The Wind Mage's Legacy: Chapter 29

Here’s the next chapter. Still working on the Artisan Path chapter.

Chapter 29

The room settled into expectant silence. Duncan McDonald commanded attention from the head position.

"First," Duncan began, "let's address the sceptics in the room, who don't believe Gaia has returned. I understand your doubts, but our clan, and several others here, possess information you may lack."

A weathered man with calloused hands slammed his palm against the table. 

"Out with it already, Duncan." The man’s accent was distinctively Australian. "You've ignored my requests for information for months. What evidence do you have?"

"Forgive me, Craig, but had I provided that information easily, would you have travelled halfway across the world today? We need to work together to defeat this threat. This is the Origin Spirit we're discussing."

"Spit it out, Duncan,” Amalia demanded. 

Duncan nodded. "As you know, Gaia met its first defeat through an alliance of spirit practitioners, spirits, and Mages. Human survivors had their memories wiped clean. But some spirits remember everything. We've communicated with several who've sensed Gaia's presence. Faint traces, but unmistakable to those who cannot forget the Origin Spirit's energy signature. Once we confirmed this, we investigated alarming parallels between global events involving spirit practitioners."

Harry shifted forward. "It's not limited to spirit practitioners. I suspect a witch in England works with Gaia. Her hatred of wizards drives attacks on both mundane and magical communities, sowing discord between them. If I were Gaia, why limit concerns to spirit practitioners? Wizards have grown stronger since Gaia’s time, making them potential threats. Even with few Mages remaining, Gaia cannot simply return to its past dominance. Hence, these underhanded tactics."

Klaus Zimmerman studied Harry. "Speaking of Mages, I haven't failed to notice your distinctive eye colour. Coincidence, perhaps, or something more. Are you a vessel?"

A woman with Mediterranean features and silver jewellery spoke up. "He's a Potter. Their family was renowned for vessel bloodlines."

Harry blinked. "How do you know that?"

"I have an extensive library," she replied. "Besides, Alexander Potter led the rebellion. Our clan's spirit witnessed everything that day. It remembered every detail."

Amalia leaned forward, her gaze intense. "So it's true?"

The McDonald's showed no surprise at the questioning's direction. They must have known from the beginning, explaining their intense interest in him. He'd told Daphne and Ayano, but hadn't advertised it widely. He should have expected exposure in a room full of spirit practitioners.

"Yes," Harry said. "I'm the first vessel in the Potter family since the thirteenth century."

Duncan's eyes sparked with interest. "Do you understand how to use your powers? Have you achieved Mage status?"

"I'm working toward it."

Catherine raised an eyebrow. "How? Training knowledge for Mages is virtually extinct. Perhaps a handful remain worldwide, but they guard their secrets jealously."

Harry had a convenient explanation without revealing Night’s existence. "I have a magical portrait of Alexander Potter. He's been training me."

Amalia straightened. "Does he remember the battle against Gaia?"

"No. His portrait was created years before the battle. His memories only extend to that point. Even if he survived that day, he wouldn’t remember it."

Klaus drummed his fingers against the table. "How close are you? Your power would prove invaluable if we confront Gaia directly."

Before Harry could respond, Duncan interrupted. "We're straying from the main topic. You may question Harry later, but don't pester him if he declines to answer."

A man with dark skin and intricate tattoos covering his forearms spoke up. "Marcus Okafor, Nigerian water clan. I'd feel more secure knowing we have a Mage fighting alongside us. That's my condition for staying in this alliance."

Duncan's expression remained diplomatic. "Mr Potter is here, which indicates his willingness to listen. For now, that will suffice. Now, regarding evidence of Gaia's return, we cannot rely solely on the spirit’s testimony. In recent days, we've obtained crucial information from interrogating Cross clan members who ambushed my daughter. We have direct confirmation they operated under Gaia's orders."

Amalia's eyes narrowed. "How did you extract this information? Torture?"

Duncan glanced toward Harry, who straightened in his chair. "I possess the ability to read minds. You may have heard of the wind spirit's ability, or affliction—the Black Wind. It allows me to tear into people's minds. Unpleasant, but I confirmed Gaia's involvement."

The half-truth rolled off his tongue smoothly. While Harry had read the Cross clan members' minds, he'd found nothing about Gaia directly. But Night had confirmed sensing Gaia's touch in their thoughts afterwards. Harry trusted his word.

 "Limited knowledge exists about your element due to wind spirit shortages,” Catherine said. “You're the only wind practitioner alive, excluding those who gained their powers through contracting with a demon."

Ayano winced beside him. The reminder of her clan's internal struggles stung visibly.

Duncan raised his hands. "Moving forward. With Gaia's return confirmed, we must locate it. We've cast our net worldwide, but haven't detected even hints of its presence."

Amalia frowned. "That presents a significant problem. If we cannot find Gaia, it will continue plotting against us, eliminating all its opposition."

"I have a suggestion,” Catherine said. “Harry, would you recognise Gaia's energy signature if you approached it?"

"Yes."

"Then why not have you search for it? Not only can you move about the world incredibly fast, but you can do it while performing your Tempest duties.”

Harry nodded. "I have free time at the moment thanks to the ICW. I can start by searching for Gaia in America.”

Duncan spread his hands. "Excellent. Whatever resources you require, the McDonald family stands ready to assist."

Murmurs of agreement circled the table as other clan leaders echoed his sentiment.

"There's only one thing I need from all of you," Harry said. "Help me locate Regina Bowles. I expect she'll surface again eventually, but I'd prefer handling her sooner rather than later."

"Consider it done," Duncan replied. "Now, I don't expect Gaia to be easily found. While Harry searches, we must prepare for additional attacks. Let's discuss strategies to counter Gaia's schemes."

The meeting stretched through several more hours as the Spirit Alliance debated defensive measures against an enemy that fought by manipulating others rather than directly confronting them. Harry listened with half his attention whilst his mind wandered to potential hiding places.

If I were a powerful spirit wanting to stay hidden, where would I go? The world was vast, and even with his skills, finding me would be like searching for a needle in a thousand haystacks. It wouldn't choose obvious locations or rely on conventional hiding spots. The Origin Spirit required a location that offered both concealment and access to the networks it used to manipulate events worldwide. Somewhere that connected to everything whilst remaining invisible to those actively searching for it. 

Harry's brows furrowed as he ran through the possibilities. The list remained too bloody long, and he was working with speculation rather than facts. Without more information about Gaia's current capabilities or limitations, he was shooting in the dark.

How close would he need to get before Night detected Gaia's energy signature? The range mattered enormously—if Night required direct contact or near proximity, searching the entire world became impossible. But if the connection allowed detection from kilometres away, the task became more manageable.

The other question was whether Gaia could sense Night in return. If the Origin Spirit recognised its former contractor's presence, Harry's searches might alert their target to the hunt. 

Too many unknowns, too many variables. But he needed to start somewhere. 

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

Later that evening, Harry returned to the void to continue his training with Night. The boy remained just as demanding, but the results spoke for themselves.

"Again," Night commanded. "And this time, hold the fusion longer than yesterday."

Harry summoned both energy streams, their familiar weight settling into his palms. The golden magic coiled eagerly around his fingers whilst the wind energy maintained its restless dance. After his previous breakthrough, they approached each other with cautious recognition rather than outright hostility.

He let his breathing steady, recalling the precise moment when the energies had first merged. The key was patience—forcing them together created resistance, but allowing natural attraction drew them closer. He guided the streams into a slow orbit around each other.

"Stop thinking so hard," Night said. "Let instinct guide you."

Harry closed his eyes, extending his awareness into both power sources. When he opened his eyes again, the streams had drifted closer without conscious direction. Golden threads wound through silver currents, creating brief moments of unity before separating again.

"There," Night observed. "See how they want to connect? Your mind keeps interfering with the natural process."

Harry nodded, maintaining the delicate balance. The energies pulsed in harmony for a minute, longer than his previous attempt. When they finally separated, the division felt gentler, less violent.

"Good. Now do it again, but channel that unified energy into something useful."

"Like what?"

"A simple spell,” Night said. “Nothing complex—just see if you can maintain fusion whilst casting. This is where true Mage training begins.”

Harry reached for his wand, but Night held up a hand.

"No. Put that away. You don't need external tools anymore."

"Wandless magic?" Harry asked incredulously. 

"Isn’t your wind abilities a form of magic? Do you need a focus for that? Now that you're combining the two powers, there is no need for such useless things.”

Harry tucked his wand away. He brought the energy streams together, the fusion feeling more stable now.

"Start with the most basic spell you know," Night advised. 

“How about the first Charm I ever learned?” Harry raised his empty hand. “Lumos.”

Light erupted from his palm with ten times the usual intensity, but it quickly flickered out. The raw power behind such a simple spell staggered him, but more importantly, he'd cast it without any focusing implement.

"Good," Night said. "Though you lost fusion the moment you cast. Try again, but this time maintain the connection throughout the spell."

The second attempt proved far more challenging. Harry managed to keep the energies united as he began the incantation, but speaking the spell fractured his concentration. The fusion collapsed halfway through, producing only a weak flicker of light from his fingertips.

"Bloody wind," Harry muttered.

"Expected. You're trying to juggle three complex processes simultaneously—maintaining fusion, casting spells, and controlling the output."

"Any suggestions?"

"Practice the components separately first. Hold fusion for longer periods without casting anything. Then work on visualising spell structures without actually casting them. Your mind needs to automate each process before you can combine them."

Harry spent the next hour working on fusion duration alone. His record improved from a minute to nearly two minutes before the energies separated. The strain was considerable, but he was satisfied with his accomplishment.

"Better," Night acknowledged. "Now, try mental casting exercises. Picture the spell and speak the incantations. Practice it until it becomes automatic."

Harry took his advice and spent the next half hour practising how to visualise the spell. It was a lot of effort just for a simple Lumos spell, but he knew he had to begin somewhere.

"Now combine them again,” Night said, “but don't overthink the casting. Let your mental rehearsal guide the fused energy whilst you focus solely on maintaining the fusion."

Harry brought his energies together, feeling their eager attraction. As the fusion settled, he lifted his hand and whispered, "Lumos."

The enhanced light blazed forth, lasting three full seconds before the energies separated. But this time, the separation felt controlled rather than explosive.

"That's brilliant," Harry said, firing off several more wandless spells. 

Each one felt smoother than traditional wandless attempts, the wind energy providing an invisible conduit for his magic.

"Progress," Night observed. "But it’s not true wandless magic until you can cast it without the incantation. Keep going."

Harry tried to cast the spell without speaking the incantation, but it didn't work at all. After a few more tries, he chose to practice different spells instead. He managed to sustain fusion during a Severing Charm, producing a concentrated blade of energy that tore through the water in the lake. He also succeeded with an Incendio. 

But complex spells proved beyond his current ability. A simple Transfiguration collapsed the fusion immediately.

"Why do complicated spells break the connection?" Harry asked.

"Complex magic requires more concentration," Night explained. "Longer incantations, mental patterns, and deeper theoretical understanding. Right now, you're like a juggler learning to keep three balls in the air. Eventually, you'll manage five or ten."

"How long until I can cast multiple spells simultaneously?"

"That's an advanced Mage technique. The fusion allows you to fire spells in rapid succession, faster than any wand-based casting. But true simultaneous casting comes much later, once you can split your focus between multiple spells."

Harry nodded, bringing his energies into fusion once more. This time, he fired off three Severing Charms in rapid succession, each spell emerging from his palm faster than any wand-based casting he'd ever achieved. The enhanced magic cut through the void like invisible blades, leaving perfect grooves in the non-existent ground.

"Impressive speed," Night observed. "But that's only the beginning. Eventually, you'll be able to use wind currents to carry your spells at impossible velocities."

"What do you mean?"

"Right now, your enhanced spells travel at normal speeds—fast, but predictable. A true wind Mage can embed spells within wind currents, accelerating them to unnatural speeds. Or change the direction of the spell mid-flight."

Harry's eyes widened. "Change direction?"

"Wind doesn't travel in straight lines. Your spells could do the same—curve around shields, strike from unexpected angles, pursue moving targets." 

Harry looked down at his hands, struggling to picture a scene like that. "How long before I can manage that?"

"First, you need to maintain the fusion effortlessly. Don’t get ahead of yourself."

Harry fired another Severing Charm, watching it streak through the void in a perfectly straight line. The idea of curving spells around obstacles made his head spin with possibilities.

"One more question," Harry said. "What about the attack you forced me to use against Typhoon? When can I replicate that consciously?"

Night's expression darkened. "That technique nearly killed you. You're nowhere near ready to attempt it deliberately."

"But it's possible?"

"Eventually.” Night fixed Harry with an intense stare. "I won't consider you a true Mage until you can replicate it safely."

Harry nodded. The power he'd unleashed against Typhoon had been terrifying. The wind spirit had been a tough opponent, but it died after only one attack. Learning to control such forces would require every ounce of skill he could develop.

After another hour of training, Night called an end to the training. "That's enough for now. Your mind needs rest between intensive training."

"Before I go," Harry said, "how close would I need to get to Gaia before you could sense it?"

"Why?"

"I am looking for where it’s hiding."

Night considered the question. "The range isn’t much. A few kilometres at most.”

"Could be worse. Any suggestions for likely hiding places?"

"I don’t know. Somewhere with abundant spiritual energy, perhaps.”

Harry nodded, committing the suggestions to memory. The hunt would take weeks, possibly months, but at least he had a starting point. 

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

Harry entered the McDonald's dining room, yawning. He had spent another fruitless day searching the American continent. A week of searching had yielded nothing but exhaustion and a growing appreciation for just how vast the world truly was. Cities blurred together as he raced between them—Los Angeles to Denver to Chicago to Miami—each location offering spectacular views he barely registered before moving on. The speed required to cover such distances left no time for sightseeing.

Catherine sat at the breakfast table with Ayano, reading a newspaper whilst picking at her breakfast. Harry kissed Ayano in greeting before dropping into the chair beside her. His attention immediately fixed on the newspaper's front page, where a moving photograph showed him diving for the Snitch during a Tornadoes' match.

"Where did you get the Daily Prophet from?" Harry asked.

"Good morning to you, too," Catherine replied without looking up.

"Morning. Can I read it after you're finished?"

Catherine folded the paper and handed it across the table. "You can have it. There are a couple of articles you need to check out."

Harry spread the Prophet across his placemat, scanning the headlines. The lead story made his jaw clench.

TORNADOES IN FREEFALL AFTER POTTER SUSPENSION Team Drops to Third Place Following Back-to-Back Defeats

The Tutshill Tornadoes suffered their second consecutive defeat yesterday evening, falling 180-140 to the Wimbourne Wasps in what the manager, Egbert Whitehead, called "an embarrassing display of amateur flying." The loss drops the previously number one team to third place in the league standings.

Sources within the team confirm that morale has plummeted since star Seeker Harry Potter's suspension two weeks ago. 

The Tornadoes' reserve Seeker, Weed, has failed to catch the Snitch in either match, prompting calls from supporters for Potter's immediate reinstatement. 

"The boy's being punished for doing his job," said longtime season ticket holder Martha Clearwater. "He saved lives at King's Cross, and this is how the ICW repays him?"

Egbert Whitehead refused to comment on Potter's suspension but acknowledged the team's struggles. "We knew replacing Harry would be difficult. We're working through this rough patch and expect to return to winning form soon."

The Tornadoes face the Montrose Magpies next weekend in what many consider a must-win match to salvage their season.

The second article proved even more infuriating.

POTTER SUSPENSION: TOO LENIENT OR TOO HARSH? Debate Rages Over Punishment for King's Cross Incident

Two weeks after Harry Potter's suspension from professional Quidditch, magical Britain remains divided on whether the punishment fits the crime. The Boy Who Lived faces potential criminal charges from both the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards for his actions during the King's Cross station incident.

However, public sentiment appears to favour Potter. A recent poll conducted by the Prophet shows 83% of respondents believe the suspension is unjustified, with many calling for his immediate reinstatement.

"He's a hero who saved Muggle lives," said Kingsley Shacklebolt, Minister for Magic. "The Ministry is reviewing all aspects of this case to ensure justice is served fairly."

The Wizengamot has scheduled another session for next Tuesday to discuss potential criminal proceedings. The ICW's decision remains pending, with sources suggesting they may pursue their own charges regardless of the Wizengamot's ruling.

Potter himself has made no public statements since the suspension was announced and has not been seen in Magical Britain for over a week.

Harry threw the paper down in disgust. "America is looking better and better at the moment. Why are the British Ministry and the ICW such dickheads?"

"You could always move to Japan," Ayano suggested, taking a sip of her tea.

"What about Daphne?"

"Her, too. She would love the culture."

"I'm sure she would. I don't know if she would want to abandon her position as Head of the Greengrass family."

"Give it to Astoria."

Harry considered this. "I don't think she would pass off the responsibility to her little sister. Does Japan have a Quidditch League?"

"You know it doesn't."

"Pity."

Catherine leaned forward. "Speaking of Quidditch. Do you want to stick it to the Ministry and the ICW?"

"What do you mean?"

"I bet they're thinking you're off hiding somewhere, licking your wounds, afraid you won't get to play Quidditch again. You should show them you couldn't care less about what they're doing by showing your face in America in a very public way."

"Come again?"

"Did I mention I owned part of the New York Thunderbirds?" Catherine's smile turned predatory. "There's a temporary position open that's hard to fill, but you would be perfect for it."

"It's a completely different game. I would be lost out there."

"The rules are simple. It's your flying ability that matters."

Harry frowned. "If you say so. And what will I accomplish by playing in this match again?"

"Well, the Ministry and the ICW may not like you right now, but the public is different. You're the hero who defeated Voldemort, remember? What if by showing you're enjoying your time in America, the public realise there's a chance you may not return? Who do you think they're going to turn on?"

Ayano's eyes lit up. "Vindictive. I love it."

"Okay, I'm a little interested now. But what about the team? Would they want a rookie to play for them?"

"Let me handle that," Catherine replied. “Let me make a call, and I’ll take you to the Thunderbirds stadium.”

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

The floodlights blazed across Thunderbird Stadium as sixty thousand spectators packed every level of the massive arena. Harry adjusted his gold uniform, the unfamiliar weight of Quadpot padding feeling strange compared to his Quidditch gear. The crowd's energy was electric—drums pounded relentlessly whilst organised chants echoed from the stands in waves of sound that made his chest vibrate.

Yesterday's training session had been a crash course in controlled chaos. The Thunderbirds' coach had drilled him on positioning, timing, and most importantly, how to avoid getting blown up by the volatile Quod. Now, hovering before the three golden rings that served as goals, Harry felt the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

Rita Skeeter sat in the press box, her acid-green quill already scratching notes. Andromeda had arranged the invitation after Harry's call the previous evening. The reporter's presence guaranteed that magical Britain would read every detail of his participation in tomorrow's Prophet.

"First time seeing Quadpot?" asked the wizard beside Skeeter, a local sports journalist.

"Yes," Rita replied, eyeing the explosive Quod with obvious unease. "Seems rather more violent than our version."

The Salem Witches emerged from the opposite tunnel to thunderous cheers, dressed in their black and purple uniforms. 

Harry's teammate Jake Morrison, the Thunderbirds' captain, flew past his goal rings. "Remember, Potter—stop the Quod, don't think about the explosion. The blast won't kill you, but it'll sting like hell."

"Comforting advice."

"Thirty seconds!" the referee announced.

The crowd noise swelled to impossible levels as both teams took their positions. Harry had played before large audiences, but nothing compared to this intensity. American Quadpot fans brought a theatrical energy that made British Quidditch supporters seem reserved by comparison.

The referee raised the Quod—a leather sphere crackling with unstable magical energy. Ten seconds after anyone caught it, the thing would explode with enough force to knock a grown wizard off his broom.

The whistle shrieked.

Both teams converged on the Quod like guided missiles. A Salem Chaser snatched it first, the ten-second countdown beginning immediately as red numbers materialised above the ball.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!" sixty thousand voices counted in unison.

The Chaser whipped the volatile ball toward his wingman, who caught it cleanly and immediately began spiralling toward Harry's goal rings. Salem's infamous passing game was already in motion—three quick exchanges designed to confuse defenders and create scoring angles.

"Six! Five! Four!"

The final Salem Chaser received the pass twenty metres from Harry's position. Instead of hesitating, he fired the Quod directly at the top ring with vicious velocity.

Harry shot upward, his hands closing around the ball with two seconds remaining on the countdown. The crowd's chant stopped abruptly as he gained possession, then resumed immediately.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

He scanned the pitch frantically. Morrison streaked down the right sideline, weaving between Salem defenders. Harry drew back his arm and hurled the Quod with everything he had.

"Four! Three! Two!"

Morrison caught it at full speed and immediately fired toward the Salem goal. Their massive Keeper deflected the shot with his glove, but the impact sent him spinning as the Quod exploded harmlessly against the ring's edge.

The pattern repeated with relentless intensity. Players hurled themselves through the air at breakneck speeds whilst countdown timers created constant pressure. Every possession was a race against time, every pass a calculated risk.

Salem drew first blood midway through the opening quarter. Their lead Chaser, a witch named Rodriguez with lightning reflexes, caught a deflected Quod and scored through Harry's middle ring before he could react. The visiting fans erupted whilst Thunderbirds supporters groaned in disappointment.

"Shake it off!" Morrison called out as play resumed. "That's what they're paid for!"

The Thunderbirds' response was immediate and brutal. Their counter-attack unfolded like choreographed violence—five consecutive passes in eight seconds, each one bringing them closer to the Salem rings. Harry watched his teammates execute plays that would be impossible in Quidditch, where players had time to think between possessions.

The equalising goal came when a Salem defender intercepted a Thunderbirds pass but fumbled the volatile ball under pressure from two attackers. The Quod bounced between three players before a Thunderbirds Chaser snatched it from mid-air.

"Four! Three! Two!"

He fired immediately from an impossible angle. The Salem Keeper dove desperately but couldn't reach the shot as it sailed through the left ring. The crowd exploded in celebration.

The pace intensified beyond anything Harry had experienced. Both teams abandoned defensive caution as the match devolved into aerial warfare. Players collided mid-air whilst chasing loose Quods, their bodies bouncing off each other with brutal impacts.

Harry's defining moment arrived in the third quarter. Salem had built a 30-20 lead through superior teamwork, their formations creating consistent scoring opportunities. Their star player, a wizard named Blackwood, had already scored twice on spectacular individual efforts.

Blackwood caught another Quod near the penalty area and immediately began his signature move—a cork-screwing dive that created impossible angles for defenders. The crowd held its breath as he pulled out of the dive directly in front of Harry's rings.

"Three! Two!"

Blackwood released the Quod with perfect timing, the ball rocketing toward the bottom ring. Harry threw himself downward, his fingertips brushing the volatile sphere just enough to deflect its trajectory.

The Quod struck the ring's edge and bounced away as the countdown reached zero. The explosion was deafening—a thunderclap that rattled every seat in the stadium. But Harry had made the save, and the crowd's reaction was instantaneous.

Even Salem fans applauded the spectacular defensive play. In the press box, Rita Skeeter's quill worked frantically as she captured every detail of the moment.

The match's final quarter became a showcase of Quadpot at its most brutal. Both teams traded goals through sheer determination, neither able to establish control. The crowd remained standing, their voices hoarse from ninety minutes of constant cheering.

With thirty seconds remaining, Morrison intercepted a Salem pass near midfield. Instead of looking for teammates, he tucked the Quod against his chest and began a solo run.

"Eight! Seven! Six!"

Morrison weaved between four Salem defenders. Two more converged as he approached their goal, but he'd timed his run perfectly.

"Three! Two!"

He released the Quod at the absolute last second, diving away as the ball sailed cleanly through the centre ring. The stadium erupted as the Thunderbirds took a 40-30 lead with seconds remaining.

Salem's final desperation pass fell incomplete as time expired. The Thunderbirds had won, and Harry had helped deliver their victory with six crucial saves.

Rita Skeeter closed her notebook with a satisfied smile. Tomorrow's headline was already written: "Potter's American Triumph: Suspended Hero Has Found A New Home?"

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

Harry stepped through the front door of the McDonald mansion after another day of searching with no results. He didn’t mind, though. The excitement from the Thunderbirds match was still fresh, and the memory of sixty thousand fans cheering kept his adrenaline buzzing. The American press had been relentless in their praise, whilst the British magical community was finally taking notice of his absence. 

Catherine intercepted him before he could reach the stairs, her face drawn with worry. 

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Andromeda just called." Catherine's voice was tight. "Harry, Daphne was attacked at Hogwarts. She's in the Hospital Wing."

Harry's mind reeled. The elation from his recent success evaporated instantly, replaced by cold dread that settled in his chest like ice. "Bloody wind. Is she okay?"

Ayano arrived at that moment. "She was hurt pretty badly, but Madam Pomfrey is looking after her. Hermione, Ron and her sister are watching over her as well."

Harry could feel his anger rising slowly, a familiar heat building behind his eyes. His hands clenched into fists as he struggled to contain the rage threatening to overwhelm him. 

"Who did it?" His voice came out dangerously quiet. "What bastard dares touch her?"

"Andromeda didn't say, but I know the Headmistress is really angry," Catherine replied.

Harry started for the door without another word. He was going to break all kinds of speed records flying to Scotland. The person responsible better hope his anger had bled off by the time he arrived.

"Harry, wait." Catherine's voice stopped him mid-stride. "I have a portkey here that will take you to Hogsmeade."

She handed him a length of rope, and he didn't question how she'd managed to acquire it. Catherine McDonald had resources that defied explanation, and right now, he was grateful for every one of them.

Ayano moved to his side and grabbed his arm. "I'm coming with you."

Harry nodded. 

"The activation phrase is 'Hogsmeade is a stupid name for a village,'" Catherine said.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the odd phrase but didn't waste time questioning it. His mind was already racing ahead to Hogwarts, to Daphne lying injured in the Hospital Wing.

"Hogsmeade is a stupid name for a village," he said.

The familiar hook-behind-the-navel sensation grabbed him as the portkey activated. The mansion's foyer disappeared in a whirl of colours, replaced by the spinning sensation of magical transportation. Ayano's grip on his arm tightened as they were whisked away across the Atlantic.

Just wait until he gets his hands on the bastard who'd hurt Daphne. There wouldn't be enough left of them to fill a matchbox.

So, what do you think? In the next chapter, Harry goes on a rampage, and the Ministry is helpless to stop it. 

Thanks for reading.