Chapter 8
The early morning mist clung to the jungle like a second skin, wrapping around the ancient, gnarled trees and turning the black waters of the mangrove into something otherworldly. The air was thick with humidity, heavy with the scent of damp earth, blooming flowers, and the ever-present hum of magic.
Newt Scamander was positively buzzing with excitement.
He, Tina, Arvind, Rina, and a team of seasoned Aurors were making their first official expedition deeper into the jungle, armed with observation tools, defensive spells, and a very firm promise from Tina that she would personally hex Newt unconscious if he tried to befriend something venomous without backup.
The wildlife was astonishing—bioluminescent beetles the size of a child’s fist scuttled along the bark, their shells glowing like tiny lanterns. The Noctalis Gigantus bats stretched their massive wings in the morning light, preparing to roost after a long night of flight.
Newt was mid-way through discussing the migratory patterns of Nagaraja Crocodilians when—
Something shifted.
The jungle, so alive with sound only moments ago, fell into a tense, unnatural silence.
The Aurors, instantly on edge, raised their wands, scanning the shadows between the trees.
Then—Newt saw her.
Coiled gracefully around the twisted roots of an ancient tree, her dark scales blending seamlessly with the shadows, was the largest snake he had ever seen.
Nagini.
Newt’s breath caught.
He remembered her.
But back then—she had been smaller.
The Nagini he had once met—the Maledictus he had tried to help—had been long, certainly, but not this.
Not fifty-five feet of pure, predatory muscle wrapped effortlessly around a tree as if she were its living guardian.
Her golden eyes, still sharp and knowing, fixed directly on him.
Tina, standing beside him, tensed slightly, one hand hovering near her wand.
Newt, however, took a slow breath and lowered his hands.
"Nagini," he said carefully, voice calm.
The massive serpent tilted her head, the motion eerily human.
Then, in a voice heavy with hissing syllables, she spoke.
"Ssscamander."
Tina inhaled sharply—not because Nagini had spoken, but because her accent had changed.
The once soft-spoken woman now had a voice that dragged like silk over stone, her words stretched by the natural shape of her serpent form.
Newt, ever the naturalist, noted this immediately.
“Your speech patterns have changed,” he murmured, fascinated. “The longer you’ve remained transformed, the more your vocal structure has adapted to a serpent’s natural physiology.”
Nagini’s golden eyes gleamed.
"You ssstill talk too much."
Tina, blinking in mild disbelief, muttered, "Well, that confirms it’s actually her."
Nagini let out a low, hissing chuckle.
The Aurors, still deeply unsettled, kept their wands lowered but ready.
Newt, however, took a small step forward, his voice gentle but firm.
"Nagini," he said carefully. "We're looking for a child."
Nagini's coils shifted, her massive body barely making a sound.
"A child?" she repeated, tone almost amused.
Newt nodded. "Yes. A boy. Seven years old. He was seen in this jungle."
Nagini was silent for a long moment.
Then, slowly—purposefully—she smiled.
"And why," she asked, her voice almost playful, "would I help you find him?"
Nagini moved without sound, her massive coils sliding effortlessly through the tangled roots and darkened foliage of the mangrove. The jungle seemed to part for her, the twisted branches and thick undergrowth shifting subtly as she led the expedition deeper into the unknown.
Newt Scamander followed, his keen eyes absorbing every detail of their surroundings, his notebook floating beside him, furiously scribbling notes on its own.
But his mind was not on the strange flora or the creatures that watched from the shadows.
It was on Nagini herself.
Because something was off.
Newt had spent a lifetime observing magical creatures, studying their habits, their patterns, their unspoken intentions.
And right now—Nagini was stalling.
She was deliberate in her movements, taking paths that wound in slow, spiraling detours, pausing just a second too long to comment on a rare plant or a hidden nesting ground.
To anyone else, it might have seemed natural.
But to Newt, it was the same technique a mother Thunderbird used when leading predators away from her nest.
She was giving something—someone—time to move.
And then—he saw it.
A flicker of motion high above in the dense, dark canopy.
A small shape, barely visible in the shifting shadows.
Two glowing emerald eyes, watching.
Newt did not react.
He did not call out. He did not alert Tina or the Aurors or the eager magizoologists beside him.
Instead, he let Nagini continue.
Let her believe that he hadn’t noticed.
Because whatever game she was playing—he would play it too.
Newt studied Nagini carefully as they walked, noting the way her massive form slithered through the tangled roots, always a step ahead, always guiding.
His instincts screamed at him—she was hiding something.
"So tell me, Nagini," he said conversationally, keeping his voice light, "how long have you lived in this part of the jungle?"
Nagini tilted her head slightly, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of her scaled lips.
"A long time, Magizoologist," she hissed in response, her voice carrying that odd, almost musical accent of the serpent tongue. "Long enough to know when prey walks into a hunter’s den."
Newt hummed thoughtfully, glancing around at the twisted mangrove branches.
"And yet," he mused, "it seems more like a sanctuary than a hunting ground."
Nagini let out a soft, knowing chuckle.
"Perhaps. Or perhaps it depends on who is prey... and who is predator."
The conversation ended abruptly.
The jungle shifted.
A deep, bone-rattling growl echoed through the tangled branches, sending flocks of small, chittering creatures scattering into the air. The Aurors tensed, wands raised, and the magizoologists froze mid-step.
Then—it struck.
A hulking form launched itself from the shadows—a monstrous hybrid of reptile and ape, covered in thick, scarred scales with wild tufts of coarse, dark fur. It landed with an earth-shaking thud, its muscular arms tensed, claws gleaming like obsidian.
Jagged, protruding fangs gleamed in the dim light as it let out a thunderous roar, its powerful tail lashing behind it.
It moved with terrifying speed.
One moment, it was crouched among the roots—the next, it was lunging, claws outstretched, aiming straight for Nagini.
She barely twisted away in time.
The beast's razor-sharp talons raked through the air, slicing deep gouges into the bark of the ancient mangrove behind her.
Nagini struck back.
Her massive coils lashed out, attempting to wrap around its limbs, but the reptilian ape was too strong—it twisted, grabbing her thick, muscled body, and slammed her against the roots with a ground-shaking impact.
The Aurors reacted instantly.
"STUPEFY!"
A barrage of stunning spells slammed into the creature’s hide, but it barely flinched—its thick, armored scales absorbed the magic, the impacts leaving only faint scorch marks.
One of the magizoologists swore.
"It's RESISTANT!"
Newt didn’t hesitate.
“PROTEGO MAXIMA!”
A shimmering barrier flared to life, barely in time to deflect a sweeping claw strike that would have torn through an Auror’s chest.
Nagini, now fully enraged, struck with the force of a primal titan.
Her enormous body coiled around the beast’s limbs, constricting with crushing power, her fangs sinking into its shoulder over and over again—each bite delivering enough venom to kill a dragon.
The beast shrieked in agony, clawing wildly at her, but her unyielding coils tightened further.
Its struggles became weaker.
Then—with a final, shuddering gasp—it went still.
Nagini released her hold, allowing the lifeless husk to slump into the thick roots of the mangrove.
Silence fell over the jungle once more.
Newt slowly lowered his wand, his heart hammering.
Nagini turned her head slightly, eyes gleaming in the darkness, and with a knowing smirk, she simply hissed:
"You were sssssaying, Magizoologisssst?"
Dhruv massaged his temples, staring at Aisha Rao’s latest report as though it personally offended him. His headache—already at a dangerous level—throbbed like a curse wound.
A magically-infused maledictus.
A maledictus who had stolen Harry James Potter from British soil over six years ago.
A maledictus who had raised him in the mangrove.
A maledictus who had been actively killing poachers—with or without the boy’s help—AND COULD STILL USE MAGIC?!
He took a deep breath. Counted to five.
Then slammed his forehead into his desk.
Aisha, sitting across from him, snorted into her tea.
“You alright there, boss?”
“No,” Dhruv muttered into the wood grain. “I am not.”
Aisha, the absolute menace that she was, chuckled as she flipped through her own notes.
“This is the most interesting thing to happen in the Bhopal DMLE in years, Dhruv. Maybe decades.”
Dhruv lifted his head just enough to glare at her.
“Aisha,” he said, voice dangerously calm. “I handle small-time crime. I catch illegal poachers. I do not deal with magically-infused Maledictuses kidnapping the Chosen One and raising him in a magic-drenched mangrove hellscape filled with cryptids.”
Aisha grinned. “Well, you do now.”
Dhruv groaned. He was so tempted to drink himself into oblivion, but he couldn't—not when there was one more problem.
Of course, there was one more problem currently sitting in his office, waiting for him.
A representative from the International Confederation of Wizards.
And, because life hated him, Albus Too-Many-Bloody-Names Dumbledore was here too.
Why couldn’t his days go back to catching small-time criminals and illegal poachers?
Dhruv took a deep breath before stepping into his office, schooling his face into something resembling professionalism.
Seated inside was a severe-looking woman in deep green robes, the ICW representative. She had an air of pragmatic efficiency that Dhruv could respect—unlike the other guest in the room.
Albus Too-Many-Bloody-Names Dumbledore.
The old man twinkled at him. Dhruv fought the urge to hex his spectacles off.
“Ah, Chief Investigator Kashyap,” Dumbledore said with that infuriating grandfatherly tone. “A pleasure.”
“No, it’s not,” Dhruv muttered under his breath before turning to the ICW rep.
“Dhruv Kashyap,” he introduced himself properly, extending a hand. “Chief Investigator, Bhopal DMLE.”
The woman shook it, her grip firm.
“Luiza Duarte,” she said. “ICW Department of Magical Creatures.”
Ah. So that’s why she was here.
Dhruv barely held back a sigh of relief. At least she wasn’t an ICW political officer.
“Let’s get to the point, shall we?” Luiza said briskly, not wasting time. “We have a situation in your jurisdiction regarding a magically-altered Maledictus. She is also—allegedly—raising a magically gifted minor.”
Her sharp brown eyes flicked to Dumbledore, unimpressed. “And Britain is demanding the minor’s return.”
Dhruv leaned back, crossing his arms.
“Let me clarify something,” he said, voice dry. “Britain is demanding we retrieve a child who has lived in the jungle for over six years, raised by an extremely dangerous magical guardian, who has also spent that time actively killing poachers in one of the most magically dense mangroves on the continent.”
Dumbledore twinkled harder.
Luiza just nodded. “Yes.”
Dhruv pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Wonderful.”
And because his life wasn’t already miserable enough, Dumbledore decided to speak again.
“Mr. Potter is the last of the House of Potter, a noble and ancient British family. As his magical guardian—”
“You’re not his guardian,” Dhruv interrupted flatly.
Dumbledore blinked. “Pardon?”
“His magical guardian would be Nagini.”
The temperature in the room dropped.
Dumbledore’s pleasant expression faltered.
Luiza, meanwhile, sat back with a thoughtful hum.
“That is an interesting perspective, Investigator Kashyap.” She steepled her fingers. “You’re saying that, from a magical standpoint, the Maledictus has effectively claimed guardianship over the child?”
“Yes,” Dhruv said bluntly. “And considering she has actively killed to protect him, I highly doubt she will be willing to hand him over.”
Dumbledore’s expression tightened.
“Mr. Potter belongs in Britain,” he said, the pleasant grandfather act slipping.
Luiza turned to him with an arched brow. “And yet, he is not in Britain, is he?”
Dhruv wanted to applaud the ICW rep.
Finally, someone who wasn’t kissing Dumbledore’s arse.
“Investigator Kashyap,” Luiza continued, tapping a finger against her armrest. “I will be staying in Bhopal for the foreseeable future. I would like access to all reports regarding this Maledictus and her territory.”
“Done,” Dhruv agreed immediately.
Dumbledore frowned. “I was under the impression that—”
“This is not a British case,” Luiza interrupted smoothly. “This is an ICW Magical Creature Department case. Your presence here is a courtesy, nothing more.”
Dhruv had never liked Dumbledore.
But now? He actively enjoyed watching the old man get put in his place.
Dumbledore adjusted his robes, clearly displeased, but said nothing.
Luiza stood, extending a hand again.
“I look forward to working with you, Chief Investigator.”
Dhruv shook it, feeling, for the first time in days, a sliver of hope.
“Likewise.”
As the ICW rep left, Dumbledore lingered for a moment. His blue eyes met Dhruv’s, sharp and calculating.
“You do not know what you are dealing with,” the old man said quietly.
Dhruv tilted his head.
“Neither do you.”
With that, he walked out.
Dhruv exhaled.
He had a feeling things were about to get a lot more complicated.
Dhruv hated his life.
Why was he back here?
Oh, right. Because the ICW representative, Luiza Duarte, wanted to see the situation firsthand. And of course, that meant dragging him along.
At least he had Aisha for backup.
As they portkeyed into the camp, Dhruv took in the sight of utter chaos.
Magizoologists buzzed around like bees, excitedly discussing their findings, scribbling down notes, and handling various magical instruments. Dhruv swore he saw one of them collecting bat guano like it was the rarest thing in the world.
And then there was Sirius and Remus.
Both men stood off to the side, hollow-eyed and twitchy, looking like they had stared into the abyss for too long.
Dhruv sighed.
He wasn’t paid enough for this.
“You two look like you’ve been through hell,” Aisha remarked, highly amused.
Sirius twitched. “They. Won’t. Shut. Up.”
“Newt Scamander,” Remus muttered, rubbing his temples. “He’s worse than James.”
Luiza, unimpressed, simply strode past them toward the center of the encampment, where the main event lay.
And there she was.
Nagini.
Draped across the thick, gnarled tree branches, her massive coils looped lazily around the trunk. She looked even larger in the daylight, her dark scales gleaming like polished obsidian, the faint magical shimmer along her form betraying just how dangerous she truly was.
But Dhruv’s eyes were drawn to what lay within those massive coils.
A child.
A small, black-haired, seven-year-old boy, curled up on one of the loops, sleeping peacefully.
Harry James Potter.
Dhruv had dealt with criminals, smugglers, poachers, and dark creatures. But this? This was something entirely different.
And if the way Nagini’s slit-pupiled gaze flicked down to them was any indication, she was very much aware of the power she held in this moment.
Luiza, to her credit, didn’t flinch. She simply tilted her head slightly.
“You are Nagini?” she asked in a level tone.
The Maledictus's massive head lowered slightly, tongue flicking out before she spoke in a heavily accented, hissing English.
“Yesssss. And you are…?”
“Luiza Duarte, International Confederation of Wizards,” Luiza introduced herself, her tone professional. “I oversee the Department of Magical Creatures.”
Nagini’s tongue flicked again, as if tasting the air.
“A handler of beassstsss,” she murmured, amusement curling in her voice. “Not a politiccian.**”
Luiza smirked.
“No. I don’t deal with politics. I deal with facts.”
That seemed to intrigue the Maledictus.
She uncoiled slightly, but not enough to move the sleeping child from her embrace.
“And what do you wisssh to know, handler of beassstsss?”
Dhruv tried not to groan.
This was going to be a long day.
Luiza Duarte was not a woman easily swayed.
Born in Recife, Brazil, she had spent her youth navigating the treacherous waters of magical conservation, cursed bloodlines, and hybrid species disputes. A descendant of Portuguese settlers and indigenous Brazilian shamans, she had an innate talent for understanding magical creatures—and a reputation for being one of the few individuals who could stare down a raging chimaera without blinking.
By the time she was thirty-five, she had already revolutionized ICW policies on magical sentient beings, championing fair rights for beings like merfolk, centaurs, and even werewolves. Now, as the Head of the Department of Magical Creatures, Cursed Individuals, and Crossbreeding Offices (DMCCICO), she wielded authority that extended across multiple nations, ensuring that laws and treaties protected both magical creatures and their human counterparts.
And she did not take kindly to unnecessary political interference.
Which is exactly why she ignored the British Ministry’s outrage over the "Harry Potter situation" and personally came to India. Which was also why she got shafted with Dumbledore, whom she despised heavily before the old man was told off and sent back to Britain. Then she followed up with a quick portkey to his mangrove in this jungle before laying eyes upon the massive snake that was the source of nearly six long years of bureaucracy related issues.
Nagini’s slitted golden eyes observed Luiza with sharp intelligence.
Luiza, in turn, took in the serpentine form before her—not just as a Maledictus but as a being that had adapted entirely to its environment. A true guardian.
"You have raised the child?" Luiza asked plainly.
Nagini’s coils shifted slightly, though she remained relaxed.
"I have protected him," she corrected, her accent thick but words deliberate. “Taught him. Guided him. He is mine as much as I am hissss.”
Luiza’s expression remained neutral.
"By ICW law, any magical sentient being who assumes guardianship of a child must adhere to international regulations,” she stated firmly. “The law extends to beings such as veela, vampires, certain categories of werewolves, and—as of twenty years ago—cursed individuals.”
Nagini’s eyes narrowed slightly, her tongue flicking out.
“And if I refuse?”
Luiza smiled. Not out of amusement, but with the confidence of someone who had prepared for this exact conversation.
“Then you become a criminal in the eyes of the ICW, and I’m sure you don’t want that.” She took a step closer, eyes unwavering. “But let’s be honest, Nagini—you’ve kept him safe. You’ve provided for him. You are not his captor. You are his protector.”
Nagini didn’t respond immediately.
But she also didn’t deny it.
Finally, after a long silence, she gave the smallest nod.
Luiza exhaled and turned to face the group of exhausted and emotionally frazzled wizards behind her.
Sirius, Remus, Dhruv, Aisha, Newt, and Tina all looked at her expectantly, waiting for her decision.
“As per the ICW's guidelines,” Luiza announced, authority ringing in her voice, “Nagini, as the current undisputed guardian of Harry James Potter, is legally allowed to keep him under her care within the boundaries of this jungle. Provided she follows the regulations set in place for magical natives of India and allows for periodic check-ins by ICW representatives.”
A heavy silence followed.
Then—
"Are you joking?!"
All heads snapped to Dhruv, whose eye twitched violently.
"You're telling me," he began, his voice filled with the despair of a man who just realized he will never know peace, "that the ICW—the International Confederation of Wizards—is allowing a Maledictus to raise the Boy-Who-Lived in a mangrove jungle full of cryptids and apex predators?"
Luiza simply shrugged.
"Yes."
Dhruv groaned so hard it was almost a scream.
He needed alcohol.
Immediately.