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  This chapter was edited by Gdiusx. Check his works on HP and ASOIAF, I highly recommend them.

  Somewhere in the Italian Alps

  The Hunter’s Lodge

  “It has been weeks since that fmboyant peacock had gone into the Wildnd after the dragon. We must accept the reality that he is more than likely dead.” A corpulent and elderly man with a bushy white beard excimed to a gathering of his associates - he had the countenance of a warrior long past his prime who dreamed of his glory days. “My dear friends and fellow hunters. We must gather a team, a proper team, to sy the Evil Dragon Mophard and retrieve our Oracle!”

  “The Baron still has some time, Senior Bartholomew.” A younger man protested, dressed in rich furs and leathers simir to the rest of the hunters. “Time flows differently in the Wildnd, and it behoves us to give the newcomer a chance!”

  “Bah, you're just upset about losing the bet, Lenheim.” A voice cackled among the gathered hunters. “Just pay up already, putting so much gold on that fool to retrieve our Oracle from a dragon as old and cunning as Mophard.”

  “Go to the crows, Costa. You still owe me from the st bet you lost, you Spanish dog.” The now-named Lenheim blurted out, only to pale as he quickly turned to the first speaker. “Begging your pardon, Senior Bartholomew.”

  Several chuckles sounded out in the rge mead hall as more insults were thrown, followed by arguments. The Hunter’s Lodge was the headquarters of the European Hunter’s Guild, or Association, depending on whom you ask. It was built from massive logs, reminiscent of a rustic old log cabin, yet it could not be mistaken for a mundane lodge owing to the magical enchantments.

  Portraits of hunters of old were hung over the walls alongside trophies of long-dead monsters. Floating orbs of fire illuminated tables den with food and drink, and many hunters dressed in different styles of ceremonial armour, rich furs, colourful cloths, and expensive dragonhide leather. A raised dais had a table where a group of five elderly wizards presided over the feast, the aforementioned Senior Bartholomew standing to address his fellow hunters.

  “Look at them - the times of peace have made them fat and indecisive. Not since the old guard died fighting that dark lord a few decades ago.” A portrait featuring a dark-skinned hunter with a thick scarf covering his neck, standing in a desert background besides a wide river, gred at the five masters of the Hunters Guild before his gaze fell on the rest of the group. “Hundreds gather in this hall from all over Europe, yet none of them dare to hunt outside this pathetic reserve they dare call Wildnd. Overhunted and with no real predators, the moment a monster from the outside attacked, they all folded like cowards.”

  The man spat before turning to another portrait. “Makes me envy your descendant, my old friend. Having a new Wildnd pop up right in his backyard, just waiting to be explored! If I had a great-grandson with even a fraction of the accodes yours had managed to achieve, I would be a happy man indeed, Baxter.”

  Henry Baxter Potter sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Come now, Wysam, we've talked about this a dozen times already. Yours is doing very well for himself as a–”

  “As a bloody musician! By God, can you imagine the shame I had to endure from this sanctimonious lot? The great Wysam al-Mighwar lover of women, friend of Djinn, hunter of Nundus and Wyrworms, tamer of Drakes and Sobeks, begetting such a worthless descendant?”

  “To be fair, you must have left hundreds of descendants from your half a dozen wives that you could choose from to brag–”

  “It's the principle of the matter. For my direct descendant, the firstborn of my firstborn’s firstborn’s firstborn's son, to not follow the family trade and be a prancing bard instead? I bme his father growing soft from peace. Moreover, as a God-fearing man, I only have four wives, you heathen white devil.”

  “I suppose my soul is enjoying hell rather than being here listening to your griping. Also, it was only the one Nundu, you braggart!”

  “That’s still one more than you!”

  The occasional bouts of ughter were seasoned with plenty of jabs, slurs, veiled insults, and vile insults that would have caused any boring living to demand an honour duel. But when you were dead and merely an imprint of your magic stuck on a canvas, taking offence from some friendly ribbing seems small-minded.

  After a few minutes of ughing, Henry turned to his friend, his face finally growing serious.

  “You still have other descendants. Didn't one of your girls recently graduate from Beauxbatons?”

  “Bah, going to the Franks to learn magic… I suppose she's not doing too bad for herself. Yet she can't carry my name!”

  “What name, you son of a sve,” Henry guffawed again. “I was there when you fumbled around until you came up with it on the fly when the association's clerk asked for a family name.”

  “Still better than Potter. What kind of wizard names himself after pottery?” Wysam snickered back. “After all, that's the point of choosing your own name. It's mine. I founded it, I earned the name, and my descendants enjoy the prestige that comes with it back home.”

  Henry could only chuckle at his old friend's overly dramatic reply before engaging in more banter and ribbing - just as the nearly hundred other portraits did. The Nubian hunter had been his friend since they formed a team during a dragon hunt in the Ats Mountains shortly after Henry graduated from Hogwarts. Fighting together in a terrible situation and saving each other’s lives more times than they could count had easily wiped away any barriers that would have existed between them.

  Wysam, as his chosen family name would suggest, was a reckless daredevil who feared neither death nor injury, yet a cunning hunter who always prepared for every hunt like it was his st. Which ended up being fortunate as he died bringing down a rogue Leviathan pguing the Red Sea long after Henry had begun his political career.

  A monster on nd with his old style of magic, using staves and enchanted items instead of overrelying on his wand; Yet, a terrible swimmer and even worse Apparator. Death by splinching was never a good way to go, especially when it was the head that was left behind underneath the thousand-ton Leviathan carcass that sank into the depths of the Red Sea.

  Yet the bckamoor took it in stride. The canny man always had a portrait prepared just in case of a situation like that, even if he tended to hide the fact his head was separated from his body with a scarf. And yet here he was, an honoured guest of the European Hunter’s Guild and liaison to the Egyptian Ministry, where he also had another portrait.

  “Enough of this charade!” One of the elders smashed his fist on the table before bsting his wand for order. “It was a mistake to leave an important task such as retrieving our Oracle to an upstart thief with no backing. Master Bartholomew is correct; We must assemble a team and hunt the dragon ourselves.”

  “But Master Bobadil, without our treasured scrying orb, we have no idea what is happening in the Wildnd. This is the same pce where the great Hannibal lost a majority of his army as he attempted to cross into Italia!”

  One of the hunters protested, with many of his peers nodding along as they muttered about the danger of going into the Wildnd blind.

  “Bah, that was over two thousand years ago. Today, there's hardly an inch of the Wildnd that has not been charted, and barely any beasts of true danger that have not been hunted to near extinction.” Bobadil rebuked angrily, gring at the men. “Mophard is indeed an old and cunning Samnite Redhorn, even capable of speech and magic, yet we could still sy him if we band together!”

  A few cheers from the younger hunters sounded out, but they quickly died out as the majority of those present shifted uncomfortably and muttered excuses. Henry shook his head as Wysam snorted and waved his hand at the hall; no words were needed to describe his disappointment.

  “There shall be no need for that!”

  Suddenly, the front doors banged open and a fmboyant man in a white suit with blue frills, a white cape, and a ceramic mask with a peculiar mark over his eyes sauntered through the open double doors as if he owned the pce. He carried a mokeskin sack over his shoulder as he made his way to the hearth in the centre of the hall and dropped the sack on the ground before flicking his long pale hair away and leaning on an extravagant cane.

  Master Bartholomew stood up from the head table, “Monsieur D'Andresy–”

  “Baron D’Andresy,” the fmboyant man insisted as he maintained his fshy grin. However, Henry could tell he was irked even as he gave an exaggerated bow. “Baron Aleister D’Andresy, at your service.”

  “Alright then, Baron.” Bartholomew narrowed his eyes, “Have you succeeded in sying Mophard?”

  The entire hall held its breath as they stared at the man who promised to deliver the seemingly impossible.

  “No.”

  More mutterings in the hall, along with several insults and jeers thrown at the man, yet he remained smiling, as if this was a show and he was an actor on stage.

  “No?” The Master repeated, his teeth clenched and face purpling and the jeers in the hall silenced in trepidation. “So you have failed and came back crawling to us in disgrace? You have wasted our time with your ludicrous quest. Forget about your payment and get out of–”

  The Baron kicked the sack on the ground, causing something to roll out. As it exited the mokeskin, it grew and grew until it was the size of a horse. The silent hall gawked as the fmboyant man pointed a wand made from Acacia wood at the dark orb, levitating it for all to see.

  “I have not syed Mophard, for I have never cimed I would. I am a professional burgr, not an assassin or a monster syer. I only cimed I shall retrieve your precious Oracle, and I have done so.” Baron Aleister D'Andresy smirked under his mask, “I have done my part of the deal. Now it is time you fulfilled yours.”

  .

  .

  .

  “I don't like him.”

  “Oh? How come? I thought you, of all people, would appreciate his gall and showmanship.”

  Henry turned away from the boisterous feast to his friend; after D’Andresy left with his prize, the feasting had resumed as if nothing had happened - even the residents of the portrait had moved to a massive, specially designed, tapestry where they all congregated for a feast of their own.

  The talk regarding forming a strike group to hunt the dragon died out now that they had retrieved the Oracle and returned it to the pilr above the hall, with much better protection this time. If the dragon decides to return and steal it again, it would be far more difficult to dislodge the crystal orb.

  However, Henry wondered what would stop it if Mophard decided to y waste to everything instead. It might finally be what lights a fire under these posers’ collective asses and fight back.

  “I cannot deny that the man has style, yet even dead, my instincts have yet to fail me.”

  “Your instincts also caused your death.” Henry chuckled as he raised a mug of beer to his lips.

  “My instincts told me to do something as my portkey failed or else I would drown from a hundred-meter-long monster. That I still died regardless was simply my fate.” Wysam waved away a floating mug of ale. “That man is cursed.”

  Henry paused, slowly lowering the mug as he stared at the daredevil. “Expin.”

  “It’s instincts, you overly educated baboon. I can't expin it.” Wysam ground out before stroking his beard thoughtfully as Henry elbowed him with a chuckle. “I believe it has to do with his name. Have you noticed how defensive he was about it and how several of the hunters inexplicably misidentified his chosen name?”

  Henry thought back to a couple of hours ago. Some of the hunters did indeed attempt to talk to the Baron, yet usually ended up either mistakenly insulting him or simply mispronouncing his name. Aleister D’Andresy was hardly a difficult name to pronounce, yet even now, Henry felt that something was off about it. The Baron tried to take it in stride, yet Henry could tell his patience had run thin, though it was difficult to tell with that mask of his.

  Henry could have sworn he had seen that shade of pale hair before. More importantly, why was the mark on that mask so bloody familiar? It was important, especially to him, yet, for the unlife of him, Henry couldn't identify it at the moment.

  “Whatever it was you did not like about the man, it doesn't matter now. He's gone, most likely pnning his next heist.”

  “Perhaps so. To think his requested reward would be so… educational. He’s lucky one of the masters was present during that duel, though I wonder why he did not take more from the vault?”

  “Beats me,” Henry shrugged before drinking deeply from his mug. “Anyway, forget about the thief and let's party!”

  Somewhere in Bordeaux

  A muffled crack and a figure appeared in an empty alley. He quickly checked his surroundings, making sure none could see him, before withdrawing his wand from his cane and casting a disillusionment charm followed by a muggle-repellent one. With light steps, the figure hurried out of the alley past the busy port and into the busy muggle streets of the city.

  Baron Aleister D'Andresy grimaced as one of his wounds ached as he carefully manoeuvred around cars and pedestrians. His limp was becoming more pronounced, and his breathing was heavy after such a long quest. It was early morning, yet he had not slept properly in days, most likely weeks, due to the Wildnd's time dition.

  Aleister would not deny that part of the reason he took this quest was for the adventure and the chance to sy a mighty dragon, not like one of those raised in preserves, but a true wild dragon with an intellect to match the smartest of humans. His mother had warned him in her stiff way that it was not a good idea, yet he assured her it would be alright. Sadly, his first encounter showed that he was severely outmatched, and Aleister had been forced to hide for the better part of ten days until the dragon lowered its guard for him to simply revert to what he did best.

  Burgry.

  Stealing the orb from the sleeping dragon’s hoard, and what a hoard it was, was not easy, but thankfully, he was experienced in stealing overly rge items.

  Moke-skin was such a wondrous product and something he would like to invest more into.

  Within a few minutes of hurried limping, the Baron arrived at a small street leading to a simple three-story apartment building. It was early morning, and the street was busy with muggle children pying around and enjoying the st days of summer. He stared absentmindedly at a cat chasing after a rather fat rat, only for it to escape through a hole in the wall; this poor area of town had plenty of vermin and other pests, both human and animal.

  Taking the front entrance, Aleister clutched his white cape to himself as a muggle family walked past him. He stared at a young child who couldn't have been older than five as he gazed right at him with rge eyes full of curiosity. Aleister brought a single finger to his lips and mimed silence, the little boy beaming at him and nodding, imitating his gesture.

  Gmours and illusions occasionally did not work against children, especially those with great senses and magical potential. Aleister breathed a sigh of relief as the child remained silent, or else he would have been forced to confound them. He waited until the family left the building before he made his way to the staircase, ignored the steps, and walked to a small broom closet under it.

  Then, he retrieved his Acacia wand with dragon heartstring; stubborn and unyielding, hard to bend and harder to break. Chuckling ruefully, Aleister had lost count of how many times he had been near the breaking point, just like now, yet he always recovered thanks to his mother.

  Ah, he could barely hold his excitement to finally return to his mother once more after so much time! Tapping his wand at a specific pattern on the door, a muffled mechanical click sounded out and he pushed the door open.

  Entering the small and cramped ft, Aleister could only sigh in satisfaction at finally making it to the safety of his home. He barely closed the door, unsheathed his wand from his cane before pcing it on the wall and kicked off his boots before colpsing on a couch and fumbling with a nearby cabinet. Opening it, the Baron withdrew several healing potions, blood replenishers, and a pepper-up. He would have loved to simply sleep away his exhaustion, but there was still much to do.

  As he stripped out of his clothes, the gmours and charms set on his fashionable suit failed, showing tears in the fabric and bloodstains. Aleister might need to visit his healer ter, but for now, he traced his wound on the sealed wound on his thigh, a wicked mark he got from the dragon’s cws. Instantly, blood started pouring from the temporary stasis charm, and he quickly poured Essence of Dittany on it, followed by a disinfectant, before drinking the rest of his potions.

  He stared at his wound that would forever leave a mark on him due to the dragon’s magic. It slowly knitted itself before his eyes, causing him to sigh tiredly. Aleister raised his head at the sound of mechanical steps approaching; A feminine figure stopped before him, dressed in an elegant brown dress with white frills and a dark shawl over her shoulders, her impassive face stared at him under a wide brimmed hat.

  “Welcome home, Son.”

  Baron Aleister D'Andresy smiled warmly at the mechanical doll that his mother had become; even as he stared at the same pale hair he inherited from her, the scars under his mask itched terribly, yet he endured as he sprang up from the couch, approached his mother and hugged her stiff frame; grafted flesh over wood and metal was what he felt, yet he did not mind. She was still his mother, no matter what.

  “I have returned, Mother.”

  As always, his mother's face remained the same; frozen with no emotions, her eyes a gzed silver as cogs and wheels turned behind the irises. The pale skin on her face was warm only by the virtue of magic. Mother's wooden jaws creaked as she spoke again.

  “How was your endeavour?”

  Aleister produced a vial containing a white and cloudy substance, “Successful. Once I peruse the memory in the pensive, we will be one step closer to our goal!”

  His mother's impassive face stiffly nodded before she walked away further into the ft, her steps making a wooden cng as she walked on the wooden flooring. The sound of machinery and the hum of the crystal acting as her power source was soothing to Aleister; it was proof that his mother yet lived, even after so many years, she still lived!

  The scar under his mask burned, and so did his blood, as he recalled that fateful day fifteen years ago. The day his mother st smiled as her broken body stared sadly at his burning one.

  Aleister shook his head and calmed himself. Soon, he shall be capable of truly curing his mother, and then, revenge shall come. He followed his mother as they walked past his cramped bookcases and worktables until they reached their target.

  A table holding a battered old pensive.

  “You have received a message from your friend.”

  Aleister froze before he could pour the memory in, then chuckled. He had no friends, only associates and minions, yet his mother must mean his broker. He did act as his postman occasionally.

  “What is it?”

  “It is…” For the first time ever, his mother hesitated, and the Baron turned to her in surprise, but then a louder-than-normal mechanical click sounded before she became, if possible, even stiffer. “An English wyer would like to meet with you concerning a potential inheritance. It may concern m-my n-neph– Your cous– M-Mal…”

  “That filth is no kin of mine!” He growled before holding his head in pain, as memories of a smirking man in bck robes pointing a wand at him fshed in his mind before pain as fmes kissed his face. He looked at his reflection in the clear waters of the pensive, finding his gaze fixed on the mark on the mask. The reminder to always look, always search, to attain the power to fix his mother, avenge his mother, and protect his mother.

  The stone, the stick, the cloak!

  Aleister ripped off the mask from his face to better rub at his scars before he noticed his reflection. Staring back at him was a hateful face with grey eyes and pale blonde hair; the Baron gritted his teeth before retreating behind his Occlumency shields.

  “What is the name of that wyer?”

  “Pius Thicknesse.”

  “Never heard of him. I will check with Cude about the matter ter. You may rest now, Mother.”

  The moment he finished speaking, his mother instantly nodded before moving to a corner where she sat on a chair and stared vacantly at nothing as her mechanisms recharged. Aleister poured the memory into the pensive, and swirled it with his wand, before diving in and finding himself beholding the sight of the final duel between the two most powerful wizards Europe had seen in centuries.

  As the battle raged on between the two powerhouses, Aleister had eyes only for a certain wand with bck studs running down its length. His smile grew so wide that his cheeks hurt.

  He had found the first Hallow.

  Early morning, Saturday, August 21st 1993

  Potter Manor

  Harry jerked awake at the sound of arms bring in his manor. It had been a long time since he had ever been forced awake, yet the instincts and memories of a bygone life surfaced instantly along with Ghost stirring in his mind. Within a few heartbeats, he was out of his rge bed, dressed in a pair of boxers and a tank top, subconsciously flinging his hand in search of his wand, and widening his eyes as it eagerly flew to his hand.

  That was unexpected.

  Harry lit his wand before rushing out of his room and to the Lord’s study room, finding Chiara in her night clothes rushing from the opposite end of the corridor, with Dobby on her heels. They did not speak, but merely rushed into the secret vault room where the ward stone was pced, just as Henry appeared in an empty portrait on the wall.

  “Never thought I would willingly come back to this cell,” His great-grandfather shook his head ruefully before looking at him seriously. “Get on with it, d. Just as I taught you, connect with the wards and see what the bloody hell is making a racket at three in the damned morning.”

  Harry nodded and silently pced his hand over the floating stone, its former dark form now a myriad of colours as it steadily fshed and released the cnging noise in his head. The siren could only be heard by those designated as moderators of the ward, which was him, and Chiara - though Henry could still tell when there was an arm due to the lightshow it made. He had tried giving Cinder simir authority, but it appeared her inhuman nature conflicted with the security system - even Dobby was rejected by the wards.

  First, Harry disabled the arm, sighing in relief as the racket died instantly. Then, he willed the orb to form a holographic map, and all three of them stared at the blue lights that denoted his mansion, the grounds, and the borders of his nd. The entrance to the wildnd was coloured green and it was there they noticed the red blips that denoted intruders; they had somehow tricked the wards and managed to travel deep to reach the wildnd. Even as they watched, a few blips disappeared as they entered the wildnd, yet a few remained static.

  A yellow blip in the shape of a fme appeared from where the Heart Tree was pnted. Cinder must have woken up.

  “I’m ready to go whenever you need me, Mr Potter.”

  Harry smiled at his attendant, whose clenched teeth and murderous eyes promised pain and torment to whoever dared cut her sleep short. “We’ll be flying in. Henry, keep an eye on the map and send Dobby over if you see anything strange.”

  “We have it here, d. Be careful out there.” Dobby nodded along as well as Harry and Chiara hurried to the foyer and grabbed their brooms, His Nimbus and the werewolf’s Cleansweep before they were out on the grounds.

  Within a couple of minutes, they arrived at the general location where the intruders were st seen, yet they could not find anything. A few hundred feet to the west y the ominous entrance to the wildnd; a narrow gulley covered by two craggy cliffs that Harry could never see the top of, nor fly close to.

  “Morning,” a fiery figure appeared next to them and Harry turned to a yawning Cinder. “I thought I smelt something foul, then I noticed you flying here. What’s going on?”

  “Foul?” Harry took a deep breath through his nose but smelled nothing unusual - and he was sure he did not stink. Gncing at Chiara, he found her shifting uncomfortably on her broom; he knew she was not a good flyer and preferred not to be airborne any more than necessary. “Wards acted up, and there are intruders. Let’s get down and investigate.”

  Nodding gratefully, all three of them nded on the ground, and Harry frowned. As he stared at the surrounding ground, he could tell something was amiss. This part of his nds had been left alone compared to the rest of the grounds that had been deweeded and cleaned up in preparation for the gathering, yet he still recalled trimming it a few weeks ago. Even then, it was a ft and lush grassnd, but looking at it now, the grass looked brown and trampled on, and there were strange mounds scattered around.

  “Ugh, it stinks even more now!” Cinder held her nose as she floated back up, “smells of death and decay.”

  Harry breathed again and nearly gagged, it smelled like rotten meat that had been left in the sun for weeks. Suddenly, he felt the earth shake, it was so minute that he wagered a normal wizard would not have noticed it. Harry jumped away just as a rotten hand burst out of the ground where he had just stood.

  “Ah!”

  He turned at the sound of Chiara’s cry, only to find a simir hand gripping her leg, yet before he could think about helping her, the werewolf shed out with an ominous red spell that severed the arm at the wrist before ripping the hand away from her leg.

  “Back on your broom!”

  She did not need further warning as they both jumped back and floated away while Chiara grimaced downwards. Harry followed her gaze to find all the mounds shaking violently and more hands bursting out, followed by horrible heads and bodies as at least a score of the things appeared below them. The stench was now unbearable, yet Harry could only stare as unbidden memories of witnessing simir creatures and even fighting them surfaced in his mind.

  Yet these abominations looked even worse than any wight he had ever seen.

  For one, they did not exactly look human, more like an amalgamation of different creatures stitched together through terrible magic that even his cklustre magical senses could feel. They were humanoid enough, yet one had a dog’s head and a monkey’s tail, and another had horse legs and cwed hands. The most gruesome one was definitely human… or at least, was made from multiple humans of different skin colours and had arms sprouting from its back and torso, stitched together somehow, despite not making any logical sense.

  They stared at the monsters as they finally finished crawling out of the ground, yet they were clearly cking in mental faculties as they stared confusedly around them, not finding anything to target. Harry gnced at his floating companions, their faces mirroring his disgust and apprehension - from his experience fighting undead, only one thing could always be relied upon to vanquish them.

  “Kill’em with fire?”

  “Kill’em with fire.” Cinder and Chiara nodded as all three of them pointed their wands, or palms in the case of the fae, before sending a veritable firestorm at the monsters.

  .

  .

  .

  “You know, aside from the unholy stench, this has been fun.”

  Harry sighed as the fae grinned at him, both of her red eyes gleaming in the darkness like beacons - her left eye had fully healed a week ago. It’s been an hour since they doused the abominations with fire, yet they decided to sweep the rest of his nds in search of other intruders. They discovered two simir mounds towards the north and gave them simir treatment until they arrived at where they assumed the intruders had sneaked in; a tunnel through one of the cliffs surrounding his nd that was usually used by magical creatures making their way to the wildnd. Harry was loath to seal it, for it would cause the magical creatures to take longer routes to get to the wildnd, which would risk them being sighted by muggles, or worse; making a new way in.

  Which led to them pying detectives as they tried to understand who or what had intruded upon his nds. The wards were intact, meaning the invaders sneaked in rather than barging. They must have been incredibly talented warders themselves to be able to trick his grandfather’s extensive wards that were designed to block any unauthorized human or near-human from entering.

  “Speak for yourself, I’ve been looking forward to a good night’s sleep before the party.” Chiara groused from nearby before she yawned mightily and rubbed her eyes as she tried to search for any strange footprints. “I don’t think anyone came through here, Harry. It’s all animals and other simir creatures.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s today, huh?” The fae gnced at the eastern skies, where the barest of sunlight could be seen across the horizon, before giving them a toothy grin. “Looking forward to it!”

  Before Harry could give her a reminder not to make any trouble with their guests, he felt a nudge in his mind and found himself looking through Hedwig’s eyes as she roosted on a tree branch. The canny owl was staring at a peculiar looking bat that was hopping on the ground as it looked around warily for any watchers. Hedwig silently fell from the branch before, with a couple of fps of her wings, descended like a bird of prey on the bat-like creature and grabbed it by its wings.

  “Hedwig caught something.” There was no way his owl would grab his attention over catching a mere bat. “This way.”

  Harry jumped back on his broom and flew through the woods, ignoring Chiara’s grumbling as she hit twigs and branches in the dark, even with Cinder providing plenty of light. In less than a minute, they found Hedwig holding the bat under her cws, the creature instantly stopping its struggle when it noticed them, its slitted red eyes widening in terror as Cinder approached behind him with all her fiery glory.

  It was such a human-like emotion.

  “What do you have here, Hed?” Harry nded and approached his owl who seemed to be asking if she could eat this strange creature, but a shout from Chiara had him freeze.

  “Harry! That’s not a bat, it’s a vampire!”

  Suddenly, it all made sense to him. Intruders that somehow managed to trick the ward system, the abominations that had been pnted in his nds, and the blips he had seen disappearing into the wildnd. Harry felt both puzzlement and anger over the situation yet he knew that this had suddenly become far more complicated than a simple attack on his home. He fired a stunner at the bat, sending it to sleep and causing Hedwig to jump aside with an indignant bark.

  “Sorry, Hedwig, but it appears you won’t be having an early breakfast after all.” Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose before turning to his attendants, “I think it’s time for us to call the Aurors.”

  Dragons, treasures, and mysterious thieves? Oh my!

  For the record, I teased the existence of this colourful fellow all the way back in chapter eight. Baron Aleister D’Andresy shall be an important character going forward.

  I think I hinted many times throughout the story how dangerous Magical Wales was, and that some sort of attack will happen in Harry’s nds.

  I was tempted to write a gritty fight against zombies and abominations but I figured it would not make sense since the three of them can fly. Instead of going Rambo on them, they channelled their inner Hans.