Hearing the call of the little owlet, the two wizard guards froze in an instant.

As perhaps the last laughing owl in the world today, Vica was too recognizable in both its call and appearance. Coupled with the way it had just emerged from Irina's chest, they almost momentarily thought the young lady herself was paying a secret visit.

The two exchanged glances, and the older wizard reached out to take the note from Irina's hand.

"You said just now that you're here seeking help?"

"Yes, sir. My daughter received an acceptance letter from Hogwarts – a special admission."

Ivanovich snapped out of his daze, stepped in front of his daughter, used his burly frame to shield her from the somewhat rude gaze of the two unfamiliar wizards, and straightened his back, speaking in an extremely proud tone.

"Good heavens…"

The older wizard looked at the note in his hand, then at the little owlet peeking out from Irina's collar, and nodded solemnly to the younger wizard beside him.

"Indeed, this is – this is absolutely –"

Before the older wizard could finish, he glanced warily at the surrounding onlookers, and his expression turned serious.

He quickly put away his "nightstick," turned sideways, pointed towards the closed potato shop door nearby, and said quickly, trying to suppress the excitement on his face.

"This isn't the place to talk. Let's go over there first."

With the accompaniment of the two officers, the Ivanovich father and daughter's subsequent journey was naturally unimpeded. Following the two wizard guards, they effortlessly entered the potato shop, which was not yet open for business.

It was a shop that looked no different from an ordinary one.

Near the entrance were three cash registers, and several elderly people around fifty or sixty years old were sitting together, arguing intensely about something. Behind them were four or five movable blackboards covered in white chalk writing.

And further away, there were piles and piles of potatoes, each at least the size of a grown Russian man's fist—Ivanovich swore with his wand that these were definitely potatoes from other places. He had never seen such quality potatoes in Saint Petersburg before.

As they entered, the loud discussion suddenly stopped.

The next moment, the old men, with an agility that belied their age, quickly flipped the blackboards around, revealing the other side: 【Today's Potato Price ______kg】

"Gentlemen, no need to be nervous, it's us."

The younger wizard, named Walter, carefully closed the shop door behind him, blocking the gaze of the people waiting in line outside, and shook his head with a smile, explaining.

"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Valter?"

An old man stood up, brushed the chalk dust off his clothes, looked at the Ivanovich father and daughter, one large and one small, who were following behind Walter and the others, frowned, and said unceremoniously, like a string of firecrackers.

"And who are they? There are still twenty-eight minutes until the official opening. If I remember correctly, didn't we agree before that this time before opening every day would be reserved for us old men to discuss some simple matters, and no one would disturb us?"

"As you can see, a rather special guest has come seeking help. According to the regulations in our handbook, we must respond according to the guidelines – in other words, we need to borrow this place for a while, like the previous times."

The wizard named Walter spread his hands helplessly and pointed to Irina, who was holding the little owlet behind him.

The old man raised his hand, grinned, and asked in a brisk and efficient tone.

"So… this time you need us to temporarily leave for a few minutes?"

"Sorry, the situation is a bit special today."

Walter shook his head and exchanged a glance with the older wizard next to him, who was checking the surrounding windows and vents.

"Next, we need to clear the area. From now until we're done here, this area will be under the highest level of lockdown. In fact, even I can't give you an accurate answer—"

The highest level of lockdown? Such a high level of secrecy?

The old man glanced thoughtfully at Irina and the seemingly foolish Ivanovich, shrugged noncommittally, called the other old buddies around him to stand up, and walked towards a small house on the side of the shop with practiced ease.

As an old fellow who retired from a former Soviet research institute, one of the things he learned in most of his past years was—in areas unrelated to research and science, be sure to restrain your curiosity.

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