Chapter 22: Flying is Forbidden

A voice, cold and sharp as splintered ice, hissed from the oppressive darkness. It spoke two words that felt ancient and utterly profane.

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was no bang, no explosion, only a sickening, rushing sound like a phantom wind. A jet of blinding green light erupted from the shadows. It was not a light that illuminated; it was a light that devoured all others, a bolt of pure, annihilating energy that painted the damp cavern walls in a ghastly, verdant glow.

The green light reflected in Dudley's eyes, and he felt Griphook's life force extinguish, dissolving into nothingness in an instant. It was a clean, absolute erasure of existence.

A spell that kills instantly. The thought was cold and clinical. In his past life, death was often a slow, maddening decay of the soul. This was different—a clean, surgical strike of pure malice. A different, more straightforward kind of horror. In that fleeting, lurid green light, he saw the attacker—a figure completely enveloped in a black, tattered cloak, holding a slender piece of wood that focused this terrible power. A magic wand.

"Be careful!" Hagrid roared, his own reaction a moment too late but driven by pure instinct. He threw his massive body in front of the boys, a wall of moleskin and muscle, as he fumbled for his tattered pink umbrella.

For Harry, the world had ceased to exist. The sound, the cold, the fear—it all melted away, leaving only that terrible, familiar green. It was the color of his nightmares, the phantom light that had haunted the edges of his memory for a decade. Now, it had a context. Now, it had a purpose. It was the color of murder. It was the last thing his parents ever saw.

Bang!

A bolt of crimson rage shot from the darkness. Hagrid raised his umbrella, a translucent barrier shimmering into existence for a split second. The red light struck it, and the shield shattered like glass. The curse slammed into Hagrid's chest with the force of a battering ram.

"Argh!" The half-giant screamed, a sound of pure agony, as his enormous body was thrown backward. He crashed to the stone floor with a boom that shook the very cavern, and then lay still, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps.

Damn it! Dudley had hoped Hagrid could hold the line, but he'd been taken out in a single move.

"Run… run…" Hagrid choked out, his voice a weak, strained whisper.

Dudley didn't hesitate. He grabbed the dazed, unmoving Harry and dragged him behind a nearby stalagmite, the rough stone scraping against his back.

Whoosh!

Another dark red curse slammed into their cover, exploding in a shower of razor-sharp rock. The air filled with the acrid smell of ozone and pulverized stone. Dudley yanked Harry out of the way just as a massive stalactite, dislodged from the ceiling, crashed down right where they had been standing, shattering into a thousand pieces.

"Harry Potter," a low, rasping voice echoed through the cavern. "The Boy Who Lived." It was an unnatural sound, like stone grinding against bone.

At the sound, Harry's body went rigid. He didn't recognize the voice, but the feeling it invoked—the sheer, cold dread—transported him back to the green flash in his nightmares.

Voldemort. Dudley's expression hardened. Damn it all. I just came to the bank to get some money, and I run into the Dark Lord? This was beyond unlucky. Had Voldemort somehow known Harry would be here? Or was his target the object in Vault 713, and finding Harry was just a murderous coincidence? His Beyonder mind raced, trying to find logic in the chaos.

"You should run," Harry said, his voice trembling but firm as he pushed weakly against Dudley. "His target is me. I can buy you some time." In that moment of terror, a flicker of defiant courage ignited within him. His cousin might have been a monster, but he was innocent in this.

"Do you really think a creature like that leaves witnesses?" Dudley countered, his voice cold and pragmatic.

"Aren't you going to come out?" the rasping voice called again, closer this time.

The silent alarm had been tripped, but help was not coming quickly enough. Dudley's mind raced. He made a decision. He scraped the back of his hand across a sharp edge of the broken stalagmite, the pain a welcome, grounding sensation. Blood welled up, dark and crimson. He reached into his coat and gripped the cool, metallic surface of Trunsoest's Brass Book.

As his blood flowed onto the ancient bronze cover, a sacrifice and a payment, the intricate carvings began to glow with a faint, baleful light. The book seemed to drink his blood, a low hum vibrating through his coat. Sealed Artifact 0-02 was activating.

"The goblins cannot save you," the voice sneered. "Confringo!"

The curse struck their hiding place not with a binding spell, but with pure, explosive force. The stalagmite detonated. Harry screamed as the concussive blast threw him against the far wall like a doll. He slid to the ground, his vision swimming. Dudley was thrown in the other direction. Hagrid was silent, his fate unknown.

Harry struggled to lift his head. He was alone. This time, there was no one to stand between him and the flash of green light.

Mum, Dad, I'm coming to join you. The thought was strangely peaceful. His magical career was over before it had even begun. He had just found hope, a future, a world where he belonged, and now it was being ripped away by the monster who had murdered his family.

The robed figure leaped into the air, its form dissolving into a shadowy, bat-like creature that swooped toward him. It seemed to want to savor the moment, to look upon the Boy Who Lived before finishing the job.

But then, something impossible happened.

An extremely terrifying aura, the cold, impersonal weight of an absolute law, erupted from where Dudley lay. It was a power that did not ask or persuade; it simply was.

A voice spoke, not with human emotion, but with the chilling finality of reality itself being rewritten.

"Flying is forbidden here."

The next moment, the bat-like creature, which had been soaring meters in the air, simply dropped. It didn't glide or fall; it plummeted as if gravity had suddenly multiplied tenfold just for him, hitting the stone floor with a sickening thud. Its own magic was rendered useless, completely overridden by a higher, colder logic.

***

(End of Chapter)

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