Harry Potter: Reunion with the Enemy

Draco stared at two old houses with unconnected house numbers from a distance.

The house number he was looking for was exactly the missing number in the middle. He had not held any hope before he came here, but at this moment Draco vaguely felt that he had come to the right place.

Ron successfully helped him enter the archives of the Ministry of Magic and found the information about the murder of Andromeda. The location of Tonks' parents' residence recorded in the archives was here. After getting the address, Draco returned to the London apartment and then came to the scene of the crime.

The old houses nearby are all empty. Although they are all exquisite duplexes with gardens, they have all been abandoned by their former owners without exception.

The weeds on the small slope at Draco's feet were knee-high, spider webs hung precariously between the branches, and the soil beneath his feet was dry and hard from the strong sunlight.

The sun slowly jumped below the horizon. It was already past the time he and Narcissa had agreed to go home, but Draco was reluctant to leave. The only thing he wanted to do now was to find a way to get in.

Draco had tried various spells, and at this moment he was staring at the gap between the two duplexes almost paranoidly, as if waiting for a miracle to happen.

"Ding-ling-ling--" The sudden sound, accompanied by a slight vibration in his pocket, startled Draco.

It was the Muggle phone he had just picked up when he returned to his London apartment.

"Who?" Draco put the phone to his ear.

"There's a signal here - he picked up, he picked up, this is Ed." The sound of waves came to my ears, and the phone seemed to be handed to another person.

"I told you this is faster than an owl-" Lancelot said smugly, "So you two are safe now, right? Then we don't have to bother going back to this weird island."

"Oh..." Draco breathed a sigh of relief. He had already registered the missing persons of three people in the Ministry of Magic. "Are you safe now?"

"We just escaped during the last patrol of the day by the staff here." Lancelot's voice was occasionally covered by the sound of the wind, and it sounded like they had already flown into the sky. "In my car. We are circling around to find a way. We can't quite remember where we were sucked in from. But it's only a matter of time before we find it."

"So Harry isn't with you, right?" Draco felt a few drops of sweat on his palms. He hadn't had any hope for this question in the first place.

"He's not with you?" Lancelot's high emotions cooled down. "The old inn has been carefully scouted inside and out by Adrian, and no one was found. The rest of the island is just like when we took wedding photos that day. There is nothing else except trees, sea, and rocks, and a large group of sickly-looking and annoying staff."

"I see." Draco's eyes never left the rooms in front of him. "These staff members are werewolves. A lot of things have happened outside in the past few days."

"I see!" Ed's voice came from the side. "Looking back now, their symptoms are very obvious. I didn't think of this."

"Let me see, try a little further south—" Lancelot muttered to himself, "What about Harry? Do you have any clues? Where did you escape from?"

Draco felt that visibility around him was getting lower and lower, the sky was getting darker, and the woods were becoming gloomy.

"It's a complicated story - my parents kidnapped the goblins from Gringotts because of my disappearance, and in exchange, the goblins sent me home. Harry disappeared and was impersonated by someone, and the fake Harry went around asking wizards to give goblins more rights." Draco made his story short while kicking the dirt.

"He was impersonated." Ed leaned closer to the microphone. "He must have been so bold because he knew the real Harry wouldn't show up to refute him. I'm afraid it was the impersonator who did it."

"That makes sense," Lancelot shouted. "If he dares to appear in public again, bring him to justice."

"I've got a few clues." Draco took a deep breath and said, "In addition to being related to werewolves and goblins, I'm afraid this matter is also related to Harry's godson. He is a hybrid of a werewolf and a wizard. He is a Metamorphmagus and may also have werewolf characteristics."

Suddenly, several figures appeared in front of him. Draco quickly cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself and lowered his voice. "I am now next to the home where my godson's parents lived. Although it is rumored that he has never appeared since the accident, the old house here seems to have been hidden by magic - I am afraid that there are still people active in it. I am looking for a way to get in."

There was a burst of noisy sound coming from the other end of the phone, which seemed to be mixed with Lancelot's subconscious scream and the sound of the phone being thrown away.

Draco saw two skinny men in ragged clothes walking straight toward the middle of the two houses. His heart suddenly began to beat faster, the stench of the woods and the dry air of the summer night penetrated his nostrils, and he tensed up like a hunter who had found his prey. Draco quickly approached the two people who appeared in his field of vision. At this moment, he gave up thinking and seemed to act only on instinct.

"We were vomited out by the waves." Lancelot seemed to have finally retrieved the phone. "Except for a little nausea, everything is fine. Draco, are you okay?"

Draco held his breath and didn't make a sound. He seemed to be hesitating whether to hang up the phone. He was so close to the two werewolves that he could even count the holes on their old robes that were eaten by insects or mold. Their palms were as rough as the surface of the wood in the dead forest opposite. Even more mottled than these hands covered with traces of dirty work were the wrinkles on their faces.

Wrinkles are formed by people's expressions day after day. When you are angry, your wrinkles appear before your face, and when you are sad, your wrinkles reveal your frustration before your face. The carving knife of suffering leaves marks on the skin, betraying a person's situation even when he is calm.

When Draco looked at the two faces, he could feel that the wrinkles on their faces were not formed overnight, but were probably the result of years, decades or even generations of tragic fates accumulated and passed down from generation to generation.

Two werewolves stood in the gap between the houses, and one of them suddenly spoke in a rough voice: "Even if we follow the goblins, we will not end well. I only have three Knuts left in my pocket now. What a stingy bunch of rubbish."

Another werewolf laughed, his throat sounding like a leaky pipe. "I'll take a few more people with me to the Quidditch World Cup next week and fight for power - it's just a pipe dream - but it's not a bad opportunity. I thought I'd never be able to play Quidditch in my life - this way I won't have lived in vain. Those who were infected on the same day as me have either been arrested or committed suicide. I think I'll be joining them soon."

"What if the wizards relent before the Quidditch World Cup?" the werewolf sneered. "They don't know we have this little surprise for them."

"I would rather believe that fairy tales come true, but this world is a tragic realist literature."

The werewolf's hoarse and loud voice came through the receiver. Lancelot and Ed looked at each other and closed their mouths tightly. Ed made a quick gesture.

Keep talking.