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Dumbledore fell silent.
He looked at the student before him, who wore an expression that suggested he was just an ordinary student who liked "small animals," and he was reminded of Newt Scamander.
Was he a long-lost descendant of the Scamander family? This absurd thought even flashed through Dumbledore's mind.
After an intense mental struggle—weighing the feasibility and danger of housing a thousand-year-old Basilisk at Hogwarts, as well as the potential burden it might place on Lynn—Dumbledore finally sighed.
Dragons were being raised legally, and horses were probably legal too; one more retired Basilisk... it didn't seem entirely out of the question. The key lay in assessment and control.
"I will contact Mr. Newt Scamander," Dumbledore said. "He is the most authoritative expert in this field. I'll ask him to assess the Basilisk's specific condition and the possibility of relocation."
"If conditions allow, and Mr. Scamander deems your... ahem, 'breeding environment' suitable, we can discuss it further."
"But for now, for safety's sake, let it remain here temporarily. I will strengthen the protection and concealment of this area."
Lynn nodded obediently, his heart filled with wild joy.
Invite Newt? That would be wonderful!
That old gentleman was full of love for magical creatures, and Lynn himself had enough resources to raise the Basilisk. The possibility of convincing him to agree to the Basilisk's "retirement and relocation" was very high.
This way, there was still hope for completing the system mission.
Dumbledore walked over to Cassius Carrow's body once more.
He sighed again, this time with more complex emotions: regret for a young life lost despite having taken the wrong path, and consideration for how to explain this to his family.
You might ask why not explain it to his parents?
Well, why do you think Edgar said Carrow had a mother to give birth to him but none to raise him?
Because Cassius Caro's parents were fanatical Death Eaters who had been arrested years ago and had already passed away in the cells of Azkaban.
The Carrow family still had other branch members; they might not be as extreme as Death Eaters, but they similarly valued the reputation and interests of pure-bloods.
Explaining that a scion of the family died at Hogwarts—from a Dark Arts backlash or a mysterious incident—while also involving top-secret information like Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes... it was undoubtedly a headache-inducing problem.
These matters were becoming more troublesome by the day; perhaps it was time to consider retiring and letting Minerva take over as Principal...
Meanwhile, at the Romanian Dragon Sanctuary, High-Risk Isolation Zone.
The air was scorching—a mixture of sulfur, scorched earth, and the distinct gamey scent of dragons.
Deep claw prints were pressed into the ground, while rocks turned to glass by heat and giant bones were scattered around.
Here, even the most experienced dragon tamer had to be fully focused, proceeding with caution at every step.
At this moment, Newt Scamander was fully geared up, cautiously approaching a massive creature that was breathing heavily in the center of the isolation zone.
It was a Hungarian Horntail, renowned for its ferocity.
However, at this moment, this dragon—which should have been majestic—appeared listless.
Its thick scales were covered in pustules, some of which had already burst, oozing a foul-smelling mucus.
With every breath, black slime—accompanied by sparks and billowing smoke—erupted from its nostrils.
Typical symptoms of Dragon Pox, an extremely painful and often fatal infectious disease for dragons.
The dragon healers in the sanctuary had tried various methods with little success. One healer had even nearly been burned by this Hungarian Horntail, whose temper was even more volatile due to the pain. This led to the emergency contact of Newt Scamander in Britain.
Newt whispered to the sanctuary assistant who followed not far behind, holding a Sedative Sprayer:
"It's in a lot of pain... but its consciousness is still somewhat clear. We must be very, very gentle. Dragon Pox makes their nerves exceptionally sensitive and irritable."
Newt waved his wand, and a specially made long-handled scoop—the size of a bathtub and crafted from anti-magic metal—silently approached the Horntail's nostrils.
The scoop's opening adjusted its angle, attempting to collect a small sample of the lesion without disturbing the dragon, in order to more accurately analyze and formulate a specific potion.
The distance closed bit by bit.
Newt's breathing became shallow, fine beads of sweat broke out on his forehead, and the hearts of all the surrounding staff were in their throats.
The edge of the scoop was almost touching the nostril...
Beep~ Beep~ Beep~
A loud ringing suddenly erupted from an inner pocket of Newt's coat!
Newt's face turned pale instantly.
The drowsy Hungarian Horntail's massive body jolted violently, and its tightly closed eyes snapped open! It instantly locked onto the source of the sound—Newt Scamander.
"Calm down... easy, big fellow... stay calm... it's just a... small accident..." Newt raised his empty left hand, trying to soothe it, while his body began to move slowly toward the rear side.
BOOM!!!
A blast of blazing fire erupted from the Hungarian Horntail's mouth, surging straight toward Newt's position!
Wherever the flames passed, the air distorted, and the rocks on the ground were melted directly into a flow of crimson lava!
"Protego! Protego Totalum!"
...For the next half hour, the entire High-Risk Isolation Zone fell into a state of "mild" chaos—at least by the standards of a dragon sanctuary.
More staff and dragon tamers were summoned, using large-scale sedative charms, Freezing Charms, sound interference magic, and feeding a large amount of meat chunks laced with potent sleeping ingredients, before finally managing to barely calm the sick dragon that had completely gone berserk because of a phone call.
Newt crawled out from behind the cover, still shaken. He patted the dust and charred grass off himself and looked heartbrokenly at the puddle of molten iron—that scoop was very expensive!
He had completed the sample collection and examination.
"Typical 'mutant' Dragon Pox, accompanied by a severe secondary respiratory infection and magical congestion."
Newt quickly analyzed the sample while pulling various jars and bottles from his suitcase.
St. John's Wort extract... diluted phoenix tears... Frost Giant's Breath Powder... Scarab Shell Powder and Moonlight Grass Juice...
Newt's technique for mixing potions on the spot was masterful. Soon, a bucket of thick medicinal liquid was injected into several specially made meat "capsules."
With the coordination of the dragon tamers, these "medicinal meats" were carefully fed to the Horntail.
The effect was immediate.
Not long after taking the potion, the black smoke in the Hungarian Horntail's breath noticeably thinned, and the pustules began to revert to normal scales.
The sanctuary supervisor breathed a huge sigh of relief, shaking Newt's hand repeatedly in thanks, promising to pay a generous fee and reimburse him for the melted giant scoop.
After finishing all this, Newt finally had a moment to wipe his sweat and remember the phone call that had triggered a minor crisis.
Newt walked to a relatively safe observation area and pulled his mobile phone from his inner coat pocket.
The screen lit up, showing a missed call notification. The name of the contact made Newt's brow twitch:
Albus Dumbledore
He stared at the name, silent for two seconds.
Newt: Why do I suddenly have a bad feeling about this?