Harry Potter: Shippuden

Port of Manhattan Island, New York City, 1991.

A sinister deal was unfolding here.

The darkness should have been the only witness to this transaction, but tonight, a third party lurked in the shadows.

Perched on the steel beams of the warehouse rooftop, a figure nearly indistinguishable from the night itself watched the exchange below with cold detachment.

Suddenly, the lights went out, and the brightly lit warehouse was plunged into complete darkness.

"Who's in pain? Here, take this big mouthful of spit!"

From above, a youthful voice rang out, uttering something unintelligible—a phrase that sounded like a mix of gibberish and command.

A sharp, whistling sound cut through the air, followed by a loud crash and the splatter of liquid. A brief, pained cry erupted from the crowd below, then was abruptly silenced.

Gunfire erupted, the muzzle flashes briefly illuminating the scene, but when they looked up, there was no sign of the attacker.

"Dam! Who built this!"

Another strange shout echoed through the warehouse, followed by the sound of rushing water, louder than before.

Chaos ensued as a shadow darted through the warehouse, moving too fast to catch.

The cacophony of gunfire lasted only minutes before silence reclaimed the space.

The warehouse door creaked open, revealing a young man stepping out into the moonlight.

The soft glow outlined his striking features—his long, dark eyelashes fluttering slightly, his heterochromatic eyes glinting with an eerie light in the darkness.

Just as he was about to leave, he paused, his gaze lingering on a sleek sports car parked outside the warehouse.

Moments later, the roar of an engine faded into the distance, leaving behind only the wreckage of the night.

As the young man disappeared, two transparent figures materialized out of thin air in the empty lot beside the warehouse.

"Kyle seems quite lively tonight. What do you think, Newt?" said the older man with a long white beard, smiling at his companion.

Newt, the other figure, replied thoughtfully, "He's mastered wandless magic without any formal training and even created a few unique spells. Hogwarts is about to get a lot more interesting."

The white-bearded man, clearly pleased, added with a hint of pride, "After all, he carries part of the Dumbledore bloodline."

Newt, ever the realist, countered, "He doesn't bear the Dumbledore name."

Dumbledore frowned, "He's still my son in every way that matters."

Newt, unrelenting, delivered the final blow, "The son you sent to an orphanage and then lost?"

Dumbledore, visibly flustered, decided to drop the subject. "Let's go fetch Kyle," he said, and with a loud crack, he vanished.

Newt followed suit, disappearing just as the sound of approaching sirens filled the night air.

…

The sports car sped down the empty road, its engine roaring under the moonlight.

Soon, it pulled into an abandoned factory in Brooklyn, coming to a stop on a flat patch of ground.

Kyle sat in the driver's seat, calmly forming a series of hand signs.

"Stomach pain! Let's all squat in the pit!" he muttered, his voice carrying a strange, almost ritualistic tone.