Harry Potter walked alone on a winding path strewn with volcanic pebbles, up a mountain that seemed to reach the sky. The air was hot and humid on this island outside Central America. Harry walked slowly. He was almost at his aim.

A short time later, he was sitting on a rock at the top of the mountain, worn trainees nonchalantly dangling down a steep precipice. Beneath him, the Pacific Ocean stretched out with heavy clouds of humidity that would shortly transform into liquid hanging over the surface. Harry did not mind the rain, as the heat of the air, despite its humidity, was so enveloping, like a whole body wet wrapping that soothed his insatiable yearning for warmth. He had tried the broiling heat of the sun on the African continent, the aggressive heat in Australia and the blazing sun around the Mediterranean but come to the conclusion that the foggy and heavy heat around the equator in South America was what suited him best. 

Only a few seconds later he jumped up restlessly, peered down on the ground and poked a pebble with the tip of his shoe. He frowned to himself and bit his lower lip. A few weeks ago he could have spent hours sitting and rejoicing in the warmth, letting the winds stroke him and the distant murmur from the sea lull him into peacefulness. But sooner or later the beneficial effects always waned. This time rather sooner.

Harry let his fingers explore the small crevices of a porous block of stone in front of him and sighed. He recognised the symptoms all too well. The restlessness, the insensitivity to the heat, then the cold. Tonight he would begin to have chills and tomorrow, the warm climate would have no effect whatsoever on him. He would need to leave in a few days - go back North and desensitise, suffer another period of coldness until, yet again, the yearning for the heat would bring him back to one of these beautiful but lonely places. 

Disillusioned he stared unseeingly out over the dramatic, white and green scenery that the island presented to him.There was a partly resigned look in his eyes with just the little sparkle of challenge in them. He had better get on with what he had come to this deserted island for.

Somewhere down the steep wall of the mountain towards the turquoise water, there was a cave and in that cave, maybe, just maybe, according to Hagrid’s latest letter, a Chimaera - the last exiled specimen of the magical creatures of Greek ancestry - could be found.