Hardened Resolve

May 28, 1993, 3:00 PM, New York State

Kai

The village of Thistlethorn perched like a drowsy cat in the afternoon sun, nestled in a hidden valley of the Catskills where the mountains gathered close. The collection of peaked roofs and crooked chimneys seemed to grow straight from the mountainside, their weathered shingles matching the gray-brown bark of the towering maples that surrounded them.

Late May had painted the valley in vibrant strokes of life. The witches’ gardens below burst with patches of wild columbine, their red and yellow bonnets nodding in the warm breeze alongside clusters of white bloodroot and purple trillium.

A pair of scarlet birds flashed like drops of blood among the new leaves, their song carrying clear and pure across the valley. Below them, white-tailed deer grazed cautiously in the meadow near the village outskirts, undisturbed by the occasional sounds of children’s laughter or the distant chime of a shopkeeper’s bell.

Near the village square, an ancient tree spread its canopy like a protective hand over the local wandmaker’s shop, its leaves creating ever-shifting patterns of shadow and light on the cobblestones below. A rather large turkey strutted importantly between the buildings, its feathers catching the mid-afternoon sun as it pecked at the spaces between the stones.

An eagle circled lazily overhead, its cry echoing off the valley walls as it rode the thermal currents rising from the sun-warmed earth. The scene below was a perfect painting of pastoral tranquility.

A ways away, in the shadows of towering hemlocks, dark mutters of contempt rippled through the gathered Outsiders. A grizzled warrior spat on the ground, his face twisted with disgust at the sight of the village below.

“Look at them.” He growled. “Living in their wooden cages. Disgusting.”

Another shifted restlessly, fingers dancing in agitation. “The Woolworth lies in ruins. Why do we waste time with such a small prize?”

“Silence.” The word cut through the whispers like a blade.

Chief Standing Stone’s weathered face remained impassive, but power radiated from him like heat from summer stones. His dark eyes, sharp as an eagle’s, surveyed the village below. “Do not let victory make you foolish. MACUSA is wounded, and a wounded beast fights hardest when cornered. We did not bring down their towers by underestimating them.”

The warriors fell quiet, chastened. The Chief’s gaze shifted to the shadows between the trees. “Kai.”

A figure emerged from the darkness, moving with the fluid grace of a hunting cat. Despite his youth, Kai carried himself with the deadly purpose of a weapon forged in darkness. He lowered his head respectfully. “Chief.”

Standing Stone gestured toward Thistlethorn, where afternoon light still played across the peaceful scene. “This village must burn. Its ashes will send a message— there is no safe haven for those who cling to MACUSA’s ways.”

Kai lifted his head, eyes hardening as he studied his target. The childhood that had been beaten out of him left no room for mercy.

“For the good of the tribe.” He said softly, the words a mantra carved into his soul through years of brutal training. Every death would be another step toward freeing his people from the shackles of the Europeans’ descendants.

The assault began with the silence of falling snow.

No war cries, no thunderous approach— just the sudden appearance of dark figures moving down the northern slope like shadows given form. The first deaths came quietly: a wizard tending his garden, a witch hanging laundry, an elderly man reading on his porch. They crumpled without sound, victims of magic that sought them like hunting wolves.

Then someone screamed; a high, piercing sound that shattered the afternoon peace.

The village erupted into chaos. Protective wards flared to life, shimmering like heat waves in the spring air. Cracks of Apparition split the air as MACUSA wizards materialized on the cobblestones, their blue and cranberry robes a splash of defiant color against the pastoral scene. More than expected— much more. Their wands were already raised, faces set with grim determination.

The north road became an inferno of spellfire. Jets of light crisscrossed through the air like deadly threads. Shield Charms blazed and shattered. Buildings splintered. Gardens withered and died as stray Curses poisoned the earth.

Something in Kai’s chest tightened with disgust at the sight of his fellow Outsiders battling with wands.

Even now, after everything, they clung to European tools like children to their blankets. They cast their spells with words borrowed from foreign languages, wielding power through channels carved by their oppressors. Their magic was strong, yes, but it was domesticated, tamed. Predictable.

A squad of MACUSA wizards turned toward him, their faces hardening as they recognized what he was— what he represented. Killing Curses erupted from their wands, sickly green bolts of death that streaked through the air.

Puma’s Grace flowed through Kai’s limbs like liquid lightning. His body moved with impossible fluidity, each motion precise and purposeful. The Killing Curses passed through empty air where he had stood mere heartbeats before, leaving faint green afterimages in their wake.

Kai wove between the Killing Curses as they split the air around him— left, right, duck, twist. A Curse grazed so close it nearly ruffled his hair, but he was already gone, closing the twenty-yard gap in the space of three heartbeats.

The first wizard’s Shield Charm blazed to life, a translucent dome of protective magic. Kai didn’t slow. Bear’s Resilience flooded his muscles with primal power as he launched himself forward, leading with his shoulder. The Shield Charm shattered with a sound like breaking ice, magical energy dispersing in crackling arcs.

The wizard’s look of disbelief lasted only a fraction of a second before Kai’s hand found his throat. One savage twist, and arterial spray painted the cobblestones.

He was moving again before the body hit the ground. The second wizard backpedaled, casting Cutting Curses in rapid succession. Kai flowed around them like water around stones. A dodge left, then right, then a forward roll that brought him inside the wizard’s guard. His hand shot up, fingers rigid. A strike to the throat collapsed the windpipe. As the wizard staggered, clutching his neck, Kai’s follow-up strike ended the fight permanently.

The third wizard showed more cunning, transfiguring the cobblestones into spikes while preparing another spell. The stone spikes erupted from the ground in a wave, but Puma’s Grace let Kai dance between them, his feet finding impossible purchase on the transformed terrain. The wizard slashed with his wand, desperation lending him speed and a deadly edge. Kai caught the armed wrist, the Severing Charm flying above his head. He twisted the arm and forced his foe’s wand out.

The sickening crunch of bones breaking was followed by a loud scream, though it did not last long. A swift, brutal punch, and his neck was broken.

Three bodies lay cooling on the bloodied stones, but Kai’s enhanced senses were already tracking his next targets. His hands dripped red, his footprints marking a crimson trail across the village street as he moved like death itself toward the next group of defenders.

Kai found another defender barricaded inside a rustic colonial home, the windows glowing with layers of protective enchantments. The man’s desperate Shield Charms crackled with intensity— stronger than the others, but still useless against his power.

Bear’s Resilience surged through Kai’s muscles as he tore through the magical barriers like tissue paper, splintering the heavy oak door with a single strike and trapping the man underneath it.

Through the broken doorway, a woman stood at the far end of the room, her dark robes adorned with the silver insignia of a MACUSA veteran officer. There was raw fear in her eyes, but her stance was professional, calculated. She cast hex after hex in precise movements, each dissolving harmlessly against the Horned Serpent’s Scales that shimmered across Kai’s skin.

Though they did not harm him, one clipped his shoulder and sent him crashing into the wall behind him, tearing through the drywall and flying into the kitchen.

“Stand down.” She commanded as he got up, though he could tell her voice wavered. “You’re surrounded. Reinforcements are coming.”

Kai knew it was a lie.

Puma’s Grace heightened his senses— he could hear the chaos outside, smell the acrid smoke of burning buildings.

No help was coming for her. He strengthened his will and came for her again.

Her spells grew increasingly potent— a Blasting Curse that tore apart the ceiling above, a Bone-Breaking Hex that would have shattered his ribs if not for his protection. He walked through the assault untouched, debris and spell-fire parting around him like water around stone.

The male defender recovered, joining the fight with a flurry of Transfiguration spells. The floorboards writhed and twisted into serpents, the chandelier transformed into a swarm of razor-sharp metal birds. Kai moved like liquid shadow between the attacks. A roll brought him under the birds. A leap carried him over the snapping serpents.

Two swift, brutal strikes— one through the wizard’s ribcage, and the other tearing into the witch’s neck— and they crumpled to the floor, not dead but wishing they were.

Kai surveyed the scene with cold detachment. The house’s protective wards buzzed weakly, failing without their casters’ power to sustain them. He had expected more from the government’s defenders.

Their technique was refined, their spells powerful, but they relied too heavily on traditional magic. They had no understanding of the primal forces he wielded.

Through the broken door, he could hear the continuing sounds of battle. His enhanced senses tracked the movements of other defenders regrouping several streets away. Perhaps if he continued his path through their ranks, they would finally send someone worthy of his abilities. Someone who could make him feel something other than this hollow disappointment.

Leaving the unconscious defenders behind, Kai stepped back into the smoke-filled street. The silver-blue scales across his skin caught the light of burning buildings as he moved like death itself toward his next targets.

The day was far from over.

oooo

May 29, 1992, 10:30 AM, Great Hall

Adam Clarke

I was sitting with Su and Tony enjoying my breakfast, though the air was subdued. The Great Hall’s enchanted ceiling reflected a dreary Scottish morning, clouds hanging low and heavy with the promise of rain. The usual morning chatter was muted, replaced by the quiet clink of cutlery against plates and the occasional rustle of newspaper pages being turned.

Before me lay a spread that would normally have set my mouth watering: crispy bacon, golden-brown toast slathered with creamy butter and fluffy scrambled eggs seasoned perfectly with cracked black pepper.

The House Elves had outdone themselves as always, perhaps trying to lift spirits through comfort food. A pitcher of fresh orange juice just for me sat within reach, droplets of condensation running down its sides.

I couldn’t blame my friends— or anyone, for that matter— for the somber mood.

Ever since my impromptu meeting with Malfoy, the rest of term had gone by in a flash. Most of the schools had already left, with the exception of Ilvermorny, who had requested asylum in Europe a few weeks past, when it became obvious that the battles fought in the States would not be won anytime soon.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. By all accounts, news of massacre after massacre were trickling over the weeks, along with refugees to match. It was a complete disaster for the United States, and I wasn’t sure if it was even possible for them to recover from this. I shook my head, no longer feeling in the mood to eat.

“Something wrong with your food?” Su asked, her dark eyes studying me with concern. She’d been doing that a lot lately— watching me as if I might break. After everything that had happened, I supposed I couldn’t blame her.

“Just not hungry.” I muttered, pushing my plate away. The morning’s paper lay discarded next to my plate, its headlines screaming about another magical settlement razed to the ground.

Tony reached across the table, sliding the Prophet away from my line of sight.

“You know what? We’ve got one day left before term ends. How about a game of chess?” His eyes held a glimmer of their usual mischief. “I’ve been practicing, and I reckon I might actually beat you this time.”

Despite myself, I felt the corner of my mouth twitch. Tony was a decent hand at chess, and his determination to improve was endearing.

He had a point. What good would it do to spend our last day wallowing in the collective malaise that had settled over the castle?

“Sure.” I said, making an effort to sound more cheerful than I felt. “Though if you’re that confident, maybe we should make it interesting. Say… your last box of Chocolate Frogs against my spare pack of Teetering Gumdrops?”

Tony accepted, and we moved our plates as Tony broke out the chess set.

The game had lasted barely fifteen minutes before Tony’s triumphant declaration of “checkmate” came.

It was a new record, though not the kind I’d been hoping to set. The pieces on the board seemed almost disappointed in me, my remaining pawns shaking their tiny heads in dismay.

I handed over my Teetering Gumdrops with as much dignity as I could muster.

“Those lessons with Ron are really paying off, huh?” I couldn’t even feel properly annoyed about losing; Tony’s obvious delight was infectious.

“He’s a brilliant teacher of strategy.” Tony said, carefully tucking away his prize. “Though, maybe if you hadn’t been so busy eating through the entire thing, you could have picked up on my strategy.”

Su let out a small laugh at that— the first I’d heard from her in days. It was good to hear, even if it was at my expense. She’d been particularly down of late, but I assumed it was because of our soon-to-be goodbyes. The thought made my chest tighten a bit. I turned to her, wanting to say something, anything really, to lift her spirits further.

However, fate seemed to have other considerations in mind.

“Mr. Black?”

Blinking in surprise, I looked up to find Professor Flitwick standing beside our table, his expression unreadable. He didn’t look angry, but something about his posture seemed more formal than usual.

Bad news, perhaps. Just my luck, huh?

“Good morning, Professor.” I said, straightening in my seat.

“Good morning, Mr. Black.” He replied, nodding politely to Su and Tony as well. “I trust you’re enjoying your last day of term?”

“Yes, sir.” I said, though I couldn’t help but wonder what brought our Head of House to seek me out during breakfast. “Well, aside from just losing spectacularly at chess.”

Professor Flitwick’s mustache twitched slightly, but his eyes remained serious.

“Indeed, one cannot always win, especially when it comes to strategy— an ever-changing landscape, but I digress. Could you spare a moment, Mr. Black?” Flitwick asked.

 “Of course, Professor.” I nodded and turned to my friends as I pushed back from the table. “I’ll see you later?”

“Count on it. I await my prize for later.” “Bye, Adam!”

“Children.” Flitwick nodded and moved off.

Su and Tony exchanged meaningful looks as I followed our diminutive Head of House out of the Great Hall, their half-finished breakfasts forgotten.

Flitwick led me to a quiet corner just outside, where the morning light filtered through the high windows. The corridor was empty save for the occasional ghost drifting by, and the distant echoes of students’ voices from the Great Hall provided a muffled backdrop.

“I’ve been thinking.” He began, his hands clasped behind his back as he rocked slightly on his heels. There was an intensity in his eyes that I rarely saw outside of Charms class when he was demonstrating particularly complex spellwork. “I would like to make you an offer, Mr. Black. How would you feel about completing your Fourth Year this August?”

I blinked, certain I’d misheard. The morning’s grogginess vanished instantly, replaced by sharp attention.

“My Fourth Year, sir?” The words came out higher-pitched than I’d intended.

“Indeed.” He nodded, his silver mustache twitching slightly. “You would then join the school as a Fifth Year next term.”

My eyes widened as the implications sank in. The corridor suddenly felt too warm, despite the morning chill. “But Professor, I’ve only just completed what would technically be my Third Year. To skip Fourth altogether…?”

I left the question hanging, unable to fully articulate my disbelief.

Flitwick shook his head, a knowing look crossing his features. His eyes, usually twinkling with good humor, held a serious, evaluating gaze.

“Your exploits during the tournament and the attack on Hogwarts speak for themselves, Mr. Black. Not to mention your apparent skill over fire magic.” He paused, clearly enjoying my look of surprise. “Oh yes, I’ve spoken to several people who were involved in recent events. Professor Lockhart wouldn’t stop talking about your performance in Hogsmeade, and a certain bartender at the Hog’s Head weighed in as well.”

His smile widened slightly. “It wasn’t difficult to deduce your level of skill. Your own study of advanced subjects such as Gubraithian Flame lend credence to these testimonies. Frankly, I had been considering reserving an appointment with the Ministry to administer your O.W.L.s by the end of summer, but I would imagine that would place too much of a burden on your shoulders.”

“Yes, yes, of course…”

I stood there nodding dumbly, my mind racing to process what he was suggesting. The morning suddenly felt a lot more significant than a lost chess game and some candy.

My throat had gone dry. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed the quarter-hour, its sound echoing through the empty corridor.

“So I take it you are interested, Mr. Black?” Professor Flitwick’s voice carried a hint of amusement as he watched me standing there, still processing the offer. 

I nodded again, finally finding my voice. “Yes, Professor. Certainly.”

“Delightful!” Flitwick actually clapped his hands together, his earlier formality giving way to his more characteristic enthusiasm. “I shall begin making the arrangements immediately. We’re looking at the middle of August for the examinations, ideally, but I’ll send you a letter in the coming month to ascertain an exact date.”

“Thank you, sir.” I managed, my mind already racing ahead to the summer, mentally cataloging the subjects I’d need to review.

“Congratulations, Mr. Black.” He beamed, reaching up to pat my arm.

“Do enjoy your last day of term. And…” His eyes twinkled. “Perhaps consider asking Mr. Weasley for some chess lessons over the summer as well?”

With that parting jest, he turned and walked away, his small form disappearing around the corner with remarkable speed for someone his size. I watched him go, still somewhat stunned by the unexpected turn of events.

Passing the Fourth Year final exams wasn’t something I was particularly worried about, if I was being honest with myself. The past month had been filled with nothing but intensive studying— a welcome distraction from the darker thoughts that tended to creep in when I was idle.

Between the tournament’s aftermath and everything else that had happened, I’d thrown myself into my books with an almost desperate intensity. Having nothing but time and my thoughts for company had driven me to continue to master spells and theories well beyond the standard curriculum.

I was about to return to the Great Hall when I caught the sound of familiar voices drifting down the corridor. Harry’s voice mixed with two others, barely audible at first but growing clearer as I moved closer. Their footsteps and whispers were growing fainter, echoing slightly off the stone walls.

Curiosity got the better of me.

Following the sounds, I moved towards them, keeping my own steps quiet against the stone floor. The corridor was empty save for a few portraits, their occupants still dozing in their frames.

Rounding the corner, I caught a glimpse of Harry’s messy black hair as he was ushered into an empty classroom. The distinctive red-headed figures of the Weasley twins flanked him on either side, their movements oddly furtive— which, given it was Fred and George, was saying something. One of them— Fred, I thought— kept glancing over his shoulder while George guided Harry through the door.

I followed them into the classroom, only to immediately drop into a roll as jets of red and purple light streaked over my head. Months of fighting practice had honed my reflexes, and I was grateful for it now. The spells hit the wall behind me with sharp cracks, and I could smell something that reminded me of singed hair. A painting of an elderly wizard yelped and dove out of his frame.

“Merlin’s smelly nutsack, it’s me!” I called out, hands raised in surrender as I straightened up. “Adam!”

“Blimey, Adam!” Fred lowered his wand first.

“Nearly hexed you into next week, mate!” George followed suit, both of them wearing identical sheepish grins.

“Sorry about that.” Harry added, pushing his glasses back up his nose. His green eyes were wide with concern behind the lenses. “Can’t be too careful these days.”

I shook my head, brushing off my robes and checking that my own wand was still secure in its holster. Morning sunlight streamed through the dusty windows of the unused classroom, casting long shadows across the stacked desks and chairs pushed against the walls. “What are you lot doing, sneaking around like this? You look like you’re planning to rob Gringotts.”

I was watching their soul threads. The twins and Harry shared a look; Harry nodded, giving them permission to speak. George— and I knew it was George from the way his thread moved— seemed perfectly synchronized with Fred. Their threads were a mesmerizing dance, weaving in and out of each other with an almost liquid-like quality that defied normal understanding.

“So.” Fred said, leaning against an abandoned desk that creaked under his weight. “What brings our resident tournament champion to this fine, completely suspicious and not-at-all-suspicious classroom?”

“I didn’t win.” I raised an eyebrow. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Touché.” George chimed in. “But you first. Spill.”

I told them about Flitwick’s offer— how I could complete my Fourth Year in August and jump directly to Fifth Year and my O.W.L.s. Their threads seemed to pulse with curiosity as I spoke.

“Hold on.” Fred said, holding up a hand. “O.W.L.s? Skipping an entire year?”

“Blimey.” George added. “Those exams are brutal. You’ll be doing them with us? Won’t that be too stressful for you?”

Harry, who had been quiet until now, spoke up.

“He did pretty impressive stuff during the tournament.” He said, a hint of pride in his voice. “And during the attack.”

The twins exchanged a look. Not their usual mischievous glance, but something more serious.

“How serious are we talking?” Fred asked. “I mean your chains are certainly something else—”

“Gave us a few ideas, even!”

“—But that only really means you’re good at Charms work.”

I shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “Apparently, Lockhart wouldn’t stop singing my praises, either.”

George whistled. “Lockhart? Talking about someone else’s achievements? That’s saying something.”

“Yeah.” I added. “My ‘mastery of fire magic’ was also a factor, though that’s also basically just Charms, as well.”

Fred’s eyebrow shot up. “Mastery?”

Harry gave me a smile. “Mind giving Seamus a few pointers? He’s not quite so good with those spells…”

“I don’t think anyone can teach that bloke anything fire related.” I said. “That’s a trap.”

“True, though.” The twins looked at each other, a familiar spark of mischief returning to their eyes.

“Sounds like we might have some competition for our Fifth Year.” George said.

“A most momentous opportunity for rivalry, one might say.” Fred continued.

I felt myself flush slightly under their scrutiny. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal?” Both twins spoke in unison, then burst out laughing.

“Oh, mate.” Fred said, clapping me on the shoulder. “You’ve got no idea how big a deal this is.”

I shook my head. With all that was happening, all this would do was paint a target on my back. I didn’t want that, but it couldn’t be helped. The world was already a powder keg, and I was feeling increasingly like a lit match.

Harry studied me for a moment. “Do you think Grindelwald might target you for this?”

If only he knew the half of it.

He’s already targeted me. Damn it.

The weight of my knowledge felt like a stone in my stomach. I forced a casual shrug, deliberately changing the subject. “What were you lot up to, anyway?”

Fred and George exchanged one of their signature loaded glances. The kind of look that suggested they knew something significant and were deciding how much to reveal.

“You’d have found out from Harry soon enough, anyway.” George said finally. “Since we were going to tell him, now.”

“Our dad let something slip.” Fred continued. “The Improper Use of Magic Office? It’s been destroyed.”

Harry and I frowned simultaneously.

“Destroyed?” Harry repeated. “You mean… Like attacked?”

The twins nodded.

“Oh, yes. Completely wiped out.” George confirmed. “No details beyond that.”

I caught Harry’s eye. We both understood the implications. The Improper Use of Magic Office was the department that tracked underage magic, issued warnings, and monitored young wizards and witches.

“When?” I asked, my voice carefully neutral.

“Recently.” Fred said. “Very recently.”

Harry’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Does this mean… everyone can use magic outside of school now?”

The twins’ grins spread simultaneously— matching, mischievous, absolutely identical.

“And that’s five points to Gryffindor, I think.” Fred said. “Do you concur, Professor George?”

“Indeed I do, Professor Fred.”

The whole room felt giddy in an instant. True, Harry and I had been able to use magic at Grimmauld Place, but outside of it, underage magic had always been illegal and heavily traced during the summer. Now that such protections were no longer in place… the possibilities seemed endless.

I stopped for a moment, a more practical thought crossing my mind.

“Your dad told you this?” I asked, knowing full well it wasn’t the whole story. The skepticism in my voice was deliberate.

George shifted slightly, and I could see the thread of his soul twitch— a tell that said more than words ever could.

“Well.” Fred began. “Told is a strong word.”

“More like… overheard.” George completed.

I smirked. “You mean you were eavesdropping on his conversations with Ministry officials.”

It wasn’t a question. The twins exchanged their trademark look— part guilt, part pride, entirely unrepentant.

“Ask us no questions—” “—and we’ll tell you no lies.”

Harry chuckled. I just raised an eyebrow, recognizing the deflection for exactly what it was.

Still, that was no business of mine. I thanked them for telling me this, and the conversation moved onto lighter topics. Harry talked about the upcoming summer break, the twins joked about potential pranks they could now pull without fear of magical reprimand.

I engaged with them, nodding and laughing at the appropriate moments, but my mind was elsewhere.

What would I do with this information?

The ability to use magic outside of school this early without detection opened up so many new avenues. No more waiting, no more being a passive observer. Instead of simply reacting to events as they occur, I could be proactive. I could seek out solutions to these problems myself, rather than wait for someone else to solve them.

Grindelwald was gathering power. Voldemort had seemingly resurrected.

Schools had already fallen. Entire magical communities were being destabilized. And here was an opportunity— a chance to move beyond being just a student, just a kid caught up in events larger than himself.

My fingers unconsciously traced the outline of my wand, feeling its familiar weight. The possibilities were spinning in my mind faster than I could fully comprehend them. Information gathering. Interventions.

The twins’ laughter pulled me momentarily back to the present, but my thoughts were already racing ahead, mapping out potential strategies.

I would not be twiddling my thumbs this summer.