0436 Mystery

In the crumbling, withering world, a vibrant green barrier, shimmering like an emerald aurora, suddenly shattered into a million glimmering shards. These ethereal fragments, each pulsing with a soft magical glow, drifted upwards, gradually fading into the inky night sky like distant stars.

Sirius stood frozen, his heart pounding like a war drum in his chest. A single droplet of sweat slid slowly from his furrowed brow down to the bridge of his nose. In a moment of dazed curiosity, he reached out with a trembling hand to touch it, half-expecting to feel the warm stickiness of blood. Instead, his fingertip met only the cool, sharp sensation of sweat.

The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning: that moment, that fleeting instant when the green barrier had materialized, had been his closest brush with death yet.

"Who's there?!" Melanov's harsh voice cut through the tense silence like a knife, her words dripping with a mixture of fury and fear. Her eyes, wild and searching, darted around the devastated box, seeking the source of the mysterious magic that had thwarted her attack.

As if in response to her words, a gentle breeze began to stir, carrying with it a fresh, invigorating scent that seemed entirely out of place in the chaos of the ruined stadium.

Flowers, composed entirely of ethereal emerald light, bloomed out of thin air. These dreamlike blossoms took root amidst the debris and destruction. In a matter of seconds, they grew and transformed, morphing into sturdy vines as thick as a man's arm. The magical flowers moved with purpose and intelligence, climbing upwards with surprising speed. They wrapped themselves firmly around each of the bending support beams.

As the vines tightened their grip, a change came over the collapsing world of the stadium box. The creaking and groaning of stressed metal gradually quieted, replaced by an almost supernatural stillness.

Hum—

Suddenly, a new phenomenon captured everyone's attention. A single point of green light, no larger than a firefly, appeared in the air directly in front of Sirius. But this was no ordinary light – it pulsed and grew, emanating an aura of ancient, primal magic. Like a miniature black hole, it began to draw countless brilliant green rays from nothingness.

Amidst this blossoming light, a lady wearing a cream-colored Muggle-style long dress and holding a grapevine staff slowly materialized.

As this extraordinary scene unfolded, the Weasley brothers and Hermione had been working frantically to rescue Harry. With great effort, they finally managed to pull his unconscious body out from under the raft-like board that had fallen during the attack. Harry's face was ashen but the slight rise and fall of his chest provided a glimmer of hope.

Hermione, her hands shaking but her mind focused, was doing her best to stop the bleeding from Harry's scorched arm. Beside her, Ginny had collapsed onto Harry's chest with loud, heart-wrenching sobs that echoed through the damaged box.

However, the appearance of the mysterious lady brought all activity to a sudden halt. As they all turned to stare in amazement at the woman who had materialized in such an extraordinary manner.

"My lady, was it you who saved me?" Sirius even forgot to run to Harry's side, staring at the suddenly appeared woman with a shocked expression.

"You're not a witch!" Melanov, however, was far from impressed. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at the hazy face of the woman who had appeared. Through gritted teeth, she spat out her words like venom. "Who do you work for, and why did you stop me?"

Before anyone could respond to Melanov's hostile interrogation, a new sound cut through the tense atmosphere.

Whoosh-bang!

With a resounding whoosh followed by a thunderous bang, a bunch of fireworks suddenly shot up from beneath the Quidditch pitch. They soared high into the night sky before exploding into a strange, intricate pattern.

Seeing the pattern, Sys and Cancun's expressions immediately changed. Hovering outside the box on the broomsticks, they shouted urgently at Melanov, who remained locked in a standoff with Cliodna.

"It's the signal to retreat, Melanov!" Sys called out, his voice tinged with desperation. "Let's go!"

"No!" But, Melanov yelled back in frustration, "That guy's head is worth Ten thousand Galleons. I have to kill him; I was so close!"

Sys and Cancun exchanged a look of disbelief. "Crazy Bitch!" Cancun muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

In their line of work, no mission, no matter how lucrative, was more important than preserving their own lives. The woman who had suddenly appeared in the box exuded an aura of extraordinary power, and neither Sys nor Cancun had any desire to linger and find out just how formidable she might be. If Melanov insisted on pursuing those Ten-thousand Galleons at the risk of her own life, they were more than willing to let her face the consequences alone.

Without a moment's hesitation, Sys and Cancun kicked off hard, their brooms shooting upwards with a burst of speed. They leapt over the stands and disappeared into the velvet embrace of the night sky.

Cliodna's gaze never left Melanov as she addressed the now-isolated dark witch. Her voice was calm and measured, without any hint of fear or uncertainty. "You've made an unwise decision—" she said, as if merely stating a fact.

Cliodna slowly raised her grapevine staff. The magical staff began to pulse with an inner light, It was clear she was preparing to take some action. But just as she was about to act, her movement suddenly froze. Her head turned sharply towards the railing outside the box, her emerald eyes narrowing as if sensing something.

In that moment, a new voice came through.

"Ginny!" The sound of Mr. Weasley's concerned call echoed through the damaged box, causing everyone to flinch. His next words tumbled out in rapid succession, each name tinged with worry, "Bill, Charlie, Fred, George, Ron, are you alright?"

Before he even came into view, Mr. Weasley had already called out the names of all his children, his voice growing louder as he approached. The sound of rushing air announced his arrival, and finally, Arthur Weasley came into everyone's view.

His usually neat robes were in complete disarray, torn and scorched in places. Two bloody red scratches stained his left cheek, still oozing small droplets of blood. His sparse hair, normally carefully combed over his balding pate, was now plastered to his head with sweat, giving him a wild, disheveled appearance. As soon as Viktor Krum's broomstick came to a halt, Mr. Weasley leapt off, his feet hitting the floor of the box with a solid thud.

His eyes, wide with worry, scanned the scene before him. Only after confirming that all his children were indeed present and apparently unharmed did Mr. Weasley himself let out a slight sigh of relief. The tension in his shoulders visibly eased, but it was a short-lived breather.

In the next instant, his gaze fell upon Harry's prone form on the floor, and the brief moment of relief vanished. His face, which had just begun to relax, immediately tensed up again, lines of worry etching themselves deeply into his face.

With the experience of a man accustomed to assessing dangerous situations, Mr. Weasley quickly took stock of the scene. In an extremely short time, he had judged who the enemy was in this box. His wand arm shot out, pointing directly at Melanov, while he turned his head slightly towards the group of children surrounding Harry.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice tight with concern. "How's Harry's condition?"

"He was hit by a rock, Dad!" Fred explained hurriedly, his voice cracking slightly with stress. "But he should still be alive!"

As Mr. Weasley processed this information, Sirius seized the opportunity to gather more intelligence about the situation. "How's it looking downstairs, Arthur?" he asked urgently. Then, realizing someone was missing, he added, "Where's Percy?"

"The spectators are being evacuated," Mr. Weasley informed. "That firework we saw just now should be the agreed signal for these attackers to retreat. They're all withdrawing, and our people are in pursuit." He paused for a breath before adding, "Percy is with Barty, helping to evacuate the spectators!"

Sirius nodded grimly, absorbing the information. His eyes hardened as he turned back to face Melanov, his wand never wavering from its target. "Well then—" he said, his voice low and dangerous, "The tables have turned. Now it's two or three of us against one." His lips curled into a humorless smile as he laid out the options. "You have two choices: put down your wand and surrender, or continue to resist and die here. Make your choice!"

Melanov's response was as cold as ice, her voice dripping with disdain. "I'm sorry—" she said, though there was no hint of apology in her tone. "I don't want either of those options!"

Just as the tension in the room reached its breaking point, threatening to explode into violence, an unexpected voice cut through the standoff. "Whoever can capture this dark wizard," came the gasping announcement, "I'll apply for them to receive a First Class Order of Merlin from the International Confederation of Wizards!"

All eyes turned to see Fudge struggling to lift the heavy wooden board that had been pressing down on him. His face was red with exertion, and he was holding his forehead as if nursing a painful headache. It seemed he had just regained consciousness.

Despite the Minister's dramatic offer, Melanov paid no attention to Sirius or the newly arrived Mr. Weasley. Her cold gaze was fixed only on Cliodna, who seemed unrelated to everything happening here.

"I'll ask one more time," Melanov said, her voice low and menacing. "Who exactly are you, and why did you appear here!"

This question, dripping with suspicion and barely concealed caution, wasn't just intriguing to Melanov. Every person in the box was curious about the mysterious woman who had appeared so dramatically in their midst.

'Who exactly was this seemingly very powerful young lady, and why did she appear here? Which country's witch was she, and why, despite saving Sirius and potentially all their lives, was she so reluctant to reveal her true face?'

The young lady who had become the focus of everyone's attention remained silent in the face of these unspoken questions. Instead, she moved her feet slightly, slowly walking towards Harry.

Seeing this, Hermione spread her arms wide in a gesture of defense. "What... what are you going to do?" she asked nervously, her voice trembling slightly.

Although this lady with the unique demeanor had undoubtedly saved Sirius and quite possibly all their lives, her unknown background and mysterious appearance still didn't allow Hermione to lower her guard completely.

"The wound on his arm needs to be treated immediately, or it will be very troublesome—" Cliodna said calmly.

Prompted by her words, Ron and the others immediately looked down at Harry. As they did, a collective gasp of horror escaped their lips.

Previously, the wound on Harry's arm had appeared to be just a nasty scorch mark. Now, however, the situation had taken a dire turn. The burn had spread alarmingly, creeping up Harry's arm like some living thing. The wound was bleeding profusely the crimson liquid seeping through Hermione's makeshift bandage and pooling on the floor beneath him. But it was the color of the wound itself that was truly horrifying – where once there had been bloody red flesh, now there was only a deep, unnatural black.

The sight of the wound, coupled with the memory of the middle-aged wizard's fate after colliding with Melanov earlier, caused everyone's face to turn pale with fear.

"Please... please help him, I beg you!" Hermione, terrified by Harry's wound, quickly made way, her tone pleading.

Cliodna gently moved her staff, and Harry's limp body floated up from the ground effortlessly, coming to rest before her.

Emerald light, the same vibrant hue as the barrier that had saved Sirius, blossomed from Cliodna's fingertips. It swept over Harry's wound like a gentle tide, effortlessly erasing the magic of death and evil that had taken root there.

In a matter of seconds, the skin on Harry's arm became smooth once more. As the wound healed, color returned to Harry's face. By the time his feet gently touched the ground again, he had already opened his hazy green eyes.

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione's exclamation was half sob, half laugh as she covered her mouth, tears of relief and joy streaming down her face. The emotional rollercoaster of the past few minutes had taken its toll on her.

Ron, his freckled face a mixture of concern and elation, immediately leaned in close to Harry. "Mate, how are you feeling?" he asked anxiously, his eyes scanning Harry's face for any signs of lingering pain or confusion. "You gave us a right scare there!"

Harry blinked several times, his mind struggling to catch up with the rapidly unfolding events around him. His eyes were clouded with confusion as he tried to piece together what had happened. "What..." he began, his voice hoarse and uncertain, "What happened?"

Mr. Weasley, still maintaining his defensive stance with his wand raised, quickly interjected, "It was this young lady who saved you, Harry!"

"Oh, thank you—" The dazed Harry didn't immediately notice the unfamiliar lady beside him. Only after Mr. Weasley's reminder did he turn his gaze towards her. At first glance, Harry's brow suddenly furrowed. He blinked hard; his eyes filled with confusion.

"You're welcome, Mr. Harry Potter—" Cliodna nodded slightly. Her consistently calm tone now rippled with a hint of urgency, "Now that you've regained your health, I have a bold request. "Would you be willing to accompany me somewhere?"

'Accompany somewhere?'

Harry's blinking increased in speed and intensity, a clear indication that his mind was rapidly clearing of the fog that had enveloped it.

'What did she mean?

'Where did this mysterious lady want to invite Harry to go?'

Everyone in the box was bewildered by this unexpected turn of events. They stared at the mysterious and powerful lady in confusion, not understanding what she was talking about.

The Weasleys exchanged worried glances, while Hermione's brow furrowed in deep thought, as if trying to recall some crucial piece of information that might explain this bizarre situation.

Suddenly, a harsh laugh cut through the tension.

"Ha, I understand now!" Melanov's voice rang out, dripping with a mixture of triumph and bitterness. Her eyes gleamed with a manic light as she focused her gaze on Cliodna. "Your target is Harry Potter, isn't it?" she accused as a cruel smile appeared on her lips. "Our goals don't conflict, do they? We can work together!"

But before anyone could react to Melanov's words, a flash of realization suddenly crossed Harry's face. His eyes widened in shock, and a look of panic began to spread across his face. "It's you," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "I remember you now, you're the woman from my dream!"

'Dream? What did this mean now?'

Cliodna frowned slightly. She too didn't understand what Harry Potter was saying, but Sirius did.

"Get away from that woman, Harry!"

Sirius let out the loudest roar of the night.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl in that moment, as if the universe itself was holding its breath. Sirius, Mr. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie all lunged toward Harry, their faces twisted with urgency and fear. Harry himself, jolted into action by Sirius's cry, began to retreat, his body finally catching up with the alarm bells ringing in his mind. But what should have been a swift escape felt agonizingly slow, as if he were moving through thickened air.

Cliodna effortlessly caught Harry's arm in a grip that was both gentle and unbreakable. Her raised grapevine wand was already glowing faintly as the air around her and Harry began to shimmer with signs of imminent apparition.

But just then, a blinding bolt of lightning suddenly flashed across the clear night sky, illuminating the entire Quidditch pitch in stark, brilliant white light.

In the wake of the lightning, the atmosphere in the box began to change. The air, which had been stagnant with tension and fear, suddenly began to tremble. It was as if an immense, invisible weight was pressing down on everything and everyone. Under this heavy, oppressive force, gravity-like streams materialized in the air. These visible currents of power flowed from top to bottom, firmly pinning everyone, including Cliodna, in place.

Then, the voice that followed, echoing throughout the entire Quidditch pitch, made even Cliodna's emerald eyes widen in panic.

"It's been a while, Miss Cliodna—"

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