Chapter 1 The Boy in Shackles
September 1991, 9.
London Cross East Station.
Harry Potter was happily pushing his luggage, looking for the platform 3 and 4/ shown on his ticket.
But no matter how he asked, the station manager always claimed that the platform did not exist.
Just when he was at a loss, the luggage cart he was pushing seemed to hit something.
"Be careful, kid." A scolding came.
Harry looked up quickly and saw two adult men in long trench coats and a blond boy between them.
The grown man glared at Harry, while the teenager smiled and gently leaned over to pat his soiled pants.
"I'm sorry?" Harry lowered his head quickly and saw an iron chain. He followed the chain all the way up.
Only then did he realize that the blond boy in front of him had shackles on his hands, legs and even neck.
Heavy iron chains tied up his entire body. Seeing this scene, Harry couldn't help but take a few steps back in fear.
The blond boy looked at him and smiled, then spread his hands and pointed to the wall behind him and said.
"I think you should look for that place. Go there bravely and you will get what you want."
After saying that, he, escorted by two men in windbreakers, walked straight through the wall and disappeared without a trace.
Outside the wall, Harry still looked confused, while inside the wall, he was under the surprised gaze of many children.
The blond boy was escorted to the very end of the train, and two men roughly stuffed him into the carriage.
Then he waited nervously outside the car. Inside the car, a short and fat middle-aged man had been waiting there for a long time.
The moment he saw the young man, he quickly asked him to sit down, and at the same time, tremblingly poured a glass of sherry for him and himself.
"Mr. Karl, you must have had a hard journey. Have a glass of sherry to warm yourself up."
The middle-aged man raised his glass, trying to get closer.
Unexpectedly, the other party didn't even raise his eyelids, but just sat quietly on the sofa beside him.
This made the middle-aged man extremely embarrassed. He, Cornelius Fudge, the current Minister of Magic, was known as the top leader of the entire British wizarding world.
No one had ever been so disrespectful to him before, and he had no choice but to sit back at the desk.
He flipped open the thick file and read in the calmest tone possible.
"Karl Hohenzollern, German and American citizen."
"You have been accused by the United Wizarding Nations of long-term illegal trading in magical creatures."
"The French Ministry of Magic accused you of being involved with the Witch Party in the 1940s."
"More importantly, this is the crime you committed in the Muggle world. You organized a mafia-like organization in New York State for a long time."
"Illegal drug smuggling, illegal firearms smuggling, and human trafficking."
"The international police's Red Notice is always ranked in the top ten. Don't you have anything to explain?"
"No, you continue."
Karl, who was sitting on the sofa, smiled faintly and stretched out his hand to signal the other party to continue.
His perfect etiquette and handsome appearance always give people a polite feeling.
But Mr. Cornelius Fudge, who was looking through the files, was very clear about the young man in front of him.
He is definitely not as harmless as he appears. What he has done behind the scenes is much more terrifying than the mysterious man before.
So he plucked up his courage, knocked on the table with his hand and spoke loudly.
"No, you must give an explanation for today's conversation."
"It will be the most important basis for whether you can enter Hogwarts. I must be responsible for my duties."
"Okay, if you insist."
Karl looked at Mr. Connelly opposite him calmly, picked up the sherry beside him, and said calmly while shaking it.
"First of all, let me be clear that I do not admit any of the charges, such as the first one."
"I have been illegally trading in magical creatures for a long time. The land is mine, as are the animals and trees on it."
"According to German law, it belongs to me. How can it be considered illegal for me to sell my personal property?"
"Secondly, Aunt Rozier is my elder relative. I don't know her past or what happened to her. I have no interest in her past."
"Finally, the accusations against the US government are nonsense. They don't have any evidence. I run a company in the US and operate legally."
"My accounting and accounts are sufficient to prove it all."
"What did you say? You smuggled drugs and trapped hundreds of thousands of Americans."
"They even smuggled arms into war-torn areas, causing those Muggles to kill each other."
Connelly couldn't help but roar.
Karl, who was interrupted, just smiled faintly at the accusation of the middle-aged man.
"How can you say that? You are now defaming us for selling opioids in our company."
"There are prescriptions from prescribing physicians as evidence, and this is completely legal under current U.S. law."
"As for those drug addictions, the side effects are clearly stated on the drug packaging."
"Those people have poor self-control. What does that have to do with me?"
"As for the arms smuggling, I cannot admit it even more. My shipping company's cargo ship was hijacked in the Persian Gulf, and I even called the police."
"Interpol was unable to recover my losses, but now they are framing me. How can this be justified?"
Silence. Faced with the boy's sophistry, Cornelius could only choose to remain silent, just as the other party said.
Even though there was such a thick pile of information in front of him, there was no actual evidence in it.
All the documents had words like "inference" and "possibility" written in red and large letters.
The reason why the other party is sitting here now is simply because he was arrested for misusing magic in the Muggle world.
And all signs indicate that the other party may have done this on purpose.
In response to this, he could only sigh deeply and look at Karl with his small eyes.
"You're going to hell Mr. Carr."
"Oh, really?" Hearing this, Carl smiled slightly, shaking his wine glass and continued.
"You all think I am a sinner, but have you ever thought about the homeless people on the streets of New York?"
"And for veterans who come home with severe PTSD, that little tube of painkiller."
"It may be the only comfort he can get in the world."
"As for the arms." Carl slowly stood up and drank the sherry in his hand.
"That is the last and best gift for people in despair who are rebelling against world hegemony."
After saying this, he opened his hands, pointed around, and smiled calmly.
"Look at the surroundings. How magnificent and disgusting it is. You don't have to see me off, Minister."
"I'm already in hell. I'm already there."
