Chapter 6
Auror Dhruv Kashyap was not having a good day.
In fact, it was quickly shaping up to be one of the worst in recent memory.
Not only had five more poachers turned up dead—each with mysterious, unexplainable wounds—but now he had two British wizards in his morgue, one of whom was Sirius Black, Lord of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, former Auror, and currently the biggest headache in Dhruv’s life.
Across from him, Sirius stood with his arms crossed, looking impatient and determined in equal measure, while Remus Lupin—who at least seemed to have some sense of professionalism—was focused intently on the bodies before them.
And of course, because fate hated him, Dhruv had to have this conversation in the damn morgue.
"I am not paid enough for this," he thought grimly.
Beside him, Healer Jahan Mehta was finishing his examination of the latest batch of dead poachers, his wand glowing faintly over the cooling bodies.
“These five,” Jahan began, “are… different from the others.”
Dhruv exhaled sharply. “Define different before my headache gets worse.”
Jahan tapped the deep, cauterized wounds in the poachers’ torsos, his expression deeply troubled. “Unlike the others, they weren’t killed by wildlife. No venom, no claw marks, no magical burns from a defensive ward.” He turned slightly, giving them all a pointed look. “These wounds? They were made by a weapon.”
Sirius’s gaze sharpened. “A weapon? What kind?”
Jahan hesitated. “We’re still investigating, but whatever it was—it wasn’t a wand. The wounds are too precise, the pattern too deliberate. The tissue around the entry points is burned, but there’s no sign of fire damage anywhere else on their bodies.” He gestured at the corpses. “It’s almost like… blades of pure heat pierced straight through them.”
Dhruv pinched the bridge of his nose. “Brilliant. So now we’ve got mystical jungle warriors stabbing poachers with flaming weapons? That’s just what I needed today.”
Remus frowned. “Do you think this is related to the boy?”
Dhruv gave him an exasperated look. “Do I look like I know? All I know is that for over a year, bodies have been portkeying into my office, and I don’t know who’s doing it or why.” He threw up his hands. “And now we have magical knife wounds added to the list of mysteries. This is officially above my pay grade.”
Sirius, who had been silent for a moment, finally spoke. His voice was quieter but filled with iron determination. “You said the locals believe the boy is being raised by a snake.”
Dhruv sighed. “Yes. That’s the story.”
“And,” Sirius continued, “every single poacher that’s turned up dead was hunting in that same jungle region—the same region where the locals say the boy has been seen.”
Dhruv narrowed his eyes. “Your point, Lord Black?”
Sirius met his gaze evenly. “That boy is Harry Potter. And if someone—whoever or whatever—is protecting him, then we need to find him before we end up with more bodies in your morgue.”
Dhruv exhaled slowly, looking at the dead poachers one last time.
Then he muttered, “I swear to the ancestors, if this case gets any weirder, I’m going to retire early.”
Upon portkeying to the edge of the mangrove, the Aurors quickly took out wooden blocks from their robes and transfigured them into boats for all those there. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of damp earth and brackish water clinging to their robes as the investigation team got ready to travel through the dense mangrove. The auras of ancient magic seeped into everything—the twisted roots, the towering trees, even the very air itself. This was no ordinary jungle.
This place was alive in a way few places in the world ever were.
Auror Dhruv Kashyap, standing at the edge of the unnaturally still water, pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered under his breath, "I should have stayed in bed."
His partner, Aisha Rao, shot him an amused look as she stepped into one of the transfigured wooden boats, conjured to help them cross the eerily motionless waters. Sirius Black and Remus Lupin followed, their expressions sharp with focus. The rest of the Aurors spread out across several boats, wands at the ready, while their guides—Magizoologists Arvind Iyer and Rina Deshmukh—examined the jungle with keen interest.
“This place is drenched in old magic,” Arvind murmured as he ran his fingers along the bark of a massive mangrove tree, the surface unnaturally smooth. He turned to Rina. “You feel it too?”
Rina nodded, her dark eyes scanning the canopy. “It’s not just magical—it’s curated. This isn’t wild growth. This place has been shaped.” She gestured toward the twisting branches, their shapes almost intentional in their patterns. “Nature doesn’t grow like this unless something—or someone—guides it.”
That unsettled Dhruv more than he cared to admit.
As they pushed deeper into the mangrove, the silence of the jungle became deafening. There were no ripples in the water. No birds cried out. No insects buzzed.
It was as if the entire ecosystem had agreed to be silent.
Then, Arvind pointed upward. “Look.”
The entire group craned their necks—and froze.
Hanging from the massive branches above them were colossal bats, their bodies the size of large dogs. Their leathery wings remained folded, their sharp ears twitching as if aware of their presence.
Sirius let out a low whistle. “Bloody hell.”
Arvind nodded, his voice reverent. “Noctalis Gigantus. Enormous magical fruit bats—extremely rare, nearly extinct in most parts of the world. If a colony thrives here, it means this place is completely untouched by human hands.”
Aisha frowned. “Except for the ones who keep winding up dead.”
Dhruv turned his attention back to the water, something unnerving prickling at the back of his mind. The boats glided effortlessly over the surface, yet despite their movement, the water did not ripple.
That was not normal.
Then he saw them.
Crocodilians.
Not just any crocodiles—these creatures were sleek, dark, and eerily smooth, their scaly texture almost polished. They moved effortlessly beneath the surface, their long, sinuous bodies cutting through the water without disturbing it at all.
Remus, eyes sharp, pointed at one that drifted closer. “Those aren’t normal crocodiles.”
Rina narrowed her eyes. “They’re Nagaraja Crocodilians—extremely rare, magically attuned to water. They can swim without displacing liquid, which is why there aren’t any ripples.” She exhaled slowly. “Whatever is in this jungle—it’s not just surviving. It’s thriving.”
Dhruv inhaled through his nose.
Whatever they were walking into—it wasn’t just some unexplored wilderness.
The further they went, the more the jungle twisted into something unnatural.
Dhruv Kashyap kept his wand steady, though the hairs on his arms stood on end. The thick, gnarled roots of the mangrove trees seemed to pulse with magic, the air heavy with an oppressive stillness. The boats cut through the motionless, ink-black water, still refusing to make a single ripple.
Something was wrong with this place.
Even Sirius Black, for all his usual reckless energy, was tense, his grey eyes scanning every shadow. Remus Lupin, always observant, was gripping his wand tightly, his body coiled like a predator ready to strike.
But it was the magizoologists—Arvind and Rina—who looked the most unsettled.
"This isn’t just untouched wilderness," Rina murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "This is something older. Something hidden."
Aisha, Dhruv’s partner, exhaled sharply. "Yeah? Well, it’s not hiding very well anymore."
Because something was watching them.
At first, Dhruv thought the twisting roots of the mangrove were just shifting unnaturally. Then, he saw the hands.
Webbed, taloned fingers curled around the roots of the trees, gripping the slick, moss-covered wood with unsettling ease.
Then the creatures emerged.
They climbed out of the water, their long, serpentine tails winding over the roots like glistening eels. Their skin was smooth and scaled, a muted grey-green that shimmered faintly in the low light. Their faces were flat, noseless, with large, pitch-black eyes that reflected nothing back.
And their mouths—their mouths were lined with rows of needle-like teeth.
One of them let out a low, guttural clicking sound, tilting its head in an almost curious manner.
Dhruv kept his wand trained on them. “Merfolk?” he whispered.
Arvind shook his head. "Not like any I’ve ever seen." His voice was too quiet, too controlled. "These aren’t oceanic merfolk, and they’re not river-dwellers either."
One of the things tilted its head at them, then—grinned.
Its jaws stretched too wide, lips curling far past where they should, revealing too many razor-like teeth.
Rina shuddered. “I don’t think they’re afraid of us.”
Aisha muttered, “Brilliant. Just what we needed. Smiling, nightmare fish-people.”
Then something moved above them.
A rustle of feathers. A scraping of claws against bark.
Dhruv’s eyes snapped upward—and he froze.
The branches were filled with massive, human-sized owls, their black feathers blending seamlessly into the darkness. They had red, vulture-like faces, their hooked beaks slightly parted, revealing glistening, fang-like protrusions.
But what made Dhruv’s stomach turn was the way they moved.
They didn’t just fly.
They crawled.
Their wings had clawed, skeletal fingers, gripping the branches as they clambered sideways like insects, staring down at them in eerie silence.
Then—one of the owls’ heads twisted sharply, upside down.
Sirius swore under his breath.
Remus tightened his grip on his wand. “We are not alone.”
Dhruv swallowed thickly. No. No, they were not.
The oppressive silence pressed down on the group as they drifted deeper into the uncharted, living kingdom of the mangrove.
The black-eyed merfolk remained still, their sharp-toothed grins eerily amused, watching. The massive, human-sized owls above them crawled from branch to branch, their clawed wings rustling against the bark, tilting their heads at unnatural angles.
The jungle was not just alive—it was aware.
Then—something shifted in the water.
At first, it looked like one of the mangrove’s massive roots was moving, parting the still water in slow, deliberate motions.
Then the root lifted.
A massive, sloth-like creature pulled itself out of the dark waters, its enormous, curved tusks slicing through the surface like scythes.
Rina gasped, nearly dropping her wand. “That’s—”
The beast moved with a slow, unbothered grace, its thick, moss-covered fur blending into the mangrove around it. Water dripped from its massive form as it reached out with long, clawed limbs, wrapping its hooked talons around the twisting trees for support.
Then, with deliberate precision, it hooked one of its massive tusks beneath the roots of an underwater plant and ripped it free, dragging it up to its enormous, lipless mouth.
The crunch of roots and small fish being devoured echoed through the jungle.
Sirius blinked. “That’s a bloody massive sloth.”
Arvind’s voice was breathless with excitement. “This is—this is a Maha-Jharukha Sloth. We thought they were extinct!”
Dhruv rubbed his temples. “Of course they’re not extinct. Why would anything be normal in this damn place?”
The colossal beast didn’t even acknowledge them, too focused on pulling another massive chunk of plant matter from the water with its hooked tusks.
Remus, his gaze sharp, murmured, “We are in something’s domain.”
Aisha tightened her grip on her wand. “The real question is—whose?”
Because if this was the wildlife…
What would they find at the heart of the jungle?
The jungle pressed in around them, thick with unseen eyes and quiet breaths. The massive tusked sloth continued its slow, deliberate foraging, unbothered by the wizards in their conjured boats. The merfolk with their jagged grins watched from the roots, while the owl-creatures above hung in eerie silence, crawling from branch to branch.
The weight of the unknown wrapped around the investigation team like a tightening coil.
Then—something moved.
A shape in the mangrove, just beyond their torches’ glow.
Auror Ravi Sharma sucked in a breath, eyes darting toward the shadow. His grip on his wand tightened, the oppressive quiet fraying his nerves.
The figure was small—too small to be a beast.
A child-sized silhouette, half-hidden by the thick mangrove roots.
Then—two emerald-green lights blinked at them.
Eyes.
Glowing, piercing—watching.
Ravi’s nerves snapped.
With a sharp cry, he whipped his wand up and fired.
"Stupefy!"
The spell flashed red—but struck nothing more than a massive insect, splattering it against a tree.
But the child—if it had even been a child—was already moving.
A blur of motion.
It shot up the trees like a wild animal, limbs moving too fast, too fluid, vanishing into the dense canopy above.
Sirius lunged forward, nearly toppling the boat. “Harry?!”
The jungle did not answer.
Only the rustling of disturbed branches remained, fading as the phantom boy disappeared into the darkness.
A heavy silence followed.
Then, Dhruv exhaled sharply, glaring at Ravi. “Brilliant. You just shot a bloody firefly and scared off the first real lead we’ve had.”
Aisha smacked Ravi’s shoulder. “Nice going, idiot.”
Sirius, however, barely heard them. His heart hammered in his chest, his pulse roaring in his ears.
It was him.
He knew it.
Harry was here.
However, the jungle had gone silent once more.
The only sign of the phantom child was the faint rustling of disturbed branches, long since faded into the oppressive weight of the unknown. The massive sloth continued pulling up roots from the black water, utterly unbothered by the near-stun spell. The merfolk still watched from their perches, their black eyes filled with something too knowing. The owls above remained motionless, their clawed wings gripping the branches like twisted, feathery sentinels.
And Auror Dhruv Kashyap officially decided he was done.
He let out a long, slow breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose as his oncoming migraine grew worse.
“Alright,” he said, voice edged with tired finality. “We’re pulling back.”
Sirius whipped around, his expression borderline murderous. “What?! We just—we just saw him! He’s right there!” He pointed at the canopy where the boy had vanished. “You can’t just—”
“Yes, Black,” Dhruv interrupted flatly, “I can.”
Sirius bristled, his temper flaring. “We have to keep moving! We can’t just let him slip away!”
Dhruv turned, leveling him with a firm, unimpressed stare. “Listen to me, Black. We are an investigation team. We are not an exploration team, we are not a retrieval team, and we are definitely not prepared for a jungle filled with bloody cryptids.” He gestured vaguely to the grinning merfolk and the human-sized crawling owls as proof.
Aisha, backing him up, crossed her arms. “Face it—none of us are equipped to handle whatever the hell this place is.” She nodded toward the sloth. “When the elephant-tusked monster is the least weird thing here, that’s when we call it.”
Dhruv folded his arms, fixing Sirius with a pointed look. “We are not prepared for this terrain. If we go in deeper without the right people, we are going to start losing Aurors.”
Sirius clenched his jaw, but Remus placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sirius,” he said quietly, his voice laced with reason, “we need to regroup. We can’t risk rushing in without a plan.”
Sirius’s fists tightened, his frustration palpable—but he knew they were right.
Even if it killed him to admit it.
Dhruv exhaled, already dreading the parchmentwork (the wizarding equivalent of soul-crushing bureaucracy) this was going to bring down on his head. “We’ll report what we found, bring in the right people, and come back properly prepared.”
He glanced at the shadowed canopy one last time, where a boy with glowing emerald eyes had just been watching them.
And for the briefest moment, Dhruv couldn’t shake the feeling—
That they weren’t the ones hunting him.
He had been testing them.
The vast mangrove jungle stretched for miles in all directions, but at its heart stood a single, massive gnarled tree, older than any civilization, its roots stretching deep into the blackened waters and twisting up into the dense canopy.
It was here that Nagini had made her nest.
Her serpentine form, now over fifty-five feet long, lay coiled in the shade of the ancient tree, her dark scales blending seamlessly into the gnarled bark. Her golden eyes, filled with ancient wisdom, flickered open as she sensed her son’s return.
A blur of movement shot through the trees—a figure leaping effortlessly from branch to branch before landing on a thick root with perfect balance.
Harry.
Barefoot, wild, and brimming with life, Harry Potter—her son— grinned as he bounded toward her. His emerald green eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, filled with excitement. His body was lithe and strong, his movements fluid and precise, honed by years of jungle life.
But what caught Nagini’s attention most were the gauntlets resting on his forearms—ancient, weathered artifacts, humming with raw magical power. The air around them shimmered faintly, as if reality itself bent in their presence.
She watched as he flexed his fingers, and with a flick of his wrist, a blade of pure magical energy flared to life from the gauntlet’s edge—a glowing construct of raw power, crackling with intensity before vanishing with another flick.
He landed beside her, barely out of breath, his face alight with excitement.
"Mother!" he hissed in Parseltongue, practically vibrating with energy. "You won’t believe what I saw!"
Nagini uncurled slightly, an amused flicker in her golden eyes. "Oh? Then tell me, little one."
Harry plopped down beside her coils, still grinning. "The humans finally found their way into the deeper jungle! You should have seen their faces when they saw the merfolk smiling at them!"
Nagini chuckled, a soft, melodic hiss. "And this disturbed them?"
Harry nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, terribly! It was the funniest thing! They were completely unnerved by the merfolk’s ‘sharp teeth’ and the way the Mothmen moved!"
Nagini tilted her head. "Mothmen?"
"You know, the great black owls with the red faces—their North American relatives are famous for scaring humans!" Harry stretched out his arms, mimicking the massive wingspan of the creatures. "They crawled through the trees like usual, and the humans nearly lost their minds!"
Nagini let out a low, amused hiss, shaking her head.
"Humans are so fragile," she mused, her tone teasing. "A simple smile unsettles them?"
Harry huffed, crossing his arms. "Clearly, they need to be made of sterner stuff."
Nagini laughed, a slow, rolling sound like the whisper of shifting leaves.
She lowered her great head until it was level with his, pressing the cool tip of her snout against his forehead. "You are truly my son."
Harry beamed. "Of course I am!"
Nagini sighed in contentment, watching as her child stretched out beside her, still buzzing with excitement.
Yes.
He was hers.
And no wizard, Auror, or kingdom of men would ever take him away from her.