Dark Wings Over Hogwarts

The cold London night wrapped around Zane Falconer like a cloak, the sharp bite of winter air slicing through his coat. He moved swiftly through the narrow alleyways, the dim glow of streetlights barely cutting through the fog. He was on a hunt, and time was running out.

Lucien Holt, a criminal on the run, had stolen something dangerous—a piece of magical technology that had been classified as top-secret by the American Ministry of Magic. Zane had been hired to retrieve it. The artifact wasn't just a trinket; it held the potential to breach the magical community's most secure wards and disrupt entire magical systems if put into the wrong hands. Holt knew this, and Zane suspected he was just as desperate to get away as he was to recover the device. But that would be his last mistake.

Zane's employer, a shadowy figure known for handling delicate operations, had tasked him with this job. The specifics were irrelevant—Zane wasn't in it for the backstory or politics. He was here for results, and he was always paid handsomely for his success. He'd worked for many powerful figures before, each with their own agenda, but the job was always the same: retrieve, neutralize, and disappear. Holt, however, was different. He had proven to be elusive, running not only from the authorities but also from the whispers of dark forces that had no use for someone like him anymore.

Zane stopped before the old warehouse—his target's last known location. The building stood at the edge of London's forgotten district, a place where the magical world's dirt and shadows accumulated. It was a perfect hideout, and Zane knew it would be a challenge. But Zane wasn't worried. He thrived in places like this, where danger hid in every corner and the stakes were high.

The air was thick with the scent of old magic. Zane could feel the residual wards surrounding the area before even stepping through the door. With a casual flick of his wand, the magic around the entrance dissipated, leaving no trace of his presence. The door creaked open, and Zane stepped inside, blending into the darkness. The warehouse stretched out in front of him—high ceilings, rusted beams, and forgotten crates. It was a perfect place for a criminal to lay low. But Zane wasn't looking for the perfect hideout; he was looking for Holt.

His footsteps were silent as he moved deeper into the warehouse, eyes scanning every shadow, every movement. He could sense the faintest trace of magic—a misplaced ward, a lingering trace of the fugitive's presence. Holt had tried to cover his tracks, but Zane was a hunter, and he'd been hunting men like Holt for years.

The sound of a door creaking open reached Zane's ears, and his muscles tensed. He knew Holt was close. The fugitive wasn't just running from the law—he was running from the consequences of his actions, and that made him dangerous. Zane didn't need to catch him in the act; he only needed to anticipate his next move.

A flash of movement. Zane acted instinctively, flicking his wand and casting a binding charm that wrapped around Holt's wrists before the man could even make a sound. The fugitive let out a gasp of shock as the ropes of magic tightened around him, rendering him immobile. His attempt to summon a spell was futile, his wand flying out of his grasp before he could even think about it. Zane was always one step ahead.

"End of the line, Holt," Zane said, his voice low and calm, as he approached the criminal. Holt's face was pale with fear, his eyes wide and frantic. "You've been running long enough. The game's over."

Holt struggled against the magical bindings, his breath coming in quick gasps. "You don't understand," he stammered, his voice cracking. "I didn't mean for this to happen. You can't—"

Zane's gaze was sharp, his focus unshaken. "I'm not here for excuses. I'm here for the device. Where is it?"

The fugitive's fear seemed to turn into desperation, and for a moment, Zane thought he might try to make a run for it. But Holt was smarter than that. He was too terrified of Zane to try anything stupid. With a final, defeated sigh, Holt reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, unremarkable box. It was no bigger than a book, but Zane could feel the hum of magical energy surrounding it. He didn't need to know exactly how it worked, but he could tell this was what he had been sent to find.

"Is this it?" Zane asked, his voice cold.

Holt nodded, his eyes lowered. "Yes… but you don't understand the risks. If you use it wrong—"

"I don't plan on using it," Zane interrupted, the device now in his hand. "I'm here to return it to the people who care about it. You're just the messenger who didn't make it out alive."

Zane didn't waste any more time with the criminal. He knew better than to make idle threats. He had his mission, and it was complete. With a final flick of his wand, he sent a Stupefy charm at Holt, rendering him unconscious and safe from any further damage.

The warehouse felt suddenly emptier, the only sound now the faint hum of the magical artifact in Zane's hand. He slipped it into his bag, out of sight, and made his way back toward the exit. The job was done. There was no need to stick around. The authorities would be here soon, but Zane had long since learned to slip away before they arrived.

He had no intention of staying in one place too long. He wasn't a hero or a villain. He was just a man who did what was necessary, collecting the jobs that paid well and made a difference, even if that difference was invisible to most.

The night swallowed him whole as Zane disappeared into the fog, his mind already on the next mission. He would collect his payment, move on, and wait for whatever job came next. After all, in his line of work, the only thing you could rely on was the certainty that the job was never over.