Harry stepped out of Logan Airport, the bustle of the terminal fading into the humid evening air. The sky above Boston was painted in deepening shades of blue and purple as twilight descended. His arrival had been timed perfectly. There was just enough time to make it to Salem before dawn, and he preferred to avoid drawing any attention. Moving swiftly and unnoticed was something Harry had mastered long ago.
He walked with purpose, skirting the edge of the airport's car park, until he found a secluded corner near the water. The lights of the city shimmered across the harbor, but this spot was empty, quiet—a perfect place to regroup before continuing his journey. Harry set down his rucksack and carefully unzipped the magically expanded compartment inside.
Hedwig blinked up at him, her amber eyes sharp with irritation. She ruffled her feathers, making her displeasure known.
"Sorry, girl," Harry murmured, checking her wings to ensure she was unharmed. "Not the most comfortable trip, but it was necessary."
Hedwig let out a soft, disapproving hoot but seemed unharmed, just annoyed. Harry smiled faintly, admiring her resilience. He stroked her feathers once before speaking softly, "I need you to fly ahead. Find Zuberi and let him know I'm on my way."
With an indignant flutter, Hedwig stretched her wings and took flight, disappearing into the fading light. Zuberi would recognize her from their last correspondence, realize the significance of her presence—no need to send a note. Harry watched her for a moment as she soared over the harbor, a small white shape against the evening sky. He adjusted his rucksack and turned toward the tracks.
The commuter rail line to Salem wound its way through the industrial outskirts of Boston. It was the perfect guide for Harry's journey, a path he could follow without needing to rely on magical transportation that could be monitored. The tracks ran north, slipping past warehouses, old train yards, and quiet neighborhoods. Harry stepped into the shadow of a nearby building, his form blending seamlessly into the deepening darkness. Shadow-walking felt as natural as breathing now. His footsteps barely made a sound as he slipped along the edges of the rail line, unnoticed and invisible to the world around him.
The sounds of the city became muffled as Harry moved further away from Boston. He passed through Revere and Lynn, the streets growing quieter, more suburban. His senses remained sharp, always attuned to his surroundings. A passing car or the distant rumble of a train was easily avoided. Each step was precise, his pace quick but measured. He needed to reach Salem before first light.
As he neared the town's outskirts, Harry felt it—a shift in the air. The subtle hum of magic stirred, almost imperceptible but undeniable to those trained to feel it. The wards around the Salem Witches Institute were powerful, old, and designed to keep the Unplottable island hidden from those who didn't belong. The mist over the harbor thickened, swirling as it hugged the coastline, wrapping the island in secrecy. Harry paused for a moment, taking in the nearly imperceptible change, the way the very air seemed charged with magical energy.
He continued quietly toward the water. The magical ferries that crossed the harbor were disguised as Muggle fishing boats, each one a potential risk for detection. But Harry had no intention of boarding one. Instead, he found a hidden spot near the harbor's edge, where he crouched low and unpacked the enchanted kayak he'd purchased in Diagon Alley.
With a tap of his finger, the small kayak expanded before him, sleek and silent as it bobbed gently on the water. Harry pushed it into the harbor, glancing at one of the ferries in the distance. He would follow its lights from afar, keeping a safe distance while letting the ferry lead the way through the magical wards that protected the island. With no lights himself, he was practically invisible with no need for magic. The mist closed in around him as he paddled out into the harbor, his movements quiet, deliberate.
The mist was thick, its enchantments heavy, but Harry trusted his instincts. As the ferry ahead of him crossed through the Unplottable charm, he felt the wards part ever so slightly, allowing him to slip through unnoticed. The island emerged from the fog—its rocky cliffs, ivy-covered buildings, and thick forests almost hidden beneath layers of mist. The Salem Witches Institute felt ancient, like something carved from the very bones of the earth.
Harry guided the enchanted kayak toward the shore, its bow gliding silently over the water as he approached a small cove. The mist hung heavy in the air, veiling the island in a quiet, magical stillness. Pulling the kayak onto the pebbled beach, Harry crouched low, his fingers tracing the edge of the sleek craft until he found the small, engraved symbol near the bow.
Another tap of his finger, and the kayak shrunk back to the size of a toy. Harry tucked it into his rucksack, its light weight barely a burden as he slung the bag over his shoulder. The harbor was silent now, the ferry he'd followed long out of sight, and the thick mist seemed to press closer as if guarding the island's secrets.
Harry straightened, giving the mist-covered shore one last glance before stepping forward. He moved with practiced ease, blending into the shadows as he made his way inland, the ancient wards of the island faintly humming in his bones. The air thickened with magic as he passed through the outer edges of the island's protective spells, and he could feel the power that infused the land here.
Harry's thoughts shifted to Zuberi as he began making his way toward the Institute, moving quietly through the dense foliage. It had been several years since they had last met in person, and Harry could already feel the anticipation building for what was to come.
The mist swirled around his feet as he crossed onto the grounds of the Salem Witches Institute. The island's quiet intensity was unmistakable—everything about this place felt alive with magic, older and more potent than the air he had breathed on the mainland. The ivy-covered buildings loomed in the distance, their brick walls weathered but strong, and the cobblestones beneath his feet seemed to hum with centuries-old enchantments, welcoming him into a world of power and mystery.
He heard footsteps approaching from the shadows. A familiar figure emerged—Professor Zuberi Chisulo—the first tutor Gellert had brought in to teach Harry. The man's dark robes seemed to blend into the night, but his presence was unmistakable. His calm, thoughtful expression was just as Harry remembered, and the quiet wisdom in his eyes hadn't changed.
"You've grown, Harry," Zuberi said softly, his voice carrying the same calm authority that had guided Harry through his earliest lessons in telekinesis.
Harry offered a small nod, feeling the weight of his mentor's words. There was no need for long greetings between them. Zuberi's eyes had already taken in the subtle differences—the maturity in Harry's stance, the quiet confidence in the way he carried himself.
"Come," Zuberi said, gesturing for Harry to walk with him. "The island is quiet tonight, but there is much to discuss."
They spoke of what had happened in their lives since they last saw one another, walking along the narrow path that wound through the campus, passing by greenhouses that glowed faintly in the mist and old stone buildings that seemed to shift in the shadows. The magic here was ancient, but it was Zuberi's presence that commanded Harry's full attention.
"You've progressed well," Zuberi remarked, his tone thoughtful. "But there is more to mastering power than just honing your skills."
Harry glanced at his mentor, waiting for more.
"Tell me," Zuberi continued, his eyes scanning the misty horizon. "How have you balanced what you've learned? Not just from me, but from others—Gellert, for instance."
Harry hesitated, thinking about how to answer. "Gellert taught me that power is control," he said slowly, "but you taught me that power must be balanced. I've... tried to do both."
Zuberi nodded, his expression inscrutable. "Balance and control are not always the same, Harry. The greatest test is in knowing when to let go of power. That is where balance lies."
They continued walking, the mist rolling around them, and Harry could feel the weight of Zuberi's words. It was a familiar tension, this pull between the control Grindelwald valued and the balance Zuberi preached. Harry had lived with it for years, trying to reconcile the two worldviews without fully committing to either.
As they passed a small clearing in the path, Zuberi spoke again, this time more softly. "Have you ever heard the legend of Atlantis?"
Harry looked up, intrigued. The name was familiar—Plato's writings had touched on it, of course, but he had never connected it to the magical world. There were fables, of course, but Gellert deemed such things generally unreliable.
Zuberi's voice carried a note of nostalgia as he continued, "Atlantis was said to be a place where a powerful Wizard-King ruled over both magical and mundane beings in harmony. It was a utopia of sorts, a society built on wisdom and balance. The Wizard-King was revered, not because he commanded power, but because he understood it."
Harry's curiosity deepened, but Zuberi's tone shifted, becoming more somber. "But Atlantis fell. The balance was lost. Greed, ambition—call it what you will—led to its destruction. Power without balance is like fire without control, Harry. It consumes everything in its path."
Harry felt the weight of Zuberi's words, the caution embedded within them. Atlantis—the idea of a place where magic and mundane coexisted under a leader of wisdom—stirred something in him. It reminded him of Plato's concept of the Philosopher-King, a leader who ruled not through might but through understanding. But Zuberi's warning lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over the image of that ideal society.
"The Wizard-King," Harry mused, "he ruled with wisdom. But even that wasn't enough."
Zuberi nodded. "Wisdom alone cannot prevent imbalance. Power always carries risk, Harry. The question is whether you are willing to bear that risk."
Harry didn't respond immediately, the wheels of his mind already turning, processing what Zuberi had said. The legend of Atlantis lingered in his thoughts, more than just a cautionary tale. He wondered what had truly led to its downfall. Was it merely greed, or was there something deeper? Something that perhaps could still be learned, or even corrected?
They walked in silence for a few moments before Zuberi gestured toward one of the Institute's buildings. "You should rest. We will continue tomorrow."
They walked in silence through the quiet paths of the Institute. When they reached a small building tucked away from the main halls, Zuberi opened the door and led Harry inside. The room was modest: a narrow bed, a desk, and a large window that overlooked the mist-covered grounds.
"This will be your room," Zuberi said, stepping aside. "Good night."
Harry nodded in thanks, setting his rucksack down by the bed. He glanced briefly out the window, observing the fog rolling in from the harbor, then quickly prepared for bed. Tired from the long journey, sleep came easily.
—
The next morning after breakfast, Zuberi and Harry made use of the Institute's library to review Harry's plans for his journey south. With the students gone for the summer, they had the whole place to themselves - even the librarian was away for the summer holiday.
The library had an air of old New England—weathered wooden beams overhead, leaded glass windows, and a faint smell of parchment and ink. It was a place steeped in history, much like Salem itself. Outside the windows, the mist still clung to the island, wrapping the Institute in its protective shroud, hidden from the world beyond.
The table between Harry and Zuberi was cluttered with maps, their edges worn from years of use. Harry leaned forward, studying the route through Central America, his fingers tracing the path. The map was old, detailing both familiar and foreign regions, but its markings were precise, offering a clear picture of the terrain ahead.
Zuberi tapped a point on the map. "The Yucatán Peninsula. You'll need to pass through here, but it won't be easy. The Mayan magical wards in the region are still active. They were designed to protect sacred sites, and they've only grown stronger over time."
Harry nodded, absorbing the information. He'd never encountered Mayan magic before, but Zuberi's tone made it clear that this was not a challenge to take lightly. The wards wouldn't respond to brute force, and he couldn't rely on the same methods he used in the Amazon.
Zuberi continued, his hand moving over the map. "These wards are subtle. They won't always show themselves, but you'll know if you cross them the wrong way. The key is to stay low, avoid drawing attention. No magic unless absolutely necessary."
"I've handled ancient wards before," Harry said, his voice calm, though he made a mental note to tread even more carefully than usual. "But what about the people? Will they be any more welcoming?"
Zuberi leaned back in his chair, his expression thoughtful. "The communities in the Yucatán are cautious of outsiders. Many of them still practice old magic tied to their land—elemental magic, drawn from life and death. They don't see magic in the same divided way you were taught. For them, Light and Dark are just part of a natural cycle."
This caught Harry's interest. He'd spent years navigating the world of rigid magical distinctions—Dark magic versus Light, right versus wrong—but the idea of a place where magic wasn't divided by such lines resonated with what Zuberi had been teaching him all along. Balance, not power, was key. Still, it would be a challenge to prove himself to these communities.
Zuberi's eyes met Harry's. "Respect is what they value. Power won't earn you their trust. You'll need to understand their traditions, listen to how they connect with the land and the magic within it."
Harry nodded, processing the advice. This journey was shaping up to be less about magical prowess and more about navigating the subtleties of magical cultures. As he studied the map, he could see that the path ahead would be marked by more than just the dangers of terrain and wards—he'd need to prove his ability to understand the cultures and traditions woven into these lands.
Zuberi pointed again, this time to Guatemala. "The highlands here are home to magical communities deeply connected to Mayan traditions. They practice a blend of magic that ties directly to the earth and the cycles of life. It's a different way of thinking, one that challenges the divisions you're used to."
Harry's gaze followed Zuberi's hand, resting on the marked villages. "Do you think they'll help me?"
"They will if you show them respect," Zuberi said simply. "These communities have endured for centuries by staying connected to the land. They value those who understand that magic isn't just power—it's balance, a way of living."
Harry considered the thought, reminded of Zuberi's repeated lessons about balance over the years. He had never taken those lessons lightly, but now, as he stared at the unknown regions before him, he realized how important they would become. This wasn't like his time in the Amazon. Here, his survival might depend as much on his understanding of people and their connection to magic as on his own skills.
Zuberi began rolling up the map, his expression calm but firm. "Remember, Harry, the challenges in these regions aren't just about what you can do with your wand. You'll need to navigate the cultural complexities, understand their traditions, and show restraint. These communities respect harmony. If you can walk that line, you'll find the help you need."
Harry leaned back in his chair, his mind already working through the scenarios. The journey ahead was becoming clearer, and yet the challenges were unlike anything he'd encountered before. He was used to relying on his skill and quick thinking, but here, he'd need more than just magic to succeed.
"And once I reach the Amazon?" Harry asked, a faint smile on his lips.
Zuberi's eyes softened. "You know the Amazon better than I do. But remember, it's not the same jungle you knew when you were younger. Things change. You'll still need to be cautious, especially as you get deeper into the more remote areas."
Harry nodded, though the thought of returning to the Amazon filled him with a quiet confidence. He knew its rhythms, its dangers, and its hidden pathways. But there was something else stirring beneath the surface of his thoughts—a growing curiosity about the ancient civilizations Zuberi had mentioned in passing, ones that predated even the Incas.
"What about the whispers of lost civilizations in South America?" Harry asked, his voice careful.
Zuberi didn't respond immediately. His eyes were thoughtful, perhaps weighing how much to reveal. "There are always whispers, Harry. Myths of ancient cities, lost magic, great power. But be careful where your curiosity leads. Sometimes, chasing old stories can distract from the real challenges ahead."
Harry took in Zuberi's words, but the whisper of Atlantis lingered at the back of his mind. He wasn't about to lose focus, but if there was something more—something deeper—waiting to be found in the ruins of those forgotten places, he couldn't help but feel drawn to it.
Zuberi placed a hand on the map one last time. "Your path is clear for now. Stay focused on the journey ahead. The rest will reveal itself in time."
Harry nodded, rising from the table. The maps were rolled away, the fire still crackled softly, and the weight of what lay ahead settled over him—not as a burden, but as an opportunity. The road south would be challenging, but Harry felt ready for it.
—
The mist clung to the water like a veil, its soft tendrils curling around the sleek lines of Harry's enchanted kayak as it silently zipped away from the Salem Witches Institute. The island, with its wards and ancient magic, was already fading into the distance, a faint silhouette behind the thick shroud of fog. The kayak gliding effortlessly across the still waters.
He allowed himself a brief moment to reflect on the days spent with Zuberi. The telekinesis training had been a welcome challenge, a rare chance to test himself against a master of the art. For the first time in years, Harry had felt the thrill of a true contest, the invisible force between them bending and clashing as they pushed each other to their limits. It had sharpened his skills in a way that solitary practice never could. He respected Zuberi's abilities, but there was no time to dwell on the past.
The island disappeared completely behind him, swallowed by the mist, and Harry's thoughts turned to the journey ahead. His path south had been carefully planned, but it would be anything but simple. Zuberi's warnings echoed in his mind—starting with the ancient Mayan wards in the Yucatán Peninsula. They were unpredictable, invisible to the untrained eye, and lethal to anyone foolish enough to underestimate them. Stealth and precision would be his greatest allies there, just as they had been countless times before. Or, he could avoid them entirely, taking the more cautious approach. Some mysteries could wait.
Further south, the Thunderbird territories would present another challenge. The great birds guarded their lands fiercely, and while Harry had no intention of provoking them, he would need to cross through their domain without drawing attention. He'd encountered dangerous creatures before, but the Thunderbirds were a force of nature, their power as awe-inspiring as it was deadly.
As he neared the mainland, the mist began to thin, revealing the dark outline of the shore ahead. Harry kept his focus steady, his mind already running through the routes and potential obstacles he would face in the coming weeks. He thought of the magical communities in Guatemala—places Zuberi had described where magic flowed through the land itself, tied to the rhythms of life and death. They practiced a magic that was both ancient and enigmatic, and Harry knew he would have to approach them with care, blending into their world with the same subtlety he had mastered elsewhere.
The kayak moved smoothly, silently, through the water as Harry approached the shore. His thoughts were calm, methodical—he knew what lay ahead, and he was ready for it. The lessons of Salem, the warnings from Zuberi, the challenges that awaited him in South America—they were all part of the same journey, one step closer to uncovering the truths he sought. But for now, his focus was simple: reach the mainland, keep moving south, and stay unseen.
With the shore now only a few dozen meters away, Harry straightened, his eyes fixed on the narrow strip of land that marked the beginning of the next leg of his journey. The mist behind him swallowed the island completely, and with it, the last traces of his time at the Institute. His mind was clear, and his path was set.