"Easy now, leave it to me," a deep, resonant voice sounded.
"Get out of my house!" Uncle Vernon bellowed with all his strength.
"Alright," the man with the deep voice agreed without hesitation.
Vernon: ?
"But in that case, there will be no one to deal with Miss Marge's condition," the man continued. He seemed to be very skilled at handling emotionally unstable types like Vernon—just one sentence was enough to calm him down.
Reliable man! That was Rhys's first impression of the one with the deep, solid voice. He couldn't help but feel a bit curious and wanted to see what this elite wizard looked like.
So, still concealed by his Disillusionment Charm, he quietly crept over to the kitchen doorway and peeked inside.
A tall, bald, dark-skinned wizard was standing before Harry's Uncle Vernon. Beside him stood a witch dressed in a style that was completely unconventional and rebellious. Both of them gave off strong magical auras, and the aura from the tall wizard was even comparable to that of Professor McGonagall.
The entire Dursley family was crammed into the kitchen. Uncle Vernon had one hand gripping a small protrusion on the ballooned woman and the other braced against the table, struggling to resist her upward lift.
Aunt Petunia, meanwhile, was huddled in the corner of the kitchen with Dudley. For some reason, Rhys thought he caught a hint of joy in her eyes?
The tall wizard eventually persuaded Uncle Vernon—though the popped buttons on Vernon's shirt, the result of his furious outburst, also served as a pretty persuasive argument.
"Fine! But once this is all over, I want you out of my house immediately—and forever!" His voice lowered a little, but his tone was still more of a roar than anything else.
"Of course," the tall wizard replied. He had no desire to deal with Vernon any longer. With a flick of his wand, the floating ball in mid-air returned to human form.
Once Marge was restored, he casually wiped her memory and repaired the mess in the kitchen, making everything look as neat and clean as before.
After finishing up, the tall wizard and the eccentric-looking witch left the Dursley home.
"Those damned people are finally gone. I need to get Marge upstairs to rest properly—" Vernon grunted as he hoisted the unconscious Marge onto his back and staggered toward the stairs.
Aunt Petunia absentmindedly mumbled in agreement, though her gaze kept drifting toward the now-spotless kitchen floor.
The two wizards—one male, one female—did not immediately leave after exiting the Dursley residence. Instead, they began to circle the area nearby, as if searching for something.
Watching the two of them wander along Privet Drive, Rhys immediately thought of the large black dog he had seen earlier.
Their conversation confirmed Rhys's suspicion.
"Kingsley, I don't understand. The Auror training manual makes it very clear—this kind of incident doesn't fall under Auror jurisdiction. It's the responsibility of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. So why did the Auror Office assign this task to us? I may still be in my probationary period, but I am a reserve Auror," the eccentric-looking witch asked her senior as they wrapped up the task.
"Nymphadora, you're looking at this too narrowly. Yes, after investigating, we found that it was just young Potter accidentally inflating his aunt. But you also know what's happening outside—Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban." Kingsley spoke slowly in his distinct deep voice. "So when signs of magic use were detected on Privet Drive, the Ministry's anxiety was entirely justified."
"But still. Sending us in such a hurry—"
"He's the first fugitive to escape Azkaban since it was built! He was the one who betrayed the Potters, and after the Dark Lord fell, he blew up half a street—killed thirteen people with a single curse! What do you think someone like that will do after breaking out of Azkaban?"
"Then Harry's in serious danger, isn't he? He's already left the Dursley house, and now—" Nymphadora frowned, her tone full of concern.
"He's on the Knight Bus right now. The Ministry is tracking his location. Proudfoot and Savage are already onboard. Potter's safety is assured. If Sirius Black is foolish enough to try anything on the Knight Bus, well… he's welcome to give it a shot."
Hidden in the shadows, Rhys nodded to himself—it had been the right decision not to board the Knight Bus with Harry. Getting involved in that situation would have meant all kinds of trouble.
As for the Sirius they mentioned, Rhys's instincts told him that the big black dog was highly suspicious.
After Kingsley and Nymphadora searched the area twice to no avail, they left.
Rhys also departed.
The next time he saw Harry was in Diagon Alley.
While shopping for new schoolbooks for the upcoming term, Rhys spotted Harry drooling in front of the display window of the broomstick shop—specifically at the Firebolt.
Had he never ridden one before, Harry wouldn't have felt such a strong urge to buy it. But during last term's battle in the Forbidden Forest, he had briefly borrowed Daphne's Firebolt—and that experience was beyond anything most people could imagine.
It wasn't until the third time Rhys called his name that Harry finally tore his gaze away from the Firebolt. When he saw it was Rhys, he greeted him excitedly.
From Harry, Rhys learned that the moment he had arrived in Diagon Alley, he'd been stopped by the Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge. But to Harry's surprise, Fudge hadn't shown any intention of punishing him.
"It's so weird. Last time, when I—well, it wasn't even me—got a bit of pudding on someone's head, they threatened to expel me from Hogwarts. But this time, I blew up my aunt, and they didn't punish me at all. They just told me I couldn't leave Diagon Alley for the rest of the holiday. Isn't that strange?"
Rhys waved his hand dismissively—Fudge's behavior clearly indicated that Harry held some special value to him, likely something related to Sirius Black.
"Not thinking about buying it?" Rhys changed the subject, pointing at the Firebolt in the shop window.
Harry immediately fell silent. He did really want a Firebolt, but… it was just too expensive.
"Money's meant to be spent."
"Aren't you afraid that once I get a Firebolt, I'll wipe the floor with the Slytherin Quidditch team?"
"Haven't they been losing even without you owning a Firebolt?"
"Pfft!"
After a few more lighthearted exchanges, Rhys parted ways with Harry—because he had just spotted a familiar figure smiling at him while holding two large ice creams.
"Ms. White, are you finding Diagon Alley comfortable enough?" he asked.
Helga Hufflepuff shoved a massive vanilla-and-yogurt flavored ice cream into Rhys's hands, then nodded with a beaming smile.
"Very comfortable. In the past thousand years, food in the wizarding world has made incredible progress. Based on that, I've come up with quite a few new ideas."
Rhys took a big bite of his ice cream and showed a satisfied expression.
Then he noticed his old friend's ice cream was coated with a thick layer of chocolate and topped with a mountain of crushed nuts. Instantly, his expression turned into one of utter distaste—Helga Hufflepuff clearly didn't understand ice cream at all!
Suppressing that bit of emotion, Rhys asked Helga a question: "That set of goblets—did you make them recently? How much did you sell them for?"
Hufflepuff admitted honestly and told Rhys she had sold the three small goblets for a total of two hundred Galleons.
"That middleman took the set to the Greengrass estate—guess how much he priced it at?"
Hufflepuff: "How much? 300 or 350?"
"Three thousand Galleons."
"How much did you say?!"
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