They turned into mist, into black smoke, into wings of bone, swirling through the sky like an ominous storm.
Meanwhile, Cyrus gathered the power of the sky, the rainclouds, the currents of air, and the force of lightning, all striking toward Herpo.
In that moment, he looked like a god who ruled over the winds, the storms, and the heavens themselves.
The magic of the Thunderbird surged through his body, amplified many times over, as though even the sky itself was cradled in his hands!
He spread his arms wide, and lightning exploded from his fingertips!
BOoooOM!!!
Cyrus's lightning spell tore through the endless darkness.
In an instant, a torrential downpour erupted over the sea, and the raging air currents pulled the ocean's waters upward, reversing the tide and dragging it toward the storm clouds above, as if building a Babel tower to the realm of the gods.
This was no longer magic that ordinary wizards could hope to control.
Truly, as Herpo had once said:
Wizards are gods.
And these two—
they were gods among gods!
...
Rumble, rumble...
Lightning flashed within the layers of dark clouds.
Harry, who had just returned to Hogwarts from Godric's Hollow and stepped out of the Halloween feast, was nearly blown off his feet by a fierce gust of wind that swept through the corridor, sending several students stumbling.
The air was heavy and oppressive, just like Harry's mood these past weeks—stifling and unsettled.
Harry even found himself thinking back to his childhood, when he still lived in the cupboard under the stairs at the Dursleys' house.
Back then, whenever it was nighttime or when visitors came over, he had to shrink into that tiny, cramped space, unable to even stretch his legs properly, breathing carefully so as not to bump his head against the underside of the stairs.
"Looks like it's going to rain," Ron said, poking his head out to glance at the stormy sky. His somewhat long, red hair drooped down, not yet wet but looking damp already.
"I hope it does rain," Harry said.
The weather had been strange lately.
Ever since Dumbledore's death, Hogwarts—which was usually rainy and misty—had been filled with an unusual amount of sunshine.
Even when it did rain, it was just a few light drops, never enough to truly soak the ground.
It left Harry feeling strangely restless, as if the world itself refused to grieve properly.
What he wanted most now was a real downpour, a fierce and heavy rain, one that could wash over him completely!
"If it really starts raining, I'm taking my Firebolt up for a spin!" Harry said. "I've been wanting to do that for ages."
"Count me in," Ron said, willing to risk life and limb to join him.
He now had a pretty good broomstick himself—a Cleansweep Eleven, technically newer than Harry's Firebolt. Of course, just like with cars, newer didn't always mean better.
By around midnight, the rain finally came down.
The raindrops pelted the ground like bullets, rattling against the windows and leaving palm-sized splatters where they struck. Soon, the downpour turned into a thick curtain of water, slashing through the air.
The wind was even fiercer than the rain.
Through the distorted view of the storm-smeared windows, Harry and Ron could see the Whomping Willow—its trunk thicker than three grown men together—almost bent over by the gale, its massive branches whipping upward, twisting like wild hair.
Ron gulped and said tentatively, "Maybe... we should forget about it."
"Ehm.. Yeah, forget it," Harry agreed, pressing his lips together and abandoning the suicidal plan.
Flying broomsticks in weather like this was a death wish.
At this rate, Hagrid would probably find their mangled bodies in the Forbidden Forest tomorrow—if the beasts didn't eat them first.
And the only way to tell who was who might be by identifying their broomsticks!
In fact, forget about going outside—one boy from another dormitory merely opened a window and, within a second, both he and the window were swept up into the sky.
The next day, Professor McGonagall found him clinging to one of the tower's spires, and immediately announced that all classes would be suspended for the next few days.
No one was allowed to leave the castle, not even a step.
However, the Herbology greenhouses weren't so lucky.
The Head of Hufflepuff had been sighing nonstop these past few days.
Fortunately, Hagrid, thanks to his enormous size, had managed to brave the storm and shield some of the plants—otherwise, Hogwarts would have lost its entire stock of herbs this year.
"But," Hermione said, warming herself by the fireplace, "what about Cyrus? How is he doing now?"
Cyrus had taken Harry to Godric's Hollow, but hadn't personally brought him back.
At first glance, it didn't seem like a big deal, but for Cyrus, who had never before acted irresponsibly—not even over small matters—it was unusual enough to raise alarm.
"Unless something major happened..." Harry said.
The others remained mostly silent. Ginny rested her chin on her hand, the firelight from the hearth casting a warm glow over her hair, making it appear even more fiery red.
Clearly, they were all deeply worried.
Otherwise, they wouldn't still be up, unable to sleep, gathered together in the common room.
Thankfully, there were no classes tomorrow—at least that was one small bit of good news.
"Actually... Grindelwald is missing too," Hermione finally looked up and said.
Grindelwald had been haunting the courtyard surrounding the castle like a ghost lately, refusing to leave the area around Dumbledore's grave. He had almost become a guardian spirit for the tombstone, unmoving even in the worst weather.
He wouldn't have simply disappeared because of some storm—unless he had something urgent to do.
"With him by Cyrus's side, their chances must be better," Hermione added.
"I just hope the cloak will help him hide from Death's gaze," Harry said.
At that moment, one of the portraits hanging in the common room stirred—the Fat Lady.
This plump and cheerful guardian had been keeping watch over the entrance to the Gryffindor dormitories for who knew how many years, and of course, there was also a frame of her hanging inside the common room itself.
She came in from outside, then looked at Harry and the others and said, "Harry Potter, I believe someone is looking for you guys."
"Looking for us? Now?" Harry asked in surprise.
He immediately picked up on the two most important points in the Fat Lady's words:
First, someone was looking for all of them — normally, even though every teacher at Hogwarts knew they stuck together as a group, no one would summon them all unless it was something very serious.
And second, the timing — in the middle of the night.
Unless it had something to do with all of them.
Like, for example — Cyrus!
"Hurry up then, it's in the 7th-floor corridor, at the Room of Requirement," the Fat Lady said.
"The Room of Requirement?" Ginny repeated.
Of course she knew where it was — Cyrus had mentioned it casually before.
But the point was, no professor would normally choose the Room of Requirement to meet with them.
"It's definitely the Room of Requirement," the Fat Lady confirmed.
"There's a professor none of you have met before — she was once a headmistress of Hogwarts. She's a good friend of Cyrus's. Her name is Fitzgerald, and she's the one looking for you."
Although all of them felt a little suspicious, none of them doubted her words.
Magic could disguise a person, perhaps — but no one had ever heard of magic that could forge a portrait.
_______
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