Even the pinkish tone of the letter couldn't dispel the chilling cold carried by the winter winds.
Harry opened it.
Rita's invitation—she wanted to meet him at Hogwarts tonight. She would sneak in through a secret passage.
She eagerly awaited Harry's reply to confirm a meeting place, knowing that the Gryffindor common room was not a good option.
Harry wrote back, giving her the location of the abandoned classroom where his evening dueling class took place.
That night.
Neville was knocked down again, preparing to get back on his feet.
Harry looked toward the door. "She's here."
Neville froze.
Who's here?
He followed Hermione and Ron's gaze to the entrance. The large door remained tightly shut, with Filch likely still outside, pretending to block professors—his real job, of course, was stopping students from sneaking out at night. Nothing seemed amiss.
Just as he was about to ask a question—
A flustered, oversized head suddenly materialized in the air.
It was Rita Skeeter's beetle-like face. Neville jolted in shock, losing his balance and landing flat on the floor again.
"Mr. Potter!" Rita's voice was filled with panic. "Werewolves!"
"There are werewolves lurking in the secret passage!"
Harry eyed her. "You came through the Whomping Willow?"
Rita hesitated, then nodded.
"Those two werewolves are Professor Snape's… collection," Harry said. "No need to be afraid. They aren't dangerous, and they can't escape the Whomping Willow."
"Collection?" Rita seemed unable to grasp the word.
Ron smugly spelled it out. "C-o-l-l-e-c-t-i-o-n. It means an item of special significance, a keepsake."
"Mr. Weasley, I understand the word and its meaning," Rita interrupted sharply. Purely in terms of language skills, she was probably the most proficient person in the room. "But Professor Snape—"
"You don't need to understand," Harry cut her off, shoving her curiosity back into its box. "What was so important that you had to meet in person instead of writing it in your letter?"
Rita conjured a chair for herself, glancing at Harry hesitantly.
Harry nodded and conjured seats for the group.
Once they sat down, Rita followed suit, only then noticing a relatively unfamiliar presence.
"Neville Longbottom?"
"What's he doing here?"
Harry answered, "He's always been here."
"Then my Animagus—" Rita gestured wildly.
Harry nodded.
He paused slightly. "I never said anything. You transformed in front of him yourself."
Rita slumped in defeat. "Fine, he knows then. I've actually been considering whether to officially register with the Ministry. After all, I'm no longer a gossip journalist."
She quickly adjusted her mood. "Mr. Potter, I've uncovered two things."
"I think I've found Fenrir Greyback."
Harry shot to his feet, his expression instantly severe. "Where?"
"Wait, Mr. Potter, don't get too excited." Rita raised her hands, lowering her voice as she continued. "I don't have an exact location yet, but I overheard something from Knockturn Alley wizards. The werewolves are planning something for Christmas Eve."
"They want revenge on wizards—to turn Christmas Eve into a bloodbath."
"Fenrir Greyback will definitely show up."
Harry nodded slowly. "Where do they plan to spill blood?"
"Hogsmeade," Rita answered succinctly.
"No wonder just two werewolves frightened you so much," Hermione murmured, finally understanding—an Animagus shouldn't be afraid of werewolves, yet Rita had reacted oddly.
Just two?
Rita gave the young witch a strange look.
Even one werewolf was enough to terrify the entire wizarding world. Her reaction was perfectly normal!
It was Harry and his Phoenix Order crowd who were abnormal!
Of course, she didn't say this out loud—just sighed gloomily.
"Any other details?" Harry pressed.
Rita nodded, counting on her fingers as she continued. "The next piece of intel may be less reliable."
"Greyback has already gathered ten werewolves. At most, there could be twenty or even thirty."
Hermione scoffed. "Are there even that many werewolves in Britain willing to follow Greyback into this mess?"
"Which is why it's not entirely credible—but still worth considering," Rita defended her information. "Besides, the Knockturn Alley wizards say this operation is meant as a gift to celebrate the Dark Lord's return—a prelude to the grand stage."
Her voice was eerily calm.
The idea that Voldemort hadn't truly died and was attempting resurrection had been repeated by the Order of the Phoenix so often that she had long since steeled herself against it.
"Will Death Eaters be involved?" Harry simplified the issue.
Rita nodded. "Supposedly."
Harry made no comment, simply gesturing for her to continue.
Rita frowned, hesitating slightly. "There's also something about the goblins. I couldn't find Ragnok, but recently…"
"A few goblins from Gringotts have been meeting with people in Knockturn Alley. While goblins will do business with anyone, given the current climate, I paid closer attention. The rooms they meet in are heavily warded with magic."
"Mr. Potter, you know—I'm only good at two things: my Animagus ability and journalism."
Harry stared at her.
She quickly clarified, "I mean real journalism. I've kept last time's events in mind—I didn't dare sneak inside. Goblins have strange magic, and I was afraid they'd detect me."
"But even though I couldn't get in, I watched for days and found something shocking."
"You'll be stunned, Mr. Potter!"
She paused dramatically before revealing, in a deep, mysterious tone—
"I saw one of the wizards meeting with the goblins. And they looked an awful lot like Bellatrix Lestrange."
Harry wasn't shocked.
But Neville shot up, knocking over his chair, staring straight at Rita. "What did you say? Lestrange?"
Rita flinched at his intensity, raising her hands. "Mr. Longbottom, no need to be so serious! I'm not certain it was her—just that she looked very similar."
"Maybe I was mistaken. After all, she's been in Azkaban for over a decade…"
Harry waved a hand. "Have you checked Azkaban?"
Rita shook her head.
Harry said nothing—just looked at her.
"I get it. I'll check," Rita responded instinctively. "If the Lestranges really did escape, then…"
"The public has a right to know," Harry finished her sentence. "I remember that's one of your favorite sayings."
Rita swallowed. "Of course. Not just me—many journalists stand by that principle."
Harry spread his hands.
Rita continued sharing various minor reports.
Borgin and Burkes had been closed for a long time. Rumors in Knockturn Alley said the old swindler running it had been murdered. Many people coveted the shop, and some had dared to break in at night.
But none of them ever came out.
Aurors had investigated but found nothing.
The Malfoys had sold off another batch of family heirlooms. Ever since Lucius Malfoy was sent to Azkaban, their wealth had dwindled. Last year, they still had some savings—but now, they were selling assets to survive.
At this rate, they'd end up like the Gaunt family—clinging to a ruined manor, slowly fading away until their last heir died in obscurity.
Such was the fate of every "pure-blood supremacist" family.
Two days later.
The new issue of The Quibbler sold out instantly.
The front page featured images of empty prison cells—and others showing withered corpses left behind.
"Inescapable Fortress? Or Open-Door Resort?"
Azkaban had been broken into again.
And this time, the Dementors seemed beyond control.
The outside world erupted into chaos.
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Powerstones?
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