The glow of twilight was beautiful. The last of the sun's glorious light for the day was bathing the Quidditch Village in a warm orange-purple halo. It was a beautiful evening.
All of his senses were pointing towards a trap. And yet, he was walking towards the forest willingly.
Perhaps Bella really knew something about having giant egos. They more often than not needed fuel for sustenance. Right now, walking into a Death Eater trap seemed like a good way to satisfy that ego.
He was of course not going without engaging his Slytherin mind first. He'd learnt from his many mistakes in recklessness after all. Getting killed or captured was not in his plans, not now or ever. He had something to live for now, and he wasn't going to just squander it away on a whim of morbid curiosity and psychopathic revenge.
He just wanted to see what these Death Eaters were up to.
Foil their plans, and have some fun in the process.
A simmering glow from somewhere in between the tents followed him and made his thoughts to pause like his feet. Upon coming near, the shape turned out to be the Stag of his father's patronus.
"Son, we just got rid of four unexpected visitors. Going home now. See you soon."
Exhaling in relief, Harry smiled and continued his journey, the thick undergrowth now seeming even more exciting. His parents were safe, probably already within the safety of the family tent now, as the patronus had implied, and they'd just captured two Death Eaters too. The day couldn't get any better, except for this last hurdle.
His Dad had said 'see you soon' too, which he thought with amusement, meant that it hadn't even been a chore to turn the tables on their potential kidnappers. Harry would've been more worried if it had been 'stay safe' in his greeting instead, which would've implied that a scuffle had taken place.
He would need a memory of those nincompoops from Mum. That would be a good way to finish the day.
The creak of the dried leaves and branches turned silent as he applied a silencing charm to his feet and then a scent masking charm to make sure no creature, if they had any, could detect him. Finally, a disillusionment charm later, he was now nigh invisible to all magicals, human or otherwise.
Navigating through the trees, he came to a small clearing and looking around, he counted nine wizards and four witches, spread around two bonfires.
"—thought he'll have more care for his blood traitor parents!"
"Maybe he didn't get the message?"
"How could he not?!"
"Relax! Our agent said he received it, so I think he's just late."
"What does he–"
Wait.
He knew that voice.
Looking a bit closely, he recognized the tell-tale sign of platinum blonde hair standing to the side in a group that looked like they were waiting for his instructions.
So Draco Malfoy was spearheading this operation? Had their Dark Lord become so desperate?
He shook his head. There was no other explanation because it looked like he was the one that had sent the message. Fifteen year old Draco Malfoy. Really?
Harry kept listening, while slithering closer to a witch and a wizard huddled on the other side of the clearing.
"It's not going to be that way, I told you Blai–"
"Who do you think will break first?"
Draco was cackling. "The mudblood will, I am sure of it! But not before I have her on her—"
Alright, that was enough. Harry breathed in the fresh, dry air of the night. His nostrils flared, anger snapping his mind into focus.
The blonde junior Death Eater was still speaking but Harry had heard enough.
He started casting.
The duo red-haired witch and wizard went down first, their legs shattering in a shower of blood, bone and muscle. One moment there was no sound in the clearing, only some voices that had too much arrogance but boasted too little skill. In the next moment, there were only screams.
"WHO IS IT?!"
"EVERYONE ON ALERT!"
Another witch went down, her hands shattering at the elbows. Judging from her size, Harry knew it was probably Bulstrode.
"SHOW YOURSELF COWARD!"
By now, the remaining schoolboys were scrambling around, looking for him. There was also shouting but their words now had more desperation in them than arrogance.
"SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" someone was bellowing at the screaming witch but she was too much in pain to listen to the wizard. Harry thought he recognized the voice, but didn't think too much of it.
"SHUT IT!"
To be honest, Harry was also getting tired of the screaming but then, it was gratifying too. So he let it continue. Nothing let fear into the hearts of enemies than their comrades being felled one by one by an unseen threat, their screams a constant source of fear for the ones that were still standing.
"PLEASE WHOEV—"
Besides, he owed it to them. They were some of his worst tormentors in Slytherin.
A wizard broke free from Malfoy's group and began to run. His friends called out to him, some in shock and some in fear. Draco threatened to tell the Dark Lord but the wizard kept running.
Harry sent a mild powered blasting curse at his feet and he was swept away in the explosion, his body hurling at a nearby tree with a force that promised retribution to his ribs.
"GET AWAY!"
He waved his wand and an obscure curse rippled through the air at his fourth and fifth victims tonight, a wizard and a witch. Their legs began to burn in blue flames, their mouths opening in shock and urgency as they worked hard to cast all sorts of charms to extinguish the fire but to no avail.
Then the desperation gave way to another set of screams as they fell where they'd been standing, the fire climbing up to their waists and it began to consume the first of their skin.
Harry smiled. There were only seven remaining. Draco, Theo, Crabbe and Goyle, two senior year wizards he didn't recognize and Pansy.
He cancelled his disillusionment.
Now in the middle of the clearing, he saw them turn to him, their faces a mixture of fear, loathing and anger. Malfoy, who had been shouting and scrambling for the last three minutes began to look like he'd suddenly won the bout.
"Well well well, look who's here," he sneered, "Tired of hiding like a coward?"
Harry shook his head, letting his amusement show. "No, only of winning. I came here for fun and you guys haven't even been a little challenge to me so far."
Crabbe and Goyle, the two gorillas that were all brawn and no brains, growled in response to their little master's courage, who now had a deranged smile on his face. The two senior year wizards who had initially screamed, now looked both scared and determined, their wand tips glowing. But the biggest surprise of them all was Theo Nott, who looked like he was a second away from shitting himself from utter terror, his wand not even pointing in Harry's direction.
"FUCK YOU POTT—"
It was almost as if they collectively decided to cast at him and Harry took a second to raise his wand in a arc above his head and cast a single overpowered disarming charm, and before they even blink, their wands had been snatched away from them in a collective bundle, falling at Harry's feet.
One of the lankier older Slytherins ended up falling on top of Goyle and Parkinson who fell on Malfoy as the four ended up in a tangle of limbs while the other three held their hands up in surrender, their faces white in fear.
"Pathetic!" Harry spat; a single Incendio was all it took for their wands to start burning.
Walking forward, he saw the three that were still standing try and move out of his path to which he scowled. "Not so easy, gentlemen. Kneel."
Nott obeyed immediately, Crabbe looking around but following him. The other wizard hesitated. Harry sighed.
"Perhaps I wasn't clear," he said and cast a low-powered cutting curse at his knees. The unarmed wizard fell on his face like a puppet whose strings had been cut, his screams once more piercing the air.
"Please…" Parkinson wept, holding on to Malfoy like a lifeline. Malfoy himself didn't look like he was fairing any better, his face stuck between a mixture of fear and disbelief.
"Please what?" Harry asked softly, meeting the sole unharmed witch's eyes.
She flinched. He clucked his tongue.
"Please what Parkinson?"
She whimpered. Harry shook his head. That was disappointing.
He cast a simple bone breaker at Malfoy's left foot and the blonde screamed in pain.
Parkinson began to tremble, sobs pouring out of her in waves.
"Until you answer me, I'll keep hurting him," Harry said and cast another bone breaker at Malfoy's right foot. This time, the sound of his screams was even greater and more girlish than before.
"Please!" the witch shrieked as tears began to run down Malfoy's face. He sat unmoving, looking up at him and holding his legs in agony. "Potter ple—" he stuttered.
"I didn't ask you," Harry told him and turned to Pansy again. "You were saying?"
She said nothing and he shot a bone splintering curse at Malfoy's right hand, making him scream again. Harry frowned. This was getting repetitive.
"Potter p-please ll-let me—" whimpered Malfoy but he paid it no mind.
He took a step forward and Pansy crawled on all fours until she was situated right at his feet. "Please let us go," she begged, her eyes on him and her hands planted the ground.
"What was your plan here?"
All he got from her were a few broken sobs. "Have it your way, then," he said and then lifted his wand again.
Malfoy was dragged through the dirt, coming to lie face down before him. His feet were turned at odd angles, small whimpers escaping his throat every few seconds.
Harry bent down to take a fistful of his hair to bring him up to eye level.
"Pott–p-p-lease-sorry-I-I'm s-sorry," he was weeping and looking at his girlfriend's face, Harry could witness the abject fear and desperation painted there, one that the cruel, occluded part of his mind relished.
"What was your plan here, Draco?" he said gently, his magic pressing on the wizard with each word.
Malfoy was cradling his hand with his still healthy one, struck dumb with fear.
"Disappointing," Harry said, his wand tip beginning to glow a bright red, the lowest temperature possible for the flame. Far too many books in the Black library contained methods of torture that not only broke a person physically, but also shattered their psyche. He had come across them quite accidentally while looking at apparition books, and they'd ended up consuming his attention for several days.
He had wondered why he hadn't seen or found any of those books before. In his world, he had begun to quite thoroughly peruse the library in his sixth year but had never come across that section. Then he had remembered Molly Weasley, the woman who had very kindly taken the trouble to throw his family's books out from his own library, unconcerned and uncaring that it wasn't her family that she was blatantly looting.
He'd laughed at his own foolishness at trusting that red-headed family so much and then at Sirius' foolishness and naivety for allowing it to happen in his own house. Thinking about the sheer audacity of that woman had made him laugh as he had sat down to read the books that had been denied to him last time.
There was no dark magic that wasn't worth learning, at least that was something that he'd lived and found on his own. Practising any such magic was a different issue, and there was a time and place for all of it.
And now, looking at the weeping, stuttering form of Malfoy, Harry tried to find a single ounce of sympathy in his heart, but realized that that he couldn't find it.
His heart had turned too cold to conjure any such emotion.
"Potte–H-H-Harry—p-please…mercy," came the whimpering voice of his girlfriend and a fresh smile took over his features.
Harry reflected that the way he'd grown up, he'd always had the potential for cruelty in his heart, but had never thought he'll ever get around to letting it out.
The glowing wand tip turned into a ball of flame and Pansy flinched. Malfoy cried.
"I have run out of mercy," Harry said simply, meeting their eyes one by one, and then brought the flames to fall on the right half of the his face.
"ARGHHHHHH—" the scream that left Malfoy was suddenly drowned out in a loud cheer from the Quidditch stadium.
He chuckled, looking at the horrified visage of Pansy and then at the thrashing body of Malfoy. He was thrashing but the grip Harry had on his hair was too tight to let him escape the flames.
"Interesting place you've chosen for this rendezvous," he commented, Malfoy's skin turning from red to black under the effect of the flames. "Even your harshest screams will stay private."
He saw Pansy staying shockingly still, still on her knees, looking at her burning boyfriend, not even breathing.
Looking around, he saw that the three – or was that four? – injured wizards looking at him in terror, like they'd never seen him before in their lives.
"There's nowhere to go," he called out to the crawling form of a lump that he recognized as Goyle. So self-preservation had finally won out over loyalty, huh? The lump stopped moving.
Stopping the flames, he let his wand disappear back into his invisible holster.
"What was your plan?"
Malfoy had stopped trashing by now, weeping and drooling, his eyes only half open, looking too out of his senses to reply so he met Pansy's eyes instead. But the witch was too fixated on her half burnt boyfriend to reply.
"Pansy?" that broke her out of her reverie.
When she looked at him again, her face was blank. Whether it was in shock or fear or both, Harry couldn't tell.
"What was your plan?"
"Bring you here, torture you, make sure you stayed away during the celebration," she replied in a monotone voice.
"What is the celebration?" Pansy shook her head.
He muttered "Legilimens," at the hapless witch.
He saw the junior Death Eaters in a meeting in a tent, discussing the kidnapping of the Potters. Then, he was transported into the bedroom, where a gleeful Malfoy was recounting to a half-naked Parkinson how the Dark Lord had tasked him with taking care of the Slytherin Potter. And then there was Malfoy taking his pleasure in her body at which Harry cancelled the spell.
Pansy was weeping silently.
"Come here, Pansy," he called.
When she didn't move, Harry willed the wand tip to glow again and the witch shrieked and scrambled to come to him.
Up close, Harry felt his loins stir. Pansy was quite a decent looking witch, with a nice well-proportioned face, pouty lips, and thick straight dark hair. But he crushed his baser instincts to pay attention to her voice.
"Please–Potter, let us go, we won't tell anyone–we won't even–let us go–" she was saying, repeating the same phrases over and over, looking from him to Malfoy and back.
Twirling his wand in a semi-circle over his head, he muttered an Accio. One by one, all nine wizards and four witches were lying at his feet, some still whimpering at their broken bodies and the unharmed ones uttering nay but a whimper at being dragged across the dirt.
"This is your last and only warning from me," he said, "Slytherin is mine. Your lives are mine," he said, pressing his magic down on his tormentors.
"Is someone going to talk or should I start another round?" he snapped. "Theo," he called, looking at the terrified slippery wizard, "Perhaps it's your turn."
"NO!" he cried and immediately prostrated himself before him. "Please. I'm sorry. I'll do what you want."
Harry took a moment to relish in the feeling of power and then grunted.
"If I even hear a word of this…performance, I'll kill all of you in ways that you can't even imagine," he said, pronouncing each word slowly and fully. "Am I clear?"
The ones who could, nodded.
He let Malfoy fall back on the dirt. This time, Pansy didn't even move an inch in his direction.
"Well, that wouldn't do."
She flinched, and a few others squeaked. He saw the red-haired witch and wizard slowly scrambling with their hands as they tried to move but their legs lay still, shattered. He remembered them from the descriptions of his counterpart's journal that they were the infamous Carrow twins, the product of incest. The other witch, Millicent Bulstrode, was still lying on her back, unable to get up without the use of her arms.
"Tell me, Pansy," he addressed the witch before him, "Do you love him?" he pointed to her fallen boyfriend.
She nodded slowly. "Good. Then you wouldn't kissing him."
Pansy looked at him then and it took a second for comprehension to dawn on her face.
"What?"
Harry sneered. "Kiss him, Pansy."
She moved slowly to reach Malfoy was lying unmoving on the dirt. Her eyes shone with a mixture of terror and hatred.
"You're a monster," she bit out.
Harry chuckled. "Thank you for the compliment," he said, "You were among the ones who helped make me." Then his face hardened. "Kiss him now, Pansy."
She moved slowly to bring her face next to his. He could see that she was trembling.
"Maybe you need a bit more motivation," he muttered and she flinched and immediately let her lips meet his dried, burnt lips.
"Good girl," Harry said, "That wasn't so hard, was it?"
Turning to Nott, he brought a sneer back on. "I trust you'll be helping bring this lot to St. Mungos."
It wasn't a question and Nott gulped and nodded. "Good."
Sighing, he brought his magic back under his control, knowing that it was time to leave. He'd had his fill of retribution and it was only the beginning.
"Tell all your friends who aren't here," he growled, low and menacing, meeting all of their eyes slowly, "Slytherin is mine. You now live with my permission."
And then he turned on his heel and walked away.
~~ .
The Black Tent looked as regal as he'd thought, located a little distance away from the Potter tent, and entering it, Harry found himself relaxing on a comfortable sofa with a glass of water in his hand.
The tent was empty as he'd expected as Sirius and Bella would both be busy with their work elsewhere, thus making it a perfect place to change his attire and get rid of the dried blood and soot.
He'd been on his way to his family tent when he'd noticed that his clothes had those stains, and decided to not present himself without cleaning up. There was no need to worry his parents or sisters if he could help it.
Taking a few minutes to put his mind to order, he set about using the luxurious bathroom to get rid of his soiled clothes, choosing to have a quick shower.
Warm water washed over his body, helping relax his taut muscles and breathe a sigh of relief after a long while. Growing up with the Dursleys, he'd become afraid of his shadow since he was seven years old, jumping at the slightest touch and inflection of voice. His senses had become trained to tolerate the harsh behaviour met upon him by his relatives; Petunia and Vernon had been his tormentors inside the household while their precious son bullied him outside.
Ever since he could remember that he had a name other than 'freak', he'd come to realize that there was something wrong with him. Something fundamentally different that separated him from not only his obese and poor-mannered cousin, but also from the other children at his school.
All the children in his classes used to study and mingle in groups. He used to watch them talk and giggle and play with each other and wonder why it couldn't happen to him too. Every attempt at joining one of those groups was rebuffed, either with the harshest of words from the biggest boy in the group, who for some reason was always bigger than him, or in a manner that was a barely short of violence. They stared at him, pointed fingers at him, and even spoke against him to the teachers, when he'd done nothing wrong.
Naturally, his six or seven year old self had come to realize, that there must be something wrong with him to get that treatment from literally everyone around him. After all, It was quite foolish, and downright impossible to assume that his relatives had come and turned everyone at school against him, isn't it?
One day, he'd noticed a girl who had voluntarily sat beside him in the maths class. She had messy blonde hair that came down to the middle of her back, deep blue eyes and a kind heart shaped face. She was the first person who had ever sat beside him without being forced by the teacher. At the end of the class, she'd even given him a small smile as she'd collected her things and walked out from the class. His heart had thudded against his ribs as he'd realized that he might have just made a friend.
That day had become the first good day of his life since as long as he could remember.
He'd begun to have her company in nearly every class from that day, and sometimes, she even invited him to eat her lunch, since the Dursleys didn't give him much. Becca was her name, as he'd come to know one day and he'd realized that he loved her smile and the sound of her voice. Maths was her favourite subject, and that her daddy was an engineer at a big corporation.
As was everything good in his life, not that there was much but still, he had to hide the fact that he had a friend from Dudley, lest he beat her up and force her to leave him.
One day, he'd been eating his meagre lunch and waiting for his first and only friend to arrive when another boy walked up to him. He had dark hair and broad shoulders and as always, was bigger than him. In a voice that was barely short of a growl, he'd informed him that he was to stay away from Becca from now on. Harry had gathered up his courage to ask what would happen if he did not, only to get a shove that forced him to fall on his butt, drooping his lunchbox.
But he'd glared at the boy and continued his friendship with his friend, not caring about a random boy and his empty threats.
It was two days later that Becca had come to sit beside him in the maths class that he noticed that she had a bloody lip. He'd asked her what had happened but she'd said nothing, only that she'd taken a fall in the loo.
The next day, she never arrived to their last class of the day. What could be the reason, he'd asked himself, imagining all sorts of bad things that could've happened to her.
He'd decided that he would find out.
Next day, he'd come to the school after escaping a near thrashing from Dudley and his friends and had barely gotten to his first class in time when he'd seen her, standing with three others, her eyes down on the book in her hands.
Her new friends were laughing among themselves as he tried to catch her eye in vain. Only at lunch was he able to ask her what was the matter and he'd only gotten a weak sorry in return before she went back to her new friends.
That day, Harry had realized had become the worst day of his life since as long as he could remember, and he'd had many bad days in his short life.
The rest of the day had become a mystery to him, except one tiny incident that had almost shaped his life. Almost.
Harry suddenly felt a set of warm, dainty fingers on his chest and shoulders, roaming on his skin as a gasp escaped him.
"Surprise?"
He felt her mouth lay wet kisses on his nape under the constant stream of water from the shower, her body flush against him.
"Claire?" he asked, happily surprised, "When did you arrive?"
Her hands travelled along his chest, burning his skin in a sweet torture. "Just now. Monsieur Black told me you'd be here."
Bless his godfather for being so awesome.
"Indeed," he smiled, enjoying her ministrations immensely. "Do you have your own tent?"
He felt her hum as her mouth travelled to his spine, trailing kisses and caresses in equal measure. "In the International Campground," she answered lazily, "A little bit away."
He grinned at how the word little sounded like leetle from her mouth, making him remember Fleur Delacour again.
"You are deep in thought," she commented, her hands on his stomach, applying some soap, "What is it?"
"I almost killed a boy in primary school," he replied casually, as if talking about the weather. "I liked it too much. So much that I decided to never let that side of me out again."
He felt her hands freeze and then resume again as she came to stand in front of him, resuming her caresses by turning him so that her body was draped sideways on him, her breath warm on his cheek.
To his satisfaction though, she didn't look horrified. Only curious.
"What happened?"
"He beat and scared away my only friend in school," Harry admitted, "One day, I was in the bathroom when I saw him coming out of a stall and I was…" he trailed off.
She kissed him then, slow and languid and unhurried. "You was?"
"*Were,*" he corrected with a smile, and then continued, "I was incandescent with rage. I attacked him in the stall," he said darkly, "Beat his head against the wall and the toilet. I didn't even know that I had so much strength in me. I beat him so badly he was bleeding from his head and his clothes were all bloody."
"Then?"
"I wasn't satisfied," he said, and he saw her look surprised. "I wasn't. I wanted to hurt him really badly. I also wanted to prevent him from ever talking to me or anyone I like ever again. And then, I performed my first bit of magic."
She was almost breathless as she asked, "What did you do?"
He didn't respond for a long moment, simply letting himself enjoy her attentions on his skin. "A ray of dark light came out of my hands unexpectedly and struck him in the chest and he collapsed. He never uttered a word after that."
Her hands were now roaming on his waist, making him rock hard and eager for her touch down there. "What happened to the boy?"
"He never woke up," she gasped and he met her dark eyes, shining with an emotion he couldn't pinpoint, "Never uttered another word. He's still in a coma to this day."
He turned her in his arms, bringing her in the cage of his arms. "That day I decided to bury that part of me forever. I never wanted to hurt someone like that again."
There must've been something in his face that made her kiss him again. Her lips and tongue were fierce and demanding and he almost let go of all his thoughts when she pulled away to bring her hands exactly where he'd been wanting them.
Gripping his girth with one hand while her fingers caressing his thigh with another, she buried her face in his neck. "Did he deserve it?"
"Yes," Harry said easily, "And now I'm not sure there is even a point in keeping myself in check anymore. There are far too many people who deserve the worst."
"Good," she replied immediately. "My papa says that if people get forgiveness without begging for it, they never learn their lesson."
"Is that so?"
"Always," she added firmly. "So you should stop feeling guilty."
Harry suddenly felt a rush of affection for her. He looked deep into her eyes to realize that she meant every word. And she actually cared.
He was a little surprised too but nodded. He didn't know when she'd learnt to read him so well. "Yes, Ma'am."
She gave him a saucy grin in return. "Now, get ready for your reward, *mon prince*."
"My reward?"
"For saving all those lives," he belatedly realized she was talking about the Diagon Alley attack, and she nodded, dropping to her knees. "One that I guarantee you'll love."
~~ .
There were far too many of them with opinions, thought Lucius disgustedly to himself as he looked around.
The inside of the tent was sweltering, thick with smoke curling from an ornate silver pipe balanced in Mulciber's fingers. The air reeked of sweat, burning herbs, and something acrid—a sharp reminder that tempers were about to spill over. The makeshift chandelier above flickered, the enchantments barely holding as the men inside argued, voices low and biting, but heated nonetheless.
Lucius was standing at the head of the long wooden table, his jaw clenched so tight his cheekbones looked sharper than usual. His cane, heavy with its serpent's head, rested against his gloved fingers as he surveyed the gathered Death Eaters. Not just the usual thugs—this was the inner circle and a few others, the ones who had the Dark Lord's ear when others grovelled for scraps of approval.
That also meant that they held the most responsibilities under his command. If they failed, it was on their heads alone.
"This was meant to be simple," he hissed, his cold grey eyes darting between the men. "A swift, decisive strike. And yet, here we are—without Potter and his Mudblood wife buried in the fucking ground."
Nott exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tapping against the armrest of his chair. "We should've known the security would be tighter. It was as if they knew we were coming. Black's behind it somehow, I swear!"
"That's not an excuse," Lucius snapped, slamming his cane onto the table. The impact silenced the murmuring. "We had them. There was no one around in the Box—they should have been ours for the taking."
"Either Black has become even more paranoid with their safety," growled Jugson from the other side of the tent, arms crossed over his chest, "or our agent failed us."
"She's the fucking Head of the DMLE. You think she didn't have contingencies?" sneered Rowle. "For all we know, she suspected we'd try something. I think we should make a new plan."
"I would like to hear a plan in which I get to chop some heads," Macnair added.
Dolohov snorted, giving Macnair a disgusted look. "Black cannot be that good. I'll take care of her, if none of you want to."
Lucius let out a sharp breath, fingers tightening around his cane. "Enough of this petty fucking speculation!" Turning to Dolohov, he spat, "And no engaging Bellatrix, for Merlin's sake! She'll have your head on a pike!" He tapped his cane with a growl. "The reality is that we've failed this time. And we cannot afford another one. The Dark Lord entrusted this plan to us because it was simple—take out the Potter parents, leave the other child distracted, and allow the final piece of our plan to slip into place. But now?" His voice dropped to a venomous whisper. "Now, we have to clean up this fucking mess."
A long, heavy silence filled the tent, the firelight casting dark shadows over their faces.
"Do we tell him?" Nott finally asked, voice low.
No one answered immediately. That was the real fucking question. The Dark Lord did not tolerate failure. There were no second chances with him. Lucius knew that better than anyone.
"If we tell him, he will demand names," Mulciber muttered, tapping the rim of his pipe against the edge of the chair. "He will want a scapegoat."
"And if we don't tell him, he will know eventually," Dolohov added. "He always does."
Lucius exhaled slowly, his gaze burning into the table. He despised this. There was no right move here, only the lesser of evils.
"If we tell him," he said at last, "we must present him with a solution." His lip curled. "A better plan."
Rowle scoffed. "Better? We barely have time to fucking recover from this cock-up."
"We adapt," Lucius said coolly, regaining some of his composure. "We have time before the finals. Security will be stretched thinner over the finals as more tourists arrive for the finals. People will be distracted. If we can't remove the parents in a direct strike, we find another way."
A slow smirk spread across Macnair's face. "Accidents happen all the time at the Cup."
"They do," Lucius agreed. "And we still have the final piece to set in place."
Nott leaned forward. "You mean—"
"I mean we shift our focus. The parents can be dealt with in due time. But the Boy-Who-Lived…" Lucius' frown dissolved in a composed mask, "That, my friends, is where our target lies."
The tent was filled with a new kind of tension—one laced with a dark, eager anticipation.
Mulciber chuckled, low and menacing. "A shame about the James Potter, but the world will forget him soon enough. I would like to have a taste of the mudblood at least, before we do her in."
"The world will watch when Potter disappears," Lucius murmured. "And as for the Mudblood, once we have her, the Dark Lord had no specific instructions beyond keeping her mind intact."
There was a creak as someone shifted in their chair. "And if the Dark Lord disapproves of us changing the plan?"
Lucius' expression didn't falter. "He won't if we don't fail."
The men exchanged glances, understanding settling between them. They had been in too deep for too long to turn back now.
Lucius tapped his cane against the ground once, decisively. "We move carefully. No more sloppy fuck-ups. We make sure this is done right. And we apply more pressure this time, take a dozen of the low levels."
The men nodded as one.
Jugson cracked his knuckles. "And what about whoever put your heir in the fucking hospital?"
Lucius' face turned to ice. "Whoever did that," he said, his voice colder than the dead of winter, "is going to suffer. It is only a matter of time before we find out who dared to attack our children."
A heavy silence followed, only broken when Dolohov cleared his throat. "So what's the first move?"
Lucius ran his fingers over the top of his cane, his mind already working.
"We wait," he murmured. "The finals will provide us with the perfect moment." His gaze flickered to each of them and then produced a magical photo from his robes. "And this time, we will have a contingency."
~ .
Everyone's spirits were high as they stepped into the Black Box once more for the second semifinals. Harry had spent the second day exploring the brilliant Quidditch Village, enjoying the shows from the mascots and the fans, treats from the licensed shops showcasing all sorts of food, enchanted items, joke items, merchandize and jewelry, and also placing a bet about the finals. Knowing the future should be beneficial in some way after all.
It was in one of those betting shops that he'd encountered a stranger and had a curious conversation.
He'd just been in a queue to the counter when his name was called by a gentlemen in sunglasses.
"Er…excuse me, Mr. Potter? Harry Potter?" came a curious and inoffensive voice.
Harry nodded. "Yes?"
"My name is Stephan Dunn, I work with Madam Black," the man offered, removing his sunglasses and extending his hand. "Congratulations on the Duelling Tournament. You were very impressive."
"Thank you, Mr. Dunn," he offered, scanning his face for any deceit or ulterior motives but finding nothing except a little nervousness. But nervousness in meeting with a fourteen year old? That was interesting. "I appreciate it. Were you there? At the match I mean."
"Oh no," he said lightly, "All of my insights are second-hand, from Madam Black's recollections and the papers."
Harry offered a smile in return. "I'm sure the papers were exaggerating as usual, but I'm more glad to hear that Aunt Bella has been talking about it in the office?"
The man laughed, and Harry noticed that in addition to his very mundane attire of a t-shirt and jeans, he also had streaks of gray hair on his temple, . "Madam Black had some pointers to offer us during our routine drills," he admitted. "Honestly, to tell you the truth," he offered in a low voice, as if speaking of a secret, "I've not seen that much disgruntlement among my colleagues in a while."
Harry was finding that he was liking this man a lot. "Oh? Please be sure to offer them my apologies the next time you see them," he offered jokingly.
"Will do, Mr. Potter, will do," he retorted, chortling.
"To be honest," Harry attempted some modesty, "I have received a lot of support from Aunt Bella in improving my skills. I'm sure there's nobody more capable of teaching the Aurors than her in the country, or even the continent."
Mr. Dunn was nodding vigorously. "That's one of the reasons they can't complain at all."
"Only one?" he immediately retorted.
The man barked a laugh. "Oh well, being scared of their boss is likely not a reason they'll ever admit."
Harry joined him in his laughter, thoroughly amused. He could see how much of a pain dealing with Bella would be as a strict, no-nonsense boss.
"What about you, Mr. Dunn?"
"Pardon? Oh, please call me Stephan," he offered.
"Harry, then," Harry offered graciously, with a mischievous smile, "What about you? Are you also afraid of your boss?"
To his surprise, Harry saw a blush on the man's cheeks which the wizard quickly got rid of with a cough. "Madam Black is very impressive."
Harry nodded, slowly understanding what the man was about. He locked eyes for a second with the Auror, trying his best to glean some surface thoughts. What he found almost made him snort in amusement.
"Well, that's me, Stephan," he nodded towards the counter, "It was a pleasure to meet you."
"I'll see you around, Harry," the wizard said to him before it was Harry's turn to place his bets.
"Krum takes possession—Merlin, look at that speed!—dodges one, two Bludgers! Schmidt tries to cut him off—no chance! Krum loops under him, a Wronski Feint? No, he pulls up—Schmidt is down! The distraction has set Bulgaria in possession!"
The roar of the crowd was deafening as Viktor Krum shot through the sky like a streak of red lightning, his broom slicing the air with effortless precision. The German Beaters, desperate to keep him at bay, sent a pair of Bludgers his way, but Krum barely acknowledged them, twisting midair in a manoeuvre that sent gasps rippling through the stands. The air crackled with the raw energy of the semi-final, Bulgaria and Germany locked in a relentless battle for supremacy.
James groaned dramatically, slumping back into his chair. "Bloody hell, not again! That's the third time Krum's done that to them. I should've put my bet on Bulgaria instead of believing in bloody German efficiency."
Sirius smirked, swirling the Firewhisky in his glass. "Told you, Prongs. Never bet against a Seeker with a face that brooding. The man plays like he's got a vendetta against gravity itself." Standing nearby, Rose snickered.
Harry, grinning, leaned back, stretching his legs. "What was that you were saying about Bulgaria not having the stamina to hold out against Germany's chasers?" he teased, raising an eyebrow at his father. "Remind me again, how much did you lose?"
James shot him a mock glare. "Not as much as I will if you don't let me in on your next bet for the finals. Come on, son, if you win, you help your dear old dad and his wayward best mate recover some of our losses, yeah?"
Before Harry could respond, a sharp voice cut through their banter.
"Absolutely not!"
Lily, arms crossed, eyed them with the exasperation of a woman who had been dealing with this sort of nonsense for decades. "Honestly, James, you're setting a terrible example. And Sirius, don't think I don't see you encouraging him!"
Sirius placed a hand over his heart, looking scandalized. "Lily, I would never."
"Save it," she said, shaking her head fondly before turning to Harry. "And you—don't you go getting ideas. You're bad enough without their influence."
Harry laughed. "No promises."
The match raged on before them, the tension in the stadium thick enough to cut with a knife, but for the Family, it was just another day of chaos, laughter, and a little too much competitive spirit.
Harry hoped that come what may tomorrow in the finals, nothing was going to disrupt tonight.