The Obscurus bursting from the church tower was a spectacle the townspeople couldn't miss. They jumped to the conclusion that the shadowy entity was a "demon" imprisoned within the church walls. The townsfolk feverishly crossed themselves, chanting prayers to God or Jesus for protection.
As if their deity had personally intervened, the "demon" was swiftly forced back into its prison. The crowd erupted in cheers, and with the mayor's enthusiastic endorsement, plans were made for a celebratory banquet that very night to thank "God" for vanquishing the "demon" and safeguarding their town.
Tom and his companions watched the jubilant display from a short distance away.
"It seems you've become the Muggle version of Merlin, Tom," Cassandra teased, earning herself a light flick on the forehead.
"Ouch! Well…"
Cassandra rubbed her head, still appearing unconvinced she deserved the flick, but she immediately relented, remembering Tom's penchant for doubling her homework whenever she argued with him.
"Well, if that is all, sir, I suppose I should be taking my leave now."
Gilderoy Lockhart hesitated, then stepped forward to address Tom. "My goal has been achieved here. Of course... if you still require my services, I remain at your disposal."
"No need, you're not particularly useful anyway."
"..."
Those words stung more than they should.
Lockhart, however, betrayed no sign of offense.
"Oh, and take Jim with you."
Tom glanced at the eager young man who still wanted to join in on the townspeople's celebratory mood. "Let him be your assistant for now. I recall he has completed his Muggle studies."
"As you wish."
Lockhart held a favorable opinion of Jim. He approached him with a smile.
Seeing Lockhart approach, Jim looked puzzled. "Mr. Lockhart?"
"Come on, kid."
Lockhart grinned. "Unless you have no wish to experience a far more... realistic magical world than the one we appear to live in."
"You mean…"
Realization dawned on Jim's face, and his eyes widened in excitement.
Lockhart shrugged, a touch of helplessness in his expression. "When I'm gallivanting across the globe in search of material for my books, having assistance can be quite helpful, don't you know."
"Yes, Mr. Lockhart!"
Jim's response was enthusiastic but with a quick hesitation, "But what if the boss requires my skills..."
He glanced nervously at Tom, noticing the Dark Lord staring directly back at him.
"You're not that useful; don't worry about it."
"..."
Jim gave a wry grin. "Well, it seems the boss has greenlit the idea."
He promptly fell into step with Lockhart as they proceeded toward the brightly lit side of town.
"Oh, Mr. Lockhart! What story are you planning to write with the material you've gathered this time?"
Jim eagerly launched into a monologue about Lockhart's books. "This experience felt even more impactful than all your previous works! Your future book, I believe, will by far surpass all of your previous literary achievements. What title are you considering? How about 'Protecting the Village from a Werewolf Attack'? Or perhaps 'My Night at the Vampire Hotel'...yes! That one is certain to become a bestseller!"
"A title, you say?"
Lockhart looked up at the sky, a gleam of calculation in his eyes. "Perhaps 'Walking with the Dark Lord' would be a very good title indeed."
...
After bidding farewell to Lockhart and Jim, the group re-entered the carriage and continued on their journey. Time passed quickly, and dusk settled across the land.
High in the Scottish Highlands, the majestic mountain peaks revealed themselves.
This was their destination: the site of an ancient sacrificial ceremony held by the Scottish Highland Giants.
The summit was a vast, bowl-shaped depression where the giants traditionally performed their rituals. As the carriage and flying motorcycle drew closer to the summit, Harry, sitting in Hagrid's "passenger seat," sensed that something was amiss with his oversized companion.
Hagrid, who usually was chatty, was now eerily silent. This was a stark contrast to his usual demeanor.
Seeing his mother, who had abandoned him at birth, was proving difficult for Hagrid.
Though Harry possessed some emotional intelligence, it wasn't particularly refined, and he struggled to find the right words to comfort Hagrid.
Thankfully, Harry sometimes had flashes of inspiration from the ether.
"You're a lot better off than me; at least you have a mother..."
Why is it that the more I attempt to be nice, the more painful things seem to materialize?
Harry's awkward comment produced an obvious tension, which then prompted Hagrid to speak up. "It's alright, Harry, let's talk about something else."
"You're right."
Harry seemed to be inspired toward a slightly better idea this time. "What about your father? I haven't heard you mention him."
"Oh, he died shortly after I came of age."
"..."
"He was a good man, though. I loved him very much."
"He raised you on his own, right? He must have been amazing."
"Your father was amazing too. I've met James; he was a typical Gryffindor. The best of them, really, a true hero. A good man."
"Uh...maybe...Hey! We're almost there!"
Harry quickly changed the subject and focused on the approaching mountaintop. He did not want to talk about his biological father with anyone.
The unbreakable bond of blood prevented him from speaking ill of James Potter, but the things his "old man" did at school still made Harry cringe and feel disturbed. The school bullying behaviour of James had nearly resulted in death for one of his victims. Harry knew the difference between the dangerous things Tom did in school and then retaliated for, versus the genuine "school 80s" style bullying his father and his friends engaged in for fun.
Harry had talked about these things with Draco Malfoy when he was trying to recruit for the Death Eaters, but Harry had never actually done the things his father had done those many years ago, so the idea of school bullying disgusted him.
Thus, he simply avoided discussing James altogether.
...
Meanwhile, in the Giants' village below…
Using the last rays of dusk, the Giants began to spot the flying carriages and flying motorcycles closing in on the horizon.
They emerged from their crude dwellings, armed with rudimentary weapons, shouting guttural warnings at the "uninvited guests."
The sounds were a rough, deep roar, but it was actually a language, their language. The language of the giants contained a large number of simple words and roaring expressions.
However, the "uninvited guests" did not turn away. Instead, the enraged Giants retaliated by hurling boulders into the air.
With a display of terrifying strength, they propelled boulders two to three meters in diameter hundreds of meters into the air.
Unfortunately, the boulders didn't even reach the carriage before meeting a shimmering white barrier that stopped them in place.
Then, an intense, almost tangible sense of oppressive power swept over them like a tidal wave.
The Giants, numbering in the hundreds, were instantly overwhelmed by the terrifying aura, unable to straighten their backs. Only the strongest warriors of the tribes could barely move, and even so, they were frozen in place, unable to even attempt escape, let alone attack!
If a skilled wizard had been present, they would have noticed that when the terrifying aura crashed down on the mountaintop like a meteorite, the already concave mountaintop collapsed even further!
Only when the carriages and motorcycles finally touched down did this bone-crushing oppressive feeling recede like a tide.
---