A/N: Thank you to my amazing wife for beta reading, editing, and correcting my mistakes.
Chapter 7: Skin Deep
The coastal cliff in northern Scotland stood majestically under the night sky, illuminated by the soft, ethereal glow of the stars and a sliver of the waning moon. The vast expanse of the North Sea stretched out to the horizon, its dark waters shimmering with the reflection of celestial light. White-capped waves crashed rhythmically against the jagged rocks far below, sending up sprays of foamy mist that glistened in the silver moonlight. The sky above was a deep indigo, transitioning to a lighter shade near the horizon where the first hints of dawn were beginning to appear, casting a faint, hopeful glow over the landscape.
Suddenly, a faint pop broke the serene silence, and a small child appeared on the cold, dew-covered ground. He had messy black hair that clung to his face, and rich emerald green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the darkness. He fell to his knees, the impact jarring. His senses were overwhelmed by the sudden change in environment and temperature. For a moment, he remained there, catching his breath and trying to steady himself. The ground felt steady and solid under his clothes, and he felt like the air was somehow warmer and fresher than the Dursley's front yard. He looked up in shock and wonder at the location he had reappeared in.
The breathtaking view greeted him—a sight unlike anything he had ever seen. The endless expanse of the North Sea was both mesmerizing and intimidating, the waves crashing below creating a symphony of natural power. Above, the sky was a tapestry of stars, and he could see the first light of dawn creeping into the horizon, a promise of a new day. Harry's heart raced with a mix of fear and excitement as he took in the dramatic, otherworldly beauty of the coastal cliff.
To his right, the rugged coastline extended in a series of dramatic cliffs and hidden coves, where seabirds soared and called to one another in a symphony of wild morning cheer. The cliffs were adorned with patches of vibrant green grass and clusters of hardy wildflowers, their colors a striking contrast against the stark, weathered stone. Harry felt a sense of awe and attraction to the raw, untamed beauty of the landscape. It was a stark difference from the confined and oppressive life he had known for most of his childhood, and the bustling and crowded life he had just lost.
As he continued to marvel at the view, Harry's eyes were drawn to something unusual on a lower cliff edge jutting out below. It was the skeleton of a large animal, its bleached bones starkly visible against the dark rock. Harry craned his head over the edge of the cliff he was on, trying to see more details of the skeleton.
Intrigued and filled with a sense of curiosity, Harry scanned the cliffside for a way to reach the lower ledge. The cliff he was on was very steep on both sides, and there did not seem to be any way to descend to the lower levels of the cliff.
He carefully examined the terrain but could not see any safe path down. The cliff face was steep and treacherous, with loose rocks and slippery moss coating sheer stone faces. The sharp drops made his heart race with a mixture of excitement and fear as he leaned over the edge, looking for an opportunity. Determined to investigate the bones, he slowly walked along the cliff edge, moving inland, his eyes darting over the landscape for any hint of a trail or natural staircase.
After what felt like an eternity, Harry's persistence paid off. He spotted a narrow, winding path partially hidden by overgrown bushes and tufts of grass. The path snaked down the cliffside, leading to a small, rocky outcrop that seemed to connect to the ledge with the skeleton. Harry's heart pounded with excitement as he began the careful descent, his small hands gripping the rough stone for support.
The trek was long and arduous for an eight-year-old, but Harry's determination fueled him. He wondered why he had appeared here and how he had managed to disappear and reappear so mysteriously once again. It was the third time he had done the vanishing act, and he was becoming more convinced that his suspicions were correct. He racked his brain for alternative answers but came up blank. He remembered hearing somewhere about stories of superheroes and the adventures they had and the villains they had fought, and he began to piece together a conclusion. Perhaps he was a superhero! It made sense to him; he was doing impossible things, and there wasn't a better explanation.
He even had supervillains to fight—those evil strangers who had killed his friends with their own superpowers!
Harry felt nauseous and sick when he thought of his dead friends, and a wave of dizziness threatened to knock him over and off the side of the cliff. He clung to a part of the rock face for a moment, swaying, trying to think about something else. After a moment and a long, deep inhalation, he straightened his back and proceeded down the narrow, rocky path toward the mysterious skeleton.
Finally, Harry reached the lower ledge and stood before the massive carcass. The bones were huge, much larger than any animal he had ever seen in real life. The skull alone was almost as tall as he was, with great curved tusks that spoke of a creature both majestic and formidable.
Harry approached the skeleton with a mixture of awe and curiosity, wondering if it was an ancient fossil. He noticed flies buzzing around the bones and bits of pink flesh clinging to parts of the joints, suggesting that the death was more recent than ancient, but Harry wasn't paying much attention. Harry's imagination ran wild with thoughts of ancient times and great beasts that once roamed the earth.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell coming from the large body. Kneeling beside the skeleton, Harry traced the contours of the giant bones with his fingers, ignoring the smell that grew stronger as he neared. He felt a strange connection to the place, as if he had been brought here for a reason. He didn't understand why or how, but his belief in his newfound superhero identity confirmed in his mind that he was meant to be in this strange place, solving a mystery.
As the sun began to dip towards the horizon, casting long shadows over the cliff, Harry sat cross-legged beside the skeleton, lost in thoughts of adventure and his newfound superhero abilities. He remained there for a long while, immersed in fantastical daydreams of battles with supervillains using his yet-undiscovered superpowers of super strength and flight.
Eventually, Harry stood up, the smell beginning to overwhelm him, and walked to the edge of the cliff. He looked down over the jagged stones in the water far below and wondered where he should go next and whether he could disappear and reappear somewhere with food and water. His stomach grumbled loudly at the thought, and he licked his dry lips, feeling parched!
Eventually, he sat down on the hard ground and watched the sun rise over the water, mesmerized by the beautiful light and the warmth the sunlight brought to his skin.
That was when Harry realized that something was strange about the place he was in; about the entire cliff! It was winter already, and the air should have been absolutely freezing! He didn't know exactly where he was, but if he was anywhere near the UK, it should have been dangerously cold. The air felt slightly chilly, but barely as cold as it had been when he was sitting on the Dursleys' lawn. It hadn't snowed yet, but it had been cold. Here, in this strange place, he was only mildly chilled. Harry wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but this place was far too warm to be anywhere in Scotland, as he had previously assumed.
Harry stood up, scanning his surroundings with a heightened sense of awareness. There was an unsettling feeling in the air, a subtle but persistent sense that something was amiss. As his eyes roved over the cliff face, he noticed a thin, almost imperceptible line running down the rock wall behind the skeleton. His curiosity piqued, Harry approached cautiously, his pulse quickening. He ran a tentative finger down the line, tracing its path. The outline felt oddly precise, too perfect to be a natural formation. It looked like the outline of a hidden doorway carved into the rock.
Harry wanted to know what was behind the rock, but he couldn't see a handle or a way to open the rock door. He tried pulling on the stone with his palms, pushing hard, and even slamming against the stone, but it remained stubbornly unyielding. Frustration mingled with a creeping sense of unease. What was this strange place?
Suddenly, faint voices echoed from the distance, carried on the wind. Harry's breath caught in his throat. Instinctively, he darted behind the massive skeleton, pressing himself against the cold bones. His heart hammered in his chest as he strained to listen, his mind racing with possibilities. His gut instinct told him that he should hide and not reveal his presence. He felt a prickle on the back of his neck as the voices grew closer.
Harry crouched lower, his eyes darting around for an escape route. Every muscle in his body tensed, ready to bolt if necessary, though he wasn't sure where he would run. The sense of danger grew palpable, and he knew he had to remain hidden or risk his life.
The air seemed to thicken with suspense, every second stretching into an eternity. He held his breath, praying that the shadows would conceal him long enough to figure out his next move.
The Grand Hall of the International Confederation of Wizards was a sight to behold. Its sheer magnitude and grandeur were unparalleled, an architectural marvel that seemed to blend the ancient with the contemporary. The ceiling, a vast expanse of enchanted sky, displayed a mesmerizing tableau of dragons locked in a slow, eternal battle. Their scales glimmered with hues of emerald, sapphire, and ruby as they soared and clashed above the assembly, casting a magical, shifting light over the hall below.
The hall itself was a masterpiece of opulence and craftsmanship. The walls were adorned with intricate golden gilding, each panel telling a story of magical history and triumph. The ornamentations were both delicate and grand, showcasing the pinnacle of wizarding artistry. Majestic columns, wrapped in gold and silver filigree, supported the high ceiling, their surfaces etched with runes of protection and hidden magic.
In the center of this awe-inspiring space stood an enormous circular arrangement of seats, precisely two hundred in number. Each seat was a throne in its own right, crafted from rich mahogany and upholstered with deep, luxurious velvet. They were arranged in concentric circles, ensuring that every delegate had an unobstructed view of the central podium, where speakers would address the assembly. Each seat bore a distinct crest or emblem, representing the myriad of magical towns, communities, and countries that formed the Confederation. From the neutral magical towns of Switzerland to the mystical deserts of Egypt, every corner of the magical world had its voice here.
The hall buzzed with an undercurrent of energy and anticipation, the air thick with the mingled scents of exotic perfumes and rare magical foods. Wizards and witches from every corner of the globe filled the seats, their attire a testament to their status and heritage. Robes of the finest silk, encrusted with precious gemstones, shimmered under the magical light. Golden chains and intricate jewelry adorned many, signifying not only wealth but also the arrogance and pride that often accompanied power, fame, and wealth.
At the head of this hallowed gathering sat Albus Dumbledore, the Supreme Mugwump. He gazed out over the assembly, his piercing blue eyes observing the multitude of faces that represented the global wizarding community. Despite the ostentation before him, Dumbledore's expression remained serene and contemplative. His presence commanded respect and exuded a quiet authority that could silence even the most boisterous of debates.
Dumbledore's robes of honor were a sight to behold, befitting his esteemed position. Crafted from a deep, rich purple fabric that seemed to absorb the light and shimmer with an inner glow, they flowed around him like liquid velvet. Intricate silver embroidery traced elegant patterns along the hem and sleeves, depicting ancient symbols of wisdom and unity. A mantle of the finest dragon hide, dyed a royal blue, lay draped over his shoulders. It was fastened with a brooch in the shape of a phoenix, its ruby eyes gleaming with a fiery spark.
He wore a high, pointed hat that matched his robes, adorned with delicate silver runes that glowed faintly, a mark of his supreme authority. Around his neck hung the Order of Merlin, First Class, a symbol of his countless contributions to the magical world. His long, silvery beard flowed down his chest, adding to his venerable and wise appearance. Despite the grandeur of his attire, Dumbledore carried himself with a humility and grace that set him apart from the ostentatious display around him.
Dumbledore rose from his seat and, as if by magic, the hall silenced almost immediately. He had a commanding presence that day, and many noticed that his eyes did not contain their customary twinkle but rather, looked serious and intense. The dragons on the ceiling paused their eternal struggle as if they too were waiting for the Supreme Mugwump's words.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the International Confederation of Wizards," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying the weight of his authority. "I call this meeting to order."
A moment of stillness hung in the air before a large, overweight wizard with a thick mustache and rich burgundy robes stood up. His round face was flushed, and he clutched a parchment tightly in his hands. When he spoke, his voice boomed through the hall, tinged with a strong French accent.
"Mesdames et messieurs, I must bring to your attention a grave concern," he began, his tone a mixture of frustration and alarm. "Magical creatures are disappearing at an alarming, accelerated rate!"
The hall, which had been so silent moments before, now buzzed with murmurs of surprise and concern. Dumbledore's keen eyes scanned the room, observing the reactions of the delegates. The French wizard continued, his voice growing louder and more urgent.
"Non seulement ils disparaissent, mais ils le font plus vite que jamais!" he exclaimed. "It is not just vampires we have not seen in months. Werewolves, many of whom are part of our workforce, are vanishing as well. And it does not end there. Dragons, centaurs, Veelas, and a long list of other magical creatures are also disappearing. The problem is escalating rapidly!"
He paused to let his words sink in, then continued with a note of desperation, "Even potion farms, which rely on these creatures, are suffering. The animals vanish without a trace! This is affecting our profits gravely!"
A wave of agitation swept through the assembly. Some delegates nodded in agreement with the French wizard, their faces drawn with worry. Others, however, wore sneers of indifference, their whispers carrying a tone of dismissiveness.
"Good riddance," one delegate muttered, his disdainful tone carrying through the murmurs. "We will be fine on the potions side. We don't need these nasty creatures anyway."
The uproar grew, a cacophony of voices rising in protest, agreement, and scorn. Dumbledore, still standing, lifted his hand and, once again, the hall fell into silence, the sheer force of his presence demanding attention.
"Let us not descend into chaos," Dumbledore said calmly, his voice steady amidst the turmoil. "This matter is indeed serious, and it affects us all, whether directly or indirectly. We must approach this with the unity and wisdom that defines our Confederation."
His eyes, twinkling with a mixture of resolve and concern, moved from face to face, ensuring he had their full attention. "The disappearance of magical creatures is not merely a financial issue, but a sign of a deeper problem. We must investigate thoroughly and act swiftly to uncover the cause and stop the disappearances."
Despite Dumbledore's magically enhanced words echoing through the hall with a firm and resonant strength, many of the witches and wizards in the assembly glared at him with thinly veiled dislike. Their eyes burned with resentment, reflecting years of political rivalry and personal grudges. Yet Dumbledore, ever the composed and sagacious leader, paid little attention to their hostility. He had long grown accustomed to such reactions, his resolve unshaken by the animosity that often accompanied his leadership.
He continued, his voice steady and commanding, "We already have an international committee that was established to address this issue in our last meeting. I propose we pour more resources into that committee and provide them with our best people to expedite their efforts."
This suggestion seemed to resonate with the assembly. The murmurs of dissent and approval melded into a fairly unified hum of agreement. Dumbledore's sharp eyes caught the subtle nods and exchanged glances among the delegates, signaling a consensus. The proposal was put to a vote and, with a show of hands, the motion was swiftly passed into existence.
Most of the members agreed to allocate additional funds to the committee, understanding the gravity of the situation and the potential impact on their own economies and lives. As the decision was formalized, the leader of the committee, Heinrich Zauberer, rose from his seat.
Heinrich Zauberer was an imposing figure. Tall and lanky, he moved with a kind of predatory grace that commanded attention. His sharp, pointy black beard framed a face that was stern and serious, his deep brown eyes glinting with a fierce light. The room fell silent as he began to speak, his voice carrying a thick German accent that lent a certain gravitas to his words.
"Honored members of the Confederation," Heinrich began, his tone smooth and practiced. "I assure you, our committee is on top of this issue. We have been diligently investigating the disappearances and we are closing in on several suspects. Your continued support and additional resources will greatly enhance our efforts."
His words were met with a collective sigh of relief from the assembly. There was a tangible shift in the atmosphere, a mixture of cautious optimism and renewed determination. Heinrich's confidence and assurance seemed to allay some of the fears that had been brewing among the delegates.
Dumbledore watched Heinrich with an appraising eye. The German wizard's reputation for efficiency and ruthlessness was well known, and Dumbledore could sense the underlying ambition that drove him. While Heinrich's approach was more militaristic, his commitment to solving the crisis was undeniable, and yet… Dumbledore knew Heinrich. He knew the extent he would go for power and influence. He also knew how the man had met with Death Eaters during the war, and how he had tried to negotiate safety for his people from Voldemort's certain rise to world domination.
Heinrich continued, detailing the steps the committee had taken thus far. "We have increased patrols in affected areas, enhanced our magical surveillance, and have begun collaborations with magical creature experts worldwide. Our next phase involves deploying specialized task forces to investigate potential leads. With your additional support, we will expedite these operations and bring those responsible to justice."
The assembly listened intently, their earlier discontent and skepticism giving way to a more cooperative spirit. Heinrich's plan was thorough and pragmatic, addressing the immediate concerns with a clear strategy. His stern demeanor and precise articulation conveyed a sense of control that was reassuring to many of the worried delegates.
As Heinrich finished, the hall erupted into a chorus of approval from most of those present. Even those who had been skeptical of Dumbledore's proposal now seemed convinced. The German wizard took his seat, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes as he exchanged a brief nod with Dumbledore.
Dumbledore rose once more. "Thank you, Heinrich, for your dedication and leadership in this matter."
The assembly, now unified in purpose, began to discuss the logistics of the increased funding and support.
Dumbledore arrived at Hogwarts many hours later, the weight of the day's events pressing heavily on his shoulders. He took the long way, by foot, instead of summoning his loyal phoenix Fawkes. The walk would do him well, he knew. It would soothe his worries, and he needed to think before going to sleep. The ancient stone corridors of Hogwarts, usually a source of comfort, seemed to stretch endlessly before him, mimicking the many choices he had in front of him.
As he walked, Dumbledore reflected on the facade he maintained daily. To the world, he was the epitome of strength, wisdom, and kindness—a beacon of the light in troubled times. And while these qualities were true, they came at a cost. The wisdom of many years, the scars of multiple wars, and the relentless demands of his various roles—Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, Headmaster of Hogwarts, and advisor to the wisest members of the light—had worn him thin. The mantle of leadership, though carried with grace, was heavy and draining.
The crisis of the disappearing magical creatures weighed heavily on his mind. Hogwarts had lost a few house elves, though most seemed unaffected by the vanishing epidemic. But the issue extended far beyond the potion ingredients crisis. Magical creatures were interconnected in intricate and symbiotic ways, their sudden disappearances threatening to unravel the delicate balance of the magical ecosystem. Dumbledore knew that this problem, if left unchecked, would give rise to far more significant and dangerous issues.
He moved past the stone gargoyles that guarded the entrance to his office, their stony eyes watching him in silent vigil. He murmured the password, and the gargoyles sprang to life, allowing him passage. He rose up the spiral staircase without paying any attention, his mind on the puzzle at hand.
As he reached the top and pushed open the door to his office, Dumbledore was greeted not by the tranquility he sought but by a sight that set his heart racing. Standing in the center of the room was Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, his magical eye whirling furiously. Magic glowed faintly around his skin, a testament to the power he wielded and the tension coursing through him. His face was a mask of fury and wild emotions, his wand raised and he shook with barely contained energy.
"Alastor!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his voice carrying a mix of worry and exhaustion, "What happened? Did you find Harry?"
Mad-Eye's gaze, both magical and normal, fixed on Dumbledore with an intensity that was almost palpable. "Yes, Albus, I found him alright," he growled, his voice rough and edged with frustration. "But he did some kind of accidental magic and vanished seconds before I could get to him. But that's not all. There are powerful illusions everywhere around the home, powerful magic Albus. There is dark and sinister magic all over that property!"
Dumbledore felt a chill run down his spine. Harry's disappearance was a dire development, and the implications were staggering.
"Come with me!" Dumbledore commanded, his voice strong and urgent. With a swift, fluid motion, he glided across the room like a panther, moving with the grace and speed of an experienced duelist. In a burst of golden-red flames, Fawkes appeared, his screech echoing through the chamber like a clarion call. A second later, the three of them—Dumbledore, Moody, and Fawkes—disappeared in a brilliant flash of fire, reappearing almost instantly in a place far from Hogwarts.
They stood at Number 4, Privet Drive, the suburban home seemingly unchanged from the outside. The moon cast a cold, silvery light on the neat, uniform houses, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing beneath the surface. A raccoon was startled by the sudden appearance of the wizards and scurried into the shadows with annoyed, beady eyes.
Moody's mouth dropped open as he took in the sight of Dumbledore stepping forward, soft silvery magic stirring from Dumbledore's clothes, like mist pouring off him.
Dumbledore, usually the epitome of calm wisdom, now radiated an almost otherworldly power and danger. His presence seemed to fill the night with an electric charge, and as he raised his wand, Moody could feel the air around them hum with potent energy. The transformation was both terrifying and awe-inspiring.
Dumbledore's wand moved with dizzying speed, casting powerful spells wordlessly. The sheer force of his magic rumbled through the ground, sending vibrations through the very foundations of Privet Drive. Multicolored lights and arcs flashed through the air, illuminating the scene in a dazzling display of energy and raw power. Each spell seemed to peel back layers of enchantment as it sliced and slammed into an invisible barrier, sometimes creating curtains of black and purple light as the dark magic clashed with Dumbledore's fierce spells, unraveling the complex web of illusions that had cloaked the house.
Moody watched in awe, the sight reminiscent of Dumbledore's legendary duelings with Voldemort. The air around them was charged with energy, the magical atmosphere thick with anticipation and a storm-like ambiance. Dumbledore appeared to grow taller, and more formidable, his shadow flickering and stretching in the luminous display. His movements were a blur, each spell executed with precision and grace, a testament to his unparalleled mastery of magic.
As the last of the spells took effect, the illusions and protective enchantments around Number 4 Privet Drive melted away, revealing the true state of the house. The neat, tidy facade had hidden something far more sinister and chaotic. The windows were dark, the garden unkempt, and the aura of the place was one of neglect.
Dumbledore turned his crackling electric blue eyes on Moody, his expression fierce and determined. His voice, when he spoke, was a harsh whisper, filled with resolve. "I owe that boy. I do not understand what happened here, but I owe him at least this much. Let's find him!"
Moody, still reeling from the shocking display of power, nodded sharply. "Right. We'll start by scouring this place top to bottom. There has to be something here, some clue."
Together, they moved through the house, their wands illuminating the dark corners and hidden spaces. The silence of the night was punctuated by the occasional murmur of a spell and crackle of magic as the two of them searched extensively for clues. They inspected every room, every nook, and cranny, looking for any sign of Harry or the dark forces that had meddled with this home.
In the small, cramped cupboard under the stairs, they found remnants of Harry's past—old toys, broken trinkets, and a small bed that spoke of years of neglect and suffering. Dumbledore's eyes softened and grew tormented for a moment, the fierce light dimming as he took in the evidence of Harry's hard life.
"This is where he was kept," Moody muttered, his voice rough with anger. "No wonder he vanished. This place is a prison."
Dumbledore nodded, his expression a mix of sorrow and determination. "I didn't know. You must believe me, I did not know about this evil. But we will find him, Alastor. No matter what it takes."
Fawkes, sensing their urgency, let out a soft, reassuring trill. Dumbledore placed a hand on Moody's shoulder, his expression stronger than Moody had ever seen it. "We will find him, Alastor. I think I know what we need to do"
As they disappeared in another burst of golden-red flames, the stillness of Privet Drive returned. The now-abandoned home stood empty once more, with the 'for sale' sign quivering slightly from a sudden cold breeze.
The mountains of New Zealand stretched majestically towards the sky, their snow-capped peaks piercing the heavens. Lush green valleys nestled between the rugged cliffs, carpeted with a blanket of wildflowers that danced in the gentle breeze. Crystal-clear streams cascaded down the slopes, their waters sparkling like liquid diamonds in the brilliant sunlight. The air was crisp and pure, filled with the invigorating scent of pine and earth, and the distant calls of native birds echoed through the serene landscape.
Aravas Scamander walked briskly along a narrow trail that wound its way through the mountains. He was a striking figure, bearing a remarkable resemblance to his famous grandfather, Newton "Newt" Scamander. His messy light brown hair seemed to have a life of its own, tousled by the wind, and his warm brown eyes were filled with a blend of curiosity and determination. An aura of awkward but positive energy surrounded him, and he moved with a purposeful stride, his gaze occasionally darting around to take in the beauty of his surroundings.
As he walked, Aravas's mind was mostly preoccupied with the task at hand. The trail he followed was steep and challenging, but he navigated it with ease, a testament to his familiarity with the terrain. After a while, he reached a secluded area where the path seemed to vanish into a dense thicket of grass and dirt. With a practiced hand, he brushed aside the foliage to reveal a block of stone with many runes scribbled on the stone face.
Aravas muttered a few words under his breath, and the stone shifted and groaned, revealing a concealed door. He pushed it open, and it swung inward with a soft creak, revealing a dark tunnel that led deep into the heart of the mountain. The air inside was cool and surprisingly fresh, a contrast to the warm sunlit summer world outside. He stepped inside, the door closing behind him with a soft thud, and began his descent deeper into the tunnel.
The tunnel soon opened up into a massive cavern, its vastness hinted at by the echoes of his footsteps. The walls of the cavern were lined with luminescent fungi, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow that illuminated his path. Aravas moved swiftly, his movements confident and sure, despite the daunting size of the underground expanse.
At the far end of the cavern, a figure stood waiting—Newton Scamander, the legendary magizoologist, now much older but still exuding the same gentle wisdom and quiet strength that had made him famous. His once youthful features were lined with age, and his hair had turned a silvery gray, but his eyes retained their sharpness and warmth. He looked up as Aravas approached, a welcoming smile spreading across his face.
"Grandfather," Aravas began, his voice carrying a note of urgency, "I've lost Harry Potter's trail. We were so close, but it seems to have vanished completely. We need to find another way to figure out the skin."
Newt's expression shifted to one of concern, his brow furrowing slightly. "The trail vanished, you say?" he repeated, his tone thoughtful. "That is troubling indeed."
Aravas nodded, his frustration evident. "It's as if he disappeared into thin air. No traces, no signs, nothing. I don't know where to look next."
Newt placed a reassuring hand on his grandson's shoulder. "We will figure this out. Do not fret. Let's see if the others had any better luck."
A/N: Don't forget that you can track my progress on every chapter, so you know when an update is coming out, and you can stay informed if there are delays.
Please review! It really makes me happy, and if you find grammar, spelling, or other issues, you also improve my story for others!