Chapter 20 - Mature and Egotistical
There was a ripple in the air as his and the attack dummy's spells collided in mid-air, releasing a shower of multi-coloured sparks all over, almost restricting his vision. Almost that is, if he didn't have his charmed glasses to make sure his movement was never hindered. He ducked underneath a smoky curse, fanned his legs and slid away from the wall, avoiding a flurry of spells from the rotating dummies. He coiled his magic into a net that settled on the wall, and then pulled.
Four out of ten training dummies were buried in the concrete but Harry didn't stay idle. A quick twist of his wrist and the rubble animated to attack the remaining dummies which were still hell bent on causing him bodily harm.
He batted away a few spells right onto them, but as he was operating on a difficulty that not even the Aurors could achieve, the dummies moved nimbly in between to avoid them. Intent on trying out his new skills, he let the next bout of spells reach him and then at the last moment, closed his eyes, focusing on the current of magic flowing underneath his skin, bubbling inside his body, itching to get out.
Raising his arm above him, he willed his body to freeze.
His eardrums echoed every beat of his heart into his overly sensitive mind as his body felt the ripple of magic travelling through the air, magic that was foreign to him, their intent clearly identified as malicious. His breath left him a slow, calm fall of his chest as he felt his magic settle down within him, calming his nerves and tunnelling his vision until he could see the spells racing towards him in his mind's eye.
And then he gritted his teeth, tightened his muscles and clenched his fists as hard as he could so he could feel his magic race from within his muscles and his skin to escape out, just to the tip of his skin.
He felt the spells reach him, almost try to touch him and force their intent onto his body when suddenly, a thin membrane, translucent and drifty, spread away from his skin, expanding outwards, as if supplementing his body with an invisible armour.
One by one, the spells began to crash into him as he kept his foot firmly on the ground, his arms clenched and his eyes shut in focus.
...eight, nine, ten, eleven...
He counted up to eighteen before his body gave up and he felt a spell connect with his shoulder, knocking him back as he dived and brought an area wide explosive hex into effect to kill his remaining enemies, their pieces scattering onto the dirty floor in a shower of smoke and rubble.
Laying on the ground, he panted, sweat dripping his brows as he struggled to catch his breath and realize that he'd just done something that probably nobody in the world had imagined even in fiction.
He was finally beginning to understand how magic actually worked. And the truth was turning out to be stranger than fiction.
A smile graced his lips as he sat up to survey his surroundings.
He was beginning to understand what it meant to truly become a master of magic. He still had a long way to go, but he'll get there.
Practise and patience. Patience and practise.
One day at a time.
~~ .
Leaving the duelling chamber, Harry was on his way to his room to take a much needed shower when he saw his brother sitting on a lower rung of the staircase, looking at a chocolate frog card.
"Who have you got there?"
John's eyes widened as he sat beside him, leaning back on his elbows into a comfortable position.
"Dumbledore again," John muttered, showing him a moving picture of the world's most famous living wizard.
Harry chuckled, genuinely amused. Tilting his head to examine the card. "You always get him. It's like the universe wants to remind you of your destiny of something."
John scoffed, shoving the card into his pocket. "Yeah, well, maybe I am the last person that needs reminding."
There was a beat of silence between them, the only sound being the distant clatter of raindrops on the glass panes. Harry watched his twin for a moment, taking in the tension in his posture, the stiffness of his shoulders.
Harry weaved through his thoughts and knowledge of his brother. Born four minutes after him in this world, he was a quintessential Gryffindor, only a little more reckless and stupid than he was at his age. He had no idea what fate had in store for his brother as he was never not either asking for attention or basking in attention provided freely from everyone around him.
Even Hermione's friendship had not made him a little more, well, smart. Harry wondered why that was. Maybe because like him, John had never had the humbling experiences that he had? He'd grown up with his parents, so he not been deprived of anything throughout his childhood. He had never had the entire school being against him at multiple times during the first few years of his Hogwarts education. He'd never had to face any of the hardships that his world-hopping twin had at his age. Maybe that had made him the way he is?
Or maybe this was how a normal fourteen year old supposed to be?
Harry had no idea.
He nudged him lightly with his shoulder. "You alright?"
John exhaled sharply. "Shouldn't you be off saving the day or something?" His tone was light, but there was an edge to it, sharp enough to make Harry sit up properly.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Doesn't another Alley need saving from Death Eaters?" John let out a dry laugh, shaking his head.
Harry shrugged, steeling himself. "Not right now, no. Why?"
"Oh, come off it, Harry," scoffed John, "You're too busy being everyone's hero to bother with me."
Harry frowned. "That's not true. I came over, didn't I? I just wanted to talk. We don't get too many chances to hang out."
John snorted, finally turning to look at him properly. His hazel eyes—so unlike Harry's—were filled with something stormy and unreadable. "Oh, now you want to? Now that everyone's talking about you, now that you're the one everyone's whispering about in the corridors, now that Mum and Dad look at you like you're someone special?"
Harry's stomach twisted, his frown fully formed. "That's not fair. You've always been special to them."
"Yeah?" John let out another humourless chuckle. "Because it doesn't feel like it anymore. It used to be me, Harry."
"It is still you and me, John," replied Harry, "Nothing's changed."
"Everything has changed!" John countered venomously. "I am the Boy-Who-Lived. I was the one they talked about, the one people looked at like I mattered. And now you come back from wherever you've been, and suddenly… suddenly, I'm just the other Potter. It's not fair."
"Not fair?" Harry tasted the words on his tongue, feeling ridiculous. He was suddenly regretting his decision to come talk to his twin. Somehow, John seemed to have become more retarded than Ron Weasley, and that was saying something. And his stupidity seemed to be manifesting in its fullest form right now.
But hadn't Ron been his friend too for so many years?Harry thought bitterly to himself. What did that say about him?
Thankfully, he had woken up to take control of his life.
"What do you even want John?" Harry said quietly, "Attention? You can have it. I never asked for any of that."
Harry felt the weight of the words settle heavily between them. He had expected some resistance, some hesitation, but he hadn't thought John would be this bitter. When had be become so bitter?
"I can't have it!" John scoffed. "You've stolen it from me just like you've stolen my parents!"
"They are our parents, little brother," Harry said as if talking to a child. He was never going to understand his twin if he never changed from whatever this was. "I just realized that squandering their love isn't something I want to do anymore."
John said nothing. Harry continued. "And I didn't mean for any of these people to look at me differently. I just want to do what I'm go-"
John cut him off. "You didn't have to. It just happened. You walk into a room and suddenly, you're the most interesting thing there. Everyone wants to know what you think, what you're planning. And it's not just because you're my brother, it's because they actually believe in you."
"They're fickle though," Harry said firmly, trying to find the right words. "Fame isn't something you should aspire to get more of. As easily as they hail you a hero, they'll want to bury you alive just as quickly."
John's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry wondered what he was thinking. He knew John could apply his brain when he wished to, but was that going to be enough?
"Says the one with all the fame," John muttered, pushing himself up from the stairs.
Harry reached out instinctively, grabbing his arm. "John—"
His twin wrenched himself free, glaring down at him. "Just forget it, Harry. Go back to being the hero. It suits you. Leave me alone."
And with that, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving Harry sitting there, disappointment curling like a heavy knot in his chest.
That was...an experience.
Harry had no idea what to think or do when it came to his brother.
~~ .
"Right," said Draco Malfoy, wiping down his hands on Goyle's robes as he sat in his predetermined chair. "Our agent has signalled that the Potters are going to be in the VIP Box. We have two hours to get everything done."
The others nodded in compliance.
"Remember to check the wards, Draco," said a man standing some distance away, clad in a black hood, "If you lose them, the Dark Lord will not be happy."
The platinum-haired pureblood scoffed. "Rookwood! Why are you even here? Your part of the task doesn't even start until tomorrow!"
The man didn't respond. Draco didn't wait for him. "Right, clearly you're here to watch over me. As if I need babysitting for Harry Potter!"
"Me and a few others," the wizard named Rookwood informed him, "As for the belief in your abilities, I would rather you not underestimate him. He looks competent for a schoolboy."
"I know who he is!" Draco sneered, "If you want to be here, be my guest. But don't get in my way."
Rookwood said nothing, only turned on his heel and walked out of the tent.
~~ .
Harry was on his way to the library to find Hermione when he recalled that she'd gone to help her parents with their house.
He was retracing his steps back to his chambers when he remembered that he had a few things to ask Mrs. Gauthier. Ever since Daphne's father and the other prisoners had been murdered in the DMLE cells, he'd had an anxiety in his chest that refused to go away. If things turned out as unpredictable as they were already turning out to be, with unexpected attacks and assassinations all around, no plans that he'd made would survive and he would have to just...wing it. Like he'd done the last time he'd lived through this year.
And he didn't want to do that. Anything but that.
He knocked once on the door to her room, thinking of ways to breach the subject. He knew intimidation and threats were less of an option than he wished, all because he didn't know what to expect when it came to the strange French witch.
She was somehow more vague than Dumbledore with ulterior motives that may or may not be aligned with his goals. All in all, she was a wild card, one that he neither liked dealing with nor liked the fact that she'd somehow deliberately inserted herself into his life.
He lifted his knuckles to knock a second time but Kreacher popped up beside him.
"Master, the witch has left," the elf informed him.
He frowned. "Did my parents or Bella talk with her?"
Kreacher nodded, his ears flapping. "They made her take the vows to not interfere in your life."
"Thank you, Kreacher," he said, resigning to finding her at the Quidditch World Cup. The Gauthier family was going to be their guests after all. He was thankful that they had their own box to themselves, without the unnecessary and frankly, irritating presence of Ministers of Magic, the Malfoys or the Weasleys.
He was also thankful that his family had taken the steps to ensure Mrs. Gauthier's future cooperation without even needing any input from him. For a moment, he almost marvelled at the way his life had taken a complete reverse turn. Is this what having competent adults feels like?
He was humming a tune as he reached the landing to see a familiar form ascending to the upper floor.
"Bella!"
His godmother turned, giving him a quick smile and a yawn. He took to the stairs two at a time to catch up with her.
"I didn't see you at breakfast. Did you stay at the Ministry tonight?"
Bella nodded. "Just working on the case."
Harry was sympathetic to the load she was under. She did look tired. "I hope everything's alright?"
"I couldn't leave anything to chance. I've prepared my case to present before Amelia and my backup to show the Wizengamot in case she refuses."
"I don't envy your job at all." he snorted, walking by her side. "Is it going to be a shit show?"
"Worse," she grimaced, pulling the door open. Entering the room, she went to go stand before her vanity and Harry chose to lean against a wall facing her.
"The worst thing is that I have no clear suspects," she said, her tone taking in more than a tinge of frustration. "But anyway, enough about me," she eyed him, "What did you do today?"
Harry shrugged, remembering his very successful training and his failed chat with John. "Nothing exciting." Then he proceed to tell her about it in a nutshell as Bella began to remove her earrings.
Bella shook her head, chuckling. "Only you could involve a four hour training practice in the summer holidays. You do realize that the hols are for fun, right?"
"This is fun!" When she made a face at that, he rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you didn't practice for hours on end to become a duelling goddess."
"Tut-tut," she said, as if chiding him, but he did notice that she had seemed to be just a little bit delighted at his compliment. In the middle of removing her formal Ministry robes, she turned her back to him, "I did but I had a natural aptitude for practical magic because I'm a Black," she retorted lightly. "I wasn't preparing to fight Death Eaters."
"Or kill Voldemort," he put in, raking his eyes over her form as the baggy, unflattering robes were no longer hiding her sinful body.
Bella raised an eyebrow, and he could tell that she looked a little surprised. She had tried to hide it but he noticed, beginning to read her better. "I'm pretty sure that that's your brother's job," she joked. "Or the Ministry's."
Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I'm still going to kill him."
Bella sighed. "Is this where I play the part of the concerned and responsible godmother and tell you off for being stupid?"
Harry chuckled. "Nah, you're way cooler than that."
Bella giggled. He decided that he loved that sound.
Her robes folded themselves with a swish of the wand and put themselves back inside a closet in the back. He didn't let his eyes wander from her form as she went about arranging some things around the room.
"Why? I'm cooler because I don't act strict with my reckless godson?"
Harry put a hand over his heart. "You wound me, Bella. I'm not a Gryffindor." And it was true. The Hat did originally want to put him in the House that he was now in.
Her laugh was just as musical as he'd heard it the first time. "That's right. You're a cunning Slytherin bent on having his way with the world, aren't you?"
He had to say, he did like the sound of that. "I didn't have that in mind, but now I do. Thank you, Bella."
She snorted. "You're welcome, Harry. Just don't forget your poor old Bella once you conquer the world."
He walked a step forward, caressing her gorgeous blouse and skirt-clad figure with his gaze. Then he looked around. "I don't see anyone poor or old here. Do you?"
"Charmer," she said in a sing-song voice, smacking his arm. "Does this really work with your other witches?"
"So far, I have not needed to try it," he said honestly, making her eyes widen in surprise. Harry picked up on it with a smirk. "I know, I'm quite awesome."
She narrowed her eyes. "And you've got a big head too," she sighed. "It was bound to happen eventually, but I didn't know it was gonna be so soon."
"I've been told that it's one of my best attributes," he said with a straight face and she laughed heartily.
"Oh my my, is this also one of your many charms?" she asked pretending to be affronted, "To talk lewdly with your poor godmother?"
"Again with the poor," shot Harry, "This fake humility falls short every time you open your mouth. I can tell you've had little practise."
She huffed, flicking her hair back with a neat swish of her wrist. "Touché. Humility is for people who have little to boast."
Without the cloak of her gorgeous hair, her blouse looked even more snug as she ran her hands down her sides, her bountiful chest jutting out in a way that made his breath hitch.
"Well said," he said with a throat that felt too dry, "And you clearly possess too much to stay humble."
When his eyes travelled back up to her eyes again, she had a knowing look on her face. He felt himself harden uncomfortably as she walked towards the mirror. He leaned away to walk until he was standing behind her.
"Are those witches taking good care of you, Harry?" she took a hold of her blouse and pulled it over her head, leaving her in a black bra. One that looked a size too small to contain her properly.
His breath caught as she stood before him, gazing at his reflection in the mirror, her curves outlined in the lace. "Yes, they are," he managed to say, his voice raspy.
Bella turned to face him, her body close enough that their hips touched. She ran her hands down his chest, her fingertips grazing the skin above his waistband.
Without thinking, Harry reached out and traced a finger along the straps on her shoulders, feeling the silkiness of the material and the warmth of her skin beneath. Bella let out a soft gasp and leaned in closer, her lips just hovering over his, her breath warm on his skin.
"Then why are you here, looking at me like that?" she said, her voice low.
He swallowed. "I'm greedy," he said the only thing that came to his mind. "And I can't let you go." And then he pulled her flush against him.
Her gaze was too smouldering and her body too warm for him to think properly. A finger teased the strap on her shoulder bone, pulling at it and then letting it go, the elastic smacking against her creamy skin, making her gasp as her face turned fiery.
"I understand greed, I have that problem too," she licked her lips, "But why not?"
As if on instinct, he ran his fingers on the skin of her back, locking her in his arms. "Because I see you and I want you," he breathed, speaking without filters, beyond caring as to whether it made sense or not, "I can't let anyone else have you. I just can't."
She ran a finger on his lower lip, rubbing the moisture and looking at him with hooded eyes. "Don't worry. I've not been with anyone in fifteen years, and it's not gonna change with anyone else."
It took him a moment to understand what she had said and implied. When he did, his eyes widened in realization and a smile graced her lips in response, a bubbly chuckle escaping her throat. He was pleased to hear that she sounded as hoarse as he did in that moment.
Then that scorching fire was once more awake in the depth of her orbs. He wished he could touch them, but alas, he'll have to make do with her body instead.
"What do you want from me, Harry?"
He shook his head, thanking his stars for a set of incredible Gryffindor parents. He needed to capitalize on his inherent bravery now.
Never removing his gaze from hers, he pulled her to him and leaned down. "First, I want you to stop with the questions."
And then he was breathing in and bringing his lips to hers, barely touching and yet the spark that passed between them made her shudder within the cage of his arms.
Her eyes were closed and as he looked at her parted lips, he didn't want to stop.
Capturing her lips once again, he invaded her warm mouth with all his might, sucking, licking and biting on her lips till her hands were wound tightly around his neck and her body was leaning completely against him, her weight soft and needful upon him.
He stepped back until he was sat upon the edge of her desk, and then bent down to gather her legs and pulled her till she was settled in his lap, a hand on his chest another brushing the locks that fell all over his forehead.
"Again..." she whispered breathlessly and he wanted to do nothing else.
When his lips descended on hers for the third time, his brain had begun to regain enough of its intelligence to work out that her mouth felt and tasted and smelled like a flavour of hot, moist and molten drug that he'd never tasted before in his life, one that he felt like he'd be addicted to in just a sip. And he was.
Her tongue danced and fought with his, and in his aggression, he felt like he'd burned away the last of their combined reservations and ignited a passion that was threatening to consume him whole. His heart stumbled over its own rhythm, the world around him began to melt away, leaving only the intensity of their connection alive to his senses.
When she pulled back, he made a disappointed noise from the back of his throat, an automatic protest that was immediately resisting the loss of their connection and then he used his arm to pull her to himself, bringing her now swollen lips under his control again. She gasped but relented and soon, he was devouring her mouth like it was his last meal.
He registered a familiar voice from somewhere nearby but ignored it, feeling too consumed by the witch in his lap.
His fingers traced and tested the hook of her bra and Harry suddenly felt an enormous urge to force his magic to concentrate on the tip of his forefinger, and a quick, decisive cutting charm later, there was no remaining offending article of clothing separating her skin from his touch.
When air finally became a necessity, his mouth left her but not before pulling her lower lip in between his teeth again until his tongue could taste a palpable mark of their eager joining, a symbol of their connection and a thrill of his conquest—her blood.
And then he met her eyes to see her chest heaving, her soft mounds pressed against his chest while her eyes shining with the brilliance that he knew lurked behind those depths.
"You're fast, Harry," she smiled, licking her lips, wincing and then giving him that look.
"I hope that look is only reserved for me," he said unreservedly.
"What look?"
"That look that says says that you're dangerous and you're mine."
"Why?" she whispered after a shallow breath, "What happens if I–"
He didn't let her finish. "I'll kill anyone who dares."
Her mouth parted in a saucy smirk and the sight of her swollen, marked and bleeding lips and her unmarked neck was too much for him.
In the next second, his mouth was attacking her unblemished skin, licking and sucking at it until she was squirming in his lap, her hands moving roughly through his hair. He traced his kisses to her shoulder, where he hastened to remove the annoying strap from occupying her skin and bared his teeth to suckle at her hidden flesh, the loud moan that escaped her lips giving him the confidence, the courage and the urge to keep going.
He opened his eyes just a little to witness something that a large part of him was astonished and yet gratified to see, which was the most powerful witch in Europe, and perhaps in the world, straddling him and curling into him like he was her lifeline.
Soon, she was shuddering in his lap, pulling at his locks and panting his name under her breath.
Wait, it wasn't his name she was saying. He pulled back to look her in the eyes in a mixture of confusion and annoyance.
"What?"
She giggled. "Kreacher. He's been trying to tell us something for the last few minutes."
He grumbled under his breath. "Kreacher!"
The old elf appeared, wearing a white cloth around his head, covering his eyes. "Master Harry, Master Black is here asking for you."
He dropped his head onto her shoulder in annoyance, her musical laughter making her body quiver in all sorts of pleasant ways as she wiggled but made no move to remove herself from his lap.
"Kreacher, tell him I'll be down in ten minutes."
Harry buried his mouth in her neck, tasting her delicious skin again. He didn't want to go anywhere.
"Harry…" Bella was saying.
He pulled back with a pout. It was almost involuntary.
"We'll have more time in the tents," she said, running a finger along his jawline, then her voice turned a bit wistful. "You've grown up so fast. A year ago, you barely reached my shoulders."
He let a hand travel up to her hair as he held her tight. "And now?"
"I can't quite describe it," she whispered, her breath hot on his lips. "But whatever it is, it's not going to go away."
His eyes glistened in naked desire. "Promise?"
She nodded, kissing the top of his nose and the corner of his lips. "Promise."
He released her and she stood on her own two feet again. He was happy to note that her footing for shaky for a moment before she regained control of her bearings.
And then something happened that made him chuckle and aroused an exasperated shake of her head. Her bra almost fell away, the pieces falling from her shoulders as she hurried to catch it.
"You're obsessed with my tits, aren't you? You're always ogling them."
He shrugged without shame. "They're magnificent."
She went back to her mirror, a small smile on her lips. "Don't worry, you'll have more of them to look at the Cup. I assume your girlfriends are coming too."
He exhaled noisily, standing up. "Maybe."
"I'm sure," she remarked, "that they can't get enough of you. Nor can you of them."
"Worried I'll get distracted?" he questioned with a lopsided smile.
Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she turned back toward the mirror. "Not at all. they're good... but they're not me."
Harry watched her for a moment, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Right, they're not mature and egotistical witches."
She glanced at him in the mirror, her grin triumphant. "You and I have the same egos Harry," she said lightly, "The only difference between us and the sheep of the world is that we can back it up with skill and power and they can't."
He laughed, her words ringing true.
She blew him a kiss as he left.
~~ .
Harry saw the looming stadium in the distance, the enormous golden arches glinting under the afternoon sun, banners of various teams flapping wildly in the enchanted wind. The electrifying hum of thousands of voices carried over the hill as they approached, and he could already feel the adrenaline kicking in.
"Merlin's beard," James whistled, pushing his sunglasses up as he took in the sight. "Every time I think they can't outdo themselves, they go ahead and do it anyway."
"This is much more organized than the last one," Lily noted, her sharp gaze scanning the surrounding campgrounds. "I suppose we have Bella to thank for that."
"She did make sure the DMLE handled security this time instead of leaving it to incompetent buffoons of the DMS," Sirius said, grinning. "Though I think she's rather enjoying bossing around international Aurors."
"I can imagine," Harry said, remembering how formidable Bella could be when she wanted to. "No one's sneaking so much as a dodgy Firewhisky past her."
As they walked further, the vast Quidditch Village stretched around them, a sea of magical tents that seemed to range from humble camping setups to full-fledged manor houses.
"Bloody hell," John muttered, eyeing an elaborate multi-storey tent draped in Bulgarian colours, its balcony filled with enchanted fire-breathing dragons. "I think Krum's family's staying in that one."
"Must be awesome," Sirius said wistfully, nudging James. "Remember our tent at the '78 World Cup?"
"We do, just like the entire stadium did at the time," Lily scoffed, she turned in the direction of Harry, "He shrunk all the furniture to bring in the Argentinean fans to party."
"It was a riot!" Sirius exclaimed unashamedly, causing Dorea to giggle.
James groaned. "Your grandfather was so mad."
"Those Latinas sure do know how to party," Sirius muttered, avoiding Lily's glare.
Harry snorted as he took in the various tent sections. The Ministerial & VIP Campground sat at the highest point, gleaming with enchanted privacy wards and extravagant tent structures. Just below them, the Elite & International Delegation Campground sprawled out, filled with dignitaries and pureblood families. The middle grounds bustled with British supporters, divided into sections by team loyalty, their tents decked out in respective colours. Further down, the International Campground showcased various magical cultures, complete with floating markets and mascots roaring every few minutes. Finally, at the farthest end, the Budget & Late Arrivals Campground was already alive with makeshift seating circles and impromptu magical duels.
"This is a much better layout," Lily said, flipping her long crimson hair over her shoulder as she took it all in. "Keeps the rowdy ones from setting fire to the posh ones."
"Mum what are those?" Rose asked, pointing towards the slate-coloured tents.
James made a face. "Betting tents," he answered, "Still think they should've put the them somewhere more discreet," he nodded towards the official Ministry-regulated betting booths, where wizards were already waving galleons and shouting odds. Further back, Harry caught sight of a far shadier area—the unofficial betting circle, half-hidden behind a cluster of Irish-themed tents.
Lily sighed. "At least they're not allowing magical creatures as stakes this time."
"Shame," Sirius said mockingly. "Nothing livens up a wager like a good rampage by a hippogriff."
Harry burst into laughter, catching on to the double meaning that nobody else did. How coincidental was it that Sirius had made a joke about a hippogriff in a world that he wasn't saved by children on a hippogriff?
They made their way past a long queue where an Irish wizard was unsuccessfully arguing with a security official about sneaking in an illegal leprechaun swarm.
Harry turned to James. "Where exactly are we staying?"
James grinned. "We got an excellent spot—just between the British supporters and the international campgrounds. Perfectly posh, away from the riff-raff."
"And just close enough to the pubs," Sirius added, winking. His best friend chuckled.
"You're not getting us banned before the first match, Black," Lily warned.
"Wouldn't dream of it, Evans," he said automatically and then winced, making Harry laugh. Lily hid a smile, catching Harry's eye, probably reminded of a time when Sirius had received one too many warnings like that.
They finally arrived at their tent—spacious, elegantly charmed, and if Harry could describe, completely over-the-top. But he loved it, even if he was still getting used to being wealthy.
As they stepped inside, the cool air washed over them, the interior revealing a grand living room, several rooms, a full-sized kitchen, and even a comfortable lounge area. It was perfect.
"How can he get us banned?" Harry asked curiously.
Lily shrugged. "Probably by drinking up a storm."
Rose ran in the direction of a lobby on the side, probably going to claim her room for the next three days.
As Harry placed his bag down, he heard the unmistakable roar of a mascot outside, followed by a burst of green and gold fireworks from the Irish section. Excitement thrummed through his veins.
He smiled contently, looking as his family bustled about around him, trying to make this temporary home feel more homely. The World Cup was here, and it was going to be spectacular.
~~ .
Harry leaned forward, elbows on the sleek railing of the Black Box, his eyes locked on the pitch below where Argentina and Ireland were locked in a furious aerial battle. The Sky Pavilion, perched at the very top of the stadium, was one of the best places to watch the match, offering a breathtaking panoramic view of the game. With enchantments that adjusted to the viewer's preferred perspective, it felt like being in the middle of the action itself.
"Look at that! O'Connell just stole the Quaffle mid-pass! Absolute brilliance!" John shouted, nearly spilling his Butterbeer as he jumped to his feet.
Rose snorted. "Brilliance? That was sheer audacity. They're playing fast and reckless. Argentina's going to punish them for that." She gestured toward the Argentine Chasers, who had already begun a counter-attack.
Lily, sipping a glass of chilled wine, shook her head fondly. "Honestly, I don't know how you lot keep up. They move too fast."
James grinned. "That's part of the fun, love. You don't watch Quidditch, you survive it."
Sirius, lounging lazily on an armchair, let out a bark of laughter. "Well, some of us do. Others just scream at the referee."
Lily raised a pointed eyebrow. "Some referees deserve it." Before anyone could respond, a voice interrupted them.
"Ah, Lord Black, just the man I was looking for."
Harry turned to see a tall, regal-looking wizard approaching, his dark blue robes embroidered with silver filigree. Sirius straightened in his seat, his usual lazy smirk replaced by something sharper.
"Minister Alexandros," Sirius greeted, getting up with an air of polite amusement. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
The Minister gestured for them to step aside. "A small matter, if you please. Won't take long."
With a knowing look, Sirius nodded and followed him to a quieter part of the Box, leaving the others to continue watching the match.
Harry looked questioningly at Lily to which she whispered, "The Greek Minister for Magic."
"Right," James said, coming up to him. "We're heading down to the Potter Box. Julius just turned up saying we've got some visitors looking for us. Wouldn't do to keep them waiting, or your mother will have my head. Dorea, are you coming?"
The youngest member of the Family, who had been bouncing in her seat beside her mother, immediately perked up. "Yes!"
Harry ruffled her hair. "Alright, behave yourself. Don't let Mum hex anyone."
Lily flicked his arm playfully before taking Dorea's hand, and the three of them left through the enchanted glass doors, stepping onto the private lift that would take them down to the Elite section where the Potter family's designated box was located.
For a while, Harry, Rose, and John remained in the Black Box, enjoying the match. The crowd was electric—Irish fans were out in full force, draped in green and gold, their voices rising in deafening cheers each time their team advanced. Across the stadium, Argentina's supporters were equally loud, chanting in rhythmic beats, their enchanted flags creating waves of silver and blue that shimmered in the air.
The announcer's voice boomed over the roars of the crowd. "And that's another spectacular save by Alaric De Luca! Argentina's Keeper is an absolute wall tonight!"
"If they don't get past him soon, they're done for," Rose muttered.
John groaned. "C'mon, Ireland! We need a miracle!"
Just then, a sharp tap on the railing made Harry turn. An owl, sleek and black with keen golden eyes, held out its leg to him. Frowning, he untied the letter and unfolded it.
His blood ran cold.
'Harry Potter, your parents and sister have been taken. Come to the forest near the western entrance of the stadium immediately. Come alone.'
His fingers tightened on the parchment. A trap. It had to be. He forced himself to breathe. If this were real, panicking wouldn't help. He needed to confirm it first.
"Everything alright?" Rose asked, catching his change in expression.
"I need to check on something," Harry said, quickly standing. "I'll take you both back to the tent first."
John frowned. "What? But the match is still going!"
Harry shook his head, "It's a precaution. Let's go."
When John looked to protest again, he gave him a unyielding look. "Remember what we talked about before?" he looked at his siblings, his tone left no room for argument. He flicked his wand to issue a discrete charm, letting Sirius know his location at all times.
Despite their confusion, Rose and John followed him down to the campgrounds. The energy of the match still surrounded them, but Harry barely heard it over the thoughts racing in his mind. Once they reached their tent, he instructed them to stay put and immediately sent a Patronus to his father.
A few tense moments passed before the air shimmered, and Lily's silvery doe bounded toward him.
Harry exhaled. A false alarm. His mum's patronus meant that they were safe. Which meant someone was trying to lure him away.
His jaw set. It was time to find out who.
Chapter 21 - A Handsome Lesson
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 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.
~~ .
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.