Harry Potter: The Golden Viper

0461 More Foolproof Plan

Send someone discreetly to remind Voldemort that he can use the Board of Governors to create pressure on Dumbledore. Then, when the moment is ripe, we can leverage that pressure to push for the separation of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry from the control of the Board of Governors entirely.

This, however, is merely the first stage of the plan. The true objective will be to wield the official powers granted by this newfound independence and the weight of public opinion to launch a thorough investigation into the businesses and dealings of the pure-blood wizarding families who have long supported Voldemort. Such a move will undoubtedly sow discord and unrest within the ranks of the Death Eaters, undermining Voldemort's power base from within.

Dumbledore's silver eyebrows arched higher and higher as he listened to Bryan's plan, his piercing blue eyes reflecting both intrigue and concern. He suddenly realized that he still had room to improve in the realm of strategy and intrigue.

"Running into you is truly unfortunate for Tom, Bryan—"

After swiftly contemplating Bryan's intricate strategy in his mind, Dumbledore gently shook his head, his expression shifting from thoughtful to somber.

"After regaining his powers, Tom will undoubtedly be eager to reunite with his old followers, those who had once pledged their loyalty to him. He will also seek to rally dark creatures, gathering them under his banner to expand his influence and tighten his grip on the wizarding world. At the right moment, revealing this plan could indeed cause him considerable trouble and weaken his position. However, Bryan—" Dumbledore's tone shifted, growing serious as he fixed Bryan with a penetrating gaze.

"You must understand the broader implications of such a course of action. If we proceed in this manner, it will inevitably have repercussions that extend far beyond Voldemort and his followers. More innocent people, those who have no part in this conflict, will have their lives disrupted, and it will also destabilize the already fragile structure of the wizarding world."

Bryan's eyelids twitched slightly, a subtle indication of his surprise at Dumbledore's keen insight. The old man had seen through the broader implications of the plan, understanding that it was not just about targeting Voldemort; it was also an opportunity—a calculated risk to initiate sweeping transformations in the entrenched and decaying social order and production structure of the wizarding world.

"Change must happen—" Bryan stated simply, his voice carrying a weight of conviction that needed no further elaboration.

The cold misty rain that had been steadily falling outside slapped against his face, immediately clearing the slight haze in Bryan's mind. The world beyond the castle walls remained dark, shrouded in storm clouds that seemed to mirror the brewing storm within the wizarding world itself.

Lightning occasionally streaked across the night sky, illuminating the landscape in brief, brilliant flashes. Yet the thunderclaps that followed were distant, their rumbling fainter than the noises made by the house-elves who silently went about their tasks, cleaning the castle under the cover of night.

Tonight, Bryan and Dumbledore had a candid conversation, one that would weigh heavily on both their minds.

Dumbledore didn't resist the idea of detaching Hogwarts from the control of the Board of Governors through a series of carefully orchestrated measures. However, it was clear that he did not want Bryan to delve too deeply into the affairs of the Ministry of Magic or use the impending war as a means to fully destabilize the existing order of the wizarding world.

In other words, Dumbledore didn't want Bryan to launch a large-scale attack on the pure-blood wizarding families, whose influence and wealth had become the foundation of their society.

This reluctance was not unexpected.

Dumbledore's thinking, while progressive in many ways, was still tempered by a deep understanding of the consequences of such actions. He recognized the dangers posed by the pure-blood families' monopoly over the wizarding world's resources and their insidious control over its political and economic systems.

His solution to this problem was more subtle, more patient—he remained at Hogwarts, the heart of magical education, and constantly sought to bring Muggle-born wizards into the magical community, nurturing them and gradually integrating them into the wizarding society.

This approach could indeed be effective, but Bryan saw its limitations. After reaching a certain point, it would lose its impact, as the best and most advanced resources in the wizarding world would still be controlled by those pure-blood families.

As Bryan pondered this, he strongly suspected that Dumbledore was not blind to these limitations, but for various reasons, Bryan could only speculate about Dumbledore had never mustered the resolve to push for more radical change. Perhaps he feared that doing so would spark another bloody war, one that the wizarding world might not survive.

But that war, in Bryan's view, was inevitable. It would come sooner or later, and it would be better to merge the two battlegrounds—the fight against Voldemort and the struggle against the entrenched power of the pure-blood families—into one. Solving the problem in one decisive stroke was, to Bryan, the most pragmatic approach.

Crack—

In the distance, like a fleeting bloom in the darkness, a bright flash of lightning lit up the night sky before disappearing as quickly as it had come. This summer was bidding farewell to everyone in a tragic and solemn manner, its final days marked by a sense of foreboding.

Bryan gazed at the fading lightning for a long while, lost in thought, before turning back to face the castle. In the silence of the night, the light from Dumbledore's office window remained steady, like an eternal flame that would never extinguish.

"Time for bed—" Bryan muttered to himself, pursing his lips as he slipped his hands into his pockets. Displaying a rare hint of youthful impetuousness, he strolled through the rain, the heavy droplets soaking his robes as he crossed the corridor bridge, heading back to his quarters.

The storm outside seemed to echo the storm within his mind, a storm that would not subside until the battle for the fate of the wizarding world was won.

Meanwhile, in a quiet neighborhood not far from the castle, the brilliant thunder had faded, but the blast and shockwave that had struck the courtyard wall still managed to wake the nearby Muggle neighbors from their sleep. Even with the thunder's cover, several upstairs bedroom lights flicked on hurriedly, as concerned residents peered out into the night. The heavy rain obscured their view, preventing them from seeing exactly what was happening at the home of the crazy old man who lived at the end of the street, but the strange silver light flickering in the rain sent chills down their spines.

Instinctively, the Muggles reached for their bedside tables, fumbling for their phones, and called the police.

"Oh, God—" one of them whispered, his voice trembling with fear as he relayed what little he could see to the dispatcher on the other end of the line.

When four policemen finally arrived, their car skidding to a halt in front of the old man's house, they wasted no time. Running down from the vehicle in the pouring rain, they kicked open the tattered subway door and rushed into the yard, guns drawn. The sight that greeted them caused all four men to gasp audibly.

"Did you bury explosives in your garden, sir? Answer my question!" a potbellied officer roared, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger as he pointed his gun at the old man with a limp, who was slumped on the floor in the entryway. The man, leaning heavily against the wall, was gasping for breath, his face twisted in pain and exhaustion.

"Get out of here, you stupid Muggles!" the wild-haired, deranged old man roared, his voice hoarse from the effort. He furiously jabbed his walking stick at the air, as if the gesture alone could drive away the Muggle police who had barged into his yard.

"Look at that—my God, I must be dreaming!" another officer cried out, grabbing the arm of the one questioning the old man and forcing him to look at a corner of the yard. There, in the dim light, something truly bizarre had caught their attention. Then, as if they had all been hit by a Stunning Spell, the group froze, standing motionless in the torrential rain, their flashlights illuminating a scene straight out of a nightmare.

"Damn it!" the old man spat, his scarred face twitching with dissatisfaction as he took in the chaotic scene around him. His yard was a mess—garbage was strewn everywhere; the lid of a trash can was blown off spraying garbage in all directions like a machine gun.

"The Ministry of Magic will have something to say about this again!" The old man muttered darkly.

The rain continued to pour down, blurring the boundary between night and day. In any case, it wasn't until noon the next day that the wizards who had been coming and going in the courtyard finally disappeared. The commotion had drawn unwanted attention, and it had taken considerable effort to repair the damage and set things right.

After painstakingly repairing the overturned lawn and the collapsed wall, Arthur Weasley, with two huge dark circles under his eyes from a sleepless night, stood in front of the iron gate and waved weakly to Mad-Eye Moody, who was still lurking nearby, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of further trouble.

"Thanks, Arthur!" Moody bellowed in his gruff voice, his magical eye whirling wildly in its socket as he watched Arthur with a mix of concern and gratitude. "I'll keep an eye on your kids!"

Mr. Weasley didn't say a word, just weakly smiled at Moody before Disapparating away from the old Auror's place. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, from the events of these nights. Moody didn't immediately close the door, his gaze lingered on the spot where Arthur had vanished. The blue magic eye in his eye socket flashed like lightning, turning wildly as if seeking out any remaining threats.

Bang—

With a rough motion, Moody shut the door behind him, plunging the house into darkness. Limping slightly from an old injury, he made his way back to his kitchen, standing before the extinguished fireplace. The room was cold and silent, a stark contrast to the storm raging outside. Moody pulled out his wand, his fingers gripping it tightly as he prepared to take the next step in his plan.

After fiddling with the fireplace for a moment, Moody flicked his wrist, aiming the tip of his wand at the neatly stacked logs in the hearth. With a burst of heat, the logs ignited, flames crackling and roaring to life. The warm light illuminated the room, casting long shadows on the walls. Then, grabbing a handful of Floo Powder from the mantel, Moody tossed it into the fire, watching as the flames turned emerald green and began to swirl.

"The trouble has been dealt with—" Moody growled, his voice low and rough as he leaned closer to the fire.

Whoosh! From within the swirling flames, the shadowy image of a serpent's head emerged, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light. A high-pitched, cold voice emanated from the fireplace, sending a shiver down Moody's spine despite his tough demeanor.

"Are you still doubtful of the plan, or are you perhaps feeling fear?" the voice hissed, its tone dripping with disdain.

"I just want to confirm with you—you're still set on using this plan, aren't you?" Moody's face was grim, his normal eye reflecting his obvious reluctance.

"Even though you've seen that Bryan Watson is not just some ordinary wizard, and under the watchful eyes of both Dumbledore and Watson, taking Harry Potter from Hogwarts—" Moody began, but the voice from the flames cut him off, its irritation palpable.

"Bryan Watson indeed surprised me. I must admit, killing him is beyond what I can do without a physical body, but as I've repeatedly told you, my plan is flawless. Neither Dumbledore nor Watson will see through it!" The voice grew more insistent, the flames flaring as if to emphasize its point.

"After your foolish stunt at the World Cup, it was predictable that Dumbledore and Watson would heighten their vigilance, but I've adjusted the plan to make it even more foolproof.

You must understand, you have to prove your worth to me if you want my assistance. Consider yourself fortunate—Lord Voldemort rarely grants second chances. If it weren't for my loyal servant being gravely injured and needing time to recover, your impulsive actions at the World Cup wouldn't have gone unpunished!"

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