The Chaos of Claws and Spells
Roar! Roar!
Near the center of the square, red flames flashed as enchanted staffs swung with precision. The furious howls of werewolves, mixed with the sharp whistling of their claws slicing through the air, filled the chaotic battlefield. Ian and the other wizards fought with unwavering focus, their movements a dance of practiced efficiency and raw determination.
Behind the werewolves, the Death Eaters began to advance, carefully maneuvering around the fray.
The werewolf battlefield was a cacophony of snarls, roars, and flashes of magic. Though the Death Eaters viewed werewolves as little more than expendable pawns, they were careful not to provoke the beasts. Casting spells indiscriminately might accidentally harm the werewolves, and given their feral state, there was no doubt that an enraged werewolf would turn on them.
The leader of the Death Eaters, Phineas, sneered as he observed the chaos. He couldn't help but recall Lupin—the mild-mannered werewolf he once encountered—and how even he succumbed to madness on a full moon night.
Werewolves are filthy creatures, Phineas thought with disdain. They belong at the bottom, where they'll always remain.
Yet, despite his contempt, Phineas adhered to the Dark Lord's orders. The task was clear: eliminate the students. Those who killed the most would be rewarded with powerful dark magic.
Casting Disillusionment Charms, the Death Eaters split into two groups, flanking the square to encircle the remaining students. Their sinister smiles and whispered incantations promised a grim fate for their young targets.
Ga! Ga! Ga!
Phineas' wicked laughter echoed as he crept closer. But as he rounded the battlefield, he froze.
Standing directly ahead was a group of wizard students, arranged in a tight formation. At their forefront was a young red-haired girl—Wanda.
Even though he was hidden by the Disillusionment Charm, Phineas felt her gaze pierce through him. A chill ran down his spine.
Impossible... she sees me?
Panic flickered briefly in his mind, but Phineas quickly raised his wand. Without hesitation, he began the incantation for the Killing Curse.
"Avada Kedavra!"
As the dark green glow ignited at the tip of his wand, something strange happened.
His throat suddenly felt raw, and he coughed mid-incantation. The glow dimmed momentarily before flaring back to life. The spell's energy faltered, becoming erratic.
"Avada, cough, Kedavra!"
The incantation was completed, but the spell's path veered wildly. Before Phineas could react, the curse struck him in the back. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Behind him, one of his own men stared in horror.
"I-I didn't mean to!" the dark wizard stammered, looking down at the stone he had tripped over. His misstep had caused his own Killing Curse to strike Phineas.
The surrounding Death Eaters froze, their minds reeling. Before they could process the bizarre scene, several wands turned instinctively toward the "traitor."
"Traitor!"
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Five Killing Curses shot toward the unfortunate dark wizard, striking him down instantly.
The tension among the Death Eaters snapped.
"Wait—Top wasn't a traitor!" one of them muttered, glancing uneasily at the fallen body.
"Could it be a curse?!" another suggested hesitantly.
The idea of a curse unsettled them further, though the absence of detectable magic made it seem unlikely.
As confusion spread through their ranks, Wanda watched from the opposite side of the square. A knowing smile played on her lips.
You wanted to kill me without paying the price? she thought, her brass-colored rings glinting faintly in the light. Master Lockhart's magic and my talent say otherwise.
Wanda raised her hands, the rings glowing with a faint red aura.
"Assist as planned," she called to her fellow students. "I'll support you!"
With a wave of her hands, red beams of light shot outward, forming a shimmering field that enveloped the area.
The students behind her cheered, feeling a surge of power. Under the influence of the red-tinged field, their wands became more responsive, their spells more potent.
"Petrifucus Totalus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
"Thunderbolt!"
Though the students used basic offensive spells, the amplification provided by Wanda's field made them devastating. Each spell struck with double the force, their accuracy unmatched.
The Death Eaters, meanwhile, were in disarray.
"Cough, cough!"
"Avada—ugh!"
Their incantations faltered. Some found their magic veering wildly off-course, while others experienced sudden muscle spasms that disrupted their spellcasting.
Even those who managed to release their spells found them significantly weakened, their effects easily deflected by the students.
The field's influence turned the tide decisively in the students' favor.
Grindelwald, watching from the stands, leaned forward in his seat. His eyes gleamed with interest as he observed Wanda's performance.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "There's something about her... a familiarity."
He couldn't shake the sense that her magic resonated with the threads of fate. Though it wasn't pure destiny magic, it carried an unmistakable echo of it.
For a moment, Grindelwald allowed himself to imagine the possibilities. A talent like hers—probability manipulation—was rare beyond measure. To alter the likelihood of events, to shape outcomes with precision... it was a gift as dangerous as it was powerful.
Lockhart's voice broke his reverie.
"Your Excellency, the Dark Lord," Lockhart said with a slight smirk, "it seems my students are performing admirably."
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