At the edge of a lake buried a thousand meters underground, a narrow cave lay hidden in the shadows at the end of a passage, where the faint tracks of an iron rail abruptly stopped.
This area seemed deliberately cut off from the rest of the underground world, visible only as a distant speck from far away.
A foul stench churned in the air—a strange mix of rust and decay, like rotting flesh soaked in icy lake water for months, then sealed in a damp container to fester. The moldy odor was so thick it felt almost tangible.
The walls on either side were coated in layers of slimy, inky fungal growth, resembling the scales of some monstrous creature, glimmering eerily in the dim light.
Rusted, heavy chains littered the ground, clinking dully as they knocked against each other.
Their ends were bolted to the mottled walls, also covered in creeping black stains.
"You… you chained a dragon in a place like this?!"
Newt's anger erupted, his voice echoing through the cave, his eyes practically blazing as he roared at the goblin guide.
Adam jumped at the sudden outburst, and even Dumbledore, who had known Newt for years, raised an eyebrow in surprise.
They had never seen Newt, the usually gentle and reserved magical zoologist, so furious—he seemed like a different person.
"Sir, Gringotts employs professional dragon-handling methods and holds a legal dragon-keeping license dating back to our founding…" the goblin replied, its face darkening. The silver rings on its clothing jingled faintly as it trembled, its tone icy.
"Rubbish!" Newt's face flushed red, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his notebook. He hurled his lantern at the cave's corner.
The lantern smashed against the rock, sparks flaring to briefly illuminate a long-darkened area.
Half-decayed dragon bones lay scattered, with fragments of dull golden scales embedded in the cracks, their former luster long gone.
Nearby were gruesome torture devices, their tips glinting with an eerie chill, like the claws of a demon.
The area was littered with weathered bones speckled with black spots.
"Those are goat carcasses soaked in venom!" Newt's voice trembled with grief and rage. "You feared the dragon breaking its chains, so you fed it poisoned food and dosed it with potions to keep it barely alive…"
"And those fungi on the walls—toxic growths spawned from dragon blood. You used those torture tools to pierce its flesh, forcing it to leave the cave to fight off intruders!"
"What we're seeing isn't even the first dragon you've tortured like this…"
In his fury, Newt shed every trace of his usual awkwardness, his words sharp and relentless as he condemned the goblins' cruelty.
Adam suddenly understood why they hadn't seen any signs of destruction along the way.
Aside from scorched marks near some vaults—marks Dumbledore had confirmed were from Fiendfyre curses used for vault protection—the absence of chaos made sense.
To the dragon trapped here, the illegal robbers who broke in were less like thieves and more like saviors offering release.
Those intruders, after dealing with the guards, had somehow freed the dragon from this hellish underground vault.
"You're slandering us!" the goblin spat, its face so dark it seemed to drip with venom, its eyes flashing with malice. But before it could finish, Dumbledore stepped forward, cutting it off.
Dumbledore placed a hand on Newt's shoulder, the warmth of his touch steadying through the coat, his voice low and firm.
"I'll report this truthfully to the Ministry of Magic."
His tone carried unshakable resolve, calming Newt's anger while subtly warning the goblin.
Suddenly, a faint, ethereal song drifted in from the passage.
It seemed to dispel the oppressive chill and stifling gloom of the cave, echoing through the dark, narrow space.
Adam turned to see a golden-red phoenix soaring toward them, its radiant golden tail feathers slicing through the darkness, crimson sparks tracing graceful arcs in the air. Its gleaming claws landed steadily on Dumbledore's shoulder.
This was Adam's first close encounter with such a creature. He'd only read about phoenixes in Newt's books and caught a fleeting glimpse before.
In myths worldwide, phoenixes symbolized life and death, reborn from flames. For them, death wasn't always an end but could mean renewal.
This creature, existing between life and death, reminded Adam of his own ability, The Boundary of Life and Death.
He had never seen a phoenix in his visions, though perhaps he hadn't explored far enough.
Noticing Adam's fixed gaze, Dumbledore spoke, as if to explain and to lighten the heavy atmosphere.
"This is Fawkes, a phoenix with extraordinary magical powers."
"Newt's book mentions that a phoenix's song holds incredible power—it strengthens the courage of the pure-hearted and spreads fear in those with dark intentions."
He gently stroked Fawkes' feathers, as if feeling their mystical energy, then added, "But I lean toward another view: those with courage find their resolve strengthened by a phoenix, while those consumed by fear only question themselves more under its song. At least, that's what Fawkes believes."
Fawkes let out two clear, melodious cries in agreement, its tail feathers scattering tiny sparks like flecks of gold foil as it flapped its wings.
Adam blinked, then asked curiously, "Professor, what I really want to know is… with those sparks coming off Fawkes' tail feathers, doesn't it ever burn your beard or robes?"
Dumbledore's expression froze. Even Newt, still seething, paused in surprise, and Shirley couldn't help sneaking a glance at Dumbledore's robes.
"Fawkes is always very gentle," Dumbledore said with a light cough, waving his sleeve to stop Adam from saying more and gesturing for everyone to gather closer.
"But we should leave now. This place is riddled with goblin enchantments—Apparition won't work. We'll need Fawkes' help."
Fawkes let out a beautiful, resonant cry. In an instant, golden-red flames surged from its body, enveloping the group like a tide.
Adam felt as though he were bathed in a warm sea of light, the flames carrying no heat, only a gentle warmth.
The scene before him began to shift rapidly, thousands of overlapping images flashing by as if they were traveling through a tunnel of light and shadow.
A slight weightlessness tugged at him, and then, with a sudden burst of light, they stood before the familiar red-roofed cottage.
In the yard, Tina was focused on directing a trimming device.
Hearing the commotion, she turned to see a blaze of flames bloom in the yard, from which Dumbledore and the others stepped out. Her eyes widened in shock, and the trimming device's gears fell silent.
"You're back… and Mr. Dumbledore, it's been a while," she said.
Dumbledore smiled and greeted her warmly.
Just then, the bronze device on the lawn let out a loud buzz. Its olive-green indicator light flashed to a vivid scarlet.
Metal components screeched under runic enchantments, and two gleaming sawblades sprang out, slicing through the air at blinding speed, tearing deep gouges into the freshly trimmed grass.
Dumbledore, intrigued, adjusted his half-moon glasses, his wand tip glowing with white light.
To everyone's surprise, the device flipped sideways like a living creature, dodging with three mechanical limbs arched like a cat's back, sparks flying from the edges of its blades.
When a second Disarming Charm hit, something astonishing happened.
Dark golden runes writhed across the device's surface, forming diamond-shaped dragon-scale patterns that absorbed the spell's impact. It wobbled but seemed ready to stand again.
"Chocolate pudding!"
Adam, still reeling from the phoenix's teleportation, snapped to attention and shouted the emergency shutdown command.
The device collapsed like a marionette with cut strings, its red lights flickering out. Black smoke, tinged with a burnt smell, puffed from its exhaust, clearly pushed to its limit by withstanding Dumbledore's spell.
"A very impressive combat alchemical machine…" Dumbledore began, his glasses glinting with approval.
"Professor, that's an automatic lawn trimmer!" Adam interrupted softly.
Dumbledore glanced at Adam, then at the device, and fell silent for a moment.
With a flick of his wand, the ground smoothed over, and the severed grass blades reattached and grew back. "Regardless, the dragon-scale rune structure is quite innovative, especially for resisting spell corrosion…"
Tina's expression was a mix of shock and disbelief, as if she'd just seen a Blast-Ended Skrewt sprout wings and take flight.
She turned to the culprit, only to find Adam ducking behind Shirley, his wide, innocent eyes peeking out.
"Little Adam," she said, her voice laced with exasperation and concern, "you should've told me this trimmer could switch to combat mode and shoot spinning blades. I can't even imagine…"
"Relax, Tina. Adam's clearly been studying alchemy on his own quite well," Dumbledore said with a smile. "Perhaps I should consider offering a 'Furniture Defense Transfiguration' elective at Hogwarts?"
His warm tone eased Tina's expression, though she still frowned. "Even if you say that, Mr. Dumbledore, Adam's not allowed to touch these alchemical contraptions anymore."
"I need to check the kitchen. That juicer that tosses balls for Amy the cat—please tell me it's not also lobbing alchemical bombs…"
"Absolutely not!" Adam said, waving his hands frantically, though he avoided Shirley's knowing, amused glance.
Last time, she'd overheard him muttering about using the juicer as a prototype for a "mana mortar."
Dumbledore watched Tina hurry toward the kitchen, then turned to Adam with a playful wink, a hint of laughter in his voice.
"Well, Adam, I think you should listen to Tina more from now on."
"But it seems you have another question for me?"
Dumbledore's fingers traced the mana circuits on the alchemical device as Fawkes let out a soft cry from a nearby branch.
Adam nodded slightly, sunlight filtering through the sparse leaves, casting dappled light on his navy-blue wizard robes.
"Professor," he said, "what I want to know is… what role did you play in the Gringotts heist?"
Dumbledore's smile froze, and the blue eyes behind his glasses narrowed sharply.