Harry moved like a wraith through the Guatemalan wilderness, his form slipping seamlessly between the tall trees and jagged rocks, merging with the night itself. The wind whispered against his skin, cool and damp with the scent of distant rain. Each stride brought him deeper into the wild, where the world felt raw, untouched, and powerful.
The time he had spent with the Xitla had been deeply informative. While he hadn't learned to read the quipu himself, Xolotl had read him many fascinating legends, faint memories of Atlantis. Their gods, their priesthood. Details he hadn't seen in the book from Magia Antiqua, different legends than were remembered in Europe. Slowly, a picture was forming in his mind.
Yet, he had spent every last day he could spare with the villagers; now, he must hasten, to make it to Grindelwald, according to the schedule they had decided upon before he left for Hogwarts. Gellert's owl-repelling wards would only be down for a brief window, and Harry had to be close enough to Peru at the start, for Hedwig to easily make the trip before it closed.
The moon was high overhead, casting faint silver light that barely reached the forest floor. It didn't matter—Harry didn't need it. Shadow-walking had become as natural to him as breathing, and the night was his ally, not his enemy. He moved with a confidence that came from the freedom of the open land, his body thrumming with a quiet, eager energy. Every shadow was a potential escape, every step a leap forward into a deeper world.
His rucksack, light and securely enchanted, bounced lightly on his back as he navigated the steep rise of a hill. From up here, the vast landscape opened up before him, a sweeping vista of volcanic slopes and valleys, their dark forms looming against the horizon. Off in the distance, the faint plume of smoke from Volcán de Fuego marked the sky like a living force, rumbling softly in the earth below.
Harry paused, allowing himself a moment to take it in. The stillness around him was immense, the silence interrupted only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of some nocturnal creature. Everything felt so alive here, but not in the way he had known at Hogwarts. This was a primal magic, a force he could feel beneath his feet, in the air, in the very bones of the land. It was thrilling, and it called to something deep within him.
After hours of walking, he found a small clearing nestled between a group of towering trees. It was sheltered enough for him to set up camp, and the sky overhead offered a wide view of the stars, fading as the first hint of dawn lit the sky. He flicked his wand, conjuring a small, controlled fire in the center of the clearing. The warmth was welcome, but even more so was the sense of solitude, the complete disconnect from the world of expectations and noise.
Hedwig swooped down from the canopy, landing lightly on a branch nearby. She ruffled her feathers and blinked at Harry, her amber eyes catching the glow of the firelight. Harry smiled at her. It was good to have her here, a familiar presence in this vast unknown.
He leaned back against his rucksack, watching the fire flicker. The sky above seemed endless, and the stars seemed brighter than anywhere else he'd ever been. The wild magic of the place wrapped around him like a comforting blanket, whispering promises of secrets yet to be uncovered. It felt right, this place. Untamed, unbounded by the rigid rules of Hogwarts or the cautious warnings of wizards. Here, the magic was free.
Hedwig shifted on her branch, her gaze suddenly fixed on something above. Harry followed her line of sight.
There, slicing across the sky like a thunderbolt, was a Thunderbird. Its wings spanned impossibly wide, cutting through the scattered, wispy clouds with a grace that belied its size. Around it, the air crackled with energy—small, jagged bolts of lightning danced along its wings, trailing behind it as if the storm itself were following in its wake. The creature was enormous, far bigger than any dragon, its silhouette illuminated by the brief flashes of electricity that sparked with every beat of its wings.
Harry's breath caught in his throat. He had read about Thunderbirds, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer awe of seeing one in flight. It moved with a slow, deliberate power, as if the entire sky bent to its will. Lightning rippled across the clouds in its wake, brief and brilliant, lighting up the volcanic peaks far below.
He could feel the magic radiating from it, pulsing through the air, as natural and unstoppable as the wind. This was a force that no wizard controlled—a creature older and more powerful than any magic Harry had ever encountered, either in Hogwarts or his travels. He stood there, utterly transfixed, feeling small in the presence of something so vast and untouchable.
Hedwig shifted again, a soft hoot escaping her as if she, too, felt the pull of the Thunderbird's raw, untamed energy. For a moment, Harry felt a deep connection with her, both of them bound to the wild magic of this land, witnessing something few ever would.
The Thunderbird let out a low, rumbling cry that echoed across the sky, sending a fresh wave of electricity sparking through the air. And then, just as quickly as it had come, it disappeared beyond the clouds, leaving only the faintest shimmer of energy in its wake.
Harry blinked, still rooted to the spot. He felt the lingering charge in the air, his pulse quickening. It wasn't fear. It was something else—a mixture of awe and excitement. This...this was why he had left Hogwarts, why he had traveled halfway across the world. To experience magic like this, raw and unbound by the walls of classrooms or the constraints of tradition.
He glanced at Hedwig, still wide-eyed from the encounter. "Incredible, wasn't it?" he murmured, though he knew words couldn't quite capture it. She hooted softly in agreement.
The fire crackled beside him, and the world slowly returned to its calm, quiet rhythm. But something in Harry had shifted. That glimpse of the Thunderbird had awakened a deeper hunger within him. There was so much more to learn, so much more to uncover. The Thunderbird was just the beginning.
He stoked the fire lightly, letting his thoughts drift to Atlantis. The thrill of discovery still surged through him, but now it was coupled with a newfound patience. There were forces in this world far older than he had ever imagined, and he intended to uncover them. But for now, he was content to sit by the fire, the night air alive with promise.
—
Panama City bustled around Harry, a swirl of noise, heat, and life. The crowded streets were a chaotic mix of crumbling colonial buildings and sleek modern towers, all crammed together as if the city itself couldn't decide what it wanted to be. Vendors called out from stalls lining the narrow roads, selling everything from fresh fruit to cheap trinkets, while tourists meandered slowly, oblivious to the undercurrents of magic that ran through the city.
Harry moved through the crowd with practiced ease, his face blank, his steps purposeful. He'd been in places like this before—places where the line between the magical and the mundane blurred just enough to let secrets slip through. There was always something hidden if you knew where to look.
The coastal market stretched out in front of him, a maze of stalls and makeshift shops, the smell of saltwater and grilled food heavy in the air. Harry scanned the rows of vendors as he walked, his eyes sharp for anything out of the ordinary. His instincts, honed by weeks of traveling alone, told him there was magic here. Small traces, subtle, but present.
He passed a stall selling brass ornaments, letting his fingers brush casually over the items. There—a faint pull of magic, buried deep within the metal. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He was close.
Tucked away in the far corner of the market, nearly hidden between two larger stalls, was a small table piled high with odds and ends—old coins, tarnished jewelry, and faded trinkets that had likely passed through countless hands. The vendor, an older man with leathery skin and a faded baseball cap, sat behind the table, half-asleep in the late afternoon heat.
Harry approached the stall slowly, his gaze sweeping over the items with feigned disinterest. Among the pile of metal, something caught his eye—a small, worn gold coin that seemed almost lost among the clutter. He picked it up, turning it over in his fingers.
The coin's surface was smooth, worn down by time, but there was a faint imprint still visible. A trident. Barely there, but unmistakable. Harry's heart gave a small, quiet jolt, though his expression remained carefully neutral.
"Old piece, that one," the vendor muttered, glancing up briefly from his chair. "Gold, but not much more than scrap these days. Fifty dollars, if you want it."
Harry didn't look up, keeping his attention on the coin. Fifty dollars was a low price for gold, but the man clearly had no idea what he was holding. The Trident… the symbol of the Wizard-Kings of Atlantis. He'd seen it before, in a book tucked away in a forgotten corner of Cobble Fair back in New York. This wasn't just a coin—it was a clue.
"Looks pretty worn," Harry said, slipping into the casual tone he'd perfected for moments like this. "I'll give you thirty for it."
The vendor scratched his chin, eyeing Harry with vague curiosity, then shrugged. "Sure, thirty."
Harry handed over the money, making the transaction as unremarkable as possible. The vendor pocketed the bills without another glance at the coin, already losing interest. To him, it was just another trinket in a pile of forgotten objects. But to Harry, it was a piece of something much bigger.
He pocketed the coin and walked away, blending back into the crowd. The faint tingling lingered in the skin of the palm where the coin had rested, a reminder of the power that lay hidden in the most unassuming places. As he moved further from the market, the noise of the city began to fade into the background, replaced by the steady hum of his thoughts.
The Trident was a sign, just as he'd hoped. Another breadcrumb leading him closer to Atlantis—and whatever ancient magic it held. He had been patient, piecing together the clues over the months, and now, standing on the cusp of something monumental, his excitement simmered beneath the surface.
The streets around him grew quieter as he slipped into an alleyway between two buildings, finding a moment of solitude away from the bustle. Harry leaned against the cool stone wall, pulling the coin from his pocket. He turned it over again, feeling the slight pulse of ancient magic in its worn surface. There was power here, buried deep. He couldn't tap into it yet, but he knew it was there, waiting to be uncovered.
Atlantis. It wasn't just a myth. It was real, hidden under centuries of history and time, waiting for someone clever enough to find it. Someone like him.
He tucked the coin away again, a small smile playing at his lips. The thrill of discovery coursed through him, but he kept his focus sharp. There was still more ground to cover, more dangers to face. The Darién Gap—wild, lawless, and filled with magic most wizards wouldn't dare to confront—was just ahead. He welcomed the challenge. After all, what was the point of magic if not to push boundaries?
The market's noise drifted back to him as he stepped out of the alley, disappearing into the crowd once more.
—
The air grew thicker as Harry ventured deeper into the jungle, each breath heavy with humidity, the scent of damp earth and vegetation pressing in on him. The jungle wasn't silent, but the noise had a different quality here—the persistent hum of insects, the distant calls of birds hidden among the dense foliage. The further he went, the more the shadows seemed to stretch, the trees towering overhead like ancient sentinels. He paused for a moment, glancing up at the canopy above, where only slivers of sunlight broke through.
He adjusted the strap of his rucksack and moved forward, more attuned to the environment than he'd ever been before. The Darién Gap felt alive in a way that few places did—every tree, every stone seemed to hum with a kind of primal magic. It was wild, untamed. Harry had felt this before, in the highlands of Scotland, in the deserts of Mexico, but here it was stronger. More dangerous.
He moved with purpose, using his magic as a guide, sensing the safest paths and avoiding anything that felt wrong. The shadows clung to him, making him almost invisible as he glided between the trees, shadow-walking with a grace that came from months of practice. His feet made no sound on the thick carpet of leaves, as if he floated just above them.
Harry slowed his pace, his senses sharp, a faint prickle at the back of his neck. He glanced around, scanning the trees for movement. The sensation wasn't new—he had felt it several times before in his travels—but here, in the heart of the jungle, it felt different. More deliberate.
Something was watching him.
The feeling intensified, the growing silence of the surrounding jungle suddenly apparent. He stopped, standing still, his hand lightly resting on the wand at his side. His breath slowed as his eyes swept the treeline. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound.
Then, a flicker—just at the edge of his vision. He turned his head slowly and saw them: two glowing eyes, low to the ground, fixed on him from the shadows.
A jaguar.
Not just any jaguar. Its sleek, black form was too large, its movements too fluid, too precise. The way it emerged from the undergrowth, each step deliberate, like a predator completely aware of its power—it was something more. The air around it shimmered faintly, the glow of magic rippling across its fur in the dying light of the evening. Its eyes, locked on his, burned with a fierce, intelligent focus.
Harry didn't flinch. He knew instinctively what this was—a spirit jaguar. A creature he'd only heard stories of before. Bound to the jungle, it was something old, something far more dangerous than a mundane jaguar.
They stood there, locked in a silent standoff, the only sound between them the distant rustle of the jungle. Harry's pulse quickened, but not from fear. This wasn't a creature he could try to tame or fight. It was a force of the jungle itself, and he knew he had to play its game.
He shifted his weight slightly, his eyes never leaving the jaguar's. The jaguar tensed, muscles rippling beneath its sleek fur, the air around it charged with anticipation. In an instant, it moved—silent, fast, a blur of black fur and deadly claws.
Harry reacted instinctively, disappearing into the shadows just as the jaguar lunged. The jaguar's claws swiped through the empty space where he had stood. He dodged them by mere inches despite the enhanced speed and agility granted by his ability. The creature turned, unperturbed, its eyes gleaming with renewed interest. The hunt had begun.
Harry didn't run—that would only slow him down. Shadow-walking was as much a magic of the body as the mind. Only once the body was moving silently, with the grace and precision of a feline predator, would the shadows let themselves be embraced by the mind.
He moved quickly but deliberately, shadow-walking through the dense underbrush, each step calculated, each movement designed to keep him just ahead of the jaguar. His measured steps ate up ground with the speed of an Olympic sprinter. But the creature was relentless, its form flickering in and out of view as it moved silently through the trees, tracking his every step.
For several minutes, they danced through the jungle—Harry shifting from shadow to shadow, the spirit jaguar always a breath behind him, a blur of power and speed. The tension was palpable, the jungle around them watching in silence. Harry's heart pounded, but he wasn't afraid. If anything, he felt a kind of exhilaration—this was a challenge, a test of everything he had learned.
Ahead, the ground dipped suddenly, a wide ravine cutting through the dense foliage. Harry barely hesitated. He shadow-walked right up to edge at full speed, then leapt with both legs, his momentum carrying him to the far side. He landed in a roll, somersaulting back to his feet.
The jaguar stopped at the edge of the ravine, its glowing eyes locking onto Harry from across the divide. They stood there, staring at each other, the air between them charged with tension. And then, slowly, the jaguar's stance shifted. It stared at him for a moment longer, its gaze heavy with something like respect, before turning and vanishing back into the jungle, melting into the shadows as if it had never been there.
Harry stood still for a long moment, catching his breath, his heart still racing. The jungle around him felt alive with magic, the pulse of the land still humming in the air. He had survived the chase—the jungle had tested him and he had passed. He felt a change in the air around him, not something he could put a finger on, but somehow he was accepted by the magic of this place now in a way he hadn't been before.
The jungle was still now, the sounds of the chase fading into the distant rustle of leaves and the quiet hum of the night. Harry stood motionless for a long moment, his breath slowing, though his heart still beat hard in his chest. The air was thick with the residue of magic, the pulse of the jungle itself still alive and humming around him. The spirit jaguar was gone, but its presence lingered, like an echo.
Harry scanned his surroundings, his eyes sharp, looking for a safe place to set up camp. The jungle had no shortage of hidden threats, and though he had shaken off the jaguar, he knew better than to assume he was out of danger. He moved carefully, quietly, his body still alert. A small clearing caught his eye, partially sheltered within a rocky outcrop. It would do.
He crouched down, his hands moving with practiced efficiency. A flick of his wand conjured a small blue flame, barely enough to warm the space around him but enough to keep the chill of the night at bay. He kept it low, more for comfort than light. In the jungle, anything could be drawn to a fire, even a smokeless magical fire.
The air still felt thick, as though the magic of the jungle itself had yet to settle. Harry sat near the fire, legs folded beneath him, and let his gaze fall on the faint embers. The spirit jaguar—he could still feel the weight of its gaze, the intelligence in its eyes. It had been no ordinary predator. It was the jungle itself, the magic that lived here made flesh. The chase had been more than a hunt; it had been a test.
—
The flickering light cast shadows around the camp, but Harry was calm now. The rush of the hunt was fading, leaving behind only the deep, quiet exhilaration of having survived. He had outsmarted the jaguar, but he knew it hadn't been just skill. There had been something more—a mutual respect between him and the creature. The jungle had allowed him to survive.
He ran his fingers through the grass beneath him, feeling the earth beneath his palms. This was power, raw and untamed. It wasn't the kind of magic learned in classrooms or written in textbooks. It was something older, something that demanded not just control, but… oneness. And here, in the heart of the jungle, Harry felt a connection to it that he had never felt before.
But the jungle was only one challenge. There were greater tests ahead.
His thoughts shifted, from the jaguar to the larger mission. His journey was far from over. There was still the Amazon to cross, still secrets to uncover—Atlantis hovering at the edge of his mind like a tantalizing, unreachable dream. And Grindelwald… their reunion was approaching. Harry would not return the same student who had left.
Pulling a piece of parchment from his rucksack, Harry began to write, his strokes quick and precise. The letter to Grindelwald was brief—factual, with no unnecessary details. He had arrived in South America, had crossed the Darién Gap, and was awaiting transport. The Portkey would come soon.
He folded the parchment, tying it securely to Hedwig's leg as she perched silently on a nearby branch. Her amber eyes watched him intently, and there was something in her gaze, a calm knowing, that reassured him. She had sensed the tension in the jungle too, seen the jaguar's glowing eyes watching from the shadows. She had stayed close, as always.
"Take this to Gellert," Harry said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He gave her a final, brief look before she spread her wings and lifted into the air, disappearing into the thick night.
For a long while after, Harry sat alone by the fire, the jungle stretching out around him in every direction. The night was quiet again, the jungle returning to its natural rhythm, but Harry could still feel its presence. The jaguar had been a guardian, a reminder that this place did not bow to anyone's will. He would need to remember that as he moved forward. This land—this magic—was powerful because it was wild, untamed, and he was beginning to understand the importance of respecting that power.
He leaned back against the trunk of a tree, the fire's warmth still faint at his side. No stars tonight, too cloudy. His thoughts drifted to the days ahead.