After a year of surviving in the magical world, Allen had come to understand one crucial truth: when it came to magical items, appearances meant nothing.
To be more specific, often, the older and more weathered a magical artifact looked, the more powerful it truly was. Just look at the Sorting Hat or the Goblet of Fire.
And soon, the behavior of the werewolves below confirmed exactly what kind of power was hidden within that strange hat. After a long, solemn ritual, several small, aggressive young werewolves, just like the ones described in textbooks, were brought forward.
Allen watched in astonishment as the leading werewolf placed the hat on the head of one of the younger ones. He nearly shouted in surprise. That simple action confirmed something incredible, the adult werewolves were fully conscious.
A heart-wrenching howl tore through the air. The young werewolf, who had moments ago been snarling and attempting to attack, abruptly stopped. After a brief silence, he calmly removed the hat himself and obediently stood beside two adult werewolves, who were likely his family, judging by their gentle posture.
Then the next young werewolf was led forward.
But Allen had already stopped paying attention. That red hat, let's just call it Little Red Riding Hood for now, was undoubtedly a treasured artifact passed down by the werewolf clan.
There was a huge difference between mindless beasts that attacked anything in sight and werewolves who retained their human intelligence during a full moon. The former were dangerous monsters; the latter, on a full moon, were warriors whose strength could rival elite wizards. No wonder they could hold their own against vampires.
According to the Auror Allen had questioned earlier, this group of werewolves had moved to America after the massive upheaval in the Ministry of Magic over sixty years ago, a time when magical creatures had helped save the American wizarding world from its greatest crisis. Since then, magical creatures have enjoyed a much better reputation in America.
Clearly, the werewolves had brought the best of their clan with them, their heritage and legacy.
The ones left behind had suffered horribly. Many were forced to serve under Voldemort just to survive. Even Fenrir Greyback, the infamous pack leader, had been sneered at by Bellatrix Lestrange as nothing more than a "filthy scavenger."
Werewolves were a proud and ancient race, how had they fallen so low? The answer was simple. They were abandoned by their own kind.
Which also explained why Allen and the Auror had been attacked and subdued. Judging from the number of young werewolves involved, the ritual clearly wasn't something that succeeded in a single attempt. It likely took years of repetition before a werewolf could retain clarity during transformation without the hat.
Allen and the Auror had shown up at the worst possible time, right before the ritual was set to begin. And from the reverent way the ceremony was conducted, it was clear that the ritual couldn't be interrupted.
In fact, most of the adults had their hands full trying to restrain their own children. While the camp was full of werewolves, its combat ability was at its weakest, they were too distracted, too burdened.
That made Allen and the Auror a major threat. What if they accidentally barged in? What if they disrupted the ritual and someone got hurt? Or worse, what if they discovered the artifact and got greedy?
Even Rowena Ravenclaw's own daughter had coveted her mother's diadem. Who could guarantee these strangers wouldn't be tempted?
Even if they had no ill intent, what if they told someone else who did?
That's why the werewolves had acted decisively, capturing them and putting them to sleep. But clearly, that hadn't been enough.
Allen, however, had no intention of getting more involved. His curiosity had been satisfied. It wasn't worth offending an entire werewolf clan over some artifact. Even if the artifact wasn't already claimed, he wouldn't go after it. What could it possibly be worth? A bit of power? A slight edge?
Not worth it.
As a side note, he had spotted the Auror's location. When the red hat first showed signs of its power, a noticeable ripple had disturbed a patch of grass nearby. Luckily, the werewolves hadn't noticed it.
In a way, that was valuable information. Werewolves with self-awareness were in a completely different class from mindless ones. The Ministry might want to rethink its stance on werewolves based on this.
But Allen? That wasn't his problem.
"Dear Auror sir," Allen mused silently, "thanks for your generous donation of 50 Galleons... but I'm afraid I'll be on my way now."
He hoped the Auror had fun playing with the werewolf tribe tomorrow.
Just as Allen began sneaking down the tree, intending to slip away quietly, Waldo's shared vision revealed a sudden movement, several dark figures darting across the forest.
What now? More curious onlookers?
Reflexively, Allen glanced at the ritual site.
At that very moment, the red hat was about to be placed on another young werewolf's head when a sharp cry rang out. A dark blur shot past and knocked the hat away.
It didn't fall to the ground. Instead, it landed in a pair of pale hands.
The figure wore a sleek tuxedo, and behind him, two leathery wings flapped rhythmically, marking his identity unmistakably.
A vampire.
If it had been just one vampire, Allen would've called him a lunatic with a death wish. But unfortunately, it wasn't just one.
Dozens of pale, fanged figures landed behind him, each cloaked in shadows.
"What a bunch of stinking mongrels," the lead vampire sneered, casually flipping the red hat in his hand. "I could smell your foul stench from miles away."
Unfortunately for him, his target wasn't in the mood for witty comebacks, she couldn't even speak in her current form. But she responded loud and clear with action.
With a savage snarl, her claws slashed toward the vampire, forcing him to toss the hat aside and defend himself seriously.
Even though that vampire hadn't known the hat's true importance, he'd assumed it was just some ceremonial relic left by werewolf ancestors. Had he known its true power, he would've destroyed it immediately, even at the cost of serious injury.
But he realized its value far too late.
The female werewolf abandoned all defense, taking a brutal hit just to snatch the hat back.
And just as the battle was about to erupt in full,
A spell exploded in midair, drawing everyone's attention.
It came from someone who absolutely should not have been there.
Allen gave a bitter smile.
He had been trying to leave as soon as the fighting started. But unfortunately, a bat had flown directly into him.
There was no way he'd risk getting bitten. Everyone knew that a werewolf's bite could turn a wizard.
At this point, all he wanted to do was raise his hands and ask:
"Um... I was just passing through. Can you all go back to killing each other now?"
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