It’s the tangible evidence of magical power that makes Tom want to stun everyone involved into stillness so he can examine these black wisps more closely.

That would be neither wise nor helpful. Back on task, Mr. Riddle.

Instead he points his wand at the hag’s laundry, gathering it and her laundry bat in a floating bundle beside her.

“Over here, please,” he says in a low voice. It’s a bit of a trick to maneuver two other beings, one of whom is actively channeling magic, to a cliff wall where he can open a door. It’s even trickier to bring them both through said door at the same time.

Thankfully two of three in the group are very good at tricks.

The first place he thinks might work for the hag is much different from the previous bucolic setting. It’s a littered concrete culvert, but the water is clean and strong and flowing. A group of lean-to shelters covered in scavenged planks and disused billboards make up an encampment down the bank. Punk music - that sounds not unlike the hag screeching at times - blares from the site, and people with spiky hair and lots and lots of safety pins holding their clothes together mill about.

Tom says, “We’re here. If you would release our companion?”