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The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 24
🕑 Added 2025-04-18 10:06:22 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here’s the second chapter for the week.
Chapter 24
Harry bolted upright in bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. The nightmare clung to him like a second skin—his body transforming, black wind replacing flesh and bone until he resembled Typhoon more than himself. Worse still had been the complete lack of control as he'd slaughtered everyone he loved, one by one, their terrified faces turning blank as life fled their eyes.
The warm bodies pressed against him grounded him back in reality. Daphne stirred first, her blonde hair cascading across his chest as she raised her head.
"Another nightmare?" she murmured, voice thick with sleep.
Harry nodded, drawing a deep breath to steady himself. On his other side, Ayano's eyes fluttered open. Despite the bandages still wrapped around her, she'd shown remarkable recovery—and remarkable stamina last night, he recalled with a flush of warmth.
"It wasn't real," Ayano said, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin. "We're all still here."
Harry eased himself from between them, careful not to jostle Ayano's healing injuries. "I know. I just need a minute."
He stood, stretching his sore muscles. Christmas celebrations at Harefield Estate had helped him through the emotional fugue he had been suffering. He enjoyed watching the children's excitement as they tore into their presents, returning them to a sense of normality after all they’d been through.
The evening's party at Grimmauld Place had cemented the thaw. He'd finally apologised to Daphne and Ayano for his emotional distance. They'd understood, of course, but the relief in their eyes had been obvious. The mountain of gifts he'd presented them with probably hadn't hurt either, though he'd deny using it as a tactic to get back in their good graces if anyone asked.
"Go back to sleep," he whispered, pulling the duvet over them. "It's still early."
Daphne mumbled something incoherent, already drifting off again. Ayano watched him through half-closed eyes before succumbing to sleep herself.
Harry padded downstairs, barefoot and shirtless. The house seemed preternaturally quiet after yesterday's celebrations. When he reached the living room, he discovered Kreacher meticulously gathering discarded wrapping paper and vanishing it with a snap of his fingers.
"I told you we'd clean this up ourselves," Harry said.
Kreacher didn't pause in his work. "Kreacher wants to do it."
"You were supposed to take the week off. Don't you want to do something you enjoy?"
The house-elf straightened, his tennis-ball eyes narrowing. "Kreacher is doing what he enjoys. The only way Kreacher is going to take a holiday is if Master gives him clothes."
He sniffed dramatically. "Not that Master cares if that kills Kreacher."
Harry backed toward the door, recognising a losing battle. "Don't let me stop you from enjoying yourself."
He headed for the kitchen, intent on preparing breakfast for his girlfriends, when the doorbell's chime interrupted his plans. With a sigh, he redirected to the front door.
Catherine McDonald stood on the doorstep, her eyes roving appreciatively over his bare chest before meeting his gaze with a smirk.
"Merry Christmas," she said, inviting herself inside without waiting for a response. "A bit late, I know, but the sentiment stands."
"Where have you been?" Harry closed the door against the winter chill. "You said you needed to speak with me urgently, then disappeared."
Catherine unwound a cashmere scarf from her neck. "Are you forgetting you stood me up? I waited an entire afternoon."
"You sound like a jilted girlfriend."
"I had to return home for Christmas." She hung her coat on the rack by the door. "Family obligations."
"You're back pretty fast."
"This conversation couldn't wait." She nodded toward his chest. "Though you might want to put on a shirt. You're rather distracting."
Harry snorted. "I need to take a shower. Ask Kreacher if you need anything."
"Kreacher would like to take that holiday now," the house-elf announced, appearing beside them.
Catherine smiled sweetly. "I see your manners are as impeccable as ever, my little friend."
Harry headed upstairs to shower, leaving the pair to bicker among themselves. When he returned fifteen minutes later, he found Catherine in the dining room helping Kreacher set an elaborate breakfast spread.
"This is too much," Harry said, eyeing the platters of eggs, bacon, pastries, and fresh fruit.
"It's for your girlfriends as well." Catherine took a seat at the table, gesturing for him to join her.
"They're still sleeping."
"Not for long. They probably already know I'm here." A knowing smile curved her lips. "They won't leave you alone with me."
As if summoned by her words, Daphne and Ayano entered the dining room. They greeted Harry warmly, deliberately ignoring Catherine as they took their seats. The tension in the room rose palpably, the three women eyeing each other like circling predators.
Harry suppressed a sigh as he filled his plate. Catherine seemed in no hurry to reveal the purpose of her visit, instead steering the conversation toward innocuous topics while they ate.
"Where's your father?" Catherine asked Ayano.
"He and Ren returned to Japan for some clan business," Ayano replied. "He said he'll be back soon."
Harry winced inwardly. He still needed to discuss Jugo's betrothal proposal with Ayano. And if he was offering Ayano such an agreement, he'd need to do the same for Daphne. The complications of his current relationship arrangement seemed to multiply by the day.
Catherine set down her fork. "Let's have that discussion now. Daphne and Ayano can stay, as it will likely affect them."
"How generous of you," Daphne murmured.
"What if I were to tell you," Catherine began, ignoring the jab, "that Typhoon's resurrection wasn't just Burke's plan? That someone else orchestrated events from behind the scenes?"
Harry’s brows furrowed. "What proof do you have? Who is this person?"
"We don't know their identity," Catherine admitted. "But they've had their hand in numerous incidents involving spirit practitioners over the past few years. Many occurred on American soil, which is why my family became involved. As we investigated further, we found traces of this mastermind in international incidents as well."
Ayano leaned forward. "So you don't have evidence of their involvement with Typhoon. You're just assuming."
"I haven't had time to investigate Burke and the cultists properly, but I'm almost certain there's someone pulling strings behind the scenes."
"Why did you come to England in the first place?" Harry asked. "Typhoon hadn't appeared yet when you arrived. You had different motives."
"She's trying to recruit you, Harry," Daphne said.
Catherine nodded. "That's right. My family has created an organisation to track down this individual. It’s called the Spirit Alliance. This person is incredibly dangerous, making Typhoon look like a child by comparison."
She turned to Harry. "When I first learned about you, I was determined to recruit you. Your power is exceptional."
"I have too much on my plate already." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "The orphanage, Quidditch, hunting Regina—I can't join some international organisation on top of all that."
"Think about it," Catherine pressed. "We have access to resources you couldn't imagine. Furthermore, if this person targets spirit practitioners specifically, they won't leave you alone. They may already have you in their sights."
"Are you suggesting Regina Bowles is another puppet in this mysterious mastermind's plans?" Daphne asked, her voice dripping with scepticism.
"I only have suspicions at this point."
Harry pushed his plate away, his appetite gone. "I need time to think about it."
"Fair enough. I'll be staying in London for the next two weeks. Call me when you decide." She turned to Ayano. "I wanted to recruit you as well, but your father declined. He will provide some support, however."
"Is that why you were cosying up to him?" Ayano's eyes flashed dangerously. "Why didn't you ask me directly?"
"I know how traditional he is," Catherine replied smoothly. "I didn't want to risk offending the Kannagi family."
"You still haven't shown us any evidence this mastermind even exists," Daphne pointed out.
"It's classified, I'm afraid." Catherine rose from her seat. "I can only share details if Harry joins. We can't risk them discovering that we know about them."
"Do they have a name?" Harry asked.
"We don't know their actual name." Catherine hesitated. "We call them Gaia. You'll understand why if you join."
Harry walked her to the door, mind whirling with the implications of what she'd shared—or rather, what she'd hinted at without revealing.
"One more thing," Catherine said as she stepped onto the doorstep. "Don't wait too long to decide. You’re standing out too much. You need to be careful."
She left without waiting for a response.
Harry returned to the dining room, where Daphne and Ayano waited expectantly.
"What do you think?" Ayano asked.
"I think she's hiding something," Harry replied, dropping back into his chair. "But that doesn't mean she's wrong."
"The timing feels convenient," Daphne mused. "Typhoon's barely defeated, and suddenly there's an even greater threat we need her help to face?"
"Maybe." Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "But if there is someone out there collecting spirit practitioners or manipulating them somehow..."
"Then we need to find out more," Ayano finished for him. "With or without Catherine's help."
The unspoken question hung in the air between them. What if Catherine was right? What if Typhoon had been merely a pawn in some larger game—a game they'd only just begun to comprehend?
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry entered Gringotts and approached the nearest available teller. The goblin didn't look up from his ledger, scratching away with a quill as if Harry didn't exist. After a full minute of being ignored, Harry cleared his throat.
"Yes?" the goblin finally asked, his voice dripping with bored contempt.
"I'd like to inquire about potential family vaults," Harry said.
The teller's eyes narrowed as recognition dawned. He barked something in Gobbledegook to a colleague, who scurried away with surprising speed. Harry's brow furrowed at the exchange, catching the subtle smirk that played across the teller's lips.
"Hasn't your account manager gone over this with you already?" The goblin's long fingers drummed impatiently on the counter. "If there were additional vaults, you would have been informed."
“I know already. Can you double-check for me?”
The teller nodded. He reached under the counter and retrieved a heavy ledger. Harry waited while the teller browsed the book, surprised that the goblin was being cooperative all of a sudden.
A squad of armoured goblins appeared from a side corridor. Six warriors, each carrying wicked two-handed axes and dressed in breastplates, marched directly toward him with unmistakable purpose. Their heavy boots struck the marble in perfect unison, creating an ominous cadence that silenced the people in the foyer.
Ragnok's warning echoed in Harry's mind, about having enemies among the goblins.
He glanced at the teller, whose smirk had transformed into a full-fledged grin. The little bastard had summoned the squad and deliberately delayed him so he couldn't leave.
The leader of the squad stepped forward. "Mr. Potter, you need to come with us. Silverclaw wishes to speak with you."
"Tell Silverclaw I'm not interested," Harry replied, subtly shifting his weight to a defensive stance.
"It's not a request," the leader said, his voice hardening. "It's an order. Inside Gringotts, you must follow our rules."
Around them, wizards and witches paused their transactions, sensing the tension crackling in the air. Several edged toward the exit, abandoning their business as the confrontation escalated.
"Oh, really?" Harry's eyes fixed on the squad leader. "Last I heard, Ragnok was in charge of Gringotts. Should we summon him and see what he thinks?"
"This has nothing to do with him."
The goblins advanced, raising their axes to readiness. Harry's eyes shifted from emerald to azure blue, wind currents beginning to swirl around his feet.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," he warned.
The remaining customers abandoned all pretence of normalcy, scrambling for the exit as the warriors spread into a semicircle.
The first goblin struck without warning, his axe whistling through the air where Harry's head had been a split second earlier. Harry sidestepped, responding with a gust of wind that sent the warrior skidding across the polished floor.
Two more attackers coordinated their approach, coming at him from opposite sides. Harry dropped to one knee, compressed air exploding outward in a circular blast that knocked them off their feet. Their axes clattered across the marble as they tumbled.
He needed to be careful—killing a goblin, even in self-defence, would shatter his relationship with Ragnok.
The squad leader signalled to his remaining warriors, who advanced carefully. Harry found himself parrying blows from multiple directions, wind blades deflecting axe strikes that came within inches of his flesh.
He twisted away from a particularly vicious swing, retaliating with a controlled air blast that sent the goblin sprawling. The squad was skilled—probably Gringotts' elite guards—but they were outmatched against his abilities.
Just as Harry thought he had the situation under control, another dozen warriors poured in from a side chamber, brandishing identical axes. This group moved with even greater discipline, separating to cut off any potential escape routes.
"Bloody wind," Harry muttered, irritation building as he realised they had no intention of backing down.
A goblin lunged, axe cleaving the air where Harry's legs had been. He responded instinctively, a compressed air blade severing the weapon's handle. The warrior stumbled forward, momentum carrying him into a marble column that cracked from the impact.
The battle intensified. Harry maintained a defensive posture, focusing on disabling rather than killing. Wind barriers deflected the most dangerous attacks while targeted air blasts kept his attackers off balance. A chandelier crashed to the floor as an errant wind current snapped its chain, and several desks splintered under the bodies of thrown warriors.
His patience thinning, Harry spotted the original teller cowering behind an overturned desk, watching the chaos unfold. With a sharp gesture, he seized the goblin in a cocoon of wind, lifting him several feet off the ground.
"Time for some punishment," Harry said, holding the struggling teller before him like a shield.
Three warriors converged on Harry simultaneously. He deflected their attacks with wind blasts, using the floating teller as a focal point around which to manoeuvre. The goblin shrieked as axes whistled past him, missing by centimetres.
Just as the confrontation threatened to escalate further, the massive doors to the inner chambers burst open. Ragnok strode into the foyer, flanked by his own honour guard. The bank director's face contorted with fury as he surveyed the destruction.
"What the hell is going on here?" Ragnok roared, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. "Stop this at once!"
The attacking warriors froze mid-strike. As one, they dropped their weapons and knelt, heads bowed in submission.
Harry released his wind hold, allowing the teller to drop unceremoniously to the floor. The goblin glared venomously but lowered his gaze when Ragnok approached.
"Didn't I tell you that you had enemies within Gringotts?" Ragnok asked, surveying the damage with narrowed eyes.
"Yes," Harry replied, "but I didn't expect them to attack me in the foyer."
Ragnok grunted in disgust. "Silverfang will pay for this. What right did he have to attack one of our most important customers?"
His gaze swept across the kneeling warriors before returning to Harry. "At least you didn't kill anyone, otherwise, it would be a much more complicated situation."
Harry glanced around at the damaged columns, shattered chandelier, and overturned furniture. "You're not going to charge me for the damage to the bank this time, right?"
"I'm thinking about it."
"Why, you greedy son-of-a—"
"I was joking," Ragnok interrupted, a rare smile cracking his severe features. "You really don't have any fear of me, do you?"
"Fear, no," Harry admitted. "But I do respect you. Which is why I tried to minimise the damage while they were trying to separate my head from my shoulders."
Ragnok nodded. "I will make sure they are punished appropriately. Now, why did you come here?"
Harry explained his need for information about his ancestors, particularly wondering if his parents had maintained a separate vault unknown to him.
"Is that all?" Ragnok shook his head. "The answer's no. I have already briefed you on your accounts."
"It was a long shot." Harry shrugged. "Why doesn't my family have a proper ancestral vault? Most old families seem to."
"Because your father lost a significant portion of the Potter fortune during the war," Ragnok explained. "He funded the resistance efforts generously, against my advice. He decided a smaller vault was sufficient for what remained."
"So, they didn't leave any heirlooms behind?"
"If anything remains, it would be at Potter Manor."
Harry's brow furrowed. "I thought it was destroyed."
"It was," Ragnok confirmed, "but some families hide their heirlooms on their properties. When the goblins searched the manor after your parents' deaths, many items were missing. They may have been stolen by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, or your parents may have hidden them elsewhere."
"I'll check it out." Harry glanced around at the subdued goblin warriors, still kneeling in rigid formation. "Let's do this again sometime. It was fun."
"I don't get your sense of humour."
"Just keeping things interesting."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry swerved hard to the right, the Bludger whistling past his ear as rain lashed his face. His sodden Quidditch robes clung to his body like a second skin.
He swore under his breath, adjusting his grip on the broomstick. The Wasps' Beaters had made him their primary target for the last twenty minutes, sending Bludgers his way with relentless precision.
This first match of the new year was proving brutal. The Tutshill Tornados versus the Wimbourne Wasps should have been a straightforward contest based on their respective league positions, but the weather had become the great equaliser. Torrential rain reduced visibility to mere metres, transforming skilled professionals into waterlogged amateurs struggling to execute basic manoeuvres.
Harry found the rule against weather enchantments particularly idiotic. What was the point of forty thousand fans sitting in stands when they couldn't see anything beyond sheets of water?
With only an hour left in the game, the Tornados clung to a precarious lead. Harry had only gotten glimpses of the Snitch, but hadn’t gotten close to catching it. He would have to go into extra time to compete for the Snitch if it wasn’t found soon.
The Wasps employed tactics that verged on illegal, their Beaters hammering the Tornados with punishing hits whenever the referee's attention wandered. Three Tornado players had already been substituted due to injuries.
Worse still, two of the casualties were Alana and Brenna, leaving Ciara as the sole remaining Fury. The team's offensive capabilities had become dangerously lopsided, with Sarah and Abigail—both reserve Chasers—struggling to integrate with BCiara's aggressive style.
The Wasps' Chasers surged forward again. Their coordinated attack overwhelmed Mervyn, bringing the score level.
Brevis signalled for a timeout. The team descended to the pitch, where Harry immediately crafted a wind barrier above their heads, creating a dry sanctuary amidst the deluge.
"We need to change things up," Brevis said, water streaming from his protective goggles as he removed them. "I don't think we can hold them back from scoring. They only need sixty points to beat us, assuming Harry catches the Snitch in extra time."
Sarah pushed wet hair from her face, her expression crestfallen. "I'm sorry, guys. I haven't been a good substitute."
"No one's playing well in this weather," Mervyn countered, wringing water from his gloves. "It's crazy that we're forced to play in this. Harry's almost been struck by lightning several times."
"The key word is 'almost,'" Harry said.
Brevis turned to him. "Harry, what do you think?"
"We need to score," Harry replied without hesitation. "There's no guarantee I'll catch the Snitch at the end of the game. Why don't I change from Seeker to playing Chaser?"
"Are you sure you can handle it?" Brevis asked, eyebrows raised.
"Yes. It's what I've been training for."
Clara rolled her eyes. "There's that arrogance coming through again."
"Confidence," Harry corrected.
The whistle signalled the end of their timeout. Drenched players remounted their brooms, soaring back into the storm with renewed determination. Harry positioned himself alongside Clara, Sarah, and Abigail.
As the Quaffle came into play, Harry's Seeker instincts translated seamlessly to his new role. Where others saw chaos in the rain, he perceived patterns, anticipating the Wasps' defensive movements before they fully formed.
"Clara, drop pass!" he shouted, accelerating through a gap between two Wasps defenders.
She complied, releasing the Quaffle in a deceptively casual movement that sent it falling directly into Harry's path. He scooped it seamlessly, drawing the attention of a Wasps Beater who abandoned his position to intercept.
"Sarah, behind you!" Harry called, hurling the Quaffle over his shoulder without looking.
Sarah caught it cleanly, pivoting around the Wasps' Keeper who'd committed to Harry's apparent attack. Her throw sent the Quaffle sailing through the left hoop, restoring the Tornados' lead.
Their next offensive proved even more effective. Abigail shielded Clara from opposing players while she carried the Quaffle downfield. Harry weaved through the defensive line, creating space that didn't exist moments before. When a Bludger threatened Clara's approach, she executed a perfect Sloth Grip Roll to avoid it, maintaining possession throughout the manoeuvre.
The Wasps' initially organised defence crumbled under the Tornados' unexpected tactical shift. Accustomed to countering the Furies' straightforward power plays, they struggled to adapt to the improvisational style Harry brought to the position. The Tornados had extended their lead to thirty points.
With thirty minutes remaining on the clock, Harry narrowly dodged a lightning bolt that split the sky directly above him.
Fool, a cold voice reverberated inside his skull. You've been out here for twelve hours, and you don't recognise that this storm isn't natural.
Harry froze mid-flight, the Quaffle slipping from his fingers as alarm shot through him. He tilted his head upward, extending his senses through the rain to probe the storm clouds. He came up empty-handed.
Could someone create a storm of this magnitude? His thoughts immediately turned to the surviving Balan siblings. But they couldn’t create this storm on their own. Were they working with someone? At least they weren't targeting others, focusing their vengeance on him.
"Potter!" Brevis shouted. "Head in the game!"
Harry snapped back to awareness as a Bludger whistled past. He rejoined the offensive push, though his attention remained partially diverted. The Tornados scored twice more in quick succession, pushing their lead to seventy points by the time the final whistle blew.
Both teams, exhausted beyond measure, mutually agreed to forfeit the Snitch chase. The seventy-point margin secured the win, but it wouldn’t be enough for the bonus point—catching the Snitch would have been academic.
The moment the match officially ended, Harry shot upward, abandoning all pretence of normal flight. Wind currents propelled him above the clouds, where he could survey the storm's full extent. As he watched, the unnaturally persistent rain began dissipating with suspicious speed, confirming the voice's assertion of the storm being unnatural.
Harry scanned the surrounding airspace, searching for any sign of the Balans or other practitioners. Nothing. Whoever had engineered the storm had triggered it had departed before the match concluded.
After several fruitless minutes, Harry descended to the pitch where his teammates celebrated their hard-fought victory. He accepted their congratulations mechanically, his mind preoccupied with this new threat.
Until he located the remaining Balan siblings, he would need to remain vigilant against similar attacks. It could come from anywhere.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry soared over the Welsh countryside, following the directions Ragnok had provided. The patchwork of fields and hedgerows eventually gave way to a stretch of wild forest, unmarked on any map. Deep within its boundaries lay what remained of Potter Manor.
As he descended, Harry spotted a weathered stone wall encircling the property, interrupted by a pair of iron gates. Landing lightly before them, he studied the family crest in the centre. It depicted a Hippogriff clutching a sword in its beak.
"Home sweet home," he murmured.
According to Ragnok, the goblins had restored the protective wards following the destruction of the manor, adhering to the Potter family's standing instructions. It had cost a substantial portion of the Potters’ remaining finances, but Harry felt grateful the property had been preserved.
He couldn't see beyond the gates and fence. The estate seemed to disappear into nothing just past the entrance. His first instinct was to fly over the boundary, but when he tried, an invisible barrier repelled him firmly back to the ground.
Harry approached the gate, placing his palm against the family crest. He felt a momentary prickle as the wards identified him before the gates swung inward. As soon as he stepped through, they closed behind him.
The grass was waist-high, interspersed with wildflowers and saplings that would eventually reclaim the entire grounds if left unchecked. A winding gravel driveway, now barely distinguishable from the surrounding vegetation, led toward the manor's remains.
As Harry approached the ruins, his heart sank. The once-grand building had been reduced to a jumble of stone and timber. Nothing had been spared from the destruction. If his parents had hidden any heirlooms here, they were likely lost forever.
After several frustrating minutes examining the collapsed structure and finding nothing, Harry took to the air again, to get a bird's-eye view of the entire property.
The property was vast—two dozen acres at least—but had long surrendered to nature. To the north stretched a patch of woods, seemingly untouched by whatever calamity had befallen the house. The rest of the grounds consisted of overgrown gardens, the occasional crumbling outbuilding, and what might once have been a Quidditch pitch.
With enough time and resources, the place could be restored to its former glory, though he couldn't imagine the enormous effort such a project would require.
His attention returned to the ruined manor, and something nagged at his mind. The placement seemed off. Thanks to his discussions with Daphne about ward structures, he knew most wizarding manors were positioned centrally within their properties, allowing the protective spells to cover the maximum area with minimal strain.
But the Potter manor ruins sat much closer to the front gates than made sense. Had the house been rebuilt at some point, abandoning the original foundation? Or was something else at play?
Harry calculated where the true centre of the property might be and flew there directly. Landing on the ground, he found himself surrounded by a circle of stone statues. Each depicted a magical creature: a Phoenix, a Mermaid, a Troll, and a Harpy.
Something about the arrangement triggered Harry's instincts. He walked slowly around the circle, studying each statue in turn. They weren't just random magical creatures—each represented an element.
"There's something here," he murmured,
He approached the Harpy first, summoning a gentle breeze that caressed the statue. The stone creature's eyes glowed green briefly before fading.
Moving to the Phoenix, Harry retrieved his wand and created a small flame that he touched to the statue's beak. The stone ignited momentarily, the fire spreading across its wings before dying away, leaving the eyes glowing red.
For the Mermaid, he conjured a small sphere of water that he directed to the statue's mouth. The liquid seemed to be absorbed by the stone, with the creature's eyes turning a deep blue.
The Troll presented a challenge as he didn’t know any spells for the earth element. Until Harry remembered earth magic wasn't just about dirt and rocks—it was about life itself. He knelt, drawing his wand and touching it to the ground before the troll statue. Grass and wildflowers sprouted from the wand tip, growing rapidly around the troll's feet. Its stone eyes glowed green.
All four statues were now connected by glowing lines on the ground. With a deep rumble, the ground at the centre began to part, and a hidden structure rose from beneath the earth. It wasn't large—perhaps the size of a small temple—but clearly ancient.
Torches flared to life as he entered, illuminating a circular chamber. The walls were lined with shelves containing books, artefacts, and suits of armour.
But what drew his attention was the life-sized portrait hanging on the far wall. The painted figure—a tall man with streaks of grey in his black hair and intense green eyes—straightened as Harry approached.
"Finally," the portrait said. "I was beginning to think the line had ended."
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry learns about his unique heritage.
Thanks for reading.
