Amelia Bones was furious.
From her vantage point on the ridge overlooking the dark coastline, she could see the sky above Hartland Harbor blazing orange. Pillars of flame rose in the distance, illuminating the smoke-filled night. Screams echoed faintly across the water — the unmistakable sound of chaos.
And she was still outside.
"Status!" she barked, pacing back and forth near the faintly shimmering air where her Aurors worked.
"We're making progress, ma'am," one of the curse-breakers said nervously, wand pressed against the invisible wall. "But whoever put these wards up knew what they were doing. Layered runestone formation — goblin-crafted, I think."
Amelia swore under her breath. "Runestone wards again… damn it."
Behind her, Alastor Moody stood silent, his enchanted eye spinning in all directions. "You can smell it, can't you, Amelia?" he muttered. "That's fire in there. Someone already lit the place."
"I can see that," she snapped. Then, softer: "We're late. Too damn late."
Cassandra Vale approached, clutching her wand and trying to sound calm despite the distant explosions. "Ma'am, maybe we should—"
"Don't say retreat." Amelia cut her off coldly. "We're not going to stand here while people die inside."
She turned back to the wall of rippling air. The magic shimmered like heated glass — every attempt to break it sent sparks flying backward. The Aurors she had hand-picked for this mission were good, loyal, and discreet — but none of them were trained for this. They were enforcers, not curse-breakers.
"Come on, come on…" she muttered through clenched teeth, as she and Moody pressed their wands forward in unison.
The ground trembled again. In the distance, a dragon's roar split the air, echoing across the sea. Amelia's eyes widened — she had heard that sound before in ancient bestiaries, but never in person.
"Tell me I'm imagining that," Cassandra whispered.
"You're not," Moody growled. "Whoever's inside isn't just fighting — they're declaring war."
The final layer of wards rippled violently. Light fractured like a mirror shattering in slow motion, and with a deafening crack the barrier collapsed.
Amelia raised her wand. "All Aurors — forward! No one leaves that harbor without my permission!"
The Aurors surged past her, their boots splashing into the wet earth as they charged toward the inferno ahead. Amelia followed close behind, her cloak snapping in the wind, knowing full well that whatever awaited them inside… wasn't going to be weak.
The sea wind carried the acrid stench of smoke and burnt flesh. Embers drifted lazily through the air, settling on ash and blackened earth. The once-grand tents that housed the Midnight Auction were either burning or already reduced to skeletal frames of char and molten canvas.
Everywhere she looked, there were bodies.
Pureblood lords — men she had seen in Wizengamot meetings — lay scattered in the mud, robes half-burned, faces unrecognizable. Amelia's sharp eyes caught one emblem, melted but still visible. "Selwyn," she whispered grimly. Another corpse bore the ring of the Carrows.
Moody's magical eye spun furiously, scanning every inch of the wreckage. "Merlin's beard… this wasn't a battle. This was an execution."
Cassandra Vale covered her mouth as she stepped over a pile of scorched bones. "These… these were all nobles," she murmured.
Amelia's jaw tightened. "Not nobles. Traffickers."
The Aurors spread out in formation, wands drawn. The crackle of extinguishing spells echoed as blue jets of water hissed against flame. The sea breeze howled through the ruined tents, carrying faint whimpers — wounded survivors, maybe, or dying beasts.
"Cast anti-apparition and anti-portkey wards," Amelia ordered sharply.
Twenty Aurors moved at once, the ground glowing with intricate sigils as warding spells anchored across the perimeter. A faint ripple of light sealed the harbor from the rest of the world.
Moody crouched beside a blackened wand lying near a collapsed cage. "This… this was dragonfire," he said quietly. "You can see it in the pattern of the burns. Controlled, but devastating."
Amelia's gaze swept the harbor once more — the melted iron chains, the shattered cages, the empty pens. "Then it's true," she muttered. "Where is Lord Blackfyre?."
Cassandra turned toward her. "Do you think he's still alive?"
Amelia didn't answer. Her expression was unreadable, but in her mind, the question echoed louder than she'd admit:
Was this destruction the act of a savior… or of something much darker?
"Ma'am! The fight isn't over!"
Two Aurors sprinted through the smoke, their boots splashing against puddles of seawater. Amelia turned sharply toward them, her wand still lit. "Show me," she ordered.
They led her and Moody toward the far end of the harbor, where the remains of a dock still stood — half-collapsed, charred, and surrounded by rising steam. But what stopped her cold was the shimmering wall of magic that separated the dock from the rest of the battlefield.
The barrier pulsed like living glass — translucent, yet humming with immense power. Through it, she could see what lay beyond.
A lone figure, small and cloaked in burned-black robes, stood surrounded by a circle of fire and ruin. His movements were ragged but precise, each dodge and block executed with desperate grace. Amelia recognized him instantly.
"Lord Blackfyre," she whispered.
Across from him stood Lord Celtigar, wand raised, his crimson robes gleaming in the firelight. Seven men flanked him in a half-circle, hurling curses that blazed and cracked against the shield of Blackfyre.
"New wards," Moody muttered, his magical eye twitching. "Put up recently. Layered fast — meant to keep us out."
One of the Aurors stepped forward, pressing his wand to the barrier. "He's right, ma'am. These runes are still warm. We can break it, but it'll take time — maybe three minutes."
"Three minutes?" Amelia's voice was low, tight. "He won't survive one."
She watched as Lord Blackfyre leapt aside from a volley of Killing Curses, the green flashes slicing past him by inches. His cloak trailed in tatters, and his left arm hung loosely, likely burned or broken. Yet even through exhaustion, his spells struck with unnerving precision — Spells clashing against Celtigar's defenses in brilliant bursts.
Cassandra clenched her wand. "He's fighting eight to one. We can't just stand here!"
Amelia's jaw tightened. "Hold position. Break the ward first —."
Inside the dome, Blackfyre stumbled, his knees hitting the scorched ground. But instead of falling, he dragged himself up again, eyes glowing faintly beneath his hood — the same eerie green that shimmered like killing curse itself.
Amelia could only watch, helpless, as the man fought alone against overwhelming odds.
For the first time in years, the Amelia felt something she hadn't felt since the war — a spark of fear for someone she barely understood.
"Come on, Blackfyre," Amelia whispered, her wand trembling.
"Just hold out a little longer…"
The world around him blurred with smoke and light. Each explosion of magic shook the dock beneath his feet.
[HP: 210 / 740]
[MP: 210 / 1400]
[Status: Fatigued | Burned | Magic Depleted]
Harry could feel the exhaustion now — the tremor in his wand hand, the dizziness every time he tried to channel another high-tier skill. His system window flickered faintly at the edge of his vision.
Harry knew he was outmatched. His breathing came in short, painful gasps, and every beat of his heart echoed like a countdown. His MP bar flickered faintly before his eyes.
I can't outlast them like this… I have to gamble.
With a sharp flick of his wand, he poured half of his remaining MP into the one spell that could even the odds.
[Skill Activated: Shadow Veil – Lv. 10]
[MP Cost: 100]
Black smoke burst outward like a living thing, twisting and coiling through the battlefield. It swallowed the torches, the curses, the stars themselves — until the world vanished into absolute darkness.
Shouts erupted.
"Where is he?"
"I can't see!"
"Hold formation!"
The veil muffled even sound. Only the hiss of magic and Harry's ragged breathing broke the silence. Hidden in that cursed mist, Harry uncorked a Healing Potion and drank it in one gulp.
[+100 HP Restored]
[Status Effect: Pain Resistance (Minor) – Active]
Warmth surged through his body, but not enough to erase the exhaustion gnawing at his bones. He reached into his inventory and drew out a Goblin-forged Sword, its edge glinting faintly through the darkness. It wasn't elegant — crude by wizarding standards — but it was real, and it cut through arrogance as easily as flesh.
[Weapon Equipped: Goblin-forged Shortsword (+40 Physical Attack)]
Harry crouched low, his shadow sliding across the ground like liquid night. He moved silently, a predator inside his own spell. His first strike came from nowhere — a clean slice across a guard's chest. The man screamed, his wand falling away.
Another wizard turned just in time to see the glint of steel before collapsing.
But not every strike was perfect. A sudden curse — "Os Frango!", the Bone-Breaking Hex — slammed into Harry's left arm.
Pain exploded. He screamed. The sword slipped from his grasp as his arm hung uselessly at his side.
[Critical Hit Taken: -80 HP]
[Status: Left Arm – Fractured | Function Disabled]
The agony threatened to tear him apart. His vision wavered, his balance nearly gone. But through sheer will, Harry switched the sword to his right hand, gripping it tighter, blood running down the hilt.
"Fine," he whispered through gritted teeth. "One hand's enough."
He could hear their confused shouting in the darkness — panicked, desperate, fearful. The black smoke was beginning to fade, its strength waning with his mana.
Harry's heartbeat thundered in his ears.
He had one arm. One blade. Less than a quarter of his health left.
And eight enemies still standing.
[HP: 230 / 740]
[MP: 110 / 1300]
No more Poison Mist. No more Fireballs. Not unless I want to drop dead before they do.
He gritted his teeth, switching from his innate "system magic" — his wandless abilities — to the old-fashioned method. The wand.
It hummed with low power as Harry muttered, "Bombarda!"
The nearest attacker flew backward, crashing into a crate of stolen goods. Another curse followed — "Stupefy!", then "Expulso!" — sparks bursting like fireworks in the night. Each spell cost him only slivers of mana compared to his skills, but they were weak, standard-book magic, barely strong enough to stagger a trained wizard.
Still, it was all he had left.
[Magic Consumption Reduced: Basic Spellcasting Mode Active]
Green flashes streaked past his head — Killing Curses, fast and precise. The air was alive with the hum of lethal energy. He ducked behind a splintered beam, rolling sideways as a Blasting Curse shattered the stone beside him.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted it — the barrier that separated the dock from the rest of the harbor. On the other side of that translucent wall, the faint shapes of Aurors moved frantically. They can see me, Harry realized. But they can't reach me.
He could almost feel their panic — the helplessness of being forced to watch him die.
[Objective: Survive Until Barrier Collapse]
Harry's gaze snapped toward the right. Among the chaos, one wizard — a tall man in silver robes — wasn't attacking. His wand was pointed downward, runes pulsing beneath his boots.
He's maintaining the barrier.
If he could kill him, the wall would collapse — the Aurors would pour in. But identifying him was one thing; reaching him through the storm of curses was another.
Celtigar's men formed a living wall around their master, hurling spell after spell. The ground burned with circles of light, every strike exploding near Harry's feet.
"Bombarda! Reducto!"
His wand shook, his body trembling. The backblast from his own magic rattled through his bones.
[HP: 140 / 740]
[MP: 95 / 1400]
[Warning: Vital signs unstable.]
Through the smoke, he glimpsed the faint shimmer of the barrier-caster's silver robes again — and for the briefest second, Harry smiled grimly.
"If I can't reach you with strength," he whispered, "then I'll reach you with fire."
He raised his wand skyward, channeling what little power remained in his core. The wand trembled violently in his grip, sparks dripping like molten metal from its tip.
"Incendio…!"
The explosion lit the night like sunrise. Fire roared forward, consuming half the dock. Even some of the Celtigar's men caught fire, caught off guard by the spell.
Harry fell to one knee, chest heaving. He could barely hear over the pounding in his ears.
[MP: 30 / 1400]
He smiled bitterly through the sweat and soot.
"Come on, Aurors… break the damn wall."
The sudden flash of blue runes on the ground signaled the breaking of the ward.
With a thunderous crack, the shimmering wall that sealed the dock shattered like glass.
[System Alert: External Barrier – Nullified]
[Auror Reinforcements Detected]
Aurors in dark cloaks stormed through the breach, wands raised, spells blazing. Amelia Bones was at the front, her expression grim as she barked orders.
"Secure the survivors! Stun anyone resisting!"
Four men still stood — burnt, battered, but defiant. The rest of Celtigar's entourage lay lifeless on the ground, their bodies scattered among fire-scorched crates and blood-stained stones.
Celtigar himself was on one knee, robes torn, his wand cracked in half. Yet, despite his injuries, he smiled.
Harry could barely stand. His body trembled as he leaned against a fallen beam, every movement agony. His HUD flickered faintly.
[HP: 140 / 740]
[MP: 30 / 1400]
[Status: Near Unconscious | Critical Condition]
The Aurors spread out, forming a perimeter around the wounded. Ropes of magical light bound Celtigar's hands. Amelia approached cautiously, wand still pointed at him.
"You're under arrest for magical creature trafficking, Lord Celtigar," she said coldly.
"For what?" Celtigar laughed hoarsely, coughing blood. "What magical creature trafficking? Did you find any magical creatures here?"
Amelia froze. Around them, there was nothing but ruins — the cages were empty, the ships burned, the bodies too charred to yield proof. Every trace of the auction's victims was gone.
"Without evidence," Celtigar continued, "you can't do a thing. No ledgers, no captives, no contracts. And thanks to him"—he turned his gaze toward Harry, lying barely conscious—"you've lost all your evidence."
Harry lifted his head, his vision swimming. Celtigar's smile widened.
"You see, Lord Blackfyre, you did my work for me. You destroyed the evidence I didn't want found. And now…" Celtigar gestured toward the Aurors, his voice dripping with arrogance. "They'll arrest you. For murder. For arson. For the deaths of pure-blood lords and foreign dignitaries. I'm the victim here."
Amelia's jaw clenched. "You were running a trafficking ring."
"Prove it," Celtigar sneered. "Prove anything."
He turned his head toward Harry once more, eyes gleaming with malice.
"When you wake up in Azkaban—if you survive that long—remember this: I will continue where I left off. You can't kill what's built on gold and blood."
Harry could barely stay conscious.
Every breath felt like fire, every heartbeat slower than the last.
Celtigar's laughter rang in his ears — smug, cruel, and echoing through the ruined dock.
The man stood there, proud despite the wounds, surrounded by Aurors who did not yet know who the true monster was.
Harry's vision blurred. He could hear Auror Bones shouting orders, Moody arguing, but all of it was distant.
The only thing clear to him was Celtigar's smirk — that same grin of arrogance and power, the mark of every man who thought wealth could bury guilt.
I can't let him live.
Harry's gaze dropped to the faint glimmer of the Bone Spear skill in his fading mind.
The cost shimmered beside it — 20 MP.
He had 30.
[Skill Selected: Bone Spear – Lv.8]
[MP Cost: 20]
[Warning: MP Will Drop Below Safe Limit]
"For Justice," he whispered.
The world slowed as the spell circle formed around his hand. Bone coalesced into a jagged spear, pure white and humming with necrotic energy.
Even the Aurors felt it — that shift in the air, that pull of death.
Celtigar turned toward him, still smirking. "Oh, you're still alive?"
Harry didn't answer.
He raised the spear with trembling hands and threw.
It cut through the night like a beam of moonlight.
A heartbeat later — impact.
The Bone Spear pierced straight through Celtigar's throat.
The pure-blood lord's eyes went wide. His hand rose, trying to clutch at the wound, but no sound came — only a faint gurgle before he collapsed, motionless.
For a moment, silence ruled.
Then chaos erupted.
Every Auror's wand turned toward Harry. Even Alastor Moody was stunned — not because of the kill, but because Harry had no wand in hand.
"He—he cast that without a wand," one Auror muttered in disbelief.
Amelia shouted, "Don't move!"
Harry didn't.
He couldn't. His body had nothing left to give.
The ground trembled.
A loud, piercing screech echoed through the sky — a cry that froze everyone where they stood.
From the clouds above, something descended — wings wide, scales gleaming under the moonlight.
The Aurors scattered in panic, spells flying uselessly against the beast.
The dragon landed with a thunderous crash beside Harry, smoke rising from its nostrils.
With his last ounce of strength, Harry climbed onto its back, gripping the scales tightly with his one good arm.
The dragon spread its wings and took off, scattering debris and dust into the night air.
The last thing Amelia Bones saw was the shadow of Lord Blackfyre and a dragon vanishing into the clouds — leaving behind fire, corpses, and unanswered questions.
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