The breakfast table was cleared with a series of efficient charms, but the heavy atmosphere of the morning news lingered long after the last crumb of the apple pie had vanished. Professor Flitwick and Leonard didn't waste any time. After a hushed, intense conversation by the fireplace, the two veteran wizards grabbed their traveling cloaks.
Before stepping out into the biting wind, Flitwick turned to Allen, his expression unusually stern. "Allen, I know your curiosity often outweighs your sense of self-preservation, but I need you to listen. This isn't Hogsmeade. Henry Jones is not just a common criminal; he's a man who has made a career out of making people disappear. If you see anything—and I mean anything—that looks like it belongs in the high-security wing of a prison, you turn around and walk the other way. Am I clear?"
"Crystal clear, Professor," Allen replied with a compliant nod. He meant it, mostly. He had no intention of hunting down a mass murderer, but the escaped magical creatures were another story entirely.
Flitwick gave him one last searching look before nodding to Leonard. With a sharp crack of Apparition that sent a puff of soot into the room, the two men were gone, leaving the house feeling cavernously empty.
Allen returned to the stack of newspapers, spreading them across the mahogany table. He was looking for patterns—disturbances that the No-Maj reporters couldn't explain. He was so engrossed that he didn't hear the heavy footsteps on the stairs until Ian appeared, looking like he'd been dragged through a hedge backward.
"Morning, sleepyhead," Allen muttered without looking up.
Ian let out a cavernous yawn, rubbing his eyes. "Is it morning? Feels like the middle of the night."
He didn't get a chance to sit down. Jessica appeared from the kitchen like a whirlwind of organized energy. Her posture was a strange contradiction—perfectly poised, almost graceful in the way she moved, yet carrying the terrifying authority of an older sister. She didn't say a word at first; she simply marched over to Ian, her blue eyes narrowed.
"Ian Knox, you were reading under the covers again, weren't you?" Before Ian could retreat, she had him by the ear.
"Ow! Jess, let go! It was a research journal on trans-Atlantic wand wood! It's educational!" Ian yelped, his cool, competitive facade crumbling instantly.
"I don't care if it was the Secret History of Merlin himself," Jessica lectured, her voice a mix of calm and stern. "You're growing, and if you don't sleep, your brain is going to turn into pumpkin juice. Now, eat your breakfast before I hex your fork to only feed you broccoli."
Allen tried to hide his smirk behind the New York Ghost, but a small snicker escaped. It was refreshing to see that even a wizard as talented as Ian was completely at the mercy of a sisterly ear-pull.
By the time Ian had finished his "sugar-loaded American breakfast" and the trio was ready to head out, the clock on the mantle was ticking toward ten.
"So, where's the grand plan?" Ian asked, strapping his wand holster to his arm. He looked at Allen, clearly expecting the British boy to have a lead.
Allen tapped a specific photograph in the newspaper. It was a grainy, moving shot of a man being interviewed in front of a weathered stone church. The man looked hysterical, waving his arms toward a shattered window in the background. "There," Allen said.
Jessica leaned in, squinting at the photo. "The church? Allen, that's just a No-Maj human interest story. The guy is complaining about 'vandalism and strange noises.' Probably just kids with firecrackers. Look, the poor man even has a bit of spinach stuck in his teeth. It's hardly the crime of the century."
"It's not the man I'm looking at," Allen said, his finger hovering over the top right corner of the moving image. "Watch the window behind him. Just as the camera pans left."
They both leaned in. For a fraction of a second, as the camera scrolled, a flash of iridescent color pulsed against the dark interior of the church.
"Reflection?" Ian suggested.
"The sun hasn't come out in three days, Ian," Jessica whispered, her skepticism suddenly evaporating. Her eyes went wide. "Wait... that spiral pattern in the dust on the sill. It's faint, but that's a Fwooper's footprint! If a Fwooper has been singing in a confined space like a church, the locals won't just be 'hysterical'—they'll be completely insane within the hour."
"Then we'd better get moving," Allen said, standing up.
Leaving the warmth of the Knox estate was like stepping into a freezer. The snowstorm had passed, but it had left behind a world made of jagged ice and biting wind. Using the clues from the paper and a specialized tracking cursor Allen had been working on, they navigated the transit system and eventually reached an old-fashioned town on the outskirts of the city.
The town felt like a relic of a different century. The main street was wide and paved with cobblestones that were now slick with black ice. Guided by the magical signature Allen was tracking, they dove into a labyrinth of narrow side-streets. At one point, the alleyways became so claustrophobic that Allen could touch both walls just by extending his elbows.
"I hope the magical creatures in New York have a better sense of direction than we do," Ian grumbled, his breath hitching in the cold.
Suddenly, the narrow path sloped sharply downward, opening into a hidden courtyard. In the center stood a tall, battlement-style tower that looked like it belonged in a medieval fortress rather than a New York suburb. To the left was a magnificent, ornate house with minarets, and tucked behind it was the church they had seen in the paper.
They were halfway across the courtyard when the silence was shattered.
BOOM.
Not an explosion, but the sound of heavy doors being thrown open. A group of Muggles burst out of the ornate house, their faces pale with terror. "Fire! It's a devil's fire! Run!" they screamed, sprinting past the three teenagers without even a second glance.
"That's not a normal fire," Allen said, sniffing the air. "There's no smoke. No smell of burning wood yet."
"Should we check it out?" Jessica asked, her hand already hovering near her wand. The Fwooper hunt was important, but a house full of No-Majs burning to death was a priority.
"Definitely," Ian agreed.
They slipped inside the house just as the last of the residents fled. The interior was opulent, but the air was shimmering with an unnatural heat. In the hallway opposite the entrance, the walls were already beginning to glow a deep, angry crimson.
As they stepped further in, a pillar of flame erupted from a nearby doorway. It didn't behave like fire; it didn't flicker or sway. It hissed like a living thing.
"Careful!" Jessica shouted. She stepped in front of the boys, her wand moving in a complex, sweeping arc. "Igni-Gelidus!"
The Flame-Freezing Charm—the very same spell that medieval witches used to survive being burned at the stake—rippled through the room. The roaring heat didn't disappear, but it transformed into a mild, tingly sensation. To a wizard under the effect of the spell, the fire felt like nothing more than a warm breeze, a trick that many ancient wizards used to laugh while Muggles tried to execute them.
Crr-ack!
The window panes in the parlor shattered outward, the pressure of the heat finally becoming too much for the glass. The ceiling beams groaned ominously. The smoke was beginning to thicken now—sharp, acrid, and suffocating.
"This way!" Allen called out. He'd spotted something.
On the floor, snaking through the dust and the plush carpet, was a thin, grey trail of ash. It looked like someone had dragged a cigarette across the floor in a long, winding line.
They followed the trail to the darkest corner of the room, under a heavy oak sideboard. There, bathed in a reddish glow, was the culprit: a slender, ash-white serpent with glowing red eyes. It was an Ashwinder, a creature born from the embers of an untended magical fire.
The snake flicked its tongue once, looked at them with a strange, fleeting intelligence, and then simply dissolved into a pile of fine grey dust.
But it hadn't left empty-handed. In the center of the dust pile lay three bright red eggs. They pulsed with a rhythmic, searing heat, casting long, dancing shadows against the wall.
"They're about to ignite!" Ian shouted, raising his wand.
"Immobulus!"
Allen was faster. The Freezing Charm hit the eggs with surgical precision. A layer of thick, magical frost instantly encased the glowing orbs, sucking the heat out of them before they could set the rest of the house ablaze.
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees in a heartbeat. The roaring flames in the hallway began to die down, losing their magical source.
"Ashwinder eggs," Jessica sighed, leaning over them. She looked impressed. "Nice reflexes, Allen. If those had stayed hot for another thirty seconds, this entire block would have been a crater."
Ian lowered his wand, a look of grudging respect on his face. "He's right. And look at the quality. They're perfectly formed."
Allen reached down and carefully scooped up the frozen eggs. They felt like ice-cold marbles in his palm. "Three of them. That worked out well." He handed one to Ian and one to Jessica with a small grin. "A souvenir for the team?"
Jessica laughed, taking the egg. "You realize these are worth a small fortune to an apothecary, right? They're used in love potions, fever reducers... or you can just swallow one whole if you have a really bad cold, though I wouldn't recommend it."
She opened her leather backpack—which Allen noted was much larger on the inside thanks to a very smooth Undetectable Extension Charm—and stowed the eggs safely. "I'll hold onto them for now. We don't want them defrosting in your pockets."
Just as the last egg was tucked away, the central support beam of the room gave way. With a roar like a dying beast, the roof of the main hall collapsed, sending a fountain of mundane sparks into the winter sky.