Chapter 29: The Yule BallChapter TextThe harsh winter wind howled fiercely outside the dilapidated manor house that used to belong to the Riddle family, its once-grand facade now a shadow of its former glory. Inside, the gathered Death Eaters huddled around a crackling fire in what had once been an opulent sitting room. The flickering flames cast long, dancing shadows across their pale faces and dark robes, occasionally glinting off the silver fastenings that adorned their attire.
Barty Crouch Jr. stood before them, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of triumph and barely contained madness. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, the adrenaline of their victory over the aurors still coursing through him. The successful capture of Auror Captain Blackthorn and his team had energized the group – their first outing in decades resulting in a resounding victory. However, questions still lingered in the air, just like the acrid smell of dark magic oozing off the group.
The Death Eaters stared at the unconscious and bound forms of the five aurors before they shifted their gaze to the only man standing. Antonin Dolohov was the first to break the tense silence. "Crouch," he began, his voice gravelly from years in Azkaban, "You're going to explain now? Why this attack now? Why this particular team?"
An amused Crouch's lips curled into a sinister smile as he turned to gaze at the best duelist they had in their ranks. He raised an eyebrow, almost amused by the simplicity of the question. "An excellent query, Antonin. And I do applaud you for being specific. It seems my fears of your wits being dulled after all those years in Azkaban were for naught."
Dolohov's lips thinned as he regarded Crouch who let out a small chuckle.
"Our timing, as always, is impeccable," he continued as he began to pace, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous room. Antonin had a feeling that Crouch was keeping each step deliberate, and measured, as if he were orchestrating a complex symphony only he could hear. It made him wonder about his mental state as well. After all, Crouch had been in Azkaban for a while before being extracted from the island prison by his father who had kept him under the Imperius Curse for years. Such prolonged exposure could not be any less than the influence the dementors would've had on him.
He was pulled out of his musings when Crouch continued after a brief pause.
"Captain Blackthorn and his entire team were scheduled to begin their paid vacation time starting Christmas," Crouch explained, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "It's the perfect opportunity for us to... shall we say, step into their shoes?"
Alecto Carrow leaned forward, her eyes narrowing behind her thick mane of hair that was draped over her face, making her look more menacing than she truly was. "And what good does that do us? We're still weak from Azkaban. How can we hope to fool anyone in our current state?"
Crouch stopped his pacing and fixed Alecto with a piercing stare. "Patience, Alecto," he chided, wagging a finger. His voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of steel. "You may be weakened, but you are far from powerless. Your minds, your cunning – I know those remain as sharp as ever. This period of deception serves multiple purposes, each more crucial than the last."
He resumed his pacing, hands clasped behind his back. "First, it allows us to regain our strength while hiding in plain sight. The very people hunting us will be providing us with shelter, nourishment, and the means to recover our full magical abilities. Funny, isn't it?"
Crouch paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. His eyes gleamed with malicious glee as he delivered the next part of his plan. "Second, and more importantly, it puts us in a position of unparalleled access. Blackthorn's team was one of those scheduled to provide security for the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament."
A collective murmur of understanding rippled through the group. Augustus Rookwood spoke up, his analytical mind already racing. "The maze. We'll have direct access to Potter."
Crouch nodded, a manic grin spreading across his face. "Precisely, Augustus. But let's not limit our vision. This goes far beyond Potter, though he is, of course, a key piece in our grand design."
"Tell us more, Barty," Amycus Carrow urged, his curiosity piqued. "How does this serve our Lord's greater purpose?"
Crouch's expression softened slightly at Amycus's words, his shared fanaticism for their lord endearing him to the man more than most. "Ah, Amycus. Always focused on the ultimate goal. You see, as members of the Auror force, we'll have the freedom to move and act as we see fit while supposedly upholding the law."
Rudolphus Lestrange growled, his fingers twitching on his wand. "Playing at being law-abiding citizens? That's hardly befitting of the Dark Lord's most loyal. We should be striking fear into the hearts of blood traitors and mudbloods, not pretending to protect them!"
Crouch's eyes flashed dangerously, and for a moment, the room grew colder. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but filled with so much menace that even the Lestrange brothers looked nervous. "Careful, Rudolphus. Your eagerness for violence is admirable but very shortsighted. Our Lord requires more than mere brutality. He needs cunning, patience, and above all, loyalty that goes beyond simple bloodshed."
He approached Rudolphus, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's temporary, my friend. A means to an end. We regain our powers, gather intelligence, and position ourselves perfectly for the Dark Lord's return. We'll have access to every department in the Ministry, every secret they hold dear. And when that glorious day comes..." He trailed off, his eyes taking on a faraway look.
"We strike," Rabastan Lestrange finished, his voice filled with anticipation.
Crouch nodded, coming back to the present. "Yes, Rabastan. We strike, and the wizarding world will never see it coming. They'll realize too late that the very Aurors they trusted to protect them have become their worst nightmare."
The room fell silent as the Death Eaters contemplated the audacity and brilliance of the plan. It was Dolohov who spoke again, his tone measured. "And what of Blackthorn and his team? Surely their absence will be noticed. And when we return in their place, won't their colleagues realize something is amiss?"
Crouch's smile turned cruel, his eyes glittering with malevolent intelligence. "Ah, Antonin. Always thinking ahead. This is why you were one of our Lord's most valued lieutenants." He gestured grandly as if unveiling a masterpiece. "Oh, they'll be returning to duty, rest assured. Though they may seem a bit... changed."
He turned to Rookwood, his expression now one of clinical detachment. "Augustus, I trust you can handle the necessary extraction of their memories and mimicking their personalities?"
Rookwood inclined his head, a spark of intellectual curiosity in his eyes. "It will be delicate work, but yes. Personality alterations, memory implantation... They'll unknowingly be our puppets, hidden while we take charge."
"Brilliant," Crouch said with a grin, clapping his hands together. "You see? This is why we will triumph. Our Lord values not just loyalty, but innovation, intellect. We are not mere thugs, but architects of a new world order."
Dolohov, who had been contemplative, leaned forward. "And what of the long term, Crouch? Surely we can't maintain this charade indefinitely."
Crouch's eyes gleamed with manic intensity. "Perceptive, Antonin. No, this is but the opening gambit in a much grander game. Once our Lord returns, once we have gathered the intelligence and positioned ourselves throughout the Ministry, we will be poised to topple the entire rotten structure from within."
He began to pace again, his movements more energetic now. "Imagine it – every department, from Magical Law Enforcement to the Department of Mysteries, under our control. We'll rewrite laws, redirect resources, all while maintaining the illusion of normalcy. By the time they realize what's happening, it will be far too late."
Crouch stopped, turning to face the assembled Death Eaters. "But for now, we must perfect our disguises, study our targets' mannerisms, ensure our story is airtight. Every detail, no matter how small, must be accounted for. We are no longer just Death Eaters – we are actors on the grandest stage, playing the most important roles of our lives."
His voice dropped to a near whisper, forcing everyone to lean in. "The Dark Lord's return is at hand, and we shall pave the way for his triumph. When he rises again, he will find not a scattered, broken force, but an army entrenched in the very heart of his enemies' stronghold."
As Crouch's words faded, a palpable sense of dark anticipation filled the room. The Death Eaters began to discuss the finer points of their plan, their voices a mix of excitement and calculated planning. They had endured years of imprisonment and hardship, but now, on the cusp of their master's return, they were poised to strike from within the very heart of wizarding Britain's defenses.
Crouch watched them with satisfaction, his mind already racing ahead, plotting contingencies and anticipating obstacles. He had orchestrated this symphony of chaos, and soon, very soon, the world would dance to his tune – all in service of the Dark Lord.
Outside, the wind continued to howl, as if nature itself sensed the gathering storm of dark magic and malevolent intent brewing within the old manor's walls. The night grew darker, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled – a fitting accompaniment to the birth of a plan that had the potential to shake the wizarding world to its very foundations.
XXXXX
The Room of Requirement had been unusually quiet for a while, the only sound being Harry adjusting his emerald tuxedo in front of an enchanted mirror. The mirror, with its playful, almost gossipy tone, offered compliments as it shimmered under the light.
"Oh, Mr. Potter, you are positively dashing tonight. That emerald tuxedo really does bring out the green in your eyes, doesn't it? And such a sharp cut too—who designed this, I wonder?"
Harry chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. The tux fit him perfectly, hugging his form in all the right places. He had never worn something so regal, yet it felt strangely comfortable. He straightened his bowtie, glancing at the partition behind him that concealed his wives. They had insisted on this surprise, something about wanting to see his reaction when they revealed themselves together.
The idea of seeing them all together, dressed for the night, filled him with a quiet thrill. He couldn't help but imagine how each of them would look, but his thoughts fell short of what reality would likely offer. As the minutes ticked by, anticipation built inside Harry. Finally, the shimmering partition began to dissolve, the magic of the Room of Requirement yielding to the collective wish of its occupants. Harry turned slowly, his heart racing.
The sight that greeted him was nothing short of mesmerizing. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening as his gaze traveled over the three women standing before him.
Fleur, in a gown of shimmering silver, looked like a goddess carved from moonlight itself. The fabric flowed over her body like liquid stardust, intricately adorned with delicate beadwork that sparkled with every slight movement she made. The dress hugged her slender figure, accentuating her curves while maintaining an elegance that was unmistakably her. Around her neck, a simple but elegant sapphire pendant drew attention to her collarbone, and her platinum blonde hair cascaded in soft waves.
Daphne, in contrast, was a vision in midnight blue. The deep, rich color of her gown was like the night sky at its most alluring, and the way it clung to her form, emphasizing every curve, made her appear both regal and dangerously seductive. Her gown's fabric shimmered subtly, like the stars glinting in the dark of night. A necklace of dark diamonds and sapphires adorned her neck, matching the glint in her cool, icy-blue eyes.
Then there was Valerie, in a soft rose gown that radiated warmth and softness. Her gown was designed to flow gracefully around her, the material light and delicate, creating a perfect contrast to the boldness of her figure. The soft blush of the dress seemed to bring out the warmth in her cheeks, her playful smile mirrored by the soft gleam of the jewels she wore—a subtle but enchanting collection of rose gold and pearls. Her dark hair was swept into a loose, romantic braid, with strands cascading down her back, framing her radiant face.
The three of them together were a symphony of beauty, each distinct but equally captivating, and Harry found himself momentarily speechless.
Or scratch that altogether! Rendered momentarily speechless was as massive an understatement as it could possibly be. Harry, for all his years facing down Voldemort's shades and battling impossible odds, felt completely out of his depth at this moment. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a step forward, still awestruck by the sight of the three women before him.
Fleur stepped closer, a knowing glint in her sapphire eyes as she reached up to adjust his already perfect bowtie. "It seems we 'ave broken 'im, girls," she said, her French accent lilting with amusement. "I told you, 'Arry wouldn't be able to handle it."
Daphne smirked, her eyes traveling up and down Harry's figure appreciatively. "It's not entirely his fault. You do look rather stunning tonight, Fleur." She let her hand drift over Harry's arm as she moved closer, her touch as cool and soft as silk. "But we'll be gracious, won't we? After all, he does clean up nicely himself."
Valerie sidled up to Harry's other side, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand as she gave him a mischievous grin. "I don't think we need to be too gracious," she teased, her voice low and playful. "I quite like watching him squirm. It's a rare treat."
Harry finally found his voice, though it was hoarse from the sheer emotion of the moment. "I'm… I don't even know what to say. You all look… fuck… I'm out of words, honestly. You sure we can't just sod it all and skip to the main event already?"
They all let out tinkling laughs as they stared at him, caressing his tuxedo gently.
"I'm really not kidding," he chuckled. "I'm not sure how I'm going to make it through the night without staring at the three of you the entire time. The wait would kill me."
Valerie laughed, a musical sound that filled the room, her eyes bright with delight. "Oh, my dear Harry, I think we'll enjoy that. After all, isn't that the point of dressing up like this? To be admired?"
Daphne's eyes sparkled with a playful glint as she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Just remember, Mr. Potter, you're the lucky one tonight. Just a little bit of patience and you'll have it all. After all, we're all yours."
Fleur, ever the confident one, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself to his side, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "Oui, and you, mon amour, 'ave outdone yourself as well. This emerald tuxedo? Magnifique."
Harry laughed, though his voice was still shaky. "I'm definitely the luckiest man alive."
Fleur smiled up at him, her eyes filled with warmth. "That, 'Arry, you most certainly are."
The playful banter finally winding down, Harry stood in the center of the room, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by how stunning his wives looked. The grin on his face was a mix of admiration and pure joy. With the teasing having subsided, he took a moment to glance between the three women.
"Well, I suppose the big question now is… who's the lucky one to accompany me to the Yule Ball?" he asked, raising a brow with a smirk.
Fleur chuckled, her sapphire eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, 'Arry, you already know ze answer to zat question, don't you?" she teased, stepping closer and trailing her finger down his chest playfully.
Valerie grinned as she leaned against Daphne, her voice soft and teasing. "It was a close call, love, but Daphne here won the contest fair and square," she said with a wink. "Not that we'll let her forget it anytime soon."
Daphne gave a self-satisfied smirk, her eyes gleaming with victory as she slid her arm through Harry's. "I suppose I'll just have to enjoy my victory," she said, her tone sultry, "and make sure it's worth all the fuss, won't I, love?"
Harry laughed softly, feeling Daphne's fingers curl possessively around his arm. "You always do, Daph. Lead the way, then."
As Daphne straightened up, giving her gown a graceful sweep, Fleur and Valerie exchanged a playful glance. Fleur, ever the flirt, reached up to brush a lock of Harry's hair from his forehead. "Do not worry, 'Arry," she said in a low voice, her breath warm against his ear. "We will not be far behind. But for tonight, Daphne is ze queen."
Valerie chuckled, walking past and patting his shoulder with an easy grin. "Enjoy yourselves. We'll make an entrance of our own."
With Daphne on his arm, Harry couldn't help but feel the stir of excitement rising in his chest as they made their way to the door, Fleur and Valerie following closely behind. The four of them moved in perfect sync, the collective elegance and grace between them exuding an air of quiet power and confidence.
As they descended the castle's grand staircase, the corridors were alive with students heading toward the Great Hall. Heads turned as the group walked by, eyes widening in awe at the sight of Harry flanked by Daphne, with Fleur and Valerie walking closely behind. The reactions were immediate—a wave of whispered admiration, surprise, and no small amount of envy swept through the crowd.
A group of younger students huddled near the base of the staircase, stared unabashedly. "Is that Daphne Greengrass?" one of them whispered, her eyes wide.
"She's with Potter! And Delacour and Swann are together—look at them!" another added.
Harry caught the murmurs and smirked, glancing at Daphne. "See? You're also a celebrity now."
Daphne met his gaze, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Let them talk," she whispered, her tone both amused and slightly exasperated, earning a chuckle from him.
Fleur, walking just behind them, winked at a group of students who were staring with slack-jawed amazement. Valerie flashed them a bright smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Seems like we're making quite the impression," the brunette murmured, her voice full of mischief.
As they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, they came across Viktor Krum and his date, Hermione Granger. Krum looked every bit the champion he was, wearing a finely tailored set of dark red robes that highlighted his broad, athletic frame. He gave Harry a curt nod, his eyes respectful, before doing the same with all three women with him.
Hermione, in a periwinkle gown, stood beside him, her posture straight and her eyes sharp as they moved from Harry to the three women accompanying him. There was something reserved in her expression as she nodded politely, though the slight tension in her shoulders didn't go unnoticed by Harry who chose to ignore it.
"Potter," Viktor greeted in his thick accent, offering his hand. "Good to see you."
Harry took Viktor's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Good to see you too, Krum," he replied, smiling genuinely. "You've met Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie, of course."
Krum glanced between the three women, his eyes lingering respectfully on Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie. "Of course. Ladies," he said with a polite bow of his head.
Hermione gave a slight, polite smile, though her eyes flickered briefly to Daphne and Valerie with a subtle wariness. "Mr. Potter," she greeted, her tone formal, as though she were addressing a colleague.
Harry, ever the diplomat, offered a warm smile in return. "Miss Granger. Enjoy the evening."
With the pleasantries exchanged, they waited until they were bid to enter the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall merely raised an eyebrow when she saw Fleur accompanied by Valerie as she bid them entry.
The Great Hall's grand space had been transformed for the Yule Ball. The enchanted ceiling glittered with thousands of stars, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the guests who had already gathered. As Harry and Daphne stepped into the room, with Fleur and Valerie following close behind, the reactions from the crowd were immediate. A hush fell over the hall as heads turned toward them.
Daphne, her arm still looped through Harry's, held her head high, the midnight blue of her gown shimmering under the lights. Her posture was regal, exuding a quiet, confident beauty. Fleur and Valerie, walking together in perfect harmony, looked every bit as radiant as they entered side by side—Fleur in her silver gown, a goddess of grace, and Valerie in her soft rose gown, the picture of warmth and allure.
The whispers among the guests were filled with admiration and awe.
"Look at Greengrass with Potter," one student murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. "And Fleur Delacour with Swann!"
"They look like royalty," another said, wide-eyed.
Harry couldn't help but smile to himself at the reactions, feeling the weight of the attention on them. He glanced at Daphne, who met his gaze with a soft, knowing smile. "Seems like you're quite the popular one tonight," he teased.
Daphne chuckled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Perhaps, but they're not staring at me, Harry. They're staring at us. All of us."
Behind them, Fleur and Valerie exchanged a smirk. "They're jealous," Valerie whispered, her voice filled with laughter. "And can you blame them?"
Fleur gave a soft, elegant shrug, her eyes scanning the crowd with amusement. "Let zem be jealous. Tonight is ours."
As they reached the center of the hall, Harry and Daphne stood proudly at the front, with Fleur and Valerie just behind them, and Viktor and Hermione following suit. The crowd parted, giving way to the champions and their partners, and for a moment, it felt as though time slowed.
Harry's eyes flickered to his wives—Daphne, poised and regal at his side, and Fleur and Valerie, standing together with playful elegance. The crowd could look all they wanted, but at this moment, Harry knew: they belonged to each other, and nothing could change that.
XXXXX
The opening dance concluded with grace and grandeur, leaving behind the lingering hum of music and the sound of excited chatter as the evening shifted to dinner.
The long, elegantly adorned tables were set with silver cutlery and glittering glass goblets, the flickering candles casting a warm, golden glow across the Great Hall. Harry, Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie found themselves seated at one of the tables reserved for champions and the higher-ups in the wizarding world—Ministry officials, esteemed professors, and notable guests.
Seated among them were Headmaster Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, Professor McGonagall, Ludo Bagman, and, notably, Barty Crouch Sr., who sat a few places down across from Valerie, right beside the exuberant former Quidditch player. The atmosphere was lively as conversations flowed easily over the course of the elaborate meal.
Harry, ever comfortable in diplomatic settings, was deep in conversation with Dumbledore and Madame Maxime about the intricacies of international magical cooperation, showcasing his ever-growing knowledge of such delicate matters, much to the surprise of the foreigners present. Daphne chimed in now and then, her wit sharp as she discussed the various politics at play in the Triwizard Tournament. Fleur, always poised, engaged Ludo Bagman with polite conversation, expertly ignoring his slightly glassy-eyed look. However, her eyes often drifted to Valerie, who sat quietly, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her goblet.
It wasn't like Valerie to be so reserved, and Harry noticed. Leaning slightly towards her, he whispered, "Everything all right?"
Valerie glanced at him and smiled faintly, though her lips pursed slightly. "It's nothing. I just… I feel like someone's watching me. I don't know who though."
Harry's brow furrowed. He scanned the room subtly, his gaze moving from one guest to another, but everything seemed in order. The professors were chatting amongst themselves, the Ministry officials were engaged in animated discussions, and the other students seemed too caught up in their own excitement. Still, it did not fully reassure him. Something in Valerie's demeanor made him uneasy.
Across the table, Barty Crouch Sr. raised his glass to his lips, his eyes lingering on Valerie for just a moment too long before he turned back to his conversation with McGonagall. It was a brief glance, almost imperceptible, but enough to stir a sense of unease in the air.
Daphne, ever observant, leaned closer to Harry, her gaze fixated on Valerie. "What is it?" she asked quietly, her voice low enough so as not to disturb the conversation.
"Val thinks someone's watching her," Harry murmured, his voice barely audible. He didn't want to alarm anyone, but there was a faint tension in the air now, something he couldn't quite shake.
Valerie shifted in her seat, her eyes scanning the room again. She hadn't said much during dinner, her usual light-hearted demeanor subdued. The feeling of being watched had crept up on her slowly, like an itch she couldn't scratch. It wasn't paranoia, but something more instinctual—a subtle, unshakable sense that someone's eyes were on her.
Fleur, sensing the shift, leaned in closer to Valerie, her voice a soft murmur. "Maybe it's just ze crowd," she suggested gently. "Zere are so many people 'ere, and you are breathtaking tonight. Of course people would stare."
Valerie gave a small, unsure smile. "Maybe," she agreed, though the tightness in her voice suggested she wasn't fully convinced.
"Or maybe it's that prick Davies," Daphne muttered, eyeing the bloke who was indeed glaring over at them from his spot near the wall, his date sitting forgotten on the chair in front of him as he stood with his pals. His lips pursed, Harry eyed Davies who sneered before shifting his gaze.
"Maybe…" he muttered, although he wasn't fully convinced either.
Throughout dinner, Harry kept a close eye on Valerie, his protective instincts kicking in. He noticed how her eyes would occasionally dart around, as though expecting to catch someone in the act. However, there was nothing—just the buzz of the Great Hall, the clinking of goblets, and the murmur of conversation.
Daphne continued to engage in conversation with Madame Maxime and Dumbledore, but her hand subtly found its way to Harry's, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "We'll figure it out," she whispered, her voice steady. "If something's off, we'll know soon enough."
Off to the side, Barty Crouch Sr. sipped from his goblet again, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes, cold and calculating, flickered once more toward Valerie when he thought no one was looking. It was the kind of glance that seemed harmless but, when repeated, took on a more sinister undertone. He quickly averted his gaze when Harry's eyes began moving in his direction, returning to the conversation as though nothing had happened.
The tension around the table began to simmer just below the surface. Valerie, though trying to maintain her composure, couldn't shake the sensation that something wasn't right. The feeling of being watched was growing stronger, like a prickling at the back of her neck.
She finally leaned closer to Harry, her voice barely above a whisper. "I know it sounds crazy, but… I can feel it. Someone is watching me."
Harry's eyes hardened. He glanced at Daphne and Fleur, silently communicating with them. Daphne's expression became steely, her focus shifting to the table and its occupants, while Fleur placed a comforting hand on Valerie's arm.
Dumbledore, ever perceptive, looked between them, his keen eyes picking up on the subtle shift in the atmosphere. He didn't say anything, but there was a flicker in his gaze as he observed the group. His eyes met Harry's and he raised an enquiring eyebrow, his lips pursing when the young wizard subtly shook his head.
Harry's mind was swirling with thoughts. All of them had practiced their magic tremendously and could sense anything amiss if they reached out with their magic, and for Valerie to feel so uneasy meant there was indeed something fishy going on.
He wanted to take Daphne's words at face value, for Davies had indeed been glaring at them, but he was anything but subtle. He did not believe his glances would perturb Valerie so much, for he was someone inconsequential. Indeed, he believed someone else was involved here, and he could not help but fear the worst.
For all the changes, Valerie still resembled her younger self to some extent. Her features might have morphed significantly, but someone who had known Bellatrix well enough could still identify her. Andromeda had done it at first glance, after all.
His thoughts were not private, and all three of his girls could hear his ponderings. Their concerns grew as well; the thought of someone recognizing Valerie and figuring out who she truly was taking root in their minds for the first time ever.
The foursome exchanged a conspiratorial glance with each other, silently conveying their thoughts and reassurances to each other as Harry and Fleur both shifted slightly closer to Valerie, ensuring their movements were as subtle as possible.
They did not want to give away anything to whoever this watcher was. However, there was one thing they needed to ensure.
They needed to figure out who it was, and what this person knew.
This secret of theirs was too massive to ever come to light.
Chapter 30: The Yule Ball Pt 2Chapter TextThe Great Hall buzzed with excitement, the air thick with the scent of evergreen and spiced pumpkin. Every corner of the vast room gleamed under the enchanted icicles and the flickering warmth of floating candles, casting dancing shadows on the walls. Laughter echoed in waves across the hall as couples danced to the tunes reverberating around them, and a symphony of delighted chatter filled the air. Yet, at the exclusive table, Barty Crouch Jr., disguised as his father, sat rigidly, his thoughts far away from the festivities.
His gaze, though masked by the stern, weathered features of his father, drifted repeatedly towards the champions. They had joined the higher-ups for the celebratory dinner before taking their leave to continue with the dances. Valerie Swann, her rose gown glimmering under the enchanted lights, danced with the French champion, much to the fascination and shock of many, with a smile on her face as she gazed at her partner.
Barty's fingers twitched as he watched her. He had not paid any attention to the mudblood so far, but now that he looked at her, there was something about the way she carried herself that stood out to him. It was an unspoken confidence that reminded him of someone – someone he had both admired and feared.
His jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, the image of Bellatrix Lestrange flashed across his mind – her youthful, wild beauty and the same glint of defiance in her eyes.
'Impossible,' Barty thought, clenching his fists under the table. 'It can't be. Bellatrix never had a daughter.'
Yet, the resemblance was uncanny, and the more he watched her, the more his suspicions grew. Those high cheekbones, the way she carried herself – proud, almost defiant. The feeling gnawed at him and he studied her every movement, every subtle gesture, that small smile on her face as she glanced around or the look in her eyes as she gazed at her dance partner, completely unaware of the storm brewing in the mind of the man subtly watching her. She had no idea who he truly was or that his gaze had lingered on her throughout the night.
The conversation at the table briefly cut through his reverie.
"I must say, Barty, 'Ogwarts looks particularly grand zis evening. Ze decorations are simply splendid," Madame Maxime commented, her voice booming even in the din of the hall. "Ze floating icicle… 'ow do you say, quite magnifique, no?"
Barty startled slightly, forcing himself to turn away from the champions and casting his cold eyes on the half-giantess. "Yes, quite," he replied curtly, his tone clipped and his mind elsewhere. "Flitwick's work, mostly. He always outdoes himself."
Professor Flitwick, who had been quietly enjoying his drink nearby, overheard the comment and beamed with pride. "Oh, it's nothing really. Just a bit of fancy wandwork. Though I must admit, the color-changing snow was particularly tricky, but I do love myself a challenge."
Barty barely acknowledged the Charms professor who launched into a detailed explanation of his charmwork. His attention had already drifted back to the dance floor with the Champions, where he saw Harry lean over while he danced with Daphne to say something to Fleur and Valerie who both let out laughs.
Barty's chest tightened as an uncomfortable feeling settled over him. The similarities were uncanny, but it was impossible. He was confident that Bellatrix didn't have a daughter. His lord had made sure of that. Yet, a memory stirred in his psyche—unbidden and unwelcome.
Bellatrix had not gotten married to Rudolphus back then, but the talks were on. He remembered her twirling in emerald robes at the Black family gala. Her dark hair looked very similar to how it did right now, and her eyes were alight with the same mischief. He could easily spot the act she was putting up when he saw the way she laughed, head thrown back, as Rudolphus whispered something in her ear, but he had seen her true laugh, and the similarity he spotted now jolted him where he sat.
He blinked hard, and the image of the young Bellatrix in his mind melted into Valerie's features. He reaffirmed his observations to himself. The same high cheekbones, the curve of her jaw, even the way she held herself—proud and defiant.
'It's impossible,' Barty thought, his heart racing. 'And yet... there's something more to this.' His suspicion deepened as he gazed at her, his eyes calculating. 'What are you hiding, girl?'
He saw Dumbledore approaching with McGonagall out of the corner of his eyes and schooled his features, acting like his usual aloof self. The old wizard took his seat near him.
"Young love is a beautiful thing, wouldn't you agree, Barty?" Dumbledore's voice suddenly cut in, his eyes twinkling as he observed the champions with his usual serene expression.
Barty's lips pursed at the question, his breathing even as he remained perfectly calm. "Love," he said, keeping his voice steady as usual, "is often… distracting."
Dumbledore did not respond as Madame Maxime quickly engaged him and McGonagall in some idle chatter.
Barty's eyes briefly flickered over to the Champions, and Valerie in particular. Bellatrix's daughter, the thought persisted, buzzing at the edges of his mind, no matter how much he wanted to believe otherwise. He did not truly know everything. He needed to know. He needed proof. He knew he would not be able to rest calmly otherwise.
Before he could lose himself to speculation once again, an oily, familiar voice slithered into his ear.
"Ah, Barty. It's been too long since we talked, hasn't it?"
Barty cast a sneer at the man who approached him. Igor Karkaroff's steps immediately faltered, a pale and nervous look overtaking him, but he still tried to feign charm. Barty's lips quirked slightly in disgust when the man leaned closer, his breath reeking of sour wine.
The man kept his voice low, making sure no one else could hear him. "Tell me," he began, his eyes darting around, "what do you think of the tasks so far? Surely you have some insight into what comes next?"
Barty slowly turned to him, his expression icy. Beneath the mask of his father's features, a flood of loathing churned within him, urging him to cast caution to the wind and curse the abhorrent man in front of him.
Igor Karkaroff. Barty had been holding himself back ever since he had set his sights on the man who had betrayed him in front of the Wizengamot. The coward who had named names to save his own skin. Barty's insides coiled with hatred and disgust as he laid eyes upon him.
He forced himself to remain calm as he gazed at the man. "Now, now, Igor," he said smoothly, although the sheer venom in his voice was barely concealed. "You know I cannot divulge such information. The tournament must remain fair, after all."
His words were laced with sarcasm, and his hateful eyes bored into Karkaroff's with an intensity that made the Durmstrang headmaster shift uncomfortably. He eyed Dumbledore and Madame Maxime both glancing toward them and expertly ignored them.
Karkaroff forced out a chuckle, although it came out very weak and brittle. "Ah, of course, of course," he muttered, wiping his brow with the inside of his sleeve. "But you know, Barty, for old times' sake… a little hint is nothing, yes?"
Barty sneered at the man whose eyes shone with a hint of desperation, and he wondered whether he truly had so little faith in his Champion that he was begging him like this. The man's hand trembled slightly as he reached for a goblet. The sight filled Barty with disgust.
"Old times?" Barty's voice dipped dangerously low, though his gaze never left Karkaroff's face. "The way I remember it, Igor, you weren't on the right side in the old times. And not one for loyalty either. Or am I mistaken?"
He let the question hang in the air, and the threat beneath his words was unmistakable.
Karkaroff paled visibly at the reminder, his faux smirk fading completely into something more akin to fear. "I—well… that was all a long time ago, Barty. Water under the bridge, surely?" His voice wavered, and he took a hurried sip of his wine to cover his discomfort.
Barty was enjoying Karkaroff's uneasiness, especially considering multiple people were paying attention to them, even though they could not hear what was being discussed. He let the silence stretch, and only when he saw Karkaroff getting visibly uncomfortable that he leaned in slightly, his voice a low whisper.
"I happen to question your sanity if you came to me with these questions," he said calmly. "I suggest you focus on your own champion, Karkaroff, and stop fishing for answers you'll never get. This conversation is over. And I don't want you ever approaching me for anything, you hear me? I feel disgusted enough talking to one of your kind already."
Karkaroff flinched, his face draining of all color as he muttered something incoherent and quickly retreated, disappearing into the crowd of students and staff. Barty watched him leave with a barely hidden sneer, his entire being filled with disgust. Coward. Traitor. You've no idea what's coming. You have no fucking clue how limited your time truly is.
Satisfied that he had put Karkaroff in his place, Barty returned his attention to the dance floor. Valerie was now in the arms of Harry Potter while the other two girls danced together, and he could see the attention of most of the people was on the quartet who were quite evidently involved with each other.
Barty's eyes narrowed slightly as he gazed at the brunette who twirled in Harry's arms, her rose gown glowing under the light and sparkling, her face bright and set in a grin. She looked effortlessly at ease, so unaware of the eyes on her. She had no idea that her every move was being scrutinized, no idea that someone was piecing together the fragments of her identity.
'I need to look into this myself,' Barty thought to himself furiously. 'A discreet investigation into her affairs… her identity, and her past. Surely there's some connection to Bellatrix. There has to be. My gut has never been wrong.'
The students kept dancing, and conversation kept flowing around him. However, his attention was firmly on the girl dancing with Harry Potter. He made sure no one discovered him staring at her. The more he watched, the more he began to be sure that he was on to something here.
If he was right – if she was truly Bellatrix's daughter – then he knew the Dark Lord would be immensely pleased. He would want her, undoubtedly. And he, Barty Crouch Jr., will rise even higher in the ranks. He would be rewarded for this discovery.
"Are you quite alright, Barty?" Pomona Sprout asked, concern evident in her voice. "You look a bit peaky."
Barty straightened as he glanced at her, adopting his father's stern demeanor. "Merely ensuring everything runs smoothly, Pomona. Can't have any mishaps at an event like this, can we?"
He nodded at her reassuringly and ran his eyes across the hall as Sprout turned back to McGonagall and resumed her conversation with her colleague.
As the conversation around him turned to inter-school relations and the upcoming tasks, Barty's mind whirred with possibilities. He needed to investigate, to confirm his suspicions. It seemed impossible, but he could not leave it without getting to the crux of the matter. His mind worked on logic, and logic said he was thinking rubbish, but his gut was arguing otherwise.
Even if he was wrong, he had to pursue this. However, he could not take any risks. If she truly was Bellatrix's daughter and was raised as a mudblood, then there was only one man who had the power to ensure something like that happened with no one being the wiser.
He glanced at Dumbledore who was engaged in a conversation with Madame Maxime and his lips set in a thin line. If he was right, then the old coot had pulled off one of the greatest heists ever. Even the Dark Lord had no idea that Bellatrix had a daughter, forget Rudolphus or any other Death Eater. What about Bellatrix, though? The last he had heard, she had scared her husband so much that he did not even try to get close to her. That begged another question – who was the father of Bellatrix's daughter, assuming Valerie Swann was hers?
Barty cleared his head of all the questions that kept emerging in his mind. He needed to take this one step at a time. He first needed to ensure she was truly Bellatrix's daughter, and that would require caution on his part. It was paramount that Dumbledore or anyone else for that matter remained oblivious to his investigations. One wrong move on his part could jeopardize everything.
XXXXX
In a dimly lit corridor near the outer hall of the Great Hall, Luna Lovegood strolled alone, her silver gown swishing lightly around her ankles as she admired the enchanted snowflakes still floating in the air. She hummed softly to herself, her dreamy eyes lost in thought.
Her date had left her during the Yule Ball and the last she had seen him, he had been fighting with the Granger girl who always had a lot of wrackspurts around her head. She had not been surprised. She had known Ginny and her family her entire life, and she had expected Ronald to be so prickly. It made sense to take her leave. The decorations looked more interesting anyway.
So lost in her thoughts she was that she did not notice the shadows moving behind her. It was only when she heard the approaching footsteps that she paused and turned around.
"Well, look who we have here," Roger Davies drawled as he stepped in front of Luna. His formal attire was rumpled and his face was twisted in bitterness as he sneered down at her. A few of his lackeys flanked him – both boys and girls – and each wore the same look of smug superiority.
The group had been watching Luna for a while now, waiting for the perfect moment. Davies had still not forgotten his humiliation at the little girl's hands during the duel and he had been plotting for a way to get back at her.
"All alone, Loony? Shouldn't you be with your disgusting Nargles?" Marietta Edgecombe sneered, her voice dripping with malice.
She had been one of the girls who had been docked points because little Loony had tattled to her protectors. Well, those protectors were not here right now.
Luna blinked, her wide eyes settling on her with her usual serene expression. "Oh, I don't mind nargles. They can be quite helpful, you know. They tend to keep away unwanted company."
Davies' smirk faltered, but another of his female companions, a tall witch with dark hair, stepped forward, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "You think you're clever, don't you? Beating Roger in that duel was a fluke. Everyone knows you're just a silly little girl."
Davies' sneer deepened at the reminder, but another of his lackeys jumped in before he could get a word in.
"Yeah, surprised you didn't trip over your own feet, Lovegood."
Luna tilted her head slightly, her gaze floating somewhere beyond them as if she didn't quite care. "It wasn't a fluke. You see, I've been practicing quite a bit. But it's alright if you want to believe that."
Davies scowled, his face flushing with anger. "You think you're so above us now, don't you? Walking around like you're untouchable because you've got Potter and his little harem watching your back." He stepped closer, his face inches from hers, and his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "But they're not here now, are they?"
Instead of flinching, Luna remained perfectly calm, and her demeanor only aggravated her bullies further. "Harry and his wives are very kind," she said softly. "But you should probably go back to our common room. The wrackspurts are getting restless."
"Wives?" Edgecombe asked dumbly. "They aren't married, you idiot."
"Oh they're bonded. You didn't know?" Luna cocked her head in genuine puzzlement, prompting the others to exchange surprised looks with each other.
The same dark-haired girl next to Roger snorted as Edgecombe reached out to grab Luna's arm, yanking her forward slightly. "Oh, that's news. We'll be sure to make it known to everyone. Potter's depravity needs to be public knowledge. But you… Listen here, Loony. No one cares about your nonsense. And frankly, we've seen how you've been walking around the castle, acting all smug. Maybe a little lesson in humility is in order."
"Let her go."
The sharp voice cut through the air like a blade, and they all whirled around with wide eyes. Valerie emerged from the shadows, her wand already in her hand, her eyes cold and dangerous. Daphne and Fleur were right behind her, each wearing expressions that promised trouble for the group in front of them.
The girl's hand dropped Luna's immediately and Davies stepped forward with the sneer remaining on his face. He straightened up, trying to look defiant as he glared at them, although the combined glares the three girls leveled at him made him gulp slightly.
"Oh look, the cavalry's here. Took you long enough. What, did Potter send his dear wives to do his dirty work for him again?"
Their expressions shifted; they had not expected the news to be out yet and they wondered just how Davies knew about it. They did not ponder on it any further though.
Valerie's wand twitched in her grasp as the air crackled with tension. "You still don't learn, do you, Davies? You've been docked points, given detentions, had your privileges revoked, and even publicly humiliated multiple times, and you still come for more. Maybe Harry was right. You do have a kink."
"Shut your trap, bitch!" Edgecombe snarled as she stepped forward. "We've all had enough of you lot's strutting around the castle, thinking you're so above everyone else."
"Excuse me, who are you again?" Daphne interjected, furthering the girl's ire. She waved her hand dismissively, not allowing her to get a word in. "Don't bother. It doesn't matter." She eyed the group at large and brandishing her wand, stepped beside Valerie. "Listen, fuckwits. You'll get one warning. Scram, or you won't be leaving this corridor on your two feet."
The cold tone made a couple of them shiver as Fleur stepped forward, and immediately, their eyes glazed up, lust taking over. The veela gazed at the pathetic witches and wizards with unconcealed disdain.
"I already knew how pathetic you were, but you turned out to be an even bigger piece of shit. Bullying a young girl you found alone? That's shameful, even for someone like you," she spat.
Davies' eyes were glazed up but it seemed his rage was even more potent. His face twisted in an ugly mix of lust and anger, but before he could speak, Fleur cut him off.
"You're not doing anyone any favor sticking to this, Davies," she interjected swiftly. "You've lost your prestige already. Accept it with whatever dignity you have left, or is that too much for you?"
The dark-haired girl beside Davies bristled in anger as she glared at Fleur. "Shut your dumb mouth, Veela," she spat as she brandished her wand as well. "What? You're feeling threatened because there are more of us now and there's no one around to suck up to you, huh? That's why all those big words? Or is it because you're all in too much hurry to crawl back to Potter on your knees and show the true place of your kind"
The girl was suddenly cut off as she stiffened and fell over backward. Luna quickly skipped to the side and the frozen girl slammed on the floor, her eyes wide.
Shook, the bullies slowly turned to Fleur, their hearts racing. She slowly lowered her wand and gazed back evenly. None of them had even seen her brandishing her wand or casting the spell, and Davies' lackeys took a step back, their eyes wide in fear.
"R-Roger, they're right," one of the girls whispered shakingly.
"Y-Yeah, man. Let's fuck off. We"
"Shut it," Davies hissed. Glaring at the trio, he snarled, "You think you're all so powerful, huh? Think no one can do anything to you because you've got Potter? He might have Dumbledore's favor but that's all there is to it. And you lot? You're nothing without him."
"Funny, Davies," a cool yet amused voice came from behind them and the girls smirked as Harry walked over, utterly relaxed. "I'm pretty sure they don't need me to handle you. They never really did."
Davies' eyes widened slightly as Harry approached. However, Harry's eyes immediately fell on Luna.
"Hey, Luna. Someone's been looking for you."
Ginny Weasley emerged from behind Harry and glanced at him. Harry gave her a firm nod, and the redhead bit her lower lip gently before slowly making her way over to her best friend.
"I shouldn't have made you go with my prat of a brother," she muttered.
"Ronald has a very big problem of wrackspurt infestation, just like Granger. I was not surprised."
Ginny shook her head as she grabbed Luna's hand and Davies could only stand there, watching, as she led her away. It was almost as if he was frozen in place, unable to move.
As the two girls left, Harry turned back to Davies and cast a disgusted glance at him and his lackeys.
"Now then, where were we? Ah yes, they don't need me to take care of a vermin like you. We all have been patient with you so far, thinking you'd see some sense. But it seems like no matter how much you are smacked around, you like to keep coming for more. You're like a mad dog in that sense, aren't you?"
"Shut up," Davies growled low in his throat.
"Oh, the mad dog also growls like one," Daphne mocked. "Is that because of how you were conceived, I wonder…"
Fleur and Valerie snorted; however, Harry grimaced.
"Great. Now I have that image in my mind. Thanks, love."
Daphne merely smirked.
Turning back to Davies, Harry took a deep breath. "You keep testing our patience, Davies. Just walk away, before this gets worse. I'm sure none of you want that."
His lackeys shook their heads firmly, knowing how deep shit they were in, but Davies and Edgecombe kept glaring at them. The other girl remained petrified in place.
"Think of your father, Davies," Daphne said warningly. "Think of him."
Davies' hands clenched on his wand, and with a snarl of frustration, he turned on his heel and marched away. Valerie swiftly flicked her wand, reversing the petrification, and the rest of his lackeys quickly grabbed her before they too scrambled away, shooting fearful glances over their shoulders. The girl and Edgecombe glared hatefully at them, but all they did was stare back calmly.
Only when they all left did Valerie sheathe her wand once again.
"He won't learn," she muttered.
"Agreed. And he went after Luna this time, knowing he doesn't have a chance against us," Daphne replied. "He's getting bolder, and although not to us, he is becoming dangerous."
"Something permanent needs to be done about him," Fleur stated finally. "And I'm sure you all know what I'm talking about."
As one, they all turned to Valerie who let out a small smirk and nodded.
"I guess I can do a repeat performance. But if even that doesn't bring him in line?"
Daphne chuckled as she wrapped an arm around Valerie's waist, kissing her softly. "You put the fear of the devil in Malfoy, Val. The crown prince of bellend, if there ever was one. Davies is small fry compared to that."
Harry shook his head in amusement.
"He will learn this time, Val," he replied before his face darkened. "And it should be a good lesson indeed. He tried to go after Luna, after all."
"Don't you worry," Valerie smirked. "I plan to."
"Good," Daphne clapped her hands once and quickly threaded her arm through Harry's. "Now, I know about you all too, so let's get back to our room, shall we? I'm sure this one here has been waiting eagerly to unwrap his lovely presents, so to speak…"
Smirking, Valerie and Fleur both stepped closer as they all walked away toward the Grand Staircase for their private little afterparty.
None noticed the man in dark robes standing hidden in the shadows behind an alcove, his eyes trained on the only dark-haired witch in the midst.
'Soon enough, girl,' he thought, eyeing her. 'Soon enough, I'll know everything.'
XXXXX
A few hours had passed and the quiet of the castle at night was a stark contrast to the liveliness that had filled the Great Hall as the Yule Ball remained underway. The corridors of Hogwarts were now silent, save for the occasional flicker of a torch or the distant echo of a suit of armor shifting in the shadows.
The cold winter wind howled softly against the high windows as Severus Snape marched with his head held high and his black robes billowing behind him. His face was set in its usual stoicism and his black eyes darted around, looking for anything out of the ordinary.
A sound from the nearby closet made the wrinkles around his eyes tighten and he hauled the door open, startling the pair of sixth-year students inside.
"Formby, Burrow, fifty points from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw for being out of bounds after curfew," he drawled. "Now leave before I hand out detentions as well."
The pair hastily fixed their clothes as Snape averted his eyes, stepping aside to allow them to pass. He shut the closet door once they dashed by him and resumed his walk toward the Grand Staircase.
He caught and docked points from four more couples as he ascended, passing Filch by on his way up. His destination was the seventh floor where the Headmaster awaited him.
Inside his office, the warmth of the hearth kept the chill at bay. Albus Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair behind the ornate desk, his fingers lightly steepled and his eyes thoughtful beneath the half-moon spectacles perched on his long nose. Fawkes, his loyal phoenix, slept soundly on his perch, his brilliant plumage dimmed in the low light of the office.
He glanced up when he sensed the approach, and the door to his office opened at his command, admitting his guest for the evening.
Snape arrived quietly, as he always did, and assumed his place by the window, standing and gazing at the outline of the Forbidden Forest.
"Headmaster," he began, his voice as calm as ever. "Karkaroff approached me tonight. He's frightened."
"He must have observed what you have, I presume?"
Wordlessly, Snape slid the sleeve of his left arm up, exposing the abhorrent mark he had been branded with. The Dark Mark – a serpent slithering out of a skull – seemed much darker than it did six months ago as the snake slithered about, coiling.
"He is not as dumb as many think he is," Snape continued. "At least not dumb enough to not know what this means. He said he intends to run – to hide before it happens."
"A hope in futility, I fear."
"As I told him," Snape replied. "He even urged me to follow suit. To run before the Dark Lord truly returned."
"And what did you say to him?"
Snape turned around, eyeing Dumbledore with the same stoic face. "I told him," he said, his voice as cold as the icy wind blowing outside, "that I have nothing to fear."
"A bold statement to make, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "You have been unwavering in your loyalty ever since Tom's downfall, but we both know the precarious balance you have been maintaining. It is a tightrope you have been walking on between the remnants of Tom's former followers and your duty as you have chosen it."
"Karkaroff is right to be afraid," Snape opted to say, refusing to address Dumbledore's words. "The Dark Lord's return is no longer an eventual possibility. It is a question of how soon it is going to happen. The Dark Mark has been deepening for months now, and that is not considering the Azkaban breakout. No one has heard of an attack so far. It does not take a genius to understand where they are, and with whom."
It was indeed concerning. The highest-ranked and the most dangerous of Tom's followers had broken out of Azkaban, and Dumbledore knew firsthand how vicious they were. For them to remain quiet since then did not bode well for anyone, much less this illusion of peace. He believed it would shatter sooner than he had expected, and he could not stop himself from sighing as he thought about it.
He rose from his chair slowly and crossed the room to stand by the large window that overlooked the snow-covered castle grounds. His breath frosted the glass as he gazed into the darkness of the night.
"The signs have been growing stronger for months. Tom's return is not a matter of if, but when, and we need to start preparing for the eventuality."
"What about the boy?" Snape asked quietly, and Dumbledore's mind drifted to Harry.
"He has grown into a remarkable wizard, perhaps even better than me when I was his age," Dumbledore admitted softly. "I am not exaggerating when I say that Harry would perhaps emerge on top if he engaged in a fight with an entire squadron of combat-ready aurors. He has the power, the knowledge, and the skill to triumph."
Snape remained quiet, allowing Dumbledore to continue.
"Yet, so much remains to be done, so much left to discover and prepare for. And time does not seem to be on our side."
"You are talking about those abominations," Snape observed, and Dumbledore sighed, nodding.
"We've made significant progress in our hunt for Tom's horcruxes, but until we destroy all of them, we might as well have done nothing."
"We do know how many are left," Snape remarked. "Do you have any idea where they might be?"
"A part of me firmly believes Tom gave it to one of his staunch followers to safeguard," Dumbledore replied. "Lucius' father was given the diary. I believe the cup of Helga Hufflepuff might be with someone else as well."
"And the ring?" Snape asked quietly.
"I am still working on it, although the shack seems the most likely location. It could be in that cave as well," Dumbledore mused.
"And the fact that you have not yet made a move tells me you have something else on your mind," Snape remarked.
"You always were observant, Severus," Dumbledore smiled.
Snape frowned when Dumbledore remained quiet, and he wondered just why the man was not moving for the two locations that could possibly hold the Horcrux. He did not dwell further on it though, knowing the old wizard would divulge his secrets when he believed the time was right.
"I want you to do something for me, Severus," Dumbledore said suddenly, pulling Snape out of his thoughts. As he gazed at the man, Snape could not help but feel a foreboding feeling wash over him.
His skepticism was awarded with vindication when Dumbledore said what he wanted Snape to do for him. A small breath forced its way out of him as he stared at the old wizard stoically, although the slight tightening of his jaw gave away his nervousness.
"You are certain of this?" Snape asked quietly.
"I am," Dumbledore nodded. "Tom needs to trust you, Severus, and there are only a few ways that would ensure he does. The time is perfect. The mark is dark and alive enough for you to initiate contact, and Tom would not find anything remiss in your explanation either."
Snape remained quiet for a long moment, and Dumbledore felt that the man was internally preparing himself for what had been asked of him.
"This is a risk we have to take, Severus," he said softly. "We cannot have a war of attrition with Tom. It will only be a repeat of history if we do. We must discover his secrets, and we do not know how long it would take. It is the prudent step at this hour."
The office remained silent as a graveyard in the aftermath of Dumbledore's declaration, and the old wizard gave an imperceptible smile through his thick beard when Snape straightened his back and nodded curtly.
"By your leave, then," he said firmly. Dumbledore nodded and watched as Snape turned around and briskly walked out of his office.