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The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 7
🕑 Added 2024-10-15 08:50:58 +0000 UTCHi all,
Here’s the next chapter. Harry learns of the terrible downside of his abilities and meets Ayano for the first time.
Chapter 7
Harry leaned against a charred wall, the acrid smell of smoke clinging to his clothes like a second skin. "What's this method you mentioned?"
"The Black Wind state," Kaze said. "One of its abilities allows you to read minds, extracting memories with brutal efficiency.”
Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Like Legilimency?"
"No. It's far more intrusive. Imagine tearing through someone's mind like tissue paper. Only a true Legilimency master could achieve similar results, and even then, it would pale in comparison."
Harry nodded. Voldemort and possibly Dumbledore had been masters of the art. After a moment of thought, he added Snape to the list. He recalled the cold, invasive touch of Snape's mind during their ill-fated Occlumency lessons and suppressed a shudder.
"Tell me more about this Black Wind ability," Harry said.
Kaze sighed. "It's powerful but dangerous. To access it, you need to be consumed by rage—not just anger, but a burning, all-encompassing fury. Extended use could alter your personality... for the worse. It's not a power to be trifled with."
"And you're just telling me this now?"
"It wasn't needed before," Kaze said unapologetically. "The Black Wind is stronger in some ways, but the side effects make you vulnerable. Like dark magic, the power comes at a cost. You could lose all rationality and control over the wind. Imagine the devastation you could cause in that state."
Harry grimaced, running a hand through his hair. "I don't like the sound of that. But if it's our only option..."
He approached Inspector Hawthorne, who was conferring with a group of grim-faced officers. "I need to speak with witnesses from the theatre," he said, his tone brooking no argument.
Hawthorne nodded, already reaching for her phone. "We can meet at the station. Give me thirty minutes."
An hour later, Harry sat across from a shell-shocked woman in her mid-thirties, her hands trembling so violently that tea sloshed over the rim of her cup. The makeshift interview room, hastily set up in a nearby building, felt claustrophobic, the air thick with tension and the lingering scent of fear.
"Focus on your anger," Kaze whispered, his voice a cold wind in Harry's mind. "The injustice, the senseless loss of life. Let it fuel you, consume you."
Harry closed his eyes, letting rage build within him like a gathering storm. Images flashed behind his eyelids: the destruction, bodies strewn across the cinema, the bomber's audacious demands. He thought of Fred's lifeless eyes, of Remus and Tonks lying side by side, of all those who died fighting Voldemort—only for this new threat to emerge. His eyes snapped open, now a deep, swirling crimson that seemed to glow with an inner fire.
The woman gasped, shrinking back in her chair, tea spilling across her lap. Harry barely noticed, his consciousness tearing through her memories like a hurricane. He saw the cinema through her eyes, heard the excited chatter of moviegoers, smelled the rich aroma of popcorn...
...and then he saw him. A man in a grey hoodie, slipping out just as the film began, his movements furtive and purposeful.
Harry moved to the next witness, then the next, crimson eyes boring into each person as if he could see through to their very souls. With each mind he probed, the suspect's image grew clearer, more defined. By the time he finished, his head throbbed with a vicious migraine, and his stomach churned with nausea.
"We need a sketch artist," he growled, his voice rough and alien even to his ears.
Hawthorne nodded, concern etched deep on her face. "Are you alright, Mr. Potter? Your eyes..."
Harry blinked, the crimson fading to green like blood washing away. He felt drained, as if he'd run a marathon. "I'm fine," he lied. "Just get the artist."
As the sketch took shape under the artist's skilled hands, Harry's certainty grew. This was their bomber, the face of their enemy taking form on paper.
"Did you see his face?" Hawthorne asked, leaning over the artist's shoulder.
Harry shook his head, frustration evident in the set of his shoulders. "He kept his hood up. But this is him—height, build, the way he moved. It's all there."
Hawthorne studied the sketch, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's a start. We'll circulate this." She paused, eyeing Harry warily. "Did you use Legilimency on them?"
"Something similar," Harry admitted, avoiding her gaze.
"I'm not comfortable with you invading people's privacy like this," Hawthorne said, her tone sharp.
"It's necessary if we want to catch this group," Harry countered, meeting her eyes now. "Why couldn't your wizards find the culprit magically?"
"They tried. Something blocked their detection spells. It was like hitting a wall."
Harry frowned, his mind racing. "They must be working with a witch or wizard. Someone who knows how to counter magical tracking."
Hawthorne nodded grimly. "That's our theory too. It complicates things significantly." She hesitated, then asked, "Can you check the ticket and concession staff? They might have seen more."
Harry nodded, steeling himself for another plunge into the Black Wind. He examined three more people, finally getting a clear description of the man's face from a teenage employee who'd given him his ticket.
As Harry left the scene, exhaustion weighing on him like a physical burden, Kaze's voice whispered in his ear. "You did well for a first attempt. But that was manufactured rage. Wait until it truly consumes you—then you'll understand the true power of the Black Wind. If you allow it, you risk losing control of your mind and the wind. That would be a horrible scenario for all those unlucky enough to be around you."
Harry nodded, too drained to speak. He felt hollow, tainted as if he'd dipped his soul in tar. He'd crossed a line today, violating minds with a brutality that shocked even him. And the worst part? A small, dark part of him had enjoyed it.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry arrived at the Ministry. The cavernous atrium bustled with activity, witches and wizards hurrying about their business. Yet as he passed, a hush fell over the crowd, heads turning to follow his progress.
Whispers trailed in his wake, a cacophony of awe and fear. "It's Harry Potter!" "Did you see his eyes?" "I heard he took down You-Know-Who with wandless magic!"
Harry kept his gaze forward. The constant attention grated on his nerves. As he neared the lifts, a witch in powder-blue robes caught sight of him. Her eyes widened in recognition, a squeak escaping her lips. In her haste to retreat, she stumbled backwards, nearly braining herself on a nearby statue.
Harry sighed, quickening his pace. The sooner he got this over with, the better.
The Department of Magical Education was situated on Level Six. As Harry reached for the door, it swung open, revealing a familiar pointy face.
"Hello, Draco," Harry said, his lips curling into a grin.
Draco Malfoy stood frozen in the doorway, his usually immaculate appearance marred by dark circles under his eyes and a sallowness to his skin. His attempt at a sneer fell flat, fear flickering in his grey eyes.
"Potter," he managed, his voice lacking its usual drawl. "What are you doing here?"
"Arranging for my NEWT exams," Harry replied, leaning against the doorframe. "You?"
"Same," Draco muttered, his gaze darting around as if seeking an escape route.
"Not going back for an eighth year?" He couldn't resist twisting the knife, a part of him relishing Draco's discomfort.
Draco's jaw tightened, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "I doubt I'd be welcome."
As Draco moved to leave, Harry's hand shot out, gripping his shoulder. The blonde flinched at the contact.
"How's your mother?" Harry asked, his tone deceptively light.
Anger flashed across Draco's face, momentarily overriding his fear. "Barely escaped prison, no thanks to you," he spat. "She's under house arrest for the next five years."
"Did you expect me to vouch for her?" Harry scoffed. "You're lucky she got away that night."
"My father—" Draco began, his voice catching.
"Was an awful man," Harry cut him off, his tone hardening. "He got what he deserved. Look on the bright side—you're Head of the Malfoy family now."
"You bast—"
Harry's smile widened. "Just messing with you, Draco. Our beef's ancient history already. A fresh start and all that. Don't screw it up."
Draco wrenched his shoulder free, storming off without another word. Harry watched him go, a feeling of satisfaction settling in his stomach. He may have requested leniency for Draco, but that didn’t mean he liked him.
He shook it off, entering the office. The reception area was cramped, every surface covered in teetering piles of parchment. A harried-looking wizard sat behind a desk, frantically sorting through a stack of forms. He glanced up as Harry approached, his eyes widening in recognition.
"Mr Potter," he stammered, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste to stand. "How can I help you?"
"I've a meeting with Griselda Marchbanks," Harry replied, trying to ignore the man's obvious awe.
The receptionist nodded so vigorously that his glasses nearly flew off. "Of course, of course! Go right in, Mr Potter. She's expecting you."
Harry muttered his thanks, moving towards the indicated door. He stepped into the office of Griselda Marchbanks.
The room was even more cluttered than the reception area. Books and scrolls covered every available surface, threatening to topple at the slightest disturbance. Behind a massive oak desk sat Griselda herself, her wrinkled face set in a stern expression. Her white hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and her piercing blue eyes fixed on Harry with laser-like intensity.
"Mr Potter," she said, not bothering to stand. "I understand you wish to arrange your NEWTs."
Harry nodded, taking a seat in the creaky chair before her desk. "Yes, Ma'am. I'd like to schedule them for a month from now, if possible."
Griselda's eyebrows shot up, disappearing into her hairline. "A month? That's rather ambitious, given your... interrupted education."
Her tone made it clear what she thought of his chances.
"I'm confident I can prepare adequately," Harry replied, meeting her gaze steadily.
"Hmph," Griselda snorted, leaning back in her chair. It creaked ominously under her weight. "Your fame won't earn you any special treatment here, Mr Potter. The NEWTs are gruelling examinations that require extensive preparation. Many students with far more consistent schooling struggle to pass."
"I'm aware," Harry said, his tone cooling slightly. "I'm not asking for special treatment. Just the opportunity to take the exams."
Griselda studied him for a long moment, her sharp eyes seeming to pierce right through him.
Finally, she nodded, the movement so slight that Harry almost missed it. "Very well. I will schedule the exams for one month from now. Do not be late."
"Understood," Harry said, rising to leave.
"And Mr Potter?" Griselda called as he reached the door. He turned back, hand on the knob. "Do try to study. Saving the magical world is no substitute for a proper education."
Harry left the office, a wry smile tugging at his lips. At least someone in the wizarding world wasn't falling over themselves to please him. It was oddly refreshing.
He was about to step into the lift when a woman's voice called out, "Mr Potter!"
He turned, not recognising the brunette rushing towards him. She was slightly out of breath as she reached him, her sensible heels clicking on the polished floor.
"Mr Potter, my name is Regina Bowles," she said, extending her hand. Harry shook it, eyeing her curiously. "You're a hard man to track down. I've been calling in favours left and right, trying to arrange a meeting with you."
Harry's brow furrowed. "Why do you want to meet with me?"
Regina shook her head. "Not me. It's Miss Kannagi from Japan. She has something she wants to discuss with you."
"Why didn't you send a letter?"
"Would you have read it?"
Harry shrugged. "Probably not."
"Well, can I arrange a meeting?" Regina pressed.
"That depends on what she wants."
Regina's smile faltered. "I'm not privy to that information."
"Then it doesn't give me much incentive to meet with her," Harry said, turning back towards the lift.
Suddenly, Kaze's voice whispered in his ear, "The Kannagi family are fire practitioners. Or Enjutsu users, as they call themselves. It seems like they have moved faster than I thought."
Harry paused, his hand hovering over the lift button. Regina opened her mouth, clearly about to argue further when Harry abruptly turned back to her.
"Actually, I've changed my mind," he said, catching her off guard. "I'll meet with Miss Kannagi."
Regina blinked, surprise evident on her face. "Oh! That's... that's wonderful. When and where would be convenient for you?"
Harry considered for a moment. He needed a neutral place. "Tomorrow, at the Tower of London. "How about ten in the morning?"
Regina nodded. ‘That’s fine.”
"Good. And Ms Bowles?" Harry added as she turned to leave. "Tell Miss Kannagi to come prepared to explain exactly what she wants. I don't appreciate vagueness or beating around the bush."
Regina nodded. "Of course, Mr Potter. Thank you for your time."
Harry stepped into the lift, jaw clenched. Fire practitioners from Japan? He already had a mountain of work ahead: NEWTs to study for, a terrorist group to track down, not to mention the constant pressure of being the bloody Boy Who Lived. And now some foreign magical family wanted a piece of him too?
"Bloody wind," he muttered, ignoring the scandalised look from a portrait on the lift wall. "Can't I catch a bloody break?"
Kaze chuckled. “You’re in for some excitement.”
Harry paused. “What’s that supposed to mean? What else do you know about the Kannagi family?”
“They're a bunch of hotheads from what I recall,” Kaze said. “Especially the immature ones.”
“Wonderful.”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Harry leaned against the Tower of London's ancient stone walls, his eyes scanning the busy car park. The summer sun beat down, causing tourists to fan themselves as they queued for entry. He tugged at his collar, grateful for the cooling breeze he'd conjured around himself.
A sedan pulled up and parked not far away from him. The back door opened, and out stepped a girl who made Harry do a double-take. Her crimson hair cascaded down her back in silky waves, a startling contrast to her delicate Asian features. She wore a white blouse tucked into a short skirt.
Regina Bowles followed, looking harried in her sensible pantsuit. Her eyes darted nervously between Harry and the girl, as if expecting trouble.
As they approached, Harry felt an odd sensation ripple through his wind barrier. It wasn't heat, exactly, but a spiritual warmth that his abilities picked up on. The girl's amber eyes locked onto his, a mix of curiosity and determination in her gaze.
"Mr. Potter," she said, bowing slightly. Her voice was melodious, with just a hint of an accent. "I'm Ayano Kannagi. Thank you for meeting me. Perhaps we could speak somewhere more... private?"
Harry nodded, intrigued despite himself. Ayano led them away from the tower, weaving through throngs of tourists until they reached a secluded park. To Harry's surprise, a wrought-iron table stood beneath an old oak tree, complete with a full tea set and a plate of fresh scones.
"I have grown to enjoy this pastime since arriving in England," Ayano admitted.
“Be careful that you don’t get fat,” Harry advised.
“As if I would ever,” Ayano said, a frown creasing her brow.
Regina cast some privacy wards. The air shimmered around them, and the distant sounds of London traffic faded to a muffled hum. With a nod to Ayano, she retreated to a park bench some distance away, leaving them alone.
"So, Miss Kannagi," Harry drawled, lounging in the ornate chair. He picked up a scone, examining it with exaggerated interest. "What brings you all the way from Japan? Bit far for afternoon tea, isn't it?"
Ayano's back stiffened, her fingers tightening around her teacup. "Mr. Potter, I represent the Kannagi family. We're interested in forming an alliance—"
"An alliance?" Harry interrupted. He took a bite of the scone, chewing slowly. "And what makes you think I need allies?"
A flush crept up Ayano's neck, staining her cheeks pink. Harry found himself oddly enjoying her growing frustration. "I don't know if you have a clan backing you, but we could benefit—"
"Sorry," Harry cut in again, brushing crumbs from his shirt. "But I'm not interested in playing politics with some foreign family I've never heard of. I've got enough on my plate as it is."
Ayano inhaled deeply before continuing. “May I ask how you came to acquire your Fujutsu abilities?”
“You may.”
Ayano waited, but when it became obvious he wasn’t going to say anything else, she glowered at him. “Where did you get your abilities from?”
“Don’t you know the usual method?” Harry asked. “I made a contract.”
“May I meet the spirit that you are contracted with?”
“He’s busy.”
This went on for several minutes, as Harry deliberately set out to provoke her. He had no idea why he was doing it to someone he had just met, but he found it extremely entertaining. But he pushed her too far.
Ayano's eyes flashed dangerously, like embers about to ignite. She slammed her teacup down with such force that it shattered, porcelain shards scattering across the table.
"You're not affording me any respect," she hissed, standing abruptly. Her chair toppled backwards, hitting the grass with a dull thud. "Fine. We'll do this the Kannagi way. Fight me, and I'll earn your respect!"
A sword materialised in her hand, its blade wreathed in dancing flames. It was an impressive sight, Harry had to admit. Still, he couldn't resist needling her further.
"You're going to fight in that short skirt?" He raised an eyebrow, a mocking grin playing on his lips. "Not very practical, is it? I'd hate for you to embarrass yourself."
With a cry of rage, Ayano brought the sword down on the table. The blade sliced through iron as if it were butter, flames licking along the cut edges. The table split in two, teacups and scones tumbling to the ground. Waves of crimson fire radiated from her body, so intense that Harry could feel the heat even through his wind barrier.
"That's Enraiha," Kaze whispered in Harry's mind. "A gift from the Blaze Spirit King to the Kannagi family. Don't underestimate its power—or the girl wielding it."
Harry stood slowly, the wind whipping around him in a protective cocoon. "Alright then," he said, his grin turning feral. "Let's dance."
Harry threw up a wind barrier, confident it would deflect the attack. To his shock, the blade sliced through it like butter, flames licking at his shirt. He leapt back, hastily reassessing his opponent.
"No more holding back," he muttered, his eyes flashing from emerald to azure.
A tornado sprang to life around Harry, debris from the shattered table swirling in a deadly vortex. Ayano countered with a wall of flame, the collision of elements creating a deafening roar. She dashed through the smoke, her sword aimed at Harry's chest.
He sidestepped, wind propelling him with inhuman speed. His fist, encased in a drill of compressed air, shot towards Ayano's stomach. She barely managed to block with Enraiha's flat, the impact sending her skidding backwards across the grass.
Ayano recovered quickly, flames erupting from her feet to propel her skyward. She hovered above Harry, her hair whipping in the wind like a banner of blood. With a cry, she rained down fireballs, each the size of a car. Harry weaved between them, the heat singeing his clothes and hair. He retaliated with razor-sharp wind blades, forcing Ayano to dance mid-air to avoid being sliced to ribbons.
Their battle raged across the park, fire and wind clashing spectacularly. Trees were uprooted, their ancient trunks splintering like matchsticks. The ground was scarred with craters; grass reduced to ash.
Harry had to admit that Ayano was impressive.
In a bold move, Ayano dove straight for Harry, Enraiha blazing like a comet. He met her charge head-on, wind condensing around his fist into a swirling maelstrom. Their powers collided in a blinding explosion, the shockwave flattening everything within a twenty-metre radius.
As the dust settled, Harry emerged unscathed, his wind barrier having protected him from the blast. Ayano, however, was breathing heavily, her clothes singed and torn. Frustration etched across her face as she realised Harry was barely winded.
"Is that all you've got?" Harry taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.
Ayano's eyes flashed dangerously. With a primal scream, she unleashed a torrent of flames that dwarfed her previous attacks. The fire roared towards Harry, threatening to engulf him.
Harry's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't falter. He thrust both hands forward, summoning a massive wall of wind that met Ayano's flames head-on. The two forces collided in a spectacular display of power, neither yielding.
"She's losing control," Kaze's voice whispered urgently in Harry's mind. "The flames are feeding off her anger. You need to end this quickly, or she might burn herself out—literally."
Harry gritted his teeth, pouring more power into his wind barrier. With a sudden burst of effort, he pushed forward, dispersing Ayano's flames and sending her tumbling backwards.
Before she could recover, Harry was on her. Tendrils of wind wrapped around Ayano's limbs, pinning her in place. Enraiha clattered to the ground, its flames sputtering out.
"That's enough," Harry said firmly, hovering mere inches from her face. "Stand down."
But Ayano was beyond reason. Her eyes, now glowing like molten lava, fixed on Harry with unbridled fury. The air around her began to shimmer with heat, her entire body wreathed in crimson flames that threatened to overwhelm even Harry's wind grasp.
"Calm down!" Harry shouted, but his words fell on deaf ears.
He realised he needed to act fast. The flames were growing hotter, more intense with each passing second. If he didn't do something quickly, Ayano might lose herself completely to the inferno.
In a split-second decision, Harry did the only thing he could think of to shock Ayano out of her rage-induced state. He leaned in and pressed his lips firmly against hers.
The effect was instantaneous. Ayano's eyes widened in shock, the flames surrounding her body sputtering and dying out. For a moment, they remained frozen, lips locked in an unexpected kiss.
Then, as if suddenly realising what was happening, Ayano's face flushed bright red—this time from embarrassment rather than anger. She jerked back, spluttering incoherently.
Harry released his wind grasp, allowing Ayano to stumble backwards. She stared at him, a mix of confusion, anger, and something else flickering across her face.
"What... why did you..." she stammered, unable to form a complete sentence.
Harry shrugged. "You weren't listening to reason. I had to do something to snap you out of it before you burnt yourself up."
Ayano opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words. The fight seemed to have drained out of her entirely, replaced by a bewildered exhaustion.
"Are you done trying to barbecue me?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because I think we've both had enough excitement for one day."
Ayano nodded weakly, her legs giving out as she sank to the ground. Harry kneeled beside her, his expression softening slightly.
"Look," he said, his tone gentler now, "I'm sorry for winding you up earlier. But you've got to learn to control that temper of yours. It's dangerous—for you and everyone around you."
Ayano looked up at him, a mixture of emotions swirling in her amber eyes. "I... I'm sorry too," she said softly. "I shouldn't have lost control like that."
Harry stood, offering her his hand. "Come on. I think we both need a drink after that—preferably something stronger than tea."
Ayano took his hand, allowing him to pull her to her feet. Before he could react, she buried her fist in his stomach. “You stole my first kiss, bakayarou.”
Harry clutched his stomach, chuckling. "I apologise; I will make sure the next kiss is even better to make up for it."
“You!”
“What does bakayarou mean?”
“Asshole.”
They both became acutely aware of their surroundings. The park was in ruins, smoke still rising from several small fires.
"Oh boy," Harry muttered. "I think we've got some explaining to do."
Indeed, Regina stood at the edge of the devastated park, her face pale as she surveyed the destruction. As Harry and Ayano approached, she seemed to be muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, "I'm too old for this shit."
"Sorry about the mess," Harry said, not sounding sorry at all. "Think you can fix it up before the Muggles notice?"
Regina shot him a withering glare. "Fix it? Mr. Potter, you've practically recreated the Blitz in miniature! It'll take a team of wizards to sort this out."
Ayano at least had the grace to look sheepish. "We may have gotten a bit... carried away."
"A bit?" Regina's voice rose an octave. "I've seen dragon reserves with less property damage!"
“Don’t worry,” Harry said. “I will call the Minister of Magic to take care of it. He owes me a favour.”
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
A man sat in a dimly lit office, his eyes scanning a report spread across his polished mahogany desk. The ticking of an antique grandfather clock in the corner punctuated the silence. A sharp knock on the heavy oak door broke his concentration.
"Come in," he called, not looking up from the papers.
The door opened with a soft creak, and a woman stepped into the room. She stood before the desk, back straight, waiting to be acknowledged.
The man finally raised his head. "What do you have to report, Helena?"
"A sketch of Bobby's face has appeared on the news," she said, sliding a folder across the desk. "They managed to find out his identity faster than we anticipated."
The man's eyebrows rose slightly as he flipped open the folder, revealing a grainy image from a news broadcast. "Is he at the safe house?"
"Yes, sir. We moved him immediately after the bombing."
"Good. They won't be able to find him for a while. He still has use to me." The man closed the folder, pushing it aside.
Helena shifted her weight, a flicker of hesitation crossing her face. The man caught it immediately, his eyes narrowing. "Was there something else?"
Helena took a deep breath, steeling herself. "Our spy has seen Harry Potter speaking with Inspector Hawthorne of the Diplomatic Protection Group."
The man leaned back in his high-backed leather chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "That's an unexpected complication," he mused. "Although, it shouldn't be surprising, considering he was seen in the company of the Queen. Thank you, Helena. You're dismissed."
As Helena left the office, closing the door softly behind her, the man swivelled in his chair to face the floor-to-ceiling windows. The London skyline stretched out before him, a tapestry of lights against the darkening sky. Big Ben chimed in the distance, marking the hour.
Harry Potter. The name echoed in his mind, a thorn in his carefully laid plans. There was no way he could go against him directly; Potter's power was unmatched, especially after the display with the Dementors in Manchester. But there was more than one way to skin a Kneazle.
A cruel smile played across his thin lips as an idea formed. Perhaps it was time to target those closest to Potter. He wondered how the so-called hero would handle it when his friends and family started dying around him. Would he break? Or would he lash out, potentially exposing the magical world in his grief and rage?
Either outcome could be useful.
The man's gaze drifted to his desk, landing on his meticulously planned schedule, written in a leather-bound planner. The next attack was already in motion. But perhaps it would be prudent to delay it a little. That way, he could kill two birds with one stone.
He reached for his phone, a secure model that couldn't be traced, and dialled a number from memory. It rang twice before a gruff voice answered.
"Change of plans," the man said without preamble, his voice low and commanding. "We're pushing back the timeline on our next target. I want you to gather intel on Harry Potter's associates. Family, friends, anyone he's close to. Be discreet."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. "That's risky, boss. Potter's not someone to be trifled with."
"I'm well aware of the risks," the man snapped, cutting off the protest. "Just do as you're told. We're not going after Potter directly. Not yet, anyway."
He hung up without waiting for a response, his mind already racing with possibilities. If played right, this could be the key to bringing down not just Harry Potter, but the entire system that protected him and his kind. The wizarding world had remained hidden for too long, wielding power unchecked while ordinary people suffered.
The man turned back to the window, watching as the first stars began to appear in the darkening sky. A police siren wailed in the distance, a reminder of the chaos they'd already sown. Soon, he thought, a sense of anticipation building in his chest. Soon, the magical world would learn that they weren't as untouchable as they believed.
"It won't be long now," he whispered. "Justice is coming."
So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry and Ayano become more acquainted, and he gets word on the new Quidditch League.
Thanks for reading.
