The courtroom doors closed behind them with a muted echo, the weight of the verdict still settling over the group.
Percival spoke quietly with Amelia Bones near the antechamber, formalities exchanged in clipped tones as clerks moved to finalize the writs of exoneration and compensation.
Arcturus lingered just behind, eyes scanning the Ministry halls with sharp awareness beneath his carefully measured gait.
Sirius remained quiet, flanked by Ted and Andromeda, his expression unreadable.
At Percival's nod, they turned down the corridor toward the secured Floo network reserved for Wizengamot members and high-clearance personnel.
No one spoke. The sound of their footsteps carried down the polished stone passage as, one by one, they stepped into the emerald flame and disappeared.
Greater London - Myrddin Manor
May 6, 1991 ~ 2:00 P.M.
The fireplace in the receiving room flared green as Percival stepped through first. He adjusted the cuff of his robe and glanced around the room, taking in the polished floor, tall-backed chairs, and familiar wall hangings with practiced ease. The room still unchanged from the morning.
Josh followed close behind, brushing soot off his sleeve. He took a brief look around, noting the ornate Myrddin crest above the hearth and the faint shimmer of preservation charms in the mirror's frame. He stepped aside to make room for the others, letting out a slow breath as the weight of the day began to settle.
Ted Tonks arrived next, straightening his coat and scanning the entry with a subtle glance that suggested curiosity more than concern. This was only his second time visiting the home of a Most Ancient and Most Noble family after all.
Andromeda and Sirius came through together. Her hand remained lightly on his arm, steadying him. He paused just inside the hearth, blinking at the quiet room. His eyes moved slowly, taking in every detail as if he was expecting the walls to shatter. As if he still couldn't believe the events of the last 72 hours.
Arcturus appeared last, his arrival calm but not without flair. He gave the room a look, lips curling in faint amusement.
"Still the same. Just like fifty years ago. I see I'm not the only one who hasn't touched the upholstery."
Percival raised an eyebrow as he turned toward the hall.
"In the receiving room? Why would I? Come along. The family sitting room is where we should gather."
With that, he led them out, boots tapping quietly against the stone as they passed deeper into the manor.
~
Unlike most "traditional" family sitting rooms, the Myrddin family room had style, keeping up to date with the modern world.
Gone were the stiff-backed antiques and formal wing chairs. In their place sat a broad leather sectional, dark brown and broken-in just enough to look inviting. A pair of deep recliners flanked a low coffee table made of oak and dragon-bone. A plush rug stretched across the stone floor, softening the room's sharp angles. Sunlight poured in through the tall windows, warm and easy.
Percival stepped in first, expression carefully neutral, but his eyes flicked to Arcturus with the faintest glimmer of pride.
"New arrangement," he said. "Figured it was time this room served a purpose other than just posh banality."
Josh gave a low whistle and dropped onto the sectional, leaning back with a sigh. The leather gave just enough to make it dangerous, he could sink in and not want to get up.
"Bloody hell," he muttered. "You've outdone yourself, old man."
Ted and Andromeda guided Sirius toward one of the recliners. He didn't speak, just sat slowly, his eyes scanning the unfamiliar setup. Andromeda knelt beside him again, wand in hand, checking vitals with quiet efficiency.
Sirius's gaze flicked up to the ceiling. "Is it weird I feel like I'm dreaming?"
"No," Ted said gently. "Not even a little."
Josh reached for his wand, and summoned a glass bottle from the nearby drink cooler. A glass bottle floating to his hand in a subtle display of silent casting. Coke, chilled to perfection. He took a swig and let his head fall back against the cushion.
Arcturus entered last, cane tapping lightly on the stone. He eyed the new furniture with an arched brow, then smirked and eased into the other recliner without hesitation.
"You finally gave in to comfort," he said to Percival. "Your wife would have done this twenty years ago."
"She told me so. Repeatedly," Percival replied dryly, settling onto the arm of the sectional with his own drink in hand.
They all sat there for a while. No rush. No speeches. Just the long exhale of people coming home from a war they hadn't expected to win.
Josh leaned back on the sectional, Coke in hand, its chill bleeding through the glass. He let his eyes rest on the ceiling, the conversation around him soft and distant for the moment.
Ted glanced over at the bottle, then back to Josh. "Did you just… summon that from across the room?"
Josh didn't move. "Didn't think anyone'd notice."
Andromeda raised an eyebrow from where she sat near Sirius, still checking his pulse and pupil reaction. "Silent casting?"
Josh shrugged. "Felt easier than standing."
That earned a faint snort from Arcturus.
Ted tilted his head, thoughtful. "You're thirteen?"
Josh nodded.
"Going on fourteen," Percival added from his perch on the armrest. "And too stubborn by half."
Ted smiled a little, more surprised than anything else. "Most kids your age can't manage Accio with the book in front of them."
"I get bored easily," Josh said, not looking away from the ceiling.
There was no pride in his voice. Just fact.
Andromeda looked toward Percival. "That natural?"
Percival didn't answer right away. "Some of it."
Josh spoke before he could elaborate. "Does it matter?"
Andromeda leaned back. "Maybe. Maybe not."
Sirius shifted slightly in the recliner, his fingers twitching faintly in his lap. "He's not wrong to ask."
Josh looked toward him.
Sirius's voice was quiet, scratchy but focused. "People notice when a kid doesn't act like a kid. Especially in this country."
Josh gave a slow nod. "Yeah. But it's better than not being noticed at all."
That earned him a few raised eyebrows.
Arcturus gave a sharp huff of amusement. "Now that's dangerously close to philosophy, lad. You planning to start quoting centaurs next?"
Josh grinned faintly, taking another sip. "Only if they bring drinks."
Ted chuckled. "Well, that answers that."
And just like that, the mood eased again. Still soft around the edges, still fragile, but warming.
Myrddin Manor
Percival's office
4:45 PM
The room was quiet save for the ticking of the clock on the far wall and the soft creak of old wood as Josh shifted in one of the two well-worn leather armchairs by the window. His wand rested securely in its holster under his sleeve, untouched, since his accidental demonstration summoning a coke earlier while he was being lazy.
"So," Josh said, his voice low and even, "the runic binding theory makes a lot more sense if you compare it to coding syntax. I think you were right about using modular structure instead of nested glyph chains. I tested a few layouts with inert sequences. Stable framework, better compression."
Percival, seated across from him with a cup of tea in hand, gave a thoughtful nod. "And the transfer rate?"
"Nearly double. Still not field-ready, but I'll refine it. I logged the pattern in my workshop journal."
"Good," Percival said simply, taking a slow sip. He didn't smile, but the satisfaction in his eyes was obvious. "You've taken to it even faster than I did."
Josh exhaled slowly, letting his eyes drift toward the window. "I've had time, and you laid the ground work for me."
A beat passed. Percival leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "Your birthday is coming up. Fourteen."
"Yeah."
"We'll be marking the occasion. You'll have new responsibilities as heir soon. Nothing heavy, just... expected. And there's something else. A surprise."
"What kind of surprise?"
"The surprise kind. You'll find out soon enough."
The conversation lulled. Josh leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes briefly.
*System, save here. *
The system devoid of its usual snark for once just flashed a confirmation and went back to just existing in the background.
Josh opened his eyes.
That's when it hit.
A sharp, piercing ping resounded across his senses like a bell struck underwater. He flinched, breath catching. The world tilted sideways, and for one awful moment, his thoughts blanked, then snapped back into focus.
**[Emergency Quest Triggered]
Issuer: World
Title: A Child Forsaken
Target: Harry James Potter
Status: In Imminent Danger
Location: 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey
Success Conditions:
•Investigate and confirm the condition of Harry James Potter
•Prevent immediate harm
•Ensure his extraction from the site within 30 minutes of arrival
Failure Conditions:
•Severe psychological trauma to the target
•Death of Harry Potter
•Death of Joshua Myrddin
•Death of Percival Myrddin
•Exposure of Magic to the mundane world.
Failure Consequences:
• War between the magical and non magical world
•Imprisonment in Azkaban. Loss of right to use magic.
•Collapse of Magical Government
Rewards: ???**
As Josh read the notification, unknown to him, in a voice not entirely his own, distant and unfocused, he spoke:
"Harry's in danger. 4 Privet Drive. Little Whinging. Surrey."
Percival had already set his tea down. He rose in one smooth motion and stepped across the room to stand in front of his grandson. "Has it already started?"
Josh looked up at him. His eyes were unfocused, not glazed, but filled with something foreign.
Percival nodded once, not needing any more than that. "Hold tight."
He grabbed Josh by the shoulder and turned on the spot, the room vanishing around them as they disapparated with a crack of compressed air and light.
The study fell silent, undisturbed but for the clock's steady ticking.
~
Little Whinging, Surrey
4:50 PM
They landed with the sharp twist of magic on a quiet street two blocks from their destination.
The air smelled of fresh cut grass and sun baked asphalt, the sort of suburban stillness that made you forget anything could ever go wrong. A pair of lawnmowers sat idle across the road, one of them still ticking faintly as it cooled. Josh's boots crunched lightly against the sidewalk as he adjusted his jacket and scanned the neighborhood. No barking dogs. No shouting. Just a breeze, a dozen flower beds in full bloom, and rows of nearly identical houses with well-kept hedges.
Privet Drive.
"Front door?" Josh asked, glancing sideways.
"Front door," Percival agreed. He shifted his weight, leather vest creaking faintly as he rolled his shoulders. The black cowboy hat stayed low over his eyes, shadowing the sharp angles of his face. Silver chain bracelets glinted in the sunlight.
They passed Number 6. Then Number 8.
By the time they reached Number 4, Josh could feel the hairs on his arms standing up from the wrongness of it. Cul-de-sacs in any world just had an innate wrongness to it.
The garden out front was immaculate. Petunia Dursley had spared no effort. The azaleas bloomed in tight, pruned clusters along the walk, and the tulips bordering the hedgerow had been sorted by color. Someone had edged the lawn this morning.
"Smells like fertilizer," Josh muttered, eyes narrowing. "Too normal."
Percival didn't respond. He just reached up and touched a simple silver pendant resting against his chest. His fingers paused.
Josh stopped beside him. "Something?"
Percival shook his head, slowly. "No, nothing. Possibly just this house. Could be the whole area. Feels artificial."
Josh gave a faint nod. His own feelings matching Percivals.
They reached the front step. Not a single person in the yard or even on the street since they entered it. Percival knocked.
They waited.
Footsteps, muffled. A latch. A pause.
The door cracked open.
Petunia Dursley looked out at them from the shadowed entryway.
She looked pale. Rakish. Wary. A little red on one side, like she had been in the garden too long. Her eyes were narrow, uncertain, and behind them was the kind of naked caution you didn't learn unless you had something you were hiding.
Josh saw the look of confusion come across her face as she tried to Identify them.
"Hi, Mrs. Dursley," Josh said evenly. "You don't know me yet. My name is Joshua Myrddin. This is my grandfather, Percival."
"Percival Myrddin..... Lily and my Great Uncle?" But so young-looking? She seemed shocked, before a sneer crept upon her face. "What do you freaks," she practically spat the word at them, " want with me?" She finished with vitriol.
Percival smiled faintly. "Not the greeting one expects from a diatant relative."
Josh nodded once. "We're here because something's about to happen. We need to talk. Can we come in?"
Petunia hesitated. Then she stepped back.
The moment they crossed the threshold, Josh felt it: the press of something cold and rigid latching into place.
Percival reached for the pendant again, brow tightening.
"There are wards present," he muttered.
Josh's system didn't ping. No alert. Just the low hum of logic in his chest telling him they were now in someone else's box.
He caught Petunia's eye. "We'll explain everything in a second. Just need to make sure it's safe first."
From the doorway, a car engine coughed to life somewhere nearby.
The time for subtlety was gone.
~
Petunia's lips pressed into a tight line as she led them into the hallway. She said nothing more, her posture stiff, as if she were forcing herself not to slam the door behind them.
Percival's gaze swept the entryway, taking in the framed family photos and spotless tile. Photos of Petunia, her husband Vernon and what could only be described as their son, Dudley.
Josh stayed just a step behind him, noting the strange mix of sterile cleanliness and something harsher just beneath it, like the whole place had been scrubbed to hide something ugly.
A faint creak sounded from beneath the staircase.
Josh's head turned immediately. Percival's did too.
The cupboard door.
"Is he-" Josh began, voice low.
Percival stepped forward. "Harry Potter?"
Silence.
Then, faintly, a voice. "Yes, sir?"
Petunia stiffened, but said nothing.
Percival's voice softened. "Would you mind opening the door, lad?"
There was a pause. Then the rattle the door as the cupboard creaked open.
Harry Potter stood inside, half-crouched to fit beneath the low ceiling. His clothes were several sizes too big, and his eyes, blinked at them in confusion.
Josh exhaled slowly, biting back a curse.
"Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. "They actually-"
"Later," Percival interjected quietly.
Harry looked between them. "Are you here to take me away?"
Josh met his gaze. "Yeah. We are."
Petunia finally spoke again, voice brittle.
"He's had a roof. Food. School."
Percival didn't look at her. "A cupboard is not a bedroom. And a child is not a burden."
She looked ready to snap something sharp in return, but the words never came. Instead, she turned her face away and folded her arms.
Harry stepped out slowly. He stood barefoot on the tiled floor, wary and silent.
"We'll explain everything," Percival said calmly. "But first, let's sit down. The kitchen will do."
Petunia gave a jerky nod and led them through.
The kitchen was spotless, too bright with floral curtains and a gleaming fridge. Josh helped Harry to a seat while Percival remained standing, his posture quiet but firm.
"We came to inform you," he began, "that as of this morning, guardianship of Harry James Potter has been formally transferred to me, by ruling of the Wizengamot. I am his great-great uncle. His care no longer falls to this household."
Petunia's face twitched, a flicker of something unreadable passing behind her eyes.
"There will be follow-up," Percival added.
"Legal, financial, magical. All standard. But that is not our concern at this moment."
Petunia looked toward Harry but said nothing.
"You're… just taking him?" she said at last.
"Just like that?"
"Yes," Percival replied. "Because I should have from the start."
A very long silence followed.
...
Josh eventually leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Look, I know you probably hated all this. The constant reminders. But it's over. He's not staying here another night."
Petunia stared at Harry. "You look just like your father. Except the eyes. Those you take after your mother. The exact same. Just like always."
Josh glanced at Percival. He gave a slight nod.
A faint shimmer pulsed against Percival's ring. His head tilted ever so slightly.
"Joshua," he said, voice quiet.
Josh looked at him. He saw the subtle shift in the old man's stance, the barely-there tension in his jaw.
"A ward net just went up. Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey."
Josh straightened in his seat, wand still holstered.
Petunia blinked. "What?"
"We're not leaving just yet," Percival said, voice calm. "And neither is anyone else."
~
Privet Drive – 15 minutes prior to wards activating.
A white panel van rolled onto the street, circling once before coming to a stop around the corner, opposite the side where Josh and Percival would arrive. Inside were four relatively unremarkable men and one average-looking woman. Apart from the paramilitary gear and the faint hum of enchantments layered over their armor, nothing about them stood out, until they spoke.
Their accents were varied, none native to Surrey. At the center, their leader adjusted his comms bead and checked his chronometer. His voice was clipped, professional. South African, if the accent was real.
"I know we don't normally go in blind like this," he said, voice low but firm, "but the client's timeline got compromised. This job's going off now whether we like it or not."
From the front passenger seat, a red-haired man with a scar down his jaw grunted.
Grant: "What's Fudge want with the bloody 'Boy-Who-Lived' anyway?"
Across from him, a dark-skinned woman loading darts using a rune covered wand rolled her eyes.
Jasmine: "Who cares why he wants him. This job pays double for a clean snatch."
Patrick cut them both off with a look.
Patrick: "Stow that for later. This should be routine. Alexi and Clint: ward stones. Anti-Apparition, anti-Portkey, intent, and alarm. You've got fourteen minutes. I want them locked in before we move."
The man named Alexi, pale with an old military tattoo peeking from under his collar, nodded once. "Timed and tuned already. Triggering on your mark."
Clint, chewing a matchstick at the back, flicked his wand and pocketed a modified compass. "Range is tight, but it'll do. Five house radius."
Patrick: "Good. We'll sweep in as soon as the perimeter's sealed. Locate the boy, grab him, and exfil clean. Standard body shield protocol."
Jasmine leaned forward. "Expecting pushback from magicals or locals?"
Patrick hesitated. Then shook his head. "Unknown. As of briefing, no outside interference. Assume non-hostiles unless they go active. Civilians stay untouched."
Clint: "Like that border town job in Mexico?"
Grant groaned. "Merlin's balls, I hope not. That job went tits-up the second we touched tarmac."
Patrick's jaw tensed. "Cut the chatter. We've got one shot at this."
He slid open the side door with a soft click, sunlight pouring into the van as boots hit pavement.
"Move out."
~
The second vehicle to arrive wasn't flashy. A dull green Land Rover Defender rolled around the corner at a steady pace, engine humming low. It passed the same parked van the first team had arrived in, the one positioned opposite Number 4 and it didn't slow. To the casual observer, it looked like a contractor truck or maybe utility inspection. In truth, it carried something far less ordinary.
Inside sat four people. All of them wore muted tactical gear under plain clothes: waxed field jackets, canvas trousers, military boots scuffed from use. Their weapons, Browning Hi-Powers and sheathed wands were secure, holstered tight against their ribs. There were no insignias. Nothing to link them to the Royal Wand Corps.
In the back seat, Sergeant Oliver Reid glanced through the front windscreen as they passed the van. "Looks like Alpha got here before us," he muttered. "Same van style as usual. Plates match the fallback series."
"Probably got the green light earlier than us," Corporal Lydia Harland replied, flipping a page in the small logbook she kept on her knee. "We're still on Crown protocol: observe, verify, then act."
In the front passenger seat, Lieutenant Ainsley Monroe nodded once, eyes scanning the mirror. "No signs of Ministry surveillance present. Local law enforcement's quiet too. Van hasn't moved."
Driver Sergeant Darius Shaw grunted. "Means they're already on the move. We're behind the clock."
"Then we stick to plan," Harland said. "We confirm identity, verify status, then extract. We assume they're our people until proven otherwise."
The Land Rover rolled to a stop at the edge of the cul-de-sac. Reid cracked the rear door and stepped out first, glancing casually up and down the road. No one in sight. No curtains twitching. He gave a subtle nod.
One by one, the team disembarked. No formation. No obvious signals. Just four men and women moving like a team that had done this before.
"Beta team in position," Monroe murmured into his comm bead. "Visual on presumed Alpha vehicle. Proceeding to outer perimeter."
Their objective: monitor Number 4 from a distance. If the other unit had already made contact, their job was to confirm the transfer of the asset, Harry James Potter, and provide extraction backup if needed.
Harland adjusted her jacket collar and leaned toward Reid. "Keep eyes on that front door. Soon as you see movement, log it. If that van crew doesn't check in, we'll shadow the pickup."
"No wands unless necessary," Monroe added. "Standard concealment. No direct engagement unless the boy's safety is in question."
Shaw gave a quiet snort. "You think we'll get through this without drawing?"
"No," Monroe said flatly. "But we'll try."
Just as Harland lifted a hand to signal-
The tether clipped to her belt jolted once, then went still.
"Shit," she muttered, fingers already on it. "The emergency portkey just lost signal."
Monroe stiffened. "That means something, is wrong. Combat wards are up."
The sky above the cul-de-sac shimmered faintly as five broomsticks coasted into view, low and quiet. Their arrival wasn't dramatic, but it was deliberate.
The Jesters had arrived.
They weren't professionals. They weren't subtle. They were young, arrogant, and just skilled enough to cause real damage. Their robes clashed in enchanted colors that changed with mood or intent. Their masks were garish, some cracked, some glittering, none tasteful.
They circled slowly, forming a loose arc above Number 4. There was no coordination, just posturing.
"Why are we even waiting?" the green-haired one asked, flipping his wand like it was a toy.
"Because someone said the brat's supposed to be here," muttered the short one, squinting downward. "And we're supposed to make a scene after he shows his face. Not before."
The striped witch rolled her eyes. "Bet they're dragging their feet. Think we scared 'em already?"
"Please," said the leader. "These types never move fast. It's all robes and rules. Let them step out first. We'll make our entrance after."
"You sure they're even in there?" the green-haired one asked.
"No," the leader said flatly. "But I want the glory, not the paperwork. So we wait."
The group settled into their orbit, watching. Not from strategy, but ego. This was a performance.
Inside Number 4, Josh stood near the door, hand on the frame.
Percival gave a last glance out the front window. His brow shifted slightly. No figures. No sound. No visible threat.
He stepped beside Josh. "Looks clear."
Josh nodded, silent.
Harry waited just behind them.
Privet Drive – 5:17 PM
T-3 minutes to quest failure.
Percival opened the door.
The trio stepped outside, unaware of the eyes above.
Josh moved just ahead of Harry, quiet and steady. Percival stepped to the front, posture relaxed, though his eyes were already sweeping the street. Nothing seemed out of place. Lawns trimmed, windows shut, flower beds undisturbed. But the quiet felt staged. As if the whole neighborhood had paused mid-breath.
Across the cul-de-sac, five figures stood near a parked van, civilian in shape but wrong in feel. Their stance was too even, their clothes too neat, their movements too disciplined. The mercenary team.
On the far side of the street, near a faded brick mailbox, four more stood loosely spaced, no weapons drawn but hands too close to coats to be casual. The Crown team, already present and tracking everything.
Above, the Jesters circled on brooms. Their enchanted robes swirled in a riot of colors, masks garish and mismatched. They looked down on the scene like vultures with flair.
"There," the green-haired Jester muttered. "Three figures just stepped out. Told you someone was already here. You owe me five galleons."
One of the others laughed behind his mask. "Pay up, then. We got ourselves a crowd."
Their leader adjusted his position mid-air. "Let's see who thinks they're getting credit for our prize."
Back on the ground, Percival raised his voice, loud enough to carry but calm.
"You've all had your moment. Now step back. The boy is under protection."
One of the mercenaries took a step forward. "By contract authority, the boy's flagged for extraction. You'll surrender him now."
From the right, Lieutenant Monroe of the Crown team didn't blink. "If this is your op, you're late. We're already in position. Crown command protocol is in effect. Stand down and redirect."
The mercenary didn't respond.
Each side began to shift. Angles adjusted. Lines formed with no words exchanged. Three forces now stood at a volatile triangle. And at its center, a boy with a scar, flanked by two wizards prepared to shield him.
From above, tension cracked.
The green-haired Jester's voice rang out. "He's right there. We're wasting time!"
His wand snapped up.
A flash of gold arced through the sky as a piercing hex shot downward.
Josh reacted first. With a flick of thought, the shield on his wrist expanded outward in a shimmer of silver, forming a round disc just large enough to cover his upper body.
CLANG.
The spell struck the shield, deflecting hard to the left.
It struck one of the Alexi in the leg. He dropped to one knee, teeth bared in a hiss of pain.
"Contact!" Patrick barked. "Wands up!"
Another Jester fired without warning. The spell hit the curb and exploded, throwing up chunks of stone and dirt.
The fight had begun.
The street erupted into chaos.
Josh dropped into a forward stance, wand slippinginto hus hand feom his forearm holster. With a thought, the silver shield collapsed back into its watch form, freeing his casting hand. His wand tip shimmered as Protego Duo absorbed a stray stunner and sent it snapping back toward its caster.
Above them, the green-haired Jester swerved hard, barely avoiding his own hex. "What the hell? That was mine!"
Percival raised his wand and fired upward without breaking stride. "What's the tactic there, lad? Confuse the enemy with interpretive broom dancing?"
The red-masked Jester cursed, ducked, and hurled a rope of crackling red light toward Percival. He sidestepped and let it slam into the pavement.
From the left, Monroe barked to her squad. "On your flanks. Do not fire unless fired upon."
The command lasted half a second.
The female mercenary, hood pulled low, snapped her wand up and shouted, "Then let's get this over with!"
Twin bolts of green and blue lashed out, hitting the Crown team's conjured barrier. It cracked but held.
Return fire answered. Lieutenant Monroe fired a rapid chain of blue stunners while ducking behind a parked car. Parker, her youngest, had a wand in one hand and a small enchanted revolver in the other. Each round exploded in sparks mid-air, forcing the mercs to shield or scatter.
Jasmine, the sole woman among the Crown squad, dropped to a knee and launched a flurry of eight spells in sequence. Stunners, binders, and a disorienting flash hex.
Josh raised his wand high and braced. "Protego Maxima!"
The air rippled. Her spell-chain splashed harmlessly against the glowing ward, but the force of impact rattled the pavement and made Harry stumble back.
Percival caught Harry's arm. "Stay behind me, lad."
Josh nodded toward him. "Thanks. I got the right."
"Is there a discount on idiocy this month, or did you lot chip in for the group rate? Five wand-happy jackasses, no plan, and not a brain cell split between you." Percival asked, with in the lull between spells.
The nearest merc shouted, "What the hell is wrong with these people?"
Another responded, "They're taking the piss out of us, man!"
Up above, two more Jesters circled. One fired wildly, his aim shaky. The spell caught one of the mercs in the shoulder, spinning him to the ground.
"Watch your fire, you absolute git!" one of his teammates shouted up.
"Not my fault!" the Jester yelled. "Too many on the ground!"
"Then come down here and do something useful!" Josh called up. "Or are you only good at hiting the wrong target and making excuses?"
The green-haired one growled and swept lower. "I'll show you good!"
As he dove, Percival calmly aimed and fired a silent slicing curse. The teen shrieked as the tail of his broom split. He spun out, barely managing to stabilize.
Josh deflected a hex with a flick, then responded with a dual-cast stunning web and trip jinx. The merc he targeted got caught mid-shift and collapsed like a tangled puppet.
"Two down," Josh muttered.
"Three," Percival corrected. "Got one in the knee while you were showing off."
From the side, a panicked shout rose.
"Crown team is moving! They're flanking left!"
"No, we're keeping you from getting Potter killed!" Monroe snapped back. "Try basic tactics next time!"
The firefight intensified. Concrete cracked. Bushes burned. At least three parked cars now smoldered. Windows were shattering, and curtains twitched from every home on the block.
Then came the high scream.
The fifth Jester hovered too low, spinning in place, wand trembling. "You think you're better than us! You're nothing but old men and freaks!"
Percival looked up. "Boy, if you aim like you insult, I'm safe for years."
"I'll blow the whole damn street!"
His wand flared with a deep red glow.
Josh's eyes went wide. "Grandpa-"
"Already on it."
But it was too late.
The spell roared downward, not aimed but blasted. It struck the edge of a cracked gas line hit earlier in the fight. The explosion that followed was not magical. It was the very worst kind of no-maj physics catching up with their chaos.
Flame ripped across the street. A parked car went airborne. The mailbox Jasmine had hidden behind launched skyward like shrapnel.
Josh spun, throwing up his shield again, just in time to absorb the brunt of the blast headed for Harry and Percival.
The concussive force still tore through the neighborhood. Windows shattered. Doors blew open. The Crown team was thrown apart. The mercs were scattered across lawns and flower beds.
Josh lost visual contact with both Harry and Percival in the smoke and debris. His ears rang. The street was rubble and ruin, every group hit. Every side disoriented.
And above, the green-haired Jester screamed, uncontrolled, as his broom bucked through smoke and fire, too late to escape the consequences.
The fight was over.
The smoke hadn't even cleared before the system lit up, words slicing across his vision in mocking gold.
[System Alert]
Warning: Quest Failure Imminent
Oh brilliant. Truly masterful. Ten out of ten for dramatic flair. Zero for actual success.
You were told to secure the boy, not stage a backyard reenactment of magical Armageddon.
And just a reminder, since you seem to keep forgetting, you asked for these tools. You chose this loadout. Maybe try using it?
Time Left Before Failure: 00:00:41
Reminder:
The goal is to win. Not survive long enough to lose slower.
Any bright ideas, or are we just going to stand here looking smug until the clock hits zero?
"F... it's got a point." Josh groaned out. System. Load last save file.