The Forbidden Forest.
A long, military-green tent stood at its edge.
A round-faced man with a full beard stood at the entrance, his overcoat snapping loudly in the gale.
He stared straight ahead, as if waiting for something.
Crack!
Crack!
Crack!
Sharp pops rang out one after another.
Aurors appeared in quick succession, all wearing wary expressions as they scanned their surroundings.
The man, however, broke into a smile.
The next second, a familiar figure appeared in front of him.
The newcomer had neatly combed short black hair and wore an expensive, well-fitted suit.
Only the round-framed glasses on his face looked slightly out of place.
The two men smiled at each other, then warmly embraced.
"Long time no see, Neville!"
"I see you in the papers every day, esteemed Minister of Magic…"
Neville studied that face carefully, his gaze pausing for a moment on the lightning-shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
"Harry."
In front of his old friend, Harry actually looked a little embarrassed, as if he were still that "brave" boy with a trace of insecurity hidden beneath the surface.
"Forgive me. The Ministry has increased security measures for officials recently."
"That's only natural, after something so awful happened…"
Neville looked at Harry, then closed his mouth and led him toward the tent instead.
"I know you're short on time. Come in and have a look."
"Alright."
Harry nodded, curiosity showing in his serious eyes.
After all, Neville was now Hogwarts' Professor of Herbology, as well as a world-renowned expert in the field.
For something to make him bypass the Auror Office and come directly to Harry, it definitely could not be simple.
Neville lifted the tent flap.
Ignoring the warning look from the Aurors, Harry stepped straight inside.
What appeared before him was a field of ridges that seemed to stretch endlessly into the distance.
Overhead were rows of stainless-steel pipes, their nozzles spraying water from time to time.
Under the spaced-out sunlamps, the water shimmered brightly.
On the ridges grew sparse clusters of plants shaped like red lantern grass, except each had two large pincers. Every so often, one would snap at the air and stuff the little insect it caught into its cage.
"Crab Firecage Grass," Neville explained.
"Although it sounds like one of Hagrid's experimental creations, the sap inside has a powerful anti-inflammatory effect. At the moment, it's the most promising mass-producible product with the potential to fully cure cancer."
Harry listened obediently while nodding as if he understood.
This was well outside his field of knowledge.
But he did know that anything capable of curing cancer had to be important.
Even today, when magic had spread to every corner of the world, and many illnesses had become minor problems that could be cured with a wave of the hand, cancer and a small number of other terminal diseases remained a headache for humanity.
Not to mention the new illnesses that had appeared after magic and technology began to merge.
Harry pointed at the sparse, even somewhat ravaged ridges.
"So someone stole your Crab Firecage Grass?"
"It's Firecage Grass."
Neville corrected him seriously.
In that instant, Harry suddenly felt a fear carved into his bones, as if he had seen Professor McGonagall's shadow in Neville.
Professors were all terrifying!
Neville had no idea what Harry was thinking. His round face tightened with seriousness.
"That person passed through Hogwarts' strict protections, covered up the protective magic I left behind without leaving a trace, and had enough patience and tools to steal more than one hundred thousand Firecage Grass plants from here in complete silence. This is serious, Harry."
Harry, however, did not take it too seriously.
He was the Minister of Magic now. Over the years, he had dealt with countless things far more exaggerated and expensive than this.
A mere hundred thousand plants were not enough to make him pay attention.
But Neville was his old friend, so he did not show it. He only patted Neville's arm comfortingly.
"I know your research is important. Don't worry. I'll have every Auror in Britain help you track down this batch of Firecage Grass."
As if seeing through his perfunctory response, Neville stressed loudly, "That's not it, Harry. This batch of Firecage Grass isn't expensive!"
Harry froze, a question mark practically appearing over his head.
If it was not expensive, then what was the problem?
Neville took a deep breath.
"What's expensive is the sap of the Firecage Grass. The plant itself isn't actually worth much, and it isn't hard to grow, but its seeds have always been top secret and have never leaked."
"Because the real problem is that Firecage Grass has another use. Or rather, another ability."
Looking at Neville's grave face, Harry gradually held his breath.
"Firecage Grass can detonate Magic Fluid."
At that moment, Harry suddenly felt his legs go weak.
Magic Fluid!
It was the most successful and most widely used product born from the fusion of magic and technology.
In form, it was equivalent to petrol; in function, it was equivalent to a battery.
Almost every object with traces of magic could be powered by Magic Fluid, and it contained extremely high magical and technological energy.
Yet its properties were also extremely stable, even more stable than the safest batteries, making high-energy explosions almost impossible.
Because of this, humanity had always praised it, used it widely, and made it available everywhere.
Harry's hands trembled faintly despite himself, and he forced them still.
"You mean that as long as there's Magic Fluid, a single Firecage Grass plant is a bomb? And this batch of Firecage Grass could become a massive batch of bombs?"
"According to experiments, one Firecage Grass plant can detonate nearly a ton of Magic Fluid at most," Neville said in a low voice.
"If that thief has enough Magic Fluid, these hundred thousand Firecage Grass plants could blow the whole of Britain to pieces, without even leaving scraps behind."
"Once Firecage Grass is uprooted, it loses its effect after three days, Harry. You'd better find every single plant within those three days, without missing even one."
Harry's mind buzzed.
He did not know how he walked out of the tent or said goodbye to Neville.
He had no idea how he returned to the Ministry of Magic either.
Before him stood the Ministry building, now magnificent and openly situated on a street in London.
But in Harry's imagination, a tiny spark landed on a small Firecage Grass plant, and with a boom, the entire street was blasted to pieces.
What the hell was this?
Harry's expression went blank as he roared inwardly.
"Minister, a member of Parliament is waiting to have lunch with you. Your afternoon schedule includes the International Magical Forum, where you'll need to give a speech, followed by a Wizengamot hearing. Since it involves Wizarding Regulations, the Chief hopes you can attend in person. Before dinner, the Head of the Department of Magical Transportation would like to discuss the approval of magical rockets with you…"
"Cancel all of it."
"At dinner… what?"
Staring at his secretary, Harry said word by word, "I said, cancel all of it. I have something far more urgent to deal with today."
The secretary froze on the spot, somewhat at a loss.
"But these…"
"Forget it. I'll write to them myself and explain."
Harry waved his hand helplessly.
Even with an imminent crisis hanging over him, as Minister of Magic, he could only appear calm and composed. There was no need to make things difficult for a young secretary.
But inside, he was still so worried his head was spinning. He wanted to throw away the title of Minister, take his wife and children, and run as far away as possible…
But just as the secretary was about to leave, Harry suddenly came to his senses.
There was one person who could definitely help him!
"Wait. I need a reservation at Weasley's Restaurant. Invite… the British Prime Minister!"