Atticus
I grip the hilt of my sword tighter, prowling forward.
If wands worked in this realm, I’d have chosen that instead. But this is the Muggle world. No magic spells. No Patronus to save me.
Just this sword, and the hope I trained hard enough.
I slash the blade through the air as I approach, knocking over a tower of plastic cups and an empty beer bottle. The men step back. All except Lord Grayson, who kneels, still bound, still trapped.
Good. I have no sympathy left for him. Not after discovering him committingvile actsagainst my sister’s feet earlier this week. Disgraceful. A Slytherin in disguise.
“What is this?” sneers the stranger next to Charlotte. He’s older. Greasy. “The kid gonna knight me or some shit?”
His Knockturn Alley henchmen cackle, the noise slamming into me like fireworks, too bright and loud. Iblink hard as stars explode behind my eyes. But I stamp my foot, grounding myself.
Focus, Atticus. Focus.
“I’m not joking!” I announce, raising my sword again. “Unhand her! Or I’ll strike you down.”
They laugh harder.
The floor vibrates under my socks, and the clapping splinters through my skull like sharp glass.
I flinch again, but keep my sword raised.
Today, I will save a damsel.
Today, I will be a champion.
The older man lets the gun slide from Charlotte’s mouth, grinning at me. He lifts the weapon, slow and casual.
I stare at the metal barrel. I know guns since Master Brax owns some. I know what happens next, too.
“Lift it, and you lose your hand,” I say, voice steady.
“Shoot the dumbass already,” growls the painted man.
The world slows. I see the gun rise.
I am Harry Potter.
I am brave.
I raise the sword over my head and slice, shouting, “Sectumsempra!”
Bang.
The world explodes.
My ears fill with knives of sound. The light blinds me. I collapse, curling into a ball, palms smashing against my ears to block outthe agony.
Ringing. More blinding white stars behind my eyelids. Slamming metal in my bones.
Make it stop. Make it stop.
Footsteps pound around me like earthquakes.
Voices shout, too jumbled, too many. I stay curled, breathing in short, sharp gasps.
