Snape, in the wrong, didn't dare respond to the accusations of his two peers, but Damon didn't dare either!
Seeing Damon's taunting, Snape glared at him fiercely—though it had no killing power at all against the lawless boy.
Any other student would have trembled under Snape's glare, but Snape only saw Damon's smile widen. What was this all about?
"Well, Severus, everyone has different opinions about others. While I disagree with your assessment of Damon, I support your own ideas—but this isn't the point we should be discussing right now."
Dumbledore looked at Damon.
"Once we've come to a conclusion on this matter, I'll have Fawkes inform you. You can leave now."
He knew Damon wouldn't appreciate someone using his time in front of him—even if he allowed it.
Damon looked around and saw that most of the other professors felt the same way. He nodded and left first.
As the door closed, a discussion erupted within, quickly threatening to erupt into a debate.
"Well, while I'm a bit craving some melon, this really does feel like a pig waiting to be slaughtered at the market. I'd rather not listen."
Damon shook his head, momentarily unsure what to do. Today was Saturday, and Harry should be practicing spells in the Room of Requirement.
He'd always gone to the Room of Requirement to practice spells on his days off. Even now, even with the sheer effort of practice gone, he kept up the habit—spending time there had become a habit.
But today, Damon suddenly had an idea.
"If you're itching to kill a few Death Eaters for fun,"
Damon cast the Immortal Charm, and his appearance began to change.
Caliban Mortos, making his grand entrance!
However, there was a question at the Ministry of Magic recently—Mortos seemed to have grown considerably taller.
In just six months, Damon's height had increased another 5cm, reaching 175cm, and it was likely to continue growing.
Because he didn't want to alter the position of his bones, he didn't conceal his height—Caliban Mortus wasn't as tall back then.
It didn't matter; magic could explain it anyway—and who could possibly connect the Auror Department's ace to Hogwarts's Master White?
Damon snapped his fingers, and his attire spontaneously transformed into Mortus's style—a refined white lining, a rugged khaki vest, and a black overcoat. As for the green cloak Professor Flitwick had given him, it wasn't in his element now.
Damon Apparated directly to his office in the Auror Department—he'd made this an exception, citing the hassle of teleporting to a phone booth every time he called in. Even the office manager remained silent, pretending he knew nothing.
Kingsley Shacklebolt even supported him.
As for whether anyone would dare exploit this?
So far, he hadn't seen any. Signs of Dark wizard activity in the British wizarding world had largely decreased, though they might have gone underground. However, he had heard that more and more wizards were smuggling themselves into other wizarding communities. The current living conditions in the British wizarding world were indeed quite dire.
As Damon appeared in the office, the alarm in the office next door rang, and the green light turned red. He jumped to his feet!
Recently, thanks to the incident with Boss Caliban, the number of criminals had dropped dramatically, leaving the Aurors with much less work—not to mention the casualty rate.
"Boss,"
Kingsley saluted respectfully as Damon emerged from the door—a sign of absolute authority and respect earned by his flawless mission record over the past few months.
"Kingsley, have you noticed anything lately? I'm getting an itch."
Daemon, or rather Caliban, made no secret of his militant nature—by now, almost everyone knew that if he took action, the Death Eaters would be utterly dead.
Sometimes, the Ministry of Magic, clamoring to bring Death Eaters to justice, even dared not let him take action.
"Yes, yes, yes."
"Just tell me, what are you hesitating about?"
The two chatted as they walked, striding towards the Auror Operations Office. The sound of boots hitting the ground echoed, a heart-shaking thud—and idle Aurors, hearing the commotion, opened their office doors and greeted Mortus.
"My Lord! Are you taking another action today? Please take me with you."
One of them joined the group.
"My Lord,"
a female Auror said, adoringly joining the group.
Then, the third person—the fourth—Mad-Eye Moody emerged from his office. Seeing the group of less than ten marching with the aura of a million men, his eyes flickered with relief and awe. Who could have imagined that someone who had only been a trainee Auror six months earlier, not even a full-time Auror in training, could have achieved such feats in such a short time?
Fudge absolutely couldn't see this, or he'd go mad.
As for Moody's side, that was
a foregone conclusion. Even if Mortus decided to become Minister for Magic, he, always averse to injustice, would still ride in Mortus's stead.
Inside the Auror Operations Office,
Damon quickly understood Kingsley's hesitation.
"Kingsley, report the situation to everyone."
"Yes."
Regardless of Kingsley's thoughts, he now knew only one thing—he was firmly on Mortus' side. After all, they only targeted the bad guys and never harmed innocent people. Why should he hesitate?
Because of his presence, the entire British wizarding community had a much better view of the Aurors. Previously, extremists among them had viewed them as mere slackers who only cared about capturing innocent people and perfunctorily closing cases, or as dangerous individuals who were always unreliable in their work and caused chaos.
Now, they had begun to embrace the Aurors. Citizens would even proactively report any signs of evil to the Ministry of Magic—something that had previously been extremely rare. Unless there was a genuine threat to their safety, few would do so.
Ironically, it was precisely this change in attitude among the British wizarding community that made the Aurors truly realize just how unwelcome they had been. It was Caliban Mortos who bestowed this honor upon them.
"We recently discovered a Dark wizard hotspot," Kingsley paused, his throat catching as if something were stuck, before continuing. "In an abandoned tube station in East London, there are signs of human trafficking—someone still wants to capture Muggles for experiments."
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(End of chapter)