Frey felt as though he had fallen into an endless, blood-soaked feast.
There was no light in the dream, only a metallic smell of rust so thick it was almost physical.
He found himself standing in the center of the deep pool beneath the waterfall.
But he wasn’t stepping on water; he was standing on a mountain of charred corpses.
The Mage Hunters he had personally torn apart were reaching out with pale, skeletal hands from beneath the water, trying to drag him down by his ankles.
“Frey…”
He whipped his head around and saw Newt sitting on a cracked, dead log.
A black blowpipe dart was lodged in his chest, his face as pale as a sheet of paper.
“Look at your bloody hands, child. The Scamander family… doesn’t raise monsters like you.”
“No, Grandpa, I did it to save you!” Frey screamed in defense, but what came out was a deafening dragon’s roar.
The scene rippled like water, and Hermione appeared before him.
She stared at his silver-blue scales with terror in her eyes, her voice trembling.
“You’re not Frey… stay away from me, you monster.”
Finally, there was Long Jiu.
She maintained her Taowu form, her body covered in dark red, oozing pustules, all traces of her humanity completely extinguished.
She roared and lunged at Hermione.
Frey found himself completely paralyzed, forced to watch as those saber-like teeth lunged toward the girl’s slender neck.
“Hermione! Run!”
Frey thrashed violently in his hammock, cold sweat soaking his shirt, the veins on his forehead throbbing.
Suddenly, a wet, rough, warm sensation pressed against his face.
A thick, agile tongue began to lick across his agonized face, taking its time.
With every lick, the dark, viscous dreamscapes melted away like snow under hot water.
Frey’s furrowed brow gradually relaxed.
The scent of rust vanished, replaced by a light, weightless sensation, as if his entire body was being lifted into a warm, fluffy cloud.
This time, he slept deeply and peacefully.
When Frey opened his eyes again, bright, warm sunlight was beaming directly onto him.
He bolted upright, realizing his body felt incredibly refreshed.
The haze that had weighed on his chest was completely gone, and even the neuralgia from his transformation had been smoothed over by a peaceful, soothing force.
“Well, well, is our sleeping beauty finally awake?”
A teasing voice drifted over from the campfire.
It was Hermione.
Newt and Hermione were sitting side-by-side on a fallen log, their eyes fixed on a bizarre animal.
It was a tapir.
Frey was no stranger to them; they had eaten one just a couple of days ago.
But this tapir was covered in dreamlike, semi-translucent, deep purple fur.
What drew the eye most was its short trunk, which seemed to flow like liquid, constantly shifting shapes in the air—coiling one moment and stretching the next.
“What… is that?” Frey jumped down from the hammock and pointed at the animal.
“Something licked me last night. I’m guessing it was this thing?”
“It’s a Dream-Eating Tapir. Hermione named it Schnoz,” Newt said.
“An extremely rare magical beast that feeds on human nightmares. It seems it had quite a feast last night.”
“Feeds on dreams?” Frey was stunned.
“To be precise, it only eats nightmares.”
Although Hermione still had a white bandage on her neck, she looked to be in excellent spirits, even ready to bicker with Frey.
She casually fished a roasted potato out of the campfire.
The Dream-Eating Tapir wrapped its long trunk deftly around the potato and even let out a satisfied grunt.
“Doesn’t it eat potatoes too?”
“It does. And it’s quite satisfied with my cooking, unlike some people.”
“Potatoes are just snacks for it. Nightmares are high-calorie, premium main courses. A nightmare of that intensity is enough to keep it full in the wild for a month. Its purple fur is even darker than it was last night.”
Newt patted Schnoz’s round rear.
“As for good dreams… they’re like high-proof whiskey to them. Not something they can just drink whenever they want.”
“What happens if they drink too much?” Frey asked curiously.
“They get hungover.”
Long Jiu stoked the fire, chiming in without looking back.
“If they accidentally consume too many good dreams, they fall into a semi-mad, hallucinatory state. Anyone around them will start hallucinating as well, feeling a rush of euphoria and confidence. Then they’ll do ridiculous, suicidal things—like attacking a windmill thinking it’s a dragon, or thinking they’ve grown wings and leaping off a hundred-foot cliff.”
Frey squinted at her.
“Since when did you become an encyclopedia of fantastic beasts?”
“Naturally, because before you woke up, we had already heard Professor Newt explain it three times, dummy.”
Hermione gave Frey a playful shove and pointed at the sky.
“Look what time it is! We’ve already finished lunch!”
The sun had already passed its zenith, which meant he had slept for a full fifteen or sixteen hours.
“I slept that long? But I really do feel great.” Frey stretched his limbs.
Hermione stared into his eyes, seemingly trying to play it casual, and lowered her voice. This chapter was taken from g.com without permission.
“What did you actually dream about last night? You kept screaming my name and reaching out, like you were trying to drag me back from somewhere.”
Frey felt his heart skip a beat, but he simply scratched his head as if nothing was wrong.
“Nothing, really. The Dream-Eating Tapir sucked it all away, so I can’t remember. I might have dreamed that you fell into the water and I couldn’t pull you out.”
Hermione watched Frey’s evasive eyes, trying to read any lingering fragments of that nightmare in his pupils.
She pressed her lips together and didn’t press further, though she gripped her notebook tight enough to crease the pages.
“Fine, don’t tell me.” Hermione turned back to play with Schnoz.
“Besides, I know how to swim. Next time you make up a lie, make it believable.”
Newt spoke up:
“All right, Frey. Now that you’re awake, get to work. Go put Schnoz in the bag, and set up a separate, padded area for him. His value is beyond measure. If those poor souls at St. Mungo’s who were driven mad by the Cruciatus Curse had his help… it would be a miracle for magical medicine.”
Newt pointed to the alchemy workbench set up on the riverbank.
“Hermione and I need to analyze Miss Granger’s saliva. Also, given how unique this valley is, I plan to stay here for three days.”
The old man’s sharp gaze locked onto Frey and Long Jiu:
“During these three days, you two should scout the valley thoroughly. Long Jiu mentioned a big guy behind the stone wall. Frey, try not to disturb it. I know you’re curious, but safety comes first right now.”
“No problem, Grandpa.”
“Let’s go.” Long Jiu picked up a large cut of venison and jerked her head at Frey.
“Come on, help me feed the ancestors in your bag. The Vipertooth needs raw meat, the Mimic Turtle and Pudgy are begging for flesh, Miss Granger only drinks warm blood, and the Scamander and Schnoz still need berries and potatoes… I’m going crazy doing this alone. You have to help. Oh, by the way, I left some lunch for you in the kitchen. I’ll go heat it up for you.”
Frey picked up the docile Schnoz and followed Long Jiu toward the backpack.
Suddenly, Long Jiu spoke in Chinese.
“Yesterday was your first time killing someone, right?”
Frey’s steps faltered slightly.
He kept his voice low.
“Yeah. Still not used to it.”
“I could tell.” Long Jiu smiled mockingly at herself.
“When I came over yesterday and saw how pale you were, I knew. The smell of a first-time killer is impossible to hide. Next time will be better. I went through the same thing.”
“There’s a next time?” Frey turned around, his brow furrowed.
“Who knows? Killing or being killed sometimes has nothing to do with who you are as a person—only which side you’re on. Honestly, you don’t need to feel guilty. You did it clean and fast. They didn’t suffer.”
Frey fell silent for a long time before finally letting out a long, heavy breath.
He looked down at Schnoz, then back at Hermione and Newt working under the sunlight, and murmured, “Don’t let Hermione know about any of this. Don’t let her suspect even a hint of it.”
Long Jiu shrugged.
“Understood. She’s your light, isn’t she? Fine, I’ll take on that role. From now on, I’ll handle the dirty work. If you really feel guilty about it… you can try giving me more of your blood. Maybe I’ll be able to solve a few more of your problems then.”