The Scottish Highlands felt little Christmas cheer. They had been sparsely populated since ancient times.
Will took the form of a Phoenix and looked at Hogwarts from afar before flying away. Going to the school now would do him no good. Since he could not make any long-term jumps through time, he wanted to study magic.
Settling alone somewhere deep in the mountains and forests seemed like a good choice.
The silver Phoenix flew over the peaks and happened upon a burning village. Curious, Will descended—
Will swooped down from the sky, his silver wings tinted blood-red by the flames. He landed in an old Oak Tree at the village's edge, and his form rippled like water before vanishing.
The village was small, with only a few dozen thatched cottages. More than half were already on fire. Their roofs burned like torches, crackling as sparks rose with the thick smoke into the night sky like a swarm of panicked fireflies.
The air reeked of char and blood, and of something else burning—something unspeakably sickening.
"Get her! That woman's a witch!"
"Don't let her escape!"
"Her son too! The devil's spawn!"
Rough shouts came from the center of the village.
Will looked toward the voices. Snowflakes fell on the earth and were immediately soaked with blood. A few chickens darted wildly through the firelight, while a pig abandoned in its pen squealed in terror.
In the open space at the village center, several men in battered chain mail were busy.
Their armor was mottled with rust, some pieces even tied on with hemp rope. Their helmets sat crooked. They looked less like knights than serfs hastily rounded up from some impoverished noble's estate.
But their swords were real, sharp enough to slit throats, and droplets of blood clung to the