Magic, Curses and Gods Amongst Men || HP x JJK

Apolline and Yennefer sat together at a small, round table in the garden, enjoying a peaceful breakfast. The morning air was cool, the sun casting a gentle warmth over the lush greenery that surrounded them. A teapot sat between them, alongside delicate cups filled with tea, and a plate of fresh pastries that neither had touched much. Their attention was elsewhere.

A few meters away, Harry was absorbed in his practice, working tirelessly on perfecting various shield charms. His concentration was intense, and the air around him shimmered with the energy of his magic. Every now and then, a shield would form around him, glowing brightly before fading away, only for him to cast another.

Apolline observed him with a mix of admiration and concern. "Are you worried about 'im?" she asked, her French accent giving her words a soft, musical quality.

Yennefer nodded as she took a sip of her coffee, her gaze not leaving Harry. "Yes. He's improved so much over so little time... but he rarely sleeps. Only when he's pushed his body to the point where it can't go on anymore does he rest."

Apolline sighed, setting her cup down gently. "'E desperately wants to kill Grindelwald. You see what 'e puts 'imself through every day. No words will convince 'im to change 'is mind."

Yennefer leaned back in her chair, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "I wish I knew him before the pit. This version of Harry... it's all I've known. He's so antisocial, so focused. Even when he smiles, it's always for others, never for himself."

Apolline nodded slowly, her eyes still on Harry as he conjured another shield, this one brighter and more powerful than the last. "Something must 'ave 'appened before 'e came to the pit... something that made 'im like this. Maybe one day 'e will tell us, but for now, all we can do is be 'is friend."

"Vengeance is a path that tears itself away from behind you," Apolline continued, her voice softening. "Only when 'e realizes 'e's traveled too far can we be there to catch 'im when 'e falls."

Yennefer sighed, feeling the weight of those words. She had truly come to consider Harry a friend, despite the distance he kept between them. How could she not, after everything he had done for her and Ciri? He was a kind soul, even if he hid it behind an emotionless front.

She had thought about teaching him the secret magic of her people—the magic of blood sacrifice. But she knew he wasn't ready. It was a powerful magic, one that could easily lead a person down a dark path. And Harry, she feared, was already on the edge. She would wait until his quest was over, when he could truly appreciate the weight and responsibility of such power.

As they watched, Harry shouted out another spell, and a large, brilliant shield erupted in front of him. It was bright and strong. Apolline couldn't help but breathe a little heavier as she looked at it. A blush crept up her cheeks, and she rubbed her thighs together, trying to compose herself. Harry was an incredibly powerful wizard, capable of resisting even their Veela allure without realizing it. Magic seemed to roll off him in waves, and it was both impressive and... unsettling.

She quickly regained her composure, glancing at Yennefer to see if she had noticed. But Yennefer's expression remained neutral, her focus still on Harry.

Their moment of quiet observation was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a house-elf, who popped into view with a soft crack. The creature bowed low before speaking in a high-pitched voice, "Master Delacour will be returning momentarily, Mistresses." Apolline's eyes widened slightly, and she exchanged a quick look with Yennefer. "Merci," she said to the elf, her voice steady despite the surprise.

Harry let the shield drop, the energy dissipating as he exhaled slowly. It was the most powerful version of the Protego charm he could cast, but he knew it wasn't enough. Not against someone like Grindelwald. He frowned, the lingering frustration clear on his face.

Beside him, Fleur clapped her hands, a small smile on her lips. "Zat was impressive, 'Arry," she said, her accent softening her words. "It takes a wizard with large reserves of magic to maintain a shield like zat."

Harry didn't return the smile. "It won't be enough for a man like Grindelwald," he muttered, his voice low. He breathed out, feeling the weight of the truth in his words. No matter how powerful his shield was, it didn't even come close to the protection Aries could offer in his King's Form. Harry needed a way to protect himself from Grindelwalds Domain Expansion; if he could burn out his technique then it would make him vulnerable if Harry was able to collapse his domain. While that was a lot of ifs it was all that Harry had.

'I could rely on Aries, he protected me in Abernathys domain...' he thought to himself. Though it would be risky, he'd only be allowing himself one form of protection, and if Grindelwald destroyed Aries he wouldn't be able to summon him again for a while. He'd need to read more on Domains, perhaps there was another way. He knew he was far from opening a domain of his own, the thought of that frustrated him.

Fleur watched him closely, her eyes lingering on his face. She had been observing him a lot more since their duel, unable to help herself. During their fight, she had accidentally let her allure slip, but Harry hadn't noticed it at all. When he hugged her afterward, she had expected him to take advantage of her state, like many others had tried before. But he hadn't. He just held her, offering comfort without any ulterior motives. Her allure had flowed out of her at full strength, yet Harry hadn't so much as twitched.

This had never happened to her before. Fleur had always struggled with her allure. It was a part of her magic, and while she could control it to a degree, small amounts would naturally seep out. It was enough to turn heads, to attract unwanted attention, and to earn her countless confessions of love and presents she never asked for. She hated it. She didn't want men swooning over her or girls hating her because of it. She just wanted to study, to learn magic, to grow stronger. She wanted a friend who would go on adventures with her, someone who saw her for who she was, not what her allure made her seem.

And now, for the first time, she had found someone who was immune to it. Someone who didn't see her as an object of desire but as a person. Fleur didn't realize it, but this had begun to turn into an obsession. Since their duel, she had rarely left Harry's side, offering to help him practice whenever possible. She taught him the little magic she knew, eager to spend time with him. At night, her thoughts were consumed by Harry—what they had done that day, what they would do tomorrow.

"I need to make my own shield," Harry stated suddenly, drawing Fleur out of her thoughts. "I'm not sure how to create my own spells, though. I've only ever altered them."

"Spell creation is dangerous and difficult," Fleur replied, stepping a little closer to him. "But I think my father 'as books on ze subject. We could go and look," she suggested, her voice almost hopeful.

Harry was about to nod in agreement when Apolline's voice called out to them from across the garden. "Fleur! Come, your father is coming 'ome!"

The news caught both of their attention immediately. The thought of Louis returning after so long was enough to make them abandon their previous conversation. They hurried inside, joining Gabrielle by the fireplace as they waited by the Floo.

Moments later, the flames flared green, and Louis stepped through, followed closely by a mediwitch. The sight of him made Fleur's heart sink. Her father looked tired, worn down, and his body was marked with fresh scars. Worst of all, his right arm was gone, ending in a neatly bandaged stump.

"Papa!" Gabrielle cried, rushing forward to hug him tightly. Fleur followed suit, wrapping her arms around her father as if she could shield him from the world's dangers with her embrace.

Louis smiled, though it was a weary one, and gently patted their heads with his remaining hand. "It's good to be home," he said, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

Apolline's eyes were filled with concern as she moved to his side, guiding him away from the fireplace. "Come, Louis, let's get you to bed," she said softly, her accent wrapping around each word with care. The mediwitch hovered close by, ready to assist as needed. Louis nodded but paused before following Apolline. He looked at Harry, his expression serious. "Harry, could we speak tomorrow?"

Harry nodded, understanding the weight behind the request. "Of course, Mr. Delacour." With that, Louis allowed Apolline and the mediwitch to escort him to his room, his daughters staying close by his side. Fleur kept a tight grip on her father's hand, her earlier frustrations and anger now replaced by a deep-seated fear for his safety. She just wanted him to stay home, to be with them, to be safe.

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Harry stood outside the door, hesitating only for a moment before he knocked. A voice from within called out, "Enter." He pushed the door open and stepped inside. Louis Delacour lay in bed, looking worse than Harry had imagined. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, and his face was gaunt, with dark circles under his eyes. The fresh scars that marred his once-strong features, and the bandaged stump where his arm used to be, Louis looked like he had aged years in a matter of weeks.

"Are you well?" Harry asked, though the answer seemed obvious.

"I'll recover," Louis replied, his voice rough but steady. He gestured to a chair by the bedside. "Please, take a seat."

Harry did as he was told, sitting down and meeting Louis's weary gaze. "What did you wish to speak about?" he asked bluntly, though he suspected he already knew the answer. Louis chuckled softly, a sound that was more resigned than amused. "Blunt and to the point... I like that," he said. He took a deep breath before continuing. "I'll be honest with you then. France is not doing so well... the war has been going badly for us and our allies."

Harry remained silent, letting Louis gather his thoughts.

"I do not wish to ask this of you... you are just a boy, as mature as you may be, I do not want you to experience war and the horrors you see," Louis continued, his voice heavy with regret. "But I have no choice. I am one of the most powerful wizards in this country, and yet I lost in a duel to one of Grindelwald's Acolytes. We are going to lose this war."

Louis looked down at the sheets, his remaining hand gripping them tightly. "So, Harry, I ask will you help us. Please, I have tried every alternative, even hiring wizards from other countries, but it is not enough. The giants and vampires have joined Grindelwald, and there is even talk of some of the dragon keepers of Romania joining his cause."

He looked up at Harry and, in an act of desperation, bowed his head. "Please help us. I'll give anything in return."

Harry looked at him strangely. "You don't know me very well, and yet you're putting faith that I'll be able to change the outcome of the war."

Louis lifted his head and met Harry's gaze. "You have inherited one of the rarest traits a wizard can get. Your eyes make you one of the strongest wizards, even now in your first year."

Harry nodded slowly, taking a moment to think. He was going to kill Grindelwald and his Inner Circle. Joining the war might be a good opportunity to confront some of them. Louis had mentioned dueling one of them. But still, getting involved in the war could be a distraction from his main goal—unless he could use it to his advantage.

"I'll do it," Harry said, "but there are things I want in return."

"You have them," Louis replied without hesitation.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Just like that?" he asked.

"Just like that," Louis nodded. "If things keep going as badly as they do, there will no longer be a wizarding community in France. Whatever you want or need, I'll do my best to provide it—knowledge, artifacts, magical ingredients. They are yours."

"Then you have my support," Harry said, his voice firm. "But don't think I'll take orders from your Ministry. Tell me where I need to go, and I'll go. Nothing more."

Louis nodded, though he looked a bit more uncertain now. He knew many in the Ministry would take offense to Harry's attitude, but he couldn't afford to be picky. They needed all the help they could get.

With a flick of his wand, Louis summoned a folder from the desk beside his bed and floated it over to Harry. "Grindelwald has been focusing his attacks on a specific place in Marseille. It's where most of our country's magical plants are grown. If he takes control, we won't be able to produce any more of our own potions."

"Can't Spain or one of the other allied countries help?" Harry asked as he opened the folder and began skimming through the documents.

Louis shook his head. "He's using his allies to attack them. Germany is pressuring Italy, and Hungary is attacking Spain and Portugal. Our mortality rate will increase drastically if we can no longer produce the healing potions we need."

Harry nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Will the Floo connect me there?" he asked.

"No," Louis replied. "The area has been heavily warded against all forms of travel. The only way to get there is by Portkey from the Ministry itself."

Harry sighed, already disliking the idea of dealing with the Ministry. "Never mind, I'll make my own way there," he said as he stood up.

As Harry moved to leave, Louis's voice stopped him. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry nodded once more, then quietly closed the door behind him as he left. After Harry left the room, he sighed deeply. The sun had just set, casting long shadows over the Château as the night took hold. Inside, everyone had finished eating and was settling into a calm, relaxed evening. Harry didn't want to disrupt that peace, didn't want to say goodbye. So, he decided to slip away quietly.

He made his way through the halls of the Château, careful to avoid making any noise that might alert the others. Once outside, the cool evening air greeted him as he walked toward the edge of the estate, where the dark forest began. The night was silent except for the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. Just as he was about to leave the grounds, he heard a voice call his name. He stopped and turned to see Fleur running toward him from the Château, her expression a mix of concern and determination.

"Where are you going?" she asked breathlessly, catching up to him. "Are you going to practice? Do you need my 'elp?"

Harry turned to face her, staying silent for a moment as he considered his words. Finally, he spoke, his voice calm but firm. "Your father asked me to help in the war, and I'm leaving to do that right now."

Fleur's breath hitched, her eyes widening as memories of her father's injuries flashed through her mind. The thought of Harry—her only friend—leaving to face the same dangers terrified her. "I want to come too," she said, her voice resolute, even if tinged with fear.

But as expected, Harry shook his head. "Stay here, Fleur. Keep practicing, keep your family safe. That's the most important thing you can do... trust me."

Fleur's expression hardened with frustration. "But I don't want you to go!" she exclaimed, her tone carrying a mix of anger and childish stubbornness. The idea of losing another person she cared about was unbearable.

Harry sighed and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I won't be long. I'll be back as soon as I can," he reassured her, though the words felt hollow even to him.

"No!" Fleur protested, her voice rising with desperation. "I won't let you go, I'm coming with—"

Before she could finish, Harry pointed his wand at her and whispered a soft incantation. Fleur's eyes fluttered closed, and she slumped forward as the sleeping charm took effect. Harry caught her before she fell and gently laid her on the ground.

"Sorry, Fleur," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her face. He then called for a House Elf, who appeared with a soft pop. "Take her back to her room, make sure she's comfortable," Harry instructed.

The House Elf nodded and, with a snap of its fingers, disappeared with Fleur, leaving Harry alone in the darkness. For a moment, he stood there, looking up at the sky. Then, with a deep breath, he transformed into his Thunderbird form. His massive wings unfurled, shimmering in the moonlight as he cawed softly. With a powerful flap of his wings, he lifted off the ground, ascending into the night sky.

The wind rushed past him as he flew, the Château quickly disappearing from view below.

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The battlefield in the magical village of Lacroix, one of the key strongholds in Marseille, was a scene of utter chaos and destruction. This village was owned by the Lefebvre family, one of the three powerful families that controlled the majority of France's magical plant trade. The other two families, the Dubois and the Fontaine families, had their own villages under siege, but it was here in Lacroix that Grindelwald had focused his most brutal assault. The village, once a place of serene beauty, was now a war-torn hellscape. Buildings were shattered, their ruins smoking from the relentless onslaught of spells. The air was thick with the acrid scent of burning wood and the metallic tang of blood. Spells flew in every direction, lighting up the sky with bursts of color and power. Explosions echoed through the streets, each one tearing apart the cobblestone pathways and leaving craters.

Screams filled the air—screams of pain, of fear, of people begging for mercy. They were drowned out only by the sounds of battle—the clash of magic against magic, the roar of elemental forces being unleashed. Fire, water, and lightning were wielded and unleashed upon people, turning the battlefield into a nightmare. Men and women, young and old, fought desperately to defend their homes, but many were cut down, their bodies lying broken in the streets or flung through the air by the force of explosions. Grindelwald's forces were merciless. Giants, towering and brutal, swung massive clubs that flattened anything in their path—be it buildings, trees, or people. Acromantulas skittered through the village, their massive forms leaping over rubble to pounce on the unwary. Inferi, reanimated corpses driven by dark magic, shambled forward, impervious to pain as they overwhelmed their terrified victims.

Amidst the chaos, a man stood fighting with all his might. This was Antoine Lefebvre, the head of the Lefebvre family and the protector of Lacroix. His face was lined with the strain of battle, sweat and blood mixing to streak his once-proud features. His wand moved fast, casting defensive spells that barely held against a barrage of dark curses. He deflected curses and hexes, his own spells retaliating quickly, but it was clear he was being overwhelmed. The sounds of battle were deafening, and Antoine could feel the despair creeping into his heart as he saw his people falling around him. A particularly powerful explosion rocked the ground near him, sending Antoine tumbling through the air. He landed hard, the breath knocked out of him as he skidded across the ground, finally coming to a stop against a pile of rubble. Gasping, he crawled behind the remains of a wall, his body screaming in pain from the impact. This was the worst fight yet—most of their best wizards were down, either dead or too injured to continue. Grindelwald's acolytes had torn through their defenses, and now the dark wizard's minions were finishing the job.

As Antoine caught his breath, a deafening roar tore through the battlefield, freezing the blood in his veins. He dared to peek over the edge of his cover, his eyes widening in terror as he saw the source of the roar. Swooping down from the sky, its scales glinting in the light of the burning village, was a Swedish Short-Snout dragon. Its massive wings beat the air, creating gusts of wind that sent debris flying. The dragon's eyes, glowing with malevolent intelligence, scanned the village with predatory intent.

"Run! Everyone, run!" Antoine shouted, his voice cracking with panic. But even as he screamed the order, he knew it was futile. There was no escaping the wrath of a dragon, not with so many of their fighters already dead or wounded, and with anti-apparition wards being erected they were finished. The dragon's maw opened wide, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth, and from deep within its throat, a brilliant orange glow began to build. The heat was unbearable, even from a distance, and then the flames erupted, a torrent of fire that swept across the village like a wave of death. The firestorm consumed everything in its path—houses, trees, and people alike. Those caught in the open were incinerated in seconds, their screams cut off as they were reduced to ashes. The lucky ones died instantly; the less fortunate were left writhing in agony as the flames devoured them.

Antoine watched in helpless horror as the dragon's fire engulfed the village he had sworn to protect. His people—friends, neighbors, family—burned before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He ducked behind the wall, clutching his wand, knowing that all was lost. The heat was intense, even through his protective spells, and the sound of the roaring flames was deafening. The once-beautiful village of Lacroix was being reduced to nothing but charred ruins and ashes. The battle was lost, and Antoine could do nothing but pray that some of his people had managed to escape the carnage. But even as he prayed, he knew that hope was a fleeting thing in the face of such overwhelming power.

The dragon roared again, its flames continuing to pour down upon the village, turning the night into a hellish inferno. But then, something unexpected happened. Cutting through the chaos and flames, a sharp cry echoed across the battlefield—a cry that sounded almost like that of a massive eagle. Antoine's head snapped up, and he saw others around him doing the same. They looked up into the dark, smoke-filled sky, where thick clouds had begun to gather unnaturally fast. Moments later, the heavens opened up, and a heavy downpour began, soaking the battlefield in an instant.

The dragon, poised to unleash another torrent of flames upon the village, was suddenly attacked from above. Out of the storm clouds descended a massive bird, larger than anything Antoine had ever seen. Its feathers shimmered with streaks of blue and white, and its wings crackled with electricity. It was a Thunderbird, a creature of legend, and it was now engaged in a fierce battle with the dragon.

The Thunderbird struck first, releasing a bolt of lightning from its wings that crackled through the sky and struck the dragon's back. The dragon roared in pain and fury, its massive form twisting in the air as it tried to avoid the attack. But the Thunderbird was relentless, diving at the dragon and colliding with it mid-air.

The two creatures clashed with terrifying force, their roars filling the night as they tore into each other. The dragon's jaws snapped at the Thunderbird, trying to sink its teeth into its opponent, but the Thunderbird was quick, dodging the attack and clawing at the dragon's scales with its talons. The dragon, not to be outdone, unleashed a torrent of flames, which the Thunderbird barely managed to avoid, though its feathers were singed by the intense heat.

Antoine watched in awe, his eyes wide as he witnessed the battle above him. The sight of these two mythical creatures locked in combat was something out of a nightmare, yet he couldn't tear his eyes away. The Thunderbird, despite its size and power, seemed to be at a disadvantage as the dragon's flames continued to scorch the air around it. But the Thunderbird was tenacious, its beak snapping at the dragon's neck, trying to find a weak spot.

The dragon roared in fury as the Thunderbird's beak finally found purchase, drawing blood. The dragon thrashed wildly, trying to dislodge its attacker, and for a moment, it seemed as though the Thunderbird might be able to bring the beast down. But the dragon was strong, and with a powerful twist of its body, it managed to untangle itself from the Thunderbird's grasp.

The two creatures separated, circling each other warily in the stormy sky. The dragon's eyes burned with rage as it prepared to attack again. It reared back, taking a deep breath before releasing a massive wave of flames directly at the Thunderbird. But the Thunderbird was ready. With a mighty flap of its wings, it created a gust of wind so powerful that it redirected the flames away, scattering the fire harmlessly into the air.

The dragon growled in frustration, its fiery breath having no effect. The Thunderbird didn't waste any time. It darted through the sky, weaving between the dragon's flames, and closed the distance between them in an instant. Another bolt of lightning shot from its wings, striking the dragon directly in the chest, making the beast stagger in mid-air.

Before the dragon could recover, the Thunderbird struck again, this time with a powerful dive. It slammed into the dragon, its beak piercing through the scales and sinking deep into the dragon's throat. The dragon's roar was cut short, replaced by a wet, gurgling sound as blood poured from the wound.

Antoine watched, barely able to breathe, as the dragon's massive body convulsed, its wings flapping weakly as it tried to stay aloft. But the damage was done. The Thunderbird, with a final burst of strength, ripped its beak free and pulled away, leaving the dragon to plummet toward the earth. The dragon's body twisted and turned as it fell, crashing into the ground with a thunderous impact that shook the village. The ground trembled beneath Antoine's feet as the dragon's massive form hit the earth, crushing what little remained of the village's structures.

The storm raged above, dark clouds swirling as the Thunderbird circled, gathering the fury of the sky. Lightning crackled and arced, striking the ground. Each bolt found its mark, targeting the giants that had been terrorizing the village. One by one, the massive creatures were struck down, their bodies convulsing as electricity coursed through them, burning them from the inside out. The giants let out deafening roars of pain and anger. Within moments, the ground was littered with their lifeless bodies, smoke rising from their charred remains. As the last giant fell, the Thunderbird let out a final, echoing cry before swooping down toward the battlefield. The villagers, still reeling from the sight of the dragon's defeat, watched in shock as the mighty bird descended, its wings beating the air with a power that could be felt even from a distance. But what happened next stunned them even more. Just before the Thunderbird reached the ground, its form shimmered and shifted, transforming mid-flight. By the time it landed, the Thunderbird was gone, replaced by a young wizard with white hair and piercing blue eyes—Harry Potter.

Antoine, who had been struggling to catch his breath behind a crumbling wall, stared in disbelief. He had seen many things in his life, but this... this was beyond anything he could have imagined. The villagers who were still fighting paused, their eyes wide as they took in the sight of the boy who had just fought a dragon and a swarm of giants as if they were mere pests. Harry didn't waste any time. Raising his wand, he summoned a torrent of flames that roared to life, shooting out in all directions. The inferi, twisted and grotesque, were consumed by the fire, their bodies crumbling to ash as the flames swept over them. The other creatures, sensing their doom, turned and fled into the darkness, their howls of fear echoing in the distance.

But the victory was short-lived. The dark wizards who had been leading the attack were not about to let their forces be decimated without retaliation. With shouts of rage, they began hurling powerful Bombarda Maxima spells at the village, each one more destructive than the last. Explosions rocked the ground as the spells hit, sending debris flying and causing what little remained of the buildings to collapse. Antoine's heart sank. He knew this was the end. They were outmatched, outnumbered, and out of time. Closing his eyes, he whispered a silent prayer, wishing he could see his wife one last time.

"Protego Maxima!" Harry's voice rang out, cutting through the chaos. Antoine's eyes snapped open just in time to see the young wizard standing firm, both hands outstretched—one holding his wand, the other empty but glowing with raw magic. A shimmering shield formed around the village, its translucent surface rippling as the bombardment continued.

The dark wizards didn't relent. They poured their magic into the assault, spell after spell crashing into the shield with explosive force. But Harry stood his ground, chanting over and over, "Protego Maxima, Fianto Duri, Repello Inimicum." The shield began to stabilize, its surface hardening under the relentless barrage.

Summoning all his strength, Harry called forth Aries. The spirit appeared beside him, its form shimmering with power. "Keep the shield up," Harry commanded, his voice steady despite the strain in his eyes.

"Yes, master," Aries responded, taking over the task of maintaining the shield.

Harry turned to Antoine, who was still too shocked to speak. Grabbing the man by the shoulders, Harry shook him, snapping him back to reality. "How long will it take to repair the village and get the wards back up?" Harry demanded, his voice urgent.

Antoine blinked, struggling to process everything that had just happened. "I... I don't know... maybe a few days... but we don't have that long," he stammered.

"Then do it now," Harry ordered. "The shield won't last once they bring in the heavy hitters. We need those wards up, or we're done for."

Antoine nodded, still in shock, but Harry's words had lit a fire under him. He scrambled to his feet and began rallying the remaining villagers, directing them to start the repairs as quickly as possible. Harry turned back to the shield, watching as the dark wizards continued their assault. The spells were relentless, each one hammering against the barrier with enough force to shake the ground. It was only a matter of time before Grindelwald's acolytes would arrive, and when they did, he would make sure they paid for everything they had done.

he wouldn't stop until Grindelwald was wizard was dead.

(AN: So we are getting to the end of the first year now with the ending fight on the horizon. Harry is getting stronger as he gets more knowledgeable. He's a bit OP in this but tbf he does have the six eyes so it's hard not to make him OP. Anyway I hope you enjoyed the chapter.)

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