As the inspection came to an end, the dozen or so cramped compartments on the Knight Bus vanished completely… replaced by more than twenty hard leather sofa seats that appeared out of nowhere.
Jon Hart, disguised as "David Jorman," took a seat toward the back. He flicked his wand, conjuring a leather strap, and fastened himself to the sofa, using it as a makeshift seatbelt.
Amos Diggory, sitting nearby, cast him a curious and slightly baffled look.
With a deafening bang, the bus suddenly lurched into motion… Jon was nearly flung from his seat, but the improvised "seatbelt" proved crucial at the critical moment.
The others weren't so lucky. Several wizards, Amos Diggory included, were thrown forward, smashing their heads hard against the seats in front of them.
Of course, not everyone ended up in such a sorry state… most of the Aurors remained perfectly steady, sitting upright as though inertia simply didn't apply to them.
Rufus Scrimgeour in particular sat there, solid and unmoving, like Big Ben itself.
Looking rather sheepish, Amos Diggory returned to his seat. Holding his head, he copied Mr. Jorman's example, conjuring a length of rope and tying himself to the sofa.
Because Jon was seated by the window, he could see outside as the bus sped smoothly yet rapidly along the strangely shaped streets.
The Knight Bus repeatedly mounted the pavement, yet somehow never struck a thing.
Rows of lampposts, postboxes, and rubbish bins leapt neatly out of the way as it approached, only to spring back into their original positions once it had passed.
Conductor Stan Shunpike occasionally glanced at them with curiosity, but intimidated by Scrimgeour's weathered, lion-like presence, he didn't dare ask a single question.
The Knight Bus tore forward, blasting through bushes, bollards on traffic islands, phone boxes, and trees alike… until, more than an hour later, the rapidly changing scenery outside the windows finally began to slow—
A few dozen seconds later, the bus came to a complete stop by the roadside.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
Stan Shunpike called out, mustering his courage.
"Blackpool—end of the line!"
...
Under Rufus Scrimgeour's lead, they disembarked from the Knight Bus one by one.
Then they began to look around, curiosity written plainly on their faces…
To be honest, the scene before them was bleak.
Shattered floors, collapsed streets, trees torn up by the roots… signs of destruction were everywhere.
Staff from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had already been dispatched the previous night. They had altered the city—ravaged by Death Eaters and giants—to resemble the aftermath of a hurricane.
Even so, traces of magical devastation could still be seen all around.
Rufus Scrimgeour gathered everyone together and barked sharply, "Listen carefully. Our cover is that we're a Muggle rescue team dispatched from London. Your backpacks contain Muggle relief supplies. Under no circumstances are you to expose your identities…"
"…We'll split into two groups. I'll lead the Aurors and use Dark Magic Detectors to search for residual traces of dark magic. As for the Misinformation Office staff—Cresswell, you'll take charge of them and track the giants. Their footprints are impossible to miss."
"Understood, Director Scrimgeour. Leave it to me," Dirk Cresswell replied solemnly, nodding.
"Good. Then we move out in two groups—now!" Scrimgeour ordered decisively.
...
Following behind the employees of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Jon frowned faintly despite himself.
This plan meant he would be separated from the Aurors.
If danger arose, his ability to respond would be greatly reduced. Worse still, the two Order of the Phoenix members, Kingsley and Tonks, would no longer be in a position to help him.
If not for his foreknowledge—his certainty that Rufus Scrimgeour would never defect to Voldemort—he might already have begun to suspect Scrimgeour himself.
Kingsley had clearly noticed the same issue. As the two groups split up, he shot Jon a questioning look. Jon gave a faint shake of his head in response, signaling him not to act rashly.
After all, with the Death Eaters hidden in the shadows and themselves fully exposed, any unusual behavior could easily alert the enemy.
The group continued onward—
Out of the corner of his eye, Jon subtly kept watch on Walden Macnair.
This executioner from the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures was, in truth, a devoted supporter of Voldemort.
At this point in the original timeline, he should have been imprisoned in Azkaban after the failed battle at the Department of Mysteries.
However, due to a twist of fate, he had not taken part in that battle, nor had his Death Eater identity been exposed. As a result, he still accompanied them as a Ministry employee.
For some time now, Jon had been quietly monitoring Macnair's every move… yet along the way, Macnair behaved even more normally than Jon himself, showing no suspicious actions and making no attempt to contact his fellow Death Eaters.
With no better option, Jon was forced to wait and observe.
Their pace remained slow, as they had to stop whenever they encountered refugees, distributing relief supplies to maintain their cover as "rescue team members."
Still, the mission was not without results.
...
Several hours later, on the beach at Blackpool, they discovered a large number of footprints.
Each print was roughly three feet long and nearly a foot wide… footprints of that size were clearly not human. The likelihood that they belonged to giants was extremely high.
Although the footprints pointed in different directions, every trail eventually vanished at the boundary where sea met sand.
The situation was deeply perplexing.
Had You-Know-Who transported the giants by sea, only to send them back the same way? Judging by the sheer number of prints on the beach—at least twenty giants—moving them all by sea would have been nearly impossible.
The Misinformation Office staff immediately got to work. Some measured the size and depth of the footprints; others raised their wands to trace residual scents; still others examined the badly damaged roads and streets nearby…
Jon crouched down as well, putting on a show of carefully examining the tracks.
Suddenly, his expression changed—
Because within his field of vision… the movements of the Death Eater Macnair had suddenly become strangely unnatural.