Kingsley looked at Harry, confused.
Why was he so sure the Wild Hunt was behind this?
After all, wizards could cast freezing spells too. With Madam Gosharck's level of magical prowess, it wasn't hard to imagine her creating such a large-scale enchantment.
"There may be magic in both worlds," Harry said, shaking his head, "but even magic isn't always the same."
He flicked his wand, and a frosted rose from the flowerbed marked with a small "Rose" sign snapped off and flew into his hand. "The Hunt's magic is tied to the world they come from. It relies on the elements."
He tapped the flower gently, stripping the frost clean off.
Then he placed it in his palm and closed his fingers. When he opened them again, the flower had been crushed into a fine powder—so dry and brittle it disintegrated to dust.
"Their magic pulls moisture from the environment. From plants, air, everything," he explained. "This is how the frost forms."
"In contrast, wizards' magic reflects the soul."
"If I want it to freeze, it will freeze. No need for ideal conditions."
Kingsley was momentarily stunned.
"They needed water to create their frost spell," Harry said, letting the powdered flower fall from his hand. "They drew the moisture out of everything nearby to cast it. This was clearly the work of the Hunt."
He paused. "As for Caranthir…"
"As a Navigator, it was likely him leading the operation."
Tonks furrowed her brows. "Navigator?"
Harry glanced at the Aurors behind Kingsley and shook his head. "I'll explain later."
To most of these Aurors, the Wild Hunt was just another dark wizard cult crawling out from some remote corner of the magical world—nothing unusual. And frankly, most of the time, these cults were weak enough that even junior Aurors could handle them.
Harry conjured three duplicate sets of the reports.
Then they set off for the old Potter house.
Sirius wasn't around—off enjoying himself, no doubt.
Fleamont wasn't in his portrait either, likely bored and off visiting Euphemia.
Kreacher was home, but he didn't show himself.
Still, as soon as they entered the yard, five pairs of cozy slippers and five mugs of hot, personalized drinks were already waiting.
"So what exactly is a Navigator?" Tonks blurted before even sitting down.
Harry sat slowly, blowing on his drink. "While the Hunt chases Elder Blood, they already have a limited ability to travel between worlds. Those who can do so are called Navigators."
"But compared to someone with Elder Blood, their ability to transport full entities is far more restricted."
Dumbledore nodded. "So you think it was him?"
"Doesn't matter who exactly," Harry replied, sipping his drink. "What matters is—the Hunt was definitely responsible."
Kingsley frowned.
"But I thought they were after the Elder Blood?" Tonks asked, confused. "Why would they kidnap those two women?"
Harry stared at them.
"History… and Charms," Kingsley muttered, realization dawning. "They want to learn about our world?"
A terrifying idea took shape—and shocked even him. "They're considering something more?"
"Clearly," Harry confirmed.
"But charms and history aren't everything," Dumbledore said softly.
He and Harry exchanged a long look, both arriving at the same conclusion.
If the Hunt wanted to understand this world deeply, those two hostages wouldn't be enough.
"Who are the current great Transfiguration masters?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore considered, then replied, "Minerva, Sirius, and myself."
The benchmark was clear—mastering Animagus was the line.
There were likely others who never registered with the Ministry, but publicly known masters? Just those three.
As an unregistered Animagus, Sirius qualified.
Harry paused and called the Sorting Hat awake.
"Oh, good morning, Harry," the Hat said sleepily, twitching its tip. "Doesn't look like I need to fight today?"
"Do you know where Sirius is?" Harry asked.
The Hat tilted its brim, thinking.
"Then go find Hedwig and have her take you to him," Harry instructed, tapping it gently. "Once you do, get him straight to Hogwarts."
Sensing Harry's uncharacteristic seriousness, the Hat straightened its fabric with solemn dignity and agreed.
"How wonderful you still trust Hogwarts so much," Dumbledore said with a soft smile.
Harry shook his head. "No, I just believe that while the Hunt still doesn't fully understand our world, they won't make a rash move on Hogwarts."
"What about Potions Masters?"
"The top three are all at Hogwarts," Dumbledore replied. "But… there's also Damocles and Smethwyck."
Damocles—the inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion.
Smethwyck—a top healer at St. Mungo's.
"I'll notify Minister Scrimgeour and have personnel sent to protect them," Kingsley said at once.
Harry waved him off. "Not just yet. There's more."
"Herbologists?"
Dumbledore sighed. "Very rare. The ones I know teach at Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons."
Kingsley winced. "Right. We'll have to contact the other Ministries."
"Magical Creatures experts?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore shook his head. "Even fewer. Only two come to mind—Rubeus, and Newt Scamander."
At the last name, his brow creased slightly.
"We'll need to keep an eye on them," Harry said. "They'll likely be the Hunt's next targets."
Kingsley hesitated, then sighed. "Harry… I have to remind you."
"Great as our British wizards are, many masters don't live in Britain."
"The Ministry won't be able to protect them all."
Harry looked at him steadily.
"We'll do what we can," Kingsley relented. "If not direct protection, we'll at least assign Aurors to monitor them."
"I'll write to Newt," Dumbledore said quietly. "Maybe I can convince him to stay at Hogwarts for a while."
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Powerstones?
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