Coming to America, Maverick did not waste any time and went straight to Edward's secret underground base beneath St. Matthew Island in Alaska.
Luckily, Sarah Walker was not tied up with anything important and came as soon as he called. After Maverick showed her the three lycan variant werewolves and explained his theory, she grew more than a little excited and agreed at once to help without a moment's hesitation.
The three werewolves, meanwhile, were quickly dealt with, as the master potioneer confirmed that they did not necessarily need to be alive—only their blood would suffice for the experiments.
Edward also turned up sometime later upon his call, and once Maverick laid out the plan, he too was keen to get involved. After all, this was something that would affect the entire magical world.
Right now, the only option was the Wolfsbane Potion—no, it could not even be called a true solution, as it was only a temporary leash at best. Something that could at least allow infected wizards to fully control the beast's mind after transformation would be a far better alternative than the partial remedy that was Wolfsbane, which had to be taken on a strict schedule a week before the full moon—otherwise, the beast got free rein.
With the foundation laid, the only thing now missing was a team of scientists, but Edward promised to handle that as well, and the research was set to begin without delay.
Maverick, however, did not stick around for long. He left everything in Sarah's hands because a breakthrough in research like this would not happen overnight and might take weeks or even months.
Right now, there were only three weeks left before the academic year began, and he had another matter he needed to settle, so he returned back to England.
---
August 1992
The Leaky Cauldron bustled with life, as always—clinking plates, hurried footsteps, and a steady stream of families ushering their children toward the entrance to Diagon Alley. It was early August, and students were busy finishing their supply lists before the start of term.
In a quiet corner of the pub, Maverick sat with his breakfast, idly flipping through the morning's newspaper.
Looks like those Aurors decided to cover for me, he thought, humming lightly behind his cup.
Across the front page, bold letters screamed:
Fudge Leads Ministry's Elite in Historic Raid: Infamous Dark Wizard Greyback Eliminated and Notorious Werewolf Pack Captured!
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he skimmed through the article.
Wonder how those five feel reading this rubbish, he mused. Not a single mention of them in the headline—just a vague nod in the article—and the coward who nearly got them killed with his loose tongue is out there parading like a hero.
He set his cup down with a soft clink and leaned back in his chair, settling in comfortably.
His people in the Wizengamot had already begun moving their pieces. Let the fat man have his moment, he thought, recalling the few meetings he'd had with the neutral faction—now his people—and the reports they'd been sending him.
And just then, his phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. He pulled it out, skimmed the message, and then a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
Time to go fishing... he thought, a knowing look crossing his face as he slid the phone back into his coat pocket and pushed his chair back.
---
Diagon Alley was alive with noise and color. The late summer crowd was thicker than ever, clogging the narrow street from end to end. Sunshine spilled over the crooked cobblestones, making the shop windows sparkle and setting the colorful banners overhead flapping in the warm breeze.
Outside Flourish and Blotts, the crowd swelled even larger. The shop was packed wall to wall, the line of customers spilling out the door and curling halfway down the alley. Wizards and witches craned their necks for a glimpse inside, while children stood on tiptoe, clutching copies of the same bright book, its cover stamped with gleaming gold letters.
At the center of it all, perched at a table stacked high with copies of his latest work, sat Gilderoy Lockhart, beaming under the popping flashes of enchanted cameras. His robes were a vivid shade of turquoise, trimmed with silver, and his teeth flashed unnaturally white as he waved and posed for the crowd.
The man was basking in the attention, signing books with dramatic flourishes, pausing every now and then to toss out a wink or a few self-satisfied words. He might have been the star of the Alley that day—but not everyone was there to fawn over him.
From across the street, Maverick watched the scene unfold from the shadow of a narrow alleyway, his hands tucked loosely into his coat pockets.
A fraud, he thought idly, his gaze slipping over the crowd to the man at the center. But a useful one.
Then a faint curve touched his mouth—not quite a smile, when he spotted a familiar group weaving their way into the crowded shop.
All redheads, and... Harry, tagging along, just like in the story, he mused.
Was it a "rescue," or did Harry actually inform the Dursleys before running off with those troublemakers? He hummed lightly under his breath, recalling how, in the original story, Harry had been locked up like a criminal, iron bars on his windows to keep him from returning to school—and how the Weasley kids had broken him out of there with that...
Speaking of which, I should take a look at that enchanted car of theirs.
While he stood there, idly musing, another familiar pair slipped into the bookstore—the older blond leading the way, the smaller one trailing close behind. Just the people he had been waiting for.
Taking his time, Maverick stepped out from the alley and crossed the street, heading straight for the shop with slow, steady steps.
Just as he reached the door, a sudden swell of gasps and shouts drifted out from inside. It did not sound like fear—more like excitement.
He tuned in with his magical sense and quickly picked up on two distinct signatures: fully grown wizards brawling like common street thugs inside the shop.
Cutting through the dense crowd, he made his way to the front and caught sight of the scene. There, between toppled stacks of books and wide-eyed onlookers, Arthur Weasley was pounding his fists into the face of none other than Lucius Malfoy.
The shop was in chaos. Children were shrieking, witches were craning their necks for a better view, and someone in the back had even started chanting, "Fight! Fight! Fight!" as if it were a professional match at a dueling competition.
And somewhere in the chaos, Gilderoy Lockhart was hovering uncertainly on a table, calling out half-heartedly for order, but no one was listening.
Maverick stared for a beat, then sighed. He had read about this scene, but seeing it in person, it looked even more ridiculous.
He chose to step in, raised a hand and then—
SNAP!
The sound, magnified by a simple charm, cracked through the bookstore like a cannon blast, making everyone flinch and clap their hands to their ears. In an instant, the noise died. Even Arthur and Lucius froze mid-swing, fists still half-raised.
Maverick flicked his fingers again, and without ceremony, the two men were yanked apart, lifted a foot off the ground, and left hanging there, struggling like puppets.
Lucius was the first to react.
"Who is it?!" he spluttered, flailing his arms and kicking wildly. "Show yourself! Release me! Release me this instant... you coward!"
Arthur also struggled, though with a bit more dignity, keeping his mouth shut.
A ripple of gasps swept through the crowd at the strange sight.
"Father!" cried Draco, darting forward to grab at Lucius's dangling foot. "What's happening?!"
Then, from somewhere near the front, came a chorus of young voices.
"Professor!"
The moment Harry spotted Maverick, he sprinted toward him, his face breaking into a relieved grin. Ron and Hermione were right behind him, weaving through the crowd.
Maverick smiled lightly and gave Harry a nod before turning back to the two floating men.
"So, gentlemen..." his voice carried easily through the silence. "Shall I conjure a stage and give each of you a sword and shield so you can finish this properly?"
He paused, surveying them both with mild amusement.
Everyone in the shop turned to look at him, just in time to see him flick his finger downward. Slowly, the two men descended and dropped to the ground.
The moment his foot touched the wooden floor, Lucius huffed and briskly adjusted his robe, as if straightening it could somehow erase the embarrassment.
Arthur, on the other hand, beamed at Maverick with a wide, almost goofy grin—like a starstruck fan meeting a celebrity for the first time.
But before either of them could say a word, a chorus of "Ouch!", "Hey!", and "Watch it!" rippled through the crowd as Gilderoy Lockhart came bumbling through, elbowing people left and right.
He first took one look at the two disheveled men, then spotted Maverick—and his eyes lit up like a child spotting free sweets at a party.
Then, as if he had rehearsed it a hundred times, Lockhart gave an exaggerated swish of his robes, straightened up proudly, and raised his voice so that even the customers in the back could hear.
"Well! I was just about to take control of the situation myself!"
He turned left and right as he spoke, flashing dazzling smiles at random strangers like he was addressing a stadium.
He then made a beeline for Maverick, reaching out boldly to seize his hand in greeting—but just before he could touch him, Lockhart met Maverick's gaze.
In the depths of his very soul, he heard a voice like a hammer:
"Beat it. You're not needed here."
And his hand froze midair. His face went pale, and without thinking, he jerked back two steps, gulping loud enough for half the shop to hear.
"I... I..." he stammered.
"You were leaving..."
He heard that thunderous voice again, like it was being shouted right into his eardrums. But when he looked around, no one was moving their mouths.
Did it matter? No.
Because he was a coward—and cowards did not stay to ask questions.
"Yes! I... I was just about to leave!" Lockhart squeaked, nodding frantically. He glanced around like a trapped ferret, spotted the door, and bolted—knocking over a stand of spellbooks on his way out, leaving behind his things and his dignity.
The crowd blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of the scene. One moment, they saw Lockhart striding up with all the bravado of a peacock, and the next, he was backpedaling like a terrified Kneazle, scrambling for the door with the grace of a flailing squid. It was as if someone had flicked a switch, turning his swagger into pure panic.
"What just happened?" some people muttered, glancing at each other.
Maverick paid no mind to the bewildered crowd or their speculations and focused back on the two adults before him.
Lucius, who had witnessed the whole thing, narrowed his eyes at Maverick suspiciously, but said nothing. Maverick simply smiled—an unreadable, knowing smile—and turned to Arthur, who had started to approach but hesitated.
Maverick leaned in and extended his hand to the man. When he had read the books and watched the movies, he had quite liked the character.
"Mr. Weasley, I believe this is our first meeting. A pleasure. I've been wanting to meet you for some time."
Arthur's face lit up like a Christmas tree. He eagerly grasped Maverick's hand, shaking it enthusiastically.
"Mr.—I mean, Master Caesar! What a pleasure! You... you wanted to meet me? Well then, I'd be honored to host you for dinner. How about at the Burrow tonight?"
He said it all in one breath, as if he might not get to say all that if he didn't rush.
Maverick chuckled lightly. "I'm afraid not tonight, Mr. Weasley. I already have something on my schedule." He then made a thoughtful gesture and added, "How about next Saturday evening instead?"
Arthur bobbed his head so fast it was a miracle it stayed attached.
"Of course! Please, call me Arthur!"
Just then, Lucius cut in stiffly, clearing his throat.
"I shall be taking my leave."
Clearly, he had no intention of standing around like a third wheel any longer, but he also didn't want to offend the master alchemist by leaving rudely.
Maverick gave him a glance, then looked down at Draco.
He smiled warmly. "Hello, little Draco. How were your holidays?"
Draco glanced at his father, then back at Maverick and answered politely, "They were good, Professor. Thank you."
Maverick smiled even more and turned his gaze back to Lucius.
"Draco is a very bright, brilliant young wizard, Mr. Malfoy. I have high hopes for him."
Lucius's eyes gleamed slightly in surprise. The praise, as far as he could see, was sincere—without a hint of prejudice.
For the first time that day, some of the tension around his shoulders loosened. He gave a tight nod and turned to leave.
But just as he did, Maverick casually pulled a book from inside his coat, making sure Lucius saw it, and held it loosely in one hand while giving the man a knowing glance.
"You have a good day, Mr. Malfoy. I'm sure we'll be seeing each other soon."
Lucius froze mid-step, his eyes snapping toward the youngest Weasley girl, who was clutching her new books. It only took a moment for him to realize what was missing. The book he had "accidentally" slipped into her pile earlier was no longer there.
And somehow, it had found its way into this young man's hands.
His blood ran cold, and he stood there, trying to make sense of it.
"Dad?" Draco tugged at his sleeve, looking up at him in confusion.
Lucius jerked, glancing around, but things only grew stranger. The crowd that had been there had dispersed, and the store was now buzzing with... normalcy again.
What just happened? he muttered under his breath.
His eyes darted around until they found the young man again, now standing by a bookshelf, chatting casually with Arthur Weasley and the children.
What the hell just happened? Lucius thought, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach.
"Dad? What's wrong?" Draco asked again.
Lucius coughed lightly. He didn't want to spend a single moment longer here. He gave one last, wary look at the book in Maverick's hand and muttered to his son, "Let's go," in a low, unreadable voice.
And from the corner of his eye, Maverick watched them leave.
"Well then, Arthur. I'll see you next Saturday. You too, children. And you, little Ginny. It's lovely to meet you."
Maverick smiled at the small redhead, who blushed fiercely and bobbed her head.
Then he turned to Harry.
"And you, Harry. How are your aunt and uncle?"
Harry scratched the back of his head awkwardly.
"Uh... they're... good, Professor. More than good."
"Do they know you're here?" Maverick asked lightly.
"Oh, yes, Professor. I told them I'd be with Ron and his family buying supplies. They even gave me a bunch of pounds..."
Maverick's smile widened slightly.
"Good... well then, if you're still at Mr. Weasley's house next Saturday, I'll see you then."
Harry nodded eagerly.
After exchanging goodbyes, Maverick left the shop. But his magical sense never stopped tracking the blond duo.
Once outside, he slipped quietly into a less crowded alleyway and turned invisible again, waiting.
About half an hour later, the magical trace he was watching finally disappeared. Maverick pulled a small parchment from his coat, whispered a few words over it, and watched patiently.
A moment later, the corner of his mouth curled upward.
Woosh!
Space distorted, and he vanished from the spot.
—————————
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