HP: Fantastic Beasts And The Right Way To Use Them

The warm morning sun bathed Evans, its gentle heat a welcome reprieve after the draining magical exertions of the previous night. Clad in a light, black robe, he held Alice and Nana close as he soared above the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

Logically, a broomstick would be far more efficient for such a long journey. But a deep, irrational fear gripped him whenever he sat astride one, a paralyzing dread that made sustained flight impossible. So he relied instead on the house-elf's innate ability to fly, a power he had replicated and mastered. While it offered perfect safety from falls, its sluggish pace—a mere fifty kilometers per hour—was far from ideal.

He had been flying for hours, and his enchanted cloak had yet to detect a single trace of a Lethifold. A sliver of doubt began to creep in. Was Firenze's prophecy truly reliable?

Gazing at the seemingly endless ocean of trees stretching to the horizon, Evans sighed. Never mind, he thought, adjusting his mindset. It's been a while since I had a proper outing. A slow flight is still a flight.

A short while later, Nana, nestled in his arms, began to sniff the air. She patted his arm insistently, pointing towards a spot not far away.

"Hm? Found something?"

Evans skillfully descended, touching down on the forest floor and placing the Niffler on the soft earth. Nana immediately went to all fours, her nose twitching as she sampled the air. After a moment, she took off, running straight in one direction.

Following close behind, Evans soon came upon a dilapidated stone house, a relic swallowed by the forest. Faded magic patterns encircled it, the remnants of a protective barrier that had long since crumbled with age. He passed through the circle without obstruction and pushed open the stone house's door.

A thick, musty odor filled his nostrils. Evans frowned, casting a Bubble-Head Charm over himself before stepping inside to survey the scene. Time had ravaged the interior; most of the wooden furniture had rotted into unrecognizable piles of mulch. Only a stone table and a stone bed frame remained. On the table lay a few Galleons and a stack of parchment, miraculously preserved by a spell. On the bed rested a weathered skeleton, a severely decayed wand clutched in its bony hand, the dragon heartstring core visible through the splintered wood.

Another wizard who fled to the forest to escape Muggle persecution? Evans wondered, his gaze lingering on the skeleton. He sighed and walked to the table, picking up the topmost sheet of parchment.

"March 25, 1350," he read. "First day of moving to the Forbidden Forest. I can finally begin this somewhat crazy experiment on the Black Death. I hope Kelly will forgive my willfulness."

"March 27. Research on the rats still yields no progress. I always feel there is some undiscovered obstacle. Is it a curse? Or some other plague-based magic?"

Surprise flickered across Evans's face. An experimental log about the Black Death?

Having studied magical history extensively, he was all too familiar with the great calamities of the Middle Ages. The Black Death was chief among them—a plague that seemed to exclusively target Muggles. It began in Sicily and swept across Europe in just over a year, claiming at least twenty-five million lives, a third of the continent's population. Many in the wizarding world suspected a magical origin, a sentiment the Muggles clearly shared, which fueled the subsequent brutal witch hunts.

Intrigued, Evans continued reading the log.

"April 5. Perhaps I should try another approach. For instance… why does the Black Death only infect Muggles? Hmm… I shall begin with magical creatures."

The next section was filled with dense experimental data on various magical creatures. Evans skimmed it, his eyes jumping to the next narrative entry.

"July 20. No, the potion that cures the animals does not work on Muggles. It can only alleviate the symptoms, not kill the virus. I can brew thirty bottles of this potion a day, at most—a drop in the ocean compared to the dying Muggles. It seems a more radical method is required."

"Hmm?" A knot of unease tightened in Evans's stomach.

"July 25. First day of taking the modified Black Death virus. No symptoms seem to have appeared. Is there something wrong with my modification? It shouldn't be; the modified virus is effective on magical creatures, so wizards should also be susceptible."

"July 27. It seems my research was not flawed. My body temperature has not risen, but my mind is already growing unclear. It took me five minutes to successfully cast a simple preservation spell just now… I must write down the results quickly."

Evans's pupils constricted. He subconsciously checked the integrity of his Bubble-Head Charm, then drew his wand and cast two powerful Scouring Charms over his entire body. He followed up by blasting the room with a dozen more cleansing spells before he finally felt a sliver of relief.

Where did this plague maniac come from? He had actually modified the Black Death into a virus that could infect wizards. Thank Merlin he had cast the Bubble-Head Charm upon entering.

With lingering fear, he picked up the manuscript again. The handwriting on the parchment was now visibly scribbled, the final entry of the log.

"Toxins and curses flow within my body. It is a very strange feeling, one I have never experienced. Healing potions have little effect; they only make me less uncomfortable. But I have roughly figured out the source of the Black Death. It is a product of the fusion of a curse and a virus. It seems to… have some purpose, not simply to kill Muggles. Based on this, if the Confundus Charm could be modified, it should be able to end this plague entirely. Unfortunately, I do not have enough time. I was careless. I should have sent the manuscript out before the experiment. Now, I cannot even Apparate. If anyone finds this manuscript, and the Black Death still exists, please help me deliver this to the Muggles. These Galleons are your reward. If the Black Death no longer exists, then please help me deliver this manuscript to someone destined to find it. May there be no more suffering in the world."

"—A Human."

After reading the final words, Evans gazed at the skeleton on the bed and, after a long moment, shook his head. "...A wizard who wanted to cure the Black Death?"

During that era, though Muggle prejudice had not yet reached its peak, wizards were already ostracized. Yet here was a wizard who researched a cure for Muggles, even testing the plague on himself. Was he Muggle-born? Or simply a man who couldn't bear to watch the world suffer?

Evans cast a final Scouring Charm on the diary before tucking it into his pocket. Beneath it was the manuscript the wizard had mentioned—a collection of research on potions and diseases, including simplified brewing methods that even Muggles could follow. While perhaps outdated, the innovative thinking could provide valuable inspiration for modern Potions Masters. Hmm... this could be a gift for the Big Bat of the dungeons, he mused. A way to honor this wizard's work and perhaps mend my own fragile relationship with Snape.

After pocketing the manuscript, Evans buried the skeleton. He tossed the few Galleons to Nana as a fee for her services. Money was hardly a concern for him; between his Niffler's enhanced abilities, his teaching salary, and book royalties, he lived comfortably. He scooped up his two small companions and, identifying his direction, floated back into the sky.

Evening fell, painting the sky in shades of twilight. Below, the forest remained as dense and unending as ever. Evans pursed his lips in resignation. He had traversed nearly the entire western side of the forest with no sign of a Lethifold. Was Firenze's prophecy truly reliable? Or had the centaur sent him on a wild goose chase as some form of revenge?

As he muttered to himself, Evans paused, his head turning sharply to the right. His peripheral vision had caught an unnatural glow… not the light of a wand, but something that looked suspiciously like… an electric lamp.

Changing course, he flew towards the source of the light. Soon, its origin came into view: an old asphalt road cutting through the wilderness, flanked by two rows of streetlights casting a faint yellow glow. In the distance, light spilled from the windows of buildings, illuminating a small town under the rising moon.

A Muggle town?

Evans's brow furrowed in confusion. This was the western edge of the Forbidden Forest. How could a Muggle town exist so close to it? Muggles couldn't enter the forest, but nothing stopped the things in the forest from wandering out. How had these people survived next to such a dangerous magical woodland without being picked off one by one?

Driven by curiosity, Evans found a hotel. He still had some Muggle pounds, enough to secure a room without resorting to a Confundus Charm. But after checking in and chatting with the hotel owner, his confusion only deepened.

The owner spoke of a local legend, an urban myth about a monster that sounded eerily like a Lethifold. Residents often reported waking in the night to find themselves covered by a smothering, pitch-black creature they couldn't shake off.

But when Evans asked if people frequently died or went missing, the owner firmly shook his head.

This was very strange. Lethifolds were dark creatures. They ate people. A Muggle without magic would be utterly helpless. How could there be eyewitness accounts but no disappearances? Was the owner lying to protect the town's tourism, or was there another explanation?

Placing his two small companions on the bed, Evans looked out at the crescent moon. A glint of intrigue flashed in his eyes.

It seemed his night would be spent in this very peculiar town.

(End of Chapter)

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