In that split second of life and death—
Something awakened.
[You have combined hand-seal casting with the fundamental elements of spellcraft, discovering a method to cast simple magic through gestures.]
[From the Fire-Making Spell, you have learned the Igni Sign.]
[From the Shield Charm, you have learned the Quen Sign.]
[From the Impediment Jinx, you have learned the Yrden Sign.]
[From the Knockback Jinx, you have learned the Aard Sign.]
[From the Suggestion Spell, you have learned the Axii Sign.]
Lewis's eyes lit up.
Witcher Signs?!
These were excellent spells.
Simple. Fast. No incantation needed.
Technically low-tier—
But their power depended entirely on the magic poured into them.
Perfect for emergencies.
Perfect for close combat.
Perfect for someone who fought like a battle mage.
And right now—
Perfect for survival.
The wolf knew nothing of this.
It only saw prey—
Moments ago helpless—
Now raising a hand.
Lewis thrust his palm forward.
No chant.
No wand.
A surge of invisible force erupted.
Aard.
The wolf was blasted backward mid-lunge, crashing violently to the ground.
Before it could recover—
Tonks struck.
"Diffindo!"
Her voice burned with fury.
She didn't hold back.
The spell tore through the charred wolf—
Ripping it apart completely.
The crisis ended in an instant.
But then—
Something strange happened.
Before their eyes—
The wolf's shattered body shifted—
Twisted—
And transformed.
Back into a human corpse.
"That's… Pickle Curtis!"
Tonks gasped.
Lewis turned—
And sure enough, the spot where Pickle's body had been—
Was empty.
"…An Animagus."
Tonks exhaled slowly.
"He fooled everyone all these years…"
Lewis frowned slightly.
Even now—
That had been dangerously close.
He hadn't expected this.
Even on the brink of death—
Pickle had one last trick.
Transformation magic inherently carried restorative effects.
Just like transfiguring a broken chair into a table—
The result appeared whole.
Animagus transformation worked similarly.
Even if gravely injured—
The transformed state could partially recover function.
Though severe injuries—burns, missing limbs—
Still carried over.
That was why the wolf could still fight.
And Lewis—
Had assumed disarming him meant victory.
He hadn't accounted for this tiny possibility.
A mistake.
A dangerous one.
He engraved it into memory:
Never assume victory until the enemy is completely incapable of resisting.
From there—
Everything became simple.
The remaining poachers were bound, disarmed, and memory-wiped by Tonks.
Lewis approached Pickle's corpse.
From his chest—
He retrieved a bone pendant.
At its center—
A griffin's beak.
Target acquired.
Everything else—the dragonhide pouch, the damaged cloak—
He left behind.
The credit would go to Tonks.
He had no interest in attention.
They split the spoils.
Lewis walked away with around eight hundred Galleons—
And a magically expanded suitcase large enough to fit an entire room.
A proper poacher's tool.
Then—
He turned to the final objective.
The door.
Tonks crossed her arms, studying it.
"You're still going for it?"
"They couldn't open it after hours. You think you can?"
Lewis smiled slightly.
"Doesn't hurt to try."
He didn't mind either way.
He had already achieved his goals.
This—
Was just a bonus.
But after examining it—
His eyes sharpened.
This door…
Was flawed.
All its magic—
Was on the surface.
The internal mechanism—
Completely unprotected.
If the outer spells were solved, the mechanism would activate.
But what if—
You skipped the spells entirely?
What if—
You triggered the mechanism directly?
Lewis smirked.
Modern unlocking spells wouldn't work.
They relied on magical interference.
But he didn't need magic.
He had something else.
Psionics.
Magic could be blocked.
His mind—
Could not.
He stepped forward, placing a hand against the door.
Closing his eyes—
He extended his consciousness inward.
Feeling.
Searching.
Exploring the unseen machinery.
Minute by minute—
Trial and error.
Thirty minutes passed.
Then—
Click.
A faint sound echoed.
Mechanisms shifted.
Gears turned.
And slowly—
With a deep rumble—
The massive door opened.
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