, they left all that behind and slipped away into the city for dinner. Just the two of them, tucked into a quiet little place that didn't care who they were. They talked about nothing important on purpose, laughed a lot, and let themselves be ordinary for once.
By the time the night ended, Maverick didn't return home, spending the rest of the night with her instead.
The next day, while he was enjoying some afternoon tea with Isabella, Maverick finally received the message he had been waiting for from Lord Greengrass. After a quick glance to the messege, He slipped the phone back into his pocket without a word and carried on enjoying the quiet moment with her.
There was still time, and it was only after a home-cooked dinner from Isabella that evening that he finally told her he had to leave. She did not protest, though she looked like she wanted to. She knew her fiancé had far too many things happening behind the scenes to sit still for long.
Finally, after a few long hugs and kisses, he turned on the spot and disappeared with a sharp crack, leaving behind a half-annoyed, half-worried girl standing by the door with her arms folded and eyes on the sky.
He reappeared just outside the wrought-iron gates of the Greengrass manor, while the sky was lit with dazzling stars scattered like glitter across deep velvet. A faint breeze swept through the hedges, rustling the ivy-covered walls and carrying with it the scent of night-blooming roses from the gardens within.
Maverick glanced up at the moon—half-full and bright—then adjusted the cuffs of his coat and stepped forward. The gates creaked open before he even reached them, responding to his presence without a word spoken.
It was time for business.
---
Some time earlier, the fireplace inside the Greengrass manor roared to life with emerald flames, and three figures stepped out one after another—two men and a woman—dusting off ash and soot as they emerged.
Standing by the drawing room fireplace, Lord Jameson Greengrass and his wife, Lady Soleil, were already waiting. Both were dressed to impress—not extravagantly, just enough to show they had been expecting important guests.
"Welcome to our humble home," Lord Greengrass said, dipping his head in polite greeting. "Gentlemen. My lady."
His wife, Lady Soleil Greengrass also offered a warm smile and a nod. "We're honored to have you."
The guests were none other than Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office; Kingsley Shacklebolt, a rising star within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; and Amelia Bones, the formidable Director of the Department itself.
Three powerful names within the Ministry. And though Lord Greengrass carried the weight of an ancient and noble house, he had always believed in the principle that respect must be shown where it was due.
After a brief round of greetings and a few pleasantries, Lady Bones asked what they were all thinking.
"Is he here yet?"
"Not yet," Jameson said, keeping his voice calm. "He'll come when he's ready."
He gestured toward the side hallway. "In the meantime, please join my wife and me at the dinner table. We've prepared something light—just enough to keep us comfortable while we talk."
The three Ministry officials exchanged glances, then gave nods of agreement. They followed the Greengrasses through the manor, past antique portraits that blinked lazily at them, until they reached the dining room.
The table was long and finely carved, set with silver and porcelain. They took their seats, and a few house-elves appeared with tea and light dishes—roast vegetables, buttered bread, and a platter of gently steaming chicken basted with herbs.
The atmosphere remained calm but laced with anticipation. They were not here for a social call, everyone knew it.
And it didn't take long for the person in question to arrive. Lord Greengrass sensed the nudge on the manor wards the moment Maverick apparated near the gate, and he immediately granted full access so Maverick could pass through without hindrance.
Meanwhile, Lady Greengrass, after a subtle gesture from her husband, had already gone to welcome him while the others waited.
---
"I hope I haven't kept you waiting," Maverick said with a relaxed smile as he stepped into the room and made his way to the head of the table while Lady Greengrass returned to her seat beside her husband.
"Not at all, Leader. You're right on time," Jameson replied promptly, offering a reassuring nod. "We've only just sat down."
Maverick turned his attention to the three guests, offering a nod. "Mr. Scrimgeour, Mr. Shacklebolt, Madam Bones... it's been a while. All well at the Ministry? Seems like the Minister's been catching quite a bit of fire lately..."
"The Minister is the Minister, Mr. Speaker, and the Ministry is the Ministry. For us, nothing has changed," Scrimgeour said in response, as if he knew exactly what was being asked and chose his words to say everything and nothing at once.
Maverick chuckled softly. "Indeed, that's how it ought to be, isn't it? Unfortunately, although what you said is true to some extent, it's not how things really operate in the British Ministry..."
Then, his gaze swept toward the other two. The warmth in his voice cooled slightly as he steered the conversation toward the real reason they were all gathered here.
"Right then... let's talk about Cornelius Fudge... Lately, all the noise he's been making seems to revolve around one name... a certain fugitive who slipped out of Azkaban right under his nose. And the reason I called this meeting is very much tied to that same individual."
He gave a pause, then added, "Of course, there's also the other matter." His eyes lingered on each of them in turn. "Specifically, where your loyalties will lie once Fudge is removed... which, nake no mistake, is only a matter of time now."
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