Chapter 333: Chapter 333: "Shadows and Consequences"
As Harry descended the spiral staircase from Dumbledore's office, the initial satisfaction of outmaneuvering the old wizard began to ebb, replaced by a sharp and growing concern. Replaying the events of the previous night and his conversation with Dumbledore, a troubling realization surfaced: he had made a critical error. If Dumbledore had pieced together his identity this quickly, Voldemort wouldn't be far behind.
The thunderbird Patronus—it had been too distinctive, too obvious a signature. He should have gone as himself, Harry Potter, instead of hiding behind the mask of a vigilante. That way, even with the same Patronus, no one could have connected him to the other vigilante activities. Any fallout from his actions at Azkaban would have been his burden alone.
But now? Now Sirius was in danger. The link was glaringly obvious. If Harry was one of the masked vigilantes, it was only logical that Sirius would be suspected as another. Voldemort's followers wouldn't hesitate to exploit that connection. And while Sirius was a powerful and experienced wizard, he didn't share Harry's unique advantages—his raw strength, his knowledge, his protections.
The thought of his family becoming targets because of his oversight made Harry's stomach churn with guilt. He had taken on this war to protect those he cared about, but now his own choices had painted a target on their back.
---
Within the hour, Harry was at Black Castle, holding an emergency meeting with Sirius and Arcturus in the latter's study. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, and the air heavy with tension as the three wizards gathered around a broad oak table.
"We need to lie low," Harry said bluntly, his tone firm and decisive. "No more vigilante operations for either of us. The risk is too high now."
Arcturus nodded gravely, his sharp, calculating gaze fixed on Harry. "Agreed. Sirius, you especially need to take extra precautions. Avoid unnecessary outings, and ensure that Amelia and Aries stay under the strongest wards at all times."
Sirius leaned back in his chair, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. "But we can't just do nothing," he argued. "The Dark Alliance is still out there, and they're not going to stop just because we're in hiding."
Harry's steady gaze didn't waver. "We're not doing nothing. We're regrouping. And we're protecting our family. That comes first."
Arcturus interjected, his tone calm but authoritative. "Harry's right. We can't afford to give them any more ammunition. They might suspect us, but without proof, they can't act. We need plausible deniability, not just for now but for any potential fallout with the Wizengamot or the Dark Faction after the war."
Sirius exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Fine. But what about the Dark Alliance? Are we just supposed to let them run unchecked?"
"Leave that to me," Harry said softly, his voice steady but laced with steel. His eyes hardened as he continued. "I'm going to reach out to a new friend I made a few months ago. He'll be more than happy to step in and keep them at bay."
"Who?" Sirius asked, leaning forward, his tone edged with concern.
Harry's lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. "I can't reveal that just yet. But Grandfather knows."
Arcturus's eyes narrowed slightly, and then, as understanding dawned, they lit with a sharp gleam. He studied Harry closely, noting how much he resembled Charlus Potter—Harry's great-grandfather—not just in appearance but in the unshakable resolve that radiated from him.
Slowly, the old lord nodded. It was their best option, albeit a risky one. Yet if anyone could pull it off, it would be Harry.
---
In a heavily warded mansion in Eastern Europe, a high-ranking dark wizard sat at his desk, poring over reports of the Alliance's growing losses. The candles flickered—a faint and fleeting warning—before darkness claimed him. His body was discovered the next morning, his face frozen in an expression of surprise.
Three nights later, a vampire lord's haven was breached. The lord had time for one startled hiss before a burst of silver-bright magic extinguished his immortal existence. His guards arrived moments later to find an empty room and the lingering scent of ozone.
The leadership of the Dark Alliance was thrown into chaos. These attacks bore no resemblance to the vigilante raids they had encountered before. This was something else entirely. Even Voldemort and Grindelwald, who had begun strategizing against Harry Potter after piecing together his identity, were forced to confront this new menace.
"No witnesses," Grindelwald muttered, his sharp eyes scanning yet another scene where a high-ranking supporter had been found dead. "No magical traces. Perfect execution. Absolute silence."
Voldemort's crimson eyes burned with barely contained fury. "How are they bypassing every ward? Every protection? It's as if our defenses don't exist!"
The attacks sent waves of fear through their ranks. Followers who once moved with confidence now jumped at every shadow. No one dared to be alone, yet even crowds offered no safety. Protective wards were strengthened, guards doubled—but nothing stopped the invisible threat.
All the while, Harry pressed forward with his silent campaign, wielding the bound Cloak's power to move undetected. Every target yielded critical intelligence on hidden bases, leaders, and operations. With each revelation, Harry struck with surgical precision, dismantling the Alliance piece by piece. He left no trace, offered no glimpse of himself, and showed no mercy to the most dangerous offenders.
---
Harry's campaign wasn't entirely without compassion. While he ruthlessly dismantled the Dark Alliance's leadership, he avoided targeting newer or weaker members. From the information he gathered during his attacks, he could distinguish between the most brutal and those coerced into service. The latter were given a second chance—for now. But Harry was clear in his mind: if they faced him in open battle, they would not be spared. It was better for them to flee before that day came.
One night, Harry infiltrated a small outpost where a group of young wizards, barely out of school, were stationed. They were nervous, their conversations laced with fear and doubt. Harry listened from the shadows, his presence undetected, as they whispered among themselves.
"I didn't sign up for this," one of them murmured, his hands trembling as he gripped his wand. "I just wanted to protect my family. They threatened my sister…"
"We all did," another replied, their voice cracking under the weight of their fear. "But now... now we're trapped. The Dark Lord will kill us if we run, and this shadow killer will find us if we stay."
Harry's expression softened, though he didn't reveal himself. These weren't hardened killers or devoted followers. They were frightened children, caught in the gears of a war they hadn't chosen. Quietly, he slipped closer, leaving a single note on the table in elegant, unmistakable script:
"Leave now. This is your only warning."
By the next morning, the outpost was deserted. The young wizards had fled, their fear of the unseen assassin outweighing even their terror of Voldemort. They knew their lives were forfeit if they stayed, and hiding from Voldemort seemed a better gamble than waiting for the shadowy force that had already decimated their ranks.
Harry allowed himself a faint smile when the reports reached him. Not all battles had to end in bloodshed—at least, not yet.
---
As the Dark Alliance scrambled to protect its remaining leadership, all offensive activities ground to a halt. What had once felt like a triumph—unmasking Harry Potter as a vigilante—now seemed hollow. This new threat was far more terrifying than the masked warriors who had fought them openly.
"It's like fighting smoke," one shaken survivor muttered. "You can't strike what you can't see, can't sense, can't stop…"
The remaining members of the Dark Alliance began longing for the days of the masked vigilantes. At least then, their enemies had been visible. They could mount defenses, create counter-strategies. Now, every flicker of movement, every whisper of wind sent chills down their spines. Death could descend at any moment, silent and inevitable.
Unbeknownst to them, those earlier skirmishes had been Harry's training grounds. They had been opportunities to sharpen his skills, learn his enemies' patterns, and study their weaknesses. Back then, he had fought on nearly equal terms, giving them the illusion of balance.
But once his family was endangered, everything changed. The "sporting" Harry was gone, replaced by a shadowy, merciless force. No warnings, no compromises—only silent, precise strikes that left no room for retaliation or escape.
His campaign served multiple purposes. Each fallen leader crippled the Dark Alliance's ability to coordinate, recruit, and strategize. Their focus shifted from planning offensives to safeguarding themselves, sapping their resources and morale. Every new layer of security they implemented was a layer they couldn't spare for attacks.
Most crucially, Harry's methods diverted suspicion from his loved ones. While the Dark Alliance might suspect his involvement in the earlier vigilante raids, this shadow killer was clearly someone—or something—else. The stark difference in tactics and approach obscured the connection, leaving his enemies confused and paralyzed with fear.
For Harry, it was a war of attrition. The Dark Alliance was learning the hardest lesson of all: not every enemy could be fought openly, and some shadows couldn't be driven away. For the truly guilty, death came silently—and when it did, it was final.
Chapter 334: Chapter 334: "Face to Face with the Old Dark Lord"
Time passed quietly for Harry at Hogwarts—at least on the surface. He balanced his responsibilities as Head Boy, helped his friends prepare for their NEWTs, and still managed to slip in time for activities beyond the school. In truth, life at Hogwarts was a much-needed respite from the chaos of the outside world, and Harry made sure to savor it. He even found ways to sneak off for secret dates with Fleur, their relationship growing deeper despite the stress of war.
Between his classes and Head Boy duties, Harry also found time for Quidditch. Ravenclaw's match against Slytherin was another triumph, with Harry and Roger Davies scoring over forty goals between them. The final score, 580 to 40, highlighted the vast difference in skill between the teams. With only one match left—Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor—the coveted Quidditch Cup was almost within reach.
While Harry's school life thrived, filled with Quidditch, studies, and a touch of romance, the Dark Alliance knew no such peace. Their days and nights were consumed by constant fear, their operations grinding to a near standstill. Recruiting new allies had become impossible; their focus had shifted to preventing defections. Members were fleeing, terrified of the shadowy assassin who continued to pick off their ranks with deadly precision.
For his part, Harry refused to take any more chances. Aware of his own vulnerability to mistakes, he doubled down on efficiency and precision. Whenever he uncovered the location of a new hideout, he scouted every inch, identified the key leaders, and eliminated them before they could regroup, leaving Voldemort no time to rebuild his forces.
During one of these covert raids, Harry stumbled upon a game-changing piece of intelligence: the exact location of Grindelwald's hideout. The discovery was stunning, and Harry immediately understood its significance. Removing Grindelwald from the equation would sever Voldemort's most powerful European support, effectively confining the war's future battles to England. He spent days verifying the information through careful interrogations, ensuring its accuracy before planning his next move.
Nestled high in the Austrian mountains, Grindelwald's fortress loomed—an ancient castle steeped in layers of dark magic. Its towering spires and shadowy halls radiated a palpable sense of menace. Harry spent several days carefully observing the stronghold, watching the patterns of those who entered and left, and methodically mapping its defenses.
His observations confirmed that Grindelwald was indeed inside. But something nagged at Harry—certain details seemed almost too simple, as if designed to lure him into a trap. Despite his suspicions, Harry couldn't pass up this rare opportunity. If he could remove Grindelwald, Voldemort's European network would collapse like a house of cards.
With that thought, Harry steeled himself. This would not be a quick or easy mission, but the potential payoff was too great to ignore.
---
Under the cover of darkness, Harry infiltrated the hideout. The wards, formidable though they were, proved no match for his meticulous preparation and the power of Death's Cloak. The corridors were eerily silent as he moved with precision, his destination clear: Grindelwald's chambers.
Inside, the old dark wizard sat in an armchair, engrossed in a book by candlelight. Harry didn't hesitate. With a flick of his wand, a silent cutting curse sliced through the air—
The spell connected, and the world exploded in red.
Paint rained down from spelled containers hidden in the ceiling, drenching Harry's invisible form and revealing him in vivid crimson. The "Grindelwald" in the chair rippled like disturbed water, transforming into an expertly crafted dummy.
Before Harry could react, the walls around him vanished, revealing over twenty wizards with wands trained on him. Their expressions were a mix of triumph and menace as they stared at the figure in the center of the room, now vividly marked in red.
They had been waiting for him all along.
"At last," a cold, resonant voice announced from among the gathered wizards. The real Grindelwald stepped forward, his sharp eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "The shadow killer reveals himself."
Without hesitation, a barrage of spells erupted from every direction, converging on Harry's brightly marked form. The room shook with the sheer force of the onslaught. When the dust and smoke cleared, nothing remained of the target except for a shattered dummy coated in red paint.
Grindelwald's triumphant expression twisted into fury. "A decoy?" he snarled, his gaze darting around the room. "Then where—?"
"Looking for me?" Harry's voice cut through the chaos, calm but with an edge sharp enough to make several wizards step back. He stood in the doorway, twin wands raised—his personal wand and the Elder Wand, both gleaming in the flickering torchlight. The red paint dripping from the ceiling had rendered his invisibility useless, but Harry's posture suggested he wouldn't need it.
The gathered wizards froze, their eyes widening in shock and recognition. The blue-eyed wizard from the graveyard. The one who had turned Voldemort's inner circle to ash.
Harry seized the moment of hesitation and attacked. His first spell chain—blasting curses and bone-breakers in rapid succession—caught three wizards before they could even raise their shields. His second volley struck down two more who were still processing what they were seeing.
The room erupted into chaos. Spells crisscrossed the air in lethal streams of light, illuminating the swirling dust and debris. Harry moved like flowing water through their attacks, his Knight-enhanced reflexes letting him dodge or deflect spells with fluid precision. Each movement was a seamless blend of offense and defense—a shield charm twisting into a cutting curse, a sidestep transitioning into a killing blow.
"Surround him!" someone shouted. Five wizards rushed to flank him, coordinating their attacks to overwhelm him.
Harry's response was swift and devastating. He spun in place, the Elder Wand conjuring a dome of pure force that scattered their combined spells, while his personal wand sent piercing hexes through the gaps in their formation. All five fell in seconds, crumpling to the floor with cries of pain.
A particularly nasty curse grazed Harry's shoulder, tearing his robe and drawing first blood. The caster's moment of triumph was short-lived. Harry's eyes locked onto him with an intensity that froze the man in place. A heartbeat later, the wizard was hurled through a stone wall with bone-crushing force, his scream abruptly silenced.
Sensing that the tide was turning rapidly against him, Grindelwald made his move.
"Enough!" Grindelwald's voice boomed across the chamber. With a flick of his wand, he cast a complex shielding spell—a barrier of swirling, iridescent energy that separated Harry from the remaining wizards. Harry immediately recognized the spell from ancient texts. It was no ordinary shield; it was a masterpiece of layered defenses.
Through the shimmering barrier, Harry could see the fear etched into the faces of the surviving wizards. In less than a minute, half their number had fallen. Harry hadn't even begun to use his more exotic spells. His lips curled into a small, dangerous smile.
Grindelwald's eyes narrowed as he studied Harry through the shimmering barrier. "So, you're the one who's been causing so much trouble," he said, his tone laced with disdain but failing to mask the underlying concern. "I must admit, I expected someone... older."
Harry smirked, his expression equal parts amusement and mockery. "And I expected you to be enjoying your retirement. Maybe relaxing in a quiet cottage somewhere, knitting socks, feeding pigeons. But no—here you are, back in the dark lord business. Truly… you never learn."
Grindelwald's features twisted in anger, though he clearly fought to keep his composure. "You're bold, I'll give you that. But boldness won't save you."
Harry shrugged, his casual demeanor practically daring Grindelwald to act. "Nor will your trap. Did you really think I wouldn't notice how conveniently I came across your location? Or how poorly guarded this fortress seemed, considering there's an infamous assassin on the loose? Please. Don't insult me."
Grindelwald's expression darkened further, his frustration mounting. But before he could retort, Harry raised his left hand, spinning the wand between his fingers with deliberate ease. The sight stopped Grindelwald cold. His face drained of color as recognition struck him like a blow.
The Elder Wand.
Grindelwald had wielded it for decades before Dumbledore defeated him. He would have recognized its distinctive shape anywhere.
"Impossible," Grindelwald whispered, his voice barely audible, trembling with the weight of genuine fear.
The shield was weakening rapidly, and Harry could feel it. "Oh? You remember this wand?" he taunted, smirking as he held up the Elder Wand. "Then I'm sure you'll remember this spell as well."
Twin columns of Fiendfyre erupted from his wands, roaring to life as massive birds of flame that dwarfed the fiery display he had unleashed at the graveyard. The creatures of cursed fire twisted and screeched, their burning forms towering over the chamber. Grindelwald's followers froze in shock—they had heard whispers of Voldemort's inner circle disappearing under these very flames.
But unlike Voldemort's frightened lackeys, these weren't mere followers. They were true believers, loyal to the end.
"My Lord, run!" several voices shouted as they moved to form a human shield in front of Grindelwald. Their wands rose as one, their determination unshaken even in the face of death.
"We'll hold it back!" another cried, thrusting an emergency portkey into Grindelwald's hand.
Harry's Fiendfyre smashed through the weakened shield, roaring toward its targets. But instead of finding easy prey, the cursed flames met a wall of answering fire. The remaining wizards had summoned their own Fiendfyre in desperation. A dozen smaller, less controlled infernos collided with Harry's twin columns in a catastrophic explosion of dark magic.
The results were immediate—and devastating.
The competing Fiendfyre did not cancel each other out. Instead, they merged and mutated, growing exponentially as they took on monstrous forms of every magical creature imaginable. The cursed flames became an unstoppable, living entity, consuming everything in their path.
Harry's Knight-enhanced reflexes kicked in immediately. He realized the danger before anyone else and retreated, moving with a speed and precision that allowed him to outpace the rapidly expanding inferno. But Grindelwald's followers, for all their bravery and magical skill, were not so fortunate.
Their loyalty became their downfall. The merged Fiendfyre engulfed them in seconds, their cries of defiance drowned in the roaring flames. Their final act of devotion to their lord became their funeral pyre.
The cursed fire tore through the castle like a living beast, unstoppable and ever-growing. Stone melted into slag, ancient wards shattered under the relentless assault, and the very air seemed to burn. The chaos was deafening—crackling flames, crumbling walls, and the unearthly screams of the Fiendfyre's victims.
In their final moments, some of the dark wizards screamed in triumph even as they were consumed by the flames. They had bought their master the precious seconds he needed to escape.
---
Hovering in the sky, Harry watched as the blazing fortress collapsed into a seething sea of flames, his expression grim. He had hoped to eliminate Grindelwald tonight, but the dark wizard had escaped, using a portkey at the last possible moment. Still, Harry had delivered a devastating blow to the Dark Alliance. Though the outcome was not what he had planned, it was enough—for now.
As the inferno threatened to spread beyond the ruins, Harry moved quickly. He summoned thunderclouds overhead, unleashing torrents of rain to weaken the flames. Then, with precise wand movements, he conjured a massive dome of shimmering energy around the fire, containing it long enough to cast a series of powerful extinguishing spells. He had done this before—too many times to count—and he had gotten good at it. The process was slow, demanding, and exhausting, but Harry persisted, methodically working until the last embers were snuffed out.
When the flames finally died, the once-imposing castle was reduced to nothing more than smoldering ruins. Harry stood amid the wreckage, his breathing heavy but his resolve unwavering. He had missed his chance to kill Grindelwald outright, but the victory was still significant. The Dark Alliance would be reeling from the loss of so many loyal followers, their strength severely diminished.
The war was far from over, but Harry had no intention of stopping until every last threat was wiped off the board. His determination burned brighter than any of the flames he had just extinguished.
With one final glance at the silent, smoke-filled rubble, Harry vanished into the night.
Weekly Power Status
200+ Power
Ranking 
33 Power
stone 
Paragraph comment