HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them

The tedious waiting process dragged on, but fortunately it didn't last much longer before a Ministry of Magic staff member approached Evans and escorted him to the award ceremony room.

The space turned out to be a moderately sized auditorium, utterly dwarfed by Hogwarts's magnificent Great Hall. However, the auditorium's ostentatious decoration perfectly matched the main hall they'd passed through earlier. Everything gleamed magnificently golden, immediately screaming nouveau riche sensibilities to anyone with taste.

Approximately ten people were scattered throughout the auditorium, clustered in small groups engaged in hushed conversations. When they heard the auditorium door creak open, the nearest wizard glanced toward the entrance and raised his hand in friendly greeting.

"Evans! Long time no see, my friend."

"Long time no see indeed, Toby."

Clasping hands warmly with the familiar wizard, Evans smiled genuinely. "I heard through the grapevine that you're working at the Improper Use of Magic Office now?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It's not exactly what you'd call a popular position." The wizard's weathered face displayed a rueful, bitter smile. "But congratulations on receiving the Order of Merlin! I've been dreaming of earning one someday myself."

"To be completely honest, I still have absolutely no idea how I actually managed to get this medal." Evans shook his head in bewilderment, glancing toward an elderly man sitting prominently in the front row who was studiously reading from a prepared script. "Is that distinguished gentleman today's official Wizengamot presenter? Do they seriously have to read from scripts these days?"

"Actually, the ceremonial speech was originally supposed to be delivered by Umbridge herself." The wizard leaned closer and spoke in conspiratorial tones. "She's always been incredibly enthusiastic about these pompous ceremonial occasions. But for some mysterious reason, the moment she heard the award recipient was you, she flat-out refused to attend."

"Did you somehow offend her recently?"

"Quite possibly." Evans shrugged with complete indifference.

Observing Evans's utterly nonchalant attitude toward potential political consequences, the wizard lowered his voice to an urgent whisper. "That particular woman isn't easy to deal with, my friend. Although she doesn't possess much genuine political power, she'll definitely find countless creative ways to make your life absolutely miserable."

"I appreciate the warning. I'll be appropriately careful." Evans responded with a suddenly serious expression, bid farewell to his concerned colleague, and smoothly transitioned to strike up conversation with another wizard positioned nearby.

Since Evans hadn't bothered inviting any personal friends to attend this bureaucratic ceremony, those gathered were basically former Hogwarts classmates who had remained at the Ministry after graduation and had come to congratulate him upon hearing the news of his prestigious award.

After politely responding one by one to the various classmates who approached to offer congratulations, Evans noticed Fudge and Dumbledore entering the auditorium together with purposeful strides. Dumbledore casually selected a seat toward the back, while Fudge rubbed his hands together eagerly and walked directly toward Evans, clearly wanting to engage in political small talk.

Diplomatically declining Fudge's transparent invitation to chat about ministry affairs, Evans deliberately sat directly beside Dumbledore, studying this deceptively harmless old man who was actually overflowing with elaborate schemes and manipulations.

Rather than wasting time cozying up to the Minister for Magic and enduring his inevitable rambling about bureaucratic nonsense, Evans found himself far more interested in an entirely different matter.

"You came out with me today specifically because you're fishing for something, aren't you?"

Without displaying the slightest surprise at this direct accusation, Dumbledore calmly glanced at Evans and pressed his finger meaningfully to his lips, making an unmistakable shushing gesture.

This subtle action was essentially a complete admission of guilt.

Receiving Dumbledore's wordless confirmation, Evans finally managed to connect all the puzzling pieces together into a coherent picture.

He had instinctively felt something was fundamentally off about Dumbledore's behavior today. Although the old wizard served as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, he would absolutely never attend this type of routine bureaucratic award ceremony under normal circumstances. Furthermore, Ms. Tina's administrative paperwork obviously wasn't nearly important enough to require his personal attention at the Ministry.

Combined with the increasingly suspicious fact that his receiving this particular medal was apparently orchestrated by some mysterious individual he'd never even met, Evans felt the true answer should be glaringly obvious to anyone paying attention.

Someone had cleverly manipulated events to secure him an Order of Merlin while simultaneously creating plausible Ministry business for Dumbledore, effectively ensuring that both of them would be away from Hogwarts together at precisely the same time.

Although the administrative business discovered for Dumbledore wasn't particularly crucial or urgent, for the sake of this elaborate fishing expedition, the cunning headmaster had still agreed to accompany him. And there was currently only one specific fish that Dumbledore could possibly be angling for with such careful preparation.

"As we previously agreed, I get to kill him personally in the end." Having finally sorted out his complex thoughts, Evans spoke in barely audible tones.

"Of course, my dear boy."

Dumbledore smiled serenely at Evans and leaned back comfortably in his cushioned chair, radiating quiet satisfaction.

"I need to verify one final crucial detail first. After that important confirmation, I'll gladly let you face him personally."

"Excellent. Then I'll be patiently waiting for that moment."

After Evans and Dumbledore concluded their hushed, conspiratorial discussion, the ceremony proceeded with scattered, polite applause as the previously stern-looking elderly wizard approached the podium and began mechanically reading from his carefully prepared speech.

Although Evans found himself genuinely anticipating the dramatic events that would inevitably follow, he still managed to calm his restless mind and waited with forced patience for this tedious award ceremony to finally conclude.

He knew with absolute certainty that anything Dumbledore had personally promised would never be carelessly broken.

Meanwhile, back at Hogwarts, the castle's massive main doors were stealthily pushed open as a menacing hooded figure stepped silently into the ancient school, moving with predatory grace toward the nearby stone staircase that led directly to the fourth floor.

The intruder seemed intimately familiar with every detail of the school's complex layout and security measures. Although he wasn't moving with obvious haste, not a single step was wasted on unnecessary detours or hesitation.

He had mentally rehearsed this exact route countless times before, and even after his forced departure from the school, he had been obsessively reviewing every corridor and staircase in his tormented mind.

The fourth floor contained relatively few active classrooms, and at this particular morning hour only the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom remained in session.

Passing silently by that familiar classroom and catching sight of the elderly woman teaching inside to a group of attentive students, the hooded figure raised his concealed head, revealing a flash of pure unwillingness and burning hatred in his serpentine eyes.

This should have been his classroom, his carefully planned curriculum, and his opportunity to mold young minds. But it was entirely because of Dumbledore's interference that he had never been able to fulfill this cherished dream from his own student days.

Although his possession of the pathetic Quirrell could technically count as having taught a few classes, how could he in that disgustingly weakened state ever be considered his true, powerful self?

Damn that meddlesome old fool!

Several tense seconds later, the hooded figure forcibly turned his attention away, withdrew his hate-filled gaze from the peaceful classroom scene, and continued forward with renewed determination and barely controlled rage.

Sooner or later, he would personally reclaim everything that rightfully belonged to him.

Since classes were currently in session throughout the castle, the stone corridors remained basically empty of wandering students. He didn't encounter even a single passing student during his stealthy infiltration.

Everything was proceeding smoothly according to his carefully laid plans. Indeed, today represented the absolutely perfect time for decisive action.

Of course it was ideal. Dumbledore wasn't anywhere near the school, and that damned Kahn had been cleverly lured away as well, and all the remaining professors were safely occupied teaching their scheduled classes. Who else could possibly interfere with his long-awaited triumph?

That so-called prophesied nemesis of his, that ridiculously overhyped "Boy Who Lived"?

Smiling with cold sarcasm at the very thought, the hooded figure navigated several twisting corners and entered the forbidden corridor that strict school rules prohibited students from accessing.

Although bright morning sunlight streamed through the castle's other windows, this particular corridor remained perpetually dim and foreboding. A pitifully small window failed to illuminate the oppressive space adequately, and the deeper into the corridor he ventured, the more impenetrably black the shadows became.

But such absolute darkness meant nothing to the hooded figure's supernatural senses. Even without bothering to draw his wand for illumination, he could see with perfect clarity through the most impenetrable darkness.

Walking forward with measured, confident steps, that utterly unremarkable door had finally appeared directly before him like a gateway to destiny.

The entrance looked completely unchanged from his previous reconnaissance. Just like an ordinary storage room door that any student would ignore. No casual observer would ever suspect there was an entirely different world concealed inside.

The hooded figure slowly extended his pale, skeletal hand and placed it against the cold metal door handle with reverent anticipation.

He had already completely mastered that troublesome large dog's specific weakness, Quirrell's pathetic troll posed absolutely no threat whatsoever, and he had thoroughly analyzed and understood all the remaining protective puzzles as well.

Magical light flashed brilliantly from his fingertips, and the heavily locked door creaked open with an ominous groan. He gazed with satisfaction at the massive three-headed dog that had been abruptly awakened by the door's opening and appeared somewhat drowsy from its interrupted slumber. With practiced efficiency, he pulled out an elegant lyre from beneath his dark robes, pointed his wand at the instrument with a theatrical flourish, and it immediately began playing a soft, hypnotic melody that filled the chamber.

Watching with growing triumph as the gradually falling asleep dog succumbed to the irresistible magical music, the hooded figure smiled with pure, unadulterated joy. He smiled with the deep happiness of someone whose years of accumulated grievances were finally being released.

Now, absolutely no one could possibly stop him anymore.

The legendary Philosopher's Stone was already within his eager grasp!