"Hell is empty and all the devils are here." — William Shakespeare, The Tempest
…
Regulus and his group had been flying over the open sea for quite some time.
There was a protective magical barrier in front of the dragon, maintained by Mr Mateo. Without it, the wind at this altitude and speed would have made the journey unbearable—or simply blown them off. Even with the shield, they felt the chill of the slipstream.
Regulus looked up. A huge, translucent dome of magic rippled in the sky ahead. It was circular, covering an entire landmass and the surrounding sea.
When they crossed the threshold of the barrier, Regulus felt a physical sensation, as if he had been slapped by liquid at high speed. Everyone flinched, but only Regulus seemed to visually track the ripple.
Most of the students dismissed the sensation as sea spray or a sudden drop in temperature. Regulus, however, was calculating. He noticed the direction they had taken off: East. They were moving towards the Eastern parts of the world.
However, once inside the interference of the barrier, Regulus lost his cardinal bearings. He let the geography go and focused on the ocean ahead.
Below them, on the high seas, a pod of dolphins swam near the surface. Regulus focused his vision. He saw two dolphins leaping out of the water, seemingly playing volleyball with a terrified Pufferfish.
Before he could get a second look, the dragon accelerated, blurring the world around them.
He closed his eyes and rested, letting his thoughts drift to the information he had read about Albania in the school library.
Albania.
Like many countries, it suffered from political and civil unrest. But the magical history here was darker than most. The terrain—three-fourths mountains and forest—made exploration difficult. The Muggle population mostly clung to the coastline, leaving the deep interior wild and uninhabited.
This isolation made it the perfect breeding ground for the worst of the wizarding world.
If Knockturn Alley was the gathering place for British criminals, the forests of Albania were the Knockturn Alley of the World.
The settlements here were populated by criminals, exiles, and Dark Wizards wanted in their own countries. Almost everyone here had blood on their hands.
Surprisingly, there was a branch of Gringotts here. However, the Goblins never stepped outside their fortress-like bank. Whatever business they had outside was commissioned to Hit Wizards or mercenaries. Their motto was simple: Money makes the world go round. As long as the criminals paid their protection fees and didn't attack the bank, the Goblins didn't care about the murders happening on their doorstep.
From Dark Arts experiments to blood sacrifices, everything was common here.
The only "good" thing Regulus could deduce was that Patricia Rakepick would likely avoid these settlements, given she had stolen directly from Gringotts. She would be hunted here.
…
The land appeared on the horizon.
The barrier surrounding the dragon didn't just block wind; it also had powerful Confundus and Disillusionment Charms embedded in it. To any Muggle looking up, the Ironbelly was nothing more than a passing cloud.
Albania itself was beautiful from above, possessing a rugged, Grecian aesthetic mixed with its own ancient heritage. But this beauty was skin deep.
The forests were cursed.
Regulus, with his recollection of canon history, knew exactly why.
Centuries ago, Helena Ravenclaw, the daughter of Rowena Ravenclaw, had fled to these very forests with her mother's stolen Diadem. She was pursued by the Bloody Baron, who murdered her here in a fit of rage before committing suicide.
The Diadem, soaked in the blood of betrayal and murder, had been hidden in a hollow tree for centuries. It acted as a corrupted anchor, its dark magic seeping into the soil, twisting the flora and fauna. This curse was the reason the ICW (International Confederation of Wizards) avoided the region, leaving it to become a lawless haven.
The dragon descended into a clearing atop a mountain range.
Mr Mateo turned to the students. "Crossing this mountain range will lead you directly into the forest. However, if you head in the opposite direction, you will reach the Dark Wizard Settlement. There, you can collect information regarding the target."
He winked. "Good luck!"
With that cheerful farewell, he took off, the dragon disappearing into the clouds.
…
Regulus gathered everyone to revise the strategy.
"We approach the settlement first. But not looking like this."
They had to blend in. Eight teenagers in a place full of murderers was a recipe for disaster.
Emma handed out vials of Aging Potion.
"It lasts for five hours," she explained.
Regulus checked the time; it was around noon. "We gather back at this spot at 4:00 PM."
They split into pairs:
Emma & Charlus, Ximena & Anders, Sulaiman & Akiko and finally Regulus & Hestia
Emma handed out a backup vial to everyone, just in case the mission ran long. Akiko handed out paper talismans.
"If you are in danger, smear a drop of blood on this," she said coldly. "The rest of the talismans will glow and track your location."
With precautions set, they drank the potions.
Regulus and Hestia transformed. Regulus grew taller, his features sharpening into the handsome, aristocratic visage of a man in his mid-twenties. Hestia matured into a stunning, cold beauty.
"This is trouble," Regulus muttered, looking at Hestia. "We look too noticeable."
He transfigured his robe into a hooded cloak and did the same for her. They pulled the hoods low, obscuring everything but their eyes.
They walked down the mountain path to the settlement entrance.
A mean-looking wizard with yellow teeth guarded the gate. He eyed them suspiciously, licking his wand, a piece of wood that looked chipped and stained from heavy use.
"Entry fee. Two silver coins."
Regulus flicked two Sickles at him.
The wizard caught them. "I really want to see if you pretty things survive this place," he cackled, a sound like dry branches snapping.
He opened the gate.
From the outside, it looked like a derelict pig barn. As they stepped through the magical threshold, the space expanded into a chaotic village.
It was an assault on the senses. The streets were narrow and muddy, lined with stalls selling dark artifacts, cursed objects, and questionable meat. The people looked like they hadn't bathed in years. The air reeked of sewage, filth, and old blood.
Regulus didn't block his sense of smell this time; he had learned his lesson in the Chimaera's cave. He needed to smell danger. Hestia's nose wrinkled slightly, but she remained silent.
They moved through the crowd with a synchronized, predatory grace that screamed 'trained fighters,' hoping it would deter pickpockets.
They found a tavern near the market square. The Leaky Cauldron, this was not.
"Information first," Regulus whispered. They went in.
The bar was filthy. The corners were occupied by shadowy figures smoking pipes that emitted green smoke. The only empty table was in the middle of the room—a classic trap for rookies.
Hestia started to walk towards it. Regulus grabbed her arm firmly and shook his head.
He led her to the counter instead.
The bartender was currently busy beating a goblin behind the bar. He paused as they approached, wiping blood off his hands with a rag.
"Two Galleons," the bartender boomed, eyeing their cloaks.
Regulus didn't blink. He slammed ten silver Sickles onto the wood.
"Two whiskeys."
The bartender stared into Regulus's cold eyes for a few seconds. Finding no fear there, he spat on the floor in disappointment and accepted the lower payment.
He poured two glasses of Firewhisky, the cheap, industrial kind that could strip paint—and slid them across.
Regulus downed his in one gulp. It burned like liquid lava, but his Occlumency clamped down on the reaction instantly. He slammed the glass down, looking unaffected.
Hestia reached for hers. Regulus shook his head imperceptibly. Don't drink it.
Regulus signaled for another. When the bartender returned, Regulus placed a small sack on the counter. He opened it just enough to reveal the glint of ten gold Galleons.
The bartender's eyes widened with greed. He reached for the bag.
Regulus snatched it back.
"Patricia Rakepick," Regulus said. His voice was low, cold, and carried through the sudden silence of the room.
At the mention of the name, chairs scraped against the floor.
The patrons in the corners stood up and hurriedly exited the tavern. Everyone knew Rakepick was hunted by Gringotts. No one in the settlement wanted to be within ten miles of that kind of heat. Within seconds, the bar was empty.
The bartender looked panicked. "I do not know! Ask others!"
He turned and bolted through the door behind the bar.
Regulus and Hestia vaulted over the counter and followed him.
They entered a back storage room. The bartender wasn't running; he was waiting. Three other wizards stepped out from the shadows, wands drawn, encircling the two students. It was a setup.
"Give us the gold, boy, and we might make your death quick," the bartender sneered.
Regulus didn't even draw his sword. He just looked at them with bored, dead eyes.
He muttered a single incantation.
"Protego Diabolica."
Blue fire erupted from him in a ring. It wasn't a shield; it was an execution. The blue flames expanded outward in a vicious snap, passing through the three ambushers.
They didn't even have time to scream. They disintegrated into ash instantly.
The fire stopped inches from the bartender, who had fallen backwards onto his ass, scrambling away crab-like. His trousers were wet.
He had thought these two were fresh meat. He was wrong. They were monsters.
Regulus walked through the fading embers of the blue fire and crouched down in front of the trembling man.
His voice sounded like the devil himself.
"Patricia. Rakepick."