The night in the Scottish Highlands was still cold.
Will stood on a desolate hill in a black robe, looking down over the valley. A Muggle village lay beyond it.
From here, he could see at least ten Auror Squads on patrol, each with three or four members spread out in a fan. Light shone from the tips of many of their wands.
Most conspicuous of all was the man who looked like an old lion: Scrimgeour, head of the Auror Office. Unlike most officials, he did not just give orders. He was out on the front line with his people.
Just as Dumbledore had said, Scrimgeour was serious. He had deployed a large force, brought in specialist trackers, and set up a perimeter. Through Will's Sight, a magical barrier invisible to ordinary Wizards stretched along the edge of the valley.
Will drew a deep breath of cold air. Felix Felicis flowed through him, and he could sense the best moment to act, the best route, even the best angle from which to cast.
It was not a glimpse of the future. His heightened senses gave him a deeper, intuitive understanding of his surroundings. He could assess a situation quickly and respond.
The "luck" Felix Felicis granted was really an enhancement on every front, though its effect on physical strength was limited.
Remembering that Dumbledore had told him to "show his power," Will raised his wand. He said nothing, merely giving it a light flick.
"Oppugno."
It was not an attack on the Aurors below. It was an announcement of Will's arrival.
Hundreds upon hundreds of magical birds poured from his wand and formed a black cloud in the night sky, shrieking piercingly. They attacked no one. They only wheeled and dived and made noise, all to announce that he