"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 382: Nothing More Than Hounds on Leashes
Douglas paused for a moment, a note of mischief in his voice that only Lupin would catch.
"Besides, even if someone in the Italian Ministry really wants to tip off the Vatican, the best they'll manage is tracking us to a bland little hotel in Rome."
His hands were steady on the wheel, a faint, elusive smile tugging at his lips.
"That illusionary magic array I left behind isn't exactly a masterpiece, but it's more than enough to fool those Vatican lackeys with poor eyesight.
After all, nobody really wants to offend me outright… not when I'm a current Hogwarts professor. Appearances are everything, aren't they?"
Lupin let out a quiet chuckle from the passenger seat, choosing not to press the point.
As the SUV slipped free of the city's glow and dove into the deep, ancient darkness of the Apennines, Lupin felt his whole body tense, senses sharpening.
The air outside seemed to pulse with wild, primal energy.
It was the low growl of nocturnal beasts weaving through the undergrowth, the slow breath of ancient trees swaying in the wind, and—threaded through it all—the subtle, electric thrum of magic itself.
Lupin almost imagined that countless unseen eyes were watching them from behind the tangled shadows, curious and hungry—two trespassers in a land that belonged to the wild.
Douglas kept his gaze on the road, but his peripheral vision flicked to the rearview mirror.
Sure enough, several shadowy figures—nearly indistinguishable from the night itself—trailed them at a careful distance, as persistent as their own shadows.
Piero's men, loyal to a fault.
Douglas lowered his voice, as if commenting on the weather. "Looks like our tails are sticking close."
Lupin glanced at Douglas's calm, almost bored expression, and suddenly understood.
"So that's why you insisted on taking Lorenzo's Muggle car—just to draw them out?"
He knew perfectly well that if Douglas truly wanted to shake his pursuers, he could vanish without a trace a hundred different ways.
Douglas gently pressed the accelerator, the SUV bouncing along the broken mountain road like a child skipping stones.
"Relax. They're just doing their jobs—nothing but hounds on leashes.
They won't dare get too close unless we make a real mess of things. All we have to do is stick to the plan."
The night thickened, the road twisting ever more treacherously. In the distance, a few long, mournful wolf howls echoed through the empty valleys, haunting and raw.
Lupin's eyes narrowed in an instant.
Those weren't the cries of wild wolves.
Hidden in those familiar tones was a resonance only his kind could detect—a summons, a warning, and something more complicated still.
"Looks like we're close," Lupin murmured, his voice low and tight with emotion—a wary blend of caution and a strange, inexplicable kinship.
The SUV rumbled on for nearly another hour, the chill and damp of the mountains growing heavier with every mile.
According to Lorenzo's Muggle military map, they were nearly at the rendezvous point with Isabella—the ruins of an abandoned Roman way station, buried so deep in the forest it was like a forgotten wedge of cheese. Not even a Muggle with GPS would find it easily.
Douglas eased off the gas, guiding the wheels carefully over potholes and loose stones.
He could sense their pursuers slowing as well, maintaining that perfect ghostly distance—always close, never seen.
These guys were better than he'd expected.
Lupin pointed ahead, to a crumbling wall smothered in thick vines.
"That corner—swallowed up by the vines—that's our spot."
With Douglas's special potion in his system, Lupin's senses were razor-sharp in the night; every scent, every ripple of magic in the woods was as clear as sunlight.
Douglas steered into a small clearing, pulled to a stop, and killed the engine.
Silence fell, broken only by the whisper of wind through the leaves and the far-off drone of insects.
Suddenly, a lithe figure slipped from behind a shattered stone wall.
It was Isabella Rossi.
She was dressed in dark, practical Muggle outdoor gear, her deep brown hair pulled back in a no-nonsense ponytail. She looked every bit the poised huntress—tense, alert, ready to spring.
She strode over, sharp eyes sweeping the clearing to make sure they were alone before she spoke.
"You're a little late."
Douglas climbed out, stretching the stiffness from his limbs with a casual air.
"Ran into a few overzealous would-be escorts on the way. Cost us some time. Got the intel?"
"Of course."
Isabella didn't waste words. She pulled a scroll of parchment from inside her jacket and handed it over.
"Those dusty old Ministry maps are useless now. This is the latest intel I could get.
The Ashclaw Tribe's main territory and three backup hideouts are all marked.
But things change fast in these mountains—they could move at any time. This map won't stay accurate for long."
Douglas unrolled the map, eyes scanning the details.
Not only did it mark the terrain, but it was crisscrossed with magical symbols—water sources, herb patches, even the lingering traces of ancient magic arrays. It was far more detailed than the one Antonio had given him.
He glanced up at Isabella, a knowing, almost amused smile on his face.
Impressive—she even knew the Ashclaw backup shelters...
Under the weight of Douglas's perceptive gaze, Isabella looked away, clearly unsettled.
She quickly fished a small silver whistle from her leather pouch and pressed it into Douglas's hand, a little stiffly, as if to cover her discomfort.
It was an old-fashioned piece, carved with the silhouette of a wolf howling at the moon. The workmanship was rough, but it carried a certain bleak dignity.
Douglas turned the whistle over in his hand, eyebrow raised.
"And this is…?"
Isabella arched a brow right back, a flicker of pride in her voice.
"Amazing—there's actually something in this world Mr. Holmes doesn't recognize."
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