Chapter 114: Dumbledore's First Army

“All right, we don’t have time to get bogged down in trivial matters,” Dumbledore suddenly snapped out of his reverie and addressed Shiven and Newt. “Grindelwald’s plan is already underway. Our mission is to stop him by any means necessary!”

Dumbledore handed Shiven a delicate, light brown ticket, inscribed in golden letters:

“London (King’s Cross Station) to Berlin (Friedrichstrasse Station), One-way ticket. Platform Three and One Third, The Noble Magical Express.”

“Wait, why are you giving me a ticket?” Shiven blinked in surprise.

“It’s not for you,” Dumbledore smiled gently. “Please deliver it to Mr. Strange and remind him to be punctual for the gathering on the train.”

‘So ultimately, this is still meant for me...’ Shiven’s lips twitched involuntarily as he muttered to himself.

Then, a mischievous smile curled on his face as he asked Dumbledore, “So how is Mr. Strange, being a ghost, supposed to carry a ticket like this?”

“You just tell him the departure time and station,” Dumbledore replied with a playful wink. “I suppose the ticket inspectors won’t be so bored as to hassle a ghost!”

…

Beneath the sky, the silver peaks rose and fell, the endless ridges cloaked in snow. The snowy veil draped over the Alps like soft velvet, turning the world into a vast expanse of white.

An old, worn green train crept along a gentle slope beside the snowy peaks, shrouded intermittently by the mountains and mist. Its green exterior was dusted with white snowflakes during the swift journey, partially masking its antiquated appearance.

Though the outside was aged, the interior of the carriage was exquisitely decorated. Rich red leather adorned the seats, complemented by brass fittings, gold leaf, and walnut veneer, creating an air of understated luxury.

Yet this elegant setting did little to lift Shiven’s spirits.

At this moment, the ghostly Shiven floated listlessly through the carriage, arms folded, eyes vacant as he gazed out at the snow-covered Alps and the occasional cedar tree flashing past the train.

“So, it’s just the few of us going up against Grindelwald’s hundred thousand followers?” Shiven finally broke the silence, unable to hold back his doubts.

“Hey, ghost brother, you can’t say it like that!” The man standing beside Newt smiled warmly. “In fact, we only need to confront Grindelwald and his closest followers. Besides, you’re not exactly a ‘person,’ so your words aren’t entirely accurate.”

This man bore some resemblance to Newt, his sharp suit lending him an air of handsome sophistication.

As he spoke, he instinctively reached out to put his arm around Shiven’s shoulder, but upon seeing Shiven’s semi-transparent form, he awkwardly withdrew his hand and scratched his nose.

Hearing Thesus, Newt’s brother, claim he wasn’t a person, Shiven neither took offense nor argued. After all, as a ghost, denying his humanity wasn’t entirely wrong.

His gaze then fell upon a house-elf pushing a trolley laden with enticing tea, coffee, sandwiches, and pastries.

Shiven glanced at the food so close yet impossible to taste, a wave of frustration washing over him.

He looked around at the handful of passengers in the carriage and felt even more disheartened, the prospect of opposing Grindelwald seeming overwhelmingly bleak.

“Mr. Strange, we’re not just the ones here now,” Newt said, noticing Shiven’s gloomy expression. “There are other members yet to arrive.”

“Let’s hope so,” Shiven nodded indifferently.

To be honest, Shiven was beginning to regret joining Dumbledore’s so-called “plan.” He had little faith in this “Dumbledore’s Army,” sensing it was a hastily assembled, unprofessional group.

“Your last name is Strange?” A brown-skinned man approached, addressing Shiven.

“Uh, yes, that’s right,” Shiven replied hesitantly, looking curiously at the man.

“What connection do you have with the Lestrange family?” The man’s expression grew serious.

Shiven was puzzled. He had simply borrowed the name “Strange” from a junior apprentice without much thought. Could it be just because “Strange” and “Lestrange” differ by only two letters?

He sighed inwardly. “I can assure you, the surname Strange has no relation whatsoever to Lestrange!”

‘They’re from completely different worlds—how could they be connected?’ he thought, finding the question absurd.

Seeing the tension rise, Newt hurried over and positioned himself between the two.

“Karma, Mr. Strange is a ghost from the East and certainly has no ties to the Lestrange family,” Newt explained to the brown-skinned man.

“Indeed, the surname Strange is one I picked at random,” Shiven added innocently.

Karma’s expression softened, and he bowed slightly. “Apologies, I overreacted.”

Thesus then stepped forward.

“Ghost, you can ignore him. This man suffers from a bit of post-traumatic stress,” he said, slinging an arm around Karma’s shoulder. “Ten years ago, he even tried to kill Credence and my fiancée, Leta.”

Mentioning Leta cast a shadow over Thesus’s face.

Karma paid little heed, simply retorting firmly, “I do not have PTSD.”

“Yes, you do,” Thesus insisted.

…

Newt ignored their bickering and turned to Shiven to explain: “Karma has his reasons. His father bound him with an unbreakable curse to avenge the previous head of the Lestrange family.”

“Revenge?” Shiven blinked.

As a pure-blood family originating from France and also flourishing in England, the Rozier and Lestrange families were well acquainted. The Rozier family’s understanding of the Department of Mysteries largely came through the Lestranges, with whom they often intermarried.

Shiven had also heard the story of the previous French Lestrange patriarch — Corvus Lestrange IV — who had once used the Cruciatus Curse to abduct a beautiful witch and forced her to bear him a son…

“So you are…?” Shiven looked at Karma with a strange expression.

Karma paused his conversation with Thesus, his tone heavy. “Yes. The woman Lestrange took was my mother.”

“Fine, I forgive you then,” Shiven said, rubbing his forehead.

He had never imagined that, as the heir to the Rozier family, he would come face to face with the scandalous affairs of their allied family, the Lestranges.

Fortunately, he was operating in the form of the spirit that was Stephen Strange; otherwise, he felt the situation would be even more awkward.

Suddenly, the entire carriage was bathed in green firelight.

The fireplace connected to the Floo Network flared to life, drawing everyone’s attention!

…

…