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Under the sunlight, the beach gleamed with a striking golden hue, as if it were paved with fine gold dust, lending the island in the middle of the ocean an air of majesty. However, scattered bits of trash at the border between the sand and the thicket of trees marred the otherwise idyllic scene.
"Clean up," Harry commanded.
With a quick wave of his wand, the magical incantation acted like an eraser wiping away chalk dust. In the blink of an eye, all the unsightly debris vanished. Nobody knew where household cleaning spells like Scourgify or Hurricane Sweep actually sent unwanted items, but there was no doubt that magic was exceptionally convenient.
As a traveler with an imaginative mind, Harry had long been curious about the more mysterious properties of such spells. But that was a matter for another time.
Once the landing area was cleared, the group set foot on solid ground. Despite their week-long ocean voyage not being especially grueling, feeling solid earth beneath their feet gave them a reassuring sense of stability.
"Welcome to Paradise Island. For the next month, we will live, train, and grow stronger here."
"Oh, and I forgot to mention," Harry continued, "Paradise Island is a magical hotspot, not unlike the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, and it's about the same size. According to studies conducted by wizards half a century ago, around fifteen species of magical creatures inhabit this island. Among them, we need to be particularly cautious of the XXXXX-class danger known as the Mud Morph Slime and—"
"Slime?"
A few puzzled faces turned toward Harry. The young wizards at Hogwarts were somewhat familiar with these jelly-like creatures, or at least the non-threatening kind. In both Care of Magical Creatures and Herbology classes, they occasionally encountered tiny, mischievous slime balls that would sneak into compost piles. Harmless, if mildly annoying, they hardly seemed worthy of a dangerous classification.
Even a four- or five-year-old Muggle child could crush one with a stomp. Outside of high-magic areas, slimes disintegrate into mere puddles of water, so Muggles rarely spot them.
"Yes, you heard correctly."
Harry nodded. "Although Paradise Island is a magical hotspot, its ambient magic fluctuates in a tidal pattern. By day, it resembles any ordinary area, but at night, with the magic surging, it transforms into a high-magic zone. Many of this island's creatures are nocturnal."
"In the evenings, we must brace for enthusiastic visits from these inhabitants. Aside from Mud Morph Slimes, we also need to watch out for the notorious night-ruling creatures known as Shade Stalkers, which you will formally study in your fifth year: the Quintaped."
The group fell silent. Both younger and older students had heard at least rumors of the Quintaped. In magical lore, each number from zero to nine, except for seven, is represented by an animal. The number five is symbolized by the Quintaped, a creature with five legs.
These creatures are deeply sinister, covered in dense, reddish-brown fur, with deformed feet at the end of each leg. They are deadly carnivores with a peculiar taste for human flesh, particularly wizard flesh. Off the northernmost coast of Scotland lies Drear Island, known as a haven for Quintapeds. As such, the island is restricted, unmarked on any map.
There are a few Quintapeds in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts, too. However, since Hagrid has broken all five of their legs on multiple occasions and tossed them back into their territory, they've kept to themselves, never daring to stray from their domain.
But this is not the Forbidden Forest, and Hagrid isn't here.
The Quintapeds are not only adept at moving invisibly through shadows; these tough-skinned creatures also possess an alarming resistance to magic. And what's a wizard's greatest threat? An assassin. Quintapeds are like heavily armored, stealthy assassins, able to rush in silently despite their bulky form.
With dragons or giants, even if a wizard can't win, they usually have a fair chance of escaping. But when facing a Quintaped, the moment you see it is typically the moment you've lost. More often than not, a Quintaped will strike before a wizard even catches a glimpse, impaling them with its bizarre, hooked, spiny claws.
"But don't worry about the Quintapeds. I'll take care of those," Harry assured them. "This is, after all, advanced material—not quite what I had in mind for your survival training. I didn't bring you here just to get you all killed. The slimes, on the other hand, those you can handle."
"Actually, Quintapeds aren't so terrifying," he added. "Their meat is surprisingly good—firm, springy, and perfect for a stew. Their magical cores are a semi-gelatinous substance that works wonderfully in potions. In fact, the magic-boosting potion you'll drink this month is brewed from Quintaped essence. I've taken down sixteen of them with Hagrid's help in the Forbidden Forest, leaving just one male and three females to breed. Sustainability is key in these ventures, after all! I've even considered visiting Drear Island for supplies; after all, Quintapeds aren't on the Ministry's list of protected species."
Listening to Harry's casual tone, the group couldn't help but feel a chill despite the humor. Harry seemed to operate on an entirely different level from them. Talking about Quintapeds in the Forbidden Forest as if it were some tame backyard?
Their spirits lifted as they realized they wouldn't be dealing with Quintaped attacks at night. And as for slimes—what was there to worry about?
"Captain," Cho Chang raised her hand thoughtfully. "Is there something unusual about these Mud Morph Slimes? You said they're a XXXXX-class danger—on par with Quintapeds. Are you sure they're slimes and not some kind of... dark morph?"
"No mistake there," Harry replied. "About fifty years ago, Professor Grindelwald initially considered setting up his Pureblood faction headquarters here. Magical hotspots aren't easy to find, and remoteness isn't an issue for wizards, but maintaining magic reserves is.
"However, after investigating thoroughly, he abandoned the idea. It wasn't the magical tides or dangerous creatures that deterred him, but rather the remnants of something unclean left behind by an event two centuries ago.
"While the magical forces of this island destroyed the portal to the Abyss, the Abyss itself left a mark here. The cultists opened that portal using a grotesque sacrificial ritual, extracting raw emotions like agony and despair from their victims to fuel the magic. When the Abyssal gateway shattered, a corrupted surge of dark energy spilled over the land, tainting it.
"Grindelwald called them 'Mud Morph Slimes' as a casual term, but they have been heavily mutated over the centuries. They lost their harmless, gooey nature and became dark, dangerous creatures."
"In simple terms, this place is cursed. Prolonged exposure here intensifies emotions—from irritation to hysteria, eventually leading to terrifying hallucinations. That's why wizards gave up on this island. Two centuries later, it remains abandoned."
"Beneath this beautiful Paradise Island lies a demon kept in check."
(End of Chapter)