0449 Outside

Words : 1791 Updated : Oct 30th, 2025

Chapter 449 of "Harry Potter: The Golden Viper" opens with: 0449 Outside In the garden outside the tent, on either side of the rough wooden dining... See what unfolds next!

0449 Outside In the garden outside the tent, on either side of the rough wooden dining table, Ron paced back and forth like a caged animal. His long legs carried him in rapid, restless strides as he gnashed his teeth and cursed the nameless, faceless thief who had taken his money in increasingly colorful terms that would have made even Fred and George blush. Harry stood frozen as if hit by a particularly powerful Petrification Charm, as he desperately scoured through his memories, trying to reconstruct the chaotic events of the evening and pinpoint where he might have dropped his precious wand. Hermione looked anxiously at both boys, unsure of whom to comfort first. "I remember now!" Suddenly, Harry's eyes lit up with a spark of hope. He twirled to face Hermione, his voice rising with excitement as he exclaimed, "I still had my wand in the Top Box. I used it to fight that wizard in the black cloak, remember? But then... I got hit by that eerie whip!" Harry rolled up the sleeve of his jumper, revealing his right arm. The skin was now smooth and uninjured, thanks to Cliodna's powerful healing magic, but Harry could still feel the pain of the lash. "That whip – it hurt so much, like being branded with white-hot iron. I couldn't hold onto my wand at all. It just flew out of my hand and then... then it fell into a pile of rubble!" "Didn't you pick it up before we escaped, Harry?" Hermione stared at Harry, her expression a blend of disbelief and exasperation, clearly incredulous at his carelessness. "I meant to!" Harry's frustration boiled over, and he pounded his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle. His voice rose to a shout, tinged with indignation and frustration, "But then that first dark witch nearly killed Sirius. And then that other witch, the one called Cliodna, appeared out of nowhere like some avenging angel. Before I knew it, Professor Watson was dueling her, spells flying everywhere, Finally, Sirius and Mr. Weasley were rushing us to escape from the box, pushing us ahead of them. Hermione, be honest – you would have forgotten too! There was so much happening, so fast..." That was true enough, and Hermione's expression softened as she considered Harry's words. The events of tonight had been one shocking, terrifying incident after another, with rapid attacks and narrow escapes. Under those chaotic circumstances, Harry forgetting to pick up his wand wasn't entirely incomprehensible, even if it was still a serious oversight. "I need to go find my wand, or how am I supposed to attend classes next term!" After a few seconds of regret and self-pity, Harry suddenly straightened up, a look of determination settling over his features. He turned to Hermione; his voice filled with resolve. "Now?" Hermione's brow furrowed once more, deep lines etching themselves across her forehead. Her tone was full of disapproval, tinged with fear for her friend's safety. She didn't bother to hide her thoughts, her words tumbling out in a rush of concern, "Running out there now isn't a wise decision, Harry. You saw it yourself when we came back – there were panicked wizards everywhere outside, running around like headless chickens. The Ministry is searching all over the place; they think there might be injured culprits who couldn't get away still hiding here, waiting for a chance to escape or cause more havoc. I bet if people hadn't seen Professor Watson enter this tent, the Ministry would definitely come barging in to search. You understand what I mean, don't you, Harry? It could be incredibly dangerous!" "We should go!" The frantic Ron, who had been pacing and muttering to himself, suddenly quieted down. He turned to face his friends, his eyes bloodshot and terrifying in their intensity. A vein pulsed visibly at his temple as he spoke, his voice low and determined, "I want to check the forest. That despicable thief must have taken advantage of us while we were distracted by Professor Watson's duel! They're probably still out there, counting our gold and laughing at us!" Hermione pressed her lips together tightly, looking at Ron with disappointment shining in her amber eyes. She could see the recklessness born of desperation in both of her friends, and it worried her deeply. With both Harry and Ron insistent on going, Hermione knew she couldn't stop the two boys. Their stubborn Gryffindor courage – or foolhardiness, as she sometimes thought of it – was in full force. Still, she grabbed onto Harry and Ron's sleeves, her fingers clutching the fabric tightly as she made one last attempt at reason, Even Ron, whose mind had been fully occupied with thoughts of his lost galleons, was frightened enough by this close call to momentarily forget his anger. He unconsciously let out a long, shaky breath, only to have his ribs sharply jabbed by Hermione's elbow. After this nerve-wracking incident, the three moved forward with even more caution than before. Their progress was painfully slow, each step carefully considered to avoid snapping twigs or rustling leaves. The invisibility cloak, while effective at concealing them from sight, did nothing to muffle sounds. They had to rely on their own stealth and the ambient noises of the forest to mask their movements. They had spent about twenty agonizing minutes creeping through the underbrush but had moved no more than two hundred feet when, on a small hill bathed in eerie moonlight filtering through the canopy, Harry saw several wizards wearing dark green robes. The cross of bone and wand embroidered on their backs gleamed silver in the dim light. These distinctively dressed wizards were gathered around a figure lying flat on the mossy ground, barely clinging to life. Some were waving their wands in intricate patterns, showering the area with a soft, pulsating light. Others were carefully administering potions to the injured wizard, muttering incantations under their breath as they worked. All in all, three or four people were bustling about busily. "Those are—" Harry began to ask in a whisper, his curiosity momentarily overriding his caution. "Healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Ron's voice was urgent, tinged with a mix of awe and uneasiness. Growing up in a wizarding family, he was all too familiar with the sight of these magical medical professionals. Ugh— At that moment, the Healer with his back to them suddenly stood up, revealing the full extent of the injured person's condition to the three hidden observers. After just one horrified glance, Harry felt his whole body break out in goosebumps. Beside him, Hermione was not so lucky in controlling her physical reaction. She crouched down, one hand pressed against her mouth in a futile attempt to hold back the tide of nausea. Unable to contain herself, she vomited on the spot. Harry and Ron also felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over their heads. They inhaled sharply, shuddering, and hurriedly averted their gaze. But the brief glimpse they had caught was now etched indelibly in their minds. ******The following section contains graphic descriptions of violence and injury that some readers may find disturbing******* The wizard lying prone on the ground was a nightmarish sight. His body was charred to an unrecognizable black, his skin cracked and peeling like the bark of a tree consumed by fire. Blood seeped from horrifying fissures that crisscrossed his body, creating a gruesome network of crimson rivers that stained the earth beneath him. The ground was now a canvas of death, painted in shades of red and black. But the most terrifying aspect, the detail that made even the battle-hardened healers from St. Mungo's flinch, was the wizard's face. His nose had melted like a candle exposed to intense heat, leaving behind only a soft, fleshy mass that barely resembled a human face. *** Despite the obvious futility of their efforts, the healers from St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries worked with frantic determination. Their wands moved in intricate patterns, casting spells of healing and restoration. Potions were poured down the wizard's throat, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the ashen hue of his skin. But even Harry, with his limited medical knowledge, could see the grim truth etched in the lines of worry on the healers' faces. Their efforts, valiant as they were, were destined to be in vain. As if to confirm Harry's unspoken observation, after only two minutes of intense magical intervention, the healers surrounding the grievously injured wizard began to stand up one by one. Their shoulders sagged with the weight of their failure, deep sighs escaping their lips as they removed their lime-green healer's hats. In a gesture of respect and mourning for the deceased, they bowed their heads, creating a somber circle around the lifeless body. "Poor fellow," sighed one of the healers who had previously had his back to the trio. His voice was heavy with regret and a tinge of professional frustration. "If his leg hadn't been broken by the falling scaffolding, he might have had a fighting chance. But he was simply too close to Mr. Watson's magic - his body was practically cooked from the inside out!" The healer's clinical description sent a shiver down Harry's spine. He had witnessed the awesome power of Professor Watson's magic during the chaotic events at the Quidditch World Cup, but to see its devastating effects on a human body was something else entirely. "What will his family say?" another healer asked worriedly, "Strictly speaking, he died at Mr. Watson's hands." "Let's hope his family doesn't do anything foolish," said the healer who had been administering potions to the deceased. His voice was calm, almost detached, as if he had seen too much death to be truly shaken by this latest tragedy. "If they want a large compensation, the Ministry will certainly oblige. But if they try to cause trouble for Mr. Watson, well, the Ministry won't stand for it. Without Mr. Watson's intervention tonight, the death toll could have been hundreds, if not thousands of times higher. If they dare go to Hogwarts to confront Mr. Watson, I'll personally kick their heads off with my boot!" The healer's words, though harsh, carried a ring of truth that almost no one could deny. The night's events had been catastrophic, and without Professor Watson's powerful magic, the outcome could have been far more devastating. ******************************* For More Chapters; /FicFrenzy

0449 Outside

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