The Ministry of Magic's inventory work was more efficient than Cornelius Fudge had imagined.

Before dawn even began to break, the rough statistics from each department were already out, though he now wished they had been slower.

"So...the Dark Lord and the Death Eaters, they almost destroyed half of the Ministry of Magic?" Cornelius Fudge exhaled deeply, suddenly aware of the toll the years had taken on him. At least a decade ago, he had never experienced such chest tightness and shortness of breath.

"The Department of Mysteries suffered particularly heavy damage. The Hall of Prophecy is approximately ninety percent destroyed. The gentlemen from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes are still attempting salvage and restoration, but the final outcome may not be optimistic..."

Amelia Bones flipped through the statistics in her hand, her monocle reflecting a sharp glint.

"Also, we now know at least one of the Dark Wizards' targets—"

"Actually, the word 'destroyed' isn't entirely accurate. The majority of the floors have sustained varying degrees of damage, except for the floor where our Department of Magical Law Enforcement is located—they didn't cause any destruction. They emptied everything!"

"Besides that, there's the courtroom area. All the files from the Ministry's founding were taken..."

As the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bones had mentally prepared herself for a scene of ruins before going upstairs.

After all, compared to other departments, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was definitely the one the Dark Lord and Death Eaters hated the most.

However, when she stepped out of the creaking elevator, Amelia Bones realized that she had been far too optimistic.

Aside from the torches on the walls, the wooden panels inlaid in the corridors, and the weather-enchanted windows, there wasn't so much as a desk or filing cabinet. Even the magical lamps on the ceiling had been unscrewed and taken by those bastards. The floor was as "clean" as if it had just been built.

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement has had everything removed? What are they trying to do?"

Cornelius Fudge frowned deeply, muttering a curse under his breath.

He felt as if he were back when he had just taken over as Minister, all matters piled up chaotically, everything urgent, but upon closer inspection, he felt helpless, pushed forward like a puppet by time and events.

He pondered for a long time, shaking his throbbing head, and sighed again, saying:

"In any case, Britain wasn't the only one attacked tonight. Once the damage reports from the various Ministries of Magic are compiled, the answer will naturally emerge."

"While we have this little bit of time, notify all the department heads to come to my office. We'll briefly exchange information before the press conference."

Cornelius Fudge paused for a few seconds, glancing at the dragon not far away.

It was because of those two rampaging Ukrainian Ironbellies that the Dark Lord and his followers had to retreat.

Gringotts Wizarding Bank had fulfilled its promise, and in return, the goblins would naturally receive the acceptance and rewards of the wizards.

Only the two dragons were harmed in tonight's battle. Although Voldemort and his followers had also escaped, this was an outcome everyone was willing to accept. Shortly after the battle, the Gringotts goblins calmed the dragons and began to help the wizards clean up the scene.

They found small silver shovels and bottles from somewhere, wandering around the Ministry of Magic lobby and beside the dragons, collecting the spilled dragon blood.

Ah, goblins—

Cornelius Fudge shook his head, turning to Kingsley, who had just arrived, and instructing him.

"Kingsley, go notify the goblins. Have them send a representative to my office to communicate with us as well—"

............

The villagers of Little Hangleton were awakened by the shrill sound of sirens and the sound of heavy objects collapsing.

When they opened their windows in a panic, still wearing their pajamas, the Riddle House, which had stood on the hillside for more than half a century, had already turned into a sea of flames.

The tangled, withered vines and weeds undoubtedly fueled the fire. The bailiff and the town's police and firefighters, who had rushed to the scene, reached the same conclusion in a matter of minutes—unless there was a sudden downpour, they could only wait for the flames to burn everything around them before going over to take a look.

In fact, if it weren't for old Frank's insistence that there were many people there, the police were even planning to come back tomorrow.

"There were no screams, no figures. I only saw the fire—"

"That's impossible, sir. I swear I definitely saw someone go in. They lit the fireplace in the kitchen, and I even heard them plotting murder—you must think I'm crazy, but it's just that bizarre. The Riddle who bought this place is that Riddle—"

Old Frank waved his hands, eager to paint everything he had just seen and heard in the air.

"Everyone in Little Hangleton remembers that old Tom Riddle once had a scandalous elopement. He eloped with a vagrant's daughter for more than half a year. They had a child—that Tom Marvolo Riddle, sir. You summoned him here. He killed his own father decades ago, a very dangerous criminal, and I heard they were even planning to attack the police station—"

"I understand. Besides you, were there any other people on the scene when Riddle House caught fire?"

An officer yawned, rudely interrupting old Frank, scribbling in his notebook.

"Alright, we'll look into everything. Mr. Riddle and his housekeeper will also pay attention to this matter. After all, someone burned down their old house that they had just bought less than a month ago. If you have nothing else to add, Mr. Frank, pack your things and come back to the station with us."

"Pack my things...go back to the station?! Wait, wait—"

Old Frank was stunned for half a second, his body tense like a startled hound, his muddy gaze sweeping over the police officers.

Evidently, even after decades, the police were still as incompetent and stupid as ever. Old Frank knew what these guys were suspecting with his toes. The old man gripped his cane tightly, his knuckles white with effort, as if he would swing it forward at any moment.

"Just asking some details...it's not...well, in any case, your suspicion is indeed not small."

Under the old man's wary gaze, a slightly older officer sighed, spreading his hands in response.

"However, we can wait until the fire is extinguished. Anyway, it probably won't burn for much longer."

He glanced at the old house engulfed in flames.

"Whether someone broke in and what caused the fire will be known when we go in to take a look then—"

The surrounding weeds had been cleared away in advance by the firefighters and the police who came with them, and there were no shrubs or houses around Riddle House, so the fire would not spread further. The absence of figures and cries for help also relieved the firefighters. They didn't have to rush in.

The older policeman patted old Frank on the shoulder, saying with a smile.

"Don't worry, anyway, I believe that this was definitely not a fire set by Mr. Frank—"

"This fire couldn't possibly burn so fiercely without seven or eight barrels of gasoline to help it burn. It seems that the arsonist and the Riddle House or the new buyer must have some unknown grudges, otherwise there's no need to go to so much trouble to burn down an old house that's been abandoned for decades."

The middle-aged policeman said thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over the villagers, eventually returning to old Frank.

"Actually, compared to tonight's sudden fire, I'm more curious about the story of that Tom Riddle."

Perhaps because of "Sherlock Holmes," the British police have had an unusual enthusiasm for detective work and unraveling sealed cases in recent years. For a police officer, solving a sealed case from decades ago brings a reputation, honor, and a sense of accomplishment that is almost the sum of their lifelong trivial tasks. The more bizarre and incredible the case, the more easily it stirs the nerves of certain British police officers.

Frey's decades as a policeman told him that this matter definitely involved a story that could be discussed in the newspapers for several weeks at least.

Unlike those young people, Frey knew very well that if he wanted to move up the ranks before he retired, the best way was to find some major cases that could stimulate people's reading and discussion during times of economic depression, and the Riddle House arson case was clearly a great start to a story.

............

At the same time, on the hillside on the other side of Little Hangleton village.

Two old men stood side by side in the shadows of tall bushes, watching Riddle House in the distance engulfed in a sea of fire.

"Where's that girl?"

"If Hyperion isn't lying, she should be back at Hogwarts sleeping."

"Personally directed such a subversive performance in the magical world, and she can still go back to bed and sleep as if nothing happened? I thought she would at least wait until after the curtain call before going back—before that girl went back, did she have Hyperion convey anything?"

"No, she just said that as a model student at Hogwarts, she tries to avoid staying out all night."

Dumbledore said with a strange expression, glancing at the old Dark Lord standing beside him, "Well, in her words, from the moment you successfully evacuated, tonight's events are completely over. The rest of the things are all things that 'adults' should worry about..."

"Hey, truly...worthy of being the Goblin Queen—"

Grindelwald grinned, exclaiming nonsensically, then turned to look at Dumbledore.

"What about you? You'll have to show your face at the British Ministry of Magic, right? Need any help?"

"No need to trouble yourself. I'll go over in a bit—"

Dumbledore shook his head, his blue eyes reflecting the fire in the distance, then added an extra sentence after thinking for a moment.

"Besides, Moody is also there. Although his magical eye may not be able to see through your disguise, to be on the safe side, you shouldn't be too flamboyant lately. The situation in the magical world will definitely become very tense afterwards. If you can keep an eye on that child for me, that would be the greatest help."

"That's no problem—"

The old Dark Lord said with a confident smile, raising his hand to pat Dumbledore on the back.

"You know, my appearance fee is very high. If it weren't for the fact that that child had spared no expense, I wouldn't have played that crazy, tasteless, mentally unstable youth. To be honest, I'm a little worried now that I didn't act the part well enough."

"Well, that guy, his strength isn't that far off from being unable to handle two dragons, right? But I didn't dare to scare myself to death—"

"Dragons?" Dumbledore's face changed slightly.

"Oh, didn't you know? Gringotts lent the Ministry of Magic two dragons..."

————

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Hooray!