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This was supposed to be an ordinary summer night.
The moonlight was obscured by thick layers of clouds, allowing only a faint, hazy glow to filter through.
In a quiet villa district somewhere in Britain, light shone from the study window of a spacious, modern house.
For Ollie, today had originally been just another day of studying tedious company management data, trying to understand complex financial reports and business terminology at his father's request.
Summer vacation, for him, was far less free than being at Hogwarts.
His mother had passed away early, and his father was a busy entrepreneur with high expectations. Their conversations often revolved around "responsibility," "the future," and "the Thorne family business."
Ollie understood his father's good intentions—but those numbers and contract clauses made his head ache and felt utterly foreign to him...
In the study, Mr. Thorne pointed at a quarterly financial report spread across the desk, explaining the meaning of several key figures and the business implications behind them to Ollie, who sat opposite him.
Beep~ Beep~ Beep~
A mobile phone suddenly vibrated, its screen lighting up with an incoming call. The buzzing sound was especially loud in the quiet room.
Ollie's gaze was immediately drawn to it—but he quickly restrained himself, forcing his eyes back to the report his father was indicating.
Mr. Thorne stopped mid-explanation.
He glanced at the buzzing phone, then at his son, whose attention had clearly wandered. A complex expression flickered across his stern face before settling into a quiet sigh.
"Answer it if you want," he said. "It's probably a friend from Hogwarts. Just don't chat too long—this data is important."
Ollie looked up in surprise.
Almost before his father had finished speaking, he sprang from his chair, strode over, grabbed the phone, and answered the call.
The screen lit up.
Lynn's face appeared first—far too close to the camera, wearing a grin that practically begged to be punched. Edgar squeezed in beside him, pulling exaggerated expressions, while William appeared in the corner, calmly adjusting his glasses.
"Ollie! William! Guess what—I just caught a wild Atlantic salmon in Norway's Lofoten Islands! Over forty pounds! Pure wild! That thing was insane—it nearly dragged me into the sea!"
He gestured wildly, trying to convey the sheer power of the "King of Fish" through the screen.
Ollie: "..."
He stared at Lynn for a moment, speechless.
After a brief pause, he replied dryly, "...I didn't know."
William pushed up his glasses. "Wild? That is indeed impressive."
"You bet!" Lynn brightened immediately. "Let me tell you exactly what happened! I was just about to pack up, thinking I'd been skunked all day—and then suddenly—VROOM! The pull on that line! I'm telling you, at that moment I—"
For the next ten minutes, Lynn launched into an animated retelling.
While he described his battle with the giant salmon, Edgar chimed in constantly—interrupting, teasing, or adding "helpful" details, such as Lynn's miserable expression after failing to catch a single fish for half the day.
Ollie listened quietly, a small smile forming on his face.
Mr. Thorne did not leave the room.
He leaned back in his chair, no longer paying attention to the reports, instead watching his son as he chatted with his friends.
The light outlined Ollie's face—so different from the tense, restrained expression he wore during their usual conversations.
Mr. Thorne's gaze softened, becoming distant.
It was as if, through Ollie, he saw a younger version of himself... a time when he, too, had been carefree.
Time passed quietly.
"...Anyway, tonight I'm having Dodo make pan-seared salmon steaks! I'll send you pictures—you'll be insanely jealous!" Lynn finally concluded his long-winded story.
"See ya!"
"See you at the start of term!"
"Stay safe."
With a few farewells and the soft beep of the call disconnecting, the screen went dark.
Ollie lowered the phone.
He glanced at his father, who still seemed lost in thought. Not wanting to disturb him, Ollie returned to his seat and picked up the report again.
Sigh... this stuff really gives me a headache.
After a while, Mr. Thorne blinked and came back to himself.
Seeing his son frowning at the document, he cleared his throat and pointed again at the earlier section.
"Ahem—this accounts receivable data, combined with Note 3 below, reflects the results of our credit policy adjustments last quarter. While it affects short-term cash flow, in the long run—"
He resumed explaining.
Ollie forced himself to concentrate and listen.
Meanwhile, outside the villa, shadows shifted beneath the trees.
Seven figures in black robes appeared silently around the house.
They spread out, forming a loose perimeter, all eyes fixed on the lit villa.
"Boss, this is the place," one of them whispered, pointing at the house, his tone laced with excitement.
The man called "Boss" stood still, looking up at the cloud-covered sky.
"Mm... the 'weather' is about to change."
As if in response, a strong wind suddenly rose, sweeping away the clouds.
The full moon emerged—bright and cold.
"Awoooo—!!!"
"Awoooo—!!!"
"Awoooo—!!!"
Seven piercing howls shattered the silence of the night, echoing across the quiet neighborhood.
"What was that?!"
"Help! There's something outside!"
"Ahhh—! A wolf! No—someone's turning into a wolf! It's a Werewolf!!"
"Merlin! It really is a Werewolf! Call the authorities! Notify the Ministry of Magic!"
"Shut the doors and windows!"
"Can anyone contact Dumbledore?! Help!"
Panic erupted instantly.
Muggles heard only monstrous howls—but wizarding residents recognized them immediately.
Werewolves.
An entire pack.
Appearing on a full-moon night, without warning, in a peaceful residential area.
Terror spread like wildfire.
Inside the villa—
Ollie, who had just gone to bed, was jolted awake by the howls.
Bang!
The study door burst open.
Mr. Thorne rushed in, wearing a dressing gown. His face was pale, his eyes filled with shock and anger—and in his hand, he tightly gripped a wand.
He had heard the howls as well—and understood the danger instantly.
"Ollie!"
His voice was tense but firm.
He hurried to the window, carefully lifting a corner of the curtain to peek outside. The moment he saw what was there, he dropped it immediately, his expression darkening.
"Outside... at least five or six Werewolves. They've surrounded the house! Damn it—how could this—"
He turned sharply, grabbed Ollie's arm, and pushed him toward the hallway.
"Go! Through the back door—head to the basement! I've set up protective magic there; it can hold for a while! I'll stall them!"
Ollie stumbled from the push, panic flooding his mind.
Werewolves? Surrounded? His father staying behind alone?
Wasn't his father a Muggle? Why did he have a wand?
But after that initial shock, he forced himself to calm down.
Panic would only make things worse.
Instead of running for the back door, he broke free from his father's grip and rushed to his bedside table.
He yanked open the drawer and grabbed two items—a brass key and a feather.
Then he sprinted to the wardrobe.
Pressing the brass key firmly against the center of the smooth wooden door, he activated it.
The moment it made contact, faint ripples of light spread outward. A series of soft clicking sounds followed, like a complex lock being undone. Hidden runes flickered briefly into view before fading.
He pulled the door open.
Inside was a space roughly three cubic meters in size.
"Dad! No time to explain—get in! Now!"
Ollie shouted urgently.
Outside, the werewolf howls grew closer.
Mr. Thorne hesitated for only a fraction of a second before acting.
He rushed forward and squeezed into the concealed space with Ollie.
Ollie slammed the wardrobe door shut.
Click.
The lock sealed.
The key vanished.
And the wardrobe returned to its ordinary, unremarkable appearance—as if nothing had ever happened.