Three kilometres was practically nothing for either Ethan or the Count.
The monster and the owl flew high above the clouds, carefully avoiding the sight of any passing witches or wizards below. Nearly every Dementor in Britain was concentrated around Azkaban, so the sudden appearance of a wandering one would absolutely attract Ministry attention.
And Ethan had no desire whatsoever to explain himself to Ministry officials.
During the past few weeks, he had also modified the dragon-hide handbag Hagrid once gave him. After adding an Undetectable Extension Charm, the bag now held far more than its original size should allow.
The wizard who invented that spell had been a genius.
Honestly, Ethan increasingly felt that wizarding magic itself was far too primitive.
Most spells still retained the same basic structure they had possessed centuries ago: spray fire, throw water, block attacks, move objects. It reminded him of human civilisation inventing nails, wheels, and wooden boards without ever assembling them into proper machines.
Magic had potential far beyond its current form.
One day, Ethan intended to create entirely new branches of spellcraft himself.
But that was a concern for the future.
At the moment, he and the Count were approaching the ruins of the Northumberland estate.
Or rather—
What remained of it.
The once magnificent Burke Manor had been reduced to collapsed stone walls, shattered brick foundations, and charred wooden beams buried beneath snow and rubble. Only fragments of the original structure still remained standing.
A circle of evergreen trees surrounded the estate, protected by powerful Muggle-Repelling Charms designed to keep ordinary people away.
Even after ten years, traces of violent magic still lingered everywhere.
Through his unusual magical perception, Ethan could clearly see spell residue scattered across the ruins. Some curses had sunk so deeply into the environment that time itself had failed to erase them completely.
"Tsk, tsk…"
Floating high above the estate, Ethan looked down at the destroyed manor thoughtfully.
"These spells could probably still kill people after ten years."
"It's truly impossible to guess who cast them," the Count replied dryly. "No wonder you bald little wizards stationed a guard here."
"Guard?" Ethan frowned immediately. "What guard?"
Only after the Count pointed downward did Ethan finally notice the cabin hidden among the snowy forest.
Without the thin trail of smoke rising from the chimney, he never would have spotted it. The roof was so heavily covered in snow that it blended almost perfectly into the landscape.
Someone was living here.
And based on the protective charms surrounding the inner area, the resident was almost certainly a wizard.
Probably someone assigned to maintain the anti-Muggle wards around the estate.
Which meant this was either government work or punishment.
Possibly both.
After making sure nobody else was nearby, Ethan and the Count descended silently into the forest.
"I bet you attack him immediately," the Count announced while landing on a branch overhead. "There's no way you can investigate those ruins quietly without dealing with the guard first. I know your type."
"That's species discrimination," Ethan replied while raising a middle finger at him. "Careful. I'll start telling people you're prejudiced against non-human magical creatures."
"You are a non-human magical creature."
"Details."
Ethan adjusted his hood and approached the cabin calmly.
Inside, he could hear water boiling and a man humming softly to himself.
The tune sounded familiar.
After listening carefully, Ethan recognised it as the old Scottish folk song Loch Lomond.
Surprisingly elegant taste.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Determined to prove himself a perfectly reasonable person, Ethan politely knocked on the door.
"Who is it?"
The voice inside instantly became cautious.
A second later, the wooden door creaked open.
"Stupefy!"
"Stupefy!"
Two spells fired simultaneously.
Trust between strangers died immediately.
"Well," Ethan admitted honestly while lowering his wand, "you win that bet."
The Count looked unbearably smug.
The middle-aged man inside the cabin collapsed onto the floor unconscious.
Technically, both spells had connected.
The stranger's Stunning Spell had struck Ethan directly in the forehead.
Unfortunately for him, stunning a Dementor hybrid was significantly harder than expected.
The man had clearly not anticipated an eleven-year-old child standing outside his cabin.
"He probably also didn't expect the child to be a Dementor," Ethan added sympathetically.
If the man had used a Patronus Charm instead, the fight might have ended very differently.
Still—
Had anyone in history ever successfully knocked out a Dementor?
Stepping inside, Ethan examined the unconscious wizard carefully.
The man looked thin and exhausted. His patched robes were old enough to qualify as historical artefacts, and streaks of white had spread through his messy black hair.
The cabin itself was painfully simple.
A narrow bed stood against one wall beneath several worn blankets. A wooden table nearby was covered in deep knife marks. One crooked chair sat beside a fire pit where an iron pot simmered quietly.
Ethan glanced into the pot.
Rabbit stew.
He recognised it immediately from previous experience roasting rabbits himself.
"Has he forgotten he lives in a wooden house?" the Count asked curiously while staring at the open flames.
Normally, fires were surrounded by stone.
This one was sitting directly on top of wooden flooring.
The fact the cabin had not already burned down felt miraculous.
"Magic," Ethan replied vaguely. "Amazing, isn't it?"
He crouched beside the unconscious man and began searching his robes.
The broken chain hanging from the wizard's right wrist immediately caught his attention.
Prison restraints.
Only prisoners wore enchanted shackles like these.
Even more importantly, Ethan could sense traces of tracking magic embedded into the metal.
There was no need to guess anymore.
Whoever this man was, he had once belonged to Azkaban.
"You're touching another man's chest rather enthusiastically," the Count observed. "Should I look away?"
"If you value your life, stop talking."
Ethan glared at him coldly before finally pulling several objects from the prisoner's coat pocket.
A broken quill.
Several crumpled documents.
A tiny pile of silver Sickles and copper Knuts.
Ethan spread everything across the wooden table carefully.
"He's unbelievably poor…"
He felt too guilty to even consider stealing the money.
After pushing the pathetic handful of coins aside, Ethan unfolded the documents one by one.
Most were heavily wrinkled legal records.
"Participation in cruel and illegal Dark Magic experimentation…"
"Trafficking prohibited Class-XXXX magical creatures…"
Ethan continued reading silently.
The papers were old.
Very old.
Then he found the final document.
"Joint sentencing order… permanent assignment guarding the ruins of Burke Manor due to the lingering presence of highly dangerous magic… authorised by the Wizengamot…"
Ethan's eyes slowly narrowed.
At the bottom of the document was the prisoner's name.
Herbert Burke.
He turned slowly toward the unconscious man lying on the floor.
Then back toward the papers.
Burke Manor.
The Burke family.
And years ago, Edward had once mentioned that Rose's family name had originally been Burke.
Ethan stared at the prisoner for several long seconds.
"…No way."
His expression became deeply complicated.
"Is this man actually my uncle?"
....
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