Witcher at Hogwarts

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In the dense forest, Ethan quickly noticed something unusual. The ground was littered with canine footprints, scattered haphazardly among the trees.

"This suggests that many animals pass through here," Ethan muttered to himself.

"Could these be werewolf tracks?" Tonks asked, crouching down to inspect the prints more closely.

Ethan's face tightened as he examined them. "No, I don't think so. They're much smaller than a werewolf's footprints."

"If it were just one set, maybe it could belong to a young werewolf, but there are too many. Werewolves don't hunt in packs. These tracks must belong to something else."

"And werewolves don't waste their prey," Ethan added thoughtfully, his eyes still scanning the ground.

"That's strange," Tonks said, furrowing her brow.

"As far as I know, werewolves don't have any subspecies."

Before Ethan could respond, a sharp sense of being watched swept over him. He spun around, staring at the snow-covered hillside he'd been eyeing moments before.

It was empty. The fresh snow showed no signs of being disturbed.

"What's wrong?" Tonks asked, alarmed by his sudden movement. She drew her wand, assuming a defensive stance, scanning their surroundings warily.

Ethan held up a hand, trying to ease her nerves.

"It's nothing." He surveyed the area again but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Reluctantly, he let it go.

The two then cut down branches to fashion a makeshift sled, loading the body of the man they had found. Together, they dragged it toward the nearby village.

As they neared the village, Ethan noted the massive stone wall encircling it. Barbed wire topped the walls, and the hum of electricity hinted at the wires being live.

Ethan couldn't help but wonder what kind of creatures this level of protection was designed to keep out.

Outside the fence, the landscape was bleak. They passed abandoned houses, many of them damaged and open to the bitter winds. Overgrown fields stretched in all directions, choked with weeds. In some of the fields, the bleached bones of cattle and sheep lay scattered, a haunting reminder of the desolation.

Tonks studied the surroundings with curiosity.

"What on earth are they defending against?" she murmured.

Before long, they reached the heavily fortified village gate. Stone barricades and steel obstacles blocked any straightforward entry.

Two searchlights snapped on as they approached, bathing Ethan and Tonks in harsh white beams.

"Who goes there? State your business!"

A man's voice barked from a loudspeaker on the wall.

Ethan frowned. The village was startlingly modern for a place steeped in magic—more like a fortress than a settlement.

"I'm a Witcher!" Ethan shouted back.

"You hired me!"

There was a pause, and then an old man with a long white beard and a cowboy hat leaned out from the battlements. Slung across his back was an unusually thick gun—rare for a wizard.

"I'll need to see the letter!" the old man called down.

Though still puzzled, Ethan pulled out the letter he'd received and held it high for the old man to see.

The old man studied the letter closely, his frown gradually easing.

"Alright, open the gate!" he barked to the guards behind him.

The heavy steel gate creaked open, revealing a narrow entrance. Ethan and Tonks dragged the body inside, stepping into the fortress-like village.

The old man, who appeared to be the leader, stood waiting just beyond the gate. His initial welcoming smile quickly faded when he noticed the corpse they were hauling. His expression hardened, and in a flash, he yanked out the large, menacing shotgun strapped to his back, aiming it directly at Ethan.

"What's going on here? Did you do this?" the old man demanded, his voice sharp and accusatory.

Behind him, a group of young men who had followed the old man quickly drew their wands and pointed them at Ethan and Tonks.

"We found him in the wild!" Ethan shouted, keeping his voice calm despite the tense situation. He knew that one wrong move could lead to deadly consequences—especially with that massive shotgun aimed at his chest. He wasn't worried about himself; he could dodge the shot if needed. But Tonks behind him might not be so lucky.

Ethan wasted no time explaining, detailing where they found the body, and sharing his suspicions about how the man had died.

The old man's eyes bore into Ethan's, scrutinizing his every word. After what felt like an eternity, the man lowered his gun, his grip relaxing.

Seeing their leader back down, the other wizards followed suit, slowly lowering their wands. The tense air around them eased.

"Apologies," the old man said gruffly.

"Things are... tense around here. I have to stay on guard." He extended a calloused hand toward Ethan, offering a gesture of goodwill.

"Name's Reznov. We've been expecting you."

"Ethan," he replied, shaking Reznov's hand.

"Come on, it's getting dark, and it's not safe outside anymore," Reznov said, gesturing for them to follow.

As they walked through the village, Reznov's authority was evident. He barked instructions at the young men, ordering one to notify someone called Sir Sapkow, another to guard the walls, and others to deal with the body they had brought in.

When Reznov saw the corpse turned over, he took a deep, sorrowful breath.

"Poor old Peter..." he muttered before ordering his men, "Take the body to Mrs. Peter. Let her know I'll come by shortly."

Ethan and Tonks followed Reznov deeper into the village, starkly contrasting the fortified walls. The village was in a state of decay—dilapidated houses with peeling paint, moss creeping up the walls, and roads little more than muddy tracks. With every step, the squelching mud splattered onto Ethan's trousers.

Noticing his gaze, Reznov offered a quiet explanation.

"I'm sorry for the state of things. We've poured everything—our money, resources—into defense. Those things outside... they leave us no choice."

At the mention of "those things," Reznov's expression faltered. His voice grew uneasy, and a fear flickered over his face.

"What kind of monsters are you facing?" Ethan asked, his voice steady but curious.

Reznov hesitated, his face growing even more uncomfortable.

"I... I'm sorry," he muttered, looking away.

"I can't talk about it. Not yet."