Boldly Go

July 22, 1993, Somewhere in Egypt 

Rafiq Rahman

Rafiq stood before his fellow wizards and witches, his silhouette sharp against the moonless Egyptian sky. The air hung heavy with the dry scent of sand, and the dune at his back offered scant cover for the group crouched behind it.

The journey to this desolate stretch of desert had been a trial, one he’d endured with gritted teeth. They’d skirted the usual channels— portkeys, Floo networks, even the bustling ports of magical Cairo— all to ensure no whisper of their presence reached the wrong ears. Stealth had been their shield, but it had come at the cost of frayed nerves and sleepless nights. Now, in the dead of night, the time for hiding was over.

He turned to face his underlings, his dark eyes sweeping over the shadowed figures huddled close. Many of them he’d trained himself, their faces familiar from countless hours spent drilling charms and curses in groups. They were a motley band— some young, barely past their schooling, others weathered by years upon years of quiet resistance— but all bore the same resolve etched into their expressions. Rafiq squared his shoulders, his voice low yet carrying the weight of conviction as he began to speak.

“The Egyptian Ministry.” He said. “Is a blight on this land. They’ve spilled innocent blood to line their coffers and secure their power. They think themselves untouchable, cloaked in corruption and guarded by fear. But tonight, we strike back. Tonight, we take another step toward balance— toward justice.”

His words stirred the air, and he saw heads nod, hands tighten around wands. “We’re here for the Eye of Ra, and we’ll take it from their grasp, no matter the cost. I won’t lie to you— it could be our lives. But we’ve chosen this path together.”

Diallo, tall and steady at his right, met his gaze with a firm nod.

“We’re ready, Mr. Rafiq.” He said, his deep voice cutting through the quiet. Guffries, wiry and sharp-eyed at his left, echoed the sentiment with a fierce grin.

“Anything they throw at us, we’ll handle.”

Their confidence rippled through the group, a spark igniting the weary band. Rafiq felt it too— a surge of pride in these two, his most trusted officers, and in the others who’d followed him into this shadowed war.

He raised a hand, gesturing toward the distant stronghold, its faint outline just visible against the horizon.

“We wait for the signal.” He told them. “The second team will draw their outer guard. When it comes, we move— swift and silent until we can’t be anymore. Stay sharp. Stay with me.” 

His words settled over them like a vow, binding them to the task ahead. Rafiq turned back to the dune’s crest, his heart a steady drumbeat in his chest. The night stretched before them, vast and unyielding, but he knew they’d carve their mark into it, one way or another.

He adjusted his grip on his wand, the wood warm against his palm, and strained his ears for the signal.

It came sudden and sharp— a flare of red light arcing high above the stronghold, followed by the distant crack of spells splitting the air. Rafiq’s pulse surged.

“Now.” He hissed, rising to his feet and breaking into a run. The group followed, a tide of shadows spilling over the dune and racing across the open sand. Their footsteps thudded dully, muffled by charms, but stealth wouldn’t last long.

As they neared the stronghold’s outer wall, a jagged archway loomed ahead, its entrance unguarded— proof the second team had done their job.

Rafiq led them through, his wand raised, and the world shifted. The air inside thickened with the tang of old magic, and the hallway stretched before them, narrow and lined with flickering torches. They’d barely taken ten steps when the first spell streaked toward them— a jet of purple light slicing through the gloom.

Rafiq ducked, barking. “Shields!”

The group scattered. A shimmering barrier sprang up behind him, Diallo’s voice steady as he cast it, but the attack was only the beginning. From the darkened corridors ahead, more curses flared— red, purple, white— each one a promise of death hurtling toward them. Rafiq gritted his teeth and pressed forward, the fight already begun.

Rafiq pressed onward through the stronghold’s labyrinthine hallways, his boots scuffing against the worn sandstone floor, each step echoing faintly beneath the cacophony of combat. His wand trembled in his grip— not from fear, but from the sheer force of the magic he channeled, its tip glowing faintly with the residue of a deflected curse.

The air buzzed with energy, thick with the metallic tang of ozone and the sharp, bitter scent of charred stone. Spells erupted around him like a storm unleashed— vivid streaks of light painting the gloom in violent hues: crimson, violet, sickly green. They came from every direction, a relentless assault that tested the limits of his senses and reflexes.

Ahead, the corridor stretched narrow and dim, its walls pitted with ancient carvings half-obscured by torchlight that flickered wildly in the chaos. Shadows danced as figures moved— his group, his fighters, clashing with the Ministry’s defenders.

Spells flew from the darkened mouths of side rooms, where doorways gaped like wounds in the stone, revealing glimpses of robed figures within. A jet of purple light hissed from one such opening, and Rafiq twisted aside, feeling the heat of it singe the edge of his cloak as it blasted a chunk of wall into dust. Behind him, a curse struck true— a young wizard, barely past his teens, cried out and fell, his wand clattering uselessly across the floor. Rafiq’s jaw clenched, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t mourn yet.

Diallo loomed at his right, a towering figure of resolve, his broad shoulders squared against the onslaught. His voice rumbled like thunder over the din— “Protego Maxima!”— and a shimmering dome of silver light flared into existence, catching a barrage of red curses that slammed into it with a sound like breaking glass.

The shield held, but Diallo’s brow furrowed with the strain, sweat beading on his dark skin as the force rippled through his stance. To Rafiq’s left, Guffries darted like a wraith, his wiry frame belying the ferocity in his movements.

His wand slashed downward— “Incendio!”— and a roaring torrent of blue flame surged into a side room. The fire illuminated a Ministry wizard’s startled face for a heartbeat before his scream tore through the air, raw and piercing, then silenced as he collapsed in a smoldering heap. Guffries shot Rafiq a look— eyes fierce, lips curled in a grim, fleeting grin— before he pressed forward, his robes swirling in his wake.

The group fought as a fractured whole, their training evident in the way they moved. Two older witches, their gray hair tied back in tight buns, stood shoulder to shoulder, their wands weaving a lattice of golden light to block a volley of hexes from behind.

A younger man, his face pale and streaked with dust, muttered “Expelliarmus” with shaking hands, disarming an attacker who’d crept too close. But the enemy was everywhere— emerging from alcoves, spilling from the hall’s end, their numbers swelling like a tide.

Rafiq ducked a sizzling hex that grazed his shoulder, the pain a hot lash through his flesh, tearing the fabric of his robe to expose raw, reddened skin.

He spun, his wand snapping up.

“Stupefy!”

The Ministry wizard who’d struck him crumpled mid-stride, his hood falling back to reveal a slack, bearded face.

The hallway twisted sharply ahead, its walls now scarred with fresh wounds; gouges where curses had bitten deep, cracks spiderwebbing from the force of errant magic. The air grew choked with dust, stinging Rafiq’s eyes and coating his tongue with a gritty film.

He shouted over the chaos. “Keep together! Push forward!”

His voice was hoarse but commanding, cutting through the clamor like a blade. His group rallied, their formation tightening despite the losses, wands flashing in desperate sync. A side passage yawned to his right, and three wizards burst from it, their robes emblazoned with the Ministry’s sigil.

Their wands moved as one, unleashing a trio of curses that streaked toward him with lethal intent. Rafiq threw himself to the ground, the cold stone jarring his knees and palms as the spells sailed overhead, one shattering a torch bracket into a spray of sparks.

 

Guffries reacted instantly, his wand slicing through the air. “Diffindo!”

A razor-thin arc of light carved across the trio. It caught the nearest wizard low, slashing through his robe and into his thigh; he fell with a wet, gurgling cry, blood pooling beneath him. Diallo’s shield flared again, absorbing the other two curses, but a fourth figure emerged at the corridor’s far end— a tall silhouette framed by the faint glow of a distant chamber.

The air shivered as a low, guttural chant began, each syllable dripping with menace. The floor beneath Rafiq’s hands trembled, a deep vibration rising through the stone, and his pulse hammered as he scrambled to his feet.

Rafiq stumbled into the stronghold proper, his breath ragged as the hallway widened into a cavernous chamber that pulsed with the weight of ancient magic. The air here was colder, heavier, laden with the musty scent of centuries-old stone and the sharp, coppery tang of blood already spilled.

The walls soared upward, their surfaces etched with faded glyphs that glinted faintly under the eerie glow of floating orbs— enchanted lights that bobbed like lost stars.

His group fanned out behind him, their boots scuffing against a floor inlaid with mosaics of serpents and suns, now cracked and dulled by time. They’d broken through the corridors, but the true test loomed before them— more wizards to fight.

A deafening roar filled the chamber as a barrage of blasting curses erupted from the enemy line— dozens of brilliant orange and white spells, each one a fist of raw power hurtling toward them. The air itself seemed to scream, warping under the force, and Rafiq’s instincts took over.

“Shields!” He bellowed, thrusting his wand upward— “Protego!”— as he dropped to one knee. A shimmering blue barrier snapped into place before him, its surface rippling like water struck by stones.

Diallo’s voice joined his, deep and resonant and a broader dome of silver light flared beside it, overlapping his own. Guffries and the others followed, their wands slashing through the air, conjuring a patchwork of defenses— golden lattices, translucent walls, faint green hazes— each one a desperate bid to hold the line.

The curses slammed into the shields with a sound like thunder splitting rock. Rafiq’s barrier shuddered, cracks spiderwebbing across its surface as the impact drove his knees harder into the floor. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow, the strain burning through his arm as he poured more will into the spell.

To his left, a young witch— her name was Amina, he remembered— fumbled her incantation, her wand trembling. She was too slow. A stray curse punched through the gap, a searing bolt of white that caught her square in the chest. Her scream was brief, swallowed by the chaos as she crumpled, her body hitting the mosaic with a dull thud, eyes wide and unseeing.

Another fell beside her— a grizzled man named Ralf— his shield collapsing under a second wave, his torso blasted open in a spray of red that painted the stone.

Rafiq’s stomach churned, bile rising in his throat, but he couldn’t look away from the fight. The air grew thick with debris; shards of shattered mosaic, dust swirling in choking clouds, the faint hiss of dissipating magic.

“I’m not sure how much more of this I can take!” Diallo’s shield held firm, though his massive frame trembled, muscles taut beneath his torn robes as he braced against the onslaught.

Guffries ducked low, weaving between flickering barriers, his wand spitting counter-curses that blasted chunks of stone from the enemy’s cover.

The Ministry line wavered, their barrage faltering as a few stumbled back, robes singed or limbs bloodied from the group’s defiance.

Rafiq pushed to his feet, his shield flickering but intact, and roared. “Hold them!”

His voice cracked with the effort, but it carried, steadying the survivors. The chamber echoed with the clash— spells ricocheting off walls, the groan of strained magic, the wet gasps of the wounded. A stray hex grazed his thigh, tearing through fabric and flesh, a hot lash of pain that made him stagger.

He ignored it, his focus locked on the enemy ahead, their numbers thinning but their resolve unbroken. The wall of curses ebbed, a momentary lull, and Rafiq saw it: a chance. 

He seized the moment as the barrage of blasting curses subsided, the air still humming with the aftershock of their fury. The chamber lay strewn with wreckage— shattered mosaic tiles glinted in the dim light, dust hung like a shroud, and the bodies of Amina and Ralf sprawled lifeless amid the chaos. His group stood battered but unbowed, their shields flickering out one by one as the enemy’s onslaught faltered.

The Ministry wizards ahead hesitated, their line fractured— some clutching singed robes, others staggering from Guffries’ counterstrikes. Rafiq’s thigh throbbed where the hex had bitten into his flesh, blood seeping warm and sticky beneath his torn trousers, but he shoved the pain aside. They’d held the line; now they’d take the fight to them.

He thrust his wand forward, his voice raw but commanding.

“Expulso!” A bolt of blue light streaked from its tip, fast and true, catching a Ministry wizard square in the chest. The man’s chest exploded, sending bones, meat and blood in every direction and distracting the enemy group.

Diallo surged beside him, his massive frame a wall of fury as he bellowed— “Confringo!”— and a fireball erupted, slamming into a cluster of enemies. The second explosion roared through the chamber, stone splintering as two wizards screamed, their robes ablaze, collapsing in a heap of charred flesh and smoking fabric. The air filled with the acrid stench of burning cloth and the copper tang of fresh blood.

Guffries darted to the left. His wand slashed downward and a thin arc of dark light carved through the air, striking a wizard who’d raised his wand too late. He gasped, clutching his chest as blood bloomed across his robes, dark and glistening, before he crumpled with a wet gurgle.

The others in Rafiq’s group pressed the advantage— two older witches unleashed a tandem “Expulso.” Sending a shockwave that hurled three enemies against the wall with a sickening crunch.

A younger man, his face streaked with grime, fired off a rapid Full-Body Bind, freezing another in mid-step, her body rigid as she toppled like a felled tree.

The counterattack was brutal, decisive— a storm of vengeance that swept through the chamber.

Rafiq moved with them, his wand a steady pulse of light as he felled another, the man’s body hitting the ground with a dull thud. The Ministry’s line broke, their cohesion shattered, and the survivors fell back, their wands trembling as they retreated toward the chamber’s far end. Rafiq’s chest heaved, his breath coming in sharp gasps, the taste of dust and blood coating his tongue. He wiped sweat from his brow with a sleeve, his dark eyes scanning the carnage— five of their foes down, perhaps more, their forms scattered like broken dolls amid the wreckage.

“Regroup!” He barked, his voice cutting through the fading echoes of spellfire. Diallo loomed at his side, his broad chest rising and falling, a smear of soot across his jaw. Guffries joined them, his sharp eyes glinting with a fierce satisfaction, wand still smoking faintly.

The others gathered, fewer now, their faces etched with exhaustion and grim resolve. Rafiq pointed toward the chamber’s heart, where a shadowed archway beckoned, its edges framed by glyphs that pulsed with a faint, ominous light.

“The Eye lies through there.” He said, his tone steady despite the ache in his leg and the weight of the lives lost. “We finish this— together.”

Rafiq led his group through the shadowed archway, the air growing colder and denser as they crossed into the heart room of the stronghold.

The chamber sprawled before them, vast and circular, its domed ceiling lost in shadow far above. The walls shimmered with veins of obsidian that snaked through the sandstone, reflecting the faint, sickly green glow of enchanted braziers that sputtered along the perimeter.

At the room’s center stood a raised dais, empty save for a faint ripple of magic that hinted at the false wall hiding their prize: the Eye of Ra. But between them and that goal stood the Ministry’s last stand: a dozen wizards, their robes emblazoned with serpent sigils, wands gleaming in the dim light.

Among them, two stepped forward, their faces unhooded, and Rafiq’s blood ran cold with recognition.

Kamal and Idris— old enemies, their hatred for him forged in years of clandestine wars. Kamal, broad and bearded, his eyes glinting with malice, gripped a wand carved with jagged runes. Idris, lean and hawkish, smirked with a predator’s calm, his fingers twitching as if eager to strike. Rafiq had no time to signal his group before the room erupted.

“Diffindo!” Kamal roared, a razor-thin arc of light slicing toward him. Rafiq dodged, the spell gouging a deep scar into the floor, spraying dust and stone chips that stung his cheek. 

Idris followed. “Crucio!”

A jagged red bolt crackled through the air. Rafiq threw up his wand and a nearby brazier flew into its path, exploding in a shower of sparks.

Around him, the chamber dissolved into chaos.

“Confringo!” Diablo bellowed, sending a massive fireball hurtling toward a knot of Ministry wizards; it detonated, scattering them in a burst of flame and screams, one man’s arm severed at the elbow, blood arcing across the stone.

Guffries launched his salvo through the smoke, his spells felling another and forcing a third to defend. 

All the while, one of the older witches cast an Impediment Jinx, slowing a trio who stumbled as if wading through mud.

A stray hex came at her; she was able to deflect it, but fell to the ground with a cry. Not enough. The air thickened with the stench of scorched flesh, the tang of blood, and the ozone bite of raw magic, every sound— shouts, curses, the crack of stone— amplified in the domed space.

Rafiq locked eyes with Kamal, the din fading to a dull roar as he advanced.

A torrent of flame surged from his wand, forcing Kamal back. The man countered, and a jet of water met the fire in a hissing cloud of steam that veiled them both. Through it, Kamal lunged, his wand slashing. Rafiq twisted aside, but the spell grazed his arm, a hot slash of pain as blood welled through his sleeve.

He retaliated with the Blasting Curse. The bolt of light struck Kamal’s chest, hurling him backward. The man hit the dais with a sickening crunch, his ribcage caving, blood bubbling from his lips as he slumped, dead before he settled.

Idris seized the opening, his voice a venomous hiss.

“Avada Kedavra!” The green light streaked toward Rafiq, death in its wake. He dove, the curse missing by inches, shattering a chunk of wall into rubble. Rolling to his feet, Rafiq fired back.

“Expulso!”

The shockwave caught Idris, slamming him against a pillar with a wet snap of bone. The man staggered, wand raised, his voice desperate and vengeful.

 “Crucio!”

Once again, Rafiq blocked with a bit of rubble, the strain trembling through his arm as he was pelted with debris. Around them, the fight raged— Diallo grappling a wizard hand-to-hand, Guffries trading hexes with another— but Rafiq saw only Idris, the hawkish face twisted with fury, their wands locked in a lethal rhythm, the outcome teetering on a knife’s edge.

Idris pressed forward, his wand slashing and Rafiq ducked, the spell carving a gash into the pillar behind him, stone dust stinging his eyes. He retaliated with another Explosion Curse, the shockwave hurling Idris back, but the man twisted mid-air, landing with a snarl. Their eyes locked, hatred a living thing between them, when a sudden flare of purple light streaked from the melee— a stray curse, wild and unchecked. Rafiq saw it too late.

It struck his side, a searing jolt that tore through his ribs, and he gasped, his wand slipping as he staggered.

Idris’ smirk widened. “Avada— ”

But Diallo’s roar cut him off. “Incedio!”

A fireball engulfed Idris, his scream quickly swallowed by the flames as he fell, a blackened husk.

Silence crashed over the heart room, heavy and absolute, broken only by the distant clamor of fighting beyond the walls.

Rafiq’s knees buckled, his breath a wet rasp as blood soaked his robes, pooling beneath him. His group froze— Diallo’s broad face etched with shock, Guffries’ sharp eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to speak, to urge them on, but his voice failed, a gurgle in his throat.

His vision blurred, the green light dimming, and he slumped to the stone, the cold seeping into his bones as consciousness ebbed away, bit by bit.

Diallo rushed to his side forward, his voice thick. “Mr. Rafiq!”

“The Eye.” Rafiq finally managed to force out. “Get the Eye!”

“We will, soon as we get you back on your feet.”

“Follow your— hurk!— orders! Or I’ll whip you myself!”

“Fine by me.” Diallo said as he nodded towards Guffries. “You get the Eye, I’ll take care of the old man.”

Guffries clenched his jaw, wiping blood from his cheek, and nodded toward the dais, the others following him.

Battered and grim, Rafiq watched as they moved as one, their wands raised to the rippling air of the false wall. Guffries muttered. “Revelio!”

The illusion shattered, stone grinding as it parted to reveal their prize.

The statue stood alone on a plinth, a man carved from polished basalt, his form regal and stern. He wore a pharaoh’s kilt and nemes headdress, the stripes of gold and blue gleaming even in the faint light. His arms extended forward, palms up, cradling the Eye of Ra— a massive orb of crystal, its surface swirling with amber and crimson, as if flames danced within.

The eye’s pupil was a slit of obsidian, sharp and unblinking, radiating a quiet, menacing power that pulsed through the chamber. It was flawless, ancient, its edges etched with runes that shimmered faintly, whispering of secrets long buried.

Guffries reached for it, his hand trembling, and lifted it into the air.

They had done it. They’d secured the treasure they sought.

And yet, as Diallo tended to his wounds, Rafiq could only admire the tenacity of the men and women he had trained. 

Seeing your charges grow into the men and women they were meant to become— that was the real treasure.

oooo

Same time, elsewhere…

Adam Clarke

I sat at my desk, the flickering light of a single candle casting long, wavering shadows across the cluttered expanse of parchment and leather-bound tomes that surrounded me. The air in my study smelled of old ink and dust, a familiar comfort that did little to ease the ache throbbing behind my eyes.

My hands, stained black at the fingertips from hours of scribbling and smudging, rifled through the mess of notes I’d accumulated— research into the visions that had plagued me for nearly a year now. Pages crinkled under my touch, some curling at the edges where I’d gripped them too hard, others dotted with frantic annotations in my cramped handwriting.

I’d started with five possible locations tied to his next move, but after wrestling with the mess for days, I’d whittled it down to seven. Seven maddening, elusive possibilities.

Stonehenge was one, its ancient stones looming in my mind like silent sentinels. My research showed that it wasn’t to be, though; Stonehenge just seemed to be a prank played by wizards on the muggles. What a waste. So I turned my attention elsewhere.

Then there were the Whispering Spires, a wizarding ruin tucked away in the misty highlands of Scotland. Legend claimed the jagged towers sang when the moon was full, a low hum that drove intruders mad; I’d found a tattered journal from a half-mad witch who swore she’d seen dark figures there, but her account rambled into nonsense by the third page.

Another dead end, it seemed. Still, I would need to find more accounts.

The third was the Gloomvault; a goblin-forged labyrinth beneath the cliffs of Cornwall, its tunnels rumored to twist into infinity, guarding treasures cursed to rot the soul. A grubby pamphlet from a Diagon Alley vendor mentioned shadowy rites there, but it read more like a cheap thriller than fact. All of it— conjecture, hearsay, urban legends— was like trying to grasp water; it slipped through my fingers no matter how tightly I clenched my fists.

The other leads were of a similar bend. Much digging would be required before I even got remotely close to an answer— if an answer even existed..

I leaned back in my chair, the wood creaking under my weight, and rubbed my temples with ink-smudged knuckles. The candle flame danced, sending a wisp of smoke curling upward, and I glared at the mess before me. One parchment listed dates from a supposed seer— half the ink faded, the rest contradicted by a secondhand account from a barmaid in some place he’d never heard of but was apparently considered valid. Another bore a sketch of the Spires I’d drawn, but the lines wavered, uncertain, as if my own memory mocked me.

The Gloomvault notes were worse; an old tale, claiming the place glowed red at midnight. I’d underlined “red” three times before realizing he’d been drunk when he told it. My head pounded, a dull rhythm that matched the frustration gnawing at my chest. Every lead felt like a thread unraveling, every clue a phantom that dissolved when I reached for it.

I shoved a stack of papers aside, the rustle loud in the quiet room, and a few fluttered to the floor; useless, all of it. The visions had to mean something. Grindelwald’s shadow loomed too large to ignore.

But sifting through this mire of half-truths and delusions was wearing me thin, my resolve fraying like the edges of the parchment under my hands. I needed a break, a clear sign— anything to pull me out of this fog. Little did I know, it was about to knock on my door.

I froze, the quill slipping from my grip to clatter against the desk, leaving a splotch of ink that bled into the parchment like a wound.

“What now?” I muttered under my breath, irritation flaring hot in my chest. I’d told everyone to leave me be while I quietly wrestled with this mess. The knock came again, insistent, and I shoved my chair back, the legs scraping against the wooden floor with a groan that matched my mood.

Stomping to the door, I yanked it open, ready to snap at whoever dared interrupt me. Harry stood there, his messy black hair falling into his eyes, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the sheepish hunch of his shoulders.

“Adam, I— ” He started, but I cut him off, my voice sharper than I meant it to be.

“Harry, I’m in the middle of something. Can’t it wait?” My hand gripped the doorframe, knuckles whitening as I glared at him. The research was a tangle of dead ends, and every distraction felt like a brick added to the wall of my frustration.

But Harry didn’t flinch; he just adjusted his glasses, the candlelight glinting off the lenses, and said. “I found something. About that room in Grimmauld Place— you know, the one we uncovered.”

My annoyance faltered, a spark of curiosity flickering through the haze. The mysterious room— hidden beneath the basement of Grimmauld Place and unknown even to Kreacher— had been a puzzle we’d stumbled on after taking that necklace from the Black Vaults.

We’d learned a lot, but still not enough. That room had stayed an enigma: bare stone, no windows, a faint hum of magic we couldn’t place. I narrowed my eyes, leaning against the frame.

“What kind of something?” My tone softened, though I tried to keep the edge in it.

Harry’s grin widened, a glint of excitement in his green eyes.

“You’ll want to see it. Trust me.” He turned, already heading down the hall, his trainers scuffing the polished floorboards. I hesitated, glancing back at the chaos of my desk— the spilled ink, the scattered notes, the headache waiting to reclaim me.

A break sounded tempting, a chance to step away from the water slipping through my fingers. With a sigh, I grabbed my wand from the desk, its familiar weight steadying me, and shut the door behind me.

“Fine.” I called after him, my voice gruff but tinged with reluctant intrigue. “But this better be worth it.”

Harry’s laugh echoed back as I followed, my boots thudding against the stairs, drawn into whatever he’d unearthed this time.

I trailed Harry through the halls of Grimmauld Place, my boots thudding against the polished oak floorboards that shone with a luster I still couldn’t quite believe. When Kreacher wasn’t depressed, he could be a force to be reckoned with.

Harry led me down the main staircase, his trainers squeaking faintly on the wood, and I couldn’t help but notice how at ease he seemed, his shoulders loose despite the mystery he’d dangled in front of me.

“So.” I said, my voice gruff. “Are you going to tell me what this ‘something’ is, or do I have to guess?”

My wand tapped against my thigh, a restless rhythm born of lingering irritation.

He glanced back, his green eyes glinting with that maddening mix of mischief and determination I’d come to know too well.

“You’ll see when we get there.” He replied, his tone light but firm. “It’s better if you look at it yourself.”

I snorted, rolling my eyes. “Great. Another Potter surprise. Last time you said that, I ended up covered in Doxie venom. Sirius has been a terrible influence.”

Harry chuckled, undeterred. “This is different. No venom, promise.” He turned left at the bottom of the stairs, heading past the kitchen— where I could hear the faint clatter of dishes— and toward the narrow door that led to the basement. I followed, my curiosity gnawing at me despite myself, the headache from my study fading with each step.

The basement stairs creaked under our weight, narrower and steeper than the main ones, the air growing cooler and faintly damp as we descended.

The space below had been tidied too, crates of old junk sorted and stacked, the stone floor swept clean, but Harry didn’t stop there. He veered to a corner where a rough-hewn archway led to a sublevel we’d only found a few weeks ago, a hidden chamber beneath the basement proper. I ducked under the low lintel, my hair brushing the stone, and stepped into the room.

It was small, barely ten feet across, its walls bare slabs of gray rock that seemed to drink in the light from Harry’s lit wand tip— “Lumos.”

He’d muttered on the way down. The air hummed faintly, a vibration I felt in my teeth, and my gaze snagged on a heavy oak cabinet pushed askew from its original spot against the far wall.

Behind it, a patch of stone stood exposed, its surface oddly smooth, almost polished, compared to the rough-hewn rest. I frowned, stepping closer, my wand gripped tighter.

“Harry, why’d you move that?” I asked, my voice echoing faintly in the tight space.

He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. “I was poking around earlier— thought I heard something. Look.”

He pointed his wand at the wall, the light catching a shimmer I hadn’t noticed before— a faint gathering of power, like heat rising off pavement, rippling across the stone. I stopped mid-step, my breath catching as the hum grew louder in my ears.

“What the Hell is that?” I muttered, more to myself than him, but Harry answered anyway, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush. “That’s what I wanted you to see. It’s not just a wall, Adam. It’s… something else.”

I shot him a sidelong glance, my irritation bubbling back.

“Something else? That’s your big reveal? You dragged me down here for a weird vibe?” But even as I spoke, I edged closer, drawn by the pull of that shimmering energy, my skin prickling as if static danced along it. Harry just grinned, saying nothing, and I knew I wasn’t going back upstairs anytime soon.

The exposed stone shimmered under the glow of Harry’s wand, its surface rippling as if it were liquid held in place by some unseen force. I took a step closer, my own wand raised instinctively, its tip unlit but warm in my grip.

The power gathering there wasn’t just a trick of the light; it pulsed, faint tendrils of energy brushing against my senses, raising the hairs on my arms.

Inspicere Empiricus. I cast nonverbally and felt the stream of information entering my mind. Displacement, doorway.

My eyes didn’t leave the shimmer, but I could feel him shifting beside me, his trainers scuffing the stone floor as I spoke. “A portal?”

“It’s a— erm, yes. How did you…” He said, surprised, though he shook his head. “I only just figured it out…”

I whipped my head around to glare at him, my jaw dropping. Disbelief warred with a sudden urge to throttle him. “And you figured it out how, exactly?”

Harry adjusted his glasses, the light catching the lenses as he met my stare with that infuriating calm of his.

“I went through it.” He admitted, shrugging like it was nothing. “Just for a minute. Came back fine, didn’t I?”

I resisted the urge to grab my hair and yank it out by the roots, settling instead for a low, exasperated groan.

“You— what? Harry, are you serious?” My free hand clenched into a fist, and I took a deep breath, the damp air tasting faintly of moss and old magic. “You just waltzed through some random magical wall without knowing what was on the other side? Do you ever think before you leap, or is that just not in your vocabulary?”

He grinned, a flash of teeth that only stoked my frustration.

“I’m still here, aren’t I? Besides, it’s safe enough— I didn’t get eaten or anything.” He paused, then added. “That’s why I got you. Thought we could check it out together.”

I stared at him, my mind racing. The boy was brave— too brave, sometimes, teetering on the edge of reckless stupidity that had me torn between admiration and wanting to hex some sense into him. The wall shimmered again, drawing my gaze back, and I stepped closer, close enough to feel a faint warmth radiating from it.

Up close, it wasn’t just translucent— it was like peering through a veil, hints of shapes and shadows flickering on the other side, too vague to make out. My heart thudded, curiosity clawing at me despite the alarm bells ringing in my head.

“You’ve already been through.” I said, more to myself than him, my voice softening as I studied the rippling surface. “What’s over there?”

“Caves.” He replied, stepping up beside me, his wand still glowing. “Big ones. Marble walls, weirdly empty. You’ll see.”

He sounded eager now, almost bouncing on his heels.

I shot him a sidelong glance, my lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re going back in whether I come or not, aren’t you?

 It wasn’t really a question; I knew the answer before he nodded, that stubborn glint in his eyes confirming it.

“Yeah.” He said simply. “But it’d be better with you.”

I sighed, long and heavy, the sound bouncing off the stone.

“Fine.” I muttered, gripping my wand tighter. “But if we die, I’m haunting you first.”

Harry laughed, a bright, reckless sound, and gestured toward the wall. The shimmer beckoned, a promise and a threat all at once, and I steeled myself for whatever madness lay beyond.

I shot him one last glare— half warning, half resignation— before taking a deep breath, the damp chill of the basement filling my lungs. “Here goes nothing.”

And with that, I stepped through the portal, Harry right on my heels.

The sensation hit me like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t like any teleportation I’d ever known— no sharp twist of Apparition, no warm rush of a Portkey, not even the disorienting swirl of Floo powder.

This was something else, something wilder. The world didn’t just shift; it remolded itself around me. My stomach lurched as reality bent, a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes streaking past— blues bleeding into grays, edges of stone and light warping like molten glass. I felt stretched, then compressed, my bones humming as if they’d been tuned like a guitar string.

My foot hit solid ground before I could process it, and I stumbled, catching myself against a smooth, cool surface. Harry’s hand grabbed my elbow, steadying me, and I blinked hard, willing the dizziness to fade.

“Bloody hell.” I gasped, my voice echoing faintly as my vision cleared. We stood in a cavern, vast and silent, its ceiling lost in shadow high above.

The floor beneath my boots was rough stone, speckled with flecks of mica that glinted in the dim light filtering from nowhere I could pinpoint. The walls, though— those stole my breath. They rose in smooth, sweeping arcs of white marble, veined with threads of silver that shimmered like frozen rivers.

The stone wasn’t natural; it had been shaped, polished to a sheen that reflected my distorted face back at me when I leaned closer. Columns of the same marble braced the cavern’s edges, their bases carved with faint, spiraling runes I couldn’t read, worn smooth by time or magic.

I straightened, my wand still raised, its tip unlit but ready. The air here was cooler than the basement, crisp with a faint mineral tang, and utterly still— no breeze, no sound beyond our breathing.

“This isn’t normal.” I said, my voice low, as if speaking too loud might wake something. I glanced at Harry, who’d drawn his own wand, the faint glow of “Lumos” casting a soft circle around us. “You said caves, but this… this feels built. Like a cathedral or something.”

He nodded, his eyes scanning the expanse.

“Yeah. It’s empty, though— no furniture, no signs. Just this.” He tilted his wand upward, the light catching the curve of a marble arch overhead, its edges sharp despite the centuries it must have stood. I followed his gaze, my neck craning as I took in the sheer scale— tunnels branched off in the distance, dark mouths leading who-knew-where, and the central chamber stretched wide enough to swallow Grimmauld Place whole.

I stepped forward, my boots scuffing against the stone, the sound sharp in the stillness.

“This isn’t like anything I’ve read about.” I murmured, half to myself. Not in canon, not in fanon. Portals don’t just… reshape everything like that.

My free hand brushed the marble wall again, its surface cold and unyielding, and a shiver ran down my spine. Whatever this place was, it wasn’t some forgotten cellar.

It felt deliberate, ancient, and eerily alive in its silence. Harry moved beside me, his light bobbing, and I couldn’t shake the sense that we’d stepped into something far bigger than we’d bargained for.

The place was a marvel— those smooth, silver-veined walls rose high, their surfaces polished to a mirror-like sheen that caught fragments of our reflections: my tense jaw, Harry’s tousled hair, the flicker of our wands.

The runes etched into the bases of the columns intrigued me, their spiraling patterns worn but intricate, hinting at a purpose I couldn’t decipher. I traced one with my fingertip, the stone cold and unyielding, and wondered who— or what— had carved them.

“This place is too quiet.” I said, my voice low, breaking the stillness like a dropped glass. It echoed back, distorted, and I winced at how exposed it made me feel. Harry glanced over, his green eyes glinting in the wandlight, and nodded.

“Yeah. No dust, no cobwebs— just… nothing.” He swung his wand in a slow arc, illuminating a tunnel branching off to our left, its mouth a perfect oval framed by more marble. I squinted into the darkness beyond, but saw only shadow, thick and impenetrable.

We pressed on, our footsteps the only sound in the vast emptiness. The main chamber stretched wide, its ceiling lost in a gloom which the light couldn’t pierce, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched— not by eyes, but by the place itself.

The tunnels we passed twisted away into the dark, some narrow, others broad, all silent and uninviting. I ran my free hand along the wall again, marveling at the craftsmanship; the marble wasn’t just braced against the natural stone; it was fused to it, seamless, as if grown rather than built.

“This took magic.” I muttered, half to Harry, half to myself. “Serious, powerful magic. Old magic. Nothing like this in Hogwarts, or even the Ministry.”

“Think it’s goblin-made?” Harry asked, pausing to peer down another tunnel. His voice was casual, but I caught the curiosity in it, the same itch I felt gnawing at me.

I shrugged, my wand tapping against my thigh.

“Could be. Goblins love their stonework, and the it does sort of look like Gringotts… But this feels… bigger.” I didn’t elaborate more on that, but the thought lingered as we moved forward, the cavern narrowing into a passage that sloped gently downward.

After what felt like ages, the tunnel opened into a wider chamber, and I stopped short, my breath catching.

At the far end stood statues; ten small ones, each no taller than my waist, arranged in a semicircle around a massive central figure. The smaller ones were knights, carved from dark granite, their armor detailed down to the rivets and dents.

They gripped weapons— swords with notched blades, polearms with wickedly curved tips, maces studded with spikes— each posed as if mid-step, frozen in silent vigil.

Their helms hid their faces, but the craftsmanship was uncanny, every crease in their gauntlets sharp and lifelike. I edged closer, my wand raised, and the light caught the glint of their stone eyes, unblinking and cold.

The giant statue towered over them, easily thrice my height, a knight in the same dark stone. Its armor was heavier, plates overlapping like scales, and it clutched a broadsword planted point-down into the ground, its hilt wrapped in what looked like carved leather cords.

Its helm was crested with a plume that swept back, and though its face was shadowed, I felt its gaze pressing down on me, heavy and oppressive.

“Harry.” I said, my voice tight. “These aren’t just decorations.”

My gut twisted, a cold knot of unease tightening as I stepped back. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

He frowned, tilting his head. “What’s wrong? They’re just statues, aren’t they?”

But even as he spoke, I saw him grip his wand a little tighter, his knuckles whitening. I didn’t answer— just shook my head, the bad feeling swelling into a certainty I couldn’t explain, rooted deep in the silence and the weight of those stone figures staring us down.

He stared at them for a long moment before turning to me. “You’re right, let’s go.”

Before we could even take one step, the chamber shifted. A low hum vibrated through the floor, subtle at first, then growing into a rumble that rattled my teeth. I stumbled, catching myself against the marble wall, its smooth surface icy under my palm.

“What the— ” I started, but then the sconces flared to life— dozens of them, set high along the walls, erupting with an eerie purple flame that bathed the cavern in a sickly glow. The light danced across the statues, casting their shadows long and twisted, and my stomach dropped as I saw it: movement.

The smaller knights twitched first, a grinding screech of stone on stone as their heads turned toward us. Their polearms lifted, slow and deliberate, the tips glinting with a menace that hadn’t been there before.

The giant knight followed, its broadsword scraping free of the floor with a sound like a guillotine falling, the blade rising as its helm tilted down to fix us with an empty, shadowed stare.

“Oh, fuck me.” I cursed under my breath, my voice cracking with a mix of fear and exasperation. “Of course this happens. Of course it does.”

“Adam!” Harry shouted, his wand snapping up as he shifted into a fighting stance. “Told you we’ve handled worse!”

There was a grin in his voice, that maddening bravado, but I saw the tension in his grip, the way his eyes darted between the advancing figures.

“Yeah, well, I’d rather not handle this!” I shot back, drawing my own wand up, its tip sparking faintly as I channeled magic into it. The knights stepped forward, their movements jerky but relentless, stone boots thudding against the floor in unison.

The giant knight loomed closer, its sword swinging in a slow arc that promised to cleave us in half if we didn’t move.

“But I guess I’ve got no damn choice in the matter, do I?” I planted my feet, my breath coming fast, and glanced at Harry. “Ready?”

“Always.” He replied, his voice steady now, and we braced ourselves, wands raised, as the purple light blazed and the statues closed in.

Let’s make them regret ever waking the fuck up.