The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 23

Hi all,

Here’s the first chapter of the week. Struggled with this chapter, but it’s finally out.  

Chapter 23

Harry stared at the transforming vessel. Typhoon's essence poured into the human shell, stretching and warping it beyond recognition. The young man's skin split further along his spine, dark wind howling from within.

"What's happening?" Harry shouted to Kaze over the roaring gale. "Why is he manifesting directly into the Black Wind state?"

Kaze didn't answer. His form flickered with anxiety, eyes fixed on the transformation with grim recognition.

Burke backed away from the altar, blood still dripping from his palm. His expression was a twisted mix of awe and terror.

Ayano brandished Enraiha, flames dancing along its length. "We need to stop this now!"

Too late. The vessel's transformation accelerated. His body contorted, bones cracking as they rearranged themselves. Typhoon raised a distorted hand, now more wind than flesh. The ground beneath them buckled, cracks zigzagging across the earth, and three of the standing stones toppled with thunderous crashes.

Harry lunged forward, wind bow materialising in his hands. He loosed three arrows in rapid succession.

Typhoon batted them aside with contemptuous ease. A flick of his malformed wrist sent a wave of compressed air hurtling toward them. Harry grabbed Ayano, pulling her behind a fallen megalith as the attack scythed through the air. The stone vibrated from the impact.

Burke turned to flee with the other cultists. A stray wind blade—not even directed at him specifically—caught him mid-stride. The compressed air sliced through his midsection. His expression froze in shock as his top half slid from his bottom half, both parts toppling to the ground in a spray of crimson.

"Bloody wind," Harry muttered, then louder to Ayano: "Stay behind me!"

He stepped out from cover, hands spread wide. Wind currents gathered around him, forming a protective cocoon of compressed air. Typhoon turned toward him, the transformation nearly complete. His humanoid shape now consisted primarily of swirling black wind, only hints of the original vessel visible beneath the turbulent surface.

Harry struck without warning. Wind blades sliced through the air, targeting Typhoon from multiple angles. Simultaneously, he launched himself skyward to gain a better attacking advantage.

Typhoon absorbed the attacks without flinching. His form rippled, then stabilised. With frighteningly casual ease, he extended a hand toward Harry. A blast of hurricane-force wind caught Harry in mid-air, sending him tumbling.

He righted himself, wind currents adjusting to stabilise his flight. Below, Ayano charged at Typhoon and slashed at his legs, flames meeting wind in a spectacular collision. For an instant, Typhoon's form wavered, disrupted by the attack.

Taking advantage of the momentary weakness, Harry struck again. A concentrated drill of compressed air bored into Typhoon's shoulder, drilling through the wind barrier to the more solid core beneath. Black wind leaked from the wound like blood.

Typhoon roared, more in rage than pain. A shockwave erupted outward, throwing Ayano back. Her body slammed into a stone with bone-jarring force.

"AYANO!" Harry shouted, diving toward her.

Typhoon intercepted him. A wall of solid air materialised before Harry, his momentum carrying him directly into it. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs, stars exploding behind his eyes.

Kaze darted forward, his form shifting to shield Harry. "Have you forgotten about me, Typhoon?"

Typhoon laughed. "Kaze. My old friend."

The transformation was completed with a final surge of power. Typhoon stood before them, a towering figure of humanoid shape wreathed entirely in swirling black winds. His eyes burned crimson, similar to Harry's when in the Black Wind state.

"Look at what you've become," Kaze said, his voice sad.

Typhoon's laughter intensified. "Hypocrite. You criticise me for subjugating myself to a human. Yet here you are, bound to your own human vessel."

"It's not the same thing."

"How is it any different?" 

"My host is not a murderous psychopath," Kaze replied simply.

Typhoon's form contracted slightly, then expanded in what might have been a shrug. "Give it some time. Even if your human doesn’t turn against you, the black wind will take him."

"I will not allow it."

"You speak as if you have a choice." Typhoon drifted closer. "Contrary to what you believed, I didn't contract with my human blindly. I always planned to take over his body."

Harry struggled to his feet, cautiously moving toward Ayano. She stirred, pushing herself upright with Enraiha's help. Blood trickled from a cut on her forehead, but her eyes remained clear.

"Then what happened?" Kaze pressed.

"The human was more resistant than I expected." Typhoon's voice carried a trace of reluctant respect. "I tapped into the Black Wind state for more power but lost control. You always assumed that the human corrupted me, but you couldn't be more wrong."

"You know how dangerous the state is," Kaze said. "You were even more foolish than I ever imagined."

"Perhaps." Typhoon circled them slowly. "But I discovered something. If you surrender yourself to the black wind, it feels glorious. The ultimate freedom."

"You're speaking madness."

"Let's see what your host thinks." Typhoon's crimson gaze fixed on Harry. "Shall we up the stakes?"

Before Harry could react, Typhoon lashed out with devastating force. A concentrated blast of wind struck Ayano directly in the chest. The attack happened so quickly she had no time to defend herself. Her body catapulted backward, crashing through a standing stone before rolling to a stop, motionless.

"NO!" Harry bellowed.

Something snapped inside him. The world sharpened to crystalline clarity as rage flooded his system. Cold purpose replaced rational thought. His vision tinged red, deepening to crimson as the Black Wind surged through him.

"Harry, don't!" Kaze warned, his voice distant and fading.

Too late. Harry surrendered to the darkness, power rushing through his veins like liquid nitrogen. His eyes burned crimson, matching Typhoon's baleful gaze.

"That's it!" Typhoon's voice resonated with joy. "How does it feel?"

Harry didn't answer. Words were meaningless now. Only action mattered.

He shot forward, faster than he'd ever moved before. The air parted before him, compressing to lethal density around his fists. He struck Typhoon with the force of a freight train, driving deep into the wind spirit's chest.

Typhoon staggered backward, momentarily surprised by the ferocity of the attack. Harry pressed his advantage, unleashing a barrage of wind blades that sliced through Typhoon's defences. Black wind spiralled from dozens of wounds, dissipating into the night air.

"Impressive," Typhoon conceded, his form reconstituting. "But futile."

He counter-attacked, summoning a whirlwind that engulfed Harry completely. The vortex tightened, threatening to crush him with atmospheric pressure. Harry fought back, expanding his own wind outward to break the constriction.

The clashing powers created a catastrophic shock wave. The remaining standing stones cracked, several more toppling to the ground. Earth erupted in fountains of soil and stone as the ancient site disintegrated around them.

Jugo arrived, sprinting into the ritual circle with several Kannagi practitioners. "Harry!"

He unleashed a torrent of crimson flame toward Typhoon. The fire surged upward, reaching impossible heights before crashing down like a burning tidal wave. 

Typhoon roared in pain and frustration. His form contracted, then expanded violently. A ripple of force radiated outward, extinguishing Jugo's flames and knocking the Kannagi practitioners off their feet.

Harry seized his opportunity. The black wind showed him vulnerabilities in Typhoon's form. He struck at these weak points, drilling through Typhoon's defences.

"Enough games," Typhoon snarled.

The air temperature plummeted. Frost crystallised across the fallen stones, spreading outward from Typhoon's position. 

Harry braced himself, aware on some primal level that the coming attack would dwarf anything he'd witnessed before. He couldn't dodge, and he couldn't retreat. Ayano still lay unconscious behind him. Jugo struggled to his feet nearby, burns marking his arms where his flames had been forced back.

"Get everyone out!" Harry shouted to Jugo.

Jugo hesitated, torn between duty to his daughter and helping Harry.

"NOW!" Harry roared, his voice distorted by the Black Wind.

Typhoon struck. A wave of compressed air, sharp as a thousand blades, exploded outward from his position. Harry met it with his own barrier, pouring every ounce of power into maintaining the shield. The forces collided with a thunderous impact, creating a standoff that warped the air between them.

Kaze darted close to Harry, his form partially merging with Harry's consciousness. "Control yourself! The Black Wind is consuming you!"

Harry barely heard him. The rage sang in his blood, demanding release. He wanted to tear Typhoon apart, to scatter his essence to the corners of the earth. Nothing else mattered.

"Remember who you are," Kaze urged. "Remember why you fight!"

Images flashed through Harry's mind—his friends at Grimmauld Place, Daphne's smile, Ayano's fierce determination, Ellis Parker and the orphans depending on him. The faces grounded him, providing an anchor against the Black Wind's seductive call.

Harry pushed back against Typhoon's attack, turning defence into offence. He compressed the air between them further, creating a vacuum that disrupted Typhoon's control. The wind spirit faltered, his form wavering momentarily.

That split second was all Harry needed. He struck with devastating force, a blade of compressed air slicing through Typhoon's core. Black wind erupted from the wound, spiralling uselessly as Typhoon struggled to maintain cohesion.

"You have found a fine specimen, Kaze," Typhoon admitted, drifting backward. "But it’s not enough to stop me."

His wounded form began to dissolve, particles of black wind scattering on the breeze. He was escaping, his essence too damaged to continue fighting.

Harry surged forward, determined to finish what they'd started. His muscles screamed in protest, fatigue weighing him down despite the Black Wind's power. The distance between them grew as Typhoon accelerated his retreat.

"No!" Harry shouted, pushing himself harder. 

Too slow. Too weak. Typhoon would escape, recover, and return stronger.

A voice whispered inside his head, cold and sardonic. How useless. All the power in the world, and you don't even know how to harness it properly. Let me show you how it's done.

Harry felt something seize control of his body. His arm rose of its own accord, pointing toward Typhoon's retreating form. Power surged through him, drawing from depths he hadn't known existed.

A black scythe-like blade of wind materialised before him, its wingspan stretching over a hundred feet across. The air compressed to impossible density along its edge, creating a blade sharper than any knife.

It released with a deafening sonic boom, tearing through the atmosphere toward Typhoon. The distance vanished, the blade reaching its target before Typhoon could react.

The wind spirit's scream cut through the night as the attack sliced through his form. Black wind exploded outward in all directions, his essence obliterated in a single devastating strike. The blade continued onward for several kilometres, carving a path through the countryside before finally dissipating.

Harry staggered, exhaustion crashing over him in waves. The Black Wind receded, leaving him empty and disoriented. His legs buckled beneath him, the ground rushing up to meet his face.

As consciousness slipped away, the same cold voice echoed in his mind.

This is the second time I have had to help you. Get your act together, or I...

Darkness claimed him before he could hear the rest.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Harry slowly opened his eyes. His limbs felt like lead, each small movement requiring tremendous effort. The familiar ceiling of his bedroom at Grimmauld Place swam into focus as he tried to orient himself.

"Finally," Daphne murmured, setting aside a book. 

"What happened?" Harry croaked, his throat paper-dry.

Daphne pressed a glass of water to his lips. "You collapsed after the battle. Jugo and Catherine brought you back."

Harry drained the glass, memories flooding back in disjointed fragments—Stonehenge, the ritual, Typhoon's essence obliterated by that final attack. Ayano flying backward through a standing stone, her body limp.

"Ayano?" he asked, struggling to sit up.

"She's fine," Daphne said, gently pressing him back against the pillows. "The Healers patched her up. She'll be sore for a few days, but nothing permanent. She's sleeping now."

Harry nodded. "How long have I been out?"

"Two days."

"That long?" Harry frowned, pushing himself upright despite Daphne's protests. "What's the current situation?"

Daphne sighed, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "The Ministry is in chaos."

"What do you mean?"

"Harry, London wasn't just struck by a blackout. Burke sent his minions out to cause havoc in the city, to occupy the Ministry while Typhoon's ritual was happening. The number of memories they had to modify was immense."

"Kingsley is going to be pissed."

Daphne's eyebrows shot up. "You sound like you don't care."

"Not really." Harry shrugged, testing his limbs with tentative movements. They responded sluggishly but without pain. "Who else wants to see me?"

"Catherine. She wants to know what happened." Daphne's lips thinned. "And there's your coach."

"Nobody important then." Harry swung his legs over the side of the bed. "I'm going to go take a shower. And then get something to—"

A crack interrupted him as Kreacher appeared, carrying a tray laden with food. The house-elf placed it on the bedside table with surprising gentleness.

"Thanks, Kreacher. But I could have gone downstairs to get some food."

Kreacher's ears twitched with disapproval. "Master needs his rest."

"I'm fine."

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "Are you really?"

Harry paused, frowning. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it." Daphne stood, smoothing her skirt. "I need to get back to Hogwarts before the headmistress starts complaining."

She left before Harry could respond, the door clicking shut behind her with quiet finality.

The shower's hot spray pounded against Harry's back as steam filled the bathroom. Daphne's question echoed in his mind. Why would she say such a thing? Was he not fine?

As he searched for answers, something felt distinctly wrong. His emotional response seemed strangely muted, almost detached, as if watching through someone else's eyes. He'd felt something similar after the Battle of Hogwarts—a disconnection, like observing his emotions rather than experiencing them.

His mind shifted to the voice he'd heard at Stonehenge. Not Kaze's familiar presence but something else. This is the second time I had to help you, it said. Second time? When was the first?

Harry closed his eyes, letting water cascade over his face. "Kaze?"

Silence.

"Kaze, I know you can hear me."

Nothing. Either the spirit was out of range, or he was deliberately ignoring Harry's calls. Neither option boded well. Harry needed answers about the Black Wind state. Was the voice a consequence of using it?

After towelling dry and dressing, Harry padded down the hall to check on Ayano. She slept peacefully, her breathing deep and regular. A bandage wrapped around her forehead, and vibrant bruises blossomed across her visible skin, but she looked nowhere near as bad as he'd feared.

He descended the stairs slowly, still adjusting to the heaviness in his limbs. Voices drifted from the dining room. Harry paused at the doorway, surprised by the gathering inside.

The expected faces were there—the Malfoys at one end of the table, with Lilith Moon beside Draco, Andromeda with Teddy on her lap, and Jugo sipping tea. But three additional visitors made Harry groan: Kingsley, Iggy, and Catherine.

Catherine and Jugo appeared deep in conversation, heads bent close together. When Catherine spotted Harry, she smiled and raised her teacup in greeting.

Kingsley rose immediately. "Harry. We need to talk."

Catherine waved a dismissive hand. "I can wait. My business isn't time-sensitive." 

Iggy nodded in agreement, though his expression suggested otherwise.

Harry led Kingsley to his office and dropped into the chair behind his desk, motioning for Kingsley to sit.

Instead, the Minister began pacing, his usually composed demeanour cracking. "Do you know how big of a mess you created?"

"Are you referring to London?" Harry leaned back. "I didn't do anything."

"You assured me you had the situation with Typhoon under control."

"Well, I did kill him."

Kingsley's nostrils flared. "Yes. Let's just forget how London was plunged into chaos. Do you know I haven't slept in the past forty-eight hours?"

"It shows."

Kingsley stepped forward, looking like he wanted to strangle him. "Not to mention, the Prime Minister is on my back. Not only was London in chaos, but you destroyed a world heritage site."

Harry shrugged. "It's fortunate that we have magic to fix the damage."

"Is that all you have to say?"

"Typhoon was a tougher opponent than expected. I didn't have time to worry about causing damage to Stonehenge."

Kingsley rubbed his temples. "I had my Aurors search the place. Burke's remains were found among them."

"That was Typhoon's doing. Good riddance, I say."

"His family is out for your blood. They're likely to declare a blood feud."

Harry snorted. "Are they stupid?"

"You need to tread carefully. The more incidents you cause, the more the Wizengamot will turn against you. There are already whispers..."

Kingsley trailed off, his expression uncomfortable.

"What?"

"That you're turning into the next Dark Lord."

Harry barked a laugh. "Well, that makes a lot of sense. I just opened an orphanage, but clearly, I have nefarious intentions. Maybe I'll sacrifice them all in a blood ritual to make myself stronger."

"Don't even joke about that." Kingsley's voice sharpened. "Speaking of the orphanage, the older kids will be arriving from Hogwarts soon. Maybe you should greet them."

“I almost forgot,” Harry replied. “What happened to the Balans? Were all of them captured?”

Kingsley shook his head. “Fugo told me that three of them got away. The twins and the youngest sister. The rest died at Stonehenge. I would watch your back if I were you.” 

As Kingsley left, Harry remained seated, staring out the window, watching raindrops race down the glass. 

What troubled him most wasn't Kingsley's warning or the Wizengamot's suspicions. It was his own disconnection. The old Harry would have cared deeply about London's chaos, about Stonehenge, about the people caught in the crossfire. He would have felt guilt, remorse, anxiety. 

Instead, he felt nothing much at all. A fact that should have terrified him if he were still capable of feeling fear.

He checked his watch. Still a few hours before the Hogwarts Express arrived at the station. He didn't want to go, but he'd promised Andromeda. In the meantime, he would hunt down the remaining Balan family members. Despite his lingering soreness, he couldn't sit still. Catherine and Iggy could wait.

Harry summoned his wind spirits, their translucent forms materialising around him like ghostly sentinels.

"We need to find the Balans," he instructed. 

The spirits dispersed, shooting off in different directions. Harry followed Zephyr, the most energetic of his spirits, ascending into the cold December air. Flying helped clear his mind, the wind rushing past his face a welcome distraction from the troubling thoughts that plagued him.

As he soared over the countryside, his mind drifted back to that final confrontation at Stonehenge. The image of Typhoons’ form being ripped apart by that devastating attack played on repeat in his memory. It wasn't the violence that bothered him—it was the complete loss of control. Someone—or something—had seized his body, unleashing power he hadn't realised he possessed.

He'd been naive, thinking he understood the limits of his abilities. That final attack proved otherwise. The question now was: how did he tap into that power again? And more importantly, did he even want to?

After two hours of fruitless searching, Harry reluctantly abandoned the hunt. The Balans had either fled the country or found exceptional hiding places. Either way, they would have to wait.

He landed in an empty field to rest, feeling a little light-headed. As his feet touched the ground, Kaze materialised beside him.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked, not bothering to hide his irritation.

"China," Kaze replied. "I wanted to give Typhoon a proper burial."

Harry frowned. "How? He doesn't have a physical form."

"It's more ceremonial than anything else. No body is needed."

"Alright." 

Kaze drifted closer. "We need to talk about what happened when you killed Typhoon."

"If you think I'm going to apologise for—"

"It's not that," Kaze interrupted. "What happened with that attack?"

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "You don't know? You have constantly reminded me that I shouldn't overuse the black wind state."

"It can't be that simple. The attack was too focused to blame it on that alone. You shouldn't have had so much control."

"I didn't have any control at all," Harry replied flatly.

"What?"

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "There was a voice in my head. It took control of my body to unleash that attack. Said it was the second time it had helped me."

Kaze's form flickered violently. "What the hell is going on? When the attack happened, I felt like our connection had been severed. It was like you had died."

"Well, I'm still alive," Harry said dryly. "Are you saying the voice is not a normal condition of using the black wind state?"

"I can't say for sure, as I have never regressed that far into the black wind state."

"You haven't exactly explained what it is. Where does it come from?"

"I don't know. All wind spirits have the capability of entering it, under the right conditions, but we could never explain why it happened."

"Some help you are."

"I think you should investigate your family heritage some more. I think there is something else going on."

Harry frowned. "You think it's related to this voice?"

"I don't know, but the Flame Spirit King made the same suggestion, and his advice is rarely wrong."

Harry considered this. "Well, I can start with the Potter family. It's less likely to be on my mother's side."

"Is that the true reason?" Kaze asked, his tone knowing.

"I would rather not meet with the Dursleys. I might be tempted to kill them."

Kaze studied him, moving closer. "What is wrong with you? Your expression is oddly flat."

Harry explained his current emotional state, the strange detachment that had settled over him since the battle.

"That's odd," Kaze said. "You were the same right after the fight with Voldemort. During it as well."

Harry stiffened. "Are you saying the voice was influencing me then? I thought at the time that muted emotions were a result of contracting with you."

"Not at all. Do I look like an unfeeling lump to you?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?"

"Shut it," Kaze muttered, but there was no heat in his words.

Platform 9¾ bustled with activity as Harry waited for the Hogwarts Express. He clutched a bag containing several shrunken brooms, trying to ignore the curious stares from other waiting parents.

A tap on his shoulder made him turn. Molly Weasley stood behind him, and before he could react, he found himself engulfed in a bone-crushing hug. He returned it stiffly, uncomfortable with the display of affection.

"Mrs Weasley, what are you doing here?" he asked when she finally released him.

"I'm waiting for Ron and Ginny. I can't seem to get out of the habit of picking up my children, even though this will be the last year." She patted his cheek fondly. "And call me Molly."

"That's going to be hard to get used to."

"Don't be silly. What are you doing here? Waiting for Daphne?"

"No, she floos home. I'm picking up the orphans to take home."

Molly's face softened. "I think it's a wonderful thing you're doing, dear."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "It's not just me. A lot of people are involved."

"About that. Andromeda asked if I would work at the orphanage. I wanted to get your opinion."

"Well, I think you would be great for the kids. You don't need my opinion."

"I'm still thinking about it." She waved a hand dismissively. "Enough about me. When are you coming for dinner?"

Before he could answer, the distant horn of the Hogwarts Express echoed through the station. The scarlet steam engine pulled into the platform, billowing clouds of white smoke. Doors flew open, and students streamed out onto the platform, their excited chatter filling the air.

Harry spotted Hermione and Ron making their way toward him, surrounded by the orphans. Hermione had taken charge, herding them through the crowd with military efficiency. Behind them trailed Neville, Ginny, and Luna.

Hermione hugged him briefly while Ron slapped him on the back. Harry turned to greet the orphans. Including Ellis, there were eight others, all third year and below. Ellis looked less angry than before, but wariness still lingered in his eyes.

"How are we getting to the orphanage?" Jessica, a small second-year with dark braids, asked.

Before Harry could answer, Luna appeared at his side. She hugged him without warning, her silvery eyes wide and serious.

"You have an excessive amount of Wrackspurts," she announced.

"I think I have the opposite problem," Harry muttered.

"Nonsense. They're positively swarming you."

Ellis looked bewildered. "What's a Wrackspurt?"

Luna turned to him, her expression earnest. "They're invisible creatures that float in through your ears and make your brain go fuzzy." 

She redirected her attention to Harry. "I hear you're building a harem, Harry. Where do I sign up?"

Harry blinked. "I can never tell when you're serious or taking the piss."

"I'm being completely serious. Ever since I saw you at the Battle of Hogwarts, I have been experiencing some urges—"

Ginny appeared out of nowhere, grabbing Luna's arm and dragging her away. "That's enough of that," she mumbled, shooting Harry an apologetic look.

Harry turned back to the kids, relieved by Ginny's timely rescue. "We're going to be travelling by broom today. I have it on good authority that you're all decent flyers."

"Won't we break the Statute of Secrecy?" a worried third-year boy asked.

"I have a plan for that," Harry said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Just don't mention to anyone what we're doing."

They waited for the platform to clear before Harry began distributing the brooms, unshrinking them with taps of his wand. He cast Disillusionment Charms on each child, watching as they faded to near-invisibility.

"Stay close," he instructed as they mounted their brooms. "Follow my lead."

With a gentle kick, Harry rose into the air, the children following in a tight formation. As they soared over London, heading toward Harefield Estate, Harry felt a flicker of something—not quite happiness, but perhaps the memory of it.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

The abandoned farmhouse creaked in the winter wind, its weathered walls offering little protection against the December chill. The three remaining Balan siblings huddled around a small fire, their faces cast in flickering orange light.

"We should have gone back to Romania," Andrei muttered.

Cristina shot him a withering look. "And tell our cousins what? That we let Marius, Elena, Nikolai and Grandmother die?"

The twins exchanged identical glances but said nothing. They rarely did these days. The shock of losing their parents and grandmother had reduced their already limited conversation to near-silence.

"Potter will pay," Lucian said eventually.

Cristina nodded, pacing the cluttered room. At nineteen, she hadn't expected to become the head of what remained of their family. Yet here she was, the decision-maker by default. The twins, though physically imposing, lacked the initiative to lead.

"We need a plan," she said, running a hand through her matted hair. "Potter's too powerful for a direct attack. And those bloody fire users..."

"The Kannagi?" Andrei's lips curled in disgust.

"We can't take them all on," Cristina said, frustrated by their limited options. "We need allies. Someone who understands what Potter is capable of."

Lucian stared into the flames. "We could contact the Vasile family. They—"

A sharp knock at the door silenced him mid-sentence. The siblings froze, exchanging alarmed glances.

Cristina raised her hand, electricity sparking between her fingers. The twins moved to flank the door.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

Cristina nodded to Andrei, who positioned himself behind the door, ready to strike. 

Lucian eased it open. A woman stood on the threshold. Brown hair framed an unremarkable face, but her eyes held a cold intelligence that made Cristina tense.

"You were easier to find than I imagined," the woman said, seemingly unconcerned by the lightning dancing around the siblings’ hands.

Andrei lunged forward, but the stranger flicked her wand casually. The bolt of electricity he'd launched dissipated harmlessly before reaching her.

"I wouldn't," she advised, stepping into the house uninvited. "I'm not here to harm you."

"Who are you?" Cristina demanded, not lowering her guard.

"Regina Bowles." The woman closed the door behind her. "And I have a proposition for you. One that will allow you to get back at Harry Potter."

Cristina's eyes narrowed. "We're listening."

"Potter destroyed my plans," Regina said, twirling her wand between her fingers. "As he did your family. Separately, we're vulnerable. Together..." 

Her lips curled into a smile. "Well, let's just say I know things about our wind-wielding friend that even he doesn't understand."

The siblings exchanged glances. The woman was dangerous—that much was obvious—but revenge outweighed caution.

"What exactly did you have in mind?" Cristina asked.

So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry returns to playing Quidditch, and he starts investigating the Potters' heritage.

Thanks for reading.