Dark Wings Over Hogwarts

The blistering Egyptian sun hung heavy over Cairo as Zane Falconer blended into the bustling crowd. The air was thick with spices, heat, and the quiet hum of magic hidden beneath the surface. He adjusted the scarf around his face, masking his sharp features while his mind calculated every detail. One week until the school year began—one week to complete this job and vanish before stepping into Hogwarts as Professor Falconer.

His target: Amir Nazir, a senior official in the Egyptian Ministry of Magic. Corrupt beyond reason, Amir's hands were stained with blood—smuggling magical artifacts, extorting innocent families, and worse. But Zane didn't care about morality. The employer's request was clear: make it look like a suicide. No traces. No loose ends.

For three days, Zane observed. Nazir lived in a fortress disguised as a grand villa in the heart of Giza. Wards crackled across the perimeter—layers of enchantments designed to repel intruders. Guards rotated every three hours, both magical and mundane. Yet, the man's biggest weakness was his routine.

By midnight, Nazir always retreated to his private study—a dimly lit chamber lined with ancient scrolls. Alone.

Zane slipped into the shadows of an alley, drawing his wand. He whispered, "Umbra Vestigium." The spell wrapped his body in a thin veil of shadow, rendering him invisible to the eye and undetectable to magical scans. It was a spell of his own creation—an upgrade from the standard Disillusionment Charm. A flicker of magic rippled over him before settling into place.

He approached the villa, weaving past wards with meticulous precision. Each layer of protection was sloppy—powerful but rushed. Zane unraveled them one by one with cold efficiency, using a spell designed to dissolve magical signatures. "Fractura Sigillum." The final ward shattered soundlessly.

Guards patrolled the outer corridors, but Zane was a ghost. With a twist of his wrist, he murmured, "Memoria Obscura." The magic washed over the nearest guard—warping the man's short-term memory. He would forget ever seeing a shadow slip past him.

The study door loomed ahead. Locked—but nothing so mundane could stop him.

"Apertum Silens." The lock clicked open, the door swinging without a whisper.

Nazir sat at his desk, poring over a gilded scroll. His thin lips twisted into a smirk as he examined whatever dark knowledge lay within. Zane observed him for a heartbeat—calm, detached—before stepping forward.

"Who—?" Nazir's voice cut off as Zane flicked his wand. "Silencio." The man's mouth moved, but no sound came forth. Panic bloomed in his eyes.

Zane leaned against the desk, speaking in a low, measured tone. "Amir Nazir. Your sins caught up to you."

Nazir scrambled for his wand. Too slow.

"Cruciabilis Mentem." Zane's voice was a whisper of steel. The spell wasn't the Cruciatus Curse—but his own invention. It didn't cause physical pain but fractured the mind, replaying a victim's worst memories in endless loops. Nazir's body convulsed as unseen nightmares tore through his thoughts.

Zane examined the scene clinically. It wasn't enough to kill him. He needed the perfect illusion—a death by his own hand.

He placed a vial of poison on the desk. A clever brew—crafted by his own hand—a combination of Dreamshade and liquid Legilimency. It would plunge Nazir into his darkest guilt, driving him to end his own life.

"Oblivio Sigillum." Zane whispered, embedding the memory of taking the poison deep into Nazir's mind. When the spell lifted, Nazir would believe he'd chosen this fate.

With a final glance around the room, Zane flicked his wand. "Illusio Mortis." The scene shifted—appearing as though Nazir had poured the poison himself. No trace of Zane remained.

His work was done.

The shadows embraced him once more as he slipped back into the night—just another phantom beneath the Egyptian moonlight. By the time the guards discovered Nazir's lifeless body, Zane Falconer was already gone.

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