Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the intellectual property associated with Harry Potter.

Hi all,

Here's the next chapter. Harry has an exciting Quidditch match against some unexpected opponents.

Chapter 5

The morning sun cast long shadows across the Hogwarts grounds as Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way down to the Quidditch pitch. The distant roar of the crowd grew louder with each step, a palpable energy crackling in the air.

"Blimey," Ron breathed. "It looks like half of Britain's turned up!"

Harry nodded, his eyes scanning the packed stands. Banners fluttered in the breeze, a kaleidoscope of house colours and hand-painted slogans. The sheer number of people was jarring after the emptiness of Diagon Alley. "Yeah, it's quite the turnout."

Hermione's brows furrowed. "It's strange, isn't it? Everyone's been so hesitant to go out, but they've all shown up for this."

"It's Quidditch, Hermione," Ron said, as if that explained everything. He gestured expansively at the crowd. "People need something normal after... well, everything."

As they approached the pitch, the roar of the crowd swelled. Harry's heightened senses picked up snippets of conversation carried on the breeze. When he heard his name mentioned, he immediately tuned out, refusing to hear what was said.

"Do you know who is playing for the alumni?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "No idea. Ginny knows, but she refuses to tell me."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He had a feeling they were going to be in for a nasty surprise.

"Harry," Hermione said, her voice hesitant. She chewed her lower lip, a sure sign she was about to broach a sensitive topic. "Have you given any more thought to—"

"No," Harry cut her off. "I haven't decided about next year yet."

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again, recognising the warning in his tone. Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she wisely held her tongue.

Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Come on, mate. We'd better get changed."

They said goodbye to Hermione, who wished them good luck before heading to the stands. Harry and Ron headed to the men's changing rooms, where they were welcomed by the other guys.

As Harry pulled on his Quidditch robes, he thought of the question Hermione had asked him. Her incessant inquiries about his plans for next year had grated on his nerves over the past few days.

The truth was, Harry had no intention of returning to repeat his seventh year. Hogwarts no longer felt like his home because of the events that had occurred there.

He knew he could pass his NEWTs with some focused independent study over the summer. He could take the exams at any time at the Ministry, as he was confident there would be accommodations for any students whose studies had been disrupted this year.

What about his future? The vast Potter and Black fortunes housed in Gringotts were enough to last him several lifetimes without ever having to work. There was no immediate need to choose a path.

The door slammed open, and Ginny walked in, followed by the other female team members. "Everyone here? Good. Listen up, team!"

"Oi!" Ron protested. "Don't just barge in like that! What if we were naked?"

Ginny gave him a dismissive glance. "I've already seen what's under your robes. It was so horrible that I begged Dad to erase the memory, but he refused."

Ron scowled as everyone laughed.

"Why are you being so overbearing?" Ron demanded. "Harry should be the captain."

"It was Ginny's idea to have the charity match," Harry said as everyone looked at him. "And I have no interest in being captain. What I really want to know is why the majority of the team consists of Gryffindors."

Along with himself, Ron, and Ginny, they had Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote as Beaters, both Gryffindors who'd played on the team before. Demelza Robins, another experienced Gryffindor Chaser, stood nearby, adjusting her arm guards. And to everyone's surprise, Astoria Greengrass rounded out the team as the third Chaser.

"I wasn't going to ask Slytherin," Ginny said with an apologetic look at Astoria. The girl shrugged, seemingly unconcerned about the slight at her house. "Astoria volunteered herself. I asked Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, but they weren't interested in playing. Besides, most of their team members have already left Hogwarts."

Harry frowned. Ginny didn't look at him when she spoke. Did their refusal have anything to do with him? Not that he cared.

"Who are we facing?" Demelza asked.

"It doesn't matter," Ginny said. "Our strategy won't change whoever we're facing."

"That doesn't fill me with confidence," Ron muttered.

"Well, we know Oliver, Angelina, Katie, and Alicia are playing," Harry reminded him.

Ginny started pacing in front of them as she outlined their strategy. As she spoke, Harry's gaze drifted to Astoria. The younger Greengrass sister looked pale, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her robes. This was her first time playing in front of such a large crowd.

He had no idea Daphne's sister played Quidditch. She had never played for the Slytherin team, but this was easily explained. They tended to favour large, brutal players for an aggressive and dirty playstyle.

His attention was diverted when Ginny said something that piqued his interest. "Could you repeat that?"

Ginny grinned. "There are scouts here today."

A ripple of excitement went through the team. Some of them intended to pursue a professional career after graduation, so this was an excellent opportunity for them to demonstrate their abilities.

Harry raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "How'd you find out about that?"

"Dad told me," Ginny said. "The war did a number on the league. They're taking the opportunity to do a reset, and maybe even change some rules."

"What kind of changes?" Astoria asked, speaking up for the first time.

Ginny shrugged. "No idea. But, several players were killed or left Britain, so they are desperate for new talent."

Harry glanced at Ron, who didn't look too enthused with the situation.

"No plans to play professionally?" He asked.

Ron shook his head. "I know my limitations. Quidditch at school is one thing, but the league is something else entirely. I would be lucky to join the Chudley Cannons."

As the others left the changing rooms, Harry fell into step with Astoria. "First big match?"

"Is it that obvious?" Astoria asked.

"Only to someone who's been there. Just remember, once you're in the air, it's just another game of Quidditch."

"Easy for you to say," Astoria muttered, but her shoulders relaxed slightly. "You're Harry Potter. You've faced worse than a crowd."

"True," Harry said. "But believe it or not, I still get nervous. It's normal. Use that energy in the game."

Astoria nodded. "Thanks, Harry. I'll try."

"At least you call me by first name," Harry sighed. "Your sister doesn't seem to think I have one."

Astoria's eyes widened. "You've spoken to my sister?"

"Just briefly."

"Well, she doesn't trust easily. Give it time, and she'll come around."

The team emerged onto the pitch, the sudden wall of sound washing over them as the crowd roared its approval. They kicked off, the solid ground falling away as they soared into the clear blue sky. As they performed their warm-up laps, Harry's eyes scanned the packed stands.

His gaze landed on a familiar figure. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood out in his deep purple robes, his gold earring catching the sunlight. The Minister's presence was no surprise; he needed to be seen supporting such a popular event if he hoped to be officially elected.

The overwhelming amount of support for him caught him off guard. Banners and signs bearing his name and face dotted the stands, a sea of scarlet and gold interspersed with the other house colours. Animated slogans flashed and sparkled, including "Potter for Minister of Magic!" and "The Boy Who Saved Us All."

The sight stirred a complex mix of emotions. Relief, that perhaps Rita Skeeter's venomous articles hadn't poisoned public opinion as much as he'd feared. Discomfort, at the hero worship that still made him uneasy. He was happy, though, that people were more discerning than he'd given them credit for.

Lee Jordan's magically amplified voice boomed across the stadium, drowning out the ambient noise. "Ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards, welcome to the Hogwarts Charity Match! And don't forget, folks, all proceeds go to families affected by the war. Dig deep into those pockets! Every Knut counts!"

Across the pitch, the alumni team flew out a blur of colourful robes.

"And here comes the alumni team!" Lee shouted, his voice rising with excitement. "Led by former Gryffindor Captain Oliver Wood, now keeper for Puddlemere United! Following him are the unstoppable Chaser trio of Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell!"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he spotted the remaining players. These weren't the faces he'd expected to see.

Lee's voice confirmed his suspicions. "What's this? Preston Walker and Gwenog Jones are playing as the Beaters!" The shock in Lee's voice was evident. "Looks like Oliver has brought one of his teammates to play. And I don't think I need to introduce Jones to anybody—captain of the Holyhead Harpies! But aren't they in their thirties? I call foul, ladies and gentlemen! Calling them former alumni is technically correct, but this is a bit excessive!"

Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, seeing his surprise mirrored in his eyes. This changed things. Ginny was speaking with the other chasers, and not looking in their direction. She could have given them some warning.

"But the biggest surprise," Lee continued. "is that Charlie Weasley, a former Seeker for the Gryffindor Team, is playing today! The showdown between him and Harry Potter is sure to be epic!"

The stocky Weasley brother grinned at Harry from across the pitch.

This would be a lot harder than Harry had anticipated. He tightened his grip on his Firebolt, feeling a rush of competitiveness surge through him.

A familiar presence appeared beside him, so faint that it could not be seen unless someone was flying directly next to him.

"With your abilities, you could end this match in seconds," Kaze said.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not using them. This is about fair competition."

Kaze snorted. "Foolish. You should use every advantage given to you."

"Not interested," Harry muttered. Kaze vanished with a huff of displeasure.

The shrill blast of Madam Hooch's whistle cut through the air, signalling the start of the match. Harry flew higher over the pitch, his eyes darted across the pitch, searching for any glint of gold. To his surprise, Charlie Weasley didn't mirror his movements. Instead, he veered off, choosing to search the opposite end of the pitch.

Even without consciously tapping into his wind abilities, Harry found his senses unusually sharp. The air seemed alive, whispering secrets in his ear. He could feel the subtle shifts in the breeze, making him acutely aware of every movement around him.

Below, the match quickly devolved into a brutal affair. The alumni team's superior experience became glaringly evident as they effortlessly outmanoeuvred the students. Ginny and Astoria showed flashes of brilliance, their teamwork resulting in a handful of well-executed goals, but it wasn't nearly enough to stem the overwhelming tide.

The real problem, Harry realised, lay with the alumni Beaters. Gwenog Jones and Preston Walker proved to be a formidable duo. Their Bludger attacks were precise and merciless, disrupting every play the students attempted to make. Even Harry found himself constantly on guard, dodging vicious strikes that whistled past his ears with alarming frequency.

As the score climbed to 120-40 in favour of the alumni, Harry's frustration mounted. The Snitch had made a few tantalising appearances. Each time, it disappeared before either he or Charlie could close in.

Harry decided a change in tactics was necessary. He abandoned his search pattern and dove into the fray below. Weaving between players with breakneck precision, he disrupted the alumni team's formations, creating crucial openings for his teammates to exploit.

"Merlin's beard!" Lee Jordan's voice boomed across the stadium. "Did you see that? Potter's flying circles around everyone! He's weaving through the air like a thread through a needle! He's even better than he was in sixth year!"

Harry's intervention seemed to ignite a spark in his teammates. Ron's confidence visibly grew with each save, his lanky frame stretching to impossible lengths to keep the Quaffle out. The Chasers, led by Ginny's fierce determination, began to find their rhythm. Slowly but surely, they began to close the gap.

Glancing across the pitch, Harry noticed Charlie had a bit too much freedom to search for the Snitch. The older Weasley was methodically scanning the pitch, unbothered by the Bludgers that seemed solely focused on Harry. Time for a little misdirection, Harry thought, a plan forming in his mind.

Without warning, Harry went into a steep dive, his body flattened against his Firebolt. From the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie hesitate for a split second before following suit. The ground rushed up to meet them at a sickening speed, the crowd's collective gasp lost in the roar of wind in Harry's ears. At the last possible moment, when collision seemed inevitable, Harry yanked his broom handle up with all his might. He pulled out of the dive with mere inches to spare, the grass brushing against his robes.

Charlie wasn't so lucky. Despite his years of experience, he couldn't match Harry's last-second manoeuvre. He hit the ground with a solid thud, tumbling across the grass in a tangle of limbs and broomstick.

"Potter performs a Wronski Feint!" Lee shouted over the crowd's wild cheers. "Absolutely brilliant! Charlie Weasley never stood a chance!"

Charlie staggered to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. Despite the collision, a grin spread across his freckled face.

"I'll get you back for that, Potter," he called out good-naturedly as he remounted his broom.

The alumni Beaters, incensed by Harry's stunt, redoubled their efforts to knock him out of the sky. Bludger after Bludger came screaming towards him from all angles, forcing Harry into a series of wild evasive manoeuvres. He barrel-rolled, dived, and climbed, his movements becoming increasingly acrobatic as he avoided the onslaught.

Despite the relentless attack, Harry kept his eyes peeled for any sign of the Snitch. His heightened awareness, sharpened by the constant threat, allowed him to dodge the Bludgers while still scanning the pitch for that telltale glint of gold.

A sickening crack echoed across the stadium, cutting through the roar of the crowd. Harry's head whipped around just in time to see Astoria Greengrass knocked clean off her broom by a particularly vicious Bludger. She began to plummet towards the ground.

Without hesitation, Harry went into a steep dive, urging his Firebolt to its absolute limits. The wind screamed in his ears as he pushed the broom faster than he'd ever dared before.

The crowd's collective gasp was deafening. From the staff box, McGonagall rose to her feet, her usually stern face etched with horror. Her wand was out in a flash, casting an Arresto Momentum that slowed Astoria's fall. But even as the spell took effect, Harry could see it wouldn't be enough to prevent serious injury.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Harry knew, with a sinking feeling in his gut, that he wouldn't reach her in time, not with his broom alone.

With a thought, he summoned the wind. It rushed to his aid, invisible currents wrapping around Astoria's falling form like a protective cocoon. The young Slytherin's descent gentled further, her robes billowing around her as if she were floating rather than falling.

He gently lowered her to the ground and flew down to make sure she wasn't hurt.

A hush fell over the stadium, the silence almost deafening after the roar of the match. Then, as if a dam had broken, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. Chants of "Potter! Potter!" echoed across the pitch.

As Harry landed, he saw a figure sprinting onto the pitch. Daphne Greengrass, her usual icy composure shattered, ran towards them with fear etched across her face.

"Astoria!" Daphne cried. "Is she-"

"I'm fine," Astoria insisted. She rose from the ground and patted herself down. "My broom was hit, not me. Daph. I can keep playing."

"What about your condition?" Daphne hissed. "All this excitement will cause it to flare up. Why are you playing—"

Astoria ignored her and dashed off to Madam Hooch to ask for a replacement broom. Hers had sustained too much damage.

Daphne huffed. "That brat will be the death of me."

"What condition does she have?" Harry asked.

"It is none of your business," Daphne snapped, then appeared to realise how impolite she was being to her sister's saviour. "Potter, I- Thank you," she managed. "She could have been severely injured or worse if you hadn't saved her."

"You're welcome," Harry said. "I'll keep an eye on her."

Daphne nodded, seemingly at a loss for words. She retreated from the pitch, although she glanced back at Astoria several times. What was that about?

As they kicked off again, Lee Jordan's voice rang out, filled with awe. "Ladies and gentlemen, what we've just witnessed was nothing short of miraculous! Harry Potter, once again proving why he's called the Saviour of the Wizarding World!"

The match resumed its frantic pace, but there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere. The students played with renewed vigour, inspired by Harry's daring rescue. Despite their best efforts, however, the score stood at 150-90 in favour of the alumni. Harry knew their only hope lay in catching the Snitch.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a glint of gold appeared near the Ravenclaw stands. Harry spotted it first, his seeker's instincts kicking into overdrive. But Charlie noticed it as well. In an instant, both Seekers were rocketing towards the Snitch at breakneck speed.

They jockeyed for position, shoulders colliding as they raced after the elusive ball. Charlie, using his stockier build to his advantage, tried to muscle Harry towards the stands. But Harry deftly rolled beneath Charlie's outstretched arm.

The Snitch led them on a wild chase parallel to the stands, always just out of reach. Harry hugged the wall so closely he could have reached out and touched the wide-eyed spectators. The wind roared in his ears, drowning out the crowd's excited screams.

Ahead, Harry spotted a wooden support post jutting out from the wall, directly in his path. Time seemed to slow as he processed his options in a split second. Swerving would lose him valuable time and possibly the Snitch. He made a split-second decision.

As they reached the post, he leapt from his broom, vaulting over the obstacle like a gymnast. For a heart-stopping moment, he was airborne, suspended above the pitch with nothing but air beneath him. The crowd's collective gasp was lost in the rush of wind. Then, with the grace of a cat, his hand found the broom handle. He swung back into place without missing a beat, leaving a stunned Charlie in his wake.

The Snitch, as if recognising the skill of its pursuer, suddenly changed tactics. It shot upwards, climbing higher and higher into the sky. Harry and Charlie followed, their brooms pointed almost vertically as they ascended.

As they climbed higher and higher, Harry felt a familiar tingle at the base of his skull. His senses, already heightened by adrenaline, sharpened further.

Without warning, the Snitch plummeted. Harry reacted instantly, as if he'd anticipated the move before it happened. He dove after it, urged on by some instinct he couldn't quite name. Charlie, caught off guard by the sudden change in direction, fell behind, unable to match Harry's reflexes.

The ground rushed up to meet them once more, but Harry's focus remained unbroken. The Snitch was so close now, he could see the delicate beating of its silver wings, and could almost feel the cool metal against his fingertips.

With a final burst of speed, Harry stretched out his hand. His fingers closed around the Snitch just as he pulled out of the dive, his toes skimming the grass. The tiny wings beat futilely against his palm as he raised his arm in triumph.

The stadium exploded into cheers, the sound so deafening it seemed to shake the very foundations of Hogwarts. Harry held the Snitch aloft, its wings still fluttering weakly against his palm. Final score: 240-150 to the students.

As he landed, his teammates swarmed him. Ron clapped him on the back so hard he nearly fell over. Ginny was grinning from ear to ear, her earlier frustrations forgotten in the thrill of victory.

"Bloody brilliant, mate!" Ron shouted over the noise of the crowd. "That last dive was mental!"

Harry grinned back, the rush of the game still thrumming through his veins. It felt good to win, to fly, to forget about everything else for a while.

Charlie landed nearby, shaking his head in disbelief. "Merlin's pants, Harry. I thought I had you there at the end. Where did that death-defying stunt come from?"

Harry shrugged. "I just acted on instinct."

As the teams made their way off the pitch, Lee Jordan's voice echoed across the stadium once more. "What an incredible match, folks! The students pull off a stunning victory, thanks to some truly spectacular flying from Harry Potter. I think I speak for everyone when I say, we'd love to see more of that in the future!"

The comment gave Harry pause. More of that in the future? He'd never seriously considered playing Quidditch professionally before.

Oliver Wood approached them as they walked to the changing rooms. "Hell of a game, Harry. You've only gotten better since school."

"Thanks, Oliver."

Oliver hesitated for a moment, then leaned in closer. "Listen, there are some people here who'd like to talk to you. Professional scouts. They were very impressed with your flying today."

"Scouts? For me?"

Oliver nodded. "Don't look so shocked, Potter. With flying like that, every team in the league will be after you. Ginny and the Greengrass girl did well, too. I bet they get approached after graduation."

Oliver said farewell and walked away. Harry didn't know what to feel. Was this really something he wanted to pursue?

As he made his way to the showers, Harry thought about the possibility of playing. Professional Quidditch would be exciting, certainly. But was it enough? After everything he'd been through, everything he'd seen and done, could he really be satisfied with just playing a game?

He couldn't deny that the thrill of the match had stirred up his blood like nothing else before, and playing professionally would only make it more exciting. However, a Quidditch career would keep him in the public eye, something he'd always shied away from.

He emerged from the changing rooms to find a small crowd waiting. Journalists clamoured for quotes, their Quick-Quotes Quills hovering expectantly. Fans pressed forward, seeking autographs and handshakes.

But it was the group standing slightly apart that caught Harry's attention. Three men, all wearing expressions of keen interest. The scouts Oliver had mentioned, no doubt.

As Harry approached them, he felt a familiar presence at his side. Ron and Hermione flanked him, providing a buffer against the press of the crowd.

"Quite a game, Mr. Potter," one of the men said, extending his hand. "Philbert Deverill, head coach for Puddlemere United. I'd love to have a word with you about your future plans."

The other two men introduced themselves as representatives from the Appleby Arrows and Wimbourne Wasps, respectively. All four looked at Harry expectantly, their eyes gleaming with the prospect of signing him.

Harry's brows furrowed. While he was flattered by the attention, he didn't want to speak here, in front of everyone. "I haven't even considered playing Quidditch professionally. Give me your cards and I'll think about it."

The scouts exchanged glances, clearly disappointed but unwilling to press the issue. They handed Harry their cards, each emphasising their eagerness to speak with him soon.

"What do you think?" Harry asked his friends.

"Mate, you have to do it," Ron said with an unusually serious expression. "That way, I can brag about being friends with a Quidditch superstar."

Hermione slapped Ron on the shoulder before turning back to Harry. "Are you going to play Quidditch professionally?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "No argument about me needing to return to Hogwarts?"

"Well, I finally realised you are completely against the idea," Hermione admitted sheepishly. "And it looked like you were having fun out there."

Harry ran a hand through his unruly hair. "I don't know. I need some time to think about it."

Later that evening, the Quidditch scouts' offers remained on his mind. In search of distraction, he reached for the dossier on the Mundanes.

Several incident reports detailed small explosions linked to the group. It seemed their method of protest involved causing mayhem and risking lives to spread their message. Harry's stomach churned at the thought.

The government remained in the dark about the group's identity. Some speculated they were Squibs with grudges against wizards, attempting to incite conflict between the magical and non-magical worlds. Another theory suggested they were Muggles whose memories had been improperly wiped, leaving them resistant to further magical interference.

In search of leads, the government questioned known Squibs in their world. They wanted Harry to do the same in the magical community. The only person that came to mind was Argus Filch, who was bitter enough to be a suspect. He had, however, assisted in the evacuation of students from Hogwarts during the battle and returned to help afterwards.

Setting the dossier aside, Harry decided to ask his friends to discreetly inquire about any Squibs still living in the magical world. For now, he'd have to wait for the government's next move.

His thoughts turned to more immediate concerns—where to live. Most students had already left Hogwarts. Grimmauld Place held little appeal, and while he owned other properties, none were in Britain. With his abilities, distance was no problem, but the prospect of settling somewhere unfamiliar was unappealing.

With a sigh, Harry gathered the dossier and stood up. He'd speak with Ron and Hermione, and see if they had any insights on the Squib situation. As for the rest—Quidditch, housing, his future—he'd have to tackle those one step at a time.

Ayano Kannagi strode into her father's office, her crimson hair swaying with each step. The room, steeped in traditional Japanese decor, felt oppressive despite its size. Her father, Yugo Kannagi, sat behind a low table, his face impassive as ever.

"You wanted to see me, Father?" Ayano asked, kneeling on the tatami mat before him.

Yugo nodded, his stern gaze fixed on his daughter. "We've detected a powerful Fujutsu user in Britain. It may be connected to the wizard community there."

Ayano's eyebrows rose. The Kannagi family, masters of fire magic, had long been aware of the wand-wielding wizards in the West. However, they rarely involved themselves in wizarding affairs.

"What does this have to do with me?" Ayano asked.

Yugo's expression softened slightly. "You've been restless since turning eighteen, eager to see the world beyond our compound. I'm offering you that opportunity."

Ayano grinned. Was this actually happening?

"I want you to investigate this individual," Yugo continued. "Find out who they are and what their intentions might be. However," his tone grew stern, "do not upset them if you can avoid it. If our suspicions are correct, they may be beyond your current abilities."

He paused, then added, "This Fujutsu user's abilities could potentially complement our Enjutsu. If there's a chance for cooperation, we must seize it. Such an alliance could greatly benefit our family."

Ayano nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. "I see. So you want me to assess their potential as an ally as well?"

"Exactly," Yugo confirmed. "But remember, approach with caution. We don't know their intentions or allegiances yet."

Ayano bristled at the implied slight but held her tongue. This was too good an opportunity to jeopardise with her temper.

"I understand, Father," she said, bowing her head. "When do I leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. Yukari will provide you with the necessary documents and information."

Ayano nodded. "Is there anything else?"

Yugo shook his head. "Be careful, Ayano. And remember your training."

"I will, Father. Thank you for this opportunity." Ayano stood, bowed once more, and left the office.

Once outside, a grin spread across her face. Finally, a chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the Kannagi compound! She practically skipped down the hallway, her mind already full of possibilities.

Britain. She'd never been outside of Japan before. The thought of exploring a new country, even if it was for work, sent a thrill through her. She could visit famous landmarks, try new foods, and maybe even meet some of these Western wizards.

Ayano made her way to her room, already planning what to pack. She'd need to blend in with the locals, so her usual attire wouldn't do. Perhaps Yukari could help her with that.

As she began pulling clothes from her wardrobe, a thought struck her. This mysterious Fujutsu user—who could they be? The potential for an alliance between Fujutsu and Enjutsu was intriguing, but also potentially dangerous if mishandled.

Ayano paused, a shirt dangling from her hand. Her father's warning echoed in her mind. If this person was truly beyond her abilities, how was she supposed to investigate them without risking confrontation?

She shook her head, dispelling the doubts. She was Ayano Kannagi, heir to the most powerful fire magic family in Japan. She could handle this mission.

With renewed determination, Ayano resumed packing. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough. Adventure awaited, and she was more than ready to meet it head-on.

So, what do you think? I did say this story is inspired by Kaze no Stigma, and so now I'm introducing some more of its elements into it.

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Thanks for reading.