No sooner did their group minus Sirius step outside the Box to make way for their tent than Bella joined them, falling into step beside them.
"We haven't seen you around, Aunt Bella," John said, "Is everything alright?"
"You missed a pretty spectacular takedown of Germany earlier," Rose quipped. "Bulgaria is in the finals."
"For the first time in 85 years," James chuckled. "Their seeker is something else."
"Oh, don't pretend you enjoyed it, Dad," Rose giggled, nudging him playfully. "You spent the entire match grumbling about Germany's 'solid strategy' and how 'stamina always wins over flair.'"
John smirked. "Yeah, and then Bulgaria basically danced circles around them. What was it you said again, Rose?"
Rose grinned mischievously. "Something about how Germany's 'superior formations' fell apart faster than Uncle Sirius' patience in a Ministry meeting?"
Harry snorted, shooting his father an amused look. "To be fair, it was sort of tragic. One second their Chasers were working together like a well-oiled machine, and the next—bam! Bludger to the ribs, Quaffle stolen, and Krum pulling off another insane feint."
James rolled his eyes, though he couldn't hide his smile. "Alright, alright, rub it in, why don't you?"
"Oh, we will," Rose said cheerfully. "For at least another four years." Turning to Bella, she pouted. "We missed you."
The older witch ruffled Rose's hair and gave the siblings a smile. "I've been busy with the security," then she turned to meet the adults' eyes. "There's been some hooliganism in the Late Arrivals Campground," she explained, "I've arrested a few more smuggled criminals, this time belonging to our friends from across the channel."
In the dim flashing lights of the Village, Harry peered closely at her to see some dark circles under her eyes. "Do we have any reason to think that it's any more concerning that it's already been?"
She shook her head. "It's not exactly a secret, the Daily Prophet covered it very nicely, to their credit," she looked like the praise for that rag had taken some effort from her and Harry could understand it himself. "And no, it's nothing alarming, at least for now."
"We're still poised for a major threat during the finals, aren't we?" Lily asked unhappily.
Bella sighed. "Despite our best efforts, there is a possibility that it could happen."
"There's been no reports of Voldemort still," James mused, "I wish we knew what the wanker was up to."
"If we know anything about him," Harry supplied, "it's that he's not one to sit still for long periods of time. I'll wager he's going to do something after the finals."
Bella frowned. "After? Not during or before?"
Harry shrugged. "It seems to fall in line with his flair for dramatics."
"I hope nothing disturbs the match," John muttered, "Ireland needs to win."
"We'll be gone as soon as the finals are concluded," James said firmly, addressing his family. "If something happens later, we'll rather hear about it in the news." Lily nodded, offering her support. It was a testament to how well behaved his siblings were that Harry didn't even see John protest to the instruction, to his surprise and appreciation.
"That's the best course of action." Bella agreed.
Nobody disagreed with the sentiment and soon they were reaching the Potter tent. Harry told his parents that he'll be back later and begged off to walk with Bella as she headed to the Black tent. James agreed easily with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth while Lily attempted to dissuade him.
"Dinner is in an hour, could you not visit after eating?"
Harry quickly embraced her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'll be back before you miss me," he promised to which she reluctantly agreed.
"Julius has prepared something special for the evening," James informed him, "Come soon."
It was when they were alone that Harry put an arm around his godmother and felt her sag against him.
"I'll be around if you need any help, Bella," Harry said quietly. "Just tell me what to do."
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "I could get your help on a few things, but wouldn't you rather spend this time with your family? I know they miss you."
Harry looked surprised. "You didn't know?"
He shook his head.
"Dorea was a bit sad. She was saying she rarely sees you around the house," Bella informed him, "you know how she is, she doesn't like to bemoan any of her troubles to anyone. I could barely get it out of her that she misses you."
"I've been busy with studies and training," he mused aloud. "I'll talk to her." Turning to her, he offered a question that had been on his mind for a bit, "I suspect Amelia didn't agree to your requests."
She looked like she gathered his change of topic but didn't comment. "She did, actually. And we've already established the innocence of everyone except Rufus and one Senior Auror, who've been busy with overseeing the Village."
"Do you trust them?"
Bella nodded. "I've known Rufus for many years, he may be a jackass sometimes but he isn't disloyal. And Stephan is a good kid."
"Stephan as in Stephan Dunn?"
Bella was surprised. "How did you know?"
Harry snorted. "I met him in a betting shop here. He introduced himself to me."
Bella looked like she was hiding a grin. "I see. And what did you talk about?"
"Oh, here and there. The duelling tournament, how strict you are as a boss and," he leaned closer to whisper, "his crush on you."
Bella let out a musical laugh. "Really?" she elbowed him.
"No," he offered, barely avoiding her second blow. "I deduced it."
"Let me guess," she put a finger on his chin as if thinking hard, "You read this mind."
He shrugged unrepentantly. "It's not as if his mind was protected, which I did wonder. Shouldn't Aurors or at least the senior ones have at least some form of mental defence?"
Bella clucked her tongue, looking wry. "I keep forgetting that you're still so ignorant about the larger wizarding world."
"What do you mean?"
He let his hand wander a little down from her shoulders, pressing against the side of her chest as he pulled her as flush against himself as he could without disrupting their walk.
Bella stiffened and looked scandalized for a moment. "Harry….we're in public!"
He looked straight ahead. "It's dark and not everyone cares enough to look so closely."
"But—"
"No buts, Bella," he said with authority, "Tell me what you were saying earlier. About the wizarding world."
She was quiet for a moment as he registered her gaze on him but he didn't react. Then, slowly he saw her shake her head and relax.
"You're something else," she whispered and he felt a satisfactory grin tug at the corners of his mouth but he resisted. Then she cleared her throat. "I was talking about the fact that the wizarding world has very different definitions of magical competence than you do. Most people graduate from school to go into a job immediately, and advanced topics like the Mind Arts isn't something that is possible to be taught to the greater population. Mind Arts doesn't even have a subject in Mastery Curriculums. Very few wizards are able to teach themselves the art of protecting their minds, and an even small fraction of them are able to use it as a weapon to gather secrets from others'."
"What about purebloods? Don't they teach their heirs to guard their minds from a young age?"
"Where did you hear this?" she scoffed. "If it was so easy, every other pureblood child will be a near genius, won't they? The power to organize and defend your mind is a very serious business, Harry. There are children whose family magic gives them some advantage when it comes to defence from certain kinds of harmful magics, and Mind Arts may or may not be one of them. But those are few and far in between. And it isn't based on their individual power or skill, but purely on ancient magic that has been in their family for generations."
Harry hummed in realization. "So the pureblood families with family magic usually favour a certain branch of magic, do they?"
She nodded. "Yes. But not all members of the family are advised to learn those magics. You may have heard that magic is sentient?"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Some people within a family are better suited to mastering their family magic. It's why most pureblood families have at least two or three heirs. It's necessary to keep the skills alive in each generation."
"Magic favours some and not others?"
"Exactly. Some wizards, like yourself," her eyes glinted as she spoke, "are destined to be great wizards."
"And can I learn the Black family magic as well, in addition to Potter?"
They arrived at the Black tent and entered to find the living area empty. Bella shrugged off her robe on a sofa before answering. Harry's eyes raked greedily over her form.
"I'm not sure. You'll have to ask Sirius, maybe you could learn it with his blessing. But I may be mistaken. You do have enough Black blood in you to get away with it though."
He occupied a sofa and leaned back, elevating his arms over the comfortable cushion. "And you? Have you learnt the Black family magic?"
"Of course," she smirked, gulping down a glass of water. "How else would I be the most feared witch on the continent?"
"How did you attain that nickname anyway? From duelling?" he asked curiously.
Bella walked over to him, and he could swear that her hips had a little more sway in them than normal.
"I don't know and I don't care," she shrugged carelessly, "Duelling made me famous, at least. The rest could just be my charm."
His blood was running south quite rapidly, prompting him to apply a little bit of Occlumency to sharpen his senses. "That must be the only time the papers got something right."
Before she could reply, he grabbed a hold on her wrist and pulled. She yelped in surprise and fell predictably and literally in his lap.
The satisfactory part of this was the fact that she didn't even need instruction to put her arms around his neck. She did that by herself, prompting him to breathe in her unique scent.
"It's not as if that charm has won me any favours," she said, her tone an octave lower than before.
His hands roamed on her back, his skin tingling in the warmth of her own. "I'm sure that Stephan Dunn would disagree."
She chuckled, narrowing her eyes. "Jealous much?"
He pretended to think. "No. It's not like he's better than me in anything."
"Arrogant much?"
"I'm sure it must be the Black blood in me," he mocked.
"I don't know Harry," she frowned, as if considering his words deeply, "He's a Senior Auror while you are…just a schoolboy."
Harry knew that she was only teasing but it did rankle him a little. Just a little.
His thumb hooked under her collarbone, tracing the curve of her spine as his other hand tangled in the fabric of her blouse. Bella gasped when he tugged sharply, buttons popping off and the material splitting along the seam. "The Auror," he whispered, lips curling into a smirk. "cannot do this to you."
She trembled as he removed the torn pieces of the garment from her front, revealing her heaving chest to his leery gaze.
His mouth sucked on the slope of her neck, near her pulse point. "The Auror," he whispered, trailing his lips on her collarbone and then settling beside the strap of her bra, "cannot do this to you," he finished with a growl, biting hard into her exposed skin.
The moan that escaped her mouth and the way she wiggled in his lap made him even more impatient, if that was even possible.
When he pulled her into a kiss, it was anything but gentle. His tongue fought and won against her as he bit her lower lip until he tasted blood. "The Auror," he hissed, sucking at her chin, "would not dare."
Her hands holding firm at his neck, she looked at him from under her lashes. "Jealousy looks good on you, Harry."
"You could never pay any notice to a wizard who is most definitely your inferior," he continued as if she hadn't spoken, "There is no wizard superior to you in this land," his hands took a firm grip on her bountiful hair, pulling her head back to make her gaze meet his, "except me."
"Harry—"
"Tell me, Bella," he growled, burying his face in the crook of her neck, "tell me the truth."
She was shivering in his arms, deliciously and invitingly and he couldn't wait to make her his. "It's true," she said breathlessly, "there is no one else."
"There can be no one else," he said, pulling the straps down her shoulders.
"Please—" she began but he spoke again.
"Tell me there can be no one else," he pressed.
He saw her throat bob and her head do the motions of a nod quickly, as if too impatient. "Please Harry…" she whispered and he understood what she was saying, it was the same as what he wanted too.
"HARRY! I have a—"
The door slammed opened to reveal Claire's excited visage, looking around the room and finally settling upon him and then the woman in his lap. Harry only smirked at the gaping witch who had lost her power of speech.
"I'm so sor—"
"Go wait in my room," he said firmly, indicating no chance for argument.
When she didn't move, he repeated the order and she broke out of her stupor.
"Euh... oui... bon... je... je vais..." she said in her native tongue, avoiding his eyes and almost running the distance to his room.
Harry focused on Bella again to see that her face was red with embarrassment. "You have nothing to be ashamed about," he said. "She will keep what she saw to herself."
"I know."
"Then wha—"
"I'm only thinking whether she'll be opposed to me watching you fuck her into the mattress," she smirked, "for you know, daring to interrupt us."
Feeling himself stir, he reacted by forcefully capturing her lips with his. When he pulled away for breath, he found her breathless but her face still held mischief.
"Maybe I should just tell Claire that you can join us for tonight," he said causing her expression to transform into shock.
"What?" when she shoved him in the chest, he only laughed. "It's not that much of a stretch from merely watching, is it?" he said as she made the motions to get off his lap.
He resisted, looking irritated. "After tomorrow, I'm gonna lock you in my bedroom at Grimmauld so that there are no interruptions. For a week."
Bella laughed.
~~ .
Amelia Bones looked resplendent in her ocean blue silk robes as she sat beside Sirius, looking every bit the Minister for Magic.
The finals were imminent, the mascots ready for the evening, and as far as Harry could see, the fans were being extremely noisy.
Harry looked around to see a lot of powerful people milling about in the Black box, a few British Ministry officials and foreign dignitaries, including the Bulgarian Minister that he'd met before in his previous world.
"Enjoying yourself?" Sirius asked, walking up to him.
"It's great!" he said enthusiastically, "I've never seen anything quite like it."
"What do you think about the Minister?" Sirius asked with a grin.
"Which one? I've met both."
Sirius elbowed him. "Our Minister, Harry."
"There is no need to brag, Padfoot," he rolled his eyes, "I'm sure you're doing your best to tap that arse to the best you of your abilities, as you'll put it."
"Fine! Spoil my fun!" His godfather pouted comically which made him chuckle, drawing Amelia's eyes towards them. Thankfully, she was busy in a conversation with the Bulgarian Minister and the duo was too far to hear them.
"I still don't know how you managed to seduce her," Harry shook his head. "Didn't she know about your reputation?"
"Oh she knows alright," Sirius' eyes sparkled with mischief, "she's known about it since Hogwarts. But she could never resist me."
"—before we begin, let's welcome the teams' mascots! And here come the Bulgarian Veela!"
"Hmmph. I would've thought that out of all the women you've bed, at least she would've resisted you."
"Pureblood witches are always hard, Morgana's virtue and all," Sirius mused. "But I've always loved a challenge."
"I'm sure. How many times did she reject you?"
Sirius smiled. "Nine. But I'm persistent. Why? Jealous?"
Harry huffed, internally curious and proud at the fact that the flying Veela had not affected his godfather at all. "Not at all."
Sirius leaned in conspiratorially. "I might give you some tips to woo her if you ask nicely."
"No thank you," Harry scoffed, "I don't want to go anywhere where you've already been, you mutt."
Sirius rolled his eyes. "I'm sure you've thought about it."
"I think about a lot of things," he snarked.
"I mean look at her," Sirius continued, ignoring him, "She's like the perfect woman."
"Why don't you marry her then?"
"Ah, yes, a truly mesmerising sight! But, let's keep our heads, gentlemen—literally! Last thing we need is another incident of fans diving onto the field in a desperate attempt to impress the Veela. And now—oh, here we go! The Irish have something special for us tonight!"
Sirius laughed. "You're joking. Marriage isn't for me."
"Why not? I think she's half in love with you already!"
"In love with me?" Sirius said incredulously, "Not possible. She knows me. I don't settle."
Harry clucked his tongue. "You're being dense. She's been following you around with her eyes all this time."
"Nope! She's undressing me with her eyes," he waggled his eyebrows. "There's a difference."
Harry shook his head once more. His godfather was adamant. "You're the same age as Dad. Don't you want kids of your own?"
Sirius laughed. "Kids have nothing to do with marriage. I'm sure I could have a few anytime I want."
"Oh-ho! And there they are—those charming little troublemakers! The Irish leprechauns are putting on quite the show tonight! If past performances are anything to go by, I suspect that gold will disappear the moment the match is over—so don't go spending it all just yet!"
"I'm sure," he drawled.
"You're channeling Lily right now," Sirius teased. "She's the only one who pushes me to get married."
Harry chuckled. "I'm sure she is trying to do the world a favour."
"Says the one with a growing harem," Sirius barked a laugh. "Don't you already a couple of witches not including our dear Bella?"
"What? How did you know?" Harry asked surprised and a little worried. If word got around…it'll surely become weird.
"Don't worry," Sirius said in response to his expression, "Your Mum doesn't know." Then he grinned. "I'm sure she'll give you an earful if she did."
"And we are OFF! Ireland immediately takes possession—Troy with the Quaffle—quick pass to Moran—back to Troy, they're moving fast! Bulgaria's Beaters are already trying to break through, but Ireland is weaving through like a well-oiled broomstick—Troy to Moran to Mullet—AND SHE SCORES! Ten-nil to Ireland!"
"Nah she won't."
Sirius sighed. "You're right she won't."
Then they turned to each other and grinned.
"Stop staring at her, Sirius," Harry muttered.
"What?"
"If I didn't know any better, I'll say you are in love with her."
"Huh?" Sirius blinked, focused on the match. "I am in love with those tits."
Harry let his eyes wander. Amelia's robes were open at the front, displaying her shapely breasts, straining wonderfully against her dress, leaving no doubt to their size. "They are quite something," he said reluctantly but then he realized that those robes hadn't been open before.
Was Amelia giving Sirius a show? He laughed internally at the thought.
"Aren't they?" then Sirius leaned towards him with a shit-eating grin. "But I'm sure your Bella has a better rack."
"Bella has the best in business," Harry didn't feel any shame in agreeing with something that the WItch Weekly had already announced so many times before.
But then their eyes were drawn to the Irish crowd who were exploding in cheers, their green flares lighting up the sky.
"That was a beautiful play by the Irish Chasers! Fast, coordinated, and utterly ruthless—Bulgaria needs to tighten up their defence if they don't want to fall behind early in the game!"
Harry watched as Bulgaria had regained possession somehow, with Dimitrov streaking down the field, but he barely got past the midfield before a well-aimed Bludger from Connolly sent him spiralling off-course. Moran snatched the Quaffle mid-air and sped off in the other direction.
"Moran to Troy—back to Moran—she dodges a Bludger—AND SHE SCORES AGAIN! Twenty-nil to Ireland! What a start for the Irish!"
"Bet something on the match?" Sirius asked.
Harry nodded. "A hundred galleons on Ireland. People really think Krum can win Bulgaria the trophy singlehandedly. The odds were good."
"How much are you winning if it goes as you think?"
"At least three thousand," he boasted.
Sirius whistled.
"Quite a sum. Let me know when you go to Gringotts, I'll help you invest it."
"Thanks," he agreed easily and then turned to take his leave. "Anyways, I'm going to the Potter Box."
"Have fun!"
Harry turned, carefully keeping his expression joyful, knowing he had to follow a man who was sitting in the Minister's Box somewhere, hidden beneath an invisibility cloak.
~~ .
It was eight-thirty at night when he finally entered the Minister's Box to see that there were significantly less people in it than he'd left in the Black Box. Barty Crouch was also noticeably absent, frustratedly, along with his hidden son and elf.
Knowing that he had about an hour before Krum caught the snitch, Harry started to look around in the stands and following that, left to retrace his steps away from the Stadium, towards the forest.
"Dobby!"
It was a spur of the moment idea to get help from his elf friend, remembering how the other Harry had almost freed him in his second year from the Malfoys.
The hyper-active elf appeared and immediately bowed before him.
"The Great Mr. Harry Potter sir called Dobby?" he squeaked. "How can Dobby be helping the Great Mr. Harry Potter sir?"
Ignoring the over the top salutations like always, Harry focused on the important. "Dobby, can you find Winky the Crouch house elf? It's very important that I know where she is."
Dobby scrunched up his face, looking troubled. "Dobby only seen Winky once before," he wringed his hands, "Dobby will try for the Great Harry Potter."
It was with bated breath that he waited for Dobby to speak again for a full minute. Before he could ask again, the diminutive elf was jumping in joy, holding out his hand.
"Dobby knows!" he said happily, "Dobby will take The Great Mr. Harry Potter sir there!"
Harry knelt at Dobby's level. "Dobby, it is important that she or anyone else doesn't know that I'm there. Can you take me somewhere nearby? I need to follow her."
His ears flapping, the elf nodded. "Dobby can do."
Taking Dobby's skeletal fingers, Harry was whisked away before he appearing just beside one of the entrances of the Stadium at the ground level, where a large crowd was gathered, watching the match through some public Omniculars.
"Winky be there," Harry saw Dobby pointing towards a wall near the Omniculars where the elf could be seen standing. As people moved on and about, nobody paid attention to a mere house elf, making it a perfect cover for her and the man hidden beside her.
"Thank you Dobby," he told his loyal elf friend, grateful for his assistance. "How are the Malfoys treating you?"
Dobby looked down at his feet, happy and embarrassed. "Dobby be fine. Dobby likes to work."
He likes working, but not for the Malfoys, Harry deduced.
"I'll do something about that soon, Dobby," he said, a plan forming in his mind. If certain events happened as he was expecting today, he'll definitely have some leverage on his favourite platinum blonde Death Eater, "Wait for my call."
Dobby looked speechless, his eyes wide before he squeaked and jumped, throwing himself against Harry's legs. "Dobby is so honoured! Dobby is very thankful for the Great Mr. Harry Potter sir. Dobby would like nothing more than to serv—"
Harry nodded patiently until the elf popped away after showering him with his gratitude to his heart's content. Smiling ruefully at the elf, he shook his head at the fact that no matter the world, Dobby would probably be the same.
Using his trusty invisibility cloak, Harry set about carefully crossing the crowded street to sneak up to the hidden Death Eater and the worried elf.
It was hard to avoid people who can't see you, but Harry had had a lifetime of experience of navigating such situations. In just under two minutes, he was following Winky at a safe distance under his cloak, his target walking right ahead of him. Just for good measure, he'd also placed a tracking charm on the hidden wizard and the elf too, in case the crowd turned out to be too thick.
There was nowhere to run for Barty Crouch Jr. and he would have the satisfaction of seeing his Death Eater buddies either dead or behind bars as soon as tomor—
"John!"
Harry threw over his cloak to see his brother running from the direction of the forest, and he didn't look alright.
"JOHN! Over here!" he called out.
The panting wizard lit up upon seeing him. Running to cover the distance, he was soon by Harry's side.
"Harry!" he exclaimed with what looked like relief. "I'm s–so glad to see y–you!"
Harry looked perplexed and also cautious. John was bleeding from his lip and his right eyelid was drooping just a little.
"What happened?"
John began to cough.
"They took Hermione! She had something to tell you! A m-message—I-I e-escaped. They have her, Harry!" he said frantically. "They took her! In the forest! I'm sorry!"
Harry tried to calm him but his eyes were bloodshot and his voice slurring. "Did they torture you? Hermione?"
"I do-don't know," he said, "I couldn't save her—I was coming to Mum or Dad but—I don't know what to do Harry. I'm sorry–I'm so s–sorry!"
"John!" Harry said firmly. "Calm down. I'll go find her."
"You will? I'll come with yo—"
"NO!" Harry retorted, knowing there was no time to waste. He held John by the shoulders. "Just point me in the direction and I'll go find her. You go straight to the Potter Box. No detours. Understand?"
John looked like he wanted to protest but then nodded slowly.
"I'm sorry–" he began to say but Harry interrupted him.
"How many Death Eaters?"
"I–I don't know–" John gulped. "I saw at least five or six."
"Got it," he nodded resolutely. "Go on then, hurry."
"Will you be fine?"
"I'll be okay, as will Hermione," Harry said with fervour, "Now go. Straight to Mum and Dad. Alright?"
John nodded as he left, half walking and half running in the direction of the stadium.
Nodding resolutely to himself, he palmed his wand and withdrew his cloak, becoming invisible once more.
His heart thundering in his chest, Harry ventured into the forest, ready for anything.
~~ .
Rose was enthralled by the match unfolding before her, but not so much that she would ignore her little sister who was showing the tell-tale signs of worrying: pursing of her lips that was eerily similar to the habits of the portrait of her grandmother.
"What is it?"
Dorea denied it. "Nothing."
"Clearly not," Rose huffed good naturedly, "There is something that's bothering you. Out with it."
Her baby sister simply shrugged. "Do you think Harry is coming?"
"Of course," Rose answered, "He promised! Why?"
"I don't know," Dorea frowned, "Have you noticed that Harry has been a bit different these last few days?"
Rose smiled, throwing an arm around Dorea. "He's been tense. Maybe because he's been training and helping Aunt Bella with some things."
"Maybe," Dorea didn't sound convinced. "I feel like it's been like that since the attack on Dad."
"You do know that Harry doesn't want to give you any reason to worry, right?" Rose said affectionately. "He's just busy with some other things. It's fine."
Dorea let out a smile. "I thought he was pulling away from us again."
"He won't do that," Rose reminded her, "Remember, when he promised us that we can always come to him with any of our problems? He meant it."
Dorea looked satisfied. "Mum likes to say that men like to save the day and be the hero so that their families can stay safe. He's just being a hero isn't he? Training and becoming powerful to help us when we need it?"
Rose looked at her sister in wonder. "How do you reckon?" she asked interestedly.
"Harry has already been helping us. He helped when Dad was attacked. He went to fight the Death Eaters when Diagon Alley was attacked. He's been helping Aunt Bella with the Quidditch Village."
Rose felt herself swell with affection.
"Exactly," she agreed wholeheartedly, "so you see, you were worried for nothing."
"You're right," Dorea gave her a quick hug. "I'm sorry I thought that he didn't like spending time with us anymore."
Rose hummed. "Tell you what, little sister, how about we try to spend more time with him?"
Dorea cocked her head in curiosity. "How?"
Rose shrugged. "I don't know. We'll think of something. Maybe help him with some of the things he's been doing."
When she looked to gauge her sister's reaction, she was happy to see Dorea excited.
"We can be useful too!" Dorea said, "Can we ask him to let us know how? Will he let us help? Do you think?"
Rose nodded, holding out a hand. Dorea clapped it with hers in a high-five.
"Sounds like a plan."
~~ .
He was itching to get rid of his cloak and just go charging into the situation like a Gryffindor, but he resisted. It was his old self speaking to him again, one that he'd buried long ago to replace it with his cold, ruthless self.
But he did still have the saving people thing, didn't he? Harry mused to himself.
But it's Hermione! He would always move heaven and earth for her.
And Diagon Alley? Why was that important? He asked himself again.
Shrugging to himself, he kept his body carefully concealed to humans and creatures alike. Letting his Occlumency take a hold of his mind to let him focus, he realized that the only thing now separating Hermione from her death was his saving people thing.
But why Hermione? He asked himself for the twelfth time since he'd taken leave of John. Hermione was just a simple 4th year girl. She didn't have any riches or connections that could be valuable to the Death Eaters.
Except him and John.
That must be it. Right?
Why would they target her? And what message did she have for him? And how did John escape?
Suddenly, he felt a brief flare of anger bubble up in his chest.
John had the audacity to leave Hermione to her fate with the Death Eaters? Why didn't he stay to help her? Did he even try?
A part of him defended John, knowing that one, he didn't know the full story, and two, he had no idea what John had done or suffered from the Death Eaters that made him injured like the way he'd found him.
Passing a familiar clearing, Harry looked around to see some smoke wafting through the trees and a brief glow up ahead north.
Steeling himself, he kept walking to find a bonfire that was very reminiscent of what he'd encountered just two days ago.
Only the difference between then and now was that four bodies were lying around the tall bonfire, all of them witches. Two of them were kneeling beside the other two who lay bound and incapacitated with ropes.
And this time, the clearing didn't contain any schoolchildren. It was instead filled with…
…eleven Death Eaters.
The men in black robes and white masks were spread out all around the clearing, making attacking from any one direction impossible.
If he did attack a few, the others would quickly assemble and take Hermione or one or all of the other three at wandpoint, making it impossible for him to fight anymore.
He couldn't use any area wide spells at the risk of harming the hostages.
He looked around, taking a moment to utilize his Slytherin side. This was not at all a thing for Gryffindors to solve.
Walking dangerously close to the wizard that was the closest to the bound witches, his gaze came to rest on them, only to let out a gasp in surprise.
There, kneeling beside Hermione was Fleur Delacour, and bound in ropes beside her lay two others who resembled her in skin and hair colours, the shorter one definitely her younger sister Gabrielle, one that he remembered rescuing from the bottom of the lake in another world. The other one could be her sister or some other relative.
Looking in dismay at the gathered wizards in black robes, Harry knew he had to make use of a distraction to pull the witches in his direction, and away from the enemies.
And then an idea popped into his head.
Pulling his wand, he calmed himself before issuing a wandless levitation charm towards the youngest Delacour.
Her sister Fleur shrieked and scrambled to pull her to the ground but to no avail, and before the Death Eaters could take any note of what was happening, Gabrielle was floating at least twenty feet up in the air.
Fleur began to curse and weep but he paid it no mind. He had a job to do.
Then the young Delacour who was still floating in the air, much to her sister's chagrin, began to move.
He saw a flurry of surprise and confusion as one by one, more Death Eaters began to move towards the floating child, and then one of them, probably the leader, came forward swearing and cursing and pulled his wand to summon the girl to the ground again.
But if magic was a battle of intent and will, Harry's willpower was much stronger than his.
So she remained floating.
The wizard cursed and ordered another wizard by his side to come help him.
Harry waited.
And so began the mad scramble of them trying to find out what was happening, and trying to bring the bizarre youngest Delacour down to the ground as eight out of eleven Death Eaters moved away to the other side of the clearing to help each other.
Leaving three to the mercy of Harry Potter.
Who took no time to spring into explosive action.
Two of them who stood beside the fire died by choking on their own spit, their throat crushed with the flick of Harry's wand.
The third gaped and waited too long before his head was removed from his shoulders with a simple cutting curse.
With no time to breathe and his heart slowing down to a crawl in his chest, Harry knew this was no time to think as he trained his wand on the remaining eight, who more or less lay safely away from the four hostage witches.
Here, he saw no reason to be quick with his judgement.
One hundred percent unadulterated, smoky hydrochloric acid poured forth from the tip of his wand at the inattentive and unprotected selves of the eight Death Eaters.
No mercy.
A part of him, the cruel one, marvelled at the way they began to scream. First, it seemed to be in surprise at the sudden smell and burning on their skin, and then with anger at being attacked by an unseen enemy and then finally settling on pure terror and unreserved pain.
Harry liked it. It was all they deserved after all.
"THERE—HELP MWWWW—"
A few curses came in his direction and he simply ducked below them, their aim too clumsy as their skin burned.
"FIND THE BAS—"
A few tried to aim nicely but another thick torrent of the lethal spray on their faces removed all pretences of control from their minds.
It took only a few minutes for the wizards to descend into despration and begin clawing at each other to get away from the unending flood from Harry's wand.
The desperation only took a minute to transform into resignation as their faces began to turn red-black.
The more rational part of him noticed that now, all of his eleven enemies lay either dead or helplessly writhing in agony a few feet away and all three witches were looking at him in shock and surprise. The fourth one, the youngest witch now lay beside her sister, who wasted no time in getting rid of her shackles, and pulling her into an embrace.
And then Hermione was hugging him, pure delight and relief in her voice.
"Harry!" she cried, "Thank you! Thank you!"
"Hermione," he murmured slowly as he buried his face in her bountiful hair, closing his eyes for just a moment and breathing in her familiar scent of honeysuckle and parchment.
"Are you hurt at all?" he asked when she pulled away.
She cried, laughed, and then shook her head. "No, just a few scratches but nothing major," she was breathing heavily. Then she took him by his hand and gestured to the others, "Harry, this is—"
"Arry–Monsieur Potter!" came the cry of relief from one of the most beautiful women he'd ever laid eyes on, and then he was getting his second hug from the elder Delacour sister, ironically both had been for saving her sister in one way or another. "Zhank you!"
"Are you okay?" He asked without preamble. He felt a burst of something very…dense and emotive, probably her allure, in response. He shook it off immediately.
Fleur kissed him on both cheeks twice and then proceeded to speak rapidly in French which he only nodded before turning to Hermione.
"We need to leave," he said firmly.
Hermione turned to him with concern. "Harry, Voldemort is coming."
"What?"
"That is what I needed to tell you," she frowned, "at least that is what I think I needed to tell you," she huffed, visibly frustrated with herself, "I can't remember! But I was going to tell you that his final stand is imminent!"
"Voldemort is coming now?"
She nodded quickly. "After the match."
"Hermione, how the hell do you know that?"
She shook her head. "I can't remember," she said desperately. "I was coming to visit you in the Potter tent but something happened. I woke up here. But it is happening soon. We have to warn your family."
Harry felt his mind trying to make sense of her broken information but knew it was a wasted effort. The best he could do was get his family to safety as soon as possible.
"Right. Follow me," he said turning to the Delacours. "All of you. Now."
Fleur nodded, one arm around her little sister as she looked up at him with wide eyes. Harry paid little attention to the other witch, the older one, who looked like Fleur's older sister.
"Monsieur Potter, we're very gratef—" began the older witch but Harry held up his hand.
"Please, Ms. Delacour, there is no time. Keep quiet and either apparate yourself and your sisters to safety somewhere or follow me. Your choice."
"Arry, this is my mother," Fleur spoke to him in accented English, and he almost gaped at her before coughing, a thin smile gracing his lips.
"Right, sorry Mrs. Delacour. You heard me, please decide now."
"Fleur can apparate Gabrielle to safety," Mrs. Delacour said, "I will follow you. I have to find my husband too. He is the head of the DMLE."
Fleur began to protest but he paid her no mind. She could come with or not, it didn't matter.
His mind spinning, Harry wasted nary a second before turning his back to them again. "Right, we have to go. Hermione, with me."
She was hot on his heels as he ran through the forest and then through the crowd for what felt like minutes before a loud crack split the air and the crowd's cheers suddenly turned into yells.
Stopping to see that the Stadium which had been bathed in a sea of emerald and gold fireworks suddenly had a large black banner hung above it.
And then, the world cracked.
A deep, sonorous boom shattered the jubilant atmosphere, the very earth beneath the stadium quivering with an unnatural force. An eerie silence swallowed the crowd's noises.
Something was happening inside the Stadium and he didn't have time to find out. Running to one of the public Omniculars, he began to look around.
From the very centre of the pitch, where just moments ago the Irish team had stood hoisting the Cup, the ground had collapsed. A monstrous chasm split through the pristine turf, darkness spilling forth like an abyss clawing its way to the surface.
And from that abyss, he began to rise.
A figure, tall and poised, stepped onto the ruined pitch as if he had merely taken a leisurely stroll through the gates of Hell. His black robes, sharp and immaculately tailored, barely moved despite the shifting air, as though reality itself dared not disturb him. His face, pale as marble, bore no traces of fear or exertion—only the exquisite confidence of a man who owned the very air he breathed.
Tom Riddle smiled.
The sound of it—of him—seemed to reach every corner of the stunned, frozen stadium, as if the air itself carried his presence into the bones of a hundred thousand spectators.
Then, he began to speak.
"Rejoice."
The single word rang through the silence, not shouted, not forced—just spoken. And yet it curled through the crowd like whispered temptation, smooth as silk, cold as steel.
"You have all borne witness to a battle of skill, of talent, of determination. A spectacle of magic and will. And yet—" he spread his hands, his elegant fingers moving as though sculpting the very air "—true power is not won through games. I ask you—my fellow witches and wizards of Britain, why limit such greatness to a mere game?"
The stadium lights flickered. The enchanted torches that had burnt so brightly dimmed to a ghastly glow, casting long, distorted shadows over the terrified faces in the stands.
"For too long, wizards and witches of this nation have been content to celebrate fleeting victories while world outside festers with weakness. I see it—I hear it in the whispers of your own discontent. Our government, weighed down by its own corruption and complacency, has left Britain vulnerable. Divided. Wandering. Our economy, merely a sliver of what it was some sixty years ago. Our people treated with contempt from the tongues of those who used to tremble before our might. Our country, a laughingstock of the entire world."
"I have been most patient." Tom continued, pacing leisurely across the ruined ground, his polished boots stepping over fallen debris as though walking on a ballroom floor. "Watching. Waiting. But I do believe the time for subtlety is behind us."
"I do not come to bring you fear—I come to offer you purpose. A new order is rising, and you may choose to stand at its forefront or be left behind in the ruins of the old."
Above him, the sky twisted. The black banner now shifting, transforming into a familiar snake, writhing and slithering out of the mouth of a skull. The Dark Mark.
"Tonight," Tom's voice was softer now, a caress against the terrified hush, "you will remember who I am. And in the days to come, you will come to understand why your world—" his sharp eyes gleamed under the dimming light, "—will soon belong to me."
A scream cut through the silence.
"So the mighty, powerful and worthy witches and wizards of Britain, take control. Stand with me and take control of your country now. Like so many of your friends, family and neighbours have already done."
And then the stadium exploded into chaos.