HP: Man of Archives

The goblin leaders sat in a vast, dimly lit cavern. Their faces were illuminated by the flickering torches lining the rough stone walls, casting an ancient and menacing atmosphere that fit the ruthless reputation of their kind—a reputation that had faded somewhat in recent years. They wore armor both ornamental and functional, reminiscent of ancient warriors. The metal plates bore intricate engravings that reflected their culture and history. The jagged edges hinted at master craftsmanship, adorned with small gems that gleamed in the torchlight, suggesting hints of embedded magic.

The armor was clearly designed for battle, with sturdy gauntlets and guards covering their limbs. Their helmets, shaped like fierce beasts with sharp horns and elongated snouts, gave them an intimidating look. The goblin leaders wore this armor with pride, as it symbolized their heritage and strength.

"We demand justice for this brutal crime," one of the goblins said in a low, threatening tone.

Dumbledore and Oblan exchanged uneasy glances. They knew the goblins had every right to their anger, but they also recognized that war would be disastrous for both sides. Dumbledore's face showed concern, yet his eyes remained calm and attentive.

"We understand your outrage," Dumbledore replied, his voice both calm and empathetic. "And we share in your grief and indignation."

The goblin leaders looked at Dumbledore with surprise; they hadn't expected such understanding from a wizard.

"You wizards all say that," one of the goblin leaders retorted, his voice brimming with anger. "But words alone will not bring justice. We demand action. Or we will take action ourselves."

Oblan stepped forward, hand on his wand.

"There's no need for threats. If you attack us, don't doubt that we will respond with force. Our battle will be legendary."

The goblin leaders scowled at Oblan's words, but before they could respond, Cardinal Volter, a representative of the Holy Inquisition, intervened. "Gentlemen, please. We must resolve this conflict without violence. Lives on both sides are at stake. And beyond that, there are other, more pressing concerns."

Everyone understood what he meant by "more pressing concerns."

The goblin leaders exchanged glances, their expressions conflicted. They wanted justice for their fallen kin but also knew that war would be ruinous. Though they held their emotions in check, inwardly, the goblins prayed to their gods that war could be averted.

"We are a proud people and do not take well to threats or need reminders of who once flooded Europe with blood," one of the goblins said in a low, resolute voice.

Dumbledore sighed deeply. He disliked the escalation to threats, but the path forward was clear to anyone with even a little political experience.

"I propose a compromise. Let us work together to investigate the attack and bring those responsible to justice. If the goblins agree to this, the magical community will provide increased protection to goblin banks and businesses."

The goblin leaders exchanged skeptical glances, but finally, one of them spoke.

"We will consider your proposal. But remember, we will not forget what happened. Justice must be served."

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"We understand your concerns. Let's work together to find the guilty parties."

The meeting ended with a cautious sense of optimism. The goblin leaders left, still wary but open to a peaceful resolution.

Dumbledore, Oblan, and Cardinal Volter returned to the headquarters of the United Magical Forces, discussing their next steps. The headmaster of Hogwarts felt some relief, noticing his recent efforts were beginning to bear fruit.

As soon as he received word of the events unfolding in Europe, he realized his plans would need to adapt. A call for a meeting of the Magicians' Confederation was anticipated, and the world's most powerful wizard, also the organization's chair, responded almost immediately.

Since England had remained untouched by the unexpected demon invasion, ministers from other European countries quickly gathered there.

Neither the looming threat of war with the goblins nor the demons' growing presence was particularly appealing, but… sometimes events cannot be controlled or directed as one wishes.

The wizards took a day to search for a solution. The Inquisition, which had previously kept its distance, attempted to confront a particularly powerful demon commanding the invading hordes. But… they failed. A young representative from BundesMagik called it a "team wipe"—a term Dumbledore understood but had never encountered before.

Following this, the Inquisition joined the Confederation's plan, agreeing that war with the goblins must be avoided. Powerful wizards like Dumbledore, Chief Oblan, and Cardinal Volter from the Inquisition were dispatched as negotiators. It was a risk… but a justified one.

During negotiations, Dumbledore's expression shifted. His initial worries gave way to satisfaction; he knew their proposal wasn't a perfect solution, but it was the best compromise they could offer.

Overall, the negotiations were tense and emotional, but through careful diplomacy and compromise, a peaceful resolution was reached. Back at headquarters, they began formulating an action plan.

The intelligence team—comprising elite Aurors from England, France, Germany, and Inquisition priests—gathered information on the demons and their leader. They wanted to understand the demons' intentions and capabilities. The Inquisition, still reeling from the blow to its strike team, was keenly aware of the danger. While the magical world noted the weakened forces of the Inquisition, it was a disadvantage in the current crisis.

"How's Timothy doing, by the way?" Dumbledore asked, showing interest in his former student. Though he wasn't particularly close to Oblan, as wizards of similar stature, they had corresponded over the years.

"He's a remarkably talented person," Oblan replied, fully clad in armor. "I think he's a rising star in the magical world… at least in England."

"And how's his wandless magic?" the English wizard inquired.

"Well," Oblan said, pausing, "he's incredibly quick to absorb information, showing rapid theoretical progress. Sometimes, I think he was born for study and knowledge."

"He began showing those talents at Hogwarts," the headmaster noted.

"Are you speaking of Timothy Jody?" the cardinal asked. "He's caught our attention in the Inquisition as well."

"Why?" the headmaster of Hogwarts asked immediately.

"We'd like to meet him," the cardinal replied. "Wizards of such talent don't appear every year."

Everyone understood that a wizard mastering combat magic without a wand was a formidable force. It was wise to be on good terms with someone of his caliber.

"Let's move on from that topic," Oblan sighed. "We need to decide our strategy against the demon and his hordes."

The conversation carried over to another gathering of the Magicians' Confederation, as it impacted the wider magical world. They needed to determine when to eliminate the demon and how to shield the magical world from non-magical eyes. Much work lay ahead.

The Inquisition proposed a solution. Through their churches, icons, statues, and similar conduits, the Church could spread a memory-modifying spell across the world. For this, they would need to develop the spell and decide on the replacement memory content.

The development of the spell was entrusted to the finest Charm Masters, Artificers, Potions Masters, and other esteemed wizards. The Potions Guild pledged to support the effort with a range of potions, including industrial-scale production of Felix Felicis, the Luck Potion.

The United Magical Forces' headquarters was modest in size but powerful in magical prowess. The most skilled combat wizards sat around the table, listening to reports from intelligence and observation teams. They couldn't allow demons to continue rampaging across Europe.

The demon had been spotted in Paris, in the historic heart of the city. Reports indicated that he commanded other demons, making him a formidable foe. His destruction swept through the city, wreaking havoc and obliterating everything in his path.

Clearing his throat, Dumbledore raised his wand, projecting small illusions onto the map of Paris to represent demon figurines. A detailed figure at the city's center represented the main demon.

"We know the demon is heavily guarded by his followers. Victory won't be easy, but we must act before he inflicts more damage or—Mordred forbid—summons more demons."

A planning session began in earnest.

Assistants joined in, suggesting ideas and proposals, and for hours they examined maps and documents, working to devise an attack strategy.

Finally, they emerged with a rough plan, splitting into four strike teams. The first team consisted of elite combat wizards divided into two subgroups. Three additional teams would proceed under the leadership of Dumbledore, Oblan, and Volter. First would go Oblan's wizards, supported by combat specialists from other countries, to break through the heavy defenses. Next, the cardinal's Inquisitorial combat wizards would join Oblan's team, continuing the assault. Dumbledore would lead the third wave, accompanied by the finest combat wizards from England and France. Together, they would confront the demon, attempting either to banish or destroy him.

"But we must be cautious," Dumbledore urged. Known for his prudence, he insisted on contingency plans in case their attack failed.

Oblan and the cardinal contributed ideas, considering alternative approaches if things went awry.

Preparations were intense. Aware of the mission's importance, the wizards didn't hesitate to share their secrets, prioritizing the protection of the magical world over keeping knowledge hidden. Yet, when the crisis passed, secrets often introduced new challenges.

At dawn, four groups of powerful wizards gathered, wands at the ready. They had come from all corners of Europe, united in their goal to defeat the demon.

The first group, led by Dumbledore's trusted ally, Auror Moody, advanced with quiet determination. Reaching the initial defense line, they encountered a cluster of lesser demons, no match for their skill and strength. The wizards struck forcefully, making rapid headway. The demons hadn't anticipated such an onslaught, and the wizards quickly cleared the path.

Oblan led the second group of fierce wizards with a resolve matching their leader's. They charged forward, focused on breaching the second line of defense. Strong demons fought back fiercely, but with Oblan's guidance and swift strikes, they pushed through with minimal losses, advancing to the third line.

The third group, under Cardinal Volter, waited for the signal to attack. When Oblan's team met stronger resistance, the cardinal's group launched a surprise assault, acting like a battering ram. The demons, unprepared, were quickly overpowered, and the wizards cut through the third line of defense. Some wizard squads stayed behind to eliminate any demons attempting retaliation.

Finally, Dumbledore and his group joined the fray, their spells crackling through the air like streaks of lightning, tearing into the enemy lines with blinding flashes and thunderous echoes. The towering demon bellowed, a sound so deep it rattled through bones and seemed to carry the weight of millennia. In response, he unleashed a torrent of dark magic, a midnight wave of energy that rolled out from his claws, twisting and seething like a living shadow. The force of it alone nearly scattered the wizards' ranks, ripping through the air in a maelstrom of chaos and dread.

The demon's massive form loomed against the hazy battlefield, shrouded in a hellish corona of flickering flames that danced and hissed over his jagged, blackened armor. Curved, sinister horns jutted from his skull like the crown of a fallen king, their tips glistening with an otherworldly sheen. His eyes burned with a searing crimson fire, casting a malevolent glow that pulsed with his every breath. Chains and spiked maces swung from his clawed hands, each link and spike glinting ominously in the dim light, radiating an aura of forbidden magic.

His skin was an unnatural gray, sleek and oily, with bulging veins that pulsed and throbbed under the surface like writhing serpents. His mouth stretched into a jagged maw lined with razor-sharp fangs, each tooth oozing a venom so potent that it sizzled as it dripped to the ground. The demon's breath, hot and sulfurous, poured out in noxious clouds, filling the air with the stench of decay and death, choking any who dared draw too close.

The wizards could feel the crushing weight of the demon's presence, a palpable, malevolent force that seemed to darken the very air around them. His aura exuded a potent mix of rage and malice, a creature born of darkness and bound by ancient, wicked power—a force seemingly invincible in its fury.

All around them, the battlefield shook as explosions erupted, fiery plumes lighting the sky, and the clash of spells echoed across the expanse. Dumbledore, his face set in grim determination, launched powerful bolts of magic in tandem with his phoenix, the radiant bird's flames slicing through the darkness as it shielded Oblan. Oblan surged forward, relentless and unstoppable, each strike with his wand executed with lethal precision. Meanwhile, Cardinal Volter moved deftly, casting protective wards and strategic hexes to create crucial openings for Oblan's attacks.

But it became clear that neither the wizards nor the demon could gain the upper hand. A precarious balance formed, unbroken by either side. The demon's attacks were devastating, his magic lethally potent.

At one point, Cardinal Volter raised a large, ornate cross resting over his chest, its polished silver surface catching the dim light as he lifted it skyward. The cross began to glow, faintly at first, before flaring to life in a brilliant silver radiance. The light intensified, pouring out in waves that grew in brightness and power, until, with a crackling surge, a searing beam shot forth from its center. The beam carved through the air like a comet, striking the demon square in the chest and sending him hurtling backward, his massive form crashing against the rocky ground dozens of meters away, leaving a smoldering trail in his wake.

Seizing the moment, Dumbledore and Oblan pressed forward, their spells flashing like quicksilver in the dimness, each one aimed with deadly intent. But the demon was no ordinary foe. As he staggered to his feet, a malevolent light sparked in his eyes—a dangerous, acidic green that pulsed with deadly energy. In an instant, green flames erupted around him, licking up from the ground in a wild, corrupting blaze. The fire spread in tendrils, searing and corrupting everything it touched, twisting the earth into charred and brittle ruin. The flames coiled around him, forming a barrier—a living, spectral shield that absorbed the holy light and seemed to mock its purity, restoring the fragile balance between the fighters.

Dumbledore, anticipating the demon's counterattack, raised his wand with a swift motion, and in an instant, a gleaming wall of diamond sprang up before him. The crystalline structure refracted the dim light into brilliant colors, a temporary bulwark of shimmering strength. But the demon's assault was relentless, his flames crashing against the wall with punishing force. Cracks began to spider across its surface, and with a resounding crack, the diamond wall shattered into countless glittering shards that sparkled momentarily in the air before raining down like deadly fragments. The shattering barrier bought Dumbledore only a heartbeat's chance, but he seized it, immediately summoning another Transfiguration spell, ready for his next move.

"It's tough," Oblan muttered, his breath ragged as he looked down at his battered armor. Once polished and pristine, it was now covered in dents, streaked with char, and scorched metal curled at the edges from the sheer intensity of the demon's attack. The damage was unmistakable, a grim reminder of the dire situation they faced.

"Hyah!" the cardinal shouted, lowering his wand sharply. A powerful white beam descended from the sky, creating a ten-meter-deep crater in the ground. But even this failed to stop the demon. He spread his wings wide and rose from the crater, seemingly unharmed. "Damn. I'm nearing my limit."

Dumbledore saw it clearly; the cardinal looked as exhausted as a worn-out steed. The mighty wizard wasn't faring much better… his beard singed, his clothes tattered with remnants of shattered artifacts. Without his phoenix and magic, their situation would have been far worse.

"You'll all die here," the demon spoke for the first time, his voice cold and monotonous. Immediately, a brutal mental assault hit the wizards. Had they not been of such caliber, they would have been reduced to drooling idiots.

Some of the less resilient wizards on the battlefield, lacking adequate mental defenses, dropped to the ground, nearly lifeless. They were neither the first nor the last casualties of this brutal fight.

"And after that, my lord will come," the demon raised his weapon, its green flames flaring ominously. "And his Burning Legion will scorch everything! Die!"

The demon attacked, swift and merciless, as if the prior battle had not worn him down. His powerful blow was met by a magical barrier, and cracks spread through the earth from the force. Dumbledore created the barrier just in time, shielding the trio of wizards. The demon struck again, and this time, green flames from his blade began to eat through the shield. To their horror, the wizards realized they couldn't Apparate away.

"Hold on to me!" Dumbledore shouted. The cardinal and Oblan grabbed his robes, and he clutched the phoenix. A second later, a fiery transfer saved them. Reappearing behind the demon, they tried to attack, but the demon was suddenly covered in a gray substance that absorbed their spells.

The demon's skin began to shift, turning blood-red with greenish tints. But what truly frightened the wizards was the speed with which the land around the demon decayed, filled with miasmas of suffering, pain, hatred, and outright corruption.

"Plan Three," Dumbledore instructed.

With his last reserves of strength, Oblan pointed his wand skyward, launching a large fiery signal. This was the cue for all wizarding forces to use Portkeys to retreat. The wizards were nearly out of strength, while the demon only seemed to grow stronger. They needed to rethink their entire strategy to ensure the second attack would be more successful.

In no time, other wizards appeared at the rally point. The medical team, which had been on standby, immediately began their work. Many combat wizards returned with injuries. Some were minor, while others were severe. Those gravely wounded received immediate treatment until their condition stabilized, after which they would be sent to proper hospitals for recovery.

"We need more combat power," Oblan remarked, catching his breath as he began repairing his armor. The task, though challenging, allowed him to relax and think about something other than the lost battle.

"Yes," the cardinal agreed with a sigh. "I think it's time to bring Timothy Jody into our team, as well as other wizards."

"I'll speak with the head of the Unspeakables," Dumbledore said. Perhaps he should have involved a member of the Department of Mysteries from the outset.

"What about Eagle's Nest?" the cardinal asked, still smarting from the defeat and eager to prepare for the next attack.

"They refused to assist," Dumbledore replied calmly, though inwardly he felt anger and disappointment.

"Hmm," was all the cardinal said. He, too, disliked the response but could do nothing about it just yet. "So, what about Mr. Jody?"

"I agree," Dumbledore said. "What does Mr. Oblan think?"

After a moment's thought, Oblan replied, "I think we should proceed."

***

The crisis in Europe didn't initially strike me as particularly significant or even dangerous. I first heard about it from conversations among the locals and then noticed my mentor, Oblan's, growing concern. For the first few days, he was pensive before deciding to bring me up to speed.

"Have you heard?"

"About how something's happening in several European countries that's throwing wizarding laws into question?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I won't beat around the bush. Two things have happened in Europe at once. Someone decided to attack goblin banks using some rather dark methods. And that alone would be bad enough."

"What else?"

"They summoned demons, and around the same time, an anomaly appeared, allowing something far more frightening than a minor demon to emerge."

"Something dangerous appeared?"

"Yes," Oblan replied, drawing out his words. "I'd love to find the masterminds behind this attack on the banks, considering the consequences. I'd gladly wring their necks."

He spoke through gritted teeth, revealing a flash of the wizard's fury. And something tells me I could easily point to the main instigator here. My guess is this is fallout from Malfoy's crew, who, by contract, owe me twenty million galleons. The only quick way to get that is through the goblins… looks like their plans went a bit awry.

"And the Muggles?"

"Oh, they…" Oblan replied, dragging his words. "They tried something, but to the demon, it was no more than mosquito bites. Their planes were destroyed, and the Magical Confederation had to step in."

"How?"

"They're being led to believe Europe is caught in heavy storms preventing flight, damaging infrastructure, and forcing people to stay home," Oblan explained calmly. "But we, the wizards, have to handle this. And now the goblins are threatening to start yet another war."

"Seems like things are lively on the continent right now."

"To say the least… I'll have to head over to help with the goblins and demons. You need to keep practicing your spells and working on your magic. If we need you, I'll send word."

"Understood."

The next day, Oblan left, and I returned to spell practice. As it turns out, the wandless magic I'm learning is quite similar to that of low-level wizards from China. What did they call themselves… cultivators? The approach is the same but more advanced. With the knowledge of these cultivators, I progressed rapidly in my magic. According to Oblan himself, I've covered at least three months' worth of training in a single month. I was pleased with this praise.

Along with my mentor, many other powerful wizards left to help clear out the demons. I could feel the tension, fully aware that if things took a turn for the worse, I might also have to join this major showdown. I have some experience dealing with anomalies, though not as much as I'd like.

In the evening, my communication artifact with Oblan activated. I answered almost immediately.

"Timothy, we're going to need your help," said his tired voice.

"Understood," I nodded. "Where should I go?"

"Marseille. I'll meet you there."

"Understood."

And really, what's not to understand?

Gathering my things quickly, I left Malta. Within a few hours, I reached Marseille and landed. After sending Oblan a message that I had arrived, I waited for him to appear. The wizard showed up almost immediately.

He looked a bit different than before. His armor seemed recently repaired, with some parts looking so fresh they appeared straight from the forge. I got the sense the battle had been tough. And given that I'd been summoned, I could guess it hadn't gone as well as hoped.

"Timothy," he nodded.

"Mentor," I returned the nod. "Looks like you've had an interesting few days."

"Yes," he exhaled. "I had to replace or repair half my armor."

"Is the demon really that dangerous?" I asked.

"You'll find out at headquarters," Oblan replied.

A rustling sound came from the sky. We both looked up and saw three demons with leathery wings. They looked remarkably alike, almost like brothers. Each had a large golden horn on its forehead, dark purple skin with a greenish tint, and strange armor. They landed and began circling us, scrutinizing us intently. In their hands appeared massive cleaver-like swords, wielded one-handed or with both.

"[Unknown Language]," one of the demons growled, twirling his weapon. Almost simultaneously with Oblan, I drew my wand. "Gra-a-a!"

The three demons charged toward us, their murderous intent unmistakable. With a flick of my wand, I sent the trio flying back several paces with a powerful, cracking blow.

"Can you handle them?" Oblan asked.

"I'll try," I replied without hesitation.

The demons were already back on their feet, closing in on me more cautiously. I returned my wand to its holster, preparing for a fight. One of them raised his sword and muttered something again, but I barely heard him. With their minds nearly unguarded, I didn't hold back.

My first strike targeted the mind of the most aggressive demon. Breaking through his weak defenses, I delivered a devastating mental blow, shredding his consciousness into fragments. Thousands of splinters tried to reassemble under some foul magic's influence, but they couldn't do so fast enough. A few more rapid attacks, and the demon's mind and consciousness simply ceased to exist.

It took less than a second, and one of the demons collapsed. He wasn't even breathing, slowly slipping into death. The other two didn't immediately understand what had happened, but well-trained, they launched an attack. It wasn't an issue for me, though, as a swift Transfiguration bound the two demons in thick steel chains. With a flick of my hand, the chains lifted them off the ground, stretching their limbs. A second later, the chains twisted violently, filling the air with an unpleasant grinding sound. Three seconds later, amidst screams of pain, two dismembered bodies fell to the ground.

I approached the corpses cautiously, surprised to find I could absorb their souls. I'd never had the experience of absorbing non-human souls before. It brought back memories of vampires… so, does that mean they have no souls?

Absorbing the three souls turned out to be incredibly useful—and unexpectedly satisfying. If I were to compare human souls to demon souls, the former would be like plain porridge, while demon souls were more like the finest lasagna, crafted from the best ingredients by a master chef. The sensation was almost overwhelming.

Along with their souls, I gained their knowledge in my Archive, which would undoubtedly prove valuable. Lastly, there was an intriguing packet of information, steeped in the essence of death.

"Not bad," Oblan nodded. "I didn't think you'd handle them so quickly."

"Really?" I replied, surprised.

He just shrugged, then waved his wand to burn the corpses. They left a strange, smoky scent in the air that quickly dissipated, perhaps evaporating.

"Well," the wizard exhaled, pausing for a moment. "Let's go."

We apparated to northern France. I opened my map and studied the area closely. The town was Dunkirk, near the Belgian border. Upon arrival, several wizards checked us before allowing us into a restricted area. The guards handed me a pass medallion, enchanted to ensure no one could cause trouble within.

There weren't many wizards around, but those present were impressive. I had the impression that this was the highest concentration of masters gathered in one place in decades. Battle wizards from France, Germany, England, Italy, and numerous other countries had assembled for one purpose. Among them were other wizards who had set up portable labs, brewing potions and crafting artifacts for the upcoming battle.

The remarkable unity of the magical world in the face of great danger demonstrated its resilience. If wizards were still embroiled in their usual squabbles, the situation would be dire.

A small tent, indistinguishable in color or shape from the others, blended perfectly among the rows of tents and canopies. Inside, however, it was a fully equipped home with a dozen rooms and even a few laboratories. I'd have loved to get my hands on such a rare artifact.

"This is our headquarters," Oblan said. "Come on, I'll introduce you to the others."

In the central room sat Dumbledore and another man dressed in red clerical robes, with a matching red cap on his head. His face was pleasant enough and didn't provoke any initial discomfort. Judging by appearance alone, he seemed good-natured. But… he wore the distinctive attire of the Catholic Church's Inquisition. In ancient times, there had been conflicts between them and wizards, some of which had turned bloody, though none as severe as the goblin wars.

Several other wizards of slightly lower rank were also present, paying me little attention. However, I recognized some of the faces, including Alastor Moody, who merely nodded at me before returning to his task.

"Mr. Jody," Dumbledore addressed me. Was it just me, or did his beard seem shorter? No, it wasn't my imagination. "It's been a while since we last met."

"It has, Headmaster Dumbledore," I nodded. "How have you been?"

"Could be worse," he replied. "Could be worse. But as you can see, I'm alive, the weather's pleasant enough, so my bones and joints aren't aching. I'm glad you've joined us."

"Good to meet you, young man," the clergyman greeted, stepping forward and extending his hand. Not wanting to refuse such a simple courtesy, I shook his hand in return. "I'm Cardinal Volter, of the Catholic Church's Inquisition."

"A pleasure to meet you, Cardinal," I replied respectfully. "Timothy Jody."

"I've read quite a bit about you," the clergyman began, "and you've made quite an impression. A powerful wizard, always seeking knowledge, yet untouched by any dark magic. That alone deserves respect. The last young man of note, by the name of Tom Riddle"—he cast a quick glance at Dumbledore—"was entirely different. Arrogant, overconfident. Who could have guessed he'd turn out to be such a maniac."

Dumbledore showed no reaction to the obvious jab. Not surprising… there was no point. Besides, he had plenty of ways to respond that wouldn't be harmful but would still convey his thoughts. Did he need to do that now? Perhaps not.

"Well, I'm pleased to be so widely known," I nodded to him.

"When we're done with this infernal creature, I'd like to invite you to visit the Vatican," the cardinal said. "I think the Pope would like to meet and discuss some matters with you."

"Why not," I replied noncommittally. "But I don't think this is the right time to plan such things. As you said, Cardinal, there's a demon to deal with, and I'd add that we also need to manage the aftermath."

"Agreed," the cardinal nodded.

"Volter," Dumbledore interrupted, "I think it's time Mr. Jody reviewed our battle with the demon. Perhaps he'll notice something of interest…"

The cardinal simply nodded. Dumbledore led me aside and showed me his memory-viewing artifact. The Pensieve looked like a shallow stone basin on a small golden stand. I really ought to start creating one of my own; it would be immensely helpful in research.

Dumbledore drew a silvery thread of memory and placed it in the basin. The blurred, flickering images were intriguing but still unclear. Leaning over slightly, I allowed the Pensieve to connect with my mind while keeping my defenses up.

Closing my eyes briefly, I waited for the information to flow and then calmly began to absorb it. Experiencing someone else's memory through the Pensieve was a fascinating experience.

The battle with the demon was fairly straightforward to describe. Even the trio of the most powerful wizards couldn't defeat him because he continuously regenerated his strength during the fight and seemed to draw strange, unknown power from an external source. The magic he wielded was incredibly dangerous and hinted at something that absolutely didn't belong in this world.

The next thing that caught my attention was the demon's artifacts and weaponry. I sensed that his weapon also held some kind of magic, but it was impossible to grasp, as I couldn't understand the principles behind it. They seemed somewhat different from anything I knew.

Another notable detail was the cardinal's attack using his cross, which damaged only the demon's armor, slightly weakening it at the point of impact. I wasn't sure if the demon would repair it, but it was worth remembering this spot. And his mental spells… that would require caution, as this demon was no amateur in mental magic either.

After watching the battle several times, I emerged from Dumbledore's memory. The cardinal and Oblan had gone somewhere. Only the Headmaster and Alastor remained in the room.

"What do you think?" the Headmaster asked me.

"The demon is powerful," I replied after a moment's thought. "Extremely powerful. Something like that shouldn't be allowed to exist in our world."

"Agreed," the Headmaster nodded. "The head of the Unspeakables is expected to join us, so I think with his help, we'll manage, though there's another matter at hand."

"What's that?" I didn't quite understand where he was going.

"Well… let's just say that the Inquisition doesn't take kindly to powerful wizards they can't control or at least maintain friendly relations with," the Headmaster said. "Not that I need to tell you what to do, but I'd advise caution with these men in robes. Their good-natured demeanor is only skin deep."

"Like so many others," I chuckled. "But thank you for the concern. Is there somewhere I can stay for the night?"

"Certainly," Dumbledore replied. "Alastor will show you the way."