Chapter 117. The Journey to Albania
After returning home.
Adrian Wesson began tending the plants on the shelves, while Harry looked through the books he had just brought back from Flourish and Blotts.
"I really did see a House-elf just now," Harry suddenly said. "That House-elf called Dobby said Hogwarts would be dangerous, and he kept telling me not to go back to Hogwarts."
"I never said I didn't believe you," Adrian glanced at him, then said, "but would you actually listen to that House-elf?"
Harry shook his head. "He's a strange fellow, but he doesn't seem malicious."
"Exactly, so ignore him," Adrian said—had Dobby already started pestering Harry at this point?
Adrian would need to be a bit more watchful, lest a House-elf break into his plantation.
Although he knew Dobby was probably a good person—well, a good elf—
It was, after all, someone else's House-elf; one should still be on guard.
In the days that followed, Harry did not encounter the House-elf called "Dobby" again.
Time quickly slid into mid-July.
Deep in the forests of Albania, the July night carried a bone-piercing chill. A full moon hung in the sky, shedding patches of silver light.
In a clearing in the dense woods stood a dark green tent.
A mass of tightly interwoven vines covered the tent, blending perfectly into the surroundings.
It was Adrian's tent—and his Devil's Snare.
Under the bright moonlight, the Devil's Snare's tendrils unfurled with languid grace; three wands at the tips of the vines flickered with a faint glow.
"Awooo—"
A long howl shattered the forest's silence.
Moments later, rustling rose from the shrubs not far away.
The sounds grew clearer, and a large werewolf lunged out of the shadows. Its fur bristled, its yellow eyes gleamed with ferocity in the moonlight, and fetid drool dribbled from the corners of its mouth.
The Devil's Snare's tendrils immediately rose, alert, and the three wands aligned on the monster before them.
Sensing the scent of a human, the werewolf arched its back; its sharp claws sank deep into the earth as a low growl rumbled in its throat, and it charged the tent.
Just as the tent was about to be torn apart, the three wands on the Devil's Snare flared to life.
"Boom!"
Three spells struck the werewolf's head, neck, and arm respectively.
Blasted by the Blasting Curse in three places, the werewolf was hurled backwards and slammed into a tree.
Its neck was charred black, and its arm was twisted at a grotesque angle.
Yet its bloodlust did not abate.
Such injuries were nothing to a werewolf.
The Devil's Snare shot out like a living serpent and, in an instant, coiled around the werewolf's limbs and waist, hoisting it high and hanging it from a tree; last of all, it thoughtfully gagged that gaping maw with a strip of vine.
All the werewolf could do was emit muffled whimpers from deep in its throat.
Only after doing all this did the Devil's Snare relax.
It would be bad if Adrian were disturbed.
He would get scolded...
The next morning, Adrian stretched and stepped out of the tent.
With the Devil's Snare keeping watch, he slept quite soundly even in the dangerous forests of Albania.
He had been searching here for days, but he still had no leads on Professor Trelawney's prophecy or the mysterious face in the crystal ball.
So, like an ordinary adventurer, he could only roam the forests of Albania and hope to find something useful.
Just then, the Devil's Snare stretched a tendril before Adrian and patted his shoulder.
"What is it?"
Adrian followed the Devil's Snare's indication and looked in that direction.
The ferocious werewolf from the night before had already reverted to human form—
A scrawny middle-aged man was curled beside a tree root.
On approaching, Adrian found the man's left arm bent at an unnatural angle, his neck bloody, his eyes shut tight—plainly unconscious.
"Your doing?"
Adrian couldn't help glancing at the Devil's Snare.
At that moment, the Devil's Snare handed Adrian a small pinch of black hair.
Adrian took the hair, sniffed it, and concluded, "Werewolf."
The Devil's Snare traced a floating thumbs-up in the air with a tendril.
"Bring our medical kit," Adrian crouched to check the man's injuries. "He's on the brink."
The Devil's Snare darted nimbly back into the tent and, in no time, brought out the medical kit.
Adrian rummaged in it and found some Essence of Dittany and bandages.
With practised ease, he dripped Essence of Dittany onto the man's wounds, set his arm, and in a few deft motions finished treating the injuries.
Just as Adrian tied off the last bandage, movement suddenly stirred around them.
A dozen figures burst out from all directions, surrounding Adrian.
They were all wearing wizard's robes—clearly wizards—and some had drawn their wands.
In truth, Adrian had noticed them long before, which was why he had kept his wand hidden up his sleeve, ready to cast at any moment.
"#￥&*&#￥%!"
The leader levelled his wand at Adrian and barked at him loudly.
However, this was Albania; Adrian didn't understand Albanian at all.
He raised his hands to show he didn't understand and replied in English, "Sorry, I don't speak Albanian. Does anyone here speak English?"
At that moment, the man on the ground woke from his faint and groaned in pain.
A bespectacled young man in the crowd hurried forward and said, "Sir, the man beside you is our companion..."
Seeing someone he could communicate with, Adrian let out a breath.
He really didn't want to start a fight with a crowd of strangers on such a lovely morning.
But—
Companion?
That meant everyone present was a werewolf.
After a few minutes of negotiation, Adrian learned who they were: a werewolf community living nearby.
To avoid crowds and discrimination and to seek a steadier life, a large portion of Albania's werewolves lived in this area.
They were a bit surprised Adrian hadn't immediately bolted.
After all, few wizards were willing to get close to a werewolf—much less a whole pack.
The bespectacled man said, with a hint of apology, "You can call me Kasa. Thank you for helping my older brother—you know how it is: on the night of the full moon we turn into... that. Usually on full-moon nights we bind ourselves with a specially made silver chain, but last night..."
Kasa shot an anxious look at his brother and said, "We don't know why the silver chain came loose."
"It's all right," Adrian shook his head.
In fact, this was a very serious accident—if the werewolf had attacked someone other than Adrian,
It would likely have ended in tragedy.
Then again, what ordinary wizard would be out in a place like this in the dead of night?
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