The outdoor breeze carried the scent of sunshine and wild grass.
Under the sycamore tree stood a girl with messy, waist-length, dark golden-brown hair and very light eyebrows. She wore dirigible plum earrings and a necklace strung with butterbeer corks.
"How did you know I was in the study? The main door and my room are in the other direction." Damian was a bit curious about the girl shouting at him from beneath the window.
"I saw a Wrackspurt fly into that room, so I guessed you'd be there." The little girl's voice was airy, as if she were singing a soft melody.
"Wrackspurt?"
Luna said dreamily, "Wrackspurts... they're invisible. They fly in through your ears and muddle your brain."
"Damian, the Thunderbird egg you gave me is about to hatch."
Luna suddenly remembered her purpose. She opened the cardboard box in her arms, revealing a pure gold Thunderbird egg inside. The golden shell now sported a web of tiny cracks, and through the fissures, damp feathers could be vaguely seen.
Damian carefully examined the egg, his eyes widening in surprise. "This is truly remarkable."
He had confiscated this Thunderbird egg from a Dark Wizard and given it to Luna as a birthday gift. More than six months had passed since then. Damian and Luna had tried countless methods to incubate it, but none had worked.
Luna smiled cheerfully. "I wrote a letter to Grandpa Newt, and he told me to rub sunflower pollen on the egg every day. He said if I did that for three weeks, it would hatch."
Damian asked in surprise, "Newt Scamander? The magizoologist who wrote Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them?"
Luna nodded. "Grandpa Newt used to submit articles to The Quibbler. I asked Dad for his contact information and sent him a pair of dirigible plum earrings as a thank you."
That's definitely her style, Damian thought amusedly.
Just then, a commotion echoed from the cardboard box. The cracks in the golden egg rapidly widened. A small life struggled vigorously inside the shell, and faint, high-pitched cries drifted into the air.
A moment later, a sharp, eagle-like beak pierced the golden shell, and a tiny Thunderbird squeezed its way out into the world.
Luna beamed at the successfully hatched chick. She pointed to the sycamore tree by the wall. "We should build a home for it up there."
Damian hesitated. "Why build a nest here? I'm going back to Hogwarts next week, so I won't be able to help take care of the little guy."
Luna tilted her head, her light-colored eyes curving into happy crescent moons. "I think it will like it here. Besides, I can come over to see it every day."
Looking into her genuine smile, Damian's expression softened. "Okay."
...
The next morning. Westminster, London. Charing Cross Road.
With a sharp crack of displaced air, Damian Apparated at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron. Despite a person appearing entirely out of thin air, the rushing Muggle pedestrians paid him no mind, their eyes sliding right past the magically concealed pub.
He pushed open the door. Inside, the pub was stuffy, noisy, dim, and wonderfully dilapidated.
As Damian stepped inside, the noisy chatter near the entrance paused for a brief moment. Old Tom, the toothless landlord, was wiping glasses behind the bar. He waved a rag at Damian.
"Hey! Black! You're here. Fancy a drink?"
Damian nodded with a polite smile. "A butterbeer, please."
In the wizarding world, butterbeer was a mildly warming, comforting beverage suitable for all ages.
Old Tom poured him a foaming mug and slid it across the counter. "This one's on the house. Thanks for that batch of Scab-Healing Potion."
Then, Tom cautiously glanced around the crowded room. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Someone's after you."
Before Damian could respond, Tom straightened up and went right back to wiping glasses, acting as if he hadn't said a word.
Damian silently took a sip of his butterbeer.
Someone is after me? He carefully scrolled through the mental list of people he had offended.
There were simply too many. Although he was a descendant of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, his grandfather, Alphard, had been famously disowned and blasted off the family tapestry.
When Damian was sorted into Slytherin House, the real trouble had begun. Many Slytherin students were the children of Death Eaters—the very people who had murdered his parents. This had sparked a vicious cycle of bullying, isolation, and extortion during his early days at Hogwarts.
Fortunately, Damian's magical talent was monstrous. While his peers were fumbling with basic jinxes and pranks, he had already mastered an arsenal of offensive and defensive spells.
In his first year, he ruthlessly crushed the students who tried to bother him. By his second year, no one in his grade dared to even look at him wrong. Since Slytherin House ultimately respected pure strength and ambition, he had even gathered a few loyal followers after establishing his dominance.
He chugged the rest of his butterbeer and slipped out into the small, walled courtyard behind the pub.
The space held nothing but a trash can and some overgrown weeds. After confirming the courtyard was empty, Damian pulled a flask of dark green potion from his robes and downed it in one gulp.
A burning sensation crawled down his throat, rapidly fermenting into a nauseating, violently unpleasant taste.
Instantly, his face contorted in agony. It felt as though hot wax was bubbling beneath his skin. His eyes, nose, mouth, and ears began to melt and shift, his entire facial structure rearranging itself. Then, his bones began to snap and stretch, emitting a series of sickening crunches.
A minute later, the Polyjuice Potion had finished its work. Damian had transformed into a gaunt, red-haired man with sinister, sunken eyes.
He tested a few facial expressions and stretched his limbs, adapting to the strange new body.
Drawing his wand, he cast a quick Transfiguration spell on his clothes, altering them to fit his new height and morphing them into nondescript, black wizarding robes. Stepping up to the brick wall above the trash can, he tapped a specific brick three times with the tip of his wand.
The brick vibrated. A small hole appeared, rapidly expanding as the surrounding bricks folded back upon themselves, forming a wide archway that led to a winding, cobblestone street.
Diagon Alley was bustling with life. Shop windows displayed all sorts of magical wonders: intricate alchemical tools, preserved creature limbs, brightly colored furs, and jars containing eyeballs the size of melons.
Damian briefly walked through the main thoroughfare before slipping down a shadowy side street into Knockturn Alley. He had a batch of potions to offload.
The dark alleyway was located near Gringotts, but its atmosphere was worlds apart from Diagon Alley. The moment he stepped inside, a faint, sour odor hit his nose. Thick moss clung to the crumbling brickwork, plaster peeled from the buildings, and murky sewage trickled along the gutters.
The street was dim and chaotic. Every wizard lingering in the shadows exuded a dangerous, unsavory aura.
In a dark corner on the right side of the street, a stout, bearded wizard was squatting on the ground. His face lit up the moment he spotted Damian's disguised form. He scrambled to his feet, brushing off his robes.
Furtively glancing around to ensure they weren't being watched, the man muttered, "I've been waiting forever. I thought you weren't coming! Do you have all the goods?"
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