"Despicable!" Hermione hissed through clenched teeth. She drew her wand, her hand trembling.
Magic wasn't meant to be abused like this.
Ron's face darkened as he prepared to storm out.
But Harry, with one hand on each of their heads, pushed them back into the tent.
"Those people aren't amateurs. Don't act recklessly—you're not ready to face them yet."
"Safety is the priority," Harry continued firmly.
"The Ministry has plenty of personnel here. Maybe we can trust—"
Before he could finish, Harry's voice cut off abruptly. He reached up and yanked Hermione's head down, forcing her to crouch with him. A spell shot past where her head had been just moments before, striking their tent. Flames erupted, engulfing the lion emblem in a writhing inferno.
"Fantastic. It seems they're here for me," Harry said coldly, his vertical pupils narrowing. He raised his wand and cast the Quen Seal around himself.
"Get back inside the tent."
"Harry—" Hermione started, clutching her wand tightly.
"Go! You're not their target," Harry snapped, his gaze locked on the approaching figures.
The leader of the group had a hunched posture and twirled his wand casually. His face was obscured by a mask, but his mocking gaze was unmistakably fixed on Harry.
"They're after you?" Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.
"Wake Sirius and Lupin," Harry instructed. He then pulled out the Basilisk-bone sword.
"Use your Patronus to call Mr. Weasley," he added.
Hermione nodded, her voice tight. "Be careful—they've got the numbers."
George and Fred, full of reckless energy, looked ready to charge out, but Harry kicked them back into the tent.
"You're Harry Potter?" the leader of the group called, his voice rough and low. He eyed Harry as he approached.
"Those lion-like eyes… So you're the rightful Gryffindor heir, the one who's been acknowledged—"
Harry interrupted with a smirk.
"Uncultured fool. Lions have round pupils."
The man faltered, opening and closing his mouth before stammering,
"The acknowledged Gryffindor heir?"
"So you've got the right person, but you're pretending otherwise to buy time?" Harry sneered.
Before the leader could respond, a spell shot out from the group.
Cruciatus Curse!
"Stop wasting time talking to him!" someone yelled, though it wasn't the caster of the curse.
Harry sidestepped gracefully, his wand flicking.
Mud Swamp Jinx.
The ground beneath the attackers turned to sludge, and several of them stumbled and fell, struggling to free themselves. Only a few managed to cast Protego in time to shield themselves.
Their magical skills were passable, but nothing exceptional.
Harry waved his wand again.
Empty tents around them twisted, their wooden supports bending like spines. The wooden beams converged, forming a cage that trapped the group inside.
"Seeking your own doom, Potter?" the leader sneered, waving his wand. Though his spellwork was clumsy, he managed to harden the ground beneath his feet, stabilizing his stance.
His actions prompted the others to do the same, dispelling the swamp.
Spells flew again—Cruciatus, Imperius, Confringo—a chaotic barrage of dark magic hurtling toward Harry, their colors vivid and their menace palpable.
Harry dodged with fluidity, his movements almost dance-like.
"Numbers don't equal strength," he said icily.
He waved his wand.
The cage tightened, and a piece of cloth flew through the air, wrapping tightly around Mr. Roberts and his family. They were carefully placed behind a nearby tent for safety.
Then Harry activated Aard—a powerful shockwave of magic.
The attackers staggered as the force sent them crashing into the cage's narrowing walls. Blood splattered as sharp wooden spikes pierced a few of them.
Harry charged, wielding the Basilisk-bone sword with precision.
"Don't let him get close! Potter knows swordsmanship!" one of the attackers screamed, their voice betraying familiarity.
"Destroy the cage!" yelled another, already impaled but still raising his wand to cast Confringo. A hole the size of a head blasted open in the cage.
In the confined space, the attackers aimed another round of Cruciatus spells at Harry. They were certain their proximity would ensure a hit.
But Harry weaved through the attacks effortlessly. The firelight and moonlight reflected off his movements, making them appear as graceful as a Veela's dance.
The sword in his hand was anything but delicate. In a flash, it slashed across an attacker's chest, leaving a deep, narrow wound.
"Poisoned! The sword is poisoned!" the victim cried out in terror as his body went limp and he collapsed.
The venom of the Basilisk was swift and lethal.
The cage finally gave way.
The surviving attackers scrambled, crawled, and tumbled out, masks unable to hide their panic. Only the leader maintained his composure, though even he trembled slightly as he raised his wand to face Harry.
His inexperience was evident; his spells were hesitant and clumsy.
Harry countered with ease. A single flick of his wand conjured bindings that restricted the leader's movements.
Suddenly, there was a sharp crack.
A withered, skeletal hand grabbed the leader's wrist. Another crack, and both figures vanished.
"A house-elf," Harry muttered, eyes narrowing.
The leader had escaped, but the remaining attackers were scattered.
Harry raised his wand.
The remnants of the cage transformed into snakes, slithering into the darkness to apprehend the fleeing assailants.
About a hundred meters away, another sharp crack signaled the leader's reappearance. He fired a Cruciatus curse at Harry, who dodged and sprinted toward him.
"This is your introduction, Potter," the man hissed, raising his wand again. His face twisted with fury beneath his mask.
"Morsmordre!" he bellowed.
A jet of green light shot into the sky, forming a giant skull with a serpent slithering out of its mouth.
It was unmistakable: the Dark Mark.
Before Harry could reach him, the house-elf appeared once more, whisking the man away in a final crack.
Harry clicked his tongue in frustration. The immediate area was now clear of the leader's presence. He turned back to the scattered remnants of the attackers.
Some had vanished into the fleeing crowd. Others lay injured near the original cage, one barely alive from the sword's venom.
Harry spotted a familiar presence nearby.
With a flick of his wand, a strip of cloth shot forward, snaring a masked attacker and dragging them—along with a damaged tent—violently to the ground.
Just then, a dozen wizards apparated to Harry's side.
"Stupefy!" they yelled, aiming their wands at the fallen figure.
Harry's Quen shattered under the barrage, sending a blast of air rippling through the area. Some of the wizards staggered, while others were knocked unconscious by the ricocheted spells.
"Check who you're aiming at," Harry said softly, his tone eerily calm.
The Aurors froze, recognizing him.
"Stop! It's Mr. Potter!" one of them shouted.
An Auror stammered, "Mr. Potter, we didn't mean to—someone reported dark wizards, and the light was poor—"
"And you acted without thinking," Harry finished for him.
The man's face turned crimson. "Yes… we acted rashly."
Harry waved dismissively and pointed toward a nearby spot.
"I secured the Muggles over there. They're tied up in a cloth to keep them safe."
He gestured toward the injured wizard.
"There's one down from snake venom. If treated, he might survive."
An Auror hurried off to administer an antidote, while Harry turned his attention back to the captive he had just apprehended.
"This one's alive. No injuries, no poison," Harry said, pressing his boot into the man's back. With a flick of his wand, the man's mask fell away, revealing pale blond hair, gray eyes, and a gaunt, haggard face.
The Aurors gasped.
Harry smiled faintly.
"Oh, look who it is. Lucius Malfoy."
"Struggling to repay your debt to the Potters, Mr. Malfoy? Has it driven you to such lowly deeds to scrape together some coin?"
Lucius remained silent, his eyes vacant.
"Perhaps he's under the Imperius Curse," an Auror suggested nervously.
Harry shook his head. He could sense no foreign magic on Lucius.
Another Auror returned, grim-faced. "That injured man is Avery."
Avery. Another infamous pure-blood name.
Just then, two Ministry officials arrived: Ludo Bagman and another man.
"Potter?" Ludo exclaimed. "What's going on here? Don't tell me this was—"
The Aurors quickly explained.
Ludo sighed in relief. "Thank goodness. For a moment, I thought… never mind."
Harry turned to the other man.
"And you are?"
"Bartemius Crouch, head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Ludo said, introducing him with enthusiasm.
Harry nodded slowly.
"So you're Mr. Crouch—the one who sent his house-elf to save a seat but didn't bother showing up himself."
Crouch's expression stiffened, his gaze lingering on Malfoy.
Harry smiled coldly.
"I have something to tell you, Mr. Crouch. The leader of these Death Eaters was rescued by a house-elf. I remember its scent and appearance clearly."
He paused deliberately.
"That house-elf was yours. Winky."
Crouch's face contorted, a mix of shock, fear, and fury flashing through his eyes—but there was no hint of surprise.
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Powerstones?
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