After studying him all night, Fleur still hadn't figured anything out.
Watching the girl asleep beside him, Wayne shook his head helplessly.
Wasn't this too soon?
He couldn't—and didn't dare—take advantage.
Carefully stepping around the sleeping girl, Wayne went to the desk and opened two letters.
One was from Penelope, the other from Nagini, both about the shop's operations.
The Firebolt had successfully passed inspection and was designated as the official broom for next year's World Cup, leading to orders from various countries.
So far, the teams from Ireland, England, and Wales have already received their deliveries.
After all, these three teams were practically the home teams for British wizards, receiving preferential treatment both openly and discreetly.
This cleared out their entire stockpile at once and brought in a massive influx of funds.
Other countries would have to wait in line. Most of the current production capacity would go to teams qualifying for the finals next year, with the remainder allocated to professional clubs.
According to Penelope's estimates, with their current workforce, fulfilling all existing orders would take nearly a year. He asked Wayne whether they should expand production.
After some thought, Wayne decided to maintain the status quo.
He believed the Goblins under him still had untapped potential—they could voluntarily work two extra hours each day...
As long as no competing products appeared on the market, their brooms would sell effortlessly.
Those unwilling to wait had no choice but to watch enviously.
Still, Wayne reminded Penelope not to focus solely on selling to professional teams. Many ordinary wizards were passionate broom enthusiasts, and it was crucial to maintain hype and continuous exposure.
On the other side, business at Celia's Shop was also doing quite well. Although not as booming as during the first two days after opening, sales had stabilised at a decent level.
The best-selling item was a powerful stain-removal spray invented by Gardevoir. Not only did it eliminate grease stains, but it also maintained cleanliness for a period of time, making it a favourite among housewives.
As for the more expensive protective gear, those hadn't found buyers yet.
"What are you working on?" A lazy, husky voice suddenly spoke up as Fleur wrapped her arms around Wayne from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Opened two shops. Checking if they're profitable." Wayne set down his quill, idly playing with the girl's silver hair.
"Why didn't you sleep longer?"
"I woke up when you left." Fleur pouted. "You smell nice. I always wake up when you're gone."
Wayne's eyebrows rose slightly. Hermione and Astoria had said the same thing, though he couldn't detect any particular scent himself.
Fleur quietly watched him handle correspondence.
She was particularly surprised to discover that the Firebolt company actually belonged to Wayne.
This revolutionary broomstick wasn't just popular in Britain—it had taken other regions by storm too. She'd even seen Firebolt advertisements in newspapers before.
"I've prepared one for you, too." Tying the letters to an owl's leg, Wayne smiled. "You can take it with you when you return this time."
"I don't need one." Fleur shook her head. Her flying skills were poor, and apart from Flying Class, she'd hardly touched a broomstick. It would be wasted on her.
But Wayne insisted.
Even if she wouldn't use it, she had to have one. When it came to things within his means, he made sure to maintain fairness.
Unable to refuse, Fleur eventually agreed.
...
After a simple breakfast, Gabrielle pestered Wayne to play with her.
Never one good at refusing little girls, Wayne immediately agreed.
He released several Unicorns, a Niffler, the Iron-eating Beast, and Mia the Thunderbird.
Hestia came to Wayne's side, nuzzling his cheek affectionately, followed soon by Lulu and Diana.
Two years had made Diana only a head shorter than Hestia, her entire coat now a lovely pale pink that looked utterly adorable.
"Wow, Unicorns!" Gabrielle cheered, hugging Diana's leg.
"Neigh~ neigh~"
Perhaps because Gabrielle was equally cute, or maybe due to the influence of Veela blood, Diana showed unusual fondness for the girl.
Feeling something push against his leg, Wayne looked down.
Tuantuan was gazing up at him with pleading eyes, whimpering pitifully.
Wayne understood and shook his head in amusement.
"Fine, I'll stop tormenting you. But if you get as fat as before, you're going back on a diet, understand?"
Overjoyed, Tuantuan immediately rolled about playfully.
Jerry, however, wasn't happy—he'd been counting on helping Tuantuan lose weight to reclaim his secret stash.
Wayne had to fill the little creature's belly with Fire Crab shell fragments. Nowadays, Jerry could hold astonishing amounts—even all the fragments together weren't enough, requiring another hundred-odd Galleons to fill him up completely.
"An Iron-eating Beast?" Nicolas and Perenelle arrived, surprised at the sight of the roly-poly Tuantuan. "Since when did Britain have Iron-eating Beasts?"
"It's like this..." Wayne explained the origins of Tuantuan, and only then did Nicolas understand.
"That's good. It's better in your hands than falling into those poachers' clutches."
He reminisced, "Back then, Newt rescued two qilins, as rare as the Iron-eating Beast. Later, one was killed by Grindelwald, and the last one returned to the wild forests."
"I refuse to acknowledge that as a qilin," Wayne scoffed. As if he hadn't seen it – at best, it was just a spotted deer.
Though admittedly quite cute.
...
Two days later, Nicolas and Perenelle departed.
Before leaving, Perenelle reminded Wayne to visit them, as the elderly couple found their days rather dull.
In the following days, Wayne took Gabrielle and Fleur on a tour of the British Isles. With Ho-Oh, travelling anywhere was just a few teleportations away, making everything much more convenient.
They could even return home to sleep each night instead of staying in hotels.
Gabrielle was having the time of her life. She adored all kinds of amusement parks and video games.
She'd seek out theme parks the moment they stepped outside, then play video games upon returning. No amount of scolding from Fleur worked – not with Wayne shielding her.
"You're spoiling her rotten," Fleur said crossly, watching Gabrielle nestle in Wayne's arms while gaming.
"It's the holidays – of course, she should enjoy herself," Wayne said dismissively. "Once you're back home, you can discipline her all you want."
Fleur sighed as Gabrielle stuck out her tongue at her before resuming her game. "At this rate, she'll turn into a wild monkey by the time we return."
"Hardly," Wayne said meaningfully. "Back in France, she won't have anyone to back her up. Gabrielle's clever – she'll behave, won't she?"
Gabrielle froze mid-game.
He was right. Her daily defiance of Fleur relied entirely on Wayne's protection.
What if Fleur retaliated after they returned home?
Her previously defiant posture immediately wilted. Hurriedly finishing her game, she crawled over to Fleur and pleaded, "Don't be angry, sis. I won't play anymore today, okay?"
"Oh, you..." Fleur was torn between annoyance and amusement as she picked up the little mischief-maker.
Wayne smiled faintly, watching the two beauties – one tall, one small – playfully tussle. His mood considerably lighter, he picked up that morning's Daily Prophet, then stiffened.
"Ministry of Magic Employee Wins Grand Prize"
"Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office at the Ministry of Magic, has won this year's Daily Prophet Grand Galleon Prize."
"Mr Weasley expressed his delight, stating the money would fund a trip to Egypt to visit his eldest son, Bill Weasley, currently employed as a curse-breaker at Gringotts there."
Accompanying the article was a photograph.
The nine Weasleys stood before a pyramid, beaming at the camera and waving enthusiastically.
What caught Wayne's attention wasn't the family, but the rat perched on Ron's shoulder – missing a toe, clearly visible even in the photo.
Flipping further, he found Cornelius Fudge's portrait on the second page, announcing his visit to Azkaban to deliver 'humanitarian' comforts to the prisoners.
All choices of fate...
The Weasleys' photograph. Fudge's performative Azkaban visit, leaving newspapers to amuse the inmates. One event led to another, and countless coincidences culminated in the impending major incident.
Even if Peter Pettigrew were reduced to ashes, Sirius Black would likely recognise him. What was once a lifeless husk awaiting death in Azkaban had now transformed into an avenger, soon to break free from prison.
"All self-inflicted..." Wayne couldn't help but sigh.
If he and James hadn't been so clever as to make Peter Pettigrew the Secret-Keeper for the Fidelius Charm, none of the subsequent events would have occurred.
Loyalty, devotion—what did either of these words have to do with a rat?
"What's wrong?" Fleur asked, hearing Wayne's sigh as she glanced at him curiously.
"Nothing. Just thinking how foolish some people can be."
Baffled, Fleur resumed her playful tussle with Gabrielle.
A few days later, The Daily Prophet indeed underwent a transformation.
A gaunt-faced man with long, dishevelled hair and tattered clothing stared out with a gaze both fierce and deranged.
"BEWARE! THE THREAT IS HERE!"
"Sirius Black, the most dangerous prisoner ever held in Azkaban and the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenant, has escaped!"
The newspaper painted Sirius as nothing short of the Dark Lord's second-in-command, detailing how he had blown up half a street and killed thirteen people with a single curse before his capture.
The Ministry of Magic had now mobilised in full force, offering a staggering bounty of ten thousand Galleons for his capture—or even a thousand for credible leads.
It seemed Fudge was truly desperate.
His rise to power had been dramatic from the start. Initially, the Ministry of Magic had recommended Dumbledore internally, but the old man refused. Another strong competitor withdrew from the race in disgrace after his son was exposed as a Death Eater, leaving him to luck into the position.
Now, the more the media hyped up Black, the greater the impact on Fudge.
No, he'd have to contact that woman later to get her to write an article, keep Fudge sweating bullets. Only then would he understand the importance of the press.
...
"It's truly horrifying," Fleur said, her beautiful brows furrowing as she read the newspaper. "Such a dangerous criminal merely imprisoned? Why wasn't he executed?"
"He killed thirteen people!"
"Er... France still has the death penalty?" Wayne looked at the girl in confusion.
"Of course," Fleur tossed her waterfall of silver hair. "On the sixteenth floor of the Ministry, there's a guillotine specifically prepared for heinous criminals like him."
"Though it hasn't been used in decades, someone with his crimes deserves execution twice over."
After hearing Fleur's words, Wayne fell silent.
Sixteenth floor. Guillotine.
What kind of hellish joke was this?
"I'm not entirely clear on the specifics," Wayne shook his head. "But he is a Black after all. And if he were to be executed, at least half the Death Eaters from back then would have to die too. The repercussions would be too great."
"Wayne, come to Beauxbatons with me," Fleur clung to the boy's arm, seizing the chance to persuade him. "Britain's so dangerous, with strange incidents happening every year. I can't rest easy with you here."
"Enough," Wayne wrapped an arm around the girl's slender waist. "It's just one escaped prisoner, nothing to make a fuss about."
"Let's not dwell on this. Where do you want to go these last few days?"
Fleur knew her latest attempt to 'recruit' Wayne to Beauxbatons had failed again. Slumping weakly against him, she cooed, "Nowhere. Just stay with me."
"Fine, let's go to the hot springs then."
"You're awful..."
...
As Wayne had predicted, Fudge was currently overwhelmed. Every day, mountains of complaint letters flooded his office, lambasting him and the Ministry's incompetence. Some even demanded his resignation to make way for Dumbledore.
He'd been so furious these past two days he couldn't even stomach his fried fish.
"What do those creatures have to say?!" Fudge swept the pile of envelopes off his desk in irritation, demanding answers.
Standing opposite him was a stern middle-aged man with a scarred face who looked every bit the hardened veteran.
"They've combed the entire island without success," the man said gravely. "At this point, Black has most likely reached mainland Britain."
"How is this possible?" Fudge clawed at his scalp. "No wand, slipping past the Dementors, crossing hundreds of miles of open sea—am I going mad, or are you?"
"Perhaps it's just Black who's mad," the man replied impassively. "No one knows how he escaped, but that's no longer the main issue."
"Minister, your approval ratings have dropped two percentage points this week."
Fudge's expression darkened instantly. "Find him. Find him immediately. We must give the public answers!"The middle-aged man sneered inwardly.
How could the Ministry of Magic possibly be well-managed under such vermin?
One day, he would take that man's place.
One order after another was issued by Fudge, mobilising the entire Ministry of Magic.
Regardless of which department you belonged to, all current tasks were to be halted – the most important mission now was preserving his approval ratings.
No, capturing Black!
"Scrimgeour, come with me to see the Muggle Prime Minister. He must be informed of the current situation." After finishing these arrangements, Fudge sighed, stood up and took his hat from the coat rack.
Without a word, the Head of the Auror Office followed Fudge all the way to 10 Downing Street.
Twelve years ago, Black had blown up half a street, causing an enormous uproar. The Ministry had dispatched nearly a hundred employees to erase the memories of those involved and pin the blame on a gas explosion.
Thus, Black wasn't merely a criminal in the wizarding world but also a villain in Muggle society.
Fudge had an obligation to explain matters to the current Prime Minister and secure their cooperation.
The two men proceeded unimpeded to the door of the Prime Minister's office, where a pleasant-faced man rose to greet them.
"Hello, I'm Bernard Woolley. Do you have an appointment?"
"Of course not." Fudge strode past without pausing, twisting open the door to the Prime Minister's office himself.
Inside, the great Prime Minister of the Empire lay sprawled in his chair, a newspaper draped over his face, with long, rhythmic snores emanating from beneath it.
At the sound of the door opening, he startled awake, the newspaper sliding to the floor.
"Ah, Bernard, is it time to go home?" The Prime Minister wiped his face hastily, feigning composure.
"Apologies, sir. These two gentlemen forced their way in. I couldn't stop them."
"You are?" The Prime Minister frowned at Fudge and Scrimgeour. "Which department are you from? I don't recall any afternoon appointments."
Fudge produced a business card and placed it on the desk.
"Your Excellency Jim Hacker, I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic. This is Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office."
"I believe you may have some recollection."