It was two in the morning. Outside the tavern, the world was pitch black.
In a lively place like Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade, there might still be stragglers stumbling home or lanterns glowing in shop windows. But here in Albania, there was only silence and darkness.
Ordinary wizard travellers slept soundly, oblivious to what was happening in the shadows.
A handful of guests who got up to use the bathroom could, while passing the corridor, notice several shadows moving in the forest and hear rustling from the bushes.
For example, Bertha Jorkins.
The second floor of the Forest Tavern was all guest rooms. The soundproofing was terrible—you could hear the guy next door snoring, the clink of glasses downstairs, owls flapping in the trees, and the constant beeping of warning Sneakoscopes from the camping tents outside.
Not every wizard stayed at the tavern. It wasn't just the price—some people preferred their own tents. They were more comfortable, warmer, and properly warded. No security worries.
"Hm?"
Bertha caught a familiar silhouette out of the corner of her eye.
She stopped mid-step on her way back to her room, leaned closer to the corridor window, and peered down.
A short, stout witch was setting up camp in the clearing.
The figure wore a hooded cloak, but the disguise was sloppy. The body shape was unmistakable—curly short hair poking out, a glaring velvet bow on the cloak. She was waving her wand and muttering a spell in that pinched voice, trying to silence the non-stop beeping Sneakoscope.
Muttering something about Borgin and Burkes selling shoddy goods—the thing had broken after only two weeks.
"?"
That Selwyn woman?
And she wasn't alone.
Several other wizards were hiding in the bushes.
Bertha stayed quiet. She leaned half her body out the window for a better look.
The wizards in the shadows saw the stout witch shut off the Sneakoscope but didn't rush in. They crept closer, then stopped at the edge of the bushes, carefully checking their surroundings.
Bertha ducked back half a step and vanished from the window.
Below, there was a faint rustle.
Umbridge sealed the tent flap, cutting off the inside from the outside.
The wizards hidden in the bushes crept forward on silent feet.
Bertha held her breath instinctively, pressing herself against the wall. Through the gap she saw the tavern server—no longer smiling like he had during the day. His face was cold and grim.
Albania wasn't Britain. The Ministry here was a hollow shell. They couldn't hire Aurors or Hit Wizards, couldn't even maintain a proper Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Order in this part of the magical world was kept by an unspoken agreement among dark wizards.
Follow the Statute of Secrecy. Don't expose magic to Muggles. No duels in public. No Unforgivables without reason. No street robberies…
And, of course, maintain a decent business environment.
Skip out on a bill after hearing the information?
Albanian wizards didn't file lawsuits at the Ministry. Their debt-collection methods were simple, direct, and final.
They had tracked down the British witch easily.
They'd assumed she'd already left for Lake Ohrid. They never expected her to come back and camp right next to the tavern. Either she was brave or just stupid.
The British witch had no manners. They'd shown good faith because of her so-called pure-blood Selwyn reputation, and she'd thrown their honour back in their faces by refusing to pay. She had shamed an entire pure-blood family.
The dead of night was when people slept deepest. She had disabled the warning Sneakoscope. Taking her down would be easy.
The tavern server was experienced at night raids. Once the witch shut off the Sneakoscope, the rest was simple. Even if the tent had protective charms and alchemical wards, he wasn't worried—he kept a few Vampire Bats.
Vampire Bats were extremely dangerous carnivorous magical creatures, common in tropical regions. They glided low at night, smothered their prey by wrapping around the face, and left no trace. Normal wards didn't work on them, and they were completely silent.
In much of magical history, Vampire Bats had been the nightmare of any wizard travelling through forests or wilderness—until 1782, when Flavius Belby became the first person to escape one in Papua New Guinea and finally revealed the creature's secrets.
The only spell that could drive them off was the Patronus Charm.
And how many wizards in Albania could cast a Patronus?
The tavern server opened the bag slung across his chest. Darkness darker than the night spilled out. Wings beat without a sound. Bertha had to squint to make out the shapes—bat-like creatures that looked like black cloaks, about half an inch thick, with red eyes and sharp fangs.
The Vampire Bats quickly landed on the tent. Hidden claws slid along the zipper. The protective charms and alchemical arrays didn't react at all.
They tore open a slit in seconds. The bats poked their heads through, looked around, and slipped inside.
"…"
Bertha was still hiding behind the window, heart pounding so hard she forgot to breathe.
This was pure instinct. She had been sorted into Gryffindor for a reason—her reckless personality was built on a core of kindness. She had never been afraid of criminals. It was that same trait that had once let her stumble across a world-shaking secret… and her refusal to back down that had gotten her mind scrambled by a Memory Charm.
Bertha stared at the breached tent and tightened her grip on the windowsill.
Was this a simple debt collection or a straight-up murder?
Could the lady survive this?
Her knuckles turned white. Slowly, she reached for the wand hidden in her robes. Deep down, she had already made her decision.
Mr Crouch had written a note in her memo: if she ran into local wizard conflicts on the road, she should stay out of it. The Ministry badge would protect her identity. As long as she didn't cause trouble, she'd be safe.
But that lady was a British witch. Ministry employees had a duty to protect British witches.
Her wand slid out the window, trembling slightly.
Wingardium Leviosa.
The Levitation Charm produced no bright flash or loud noise. It could serve as a warning without getting her directly involved.
Bertha carefully poked her head out for a better look.
Less than ten feet away, a red-eyed, fanged bat head suddenly appeared right in front of her.
Bertha's whole body jolted. She almost screamed.
In the dim night, she saw the tavern server standing among the bushes. His cold, three-white eyes were expressionless, giving him an especially sinister look that radiated icy menace.
Bertha met his gaze without warning and froze in terror.
…
Faint moonlight reflected on the lake surface. The air was thick with moisture, forming night mist. The diurnal wrynecks slept soundly, heads tucked under wings, protecting the newly hatched chicks nestled against their bellies.
Two hungry predators waited outside the nest. One was a Balkan whip snake that preyed on birds. The other was a male wizard searching for his old master. Both had gone a full day without eating.
One was coiled and ready to strike. The other was hunched and nervous.
Before the tree snake could attack, Wormtail grabbed it by the head and lifted it up.
"Master? My Lord? Is that you?"
"Hiss…"
The captured snake flicked its tongue weakly. It hadn't eaten in days.
Wormtail's journey had been miserable. For the past few months he had scoured half the forests of Albania like a vulture, looking for venomous snakes. But he was just a rat. So far he had found nothing.
According to Mr Levent's information, the Dark Lord's shade was hiding inside one of these snakes. The parasitic bond was unstable and had no clear pattern. He could only search for the largest, strongest venomous snakes—smaller ones couldn't handle the magic.
"If only I could speak Parseltongue… Why isn't there a Ratstongue?"
"Hiss…"
He placed the snake back in the nest. The baby birds immediately started chirping in alarm.
Wormtail glanced at the lake ahead. When he arrived earlier he could still see the crescent moon reflected on the water. Now there was only fog. His stomach growled. The food he had bought earlier was gone. He needed supplies.
"Back to the tavern for something hot."
"And maybe rent a room. Get a proper night's sleep."
…
"Don't make another mistake! We can sit down and talk this through like civilised people!" A naive female voice rang through the air.
In the flat clearing beside the tavern, a magical tent had been flipped upside-down by a Levitation Charm. The protective spells and alchemical arrays on it triggered. Four Vampire Bats were instantly exposed in mid-air. Umbridge woke with a start, wand pointed at the tavern server, face flushed with fury.
"You think this is Britain? You think you can play hero on my turf?"
The tavern server was furious at the sudden complication.
His dirty business had just been exposed in front of customers. He should have sent the Vampire Bats straight at both witches' faces, wrapping their thin, tough wings around their heads and letting the freezing magic drain the oxygen from their lungs.
But he was a businessman. The unpaid bill, lost wages, damage to the tavern's reputation, plus interest—the total was huge. Very few wizards carried that many Galleons on them.
So he had to subdue the two women first and take them somewhere private to "discuss business."
The tavern server signalled the bats. "Knock them out!"
There was a sharp crack in front of her. Before Bertha could react, everything went black. Something ice-cold sealed her face completely. Her head spun. She couldn't draw a single breath.
She struggled and fell from the second-floor window, hitting the ground with a heavy thud.
Expecto Patronum!
A muffled incantation echoed in the air. The tavern server looked up and saw a burst of silver mist explode outward. A long-haired silver cat leapt from the mist, moving with graceful speed.
That was Umbridge's Patronus.
Many textbooks mentioned that only righteous wizards could cast the Patronus Charm. If a dark witch or wizard tried, they usually couldn't summon one at all—and sometimes the spell backfired, summoning maggots that devoured the caster instead.
Umbridge believed the textbooks were correct. She considered herself a brave and righteous witch!
The cat's claws slashed out like they were cutting through leaves. Several Vampire Bats were knocked flying. They panicked and dove back toward the tavern server, disappearing into his bag.
Bertha clutched her waist and climbed to her feet, greedily gulping fresh air.
Umbridge stood there in fluffy pink pyjamas, the black velvet bow still perched on her head. She stared at the tavern server and said in that sickly-sweet voice:
"Now I believe I'm owed some compensation. Don't you think?"
"Damn it! Don't let them escape! They have to pay for everything!" The tavern server's face was thunderous. A low growl escaped his throat.
The bushes around him rustled. Several hooded wizards stepped out. They were clearly the tavern's staff, waiting in the background until their boss gave the order to collect the debt.
…
At the road leading back to the tavern, Wormtail walked with a light step.
Apparition was banned around Lake Ohrid and the forest itself, but the restriction ended a short distance from the tavern. After a long day, the thought of hot roasted meat and a soft bed made even his tired body feel lighter.
He saw the flash of green light too late to dodge.
A bright green spell tore through the darkness and slammed into his chest at full speed. The impact sent him flying backward. He hit a tree and crumpled to the ground.
"Stunner… not a Killing Curse…" Wormtail muttered in relief, even forgetting to get up.
That had been terrifying. Since arriving in Albania he had seen plenty of wizards fighting in the wild—Unforgivables left and right, kill or be killed, no mercy.
Getting hit by a green spell in the middle of the night while heading back to the tavern from the forest was enough to stop anyone's heart.
Wormtail climbed up happily, checked his limbs, felt his nose and ears—everything intact. He looked toward where the spell had come from. Two witches were fleeing. One stumbled desperately, the other occasionally turned and fired spells back.
Behind them were the tavern's staff, working in perfect coordination. Their pursuit was measured—fast, then slow—clearly trying to tire the women out.
"Umbridge… and another Ministry employee? Are they here for me?" Wormtail hid behind a tree, not wanting any part of this mess.
The two witches fled in panic. Just a little farther and they would reach the area where Apparition worked again. But the spells behind them grew denser. Umbridge kept positioning herself in front of Bertha, taking the brunt of the curses coming from behind. Every so often a Stunner slammed into Bertha's back, making her stumble.
A few minutes later her trousers were torn by branches and stones. Her shins and knees were bleeding. The blood fed the plants along the path.
The tavern server soon noticed Umbridge's little trick. He watched Bertha's misery for a moment, then turned his head and gave a quiet order. The spells immediately changed targets and started chasing Umbridge instead.
Stunners hitting someone running at full speed usually just broke their balance and made them stumble. But several times Umbridge was struck so hard from behind that she was knocked flat and rolled several times.
The forest paths were rough. Branches stuck out at odd angles. Umbridge's pyjama sleeve tore open during one fall, revealing the Dark Mark on her arm—the Ouroboros glowing faintly.