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London
–Damian Hawthorne–
With a silent whoosh of displaced air, something that he was working on mitigating even further, he appeared in his London safehouse, a small reinforced bunker, buried deep underground, very close to the London Sanctum.
He would have preferred for it to be an actual apartment, something that he could use whenever he came to London, but that required paperwork, and for paperwork to be viable, he had to be an adult, in the eyes of the law.
Faking that paperwork was an option, but that just took care of the government side of things. He would still have to walk around in a full disguise, something that was bound to be noticed eventually.
Which is why, he made a small metal cube, enchanted it to be as robust and life supporting as possible, made it run on thermal energy that was being absorbed from the ground since he was deep underground, and chucked it as close to the London Sanctum as he could, just deep below.
He exhaled in relief as he slid down one of the walls, the cowl coming off, revealing his wide eyed, nervous expression. "That was close," he whispered to himself. Way too close, he told himself.
It was one thing to have to defend against unknown spells, rituals, and whatnot, but to have something attack his soul itself? It was a relic, a magical artefact, since Dumbledore could still cast other spells whilst using it. A rather dangerous one at that.
Rewinding the fight in his mind, he could see it when Dumbledore decided to remove all restraint and try to take him down instantly. It was when he displayed the ability of flight, wasn't it?
"I am such a moron," He groaned, palming his face, as he realised just what kind of dumb mistake he'd made.
He had gone around, toying around with over a dozen aurors, exchanged, however briefly, Spells with Albus freaking Dumbledore, and then, towards the end, showed the man an ability that has so far been seen only in one other Dark Wizard.
Said Dark Wizard was the one responsible for entire family lines vanishing, and terrorising an entire Magical Nation. Ofcourse, Dumbledore was going to go nuclear on his ass. Still, it was nice that he got this warning early on, without much in the way of penalties.
Hell, he was of the mind that his last move, made in a fit of panic, was over the top. His shield had absorbed a ton of magic, curses, and pure kinetic energy there, and to unleash even 10% of it? Through such a small area?
He expected the area to be flattened immediately, but for his surroundings to melt completely? He was not going to lose any sleep over the merchants of Knockturn Alley losing their merchandise, and most of the wizards there were evacuated over the course of his fight, but the sheer damage he did to the street?
The Daily Prophet was going to have a field day reporting everything and fearmongering over the next coming of the Dark Lord or something.
It was one of the things he knew, but in the heat of the battle, especially towards the end, he, in a moment of panic, just made the wrong decision. Converting anything to magic, the wizard kind, was exceptionally inefficient. It wasn't even funny, the amount of energy he would have to use to generate enough magic to cast even a single Stupefy.
Vice versa, the amount of alternative energy that magic can create is also not funny. That magic that his shield managed to absorb, even though it was only a fraction of it, generated a ton of kinetic energy, and the result of that… Well, he will have to find a copy of the Daily Prophet tomorrow to know for sure.
Sighing, he stood up, as plans to develop a fighting style around using magic to constantly convert it into kinetic or thermal energy to turn the landscape around him inhospitable flew around in his mind. It would be a nice way to deal with any wizards, but it also ran the risk of falling short when faced with truly exceptional wizards who knew how to dominate their environments better.
A moment later, he turned around and disappeared, appearing on top of a familiar busy shopping street, invisible and plummeting to a rather injurious fall, only to stop at the last moment. He walked and knocked on a door, as it opened on its own, the wards flowing over his body before they pinged, for lack of a better term, the Sanctum Master, who authorised the opening of the door.
He smiled as he walked in, shoulders sagging slightly as the slight fear of Dumbledore somehow tracking him down, despite him taking all the precautions, evaporated away. With a pep in his step, he walked further into the Sanctum, only to pause mid step, leg still in the air, as a rather menacing presence made itself known, just to his right, behind the glass display holding some sort of crab-shaped relic.
"And just what are you doing here, Mr.Hawthorne, who is neither an apprentice, nor a Master and not even a proper wizard yet. Just a brat playing at higher magics." Master Corven, the ever grumpy Sanctum Master, grumbled as the Sanctum Wards held him in place.
"Honestly, what does she even see in you," He grumbled some more, scoffing as he saw him roll his eyes at the lecture before waving his hands, releasing him from his prison. Now, he could see the wards acting against him, and for a split second, his mind went a couple of different directions, in a bid to retaliate against that, but he shoved those thoughts into the back of his mind.
This was a ward scheme tied to a planetary shield. Messing with it would be catastrophic, to say the least and he knew that the wards would much rather obliterate him than allow him to fiddle with something that has quite literally saved billions of lives.
He was special, yes, but not worth an entire planet.
Rolling his joints in a mock display, he mockingly said, "You know, Master Corven, you should really look into a professional speechwriter. I mean, you've known me for the past two years now and every time, it's the same thi–"
His speech was cut short as the wards surged back in, restraining him completely. He maintained eye contact with the man, his mouth open, tongue still in the process of creating sounds as Master Corven took a deep breath and then removed the restriction, "--thing."
"Why are you here?" Master Coven began walking deeper into the Sanctum, forcing him to follow along. Though, deeper would be the wrong word since space worked in all sorts of wonky ways inside the Sanctum.
"Well, can't I just drop in to check in on my favourite Sanctum–"
He was subjected to a side eye so intense he felt it imprint into his mind.
He cleared his throat, "Apparently not. Actually, I just had a fight with a rather strong wizard. I have taken precautions but can you just confirm using the wards here that no tracking spell has latched onto me?"
Corven actually stopped at that, looking at him with a critical look in his eyes, "You don't look as if you have been in a tough fight. Why were you going around fighting adult wizards, anyway? Despite not even having a wand,"
He shrugged, trying to make light of the fact, otherwise who knows how long he will have to hear of it, "I had my shield, didn't need to drop it even once. They were just unpredictable, nothing else."
"Hmm," He clearly did not believe the story, but acquiesced to his request all the same. He felt the words come to life and, in a way totally different from the sensation he felt at the front door, as it began to invasively poke and prod at his shields.
After a raised eyebrow from the Sanctum Master, he sheepishly dropped the shield, feeling oddly vulnerable without it, as the wards did their job before retreating a moment later, the original safe but not claustrophobic nature of the ward scheme returning.
"Well, there is no trace on you and no spell residue either, which means no spell hit you directly, which is good. Besides, the Sanctum's wards would have thrown you out the moment they detected anything nefarious. Now, I would love to know how you went into a fight, in over your head, and got your ass handed to you."
He smiled at the man, "A magician never reveals his secrets," Saying so, he took a ninja pose, dropped a smoke bomb at his feet, and began hauling ass towards the door, only for the door to have disappeared.
A sigh echoed from behind him as the hallways glitched and shifted in front of him before revealing the familiar doors, as he drop kicked it, only for the doors to open on their own, resulting in a slightly embarrassing fall.
Thankfully, he had activated invisibility before the flailing so he was not in aura debt, yet.
Turning on the spot, he appeared back in his lair, nursing his wounds of defeat from his arch nemesis, Warlock Albus Dumbledore.
An idea appeared in his mind, just for shits and giggles, as he skipped into his lair, into the storage room, to create a very specific stage in mind. With an evil giggle, he set about creating the mood for the scene.
The lights from the candles cast a shadow on his face as he cursed, "Curse you, Dumbledore! I will have my Draconic blood one way or the other. "
With that, he dropped his hands, his expression smoothing into a neutral one as he blew on the candles, the overhead white lights coming to life, as his workspace was revealed.
Cracking his knuckles, he got to work. There must be something in the catalogue of illegal books he'd received from one of the more reputable smugglers in France, about soul magic and how to defend from it.
Because facing Dumbledore without any defense against it? He was not a masochist.
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