The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 20

Hi all, 

Here’s the first chapter of the week. Late again, but I struggled with this chapter. Harry and Krum face off in a Quidditch match, and someone is trying to frame Harry in the most brutal fashion.

Chapter 20

Harry trailed behind Andromeda and Hermione as they walked the perimeter of the imposing stone manor. Tulliver, the financial advisor Harry had hired on Andromeda's recommendation, brought up the rear, scratching notes on a parchment as light drizzle fell around them.

"The structure is sound," Andromeda said, tapping her wand against the outer wall. “But it will need to be renovated to bring it up to scratch.”

"We need to begin renovations immediately," Hermione insisted. "Every day these children spend in inadequate facilities is another day of trauma."

Tulliver cleared his throat. "Miss Granger, the proper channels alone—"

"Bureaucracy?" Hermione spun to face him. "While we wait for paperwork, children are suffering. The Ministry's orphanage is overcrowded, underfunded, and woefully understaffed. And that's not even addressing the Muggleborn orphans that they chose to ignore."

When Harry proposed establishing the Breeze Foundation, she immediately volunteered her support. Her passionate commitment was admirable, and Harry initially welcomed her enthusiasm. However, he remained cautious about her tendency toward single-minded determination.

Harry understood Hermione's intensity could be a significant asset. Her meticulous research and dedication often produced remarkable results. Yet, her approach carried a potential drawback: when she became convinced of her perspective, she would steamroll over alternative viewpoints, convinced of her own infallibility.

"How many are we talking about exactly?" Harry asked.

Andromeda pulled a document from her bag. "Eighty-seven orphaned magical children from the war. Thirty-two reside in the understaffed Ministry orphanage, and fifty-five Muggleborn orphans remain scattered throughout Muggle institutions, completely untracked by the Ministry."

Hermione scowled. "That's barbaric." 

They entered the main building. Despite years of neglect, the grand staircase retained its elegance, sweeping upward toward galleried landings.

"Harefield Estate," Andromeda said. "Two hundred acres. Main house with thirty-two bedrooms, eight cottages, and outbuildings including a converted stable block. The previous owners fled when Voldemort fell."

Harry walked the length of what had once been a ballroom. "It's perfect. I'll have the goblins transfer funds today, The renovations—"

"Will cost a fortune," Tulliver interjected.

"Whatever it takes," Hermione said, taking the words out of his mouth. She turned to Harry. "You agree, don't you?"

"Completely. But please ask next time. You seem very willing to spend my money, and we’re not even dating."

Hermione's eyes narrowed. “Harry James Potter!”

“Hermione Jane Granger!”

“You're impossible.” Hermione sighed. “Sorry, I will try not to be a pain.”

“Try harder.”  

"We should discuss governance," Andromeda interjected before a fight could break out.

"I've already drafted a structure," Hermione said, pulling a thick sheaf of parchment from her bag. "A board of trustees with representatives from both sides of the magical community with child welfare backgrounds. Andromeda would serve as chair, naturally."

Andromeda gave Harry an incredulous look, and he just shrugged.

"I've also started on a legislative package," Hermione continued. "Three bills: educational support regardless of blood status, oversight for magical children in Muggle institutions, and incentives for wizarding families who foster."

"Opposition?" Harry asked Andromeda.

"Considerable," she admitted. "The old guard still holds significant power despite the fact a lot of them died at the Battle of Hogwarts."

"Then we'll need to organise a campaign," Hermione said firmly. "Public pressure, personal appeals to sympathetic Wizengamot members, and targeted lobbying of those who might waver."

"Starting with families who owe Harry," Andromeda suggested with a slight smile.

Tulliver tapped his quill against his ledger. "With the Black and Potter vaults combined, we have approximately thirty million galleons available. That's without touching investments or property holdings."

"More than enough to start," Hermione said. "But we should establish an endowment to ensure long-term sustainability. Plus, we don’t want Harry to go broke."

“I appreciate it,” Harry said dryly.

They walked the upper floors, inspecting bedrooms. Harry paused at a window overlooking extensive grounds where a stream wound through woodland before widening into a small lake.

"We'll need qualified staff," Hermione said, making more notes. "Healers specialising in trauma, educators, caregivers. I've started compiling a list."

"I'll begin recruitment tomorrow," Andromeda promised. "Hogwarts breaks for Christmas in six weeks. We could have the first wing operational by then."

"We must," Hermione insisted. "Priority one is getting children out of Muggle institutions before Christmas."

"Speaking of specific cases," Andromeda said, pulling a folder from her bag, "Ellis Parker. Eleven years old. Parents killed by Death Eaters last year. Currently at Hogwarts but registered to return to a Muggle children's home in Doncaster for the holidays."

Harry took the file, examining the photograph of a scowling boy. "He hates me."

"His anger is misplaced," Andromeda said. "You were still just a child yourself when Dumbledore tasked you with ending the war.”

“It doesn’t make me feel any better.”

As they prepared to leave, they lingered in what would become the children's library.

"We need separate rooms for siblings," Hermione said suddenly. "Too many have been split up already."

Andromeda nodded. "I'll make sure the renovation plans accommodate that."

"And proper Christmas gifts," Hermione added. "Individually chosen, not generic rubbish."

"Hermione," Andromeda said gently, "you can't fix everything at once."

"We have to try," Hermione replied. "These children have lost everything."

“Take it easy,” Harry said. “We’ll get it done. I could even dress up as Santa Claus to deliver the presents to the Muggleborn kids. A reindeer sleigh and everything. It would be easy for me to make them fly.”

“Be serious, Harry. You’ll traumatise the reindeer.”

“Just trying to lighten the mood.”  

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

The Tutshill stadium vibrated with the roar of spectators, standing-room sections packed to bursting. Navy and silver banners clashed against Puddlemere's blue and gold. Harry rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension coiled in his muscles.

"Ready for this?" Brevis asked, adjusting his padding.

"As I'll ever be," Harry replied, peering through the tunnel to where Puddlemere United waited on the pitch. Viktor Krum stood at their centre, his brooding presence unmistakable even from a distance.

"Don't let Krum get in your head," Alana said, glancing at Krum. "He's just a man."

Harry snorted. "A man who's played in a World Cup final and is considered the best Seeker in the world. Nothing to worry about, right?"

Krum had joined Puddlemere United a month ago. The transfer had stunned the League. Krum swiftly established his dominance, catching the Snitch in all four matches he had played. Oliver Wood, the team captain, never one to hide his ambitions, had publicly declared that with Krum on their roster, Puddlemere would win the championship.

The Tornadoes topped the league table, having remained undefeated through seven matches. Their revamped squad had exceeded all expectations, with Harry's performances drawing crowds even to away fixtures. Puddlemere sat just three points behind in second place. Today marked the first clash between the two frontrunners, and tickets had sold out within hours of going on sale. 

Harry mounted his broom and shot out of the tunnel with his teammates. The crowd's volume doubled as the teams took their positions for the referee's instructions.

"Captains!" the referee called.

Brevis and Oliver Wood descended to the centre circle, shaking hands with professional formality. Harry found himself directly across from Krum, whose dark eyes assessed him with analytical coolness.

"Potter," Krum said with his usual thick accent. "I have waited for this match."

Harry nodded. "I'm surprised you joined the British and Irish League."

Krum shrugged. "The competition back home is not great. Neither is the money."

"I’m glad you joined. I welcome the competition."

"This is your first year as a professional Quidditch player," Krum said. "You think you can compete with me?"

"We're about to find out."

"Is Hermione doing well?"

The question caught Harry off guard. "She's good. Returned to Hogwarts to finish her education."

"Good." Krum gave a curt nod. "She has a brilliant mind. Is she seeing anyone?"

Harry nodded. "Ron Weasley. The red-haired kid who both worshipped and hated you simultaneously."

"I remember. So, they managed to work out their differences."

"Disappointed?"

"A little."

The referee's whistle cut through their conversation. Krum's expression shifted instantly, all personal warmth replaced by competitive focus. He rose a few feet on his broom, muscles tensing like a predator preparing to strike.

"Today we see who is better, yes?" Krum's mouth curved into the ghost of a smile. 

The referee's whistle pierced the air. Players exploded from their starting positions, brooms accelerating to racing speeds within seconds.

Puddlemere's precision became immediately apparent. Their Chasers sliced through the air in tight triangular formations, passing the Quaffle with barely a glance between them. Wood called patterns from his position at the goalposts, his team responding instantly to numbered commands.

Puddlemore took an early 20-0 lead.

Harry circled above the players, splitting his focus between scanning for the Snitch and monitoring Krum, who patrolled the opposite end. 

Puddlemere scored again. And again.

By the fourth hour, the scoreboard showed 180-70. Puddlemere's Beaters had identified the Furies' attack patterns and systematically dismantled them, sending well-aimed Bludgers to disrupt every offensive push. Brevis called a timeout, the team huddling mid-air near their goalposts.

"Harry!" Brevis shouted, pointing at Puddlemere's Chasers. "We need you to disrupt their patterns. Forget the Snitch for now."

Harry nodded. "What about Krum?"

"He'll probably follow you. Use that to pull him out of position."

The whistle blew. Harry immediately changed tactics, diving into Puddlemere's formations instead of patrolling above. Harry shot between the two lead Chasers, forcing them wide apart. Their timing collapsed, the Quaffle dropping two metres before the trailing Chaser recovered it.

"Bloody hell, Potter!" Wood bellowed.

The next time Puddlemere attacked, Harry executed a perfect barrel roll through their diamond formation, causing their lead Chaser to pull up sharply and miss the pass. The Quaffle fell into Brenna's waiting hands, and the Furies counterattacked.

As predicted, Krum shadowed Harry's movements, initially keeping his distance but gradually closing in as Harry's disruption tactics proved effective. Their personal battle intensified—a match within the match. When Harry dove to scatter Puddlemere's Chasers, Krum followed, their brooms separated by centimetres as they rocketed through the formation.

Harry abruptly pitched into a steep dive, his broom nearly vertical. Krum matched him instantly, both Seekers plummeting side-by-side. Twenty metres from the ground, Harry pulled up sharply, his broom handle straining against the G-forces. Krum, expecting a feint, had already begun levelling out, his recovery smooth and controlled.

"Nice try," Krum said as they levelled out, brooms parallel.

Harry grinned. "I’m just getting started."

Meanwhile, the Tornadoes had found their rhythm. Ciara broke through Puddlemere's defense, juking past a Bludger before firing the Quaffle through the left hoop. The scoreboard updated: 330-240. The stadium erupted as Tornadoes supporters sensed a potential comeback.

During the eighth hour, fatigue began showing on both teams. Passing grew less precise, but neither coach wanted to substitute and possibly disrupt the player’s rhythm. 

Harry spotted a golden flash near the central hoops—the Snitch. Without hesitation, he accelerated, his broom vibrating with the sudden burst of speed.

Krum reacted a half-second later, cutting diagonally across the pitch. The Snitch hovered momentarily, then shot straight upward as both Seekers converged from opposite directions.

Harry wrenched his broom handle up, transitioning from horizontal flight to vertical climb without slowing. His legs clamped around the broom handle as he fought against gravity. Krum matched him move for move, their shoulders nearly touching as they ascended side-by-side, climbing past the height of the stadium.

The Snitch paused, then plummeted earthward. Harry executed a backward loop, inverting completely before diving, maintaining visual contact throughout the manoeuvre. Krum chose a harder banking turn, cutting inside Harry's loop to establish a better position.

"Brilliant flying from both Seekers!" the announcer shouted as Harry and Krum streaked toward the ground. "Puddlemere leads three-hundred seventy to two-hundred seventy with four hours remaining!"

The Snitch vanished into the melee of players below. Harry pulled out of his dive, scanning frantically, but the golden ball had disappeared again.

This pattern repeated over the next hours—brief Snitch sightings leading to spectacular duels, neither Seeker gaining a decisive advantage. Krum's physical power and experience countered Harry's manoeuvrability and raw instinct.

With fifty-three minutes remaining on the clock, the Snitch reappeared, hovering near the Tornadoes' bench. Harry spotted it first, Krum's attention momentarily diverted by a Bludger that narrowly missed his head.

Those precious seconds gave Harry his opportunity. He flattened himself against his broom handle, accelerating to maximum speed. 

The Snitch sensed his approach and darted sideways. Harry anticipated the movement, having studied the ball's patterns throughout the match. His hand shot out, fingers closing around cold metal as tiny wings beat frantically against his palm.

"POTTER CATCHES THE SNITCH!" the announcer bellowed over deafening cheers. "A hundred and fifty points to Tutshill!"

Harry lifted the struggling Snitch, the stadium erupting around him. He had got one over the superstar. Despite his triumph, the match didn’t end in the Tornadoes' favour. 

"The score is four-hundred eighty to four-hundred fifty. Puddlemere United wins by thirty points!"

He'd caught the Snitch but it was too late to overcome Puddlemere's lead. When the coaches had made their substitutions with two hours remaining, the quality of the Puddlemore’s reserve Chasers proved the difference. They quickly racked up the points while the Tornadoes struggled to score. Even if Harry had caught the Snitch at the last moment, they would have lost by an even bigger score.

He circled the pitch once, acknowledging the crowd's applause. The Tornado fans didn’t seem too disappointed by the loss, as they had witnessed their Seeker defeat Krum.

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

Harry's back pressed against the wall as Daphne's fingers tangled in his hair. Her mouth moved hungrily against his, the taste of firewhiskey lingering on her lips. They'd been celebrating his catch, and one drink had led to another, culminating in this heated moment.  

"We should move somewhere more comfortable," Harry murmured against her neck, his hands gripping her waist.

Daphne hummed agreement, pressing closer. "Your room or mine?"

A loud crack shattered the moment, causing them to spring apart.

"Bloody hell, Kreacher!" Harry ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. "Ever heard of knocking?"

The house-elf eyed them disapprovingly. "Kreacher can barely move around the house without finding you in a compromised position. Please stick to your bedrooms in the future."

"Are we being scolded?" Daphne asked with a smile.

"I believe so," Harry replied. 

Kreahcer ignored their banter. "Kreacher has already reminded Miss Kannagi to do the same."

"Bet she loved that," Harry murmured.

“Kreacher is bringing a letter for Miss Greengrass." He presented an envelope with an ornate wax seal. "It is having the Greengrass family crest."

Daphne straightened her blouse before taking the letter. "Thank you, Kreacher."

The elf disappeared with another crack.

"Kreacher is getting too mouthy," Harry mused. “I think we should trade him in for a new model.”

Daphne didn't respond. She broke the seal and unfolded the parchment. Her eyes scanned the contents rapidly, her expression shifting from surprise to disbelief to cold fury.

"That absolute cow," she hissed, crumpling the letter in her fist.

"What's happened?" Harry moved closer, concerned by the sudden change.

"My mother," Daphne spat the word, "has arranged a marriage contract for me with Bartholomew Burke."

“Who?”

“An unpleasant man twice my age.”

Harry frowned. "She can't do that. You're the head of the family now."

"Exactly. But according to this, she's invoking an obscure clause in our family charter that allows the matriarch to arrange marriages if the family line is 'endangered'." She made air quotes with her fingers. "It's complete rubbish, of course. The clause was meant for situations where the family had no heir. Since both men and women can inherit the Greengrass title, she doesn’t have a leg to stand on."

Harry frowned. "Can she legally enforce it?"

"Not if I challenge it properly." Daphne's blue eyes glinted dangerously. "Which I intend to do immediately."

"Now? It's nearly ten."

"Perfect timing to remind my mother exactly who's in charge of the Greengrass family." She tossed the letter onto a side table. "Are you coming?"

Harry nodded. "Let me grab my cloak."

Twenty minutes later, they appeared with a crack at the gates of Greengrass Manor. The house stood dark against the night sky, save for a few lit windows on the ground floor. Harry felt Daphne tense beside him as the wrought-iron gates recognised her magic and swung open.

"I haven't been back since the funeral," she said quietly.

Harry took her hand. "You don't have to do this tonight."

"Yes, I do." She squared her shoulders. "Before she tries something even more ridiculous."

They walked the gravel path to the front entrance. Before they could knock, the heavy oak door swung open to reveal a house-elf in a pressed tea towel embroidered with the Greengrass crest.

"Mistress Daphne!" The elf's eyes widened. "Mistress Cordelia is in the blue drawing room with her guest."

"Guest?" Daphne's eyebrows rose. "At this hour?"

The elf wrung his hands. "Master Burke arrived for dinner and has not yet departed."

Daphne's jaw tightened. Harry could almost feel the temperature drop as she strode past the elf towards the drawing room.

Harry followed. He'd never visited Greengrass Manor before, but he'd heard enough from Daphne to know it was considered one of the more tasteful pure-blood residences. The entrance hall's marble floor gleamed beneath an elegant chandelier, and ancestral portraits watched their progress with undisguised curiosity.

Daphne pushed open the drawing room door without knocking. Inside, Cordelia Greengrass sat perched on a blue velvet settee, a crystal glass of wine in her manicured hand. Across from her lounged a corpulent man in expensive robes, perhaps forty years old, with thinning hair and a face flushed from alcohol.

"Mother," Daphne said coldly. "What a surprise to find you entertaining Mr Burke at such a late hour."

Cordelia nearly dropped her glass. "Daphne! You should have—"

"Quiet." Daphne stepped fully into the room, Harry at her shoulder. "I received your letter regarding the marriage contract. I've come to inform you it won't be happening."

Burke struggled to his feet, his watery eyes narrowing at Harry. "What's he doing here? This is a family matter."

"Mr Potter is my partner," Daphne said evenly. "And as head of the Greengrass family, I decide who's welcome in our discussions."

Cordelia placed her glass on a side table. "Daphne, darling, you're being hasty. The Burke family offers significant political advantages—"

"I don't care if they offer direct access to Merlin himself," Daphne interrupted. "You have no authority to arrange my marriage. The clause you're attempting to invoke requires approval from the family head—which is me."

Burke puffed up indignantly. "We've already signed the preliminary documents!"

"Then you've wasted parchment," Daphne said. "As family head, I hereby formally reject and dissolve any marriage arrangements made without my explicit consent."

"You ungrateful child!" Cordelia stood, her composure cracking. "After everything I've done to rebuild our family's standing—"

"After you stood by while Death Eaters tortured Father to death?" Daphne's voice cut like ice. "That's what you mean by 'everything you've done'?"

The room fell silent. Even Burke seemed to shrink back.

Daphne turned to Burke. "Mr Burke, I suggest you depart. Any contract you signed with my mother is void, and pursuing the matter further would put your family at odds with House Greengrass.” 

“And House Potter-Black," Harry added.

Burke cast a nervous glance at Harry, who met his gaze steadily, letting a hint of his power stir the curtains.

"This is outrageous," Burke blustered, but he was already backing towards the door. "My father will hear about this!"

"I look forward to his owl," Daphne replied calmly.

After Burke fled, Daphne faced her mother again. "I suggest you retire, Mother. Tomorrow, we'll discuss your future living arrangements. I think the dower house in Cornwall would suit you perfectly."

Cordelia's expression hardened. "You think you've won, but you're just a girl playing at being head of family. This isn't over."

"For your sake," Harry said quietly, "I hope it is."

When they returned to Grimmauld Place, Daphne paced the sitting room, and Harry sank into an armchair, watching her work through her thoughts.

"Burke makes no sense as a match," she said. "He's twenty years older than me, from a family with declining influence, and has a reputation for gambling away his allowance. There's no political or financial advantage."

"If you say so.”

"Unless Burke wasn't the real goal." Daphne stopped pacing, her blue eyes narrowing. "What if she wanted me to reject the match but still invoke the marriage clause?"

"You think she has someone else lined up?"

"Possibly. Or..." Daphne tapped her fingers against her thigh. "Maybe the marriage itself wasn't the point. The clause she invoked gives the matriarch temporary financial oversight while the arrangements are finalised."

Harry sat forward. "She could have been after access to your vaults."

"Exactly." Daphne resumed pacing. "My revoking her access tonight likely wasn't part of her plan. She would have had at least a month of authority over family finances before any marriage took place."

"Time enough to transfer significant funds," Harry agreed. "But to where? And why the sudden need for money?"

"That's what worries me." Daphne stopped by the window, staring out into the darkness. "Mother's always been careful with galleons. Something must have pushed her to desperation."

Harry joined her at the window. "Blackmail?"

"Perhaps."

"Maybe she owes someone," Harry suggested. "Someone powerful enough to make her risk everything on this scheme."

Daphne's lips pressed into a tight line. "We need to find out. Even banished to Cornwall, she could cause trouble."

"How do you want to handle it?"

"I will start by examining the family accounts tomorrow. See if there are unusual transactions over the past few months." Daphne turned to face him. "Then I'll need to search her rooms at the manor before she's moved. She keeps most of her correspondence in a locked chest beside her bed."

Harry nodded. "I'll come with you."

"No need. Astoria can help me. This is family business." She held up a hand as Harry started to protest. "I appreciate the offer but I want to deal with it alone."

"Fair enough. Just be careful."

Daphne stepped into his arms. "I should have confronted her sooner." 

"You handled it perfectly," Harry assured her, stroking her hair. "She won't try something like that again."

Daphne pulled back, wiping her eyes. "No, she won't. Because after I move her to Cornwall, I'm changing the wards to prevent her from ever entering the main house again."

Harry smiled at her determination. "Remind me never to cross you, Greengrass."

"I knew you were smart, Potter," she said. "Now, where were we before Kreacher interrupted?"

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

Harry looked up from his breakfast as Ayano burst through the kitchen door, Daily Prophet clutched in her white-knuckled grip.

"You need to see this." She slapped the newspaper onto the table, knocking over Harry's tea.

The headline screamed across the front page: "MASSACRE IN IRISH VILLAGE— FLYING ATTACKER USES WIND POWERS. IS TEMPEST RESPONSIBLE?"

Harry's stomach plummeted as he scanned the article. Glenfinn, a magical village in western Ireland, had been attacked. Thirty-seven confirmed dead. Witnesses described a hooded figure who commanded devastating wind powers, tearing buildings apart and sending lethal blades of compressed air through fleeing victims.

"This can't be right." Harry pushed back from the table. "They're saying the attacker used abilities just like mine."

Kaze materialised beside him, his form more solid than usual. "We need to go. Now."

"It's a trap," Ayano said. "Someone's trying to frame you."

Harry nodded, already summoning his cloak. "Probably. But I need to see for myself."

"I'm coming with you," Ayano insisted, her tone brooking no argument. 

Harry knew better than to argue when that look appeared in her eyes. "Fine.”

They stepped outside together, Kaze's form streaking alongside them as Harry gripped Ayano's arm and shot into the sky. The Wind Walking technique compressed distance, Britain's countryside blurring beneath them as they raced westward.

They reached Glennfinn within minutes. The scene below made Harry's throat tighten—buildings torn apart like they were made of paper, debris scattered across streets stained dark with blood. Healers and Aurors moved through the wreckage, their faces haunted.

Harry descended to the village square, Ayano at his side. A group of Ministry officials huddled in conversation. The moment their feet touched cobblestones, heads snapped toward them. Recognition dawned in their eyes, followed immediately by fear and rage.

"That's him!" someone shouted. "That's the murderer!"

A wizard in Magical Law Enforcement robes drew his wand. "Don't move! By order of the Ministry, you're under arrest!"

Harry raised his hands slowly. "I'm not responsible for this. I came to help."

"Liar!" A woman with a bandaged face pushed forward. "I saw you! You cut my husband in half!"

The crowd surged forward, fury overriding caution. Wands appeared from sleeves and pockets, pointed directly at Harry and Ayano.

"Easy," Harry said, keeping his voice calm. "I wasn't here last night. I was in London and I have several witnesses that can attest to the fact."

"What's one more lie from a mass murderer?" the law enforcement wizard snarled.

Ayano stepped slightly in front of Harry, her stance protective. "Back off. We're here to investigate, not cause more trouble."

The crowd's hostility now included her. "His accomplice!" someone yelled.

Harry studied the crowd, noting their raw grief and righteous anger. These weren't Death Eaters or political opponents—they were victims, convinced he'd destroyed their lives.

"I could leave right now," he said quietly. "You couldn't stop me. But I need to understand what happened here, because someone is using abilities similar to mine to commit atrocities."

The crowd's momentum faltered slightly at his calm demeanour.

"Please," Harry continued. "Tell me what you saw. Help me find who really did this."

"Why should we believe you?" demanded a grey-haired wizard in singed robes.

Harry considered the question. "Because if I wanted to harm anyone here, I would have done it already, not wasting my time talking to you."

Silence fell as the logic penetrated their anger. Then a small voice piped up from the back of the crowd.

"I don't think it was him."

The crowd parted reluctantly, revealing a girl no older than eight. Her arm was bandaged, and soot smudged her tear-streaked face.

"Ellie, get back," the law enforcement wizard ordered.

"But I saw everything," she insisted. "From the clocktower. Mum told me to hide there."

Harry crouched to her eye level, maintaining distance to avoid frightening her. "What did you see, Ellie?"

"He wore a cloak like yours," she said, pointing to Harry's emerald-trimmed cloak. “But he was much taller than you. The same height as my Dad.”

“Six foot six,” someone called out.   

"Did you see what he could do?" Harry asked gently.

Ellie nodded, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He made the wind sharp. People just... fell apart when it touched them. Then he made a big storm that tore up buildings."

Harry frowned. Was it another wind practitioner? Or was it…?

Harry felt Kaze's invisible form tense beside him. 

"Typhoon," the spirit whispered, audible only to Harry. "But how? We protected both children. He shouldn't have been able to resurrect without the Black bloodline."

Ayano knelt beside Ellie, her normally fierce expression gentled. "You were very brave to speak up. Thank you." 

She turned to the crowd. "We need to examine the attack sites. Will you allow us?"

The initial hostility had faded somewhat, replaced by wary confusion. The Ministry official nodded hesitantly.

As Harry and Ayano walked through the devastated village, the scope of destruction became increasingly apparent. 

They spent over an hour examining debris strewn across the village, noting how the destruction spiralled outward from the central square. The killer had started with precision strikes against those who might offer resistance before unleashing broader, more chaotic wind attacks that demolished entire structures with people trapped inside. This wasn't just murder; it was a demonstration of power—a performance meant to terrify.

Despite their thorough investigation, no physical evidence remained that might identify the attacker or indicate his next target. 

"I'll find who did this," Harry promised the gathered survivors. "And I'll stop them."

Harry knew his reassurances fell flat against the backdrop of such devastation. The survivors needed more than promises from a man they still half-suspected of causing their suffering. Even now, reporters would be hunched over desks at the Daily Prophet offices, crafting sensationalist headlines linking Tempest to the massacre. 

At the Ministry, emergency sessions would already be convening. Department heads would debate strategies for containing both the crisis and Harry himself. Some would call for his immediate arrest. 

The ICW would demand explanations Kingsley couldn't provide. Diplomatic tensions, already strained by Harry's previous activities, would worsen as foreign representatives questioned Britain's ability to control its most powerful citizen.

Whether it was Typhoon or not, this wasn’t over. Harry could feel it in the wind—this was just the beginning.

So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry faces pressure from all sides following the attack on the village.

Thanks for reading.