The Warlock's Hairy Heart

"Don't struggle. Shh. It'll be quick."

In the dim temple, Nelson's voice echoed, creating a faint horror-story atmosphere. All four sides of the temple had been enclosed with thick wool felt, not allowing even a sliver of light to enter. The High Priestess had announced to the outside world that this was a ritual to seek an oracle from Apollo and dispel the gloom.

Most of the city-state's residents accepted that explanation. When the Dementors drew near, the majority of the Muggles had already lost consciousness. During the Dragon's dive, the few who remained awake also blacked out from fear. When they woke, all they saw were ruins ravaged by natural disaster and the dark clouds gradually receding amid the temple's ritual. The Wizards who had witnessed everything naturally would not expose the crisis that had just occurred. Even when Nelson swaggered over from the distant street and, right in front of them, collected the Dragon blood spilled on the ground and the raven feathers the warlock had left behind, they merely stood aside and watched coldly.

Nelson's gaze never met any of theirs in the slightest. In his eyes, they were worse than the Muggles who had lost consciousness under the Dementors' pressure. When Herpo the Foul's minions came to demand answers, they had kept silent and not revealed Nelson's existence; when Nelson came to clean up the aftermath, they kept silent again. They were simply drifting with the current and hedging their bets.

After gathering everything the warlock had left here, he pinched the Small Silver Ball that had just captured the Dementor and Apparated into the Temple of Apollo. After briefly obtaining Pythia's consent, he began setting up a suitable environment.

The only source of light inside the temple shone in through a hole Nelson had crudely