Joseph Poincaré was the former Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation at the French Ministry of Magic.
Since his wife's death, he had moved from Paris back to his old house in Strasbourg on the banks of the Rhine River to live alone. The wizarding war of that year, while leaving countless pains and tragedies, also allowed him to make a large number of foreign wizarding acquaintances. Therefore, during the final stages of the war, he was temporarily transferred from the Auror Headquarters to the French Department of International Magical Cooperation. This "borrowing" lasted for more than thirty years, and he finally announced his retirement a few years ago.
Perhaps it was a habit formed during the wizarding war, but Joseph never attempted to use magic to shield the information about his residence.
"The Ministry and I respect everyone's privacy and space for rest," the old gentleman had said more than once, "but there are always twenty-four hours in a day, aren't there? If you encounter something terrible at night, whether I can help or not, I at least have a cup of hot tea here—"
In the beginning, many people once thought that Joseph was building momentum for a comeback to run for Minister of Magic.
However, as time passed, the wizards of the French magical world began to believe the old wizard's promises.
Whether it was a homeless wandering wizard or a monster hunter who was accidentally injured at midnight... when you pull the lantern hanging in front of the old house on the banks of the Rhine in Strasbourg, an old man in a bathrobe will always open the door and hand you a cup of warm tea in the living room.
Of course, it was more than just hot tea most of the time. Decades of work at the Ministry of Magic allowed Joseph to handle many things with ease.
"The Night Watchman of Strasbourg" - this was Joseph Poincaré's new nickname after retirement.
Some wizards even suggested that the Ministry of Magic directly establish a "Night Watchman" guard post.
"Personally, I don't think it's necessary. The French magical world has been peaceful for half a century, and we will spend another half-century in peace."
The current Minister of the French Ministry of Magic, Caster, said in an interview, "The Ministry of Magic has extremely clear and precise working hours. If we promise twenty-hour shifts, it would be a mess. Mr. Poincaré's approach is admirable, but his place should be called a 'haven for tramps and drunks,' not an official 'Night Watchman post.' Of course, you can also see him as a half-time Auror on the night shift—"
In fact, just as Caster said, not many wizards knock on Joseph's door at night.
Most of them are wandering wizards, or unlucky people who have been kicked out after a fight, or even guys who have come to confide after a failed confession.
Only once did it involve an emergency Auror deployment, and that was because a drunk wizard accidentally set his own house on fire. But before the wizards could arrive on the scene, the Muggle fire brigade took the lead in putting out the flames - in terms of effect, a high-pressure water gun isn't much worse than Aguamenti.
Therefore, on this slightly cold night, when Joseph was awakened by the urgent knocking on the door, he thought that some drunk guy had caused some trouble again.
As usual, he got out of bed, casually put on a bathrobe, and waved the wand placed on the bedside table.
The fireplace in the living room silently lit up, dispelling the darkness and cold that lingered in the house.
Joseph walked into the living room, skillfully instructing the kettle to boil water while opening the door.
"Good evening, find a warm place by the fireplace and sit down first—"
The old wizard said gently without turning his head. Old Joseph was almost eighty years old. Although many former subordinates and friends thought it was dangerous for him to receive strangers in this way, he didn't think there was anything wrong with it. After all, there was nothing worth stealing in his house.
"There's no time for tea, Mr. Poincaré! Something big has happened!"
Just then, a flustered voice sounded behind him, sounding a bit like...
"Frank?! What are you doing here?"
Joseph turned his head subconsciously, looking in surprise at the wizard who appeared at his door.
Frank Martin, the current Director of the Department of International Magical Cooperation.
"There's no time to explain so much, sir. We need to contact Minister Caster and Director Bernard immediately—"
Frank said quickly, panting. He was wearing striped pajamas under his wizard's cloak, looking as if he had run all the way from Paris.
"Unbelievable—just now—just a few minutes ago, nearly a hundred British Aurors rushed into our Ministry of Magic lobby!—My God—you can't imagine their reason—they said they were going to join forces with our Aurors for a blitz on the Armenian magical world—This—I had no idea about this at all before—this kind of thing is terrible—whether it's true or false—right—?"
"Calm down, Frank. First of all... are you sure they're from the British Ministry of Magic?"
"Of course! The leader of those British wizards is Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of the British Ministry of Magic, my God—are they trying to secretly start a war? What do we do now? The worst thing is that it's after hours, I can't contact anyone except you..."
"I understand, in any case, this is indeed a big deal."
Joseph Poincaré nodded, his expression instantly becoming serious.
The old wizard said, glanced at his successor still wearing a bathrobe and slippers, frowned, and summoned two sets of fleece-lined shirts from the closet above with a wave of his wand, "But before that, you should change your clothes first. If it involves negotiations with other Ministries of Magic, your current image is a bit embarrassing. There are extra pairs of leather shoes at the door. In five minutes, I'll go to the Ministry of Magic with you to take a look..."
…………
Meanwhile, in England, in the Crouch family's bedroom.
"Master, master, wake up quickly—"
Barty Crouch suddenly woke up, surrounded by darkness.
At first, Old Crouch thought he had just woken up in the middle of the night.
Then he suddenly realized that someone was carefully pushing his shoulder in the darkness and calling his name timidly.
"Get away!" he waved his arm impatiently, frowning heavily, "Winky?! What are you doing?!"
"Emergency letters, Master—from the Ministry of Magic, foreign countries, and *The Daily Prophet*..."
Winky, the house-elf, stared with her two tennis ball-sized eyes, looking particularly uneasy. Barty Crouch then noticed that she was holding several letters in her hand, "Winky didn't want to disturb Master's rest, but owls kept flying over, Winky is afraid..."
Barty Crouch quickly sat up and snatched the letters from the house-elf's hand.
"Turn on the light," Crouch said, frowning as he looked at the pile of letters, "What the hell is going on—"
Tap tap tap—
Just then, there was a rapid knocking sound outside the window.
Barty Crouch and the house-elf Winky turned their heads at the same time, only to see a snow-white fat owl anxiously hitting the Crouch family's window, and below its claws, a red letter seemed to have begun to curl and smoke.
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Yay!