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Chapter 9: Girl in the Rain
🕑 Added 2024-12-02 18:06:47 +0000 UTCHarry had no idea what Victor meant by his words. He simply accepted the pocket watch in a daze before being ushered away by Hagrid. Of course, before Harry left, both Dumbledore and Scrimgeour carefully inspected the watch to ensure it wasn't cursed.
Harry’s figure vanished into the streets outside the Leaky Cauldron. It was said that it wasn’t until Aunt Petunia screamed at him in the face that Harry truly felt a sense of reality—“Ah, so magic isn’t just a dream of mine.”
But none of this mattered to the people left in the Leaky Cauldron.
By the time Harry was riding the subway, they had already left the bar and, at Victor's invitation, were on their way to see his home.
What they didn’t expect, however, was just how peculiar the journey would be.
It wasn’t via Floo Powder or Apparition.
London’s weather was perpetually gloomy, and today was no exception. As the three of them stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron, the drizzle outside had woven into a fine, dense mist, landing on their pointed hats and cloaks. Their attire stood out sharply against the pedestrians on the London streets.
But the pedestrians were used to it. London had its fair share of eccentric characters, and a few more wouldn’t draw much attention.
The trio strolled through the rain, following Victor’s lead.
However, it wasn’t long before Scrimgeour ran out of patience.
Rufus Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office at the Ministry of Magic, resembled an old lion with his tawny hair, bushy eyebrows, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. Despite his strong and composed appearance, his heavy dark circles betrayed his exhaustion.
—This was because, ever since Dumbledore brought news of Harry Potter’s disappearance to the Ministry the previous night, all the Aurors had been mobilized to search for him. They worked through the night, fearing the worst might happen to the Boy Who Lived under their watch.
But no matter what spells or methods they tried, Harry couldn’t be found.
It was maddening.
Forced to endure an all-nighter, Scrimgeour’s expression was naturally sour.
After a while of walking in the rain, he couldn’t help but bark, “How exactly are we getting there? Are we taking a Muggle subway?”
“Walking,” Victor replied succinctly.
“You live nearby?”
“No. The house is currently hundreds of miles away, near Scotland. But since I haven’t figured out how to connect my fireplace to the Floo Network, I have to use an older method to get there.”
“Like—this.”
Before Scrimgeour could turn to him with incredulous eyes and ask, ‘Are we walking all the way to Scotland?!’, the scenery around them began to change. Wisps of mist curled around them, growing denser with each step they took, until even the pedestrians brushing past them became blurred.
As Scrimgeour noticed this, he also realized the pedestrians seemed unable to see them anymore.
Blurry, indistinct figures passed by on either side of them, as though they were in another dimension. No matter what Scrimgeour did, the figures continued moving, oblivious to their presence.
The figures grew fainter and fainter, yet somehow came closer, brushing past Scrimgeour as though walking through him.
He felt as though he were walking in some kind of rift, forced to turn sideways to avoid these figures—though they seemed completely unaware of him.
Finally, a woman emerged ahead of him, walking straight toward him.
Unlike the other figures, she appeared more vivid and tangible, standing out starkly against the mist and rain.
The woman was dressed in typical London attire: a black trench coat and a black cloche hat. Yet in the fog and drizzle, her features blended with the grayness around her, giving her an eerie air.
She walked straight ahead, drawing closer.
She was about to collide with him.
At that moment, staring at the woman in the rain, an inexplicable sense of dread and pressure overcame Scrimgeour. He felt a strong urge to shut his eyes and avoid her gaze.
But his experience as an Auror sparked an anger he couldn’t quite place. He yanked out his wand and shouted:
“Petrificus Totalus!”
A brilliant red beam of light slashed through the gloomy fog, illuminating everything around them for a fleeting moment and obscuring Scrimgeour’s vision. He breathed heavily, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
But as the light faded, he found himself standing in a dark, mist-shrouded forest.
It was as if all the figures from before had been illusions.
The woman’s figure had vanished as well.
“What?” Scrimgeour froze, wand still raised.
When he turned his head, he saw that Victor and Dumbledore were still beside him, both gazing at him—one with an impassive expression, the other looking thoughtful.
Their presence helped ground him, and his chaotic thoughts began to settle.
“Was this your magic?!” Scrimgeour scowled at Victor, gripping his wand tightly. “Have we left London?”
Victor nodded lightly, showing no surprise.
“Yes.”
“How did you do it? That’s impossible!” Scrimgeour glanced around, at the gray sky above and the twisted branches surrounding them. It felt as though his understanding of magic had been completely overturned.
A few mere steps, and they had left London?
Dumbledore, however, seemed far less perturbed. His expression was contemplative.
“A different application of transportation magic. I see. The nature of magic hasn’t changed, only the method of casting… What a unique invention. Is it an ancient Slavic technique? I’ve never come across related materials. But this is truly enlightening, ingenious even. It could occupy years of research.”
“Apologies, I got carried away,” Dumbledore said, snapping out of his musings. He smiled at Victor. “Mr. Vanderboom, you wouldn’t mind enlightening an old man, would you? How did we get here?”
“As long as you have a key and a clear enough intent, you can walk directly to your destination,” Victor explained calmly, pulling out an old brass key from his pocket and holding it up for Dumbledore to see.
“Because everyone’s thoughts are different, some may see special illusions in the mist.”
“That sounds very much like a spell from our school,” Dumbledore remarked with a chuckle. “I remember once, in school, I desperately needed to use the lavatory. At the end of the hallway, a door suddenly appeared out of nowhere. When I walked in, it was full of chamber pots.”
“Ah, magic tied to desire…”
Scrimgeour frowned deeply and couldn’t help but ask, “Then seeing a woman in dark clothing—is that also an illusion?”
A woman in dark clothing?
Victor raised an eyebrow and scrutinized Scrimgeour for a moment before speaking slowly.
“No.”
“You may have seen the shadow of a friend of mine. She enjoys walking in the rain.”
