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The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2025-03-21 18:22:37 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here's the second chapter for the week. The next chapter will be out later today.
Chapter 21
Harry spread the newspapers across the kitchen table, his jaw clenching with every headline.
The Daily Prophet led the charge: "TEMPEST: HERO OR VILLAIN?" splashed above a split image of him saving the plane and the devastation at Glenfinn. The Quibbler, usually sympathetic, questioned whether "dark forces" had corrupted him. Witch Weekly had already rushed a special edition with the headline "BELOVED QUIDDITCH STAR OR RUTHLESS KILLER?"
"Bloody wind," Harry muttered, shoving the pile away. "One minute I'm their saviour, the next I'm a mass murderer."
At least the non-magical world remained blissfully unaware. Glenfinn's isolation and its status as an exclusively magical settlement had kept the massacre out of non-magical papers. The last thing they needed was the entire world turning against him.
Ayano poured herself tea, glancing over his shoulder. "The public's memory is shorter than a goldfish's."
"Two weeks ago they were naming babies after me." Harry stabbed a finger at a particularly venomous opinion piece. "Now they're demanding my arrest."
"People fear what they don't understand," Daphne said, entering the kitchen in her dressing gown. She squeezed his shoulder before taking the seat opposite. "They need someone to blame."
"Perhaps I should never have become Tempest." Harry ran a hand through his hair. "Stick to Quidditch and leave the heroics to someone else."
Daphne's eyebrows shot up. "And let how many people die?"
"You've saved hundreds," Ayano added. "Don't let one imposter ruin that."
"The imposter killed thirty-seven people," Harry said. "Using abilities identical to mine. What am I supposed to do?"
Daphne leaned forward. "Find whoever's responsible and make them pay."
A tapping at the window interrupted them. A regal-looking owl with Ministry bands around its legs hovered outside, a sealed parchment clutched in its talons.
"Delivering mail so early in the morning," Harry said, opening the window. "This can't be good."
The letter bore the Wizengamot's sea—a formal summons to an emergency session at nine o'clock. Harry tossed it onto the table.
"They're not wasting time," Daphne said, scanning the document. "The full Wizengamot, Harry. This is serious."
Kaze materialised beside them, his transparent form more solid than usual. "Let me handle the hero business while you deal with the fallout."
"You'd do that?" Harry asked.
"I've controlled the wind longer than you've been alive," Kaze replied. "Besides, Typhoon must be stopped before he kills again. I will look for clues while I’m out there."
"I'll contact my father,” Ayano said. “The Kannagi clan might have information that could help."
"You think they'd get involved?" Harry asked.
"If Typhoon poses a threat? Absolutely." She rose from the table. "Remember, the cooperation with my clan goes both ways. My father will lend his support."
Harry nodded. "I should prepare for the Wizengamot."
"They'll try to pin everything on you," Daphne warned. "Be careful what you say."
"I can be reasonable when the circumstances call for it."
Daphne sighed. “We’re doomed.”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The Wizengamot chamber buzzed with angry voices as Harry entered. Crimson-robed members hunched in small groups, their conversation dying as they noticed him. The gallery above overflowed with spectators and journalists, their quills poised like vultures awaiting carrion.
Harry took his seat in the witness chair at the chamber's centre, surrounded on all sides by tiered benches. Kingsley stood at the Chief Warlock's podium, his face impassive as he called the session to order.
"Lords and Ladies of the Wizengamot," Kingsley's deep voice resonated through the chamber. "We gather to address the tragedy at Glenfinn and determine what response is appropriate."
A stocky wizard with an Irish accent burst from his seat. "Appropriate? Thirty-seven citizens slaughtered, and we're debating what's 'appropriate'?"
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber.
"Lord O'Donnell," Kingsley acknowledged, "your concerns are precisely why we've convened—"
"My concerns?" O'Donnell's face flushed with anger. "My cousin lived in Glenfinn! His body was found in three separate locations!"
The graphic detail silenced the chamber.
"Mr. Potter." O'Donnell turned toward him. "Where were you two nights ago?"
"At home," Harry replied evenly. "I have multiple witnesses who can confirm my whereabouts."
"Convenient," came a drawling voice from the conservative benches. Lord Selwyn leaned forward. "Friends willing to lie for you."
Andromeda rose from her seat in the Black family box. "I was present at Grimmauld Place that evening alongside several others, including Narcissa Malfoy. Are you suggesting we're all lying, Lord Selwyn?"
Selwyn's lip curled. "I'm suggesting Mr. Potter possesses abilities we don't understand and can't control. Whether he personally attended the massacre is irrelevant if his powers have evolved beyond his control."
The implication hung in the air—that Harry might be responsible without being physically present.
"Your words are showing your ignorance," Harry said. “If my powers were out of control, I wouldn’t be here, speaking to you.”
"And we're supposed to take your word for it?" Lady Fawley called out. "You've never been forthcoming about the source or extent of your abilities."
"My abilities aren't the issue," Harry countered. "Someone is deliberately imitating me to cause terror. We should be focusing on finding them."
"Perhaps we'd have more success if you shared what you know," Lord Macmillan suggested, his tone more reasonable than the others. "You visited Glenfinn yesterday. What did you discover?"
Harry described the scene, keeping his voice clinical. "The attacker was methodical, not giving a chance for people to fight back. Considering the level of destruction, they probably didn’t have the means to fight back."
"Which matches your abilities precisely," Selwyn interjected. “No one will forget how easily you dealt with Voldemort and his followers.”
Harry snorted. "You speak as if Voldemort was an unbeatable monster. Maybe he was to all the absolute cravens sitting here who chose not to fight. But the world is a big place, with its share of monsters that makes Voldemort look a mere schoolyard bully."
The chamber erupted. Wizengamot members leapt to their feet, faces contorted with outrage.
"How dare you!"
"Disgraceful!"
"This is contempt of the Wizengamot!"
Kingsley banged his gavel repeatedly, the sound lost amid the chaos. Harry sat unflinching in the witness chair as insults rained down from all sides.
"SILENCE!" Kingsley's magically amplified voice finally cut through the uproar. The chamber fell quiet, though many members remained standing, their faces flushed with anger.
"Mr. Potter," Kingsley said, "you will address this body with the respect it deserves."
"With all due respect, Minister," Harry replied, emphasising each word, "I've earned the right to speak plainly. Many in this chamber hid while children fought and died. Now they sit in judgment, questioning my integrity while a real threat remains at large."
"You see?" Selwyn's voice dripped with disdain. "Arrogance beyond measure. He considers himself above this body's authority."
Lady Longbottom stood. "Perhaps Mr. Potter's delivery lacks grace, but his point stands. Many here did little during the war while expecting others to sacrifice everything."
"This isn't about the war," O'Donnell interrupted. "It's about thirty-seven dead in Glenfinn and who's responsible."
"I'm not the only person capable of manipulating air," Harry said. “And there is already a witness who has identified the attacker as being six-foot six. Last time I checked, I was seven inches short of that number.”
O’Donnell sneered. “The witness is a little girl. Hardly the most credible source.”
"This posturing wastes time,” Lady Longbottom said. “Without evidence linking Mr Potter directly to Glenfinn, these accusations are merely opportunistic."
Several members murmured agreement, but many faces remained sceptical.
Kingsley raised his hands for silence. "We must consider the wider implications. This incident has created fear throughout magical Britain. Our citizens need reassurance their government is taking action."
"Starting with restrictions on Mr. Potter's movements," Selwyn proposed immediately. "If he's innocent, he'll accept Ministry supervision until the real culprit is identified."
"Absolutely not," Harry said firmly. "Unless you convict me of a crime, you cannot deny my rights as a citizen and Lord of magical Britain.”
"What about your charitable foundation?" Lord Parkinson called out, changing the subject. "The Breeze Foundation was due to open soon. Several benefactors have contacted my office with reservations."
Lady Marchbanks rose from her seat. "Let's be clear about what Lord Parkinson is suggesting. He wants to punish orphaned children because of unproven suspicions against Mr. Potter."
"That's not—" Parkinson began.
"Isn't it?" Marchbanks interrupted. "I've reviewed the foundation's plans. These facilities are desperately needed."
Harry frowned. Ellis Parker and the other orphans would remain in inadequate facilities if the foundation stalled.
"The children need these homes regardless of your opinion of me," Harry said, struggling to keep frustration from his voice. "Don't make them suffer for your political games."
"This isn't about politics," Lord Selwyn interjected. "It's about safety. What if you lose control near these children? Or worse, what if whoever did this targets them to get to you?"
Several members nodded in agreement.
"I'll step back from public involvement," Harry offered, hating the concession but seeing no alternative. "Andromeda Tonks can lead publicly until this matter's resolved."
Andromeda stood in the Black family box. "I accept this responsibility. The foundation's work must continue, regardless of these unfortunate circumstances."
"A reasonable compromise," Kingsley said. "Now, regarding the investigation—"
"What investigation?" O'Donnell interrupted. "The Auror Department's found nothing. No magical signature, no witnesses who survived seeing the attacker's face."
Kingsley's expression remained neutral. "Mr. Potter has agreed to assist our efforts, given his unique perspective on the abilities displayed."
"So the suspect is investigating himself?" Selwyn sneered.
"I'll find who's responsible," Harry promised, meeting O'Donnell's gaze directl. "I give you my word."
O'Donnell studied him, grief and doubt warring in his eyes. "Words won't bring back the dead, Potter."
"No," Harry agreed, his green eyes changing to azure blue. "But I can avenge them."
The session continued for another hour, with various members proposing increasingly restrictive measures. Kingsley managed to moderate the worst suggestions, though Harry could tell the Minister was walking a political tightrope.
When the session finally adjourned, Harry remained seated as the chamber emptied.
"That went about as well as expected," Kingsley said, approaching once they were alone.
"Could've been worse," Harry said. "At least they didn't vote to chuck me in Azkaban."
"Not for lack of trying." Kingsley took the seat beside him. "Several members were pushing for preventative detention before I called the session."
"The bastards think they stood a chance of detaining me. Still, thanks for your support"
"Don't thank me yet." Kingsley's expression turned grave. "I need to understand what we're facing, Harry. You mentioned a name in my office—Typhoon. What do you know about him?"
Harry weighed his options. Revealing too much about spirit practitioners might complicate matters, but Kingsley deserved some truth.
"He's a wind spirit," Harry explained. "Extremely powerful, supposedly dead centuries ago. If he's returned somehow, we're facing a serous threat."
"And you believe he's responsible for Glenfinn?"
"The evidence points that way."
Kingsley studied him. "You're holding back."
"Some secrets aren't mine to share," Harry said. "But I'll tell you everything necessary to stop him."
"Fair enough." Kingsley stood. "My office is at your disposal. Whatever resources you need."
Harry nodded, grateful for the Minister's trust despite everything. "I'll find him, Kingsley."
"I know you will." Kingsley adjusted his robes. "Just try not to destroy anything in the process."
"No promises."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Daphne surveyed her mother's bedroom. Sunlight slanted through the heavy curtains, dust motes swirling in golden beams. She'd delayed this search too long, allowing sentiment to cloud judgment. No more.
"Start with the desk," she instructed Astoria, who had insisted on accompanying her. "Check every drawer. I'll take the wardrobe."
Her sister nodded, already rifling through correspondence. "What exactly are we looking for?"
"Anything suspicious. Financial records, unusual correspondence, hidden compartments."
Daphne ran her hands along the carved panels of her mother's ornate wardrobe. Her fingers caught on a slight irregularity near the base—a seam too perfect to be accidental.
A whispered detection spell revealed concealment charms woven into the wood.
"Found something," she murmured, working methodically to dismantle the protections.
"Me too," Astoria held up a stack of letters. "These were hidden under a false bottom in the desk drawer. The handwriting's strange—almost like it was written with the wrong hand."
"Or by someone trying to disguise their writing," Daphne replied, not looking up as she continued unravelling the enchantments.
The lock clicked. Daphne pulled open the hidden compartment to reveal a stack of financial documents bound with a black ribbon. She spread them across the floor, arranging them chronologically.
"Merlin's beard," she whispered.
The records detailed substantial transfers dating back six months—thousands of galleons moving from the Greengrass family vault to numbered accounts. No recipient names, just alphanumeric codes that shifted with each transaction.
"What is it?" Astoria peered over her shoulder.
"Mother's been bleeding the family accounts." Daphne tapped a particularly large transfer. "Ten thousand galleons here, fifteen thousand there. Always to untraceable accounts."
Astoria opened one of the letters, brow furrowing as she scanned the contents. "Listen to this: 'Preparations continue as scheduled. The vessel responds well to the preliminary rituals. Your contributions ensure your family's place after the ascension.'"
Daphne took the letter, noting the strange, backward-slanting script. "This is dated just three weeks ago."
"There's more." Astoria handed her another. "This mentions something called 'Typhoon's Awakening.'"
Daphne's blood ran cold. "Harry mentioned that name—Typhoon. He's some kind of ancient spirit, supposedly dead for centuries."
"Not dead enough, apparently." Astoria continued searching the desk. "Some of these letter responses are from Mother. She sounds terrified."
"Blackmail?"
"Maybe. She keeps mentioning 'the terms of our arrangement' and begging for more time."
Daphne returned to the wardrobe, examining the back panel. Her detection spell revealed another concealed compartment—larger this time, with more complex protection.
"Help me with this," she called to Astoria. "The enchantments are layered. I'll unpick the outer protections, you handle the trigger mechanism."
Working together, they dismantled the wards. The back panel swung open to reveal a narrow passageway.
"Secret room," Daphne breathed.
Astoria cast Lumos as they stepped into the hidden chamber. The walls were covered with intricate diagrams—circles within circles, elaborate geometric patterns annotated with ancient runes. A low stone altar dominated the centre, its surface stained with dark splotches Daphne preferred not to identify.
"This is dark magic," Astoria whispered, her wand light reflecting off silver implements arranged on a nearby table. "The ritual components, the patterns—they're for summoning."
Daphne nodded grimly. "Mother was always skilled in rituals. Father used to joke she could have been an Unspeakable."
"I don't think the Department of Mysteries sponsors this kind of work." Astoria picked up a black-bound journal from beside the altar. "Looks like Mother's handwriting."
Daphne took the book, flipping through pages of detailed notes. Her mother's normally elegant script grew increasingly erratic, filled with crossed-out sections and ink splatters. Diagrams similar to those on the walls appeared throughout, growing more complex with each entry.
"Listen to this," Daphne read aloud. "'Winter solstice preparations finalised. The vessel will be positioned at the convergence point when the time is right. Typhoon's ascension requires the blood sacrifice as outlined in the ancient texts—willing or unwilling.'"
"Blood sacrifice?" Astoria whispered.
"It gets worse." Daphne turned the page. "'Burke assures me our family will be spared when Typhoon cleanses the unworthy. The price is high, but our survival demands compliance.'"
"Burke?" Astoria's eyes widened. "The same Burke who—"
"Who Mother tried to marry me off to." Daphne's jaw tightened. "Yes."
The creak of floorboards froze them both. They turned to see Cordelia Greengrass framed in the doorway, her wand aimed steadily at her daughters.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice eerily calm.
"Mother." Daphne shifted slightly to shield Astoria. "What have you done?"
Cordelia's laughter held no humour. "What choice did I have? Burke approached me after your father's death. He knew about certain indiscretions in my past. Things that would have destroyed what remained of our family's reputation."
"So you helped him with blood rituals instead?" Daphne's disgust was palpable. "Trading innocent lives for social standing?"
"You don't understand the power he represents!" Cordelia's composure cracked. "Burke isn't working alone. He answers to others.”
"And you believe they'll spare us?" Astoria asked incredulously. "After you help them sacrifice people?"
Cordelia's wand trembled. "They promised. Our bloodline is old enough to be considered worthy."
"They're using you," Daphne said flatly. "What exactly was your arrangement with Burke? Besides the marriage scheme that failed?"
"He needed money. Resources." Cordelia's eyes darted between her daughters. "The rituals are complex, requiring rare components. I provided funding while they prepared the vessel."
"The vessel?" Daphne prompted.
"The human who will host Typhoon's spirit." Cordelia stepped further into the room, her wand still raised. "They found someone compatible months ago—a distant relation of the Black family. A backup plan for if they failed to obtain a closer relation to the main line. The preliminary bindings have already been completed."
Astoria clutched the journal tighter. "And the winter solstice?"
"The final ritual. When Typhoon fully manifests." Cordelia's eyes took on a fevered gleam. "You must understand—I did this for us. For our protection."
"By funding mass murder?" Daphne's voice hardened. "Thirty-seven people in Glenfinn, Mother. Was that part of your arrangement too?"
Cordelia flinched. "That wasn't supposed to happen. Burke said they needed to test the vessel's capabilities, not—" She broke off, shaking her head. "I never wanted anyone to die."
"But they did," Daphne said. "And more will if these rituals continue."
"It's too late to stop it." Cordelia lowered her wand slightly. "The process has advanced too far. The vessel is nearly ready."
"Where are they conducting the final ritual?" Daphne asked.
"I don't know the location."
Daphne and Astoria exchanged glances. They needed to get this information to Harry immediately.
"You're coming with us," Daphne said, drawing her wand. "You're going to tell Harry everything you know about Burke and these cultists."
"They'll kill me," Cordelia whispered.
“Not if Harry takes care of them first.”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry materialised at the perimeter of Burke Manor, the imposing structure silhouetted against the twilight sky. After Daphne told him about her mother's confession, he hadn't wasted a moment. Cordelia Greengrass had provided enough details about Burke's home to allow him to locate it—an ostentatious mansion nestled in the Cotswolds, protected by generations of magical defences.
He drew his wind around him like a cloak, rendering himself invisible to both eyes and magical detection. The wards surrounding the property hummed with magical energy, ancient protections layered with newer, nastier additions. Harry studied them, identifying the weak points where they had deteriorated over time.
"Subtle approach or direct?" he murmured to himself.
A pulse of anger pushed him toward the latter. The massacre at Glenfinn demanded justice, and Burke—if Cordelia's information proved accurate—was directly responsible for enabling Typhoon's return.
Harry extended his senses, mapping the mansion's interior through air currents. Six people inside—three on the ground floor, two below ground, and one in an upper room.
He approached the boundary wards, gathering wind between his palms until it compressed into a razor-sharp edge. With a precise motion, he sliced through the first layer of magical protection. Alarms would have triggered if he'd attacked the wards directly, but by surgically removing a section of the boundary magic, he created an opening without disrupting the overall structure.
Harry slipped through, moving silently across manicured lawns towards a side entrance. The shadows deepened around him as he reached the mansion's walls. He pressed his palm against the stone, feeling for vibrations that might betray movement inside.
A muffled conversation reached him—two men arguing in hushed tones just beyond the wall.
"—cannot afford another display like Glenfinn," one voice hissed. "The Ministry's investigation has intensified."
"The vessel requires practical experience," the second voice replied. Burke, based on Cordelia's description. "How else will he master the wind?"
"Mastery isn't necessary. We need only maintain control until the solstice."
Harry had heard enough. The door before him was warded, but the nearby window offered a simpler entry point. Wind gathered around his fist, and with a sharp jab, he shattered the glass while simultaneously creating a vacuum that captured the fragments before they could make a sound.
He slipped inside, keeping to the shadows of what appeared to be a study. The voices grew louder, emanating from a room across the hallway. Harry moved silently, positioning himself beside the partially open door.
"—Potter's involvement complicates everything," Burke was saying.
"Potter is one man," the other voice dismissed. "Powerful, yes, but still human. If he becomes problematic, the vessel can eliminate him."
Harry stepped into the doorway, allowing his invisibility to dissolve. "I find that unlikely."
Both men spun towards him, wands appearing in their hands. Burke paled dramatically. His companion, taller with aristocratic features, maintained better composure.
"Potter," the taller man said coldly. "Breaking and entering is still illegal, even for celebrities."
"Funny thing about legality," Harry replied, stepping fully into the room. "It tends to matter less when you're investigating mass murder."
Burke's wand trembled. "You have no authority here."
"I'm not here as an Auror." Harry's eyes shifted from green to azure blue. "I'm here as someone who's rather upset about thirty-seven people being slaughtered."
Papers on a nearby desk began to rustle without a visible breeze.
"You're making a grave mistake," the taller man said, edging toward a side door. "You have no idea what forces you're interfering with."
"Typhoon," Harry said simply. "Ancient wind spirit, supposedly dead for centuries. Currently housed in a vessel you've been preparing through blood rituals. Did I miss anything?"
Burke's face went from pale to ashen. "How could you possibly—"
"Cordelia Greengrass is quite talkative when properly motivated," Harry interrupted. "She told us everything—the funding, the rituals, the vessel from the Black bloodline."
"Lies," the taller man spat. "Cordelia knows nothing of importance."
"Enough to lead me here," Harry countered. "Enough to connect you to Glenfinn."
The men exchanged glances. Without warning, Burke fired a Blasting Curse directly at Harry's chest. The spell dissipated harmlessly against Harry's wind barrier.
"That was unwise," Harry said.
The windows imploded, glass shards hovering mid-air before turning toward the two men. Burke screamed, diving behind a heavy desk. The taller man cast a Shield Charm that deflected most of the projectiles, though several sliced through his expensive robes.
"You're outmatched, Potter," he snarled, flourishing his wand in a complex pattern.
The floor beneath Harry erupted in flames. He leapt upward, wind carrying him safely to the ceiling as Fiendfyre spread across the room with unnatural speed.
"Where's the vessel?" Harry demanded, compressing air around the cursed flames to contain them.
Instead of answering, both men made a break for the door. Harry gestured sharply, and a wall of solid air slammed it shut. The taller man spun, his face contorted with rage as he unleashed a barrage of curses that illuminated the room with flashes of light.
Harry dodged through the air, his movements impossibly fast as wind currents carried him between spells. He closed the distance, wind blade forming in his palm before he drove it into the man's shoulder.
The wizard howled, blood blooming across his robes. Burke, seeing his companion injured, panicked. He fired wild spells in Harry's direction while backing toward the fireplace.
"You're too late," Burke gasped, reaching for a handful of Floo powder. "The vessel is beyond your reach. When Typhoon fully awakens at the solstice, your wind magic will seem like a child's toy in comparison."
Harry lunged forward, but Burke had already thrown the powder into the grate. Green flames erupted as he called out a destination lost in the roar of the Fiendfyre.
The unnamed wizard collapsed against the wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder as Harry secured him with magical bindings. Outside, distant shouts indicated the Fiendfyre had spread beyond the study, drawing attention from others in the mansion.
"Where is the vessel?" Harry demanded, wind swirling dangerously around his clenched fists.
The man's lips curled into a bloody smile. "Kill me if you wish. It changes nothing."
Harry crouched, bringing himself eye-level with his captive. "I'm not interested in killing you. I want information."
"And I want to see you suffer when Typhoon rises," the wizard spat. "We all make sacrifices."
The mansion groaned as flames consumed its lower floors. Harry glanced toward the doorway where smoke began seeping through the cracks.
"Your loyalty's admirable," Harry said, "but ultimately pointless if you burn to death here."
A tremor ran through the building. The wizard's composure cracked slightly as plaster rained from the ceiling.
"You're insane," he hissed. "You'll die too."
Harry shrugged. "I can fly. You, however..."
The man's eyes darted to the spreading flames, then back to Harry. Something shifted in his expression—calculation replacing defiance.
"I can offer you something better than the vessel's location," he said, voice lowered despite the roaring fire. "And names."
"Go on."
"Not here." The wizard nodded toward a leather folio on a nearby shelf. "My insurance. Take it and me out of here, and I'll tell you everything."
Harry summoned the folio with a gust of wind, tucking it inside his robes. He hauled the man to his feet, wind barrier expanding to shield them both from the flames as they navigated toward the nearest window.
"What's your name?" Harry asked as they cleared the burning mansion.
"Thaddeus Nott," the man replied, wincing as Harry's bindings tightened.
"Related to Theodore?"
"My nephew." Something flickered across Nott's face—not quite grief, but acknowledgment. "You killed him."
"He was trying to kidnap my godson," Harry said matter-of-factly. "Now, these names you promised."
Nott's eyes focused on something beyond Harry's shoulder. A cruel smile spread across his face.
"You should have searched the entire property first."
The air temperature plummeted. Harry spun, pushing Nott behind him as a towering figure emerged from the shadow of an oak tree. The humanoid silhouette loomed nearly seven feet tall, its features obscured by violent currents of air that constantly shifted and reshaped its form, never settling into anything resembling a human face.
"You've caused quite the inconvenience, Harry Potter," the figure said.
Harry stepped forward. "I assume I'm addressing Typhoon."
The darkness around the figure's head rippled in what might have been amusement. "You know of me. Has Kaze been telling tales?"
"Enough to know you should be dead." Harry gathered wind currents around himself, preparing for conflict. "Your old friend was quite thorough the last time you met."
"And yet, here I stand." Typhoon extended an arm, fingers splayed. "While Kaze hides behind a human vessel."
“Maybe he got the idea from you? I hear you became submissive to a human wizard.”
“Yes, I was very foolish to submit to that unworthy vessel.” Typhoon tilted its head. "Speaking of vessels, where is my old friend?"
"He's hunting you," Harry replied, subtly positioning himself between Typhoon and Nott. "Though I'm surprised you'd show yourself so soon after acquiring your vessel."
Typhoon laughed, the sound setting Harry's teeth on edge. "This form? Merely a projection. The vessel remains safely hidden, growing stronger each day."
Harry's mind raced. If this was just a projection, where was the actual vessel? And how powerful would Typhoon become once fully merged with it?
"Why reveal yourself to me at all?" Harry asked, buying time as he formulated a plan.
"Curiosity." Typhoon drifted closer. "I wanted to see what manner of human Kaze deemed worthy. I must say, I'm underwhelmed."
Wind blades materialised in Harry's hands. "Happy to disappoint."
Typhoon's attention shifted to Nott, who had been inching away during their exchange. "Planning on sharing our little project with Potter, Thaddeus? How disappointing."
Nott froze. "My lord, I—"
The air around Nott constricted violently. Harry lunged forward, but too late—Nott's body contorted as Typhoon's power crushed bones and organs. Blood erupted from his mouth, eyes, and ears before he collapsed in a broken heap.
"A demonstration," Typhoon said conversationally. "Of what awaits those who oppose me."
Rage surged through Harry, his eyes blazing crimson as the Black Wind responded to his fury.
"Next time we meet," Harry growled, "I will tear you apart."
"Brave words." Typhoon's form began dissolving into mist. "But futile. The solstice approaches, and neither you nor Kaze can stop what's coming."
As Typhoon faded away, the projection delivered some unsettling words.
"I know about the children, Harry Potter. Teddy. Delphini. The foundlings at your orphanage. So many innocent lives, so easily snuffed out."
The threat lingered in the air like poison. Harry staggered, the Black Wind receding as horror replaced anger. The folio in his robes suddenly felt insignificant compared to the danger facing those under his protection.
A crack of apparition announced the arrival of Aurors, their wands raised as they approached the burning mansion. Harry barely registered their presence, his mind already racing with defensive plans.
He needed to warn Andromeda, Narcissa—everyone at Grimmauld Place. The orphanage would need additional wards. The children...
Harry gripped the folio tighter. Whatever names it contained might lead him to Typhoon's vessel, but time was running out. The winter solstice was merely two weeks away.
And somewhere, in a location still unknown, the vessel that would host Typhoon's full power was waiting.
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, the winter solstice arrives, and Harry has a battle on his hands.
Thanks for reading.
