"...Jacob?"
"What? Did you see someone you know?"
Hearing Newt's mutter, William instinctively shifted his gaze from the Ukrainian Ironbelly, looking around for someone without a mask or with distinct characteristics that could reveal their identity—without exception, all faces were hidden beneath cloaks or masks, only the feeling of eyes lurking in the darkness could be sensed.
"No..."
Newt shook his head, then he seemed to realize how cryptic his words were, sighed, and added, "It's a familiar dragon."
"..."
Charlie blinked in bewilderment, taking a while to realize the meaning in Newt's words, "So, you know that big guy... well, of course, you're the famous Scamander..." The man spoke without any sarcasm, full of belief in the rumors.
"..."
Newt remained silent, his memories surged like a tide breaching the barriers of his mind—
It was in the Carpathian Mountains in Ukraine, near a secluded valley by the Danube River. Even after more than a decade, he clearly remembered that day's scene: the gloomy sky pouring cold rain that chilled to the bone, the roar of a young beast piercing through the cold air of the valley.
Newt and his companion—at the time, the old man's hair hadn't turned completely white—found a dying gray dragonling, only slightly larger than a big dog, at the edge of a knee-deep mud pit. A deep, bone-revealing wound stretched across the dragonling's chest, and not far away in the dense forest, the commotion caused by the mother dragon's roar had just subsided—
"...Obviously, we couldn't confront those wizards capable of hunting adult Fire Dragons, so we could only take it away first. Later, I healed its wound and named it after my friend since it was our last adventure together, a memory that must be commemorated."
During Newt's story, William and Charlie also noticed an old, sinister scar on the Ukrainian Ironbelly's chest, hidden beneath fresh wounds and likely to go unnoticed without prompt.
"...About your friend, I'm sorry to hear that."
The air around seemed heavy with grief, Charlie offered comforting pats on the old man's shoulder, but the gesture was only met with a somewhat bewildered gaze from Newt.
"..."
"Oh, you misunderstood, he's not dead."
Newt belatedly responded, realizing the ambiguity in his words, hurriedly gesturing to explain, "I said that because he's a Muggle, and although we used to be good friends, Muggles can't adventure after they age, so that was our last expedition—oh, his name is Jacob Kowalski, he's quite skilled in baking, owns one of the best bakeries in New York. You should try it if you have time... uh, ahem. That's about it..."
The socially anxious Old Freckles explained for half a day, eventually opting for some self-isolation to avoid further interaction.
"..."
The atmosphere shifted from grief to awkwardness.
Charlie's hand hung mid-air, unsure whether to withdraw or keep it there; after a prolonged silence, he scratched his head as if nothing happened and turned to William, "Ahem... What do we do next?"
"..."
William did not answer immediately, squinting with his gaze still fixed on the crowd and the dragon on the altar.
At this moment, the Ukrainian Ironbelly, named Jacob, was being dragged down from the altar. Once again, it struggled, but feebly. Even the poachers around it laughed and joked while leading Jacob towards the market, the crowd parting a path for them.
"Roar..."
The giant dragon lowered its large head wearily; a low, suppressed whimper squeezed out from its throat, sounding like an air conditioning unit about to break down.
Its swollen left hind leg dragged helplessly on the ground, the wing membrane of its left wing torn and curled at the edges, oozing dark purple viscous blood. Its dark gray scales were covered with dried blood and dirt, with several places where scales were broken and peeled, revealing darker flesh beneath.
Clearly, it had been through a fierce battle.
The face of William, hidden beneath his hood, conveyed calm ice-blue eyes, as chilling as two frozen lakes.
He keenly sensed the emotional fluctuations in his companion—Newt's mind brimmed with anger, almost bursting forth, yet he stood calmly waiting for William's next move.
"Figure out what these people are up to, then..."
William glanced around, his tone calm, "Rescue people, save the dragon, then blow up this damn place." With that, he gathered his robe and headed in the direction the Fire Dragon had gone, "Let's follow and see where they're taking it."
The three followed for a while, passing through an entire marketplace of stalls, until they saw the poachers leading the Fire Dragon stop before a tent; bowing their heads, they queued up and ducked into the apparently Capacious Extremis-enchanted tent, after which there was no further movement.
"Follow them?"
Newt's words were in query, but his body instinctively moved to follow.
"Wait, are you a Gryffindor or something?"
William immediately reached out to stop the old man, while beside him, Charlie pointed to himself in bewilderment—the red-haired Weasley felt like he'd just been insulted along with the rest.
"There's a Thief-Preventing Waterfall at the entrance, these poachers learned a trick or two from the Goblins—"
"But we haven't taken any Polyjuice Potion?"
"...But I'm still in pajamas."
At this moment, Newt remembered all three were still in clothes William had conjured with a spell earlier, so they exchanged glances, looking toward the crowd—now, it seemed some unconventional means were necessary.
"Plus, to play the part, you have to go all-in—"
...
"Screech—"
Amidst a glaring red flash, a group of a dozen appeared at the center of the altar, their bodies engulfed in pitch-black cloaks, allowing no light to penetrate. Behind them, a battered dark Fire Dragon roared at the sky, struggling to flap its wings but seemingly restrained by a collar on its neck, managing only a cacophony of noise—
"Awoo!!!"
"Roar roar roar roar—"
"Squawk squawk—"
"Taking the act too far—"
"Howl howl howl—"
"No dinner if you keep that racket up tonight."
"Um—"
The noisy Norwegian Ridgeback hesitated for a moment before deciding to keep silent, the "proud" (not really) Fire Dragon eventually succumbed to the demands of its stomach.