Chapter 208: Dealing with the Aftermath
What truly crushed the Acolytes' last hope was this—
they hadn't moved at all.
They were still standing exactly where they'd been.
Worse, their leader's arm had been severed once again, dropping lifelessly to the ground.
The reason became obvious in the next instant.
Russell had acted the moment he saw them preparing to flee—finally unleashing the spell he hadn't had the chance to use before:
Sectumsempra.
The timing, however… made things a bit awkward.
Under Albus Dumbledore's rather knowing gaze, Russell let out a dry laugh.
"Sorry, sorry… I thought they were about to escape. Just trying to stop them."
Dumbledore didn't rebuke him.
Because he had already noticed something else—
black smoke was curling out from the severed limb.
A realization flickered in his eyes.
"An Obscurus…"
"So you're still alive," he said quietly.
The leader lifted his head, meeting Dumbledore's gaze.
"No. My father is dead," he said. "This is only… a fragment of what he left behind."
"I see." Dumbledore nodded faintly. "Then Azkaban won't be able to hold you. With that body… you would escape sooner or later."
The man grinned.
"So what will you do with me?"
Dumbledore didn't answer.
Instead, his thoughts had already shifted elsewhere—to solutions. If even someone like Regulus, once reduced to something less than human, could be brought back… then perhaps this condition, too, wasn't beyond remedy.
"Reparo."
With a gentle motion of his wand, the ruined factory began to restore itself.
Steel beams lifted and reassembled.
Collapsed walls rose again.
Twisted metal straightened, slotting back into place as if time itself were reversing.
Within moments, the building stood whole once more—
as though the battle had never happened.
Only the scars on those present remained as proof.
Russell glanced around, exhaling.
"This is going to be a nightmare for the Ministry to deal with."
Even if the place had been hidden and protected by Muggle-Repelling Charms, the scale of the disturbance had been enormous. There was no way it had gone completely unnoticed.
Dumbledore shook his head slightly.
"No. They'll be relieved."
"If you hadn't warned us… there might not be many left with headaches to complain about."
Russell blinked.
"…That's a pretty cold joke, Professor."
He understood perfectly well what Dumbledore meant—
without that warning, the Ministry officials might already have been reduced to ash.
At that moment, the distant rumble of wheels broke the quiet.
Seven silver carriages, each bearing the Ministry's crest, cut through the thinning mist and came to a halt outside the restored factory.
Officials began disembarking one after another.
At their head stood a stern-looking witch—but the moment she saw Dumbledore, her expression softened. Another Hogwarts graduate.
"The Minister says you've once again handled an incident before the Department could get here," she said, half formal, half wry.
She gestured, and a team of healers moved forward.
They quickly began examining Russell and Wednesday for injuries. A wand flick later, the faint wound on Wednesday's shoulder vanished without a trace.
Dumbledore glanced around.
"Where is Cornelius Fudge?"
The witch replied,
"The Minister is currently in talks with his counterparts from France and Germany. After all… if not for your warning, their losses would have been just as severe."
Dumbledore nodded in quiet understanding.
So—Fudge was leveraging the situation for political gain.
On that front, Dumbledore had never doubted Fudge's instincts.
Nearby, officials from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures circled anxiously around Fawkes, trying to collect the golden-red feathers drifting from his body.
For reasons unknown, Fawkes had undergone an early rebirth, shrinking into a juvenile phoenix. At the moment, he was stuck in that awkward phase—constantly growing and shedding feathers.
The department's presence wasn't just about Fawkes, though.
Handling Muggle memory modification on this scale was a logistical nightmare.
Fortunately, decades earlier, Newt Scamander had demonstrated a near textbook solution—
using diluted Swooping Evil venom to erase memories en masse.
It wasn't perfect. There were risks of unintended side effects.
But compared to individually casting Memory Charms on hundreds—if not thousands—of people?
There was simply no contest.
After all, they didn't have anything like the flashy neuralyzers from Men in Black—no convenient flash of light to wipe everything clean.
Aside from the leader, the remaining Acolytes were shackled with magic-suppressing restraints and sealed into trunks enchanted with Extension Charms.
As the Head of Magical Law Enforcement signed off on the containment seals, he asked quietly,
"Shall we request a special hearing from the Wizengamot?"
Dumbledore brushed his fingers lightly along the factory wall.
At once, crimson roses bloomed from the cracks in the bricks—perfectly covering the lingering traces of dark magic.
"I believe the revised Clause 39 of the International Statute of Secrecy already provides sufficient authority," he replied calmly.
They had arrived swiftly.
They left just as swiftly.
Within minutes, nearly every department had withdrawn—leaving only the Magical Creatures officials behind.
One of them let out a long, weary sigh.
"Why is this my problem…? This should clearly fall under the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad."
Then he turned toward Russell.
"Hello, Russell. Wednesday."
Russell nodded politely.
"Good to see you, Mr. Diggory."
This was Cedric's father, Amos—someone Russell had met before.
The man smiled faintly.
"I've always been proud of Cedric," he said. "But compared to you… he still has a way to go."
He paused, then added with a warmer expression,
"Still, the fact that he can call you a friend says plenty about him. As they say—Lions don't keep company with hyenas. Your friends are bound to be extraordinary."
He had picked that phrase up from an article—and found it quite fitting.
Though, admittedly, it wasn't the most flattering metaphor.
Many wizards, after all, still viewed themselves as "Nobles"… and Muggles as something lesser.
With that, Amos returned to his carriage and departed. His only reason for lingering had been to greet Russell.
What Russell didn't realize was this—
after tonight, both he and Wednesday were almost guaranteed to receive First Class Orders of Merlin.
Two second-year students standing against the followers of a former Dark Lord—
win or lose, the sheer audacity alone was enough to leave the entire wizarding world stunned.
Russell suddenly seemed to remember something.
"Professor," he said, turning to Albus Dumbledore, "since Regulus has already awakened… why not tell Sirius?"
"You saw him today, didn't you?" Dumbledore replied. "I had intended to observe him a little longer—to ensure there were no lingering issues. But it appears he has fully recovered."
He paused briefly.
"In that case… it's time he returned."
Then, as if shifting gears entirely, Dumbledore asked,
"How has Harry been lately?"
He had originally planned to give Harry the Invisibility Cloak at Christmas… and guide him toward the Mirror of Erised.
But now, those plans had been completely disrupted.
Russell shrugged lightly.
"He's been happy. Sirius recently brought someone else back as well—a wizard named Remus Lupin. Apparently, he was a friend of Harry's parents."