The air in the shack didn't just vibrate; it screamed.
Henry Jones was no longer a man; he was a force of nature fueled by pure, unadulterated spite. Seeing his retirement fund—the three-winged Thunderbird—vanish into thin air had snapped the last thread of his composure. He surged forward, his boots crunching over the piles of gold Galleons as if they were nothing more than gravel.
Leonard Sterling met him halfway, but the difference was staggering. Henry moved with a predatory grace, batting aside Leonard's defensive charms with contemptuous flicks of his wrist. Every time Leonard fired a hex, Henry simply swatted it into the walls, where the magic detonated in showers of splinters and plaster. The ceiling groaned, dust raining down like grey snow as the structural integrity of the cottage began to fail.
Professor Flitwick was a blur of motion nearby. He had already neutralized Viyon, leaving the dark-skinned wizard tangled in a mess of animated floorboards. With a sharp, whip-like crack of his wand, Flitwick turned his attention to the hulking brute who was trying to crush Leonard's ribs. The Professor didn't just stun him; he used a powerful Banishing Charm that caught the giant square in his massive gut, launching the obese wizard through the air like a cannonball until he smashed through the upper banister.
But Henry was the real problem. He ignored his falling henchmen, his eyes locked on Leonard with a psychotic intensity. He unleashed a barrage of curses that sizzled with dark energy—savagery that went beyond simple dueling.
Leonard was a veteran, a man who had stared down dark wizards for decades, but he was fighting at a massive disadvantage. The lingering tremors from the Cruciatus Curse made his wand arm shake, and the obsidian wand he had scavenged from Tebberley was fighting him. It was a mismatch of intent; the wand wanted to kill, while Leonard only wanted to subdue.
Just as Henry leveled his wand for a finishing blow, a streak of blinding crimson light tore through the shadows. It wasn't a complex curse. It wasn't dark magic. It was the most basic spell in a Hogwarts student's arsenal, but it was delivered with the force of a high-speed train.
Expelliarmus!
The spell slammed into Henry's chest, the impact so violent it lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing backward onto the remains of the dinner table. His black wand spun out of his hand, cartwheeling through the air.
Allen stepped out of the gloom, his face pale but his eyes steady. He had poured every ounce of his magical reserve into that single charm, knowing that if he missed, there wouldn't be a second chance.
"Exquisite timing! Accio wand!" Leonard roared. He snatched Henry's wand out of the air, the connection to the dark wizard finally severed.
Henry lay on his back, gasping for air, his face twisted in a mask of pure, distilled hatred as he glared at the young boy who had just humbled him. He tried to scramble up, but Flitwick was already there. With a complicated weave of his wand, the Professor conjured thick, enchanted ropes that snaked around Henry's limbs, binding him tight. Leonard followed up with a Petrificus Totalus so potent that Henry turned to stone mid-snarl, toppling over with a heavy thud.
"Whoever threw that disarming charm... that was some of the cleanest work I've seen in years," Leonard panted, leaning heavily against a charred pillar.
"I think I recognize that particular 'voice,'" Flitwick beamed, his chest swelling with pride. He looked toward the corner where the spell had originated. "Allen? Are you still hiding back there, or did you decide to take a victory lap?"
There was no answer. Allen was already gone. His ears had caught the tell-tale sounds of magical discharge coming from the snowy woods outside.
While the battle raged inside, the lookout bandits had tried to rush back to help their boss. They never made it to the door. Jessica and Ian, hidden beneath a layer of shimmering Disillusionment Charms, had turned the graveyard path into a gauntlet.
By the time Flitwick and Leonard stepped out into the biting winter air, the threat was over. It was a masterclass in efficiency—Expelliarmus, Petrificus Totalus, and the occasional Impedimenta. The trio's teamwork had been a well-oiled machine, catching the brigands in a crossfire of simple but perfectly executed spells.
"Jessica, Ian... you two certainly have the Sterling fire in you," Leonard said, his voice thick with emotion as the kids dropped their concealment.
"Where's our silent partner?" Flitwick asked, looking around.
"Right here, Professor." Allen stepped out from behind a large, snow-covered tombstone, looking remarkably composed for someone who had just helped take down a high-profile fugitive.
Leonard walked over to Allen, his hands shaking slightly as he rested them on the boy's shoulders. "Allen... when I was lying on that floor, ready to accept the end, you gave me a miracle. You didn't just save my life; you saved my dignity. I'm an old man who's seen a lot of darkness, but I won't forget what you did tonight. Thank you."
Allen looked down, a bit embarrassed by the raw sincerity. "It was a team effort, Mr. Leonard. I just didn't want to see a good man get hurt."
"Spoken like a true Brit," Leonard chuckled, though his eyes were moist. "But... the bird? Henry was convinced it was gone."
"It's safe," Allen replied. He walked a few paces away into the deep snow and, with a subtle gesture, summoned the Thunderbird from his pet space. The magnificent creature appeared in a flurry of golden sparks, looking confused but much calmer than it had been in the crate. Allen handed the lead to Leonard. "It needs a healer, sir. It's been through a lot."
"I'll see to it personally," Leonard promised. He turned to Flitwick. "Filius, take these heroes home. I'll stay here and wait for the Congress cleanup crews to arrive. They'll want to document everything before they haul Henry to the pits."
"Are you sure you can manage?" Flitwick asked.
"Uncle, we can handle the trip back," Jessica interrupted, her voice sharp with exhaustion. "Allen's already mastered Apparition. We won't be trudging through the snow."
Leonard blinked, his jaw dropping slightly. "Apparition? Filius, is the curriculum in Britain that advanced? We don't even let them look at the theory until they're seventeen over here. The Congress would have a heart attack if they saw a student popping around like a house-elf."
Flitwick gave a sheepish, high-pitched laugh. "Technically, it's... highly irregular. But as you've seen, Allen is anything but average."
Allen didn't wait for a lecture. He grabbed Jessica and Ian's arms, and with a sharp crack that echoed through the silent cemetery, they vanished, leaving the scent of ozone behind.
When Allen finally opened his eyes the next morning, the world was a different place. The howling wind had died down, replaced by a blindingly white landscape reflecting the brilliant morning sun. The cottage was no longer a place of tension; it felt safe, warm, and smelled heavenly.
He stumbled downstairs, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, to find Flitwick relaxing on the sofa with a cup of tea. In the kitchen, Leonard was a whirlwind of activity, humming a cheerful tune while pans sizzled on the stove.
"Morning, Professor," Allen croaked. "Is... is everything settled?"
"More than settled, lad," Leonard called out from the kitchen. "Henry Jones has already been processed. Given his record and the attempted smuggling of a Grade XXXX creature, the Congress didn't waste any time. He's headed for the execution pool. A grim end, but a just one."
Jessica and Ian appeared shortly after, looking much more refreshed. They stopped at the kitchen door, staring at their uncle who was currently flipping pastries with a grin.
"Uncle? Don't you have to go to the Woolworth Building for the debrief?" Jessica asked, checking a stack of papers on the counter.
Leonard laughed, a deep, hearty sound. "It's Christmas Day, Jessie! The world can wait for one day. I've put in my leave, and I'm spending every second of it right here with my family and our guests."
"That's the best news I've heard all year!" Ian cheered.
Breakfast was a revelation. Leonard served up a mountain of minced-veal pies, their crusts golden and flaky, filled with a rich, savory gravy. Allen watched in genuine awe as the Sterling siblings fell upon the food with an appetite that could only be described as competitive.
Seeing Allen's bewildered expression, Jessica paused mid-bite and giggled. "Don't mind us, Allen. We've been eating Uncle Leonard's veal pies since we were old enough to hold a fork. To us, this isn't just breakfast. It's the taste of every good memory we have. It's love in a crust."
Allen smiled, feeling a pang of warmth in his chest. He took a bite and understood immediately. It was comfort food in its purest form. He decided then and there that wasting even a crumb of this was a sin, and he joined in the feast with renewed vigor.
As the plates were cleared and the rare sense of leisure settled over the room, Leonard's eyes took on a mischievous glint. He looked over at Flitwick, who was drying his spectacles.
"So, Filius... remind me. What was the primary reason you dragged this young prodigy across the Atlantic in the middle of a blizzard?"
Flitwick stood up, a competitive spark returning to his eyes. "To settle an old debate, Leonard. To see if the American style of fearless aggression can hold its own against the refined technique of the British Isles. A duel between Allen and Ian."
The energy in the room shifted instantly. Ian stood up, his shoulders squaring. He wasn't the tired kid from the graveyard anymore; he was a wizard with something to prove.
They moved outside to the yard. Leonard had already cleared the snow with a wide-area charm, leaving a pristine, flat circle of frozen earth.
Allen and Ian took their positions at opposite ends of the circle. They raised their wands in a formal salute and bowed. Ian's stance was wide, his knees bent—a brawler's posture, bold and unafraid of taking a hit to land one.
Allen, by contrast, stood with a perfect, almost theatrical elegance. His feet were positioned with the precision of a fencer, his wand held at a precise angle. It was the "Hogwarts Standard," but there was an added layer of grace to it that made him look older than his years.
"No Unforgivables, no permanent injury hexes," Leonard shouted, playing the part of the referee.
"On my count!" Jessica cried, her face flushed with excitement. "Three... two... one... BEGIN!"
The air snapped as the first two spells collided in the center of the yard.