Perkin McNeill and his father felt as if they had been plunged into an icy cavern. Hearing Damian's cold voice, a bone-deep chill welled up from their hearts and raced down their spines, making them tremble uncontrollably.
Perkin pleaded, his face pale and mournful. "Black... please let us go. I didn't know... I really didn't know that vial of liquid would make the broomstick explode!"
"I just thought... I thought at most it would make you fall and stay in the Hospital Wing for a while!"
He seemed to suddenly remember something and screamed desperately. "It was Wil Crabbe! He gave me that alchemical fluid! You should go find him! I really didn't mean it! I didn't want to kill you!"
Damian's eyes flickered with an ethereal blue light as he spoke gently. "But you still did it."
"If I hadn't been capable enough to reverse the crisis that day, the one dead on the pitch would have been me," Damian continued smoothly. "As for Wil Crabbe, I will deal with him eventually. Just not right now."
While Perkin had been desperately pleading, the memory of Wil handing him the fluid replayed vividly in his panicked mind. Using a subtle touch of Legilimency, Damian plucked the exact confirmation he needed without any effort at all.
Damian glanced out the cabin window at the churning sky. The storm had finally arrived; thunder was beginning to rumble across the bay.
With a flick of his wrist, Damian stripped Perkin and Argus of their wands and defensive magical items. He then commanded his Invisible Hand to drag the paralyzed father and son out of the cabin and onto the rain-slicked deck.
"Perkin, I've thought of a highly suitable Christmas gift," Damian called out over the rising wind. "I do hope you'll like it."
Damian cast an Impervius Charm on himself to ward off the freezing rain. He followed it up by layering a shimmering, runic Mage Armor over his body to prevent being caught in the upcoming crossfire.
Bound by invisible constraints, the father and son watched in sheer horror as Damian lifted off the deck. Carried by his own unseen magic, the boy floated away from the alchemical sailing ship and up into the stormy sky.
Realizing that begging was entirely futile, Perkin's despair morphed into venomous hatred. "Black! I curse you! You will die a horrible death! I'll be waiting for you in Hell!"
Argus McNeill had completely lost his aristocratic poise. His eyes were vacant and wide with terror, unable to utter a single word.
Damian intended to use the raging thunderstorm to make their demise look like a tragic, maritime accident.
Perhaps a few sharp minds at the Ministry might guess the truth, but as long as he could fool the general public, it was enough. This was the exact lesson the wizarding world's corrupted "justice" system had taught him over the past few days.
Hovering high above the churning sea, Damian spread his arms wide. Gripping his wand in his right hand, he looked exactly like a maestro preparing to lead a grand orchestra.
The black clouds grew unnaturally dense, hanging low like an inverted mountain range across the horizon. Lightning flashed violently within the heavy layers, and the low, rumbling thunder quickly grew deafening.
The sea breeze whipped into a violent gale. The enchanted ship's sails roared as they tore under the pressure, and the alchemical sailing ship's wooden hull shook violently as it was battered by churning, monstrous waves.
The wand in Damian's hand slashed through the air like a conductor's baton. With every precise movement, the storm seemingly woke up, answering the melodious beat of his invisible symphony.
His arms moved with fluid grace. His fingertips seemed to trace the very pathways of the thunder, stringing the raw elemental energy into a lethal tapestry of lightning.
CRACK! With every wave of his hand, Damian agitated the furious sky. The roar of the thunder grew deafening as the frantic, unbridled power of nature readied itself to erupt.
RUMBLE! A moment later, blinding forks of lightning sliced through the gloom. Damian's floating figure became indistinct, looking as if he had entirely merged with the storm.
BOOM! A massive pillar of lightning poured directly out of the heavens, hurtling straight toward the doomed alchemical sailing ship.
"Merry Christmas, McNeill."
Great Lightning Summoning was the only second-tier runic magic Damian had currently mastered from his past life.
The spell allowed the caster to pull existing lightning from the sky to strike a designated target. Because it relied heavily on the weather, casting it inside a natural thunderstorm amplified its destructive power exponentially, giving the magic a terrifyingly high ceiling.
Watching the destruction unfold, Damian had to admit that under the right conditions, the power of the Great Lightning Summoning was truly formidable.
The McNeills' luxurious, alchemical sailing ship was instantly obliterated, reduced to flaming, splintered kindling by the wrath of the heavens.
The area of effect was just a bit too large and difficult to control, however. Damian had flown quite a distance away, yet his runic Mage Armor still crackled wildly as he was nearly clipped by a stray bolt.
Having successfully delivered his "Christmas gift," Damian pulled the Union Jack umbrella from his pocket. With a twist of spatial magic, he Portkeyed directly to a quiet, Muggle neighborhood in London.
Not far from where he landed stood a charming, two-story red-brick house. This was the home of Damian's Muggle aunt and uncle.
Damian did not intend to deal with the true mastermind, Wil Crabbe, immediately. If he were to eliminate the younger Slytherin right now, it would be far too conspicuous.
He planned to strike after the heat from the Quidditch incident completely died down. As long as Wil Crabbe was still breathing on this Earth, he could never escape Damian's tracking.
Striding up the walkway to the red-brick house, Damian pressed the doorbell.
A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a warm-faced woman wearing a neat floral dress.
She was Damian's aunt, Diana Harker.
Damian smiled genuinely and opened his arms. "Merry Christmas, Aunt Diana."
"Oh, Merry Christmas! Damian, you're finally back!" Diana stepped forward quickly, pulling him into a tight, loving hug.
She pulled back to examine him, her hands gripping his shoulders. "Let me look at you... You've gotten thinner, but you definitely seem to have grown a bit taller!"
Diana grabbed his hand and excitedly pulled him out of the cold. "Come in, come in! Dinner will be ready very soon."
"Do you need any help in the kitchen?" Damian offered.
Diana waved her hand dismissively. "No, no. Just the grilled fish left to finish. You go on upstairs and talk to your uncle; he's hiding away in his study."
"Just make sure to call him down for dinner in ten minutes!" she called out as she hurried toward the kitchen.
The interior of the Harker household was bursting with a warm, festive atmosphere.
A towering Christmas tree stood proudly in the corner of the living room, heavily adorned with twinkling fairy lights, colorful ornaments, and small, wrapped gift boxes.
A thick, soft rug lay beneath the tree, scattered with beautifully wrapped presents. The walls were draped with evergreen garlands, red ribbons, and silver bells. The entire house looked as though it had been decorated with immense love and care.
Damian made his way up to the second floor. His uncle's study was situated right at the end of the hallway.
He knocked gently on the wooden frame. "Uncle Paul? May I come in?"
The door swung open, revealing a tired-looking man with a noticeably receding hairline. It was Damian's uncle, Paul Harker.
"Damian! You're back! Merry Christmas, my boy!" Paul's face lit up with genuine joy. He stepped forward to give his nephew a hearty hug.
Damian smiled warmly. "Merry Christmas, Uncle. I just arrived from the station."
"Come, sit inside." Paul ushered him into the room.
The study was a bit of a disaster zone. The grand mahogany desk was completely buried under towering stacks of paper files, and a prominent red filing cabinet sat open against the wall.
Paul Harker had recently been promoted to a high-ranking Cabinet Minister position within the British Muggle government. He was incredibly busy, seemingly drowning in endless bureaucratic matters every single day.
Damian raised an eyebrow at the mess. "Are you still working this hard, even on Christmas Eve?"
Paul offered a wry, exhausted smile. "There's just too much to do, Damian. Every day brings a new mountain of crises. Half the files in my department require my personal signature, and I have dozens of official letters that desperately need replies."
Damian's eyes lit up thoughtfully. He instantly knew exactly what to give his uncle for Christmas.
Reaching into his Undetectable Extension pocket, he pulled out a pristine Dictation Quill he had recently purchased from Scribbulus Writing Implements in Diagon Alley.
"Uncle Paul, consider this an early Christmas gift," Damian said, handing over the pale green feather. "It's a magically enchanted Dictation Quill. It should reduce your workload significantly."
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