"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 304: By the Kennet River, a Wolf and a Dog
Ron leaned in and whispered into Hermione's ear, "If Professor Holmes hadn't broken that weird curse on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job, I bet Dumbledore would've asked Mr. Black to teach at Hogwarts next term."
Hermione rolled her eyes. In her mind, no matter how much Black knew, he'd always see things from a wizard's perspective, while Professor Holmes stood on a higher plane entirely. Especially after today's lesson from Douglas—it had left her deeply moved. She was starting to understand what the Professor truly wanted to achieve.
As midnight's curtain fell, George and Fred led everyone in a rousing, joyful rendition of the Hogwarts Song, their voices echoing through the bus and signaling the day's end. One by one, the carriage slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.
At the wheel, Mr. Claude—the ever-dutiful wizard driver—peered through the windshield at the empty, winding road ahead. Earlier, he'd followed the Hogwarts Professor's instructions to the letter, slowing the bus so the young witches and wizards could observe the everyday life of the Muggle world.
But now, with his passengers lost in dreams, the enchanted bus that ferried them between two worlds was finally free to show its true power.
A sly grin flickered across Claude's face. With a deft motion, he activated the bus's concealment mode. Instantly, a faint shimmer of magic rippled over the vehicle, rendering it invisible to every piece of Muggle technology.
He took a deep breath and pressed the accelerator. The magical bus shot forward like a phantom in the night, gliding toward its next destination at the fastest speed safety would allow.
In the hush of the night, Sirius Black remained awake, his instincts as sharp as ever—part wolf, part hound, always alert for trouble.
Inside the humming bus, he caught a subtle shift—like a train suddenly veering off its tracks. He smirked, a glint of amused disdain in his eyes. If the Ministry hadn't slapped so many restrictions on spatial magic, Douglas—that mad genius—would have figured out how to build space-jumping tech right into this bus. They'd be able to cross the country in a blink, without the bone-wrenching discomfort of a Portkey.
But for now, those dreams were on hold. The bus, generously donated by the Justin family, belonged to the Ministry now.
Compared to the wild lurches of the Knight Bus, this vehicle was smooth as silk. The gentle rocking was almost like a lullaby, lulling the young witches and wizards into even deeper sleep.
Just as Sirius was lost in thought, the bus gave a tiny shudder.
What should have been a journey of more than an hour ended in barely five minutes, as if they'd barely left the starting line before arriving. The odd "start-and-stop" sensation left Mr. Claude—who'd once driven Muggle sports cars—feeling oddly unsatisfied, like a fire doused with cold water.
Still, the route was set by the Ministry and Hogwarts, so he had no say in the matter.
But Claude was already hatching a plan. Once this assignment was over, he'd submit a formal request to the Ministry—he wanted to be this bus's full-time driver.
It had been ages since the wizarding world had seen anything truly new that blended Muggle tech and magic—at least, not in public. And compared to Apparition and Portkeys, this bus wasn't much slower, really. More importantly, it offered a level of comfort and calm no broomstick or spatial magic could match. No twisting, no nausea—just a peaceful, pleasant ride.
It would be perfect for moving squads of Aurors or other Ministry teams.
As these thoughts drifted through his mind, Claude guided the bus to a gentle stop by the banks of the Kennet River—a tranquil, picturesque spot just steps from their destination.
He activated the bus's sleep mode. Instantly, a warm, cozy stillness filled the carriage, as if the bus itself had settled into a deep, contented slumber, waiting for its next adventure.
Sirius Black glanced at Harry Potter, asleep in the glow of the lanterns. The boy's face was peaceful, almost angelic. Sirius smiled softly, then slipped out of the carriage like a shadow.
Under the faint glow of a streetlamp, a public telephone booth stood like a silent sentinel.
Sirius dialed the number Douglas had given him earlier that day. Honestly, after months in the Muggle world, he found this kind of device far more convenient than sending owls. Sure, wizards had the Floo Network, but sticking your head in a fireplace was never exactly comfortable.
Soon, a familiar, low voice answered—Lupin.
By the time midnight tolled, Sirius and Lupin were sitting side by side on the banks of the Kennet.
Sirius pulled a portable barbecue grill from his pocket—"borrowed" from Douglas's house. Tonight, it felt like a symbol of their friendship and trust.
They sat together, man and wolf, sharing wine and grilled food beneath a sky of stars and moonlight. Neither was much of a cook, but both had weathered hard times and didn't care about such things.
The scent of beer mingled with the river's damp air, creating an atmosphere both wistful and fierce. Their conversation wandered from Harry's growth, to old memories, to the challenges ahead.
Two souls once battered by fate, now poured their hearts and trust into the murmuring waters of the Kennet River, one toast at a time.
"…Those days last Easter, right after that uneasy full moon—the truth about my being a werewolf came out again. I lost my job, the only one I could count on…"
"…And I was still rotting away in Azkaban, every day a fresh torment. The Dementors… they sucked the hope out of me, minute by minute. Some days, I thought I'd lose myself completely…"
"Yeah. Only that rat was living it up at Hogwarts, or at the Weasleys'—enjoying a peace he never deserved…"
"This year's different, Moony. We've left the shadows behind. We're here, by the river, with the breeze, the smoke from the grill, the taste of beer… And him, that filthy traitor—he's probably cowering in some damp sewer, just trying to survive…"
"You think Douglas making all this public will really lure him out?"
"Not likely. That dirty rat's got no spine. Besides, I think Douglas's real target isn't him—it's Voldemort…"
"And Harry?"
"He wants to send Voldemort a message… He didn't say much, but Douglas promised me there's no danger this time. And honestly, we can't stop Harry from doing what he thinks he owes James and Lily…"
"James… Lily…"
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