Damian stepped out of the swirling green flames, transporting from the Headmaster's Office directly to the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron.
"Hey there, Black! Merry Christmas!" Old Tom called out. He was wiping down a glass behind the battered wooden bar, and upon seeing Damian, he gave a friendly wave.
Damian smiled politely in response. "Merry Christmas, Tom."
Old Tom looked Damian up and down with genuine surprise. "Are you fully healed already? I saw the article in the newspaper. Everyone in the pub has been talking about it for days."
Damian nodded easily. "I'm perfectly fine now. Thanks to Professor Snape and Madam Pomfrey, my injuries healed very quickly."
"I must say—what the Daily Prophet printed must be pure slander!" Old Tom leaned over the bar, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I noticed the author was Rita Skeeter. That woman's writing has, at most, five percent credibility!"
Damian agreed deeply. "Indeed. The professors did not oppress or threaten Perkin McNeill. Rita Skeeter interviewed me personally, and her article doesn't match what I said in the slightest."
Old Tom shook his bald head. "Looks like Dumbledore has some serious trouble ahead. Want a drink on the house?"
Damian shook his head. "Next time, Tom. I need to hurry home. It's Christmas Eve tonight, after all."
However, after stepping out of the Leaky Cauldron and into the bustling Muggle streets of London, Damian did not head directly to his aunt's house.
He intended to deliver a very specific "Christmas gift" first. Tomorrow was Christmas, and a proper gift could not be late; that would simply be impolite.
Finding a deserted, shadowed alleyway, Damian closed his eyes and reached out with his magical senses, pinpointing the faint, distant tug of the Raven's Eye mark.
He reached into his magically expanded pouch and pulled out a handful of mundane objects. Creating a Portkey was actually quite easy; once a wizard mastered the complex charm, they could turn almost anything into a teleportation device.
However, just like the Undetectable Extension Charm , creating a Portkey without explicit authorization and registration from the Ministry of Magic was highly illegal.
Fortunately, Damian's magically expanded pocket happened to hold quite a few illegal, unregistered Portkeys. He had painstakingly created a network of them covering most parts of Europe.
Damian selected a small, folded umbrella patterned with a bright red-and-white Union Jack. To avoid confusion, he designed his personal Portkeys using flag patterns to distinguish their destination countries, often painting a rough map coordinate on the handles.
He gripped the umbrella tightly and channeled his magic. Space twisted violently around him, hooking him behind the navel, and Damian vanished from the London alley instantly.
He reappeared on the easternmost coastline of Britain, stumbling slightly as his boots hit the rocky shore.
After steadying himself from the jarring discomfort of the Portkey travel, he closed his eyes again, sensing the direction of the Raven's Eye. When the marked target was too far away, the spell couldn't lock onto exact coordinates, only provide a general compass heading.
Therefore, Damian needed to execute a series of Portkey jumps to triangulate the exact location.
"Gone out to sea?" Damian murmured to himself, staring out at the churning, grey waters. "They moved quite fast."
He swapped the Union Jack umbrella for one patterned with the red, white, and blue stripes of the Netherlands, and activated it.
After three more consecutive jumps, Damian arrived on a desolate, rocky outcropping in the Bay of Heligoland.
The magical tether was incredibly strong now. He could sense the specific, pinpoint location of the Raven's Eye mark just offshore.
"The weather isn't very good," Damian noted, looking up at the sky. "But I suppose a storm is the perfect backdrop for delivering a gift."
Thick, black clouds choked the sky above the churning ocean. A violent winter storm was mere minutes away from sweeping across the bay.
Out in the treacherous waters of the Heligoland Bight, a ship entirely invisible to Muggle eyes was cutting quickly through the waves.
The vessel looked somewhat like a grand, wooden galleon from the Age of Discovery, but there wasn't a single sailor visible on its polished decks. It was clearly a highly advanced alchemical product of wizarding design.
There were only two people sitting inside the luxurious captain's cabin: Perkin McNeill and his father, Argus McNeill.
Argus McNeill looked incredibly rigid and severe. His dark hair was slicked back neatly, and he sported a pair of thick, perfectly curled handlebar mustaches.
The father and son were currently dining in tense silence.
Argus unhurriedly cut a piece of rare steak. "Perkin, I sincerely hope that once you arrive at Durmstrang, you will not cause me any more political headaches."
"I understand, Father," Perkin muttered, staring dejectedly at his plate. He felt a burning sense of humiliation. Leaving Hogwarts in such a disgraced, cowardly manner gnawed at his pure-blood pride.
Argus chewed his steak slowly, swallowing before he spoke again. "Perkin, it seems you still don't understand where you actually went wrong this time."
Argus glanced up, taking in his son's sullen, puzzled expression. "You act too crudely. I am very worried about your future."
"Before you act against an enemy, you must calculate the consequences. You must analyze the circumstances under which you can strike, and the circumstances under which you absolutely cannot."
"Take this fiasco, for example," Argus lectured coldly. "Did it never cross your mind that if the boy's broom malfunctioned, you—his direct rival—would instantly become the prime suspect?"
"Perkin, you must remember the fundamental rule of our kind: when you want to permanently remove someone, you must first ensure your own hands appear perfectly clean."
Argus took a sip of dark red wine. "Fortunately, you aren't entirely stupid. You didn't leave any physical evidence behind for those Hogwarts fools to find."
Perkin nodded slowly, his face flushed with shame. "I understand, Father. I'll be smarter next time."
Argus glanced out the cabin's reinforced glass window at the darkening sky. "A storm is coming. But this vessel is swift; we should be well out of the storm's path before it truly hits."
Suddenly, a third voice casually rang out in the private dining room.
"Gentlemen, I sincerely hope I haven't interrupted your meal."
Both father and son jolted in their seats. The seasoned Argus McNeill reacted instantly, his hand darting toward the wand strapped to his waist.
However, his fingers never reached the wood. He found his arms completely paralyzed, pinned to his sides by an immense, invisible force.
"B-Black!" Perkin stammered, his face draining of all color as he stared at the boy materializing from the shadows. "Father, I can't move my arms!"
Panic flaring in his eyes, Argus immediately shouted for his servant. "Karl!"
Karl was the McNeill family's bound House-elf; the creature had prepared the very dinner they were eating and was supposed to be on standby.
Argus deeply regretted his desire for privacy. Why hadn't he ordered Karl to remain in the dining room during the meal?
"Are you looking for him?" Damian asked politely, stepping fully into the lamplight. "I just happened to run into him down in the galley."
With a sickening thud, the lifeless corpse of a House-elf dropped from the ceiling, landing directly in the center of the dining table, right between Argus and Perkin's half-eaten steaks.
Damian stood calmly near the doorway. After intercepting the magical sailing ship, he had sensed three distinct magical signatures on board. He had quietly slipped into the kitchen first to permanently silence the McNeill family's House-elf.
After efficiently dealing with the creature, Damian maintained his Disillusionment Charm and slipped into the dining room, listening to the father's hypocritical lecture for a short while before finally revealing himself.
Even though the cabin was drafty and cold, thick beads of sweat began dripping down Argus McNeill's forehead.
He forced himself to remain calm, adopting the smooth tone of a politician. "Mr. Black. I think... I think there has been a terrible misunderstanding between us. Please, speak up. If there is anything you require, the McNeill family will certainly satisfy your demands."
Damian smiled slightly, his eyes cold and dead. "Mr. McNeill, you are far too serious. There is indeed a minor misunderstanding between Perkin and myself. But I think this misunderstanding is actually very easy to resolve."
Argus breathed a silent sigh of relief. As long as the boy wanted something—money, artifacts, political favors—they could negotiate. All Argus needed to do was stabilize the madman until the ship docked. Once they were ashore, he could easily contact his brother Walton and have a squad of Aurors take the boy down.
Argus forced an ugly, accommodating smile. "Please, speak your terms, sir. Although the McNeill family's heritage may not be as ancient as the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, we still possess considerable wealth and foundation. I am certain you will be satisfied with our compensation."
Damian tilted his head, his voice gentle and completely devoid of malice. "My request is incredibly easy to satisfy, Mr. McNeill. You see, Karl was clearly a very loyal House-elf. I'm afraid he might be terribly lonely in the afterlife."
Damian raised his wand, pointing it directly at Argus's chest.
"I simply hope he has some company on the road."
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