HP: Man of Archives

I was in a rather festive mood as I returned home, having successfully completed my first trial assignment—a significant achievement. I could dwell on various thoughts about it now, but the truth is, I really enjoyed it, quite a lot, actually. If it weren't for Brock's revelations about one of his former assistants, the experience would have been even better. But what's done is done—you can't change the past.

"How did your first day go?" my father asked as I entered the house.

"Timothy, you're back!" My mother emerged from the kitchen and immediately rushed to hug me. "Tell us all about it. I'll get dinner ready in the meantime."

"Well, there's not much to tell," I said, debating whether they really needed to know all the details of the hunt. It was probably best not to worry them about their "son" being in rather dangerous situations. "Basically, it was a hunt for toads needed for potion-making."

"Just toads?" my father asked, clearly expecting to hear something more adventurous or wild.

"Well, not just any toads—magical ones," I corrected him. "You have to catch them using magic. They can put up a fight. It's almost like deer hunting, except these are toads, and you use magic."

"Was it dangerous?" my mother asked, tapping a spatula on the stove where something delicious was sizzling.

"Dear," my father interjected, "hunting deer can be dangerous or not, depending on the hunter. I imagine it's the same here... right?"

"Yes, Dad," I nodded. "Anyway, I need to wash up and change."

Not wanting to linger any longer, I headed to my room. Grabbing some clean clothes, I went straight to the shower to wash off the sweat. Afterward, we had a delicious dinner, during which I gave a more detailed account of the hunt. Of course, I left out the dangerous moments, but even the parts I did share were more than enough for my parents.

"Are you going out again tomorrow?" my mother asked.

"Yes," I nodded. "I already mentioned that I wouldn't be able to join you."

My parents went off to watch TV, and I headed to my room, where I collapsed onto my bed and immediately began meditating, continuing my study of the books stored in my Archive. I started with the Defense Against the Dark Arts book and then moved on to the Charms book. I needed more knowledge—more!

In the morning, my parents began preparing for their trip, while I got ready for another day of work. When I arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, I found the hunter already sitting in a chair, looking bored. I walked up to him immediately.

"Good morning."

"Oh, you actually showed up," he drawled, taking a sip from his mug. "Sit down."

I took a seat, waiting to hear what he had to say next.

"Our second assignment won't be too difficult either," he said. "We need to collect the eggs of White-Eyed Slugs."

I quickly looked up information on White-Eyed Slugs and wasn't thrilled with what I found. These are worms that can shoot lightning from a horn on their heads. Their white eyes can also discharge electricity, though less frequently.

"I see you've read about these worms," Brock said with a smirk. "Anyway, the client found a nest and wants us to go down and collect the eggs."

The eggs of these worms are highly valuable, not only for potion-making but also for creating artifacts and various magical rituals. In short, they're expensive items. And, of course, you need a specific artifact to store and transport them.

"Do you have the artifact for storage?"

"That is correct question," Brock grinned. "Don't worry, the client provided the tools."

He patted a small bag and took another sip from his mug. The conversation was a bit awkward, so I simply waited.

"Alright, time to move," he said, standing up and patting his pockets.

I stood up too, once again noticing the man in the turban, who was reading a newspaper with interest. The front page showed figures on broomsticks flying in all directions, repeating the same motions over and over—probably a Quidditch report.

We stepped outside and moved to the side. Brock placed a hand on my shoulder, and in the next second, we were pulled into a large tube. This time, I kept my eyes wide open, trying to see the space we were passing through. Aside from gray flashes and strange clouds, I couldn't make out anything.

Moments later, we landed on a green island surrounded by patches of mist. The landing dispersed the mist, revealing more of the area. Brock immediately stepped onto a path, and I followed him, looking around with great interest.

Within a minute, we emerged into an open space. The mist had long since given way to warm, sunny rays that illuminated green meadows. The meadows were dotted with various flowers, and insects flitted between them. White clouds floated slowly across the blue sky, occasionally covering the sun.

"A beautiful place," the hunter remarked. "Isn't it?"

"Yes," I agreed.

"But dangerous," he added with a sigh. A wand appeared in his hand, and he made several motions, sending barely visible silver waves in all directions before they returned. I didn't recognize the spell. "Do you remember the lessons about the Red Fields?"

"Is this them?" I asked in surprise.

The Red Fields are a legendary place where a great war between wizards and goblins took place over five hundred years ago. More than seven thousand wizards and over twenty thousand goblins died here, with many more wounded on both sides. This battle marked the final chapter of the bloody wars between the two races. The goblins lost both the battle and the war. It's said that all kinds of magic were unleashed here, leaving lasting effects on the area—such as the presence of ancient warrior skeletons, chimeras, poisonous plants, anomalies, and the offspring of monsters.

"Yes," the wizard nodded.

At that, I drew my own wand, not wanting to overlook any potential threat. Brock just smirked but said nothing.

"Fortunately, we don't need to go too deep in," he said, continuing to cast spells and pulling out artifacts one by one. "Only about a mile."

A mile wasn't too far. I now understood why we couldn't Apparate directly to our destination. Apparating here would be madness—no wizard has ever emerged from it whole and sane. Physical problems would be the least of it.

"I got it."

We began our journey, carefully observing the surroundings. Nothing hinted at danger—just flowers, birds, and a gentle breeze that made the flowers sway like ocean waves.

Because we had to be cautious, our pace was slow. Brock checked suspicious areas with his wand. We stopped by a large rock and scanned the area again.

"It's too quiet," he whispered. "This doesn't bode well."

I shrugged, not feeling any discomfort myself. I decided to trust someone more experienced and knowledgeable.

We continued our journey at an even slower pace. Brock seemed increasingly nervous but kept moving forward. He was now decked out in various battle-ready artifacts, their blinking lights and subtle vibrations making that clear. His unease started to affect me, so I tightened my grip on my wand, expecting an attack or trouble at any moment.

But nothing happened. We turned off the path and began descending. The narrow trail didn't appear to be of human origin; it looked like local animals had made it. Judging by the tracks, some of these creatures were very large and had dangerous claws. I could hear the sound of water. Where there's water, the chances of encountering something dangerous increase. I hadn't used any spells yet, not wanting to interfere with the experienced hunter.

After a few minutes, we reached a river. The first thing that caught my eye was the color of the water—it was blood red. That was far from comforting. But even more striking was the sight of the dead banks, completely lifeless and littered with the skeletons of various animals. The atmosphere had become heavy and unpleasant.

"Strange," the hunter muttered. "I've never seen anything like this before. This river is supposed to be white, not red. Hunters even call it the Milky River."

"I don't think that's water," I replied.

Brock gave me a long look before returning his gaze to the river. Now, even I started to get a bad feeling. For a moment, I felt like I was drowning in a deep river again, like after my first death. I pinched myself, pulling out of those dangerous thoughts.

"Let's get out of here," the hunter said. "I don't like this situation. We can fulfill the order later. It's not that urgent, and the time limit is generous..."

I nodded in agreement. If you can leave a dangerous place without losses, why not? We're not powerful archmages who can just shrug off danger.

But then the problems started. We walked but didn't move. The landscape didn't change, and the rock didn't get any closer. It was unnerving and frightening. Somehow, I managed to stay relatively calm, unlike the hunter. He looked around, raised his wand, cast some spell, cursed, and then lowered it again.

"This is a bad situation," he said when he realized that none of his spells had any effect. "We'll have to wait."

"Is something supposed to happen?"

"Yes," he nodded. "And I don't like it because I don't know what."

He waved his wand, and the ground started rumbling. Another wave, and the earth shifted aside, revealing a fairly large square with two depressions.

"Follow me," he said and jumped into the pit. But as soon as he landed, red water appeared at the bottom. With incredibly quick spellcasting, he pulled himself back up. It was clear from his face that he was sweating. "Phew! That was close. So, we can't dig trenches or foxholes. That's bad."

"Why?"

"Trenches and foxholes are excellent protection against many types of magic," he said, waving his wand again, this time transfiguring a clump of earth into walls. "Remember the spell and cast it on all surfaces around."

He spoke the spell and slowly moved his wand. I repeated the spell several times, mimicking his movements. The spell the hunter taught me reinforced the walls, transforming them into heavy stone blocks. We ended up inside a pyramid-like structure, with three walls and a small empty space inside, further reinforced to separate us from the outside world. The hunter enchanted both the outer and inner sides of the walls, continuing until we were enclosed in a fairly small space.

Next, a magical dome covered the outside of the pyramid, followed by an inner dome.

"Be ready to cast Protego if the walls and dome collapse," he instructed, pulling a chair from his bag. He sat down and stretched out his legs. With no other option, I sat on the ground to wait. Not wanting to waste time, I immersed myself in meditation and focused on the Archives.

A search bar appeared before my eyes. If a battle took place here, maybe there were some books left that could be interesting to me. My first query was on combat spells. The search started. Nothing happened, and I was beginning to think that finding any books here would be impossible, but then something happened.

The search stopped, and thousands, if not millions, of books appeared around me. I saw small pamphlets and huge tomes with strange bindings. It seemed I had hit a jackpot. Tweaking the parameters and keywords a bit, I got a smaller selection of books, but they were of better quality.

I chose the biggest one and quickly skimmed through it. The scan was quick, even rushed, and surprisingly, it suited me well. It had everything, from spells I already knew to destructive magic that could level cities, along with various tactics for duels and magical battles against all kinds of wizards.

I activated the download, surprised at how quickly it happened. Then a green checkmark appeared, slowly fading. Strange, I'd never seen that before.

"It's starting," Brock's words pulled me out of my thoughts, snapping me back to the present.

I felt a powerful wave of energy surge through the shield, like a tremor in the air. The first barrier burst with a crackling sound, followed by a deep, resonant hum as the magical current began to erode the protective wall. The force of it felt almost tangible, like a heavy pressure against my skin. The air around us grew tense, charged with an unseen power that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I decided to keep downloading books while I still had the chance, though the intensity of the situation made it hard to focus. Or maybe I should analyze them first? The idea seemed more prudent, given the circumstances. I opted for the latter, hoping it would give me some edge if things got worse.

I activated the analysis for one of the books I had downloaded earlier. Surprisingly, it went quickly! It was as if my energy wasn't being used, but something else. Puzzled by this, I continued to do the same, analyzing all the other books one by one. Potions, Transfiguration, Charms, Combat Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and all the other books I had downloaded were analyzed rapidly.

When the analysis was complete, I emerged from meditation, surprised to find that the second wall had almost fallen. The first wall, the inner shield, the outer shield of the second wall, and part of the wall itself were gone.

"I wish I had the ability to sleep during dangerous moments," Brock grumbled. "Especially when death is breathing down your neck with a sharp scythe."

I said nothing. I didn't think the quick downloads and analysis had anything to do with the local anomaly. I sank back into meditation and made another search. The next book I was interested in was on Apparition and spatial magic. Such magic existed in Fiore, but only a select few among the God-Chosen possessed it.

The book on Spatial Magic was also huge. The last chapters were completely incomprehensible to me—some formulas, structures, and other unfamiliar terms. The first chapters looked more understandable.

I downloaded the book and immediately began analyzing it. Everything progressed as quickly as it had before. When I woke up again, the outer magic was already gnawing at the third wall. Now, I was a bit frightened. Brock sat calmly, preparing for what might come next: the collapse of the third protective wall, followed by the inner shield, and then the final dome.

The ground trembled slightly as the wall crumbled, revealing a landscape that had completely changed. The area around us was flattened, as if sandpaper had smoothed it down. The upper layer of soil was stripped away, as if nothing had ever existed there. The barrier glowed with a faint grayish light, indicating it was still under heavy assault. Wind and dust, which I hadn't noticed before, added to the chaos.

But it was clear that we had survived the storm. Brock watched everything with wide eyes, his wand held high. A greenish figure on a hellish horse appeared before us. The horse's hooves left terrible burns on the ground, which continued to glow for some time afterward. The horse made some noises, the rider dug in his spurs, and they charged forward, dissolving into the air.

"Phew," the hunter exhaled, wiping his face. "That was way too close."

"Yes," I nodded, also calming down a bit. The strange feeling of danger retreated inward, leaving only a slight fatigue and a desire to rest.

"Well then," he said, "I can congratulate you on surviving your first truly critical situation. Not many are that lucky."

"Yeah," was all I said.

"Alright," he exhaled, waving his wand. A thread shot out from it, falling to the ground and instantly slithering forward like a snake. "Let's follow the thread. Time to get out of here."

We followed the path provided by the guide thread spell. After about an hour of brisk walking, we reached our destination. Of course, instead of a designated Apparition spot, there was only uprooted earth.

Brock placed a hand on my shoulder, and we were pulled into the now-familiar tube. A moment later, we were back in Diagon Alley. Immediately, I noticed some strange activity. Wizards were discussing something intensely. There were quite a few people on the streets, all preparing for something. Battle outfits, owls flying in all directions carrying letters, and much more.

"Let's go," Brock said, pulling me into the Leaky Cauldron.

It was crowded inside. I had never seen so many people here before. The noise was loud and focused, making it hard to make out anything specific. Brock pulled me toward a group of men and women who were sticking together. It was immediately clear that a young woman with thick black hair and equally dark eyes was in charge. She was dressed in a suit that didn't seem to restrict her movements much.

"Oh, Brock," said one of the older wizards. "I see you've come for the fun too."

"What's going on?" he asked.

"You don't know?" the leader of the group asked in a melodic tone, then sighed, "The Red Fields happened. Some anomaly broke loose and sucked the souls out of Muggles."

"Doesn't sound good," Brock said. "How many died?"

"A lot, a whole lot," said a man with large glasses. "The initial count we know of is over ten thousand Muggles. The Ministry declared a Critical Situation and immediately requested help from the Confederation of Wizards. The Obliviators will be working day and night."

"Over ten thousand..." Brock said with slight shock. "That's awful."

"That's putting it mildly," the witch smirked.

What interested me was that Brock didn't mention we had been there. If he didn't say anything, then I shouldn't either. No need to invite unnecessary trouble.

"The Ministry has issued us an order," the woman said. "We need to head to the border of the Red Fields and assist the Aurors and Confederation wizards. Only experienced hunters are going. Assistants are being sent home."

She looked at me, then at some blonde witch with deep green eyes.

"When are we leaving?" one of the wizards asked.

"Ten minutes," the woman said after summoning a watch and checking the time.

Brock pulled me aside and quietly said:

"We weren't at the Red Fields today. Got it?"

"Yes," I nodded. The wizard's grip was indeed firm.

"Excellent," he nodded, then added more loudly, "We meet in three days, on the fourth, at the same place and time, Shrimp."

"Understood," I nodded to him.

He let go of me and rejoined the group of hunters. I looked at the witch who was also an assistant and was eyeing me closely. I nodded to her, turned around, and headed home.

On the street, it was clear that the wizarding world was in turmoil. Even among Muggles, you could feel and see it. For example, a group in red robes disappeared into the shadows of houses. Or the owls and various birds.

"Owlmageddon again," muttered a man with a newspaper in hand. I was already on the bus, and we passed a stop where five different owls were sitting in a row. "Haven't seen this in almost eleven years."

"I was very young then," I replied.

"Yeah, that week was rough for me," the man grumbled. "Had to clean owl droppings from almost every place they could reach. Looks like I'll need to stock up on cleaning supplies again."

The radio playing on the bus had a cheerful program with jokes and modern music. No news about events that directly affected their lives. I could say this was direct proof of how much wizards control the lives of ordinary people. If the situation had been non-magical, the whole country would be talking about it. I've already figured that out from the news I've seen.

There was no one home since it was still early. My parents had probably gone shopping to buy some things for themselves. Besides, there was still plenty of time until evening. I washed up and went for a short walk around the neighborhood.

There were quite a few owls flying around. Sometimes I noticed wizards who weren't trying too hard to hide. People in robes and other strange outfits attracted a lot of attention. But I think the Ministry of Magic will take control and continue to work on it.

My parents returned in the evening. I told them a shortened version of the events. They just gasped at it. Well, they don't need to know or worry about what happened. When I went to bed, I immediately started absorbing knowledge from the analyzed books. Since it's Archive magic, all I need to do is read something once to remember and understand it.

The next day, I went to Diagon Alley to gather more information. There were fewer people on the streets, but the wizards were still very active. Newspapers were selling like hotcakes on a cold day at Hargeon's train station.

I picked up a newspaper, sat on a bench, and started reading. On the front page was a large photograph of the new Red Fields and wizards going about their business. The headline screamed, "Magical Anomaly Unleashed? What's Next?" There was also a photo of the new Minister being interviewed, along with a picture of the Hogwarts headmaster and several other wizards.

In short, the Aurors and volunteers from the Confederation of Wizards couldn't pinpoint the cause of the anomaly. There were also hints that foreign wizards were subtly hindering the English efforts to find answers. Not everyone was pleased with the presence of wizards from other countries on the island, even if their intentions were altruistic. The article included a large section on working with non-wizards, noting that Obliviators were working around the clock, alongside similar specialists from other nations. Global events like this are rare.

Setting the newspaper aside, I reflected. I had a slight suspicion that the ease with which I downloaded and analyzed such complex books might be connected to the recent events. Then again, I doubted it—the cost for that would be far too high, right? I couldn't dwell on it for long, so I headed to the training ground I was familiar with. It was completely empty, just like last time. The same old man was sitting there, but he didn't seem as friendly as before. Instead, he looked focused and alert, possibly shaken by recent events or perhaps just more aware. He nodded at me and returned to his newspaper.

At the training ground, I practiced until I was completely exhausted, destroying dummies repeatedly. To recover, I read through the analyzed books, then returned to my training once my energy was restored. The arsenal I practiced today wasn't very large. I remembered from the theory of magical combat in Fiore that the optimal number of combat spells is five to eight. Other spells should be known but practiced less frequently. While combat here might differ, I still consider the Fiorean method the best for now.

When I was completely out of energy, I went home. After cleaning up, I continued studying, pleased with the knowledge I had gained. In the evening, my parents returned from their shopping trip, and we discussed the latest news in England. I excused myself by saying I needed to study. While it was true, my study methods were a bit different from what they were used to. Tamara called, but I told her I was busy again.

The next day was much like the previous one—a trip to Diagon Alley and training at the same spot. The familiar old man was there again, and no one else. Meditation and reading during it provided at least minimal rest.

The evening unfolded just like the one before, and the next day followed the same routine: training, training, and more training.

On the fourth day, early in the morning, I was already at the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for Brock. This time, I was the first one there, which made me a little happy. It gave me a chance to observe the people who came in. This pub was a popular and busy place. Of course, it could use some tidying up since the place reminded me of the slums in any cheap neighborhood of any city.

The wizards here were of all kinds. It would take days to describe this diverse mix.

"Quirrell, are you leaving?" a young wizard asked.

"Y-yes," he stuttered. "I-I have s-some b-business to attend to."

Then I saw Brock, and thoughts about the guy with the turban drifted far away. Brock was with a group of men. They were dressed in fairly battle-ready clothes, but they didn't look much different from other wizards. A few of them were from the group Brock had taken to the Red Fields. He spotted me and made his way over, elbowing other wizards aside. Surprisingly, no one complained much.

"Good morning," I greeted, standing up.

"Morning, Shrimp," he nodded. "Ready for today's task?"

"I guess," I replied.

"Are you sure this kid won't piss himself?" one wizard asked. I didn't react to his comment.

"So far, he hasn't given me any reason to doubt him," Brock replied calmly. "Today's task will be his final trial."

"Oh," the wizard nodded as if understanding something. "Well, if that's the case, then why not? A hunt will be an excellent test."

I'm already not liking where this conversation is heading.

"Let's go," Brock motioned to me.

I stood up and followed them as we stepped out into Diagon Alley and turned off to the side.

"So, what's the task?" I finally asked.

"A hunt," Brock replied. "I don't think it will take long, so there's nothing to worry about. It might be more dangerous than our last one. You can back out, but then our paths will diverge. Oh, and there's a reward of one Sickle for you."

Now that sounded more interesting. I could use the money, even if it's just a little.

"So, what exactly do we have to do?" I asked, trying to get more details. I didn't want to walk into trouble blindly.

"Tell him," another wizard prompted.

"A hunt for werewolves who have illegally arrived on the island and have already started terrorizing a small Muggle village," Brock explained. "So, Shrimp? Decide quickly."

Now I really had a decision to make. Should I join them on a werewolf hunt? Werewolves, as I knew from books, are dangerous creatures—humans infected with lycanthropy, transforming into large, bipedal wolves that prefer human flesh. It wasn't a bad thing to hunt those who attack innocent people. But on the other hand, these werewolves might be victims themselves.

"Keep in mind, they've already killed a family of four—two adults and two children—and raped a Muggle woman," Brock added. "And yes, this task is from the Ministry."

"Alright, I'll go with you," I said, making my decision. I needed to see how real combat worked and learn how werewolf hunting was done. Books and lessons were valuable, but reality could be quite different.

"Excellent," the hunter nodded approvingly. "Then let's go. I've got the Portkey."

We all grabbed onto a long branch that served as the Portkey. In the next second, we were yanked into the air and spun around. This method of travel was immediately uncomfortable. We were jostled, spun, and occasionally tossed about during the flight. When the branch was finally ripped from our hands, we had to stabilize ourselves quickly to avoid a painful landing—either on our backsides or, worse, our faces.

The wizards quickly established a perimeter, scanning the surroundings with various detection spells to ensure there were no traps, scouts, or ambushes nearby. Once everything was checked, we headed south.

We walked for about two hours, taking care not to disturb any potential reconnaissance teams or enemy groups. When we crossed a road with cars, we all activated invisibility spells. I knew the spell well, so I didn't need any help.

Brock stopped by a tree, and the wizards in our group silently split into smaller squads and moved forward. One wizard stayed with us, polishing his wand with a special cloth. I realized I needed to clean my own wand too.

"We're going to move forward very quietly now," Brock said. "Then we'll take up a suitable position for observation. Our job is to finish off any survivors or stragglers. Got it?"

"Yes," the wizard nodded.

All I could do was nod in agreement. A slight anxiety washed over me, leaving a hollow feeling in my stomach. After a brief breathing exercise, I calmed myself. Brock noticed and waited for me to fully settle down before gesturing for us to follow him.

The third wizard was in the rear, moving his wand in all directions, ready to cast a spell if needed. We continued like this for about forty minutes before stopping. We had a clear view of a small strip of land free of forest.

"Wait," Brock whispered.

All we could do was stop and wait. The wait wasn't long—a loud crash and screams signaled that the hunt had begun. Spells crackled through the air, trees shook, and occasionally leaves or even entire trees fell.

Brock raised his wand, ready to catch any enemy that might run our way. And that's exactly what happened. Three creatures, vaguely resembling humans, burst into the clearing. One clutched its side, firing off a giant spark as it tried to escape and fend off pursuers. But then they ran straight into our group.

Brock and the third wizard, whose name I still didn't know, fired identical spells. Two of the creatures were thrown aside, their wands ripped from their hands. The third tried to fight back, casting a spell, but the unknown hunter deflected it with a shield, redirecting it into a tree, leaving a black scorch mark on the bark. Meanwhile, Brock hit the creature with a spell, and it fell to the ground, bound hand and foot.

We approached them, and the two wizards immediately reinforced their spells, wrapping the captives in a large silver cocoon. We waited for the others to join us. Many brought similar cocoons with them—some had one, some had several, and others came back empty-handed, likely having killed their opponents.

"Good work," Brock said, looking at the captives. They resembled beaten-down vagrants who had lived on society's fringes for years. They were filthy and reeked, with unshaven faces that hadn't seen a razor—or soap—in ages.

"Find anything?" one of the wizards asked.

"Yeah, human remains," another replied. "There was still warm soup with human meat in a small cauldron. They're not just dark creatures; they also enjoy human flesh. We also found several fresh, raped corpses, stolen goods, and a lot of other interesting things."

"Aurors?" Brock asked immediately.

"They've been called," the wizard replied.

"Any injuries?" the hunter continued.

"All good," answered a young wizard who looked about my age. "They were all drugged up when we arrived."

"Well, at least that's something," Brock nodded. "Alright, we'll wait for the Aurors."

The Aurors arrived about an hour later, Apparating in and immediately taking control of the area. They began handling the aftermath and coordinating with the hunters. A few young Aurors tried to show off, but the older wizards quickly put them in their place—they knew why they were here.

Brock handed over the werewolves and then guided the Aurors to all the skirmish sites. The Aurors conducted some measurements and then left, taking the captives with them.

"What will happen to these werewolves?" I quietly asked Brock.

"They'll probably be turned into potion ingredients," he shrugged. "St. Mungo's always needs quality potions."

After that, the money was divided. Brock received a small bag of coins from the Aurors and distributed everyone's share. I received the one Sickle I was promised, which I couldn't help but feel pleased about.