"Who's there?"
Sandru's expression darkened as he turned toward the bushes, growling angrily. "Sneaking around!"
Sandro's fists clenched, every muscle taut, some of his fur standing on end, ready to shift into his Animagus form at any moment.
Then, a middle-aged man who looked utterly lost slowly emerged from the bushes. He carried an old double-barreled shotgun, its muzzle pointing down at the ground.
Jon had likely never seen a man so utterly defeated in his life—
He couldn't have been much past forty, yet half his hair had already turned old and gray. His boots and trousers were caked in dust, as if he hadn't changed or washed in days.
But what truly stirred pity was his face—etched with wrinkles and exhaustion, as if he hadn't slept for dozens of hours…
"Who are you?" Sandru's voice carried a hint of sympathy.
"Joseph Pistol," the middle-aged man rasped. "Mayor of this town—Gilău… and a father."
Hearing this voice, Jon slowly turned to face the man, meeting his eyes. He asked softly,
"Miss Gina Pistol… and your relationship is…"
"You're standing right beside my daughter now, at her grave…"
Tears streamed uncontrollably from the man's eyes as he choked out, "Gina… my only child… she wasn't even fifteen…"
"I'm sorry." Jon spread his hands helplessly.
Mr. Pistol pulled a grimy handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the tears from his eyes.
"You've been at her grave this long… You know the real reason Gina died, don't you…"
He looked at them pleadingly.
"Please, gentlemen, tell me… Tell the truth to a grieving, angry, vengeful father!"
Sandru looked at Jon, momentarily at a loss.
"I'd be happy to, sir," Jon replied calmly. "No one refuses a father seeking vengeance… It would be best if you could find a quiet tavern."
…
It was indeed a quiet tavern.
Located on the western edge of Gilău Town, it was nearly empty despite being mealtime.
The proprietor was an elderly woman who seemed quite familiar with Mr. Pistol. After Mr. Pistol whispered a few words, she closed the tavern door.
Still uneasy, Sandro carefully scanned the surroundings.
"If you're still uneasy, you can keep watch for us from the sky," Jon said with a smile.
"That won't be necessary."
Sandru smiled back, then lowered his voice.
"Mr. Patrick, are we really going to tell him…"
"You mean this seems to violate the International Wizards' Secrecy Act?"
Jon waved his hand dismissively.
"Rules are meant to be broken, right…"
"…Besides, I'm skeptical about the enforcement capabilities of the Romanian Ministry of Magic," Jon added.
Their exchange remained low-voiced, at least inaudible to the third person present.
Mr. Pistol, however, stared at Jon and Sandru with desperate eyes, his hands trembling slightly.
"What should we…" he stammered, clearly at a loss.
"First, tell us what you know, Mr. Pistol," Jon said calmly. "Everything you know…"
"There haven't been wolves near Gilău for thirty years—I swear it…"
The mayor's expression suddenly grew agitated as he stammered, "Gina was a sensible child, she wouldn't have strayed from the main road on her way home! And my daughter was perfectly healthy, never had any heart issues… yet the coroners insist she died of heart failure…"
"It wasn't wolves that killed Miss Pistol, but a Werewolf," Jon said calmly. "And the fatal wound wasn't caused by acute heart failure, but by a spell."
Observing Mr. Pistol's stunned expression, Jon added, "You may dismiss us both as lunatics, Mr. Pistol, as mere balderdash-spouting madmen—in which case we'll depart immediately. Or you may…"
"I choose to believe you," Pistol said in a low voice. "Because the coroner's findings are unacceptable to me. I'd rather accept some seemingly absurd explanation."
"Excellent. A wise choice." Jon nodded with a smile.
"A werewolf killed my daughter?" A flash of anger crossed the mayor's eyes.
"Then what are your identities…"
"Exorcists, demon hunters, or night watchmen…" Jon said casually. "That's a close enough way to think of it…"
"…The true killer of your daughter was a Werewolf named 'Fenrir Greyback,'" he added.
"He's also one of my targets on this journey… though he's now surrounded by dozens of Werewolf companions."
"The bite wound and the spell that killed her… were both done by that Werewolf?" Pistol asked, his face darkening.
Jon hesitated for a moment before nodding.
Having communicated with Gina Pistol's spirit, Jon knew the truth of her death. The Killing Curse that ended her life originated from a werewolf named "Remus Lupin."
However, Gina had already had her throat torn out and struggled in agony for over half an hour. Leaving her in the hands of that pack of Werewolves would have meant certain death and unimaginably horrific suffering.
By killing her swiftly, Lupin had in his own way, granted her mercy.
Therefore, Jon concealed this matter from Mr. Pistol.
...
"Mr. Patrick, how may I assist you?" Mayor Pistol asked with a serious expression, all traces of his usual weariness and exhaustion gone.
"Certainly…" Jon said quietly. "For instance, could you share with me the local Transylvanian legends about vampires?"
"Vampires… we've always considered them legends," Mr. Pistol answered honestly.
"When I was a child, my grandmother did tell me many vampire stories… but I always thought they were just to scare little kids. In the last fifty years, we haven't heard of a single incident resembling a Vampire attack…"
"The last fifty years, huh…" Jon murmured.
No wonder. Fifty years ago, Tom Riddle Sr. slaughtered every last Vampire in Transylvania to win the Scamander family's favor, even decapitating their leader and bringing the head back.
After suffering such devastating blows, the local Vampires must have quieted down considerably.
"Then…" Jon pressed, "What about the rumors from fifty years ago?"