Chapter 113: The Survey Team
Time seemed to fly by!
After failing for the third time while brewing the initial solution of Veritaserum, the summer holidays finally came to an end.
Jon packed his new robes, textbooks, and bottles of potions into his backpack and trunk, then said goodbye to his parents.
“Don’t disappear for another whole year!” Jody said, kissing his cheek.
“I know, Mom...” Jon nodded. “I’ll try my best to come back for both Christmas and Easter this year!”
Leaving 86 Eastleigh Road once more, Jon made his way to Southampton station and boarded the train to London.
...
He arrived in London just after nine o’clock in the morning.
Instead of heading straight to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, Jon first stored his luggage at the station. Then he slipped into a restroom and quietly drank a small vial of Polyjuice Potion.
A minute later, a tall man with thick golden curls walked out.
Crossing York Road, Jon entered a small pub called The Fellow.
Inside, a man sat nervously at a window seat, glancing around.
Jon approached slowly, sat opposite him, and asked in a low voice, “Mr. Moreno?”
The man flinched slightly, checked the surroundings again, and lowered his head. “Yes, sir... How should I address you?”
“You can call me Sal,” Jon said evenly.
“But Sergei told me it was Mr. Varian Urien...” Moreno said quickly.
“Varian is my friend,” Jon explained. “He gave me your details. I was the one who contacted you earlier.”
As he spoke, Jon handed over a small foil-wrapped package.
“This is the deposit.”
Moreno unfolded the foil—and froze. Inside was a gold bar weighing at least fifty grams. He hurriedly tucked it into his pocket, his doubts about this oddly named man vanishing at once.
“Very well, Mr. Moreno,” Jon said with a smile. “I’ve seen your record. Back in the late seventies, you were involved in surveying and mapping mountainous regions, correct?”
“Yes, sir...” Moreno sighed wistfully. “That was many years ago.”
“Then tell me, could you call back some of your former colleagues? Could you still get hold of surveying equipment? Assume money isn’t an issue,” Jon asked.
“Of course!” Moreno nodded confidently.
“Good.” Jon lowered his voice. “I may have a job for you. In truth, I’m a property developer. I’ve been eyeing a village in northern Buckinghamshire...”
“...but the locals are stubborn. So I need a team to quietly survey and map the area in detail. Mark the key locations—cemeteries, abandoned manors, anything of note,” Jon explained.
“That won’t be a problem,” Moreno assured him. “I’ll contact several of my old associates right away. Just help me bring them into England...”
“Mr. Wilson can arrange that. He’ll help you—I’ll cover the costs.”
“And this village—where exactly is it?” Moreno asked.
“In northern Buckinghamshire, about six miles from Great Hangleton. A village called Little Hangleton,” Jon said calmly.
“Understood, sir!” Moreno jotted the address into his notebook and stood.
Jon rose too, giving his shoulder a light pat. “Do it properly, and you’ll be well rewarded. But since the locals aren’t friendly toward developers, keep it discreet.”
“Of course...”
Jon slipped two more gold bars into his hand.
With a meaningful smile, he left the pub.
...
This was a plan Jon had thought of long ago.
Voldemort and Wormtail were most likely hiding out in Riddle House at Little Hangleton, avoiding the Ministry’s pursuit.
And in about ten months, Voldemort would use Harry’s blood to return to life—right there in Little Hangleton’s graveyard.
Such an important location—how could he not gather detailed geographical information on it?
He had waited until the start of term to set this in motion because only today had Barty Crouch Jr. left Riddle Manor, disguised as Mad-Eye Moody, for Hogwarts.
With one of his key subordinates gone, Voldemort would surely be even more cautious.
But Jon reasoned that Voldemort, with his contempt for Muggles, would never bother with a simple surveying team.
And at this critical stage, Voldemort would not risk exposure to the Ministry or Dumbledore by attacking ordinary people.
So all Jon had to do was wait patiently for that map to be drawn.
And that was only step one of his plan.
...
By the time Jon returned to King’s Cross, it was nearly ten forty-five.
He slipped smoothly through the barrier onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
The Hogwarts Express was waiting—a deep crimson steam engine, belching thick smoke...
Rain suddenly began to fall, and Jon hurried aboard with his luggage.
He greeted familiar classmates one after another while searching for the compartment he knew so well...
“Good morning!” As Jon slid the door open, he heard Astoria’s cheerful voice. “Long time no see!”
Pinned to her chest was an Irish badge, its enchantment fading.
It was still shouting, “Troy! Mullet! Moran!”
But the chant was fading now, its voice weak and weary.
“You support Ireland?” Jon asked casually.
“Of course—the final was Ireland against Bulgaria!” Astoria replied as if it were obvious. Then she leaned forward excitedly. “Jon, it was an amazing match! Ireland barely scraped through...
“That Bulgarian Seeker was so foolish—he caught the Snitch when they were still 160 points behind. I thought Ireland was going to lose, I was so nervous... But then it just ended like that!”
As Astoria animatedly relived the World Cup, the compartment door slid open.
A little girl with deep red hair, emerald-green eyes shuffled inside.
“Jon!” she cried, her surprise quickly turning into joy.
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