Chapter 31: VowedChapter TextAs Snape descended the stone staircase leading to the dungeon, the burden of Dumbledore's request weighed heavily on him. The echo of his footsteps reverberated through the empty corridors, each step feeling as though it carried him deeper into the shadows of the choice he had just made.
The flickering torches cast sharp, erratic shadows on the walls, and he felt as though they were watching him, shifting with every movement. He clenched his fists. No one could know of this decision, not even his own mind could be trusted to linger on it too long. The Dark Lord might not have fully returned, but the dark mark on his arm had been growing stronger throughout the year, pulsing faintly but steadily, and it was a reminder that the Dark Lord's power still reigned absolute. It called for his so-called allegiance to remain true, and the truth was immaterial.
Reaching his quarters, Snape shut the door behind him and exhaled, leaning against the cool stone wall. His eyes, normally fierce and guarded, softened in the quiet solitude. The dread he had buried in front of Dumbledore now threatened to rise. He could still hear the echo of the old man's words in his head.
"We must discover his secrets, and we do not know how long it would take. It is the prudent step at this hour."
Prudent, Snape thought bitterly. A cruel euphemism. Necessary, perhaps, but far from prudent. This decision could be a death sentence. If the Dark Lord sensed even a hint of hesitation, a tremor of doubt in Snape's feigned loyalty, there would be no mercy.
Crossing the room, he slowly unbuttoned the left sleeve of his robes, exposing his forearm. The mark was darker, almost burning, though he knew it was an illusion—the symbol hadn't yet flared with the terrible darkness that meant the Dark Lord was calling. Still, just the sight of it stirred memories he had long since thought repressed, reminding him of every reason he had chosen to align himself with Dumbledore in the first place.
Lily.
The name stirred the pain he kept buried in the deepest recesses of his heart, alongside the rage and self-loathing the memory of that accursed Halloween night stirred within him.
Silently, he moved to the desk in the corner and gave his wand a cursory flick, lighting up a solitary candle, and withdrew a roll of parchment. He wrote methodically, organizing his thoughts, his questions, his explanations and thoughts, all while keeping his face impassive as though the Dark Lord himself were watching. Only when he was finished did he sit back, contemplating his reflection in the faint light.
"Fool," he muttered, voice barely a whisper. "You were always a fool."
A chill ran through the air, sudden and inexplicable, and the candle flickered as if in agreement. He raked his eyes over the parchment, committing every word, every lie and half-truth to memory, making it a part of himself and burying his true thoughts and emotions so deep within himself that only he could ever discover them.
Only when he deemed himself ready did he release a deep breath, burying all the fear and hesitation from the forefront of his mind, submerging himself in his loyalty toward the Dark Lord.
He stared down at the darkening mark on his pale forearm, watching how the dark serpent slowly slithered and coiled around the skull, pulsing like a faint heartbeat.
Contacting Lord Voldemort—the mere thought sent a wave of unease through him. It did not matter how much he tried to prepare himself. The final vestiges of disquiet persisted.
Yet, it was the only way to initiate what Dumbledore had demanded of him, to weave himself into the Dark Lord's favor and gain his trust once again.
Reluctantly, he let his fingers drift over the darkened skin, steeling himself against the familiar tingle of cold that crawled up his arm. Summoning the necessary focus, he pressed the tip of his wand against the coiling mark and let his mind sink into the sensation, gathering his thoughts as though preparing the most volatile and delicate of potions. He knew this could only work if his focus was absolute and his intentions were as clear as possible.
Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, feeling the connection flare to life as he concentrated on the mark. It responded with a chill that raced through his veins, an unpleasant but familiar sensation that told him he was reaching the Dark Lord's awareness.
At first, there was only the cold, pressing against his mind like an iron vice, and he steeled himself. It did not take long for a response to reach him.
It was a faint voice—a mere whisper, sharp and cutting—that uncoiled within his mind, and Snape cleared every genuine thought from his mind.
"Severus."
The single word, dark and smooth, brought with it a wave of memories and sensations Snape had hoped he'd put behind him: the thrill of power, the heady sense of belonging, twisted with the stark terror that came from knowing he was in the presence of one who could end his life with a thought. He breathed deeply, keeping his mind shielded and his thoughts measured.
"My lord," he murmured softly, his lips moving but no sound coming out. The words were merely echoes in his own mind, but spoken with a tone of deep respect. "I felt… the mark. It has stirred lately, and I thought it prudent to reach out, should you require my services."
A heavy pause ensued, cold and ominous. The voice in his mind went silent, but Snape could feel it waiting, watching. Barely a second later, Snape felt the probing tendrils of Voldemort's consciousness brush against the surface of his own thoughts. He did not know how deep the Dark Lord's Legilimency probe went, but he knew he had to keep his mind open yet impenetrable, focused only on loyalty.
It felt as if an eternity had passed when Snape felt the Dark Lord's probe recede, and his response echoed in his psyche once again.
"Indeed, Severus," Voldemort's voice replied, as silky as he remembered and audibly pleased. "Loyalty is a rare and precious thing these days. Tell me… your time at Hogwarts has not softened you, has it?"
Snape felt his stomach twist, but his reply was steady. "Of course not, my lord. I remain as you have known me. Teaching is but a mask—useful only for what it allows me to observe, to prepare for the eventuality you told me about. I remain hard at work, at your instructions."
There was a brief, thoughtful silence, as if Voldemort were weighing his words. Snape could feel the Dark Lord's presence once again—an even more intense and malignant pressure against his mind. His jaw tightened, but he maintained his composure, keeping his head clear and his thoughts firm.
"Good," Voldemort finally replied, his voice a cold caress. "You may yet be of use to me, Severus. There are matters stirring, even within the walls of that school. Should I require anything of you… I trust you will know where your loyalties lie."
"My loyalties remain absolute, my lord. I remain where you asked me to be, obeying your instructions as I vowed to do."
"Vowed, yes…" Voldemort whispered.
The connection flickered, and Snape seized the chance to implant the seeds of Dumbledore's plan. "Indeed. I remain at your service. I dare not be presumptuous, and whenever you deem it necessary to call for me, I will stand ready."
The silence on the other end was more than palpable—it was a heavy, expectant pause that Snape could feel pressing down on him.
"Do not concern yourself with matters beyond your reach for now, Severus," Voldemort said at last, the hint of a threat beneath his calm tone. "Your role remains clear: be my eyes and ears within that castle. And when the time comes, bring with you the new generation of Death Eaters to continue our cause."
With a final, cold surge of pressure, the connection broke. The mark's darkness faded, its pulse receding into a dull ache.
Snape exhaled shakily, his composure restored but his nerves frayed. The silence of the dungeon closed around him once more, heavy and oppressive. He knew he'd passed the first test of this plan, but there would be many more, each one more dangerous than the last. The Dark Lord was not a fool. He had given him a chance, and he would need to prove his loyalty before even expecting to be trusted with any crucial information.
Pulling his sleeve back down over his arm, he allowed himself one brief moment to let the fear ebb away. He had done it. He was in the web once again, both with the Dark Lord and with Dumbledore, and the stakes had never felt more deadly.
But as he turned his gaze to the darkened room, his face settled back into its usual impassive mask. If this was the price to be paid for his treachery, for being the cause of Lily's death, so be it.
XXXXX
"Merlin, that was an unnecessary headache," Fleur sighed, kicking off her heels and stretching her arms above her head. "Good thing we found the Weasley girl right on time."
"Yeah," Daphne nodded, standing in front of the mirror as she took off her earrings, placing them on the vanity. "I can't wait for your repeat performance though, Val," she said with a giggle.
"The real thing is bound to be better, eh?" Valerie agreed with a teasing smirk, joining Daphne.
"All in due time," Harry chuckled. "And I'm sure I'm saying this for all of us, but I can barely wait now."
His voice had taken on a gravelly turn at the end, his eyes darkening, and all three women exchanged amused yet aroused glances.
"You got that right," Valerie whispered. She turned to Daphne who met her halfway, and as their lips met in a hungry kiss, their arms began to move over each other's dresses.
Meanwhile, Fleur approached Harry with a purposeful sway of her hips and planted herself on his lap. Keeping her eyes trained on the pair, she whispered, "Undress me, mon mari."
"Gladly," Harry said huskily, nibbling on the side of her neck as his fingers worked deftly to take care of her dress. She let it fall off her shoulders and pool by her lap, and to Harry's protesting groans, she stepped away from him. The dress dropped by her feet and she stepped out, standing tall and proud in front of Harry in a matching pair of silvery lace bra and knickers.
She beckoned him toward her with a finger, her lips quirked sexily, and Harry was quick to spring to his feet, closing the distance between them. His lips slammed against hers in a heated kiss that took her breath away, and Fleur found herself at his mercy. His hands grabbed both the cheeks of her arse, mauling and squeezing them fondly before he gave two hard spanks on her skin, making her cry out with lust.
His breath was hot against her skin, and he began to trail kisses down her neck, nibbling on her collarbone as he spanked her hard once again.
Suddenly, he felt the presence of his two other girls behind him. They reached out, making quick work of his clothes as Harry continued to pleasure Fleur, his tongue flicking out to taste her skin. He pulled her firmly against himself once Daphne and Valerie had rendered him naked, feeling her almost nude form pressed flush against his skin. He heard twin snaps behind him, and he deftly reached up, unsnapping Fleur's bra as well. The veela let it drop off her shoulders and Harry quickly threw it away.
For a while, Valerie and Daphne watched Harry pleasuring Fleur as they fondled each other. Finally, the former had had enough and she approached them, pushing Harry's hands away and delivering two resounding spanks on Fleur's arse. The veela cried out in pleasure as she pulled her lips off Harry, turning to her with her blue eyes wild with lust.
"Let's not keep him waiting," the brunette whispered, reaching out and wrapping her hand around Harry's length. Fleur reluctantly allowed her to pull him away, and followed behind them with Daphne as Valerie led Harry over to the bed with his cock.
They all climbed together in the bed, and all three women eyed Harry predatorily from their spot by his legs as they remained on their hands and knees while their husband watched them with sheer lust and desire oozing off him.
"Shall we begin then?" Fleur asked, her voice husky and her eyes dark with passion.
"Yes," Harry managed to say with a nod, his voice rough.
The three young women moved in perfect coordination. Daphne and Valerie knelt on either side of Harry, bending over with their perfectly round rears hiked high in the air while Fleur took her place in the middle, rubbing her cheek against his inner thigh like a cat. The former two moved their hands as one, reaching out to wrap around his cock and they began to stroke him gently, pressing soft kisses against his sides. Meanwhile, Fleur slid her hand up to cup his balls, her thumbs tracing slow circles as she fondled them. Harry's head fell back against the bed and his eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself in savoring the sensation.
"Harry," Daphne's breath ghosted his skin as she kept stroking him. "We can feel how much you want us, my love."
Valerie leaned in with a nod, her lips brushing against the tip of Harry's cock. "We do," she whispered, her tongue flicking out to taste the precum, licking it off the tip.
Daphne eagerly followed suit, her lips wrapping around the base of his cock. She began to swirl her tongue against the sensitive skin, and Harry's hips jerked involuntarily when Valerie slid him in her mouth and descended, her lips mere inches from Daphne's at the base. His hands gripped the bedsheet tightly as he tried to stave off the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm him.
"Goodness, you three feel so good!" He gasped, his voice strained.
Fleur's grip tightened on his balls, her nails scraping the skin lightly. She leaned closer and pressed her soft, pink lips against them, kissing softly. "Don't hold back, mon cher," she whispered teasingly, her breath hot against his skin. "Let go."
Harry's eyes blearily opened as he pushed himself up on his arms, his eyes locking onto the sight that greeted them. Three beautiful women, naked and bent over, as they pleasured him orally. He had no idea how he had gotten so lucky in life.
"Let go, 'Arry," Fleur whispered sexily, and Harry decided holding back was a worthless endeavor. He didn't have to, not with them.
With a faint growl, he thrust his hips upward, driving himself deeper into Valerie's mouth. The brunette moaned around him, her fingers digging into his thighs as she took him as deep as he could go. Meanwhile, Daphne kept swirling her tongue all over his shaft, kissing hotly as she worked with her sister-wives in perfect harmony.
Suddenly, Fleur's mouth hollowed and Harry's eyes widened when he felt the entirety of his balls be wrapped with the impossible hotness of the lovely veela's mouth.
"Fuck yes," he growled, his eyes locked with Fleur who swirled his balls around in her mouth, her tongue lapping away as she sucked harshly.
Meanwhile, Daphne and Valerie quickly exchanged roles. The blonde beauty took him in her mouth and plunged the entirety of his length in, deepthroating him. As she pulled back, Valerie wrapped her lips around the base of his cock and began licking him all over.
Harry's breath came in ragged gasps, his eyes alternating among the three and his body trembling as the pleasure built inside him.
"Almost there," he panted, his eyes half-lidded. "I'm… so close, fuck!"
"Then come for us, 'Arry," Fleur whispered, her lips curled into a wicked smile as she fondled his balls. "Mmm… I can see you've got a lot for all three of us, and maybe seconds as well."
Harry's vision blurred as the tension coiling within his gut reached its peak. With a strangled groan, he erupted, his seed spilling into Daphne's mouth as she continued to milk him dry. Valerie quickly pushed Daphne back and plunged her entire mouth onto his cock just as he shot another load that splattered against the back of her throat. She gulped him down greedily, craving even more, and Harry gave her all she wanted.
"And now it's my turn," Fleur smirked as she pulled Valerie back, and Harry let out another groan when the hot veela wrapped her lips around the crown of his prick and began to stroke him hard and fast.
"Fucking hell," Harry let out a groan, shooting load after load into her mouth and Fleur took everything that remained for her.
As she pulled away, Harry eyed them with a lustful gaze. All three young women swallowed every drop, their eyes never leaving his face. All their lips were slick with cum and Harry's cock lurched when he watched their tongues dart out to lick it all off at the same time.
"That was incredible," Valerie whispered with a grin.
"Agreed," Fleur replied as she sat back, her hand still wrapped around his softening cock.
"But we're not done yet," Daphne intoned huskily.
Fleur nodded, her eyes dark with desire as she began to stroke him back. All three women watched with excited grins as his cock grew to full mast within seconds.
"All right then," Daphne smirked, her eyes meeting Harry's. "Your turn, my love. Show us what you can do."
XXXXX
Harry was the first to stir, blinking lazily as sunlight filtered through the high windows of the Room of Requirement. The space had outdone itself as always, transforming into a luxurious suite complete with a massive four-poster bed that easily accommodated all four of them. Fleur was curled against his right side, her silver-blonde hair spilling like silk over his chest, while Daphne and Valerie were tangled together on his left, Daphne's arm draped possessively over both Harry and Valerie.
Harry shifted slightly, his fingers trailing lightly along Fleur's bare shoulder and down her back. She sighed softly, arching into his touch before lifting her head to press a lingering kiss to his chest. On his other side, Daphne stirred as Valerie's hand slid lazily up her thigh, caressing her sensitive skin and drawing a low hum from the blonde. Valerie opened her eyes just enough to catch Daphne's lips in a slow, unhurried kiss, their naked bodies pressing closer under the soft sheets.
"Morning," Valerie murmured against Daphne's lips before turning to glance at Harry with a wicked grin. She reached over to trail her fingers down his arm, her touch light but deliberate. "Looks like someone beat me to waking you."
"Hardly," Fleur replied smoothly, propping herself up on one elbow. Her blue eyes sparkled with amusement as she leaned over Harry, pressing her supple tits against him as her lips met his in a kiss that started soft but quickly deepened. When they finally parted, Fleur turned her attention to Val with a playful smile, brushing her fingers lightly across Valerie's cheek before leaning in to capture her lips next.
Daphne groaned softly, burying her face in Valerie's neck. "You're all insufferable," she muttered, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. Her hand slid over Harry's chest, her fingers tracing idle patterns as she pressed a kiss to his jaw.
Harry's lips twitched as he leaned back against the pillows, utterly content despite the chaos of limbs and kisses around him. "We should probably make an appearance at breakfast," he said eventually, though he made no effort to move.
"Five more minutes," Valerie mumbled, her hand drifting back to Daphne's waist. Her lips found Daphne's ear, drawing a shiver and a quiet laugh from the Slytherin.
Fleur arched an eyebrow. "We should go. I want to see how many heads turn when we walk in together," she said, her tone light but with a wicked glint in her eye.
"Exhibitionist," Daphne accused fondly, finally opening her eyes. She shifted slightly, leaning across Harry to steal a quick kiss from Fleur before pulling back with a smirk. "Though I suppose the damage is already done after last night."
It took them another twenty minutes to actually leave the bed, delayed by wandering hands, playful kisses, and the sheer warmth of their tangled limbs. Dressing took longer still, as they sorted through their clothes haphazardly tossed across the room the night before.
"That's my shoe," Daphne said, snatching a black heel from Harry's hand.
"Not my fault. You people have too many shoes. It gets confusing," Harry shot back, tossing it to her.
"Well, maybe if someone hadn't been in such a hurry," Valerie teased, straightening her dress and flashing him a grin. She reached over to adjust Fleur's blouse before stealing a quick kiss. "Better?"
"Always," Fleur replied with a smile, slipping her arm through Harry's as they finally made their way out.
They emerged from the Room of Requirement looking remarkably put-together despite their late night, though their smiles and occasional glances spoke volumes. Fleur had her arm linked through Harry's, while Valerie walked on his other side, fingers intertwined with his and Daphne's.
The first sign that something was amiss came as they descended the main staircase toward the Great Hall. A group of third-year Hufflepuffs stopped dead in their tracks, staring openly before breaking into furious whispers. Similar reactions followed them down the corridor—students pointing, whispering, and in some cases openly gaping.
"Did we break them already?" Valerie whispered, barely containing her amusement.
"I think we—" Harry began, but was cut off by a familiar voice.
"DAPHNE!"
They jerked as Tracey Davis strode toward them, waving a copy of the Daily Prophet like a battle standard. She came to a halt, fixing her best friend with an exasperated look on her face. "You've got to read what that bloody Prophet has published about you all," she said urgently, thrusting the paper at Daphne. "I mean, I knew how shit that woman is, but Merlin, this?"
"What are you talking about?" Daphne reached for the paper, the other three crowding around to read over her shoulder. Their eyes widened collectively as they took in the headline and subsequent article.
LOVE OR DARK MAGIC? POTTER'S PROVOCATIVE BALL RAISES ALARMING QUESTIONS
Champion's Circle: A Web of Seduction, Strategy, and Scandal
By Rita Skeeter
Special Correspondent
The Great Hall of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has witnessed countless memorable evenings in its thousand-year history, but none quite like last night's Yule Ball. The traditional celebration, revived this year alongside the legendary Triwizard Tournament, began as one might expect - with sparkling ice sculptures, enchanted snow falling from the bewitched ceiling, and twelve magnificent Christmas trees adorning the walls.
The champions' opening dance, a time-honored tradition meant to showcase international magical cooperation, should have been the evening's highlight. Instead, dear readers, it merely set the stage for what would become the most shocking display of impropriety this reporter has witnessed in her distinguished career.
The evening began with what appeared to be a promising turn of events: The Hogwarts Champion, none other than Harry Potter, arrived with the elegantly poised Daphne Greengrass, a witch whose refined upbringing and natural grace offered hope that our troubled young champion might finally be receiving proper guidance in magical society. His evident lack of tact during the first interview was condemned by many, and it was hoped that some positive influence would thaw our resident celebrity's brazen attitude.
Yet, as this reporter would soon discover, this seemingly appropriate pairing was merely the first move in what would turn out to be an elaborately orchestrated evening of scandal.
Enter Valerie Swann, Potter's known girlfriend, whose arrival caused quite the stir - not for her fashionably late entrance, and not because she was not the one to accompany Harry Potter, but for her choice of escort. The muggleborn witch, apparently not content with having captured the attention of the famous Harry Potter, appeared on the arm of none other than Fleur Delacour, the bewitching Beauxbatons champion. The pair's entrance sent shockwaves through the Great Hall, their complimentary rose and silver gowns leaving little doubt about the deliberate nature of their coordination.
But the true scandal, dear readers, was yet to unfold.
What followed was nothing short of a carefully choreographed display of what can only be described as collective courtship. Throughout the evening, this reporter observed no fewer than seventeen partner exchanges between the four students, each transition more brazen than the last. Potter, who one might expect to show some discretion given his position as a Tournament champion, seemed to revel in the attention his unusual arrangements attracted.
The question on everyone's minds remained the same: What exactly is the nature of this peculiar quartet?
Let us examine the evidence. Miss Delacour, whose Veela heritage makes her naturally predisposed to attracting admirers, appears to have set her sights on not one, not two, but three Hogwarts students—all younger than her. Is this perhaps a strategic move to gain an advantage in the Tournament? Or something more sinister? The timing cannot be ignored - with the Second Task approaching, one must question whether Potter's involvement with a competitor serves any legitimate purpose.
More concerning still is the obvious influence Miss Delacour wields over her chosen companions. Witnesses report seeing Potter and Greengrass hanging on her every word during several intimate conversations in darkened corners of the Great Hall. Even more telling were the lingering touches exchanged between the French champion and Miss Swann or how the former kept her arms around the latter, almost as if trying to separate themselves from the rest. It is to be noted that it was the muggleborn witch who seemed unusually susceptible to the Veela's charms.
The evening reached its crescendo during a particularly provocative waltz where all four participants exchanged partners with such fluid precision that one might suspect the use of choreography charms - or perhaps something more potent? This reporter's quill barely kept pace with the rapid succession of intimate moments: Potter whispering in Delacour's ear while Swann and Greengrass shared knowing looks; Delacour's hand trailing along Greengrass's arm as Potter led Swann in a rather close embrace; all four disappearing onto the moonlit balcony for suspicious intervals between dances.
Most alarming is the potential influence this arrangement might have on the Tournament itself. With Potter and Delacour both competing, one must question whether their intimate association violates the spirit, if not the letter, of the competition's rules. Has Potter's notorious penchant for breaking school regulations finally extended to international magical law?
The involvement of Miss Swann raises its own set of troubling questions. How does a witch of such ordinary beginnings find herself at the center of this web of influence? Her rapid ascent from an unknown muggleborn student to being intimately connected with both Tournament champions suggests capabilities beyond those typically taught in standard curricula. This reporter has been told she has been close to Potter since arriving at Hogwarts—something that has raised suspicions amongst several students. Perhaps certain enchantments or potions have played a role in facilitating these unusual bonds?
And what of Miss Greengrass? Her willing participation in this unconventional arrangement marks a striking departure from her previously impeccable reputation. Has she too fallen under the influence of whatever magic binds this group together?
As the evening drew to a close, this reporter observed all four leaving the Great Hall together, their departure marked by such casual intimacy that one might think they were merely heading to a private study session - though their flushed cheeks and disheveled formal wear suggested otherwise.
The implications of this development cannot be overstated. Not only has Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, apparently established what can only be described as a harem, but he has done so with a competing champion, adding an international dimension to this scandal. The presence of both Veela magic and potentially questionable enchantments raises serious concerns about the welfare of all involved.
This reporter calls upon the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to investigate whether any illegal love potions or enchantments have been employed in the creation of this unusual arrangement. The magical community deserves to know whether their young champion has fallen prey to dark influences, or if he himself is wielding inappropriate magic to maintain this web of relationships.
One thing is certain: the Yule Ball has exposed far more than new dress robes this year. As we approach the Second Task, the magical community must ask itself: Is Harry Potter's heart leading him astray, or is there something more nefarious at play in this dance of deception?
For an investigation into illegal love potions in competitive sports, see page 4
For a detailed analysis of a Veela's influence on wizards, see page 7
For an examination of unconventional magical bonds and their dangers, see page 13
"'A web of seduction, strategy, and scandal'?" Valerie read aloud, her eyebrows climbing deliberately higher with each word. She remarked mockingly, "Well, she certainly has a way with alliteration."
"'Flushed cheeks and disheveled formal wear,'" Harry quoted, his lips twitching. "She's not wrong there."
Fleur's laugh drew even more attention from the gathering crowd. "'It was the muggleborn witch who seemed unusually susceptible to the Veela's charms.' Why, I didn't know you were so taken with me, my love. What me to take care of you?" She asked, reaching out and caressing Valerie's cheek with a sexy smirk dancing on her lips.
"You'd love that, won't you?" Daphne said dryly, though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "At least she approved of me initially. Small mercies."
The whispers and stares intensified as more students gathered around, the air thick with curiosity and speculation.
"Well," Harry said loudly enough for most of the gathered observers to hear, "I suppose we don't have to worry about how to announce this anymore, if it was even needed after last night."
With a smirk, he pulled Daphne closer, pulling her into a passionate kiss while keeping his other arm around Fleur. Daphne pressed herself against him firmly, her arms wrapped around his neck as she kissed him back with equal fervor.
Valerie grinned wickedly before turning to Fleur. "Might as well give them something new to talk about."
Just like her two other lovers, she reached out and pulled Fleur into a thoroughly inappropriate kiss, drawing gasps and a wolf whistle from the crowd. Their onlookers kept staring at them, wide-eyed, feeling their own blood rushing as the foursome made out passionately in the middle of the corridor.
Meanwhile, Astoria and Tracey stood dumbly to the side, but the smiles they were sporting were unmistakable.
When the four separated, Fleur's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You're terrible," she said fondly, giving Valerie's rear a gentle smack before turning to Harry. "But you can't let her have all the fun." She kissed him soundly, followed quickly by Daphne.
"Merlin's pants," Tracey muttered, watching the display with wide eyes. "The article actually understated things."
This prompted another round of laughter from the quartet. Ignoring the crowd that parted as they began walking, they finally made their way into the Great Hall. Once again, they ignored the hush that fell over the room as they entered. Instead of going with Astoria and Tracey to her house table, Daphne walked alongside them and they sat down together at the Ravenclaw table, maintaining their casual intimacy.
"So," Valerie said, buttering a piece of toast with deliberate nonchalance, "who wants to bet on how long before we get Howlers from concerned citizens about corrupting their precious Boy Who Lived?"
"Two hours," Fleur said immediately.
"Optimistic," Harry countered, handing Fleur a croissant while accepting a bite of Valerie's toast. "I give it thirty minutes."
Daphne hummed thoughtfully, leaning against Harry. "The real question is how long before Skeeter writes a follow-up article about this morning's display."
Their laughter rang out across the Great Hall, drawing every eye in the room.
"Let her do whatever she wants. It ain't as if it affects any of us," Valerie smirked. "And I don't know about you, but I feel like kicking some ass tonight."
"After getting your ass clapped like that last night? I'm not surprised you want to let it out in some manner," Fleur teased, and Daphne almost spat her juice out. Laughing, she leaned against Harry who was not any better.
"As if you were any better," Valerie retorted, smirking. "If you look closely, you'll find hand prints all over your cheeks, and not just Harry's."
"Souvenirs from a splendid night together," Fleur replied unabashedly.
Her response made them all laugh out loud again.
Throughout the Great Hall, students, staff, and guests alike kept eyeing them as they ate and laughed together, and the foursome could really not care any less.
"All right then," Harry smirked as he gazed at Valerie. "We can get that out of the way tonight. A PoV is nice, but I want to be in person when you put the fear of the devil in those assholes."
A teasing grin appeared on Valerie's face as she leaned over, giving him a quick kiss.
"If you insist…" She smirked, eyeing Davies and his group of thugs who were sitting at the far end of the table.
Chapter 32: SuspicionsChapter TextThe front page of the Daily Prophet was held aloft in Pettigrew's trembling hands, and from the way the paper fluttered slightly, it felt as though it too was afraid. Voldemort's thin, malformed fingers twitched on the armrest of his high-backed chair, his red, slit-pupilled eyes glaring at the spectacle displayed before him.
"You thought this—" he said menacingly, his voice, high and cold, cut through the tense air like a shard of ice, "—was worthy of my time, Wormtail?"
Pettigrew recoiled, nearly dropping the newspaper as he bowed low, somehow managing to keep the paper right where it was. "M-my Lord, it—it mentioned Potter, and I thought—"
"You thought!" Voldemort snarled, his voice swelling with a quiet, terrible fury. He was soon enveloped in a coughing fit, his frail body shaking as he glared at the pathetic man. He rasped, his voice skin to nails scratching on a rusted surface, "You thought I would care about schoolchildren's fumbling romances? About Potter's adolescent dalliances?!"
Pettigrew fell to his knees, clutching the newspaper like a shield in front of him. "Forgive me, my Lord! I thought any news of Potter might be—"
"Silence."
The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it still cut through the terse silence, cracking on Pettigrew like a whip. He stopped mid-breath, his eyes wide with fear.
Voldemort's eyes shifted back to the moving image in the photograph. It depicted four young figures twirling about, either in pairs or all together all at once in a symphony of vibrant dress robes and enchanted lights emanating from the floor and all around them. There were several other figures in the background, but none seemed to catch his attention. No, it was one face that held his gaze, piercing and firm.
The girl—with her dark hair done up intricately—smiled with her delicate features, her rose gown twirling gracefully as she was spun around by Harry Potter. Voldemort watched how she laughed without an ounce of fear or worry, and despite the chilling silence that had enveloped the room, it seemed to echo in his mind.
The room grew colder as Voldemort glared piercingly at her, no one else even mattering to him. Pettigrew, still cowering in fear behind the newspaper, chanced a cautious glance upward and found his lord's cruel, fearsome gaze trained on the photograph, his expression unreadable but still striking tremendous fear in his heart.
"Interesting," Voldemort murmured at last, his voice raspy as he turned to Pettigrew. Silently, he ordered the cowering man to emerge from behind the newspaper, which Pettigrew shakily obliged to, and Voldemort continued, "I believe there are some interesting developments taking place at Hogwarts which our dear friend Barty has not deemed fit to inform me about. Wormtail, summon Crouch."
"C-Crouch, my lord?" Pettigrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper, and he blanched when his lord turned his glare back onto him.
"Can you not even hear properly anymore, Wormtail?" Voldemort hissed, his crimson orbs shifting back to the photograph in the newspaper. "Bring him to me at once."
XXXXX
Deep within the Ministry of Magic, Barty Crouch Jr., disguised expertly under the guise of his father and taking up the role of the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, sat hunched over a cluttered desk. A single drawer, reinforced with enchantments, held the sum total of his investigations carried out throughout the day, consisting of nothing more than a few scraps of parchment, a few hastily scribbled notes, and little else. He scowled in frustration, fisting a blank parchment harshly.
The bint, Valerie Swann, seemed to have no magical background. There were no birth certificates, no academic records of her prior years apart from the third, and nothing to identify her as a witch. For all intents and purposes, it seemed as if she had appeared out of thin air. He had exhausted his resources, and all he found was a whole load of crap.
Either she truly had emerged from nowhere, or someone powerful had hidden all the information about her. There could be only one man with that sort of power, and the mere thought of that old coot made Crouch seethe.
He dared not probe deeply or through official channels. If Dumbledore had gone to such great lengths to conceal that girl's past, then there was indeed something massive to hide, and it did nothing to quash his suspicions. Instead, it bolstered that particular line of thought—one that screamed at him to believe that Valerie Swann was indeed the daughter of the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange.
He could not think of any other explanation, or perhaps none seemed as plausible to him. The resemblance was uncanny, and he truly could not stop himself from thinking about it.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp stinging sensation on his forearm and he jerked where he sat, his eyes narrowing. His Master was summoning him, and he knew better than to make him wait. His eyes narrowing, he shoved the drawer shut before he cast a locking and concealment ward on the drawer for good measure. It was the office of the Head of the Department, which meant no one would venture in any way, but it was still better to be doubly sure. He stood up and swept across the room, his heavy robes billowing behind him as he strode purposefully to the nearest apparition point.
He appeared shortly in front of the gates of Riddle Manor with a crack. His eyes darted around as he walked, tongue flicking out. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, allowing furious snowy winds to shoot through.
"Shut the damn door, Crouch!"
"Still lounging about here, Rabastan? Don't have anything meaningful to do, eh?" Crouch asked snidely as he shut the door behind himself. "And what's with all this ruckus?"
"Go and see for yourself," Rabastan muttered, gesturing toward the other room with his thumb. Crouch sneered and shaking the snow off himself, he made his way over, squinting slightly into the room.
"Fucking hell," he breathed as he stepped inside the pathetic excuse of a silencing charm cast on the room—one that did the bare minimum.
On the bed was Amycus, naked, with his sister Alecto on her knees as she straddled him. The man was pounding relentlessly into her while she bounced on top of him, her saggy tits flopping about. For a moment, Crouch simply stared before calling out, amused, "Enjoying yourself, Amycus?"
Amycus looked over at him around his sister's arse, his eyes widening.
"Catching up on lost years, are we?" Crouch continued. "Tell me, while you're cleaning out the front yard, how about I work on her backdoor?"
Amycus grunted, furiously drilling into his sister as she gasped, "Huh? What'd you say, Crouch?"
"Forget it," Crouch waved his hand dismissively and turned around, quickly climbing up the steps that led to the room his lord resided in. He paused outside for a moment and slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.
He spotted Rookwood first, the man nursing the huge snake on a table in the corner of the room, and they exchanged a small nod as he walked over to the seat in front of the fireplace.
"My Lord," he said respectfully, dropping to one knee before his Master.
"You have kept me waiting," Voldemort said without looking at him, his eyes still fixed on the newspaper.
"Forgive me, my lord," he murmured, keeping his head bowed low.
Voldemort did not respond, his eyes firmly on the newspaper as Crouch kept his head down, awaiting a response. Finally, the Dark Lord turned his gaze to Crouch, his expression impossible to decipher.
"Wormtail," Voldemort called out, jolting the coward who perked up slightly. "Show him."
Pettigrew shook as he reached over, holding the paper out, and with furrowed brows, Crouch gazed at the front page of the Daily Prophet.
"What do you know of the girl, Barty?" Voldemort asked with an undercurrent of warning in his tone, and the implication dawned immediately on Crouch who gulped. He knew what his Master was talking about, or rather, who.
"Valerie Swann," Crouch said with slight hesitation. Carefully, he continued, "A transfer student, or so they claim. She arrived at Hogwarts last year. Mudblood, according to school records—"
"Lies," Voldemort interrupted coldly, his voice sharp enough to make Crouch flinch. "You knew, didn't you, Barty? About her?"
"M-My Lord—"
"Do not test me, Barty," Voldemort whispered menacingly, his crimson orbs glinting.
"I did not pay her any attention earlier, My Lord," Crouch said softly. "I noticed the veela and the Greengrass girl, yes, but not the Mudblood, at least not as closely as I should've. But last night… Being so close, it was impossible to miss her. Throughout the Yule Ball, I observed her closely, My Lord. The way she was carrying herself, the way she acted, the way she moved… Her magical signature… her lack of background information… things do not add up, My Lord."
"You have looked into her, I hope?"
"I tried, My Lord! I've done all I could within the limitations I've to operate within, but there is little to go on. It is as though she appeared out of nowhere."
"People do not fall from the sky, Barty," Voldemort whispered. "I want to hear your thoughts on her. Do not hide anything from me."
Crouch gulped as he nodded frantically, remaining on his knees in front of his Master.
"I believe her to be Bellatrix's daughter, My Lord," he revealed. "I remember seeing her in another ball back in the day, and the resemblance is uncanny."
Voldemort leaned forward slightly, his serpentine features casting shadows across his sunken face. A low, hissing laugh escaped his mouth, sending a chill down everyone's spine.
"You think Bellatrix hid something like this from me, Barty?" Voldemort asked sharply, leaning forward. "You think anyone could've hidden something so significant from me?"
Crouch cowered under the intense stare, his voice stuttering, "N-No, M-My Lord, of course not. I-I only meant—"
"You meant," Voldemort hissed, "to entertain your own foolish conclusions. And yet you failed to see the truth. Bellatrix never bore a child. She could never bear a child. I saw to that personally."
Crouch's eyes widened in shock. "My Lord—"
"I ensured no one else could take her from my service," Voldemort continued, his gaze drifting back to the photograph, "Bellatrix's body… her very essence… it was prepared for one purpose—a ritual that required her womb. A vessel for my own power. I ensured that no other man could ever touch her in that way."
Crouch's breath hitched, his mind spinning. He struggled to comprehend the implications. "Then this girl… Valerie… how is she connected to—"
Voldemort leaned back, his small, skeletal fingers steepled beneath his chin. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and a thin smile curved his lipless mouth.
"I do have my theories, Barty," he said, his voice soft and dangerous. "The resemblance… the timing of it all… it all suggests that there is something else going on… something bigger than what it seems."
Crouch stared hard at the ground, his thoughts racing. "Do you believe she… she could be connected to you, My Lord?"
"I did not see the need to perform the ritual at the time, Barty," Voldemort spoke. "That girl is not mine. And I do not believe someone else ever got close to Bellatrix. Rudolphus tried once, but the safeguards I had put in place successfully deterred him from ever approaching her."
Crouch remembered it with crystal clarity. He had been one of the onlookers who had been witness to Bellatrix cursing the living daylights of her husband soon after their wedding.
"However, what I believe is irrelevant. What I know is that her blood will reveal everything. Blood does not lie, Barty. It holds secrets even memory cannot touch. Bring me her blood—or her hair, if that is all you can manage. Do so as soon as you can, but without rousing any suspicion. This is important, but your continued presence there is more crucial. As for this girl… If she is what I suspect…" His voice trailed off, his expression twisting into something both contemplative and dangerous. He did not give voice to his thoughts, knowing it served no purpose to get ahead of himself.
"My Lord…" Crouch began hesitantly, unsure if he should voice his thoughts. "If she is somehow connected to Bellatrix—if she is indeed… a child she sired with another man—how could such a thing have happened without your knowledge, and what does it say about her loyalties?"
Voldemort's lips curled in disdain, but his voice remained calm. "That," he said softly, "is the question, isn't it?" He glanced back at the photograph, where Valerie's smiling face moved among the swirling dance partners. His expression hardened, and his voice grew venomous. "There is only one man capable of hiding such a truth from me. Only one man audacious enough to interfere in my plans and shroud this girl's origins in mystery. Only one man to weave such an expert and intricate wave of trickery. Bellatrix's loyalty, the influence I had on her, this girl's upbringing, everything."
"Dumbledore," Crouch whispered, his voice trembling as he dared to speak the name.
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, his mouth curling into a sinister smile. "Precisely. Dumbledore has meddled for decades, playing his games and keeping secrets. But no secret is eternal, Barty. Blood cannot be denied."
Crouch swallowed hard, his thoughts a whirlwind. He bowed his head deeply, his voice reverent and shaken. "I will not fail you, my Lord. Her blood will be yours."
Voldemort's smile grew sharper, more inhuman. "See that it is. And, Barty," he added, his tone dropping to a deadly whisper, "do not underestimate her. If she is tied to Bellatrix, then she is more than a mere girl. If she is what I suspect, Dumbledore would have ensured she is no simple damsel. Do not make a mistake that will expose you—or me. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly clear, my Lord," Crouch said, his voice thick with fear and determination.
Voldemort waved a dismissive hand, his attention returning to the photograph. "Go. And remember, Barty, blood will tell us all."
Crouch rose to his feet, his movements stiff as he gave his lord a respectful bow. He backed away slowly, his mind still racing as the magnitude of his Master's words settled over him like a suffocating cloak. He dared not look at the other two Death Eaters in the room or the ones who lingered like wraiths around the manor as he stepped down the stairs. Not even bothering to acknowledge the naked figures of Amycus and Alecto as they fucked by the wall right at the entrance to that room, he strode toward the exit door, his eyes sharp with absolute focus.
As the sharp crack of apparition echoed outside the manor, Voldemort's gaze lingered on Valerie Swann's moving image, her face frozen mid-laugh. His mouth curled into a cold, triumphant smile, his thoughts swirling with possibilities.
"Dumbledore," he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. "What have you done this time?"
XXXXX
"So it's going ahead, hmm?" Daphne asked as she stood alongside Harry and Fleur near their bed in the Room of Requirement while Valerie lingered by the tall mirror, putting the final touches on her attire.
"Yeah," Harry nodded. Turning to Fleur, he remarked, "It was nice of your father to pull the plug on his expansion plans in Britain."
"Papa knows competition within family like that is foolish," the veela chuckled. "We grow together when we all combine our efforts. If we were working against each other, none of us would grow. Like this, both us and Papa will be gaining."
Daphne and Harry nodded in agreement.
"Still, it means we'll keep a connection to this country even after we move to Sicily," he remarked.
"That was to be expected," Daphne remarked. "We might live there, but it's not as if it's going to take us any time to move back and forth."
"True, and once we've established ourselves with the Italian ministry, we can either move our operations there or start a new branch in Italy," Harry shrugged. "It's all going to streamline in the future."
"All right, I'm done," Valerie called out and turned around, a predatory smirk on her modified face. "How do I look? Hideous enough?"
Harry stared at her with a grin, taking in the evil witch that she had morphed into. He had seen Daphne's memories, but the real thing still felt different.
"A proper bitch," Daphne smirked.
"Oh? Careful there, blood traitor! I might slip and fry your brains without even meaning to," Valerie warned exaggeratedly. Daphne snorted, prompting both Fleur and Valerie to giggle while Harry chuckled, shaking his head. He reached out and took Valerie's hand, squeezing gently.
"You look positively hideous, love," he said, his lips curling into a small smile, and continued, "but your eyes… they tell the true story of who you truly are. They can never lie."
Valerie shook her head with a small smile and patted his cheek, turning to Daphne and Fleur quickly.
"Modify my eyes to make me look as mad as you can," she urged.
"An illusion then," Daphne nodded and quickly pulled out her wand. "Fleur, get the other eye."
Together, the two women went to work and Harry watched as they cast an illusion over her eyes to make them look cruel, mad, and vindictive. Nothing changed truly, but the subtle shifts in the air right in front of her eyes did the job perfectly.
Smirking cruelly, Valerie turned to Harry and winked. "Now then, let's get going, shall we?"
In response, Harry pulled out the Marauders' Map and unfurled it.
"Yep. Let's go."
Finding their targets was child's play. The Marauders' Map aided them all the way as Valerie, disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange under the Invisibility Cloak and holding the map, led them on their way with their mind link. Harry walked with Daphne and Fleur on either side of him, their hands clasped as they ignored the looks and whispers directed their way by the students they passed.
It was perhaps their fortune that Davies and his lackeys were in an isolated part of the castle. It made their job all the more easier.
As they reached their destination, Valerie signaled for them to stop and they all immediately went to work. His spells hummed softly, creating a silent warded bubble around the corridor. He ensured that anyone approaching would be deftly redirected elsewhere and no one would be able to see or hear what was going on inside the bubble. His lips curled into a faint smirk as he glanced at Daphne, whose own wand was weaving subtle threads of illusion magic, darkening the air, making the torches flicker unpredictably, their light an ominous, blood-red hue.
Fleur stood beside him, whispering softly as she enchanted their surroundings, and the air grew heavy with a sense of dread. A phantom wind began to howl faintly through the corridor, carrying faint whispers that were just out of reach of understanding. The atmosphere thickened with an unexplainable pressure as if the castle itself was holding its breath.
"Oh, this is great already," Harry murmured with a grin as Valerie emerged from under the cloak and gazed at him.
"You've seen nothing yet, love," she smirked. Her wild, frizzy black hair cascaded down her shoulders, her dark eyes glittered with manic glee, and her dark, dry lips twisted into a menacing smirk. Her black robes swirled dramatically as she shifted, wand in hand as she awaited her cue.
"Ready, Daph, Fleur?" Harry asked, and with final flourishes of their wands, both blonde women nodded with matching grins. Valerie shot them all a wicked grin before stepping into the corridor, and they followed behind her at a sedate pace.
Roger Davies' loud and obnoxious voice carried down the hall.
"Did you see her face? Honestly, if you're that pathetic, you don't belong at Hogwarts," he sneered. His lackeys chuckled meanly.
However, their laughter faltered as the air around them shifted. A bone-chilling cold seeped into the corridor, and the flickering torches dimmed further. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, reaching for them like clawed hands.
"What the…?" The dark-haired girl muttered, looking around uneasily.
A low, cruel laugh broke through the group, freezing them on the spot, their eyes wide.
"Who's there?" Edgecombe snarled, her grip tightening on her wand.
The laugh came again, rising in pitch and intensity, echoing like the toll of a death knell. From the shadows emerged Valerie, every inch the embodiment of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her black boots clicked ominously against the stone floor, and her wild eyes bore into theirs.
"Well, well, well," she drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. "What do we have here? Little children playing at being wolves? How utterly… adorable."
Roger, to his credit, attempted bravado. "Who the hell are you?" he snapped, though his voice wavered.
Valerie's grin widened, exposing teeth. "Who am I?" she repeated, her voice a singsong lilt that quickly dropped into a growl. "My, I thought everyone knew my face by now! Am I not famous enough yet? The Dark Lord would be so disappointed in me if he finds out there are people who don't recognize me…"
The students shook where they stood as the woman kept talking to herself in that scary voice of hers. The mention of the Dark Lord sent shivers up their spines and their frightened minds quickly ran to connect the dots. The realization made them gasp, and Valerie noticed. Her smile widened wickedly as she stepped closer.
"Ah! You recognize me now! Yes, kiddies! I am the stuff of your nightmares. The whisper of my name should make your blood run cold."
She raised her wand, and with a flick, the torches extinguished entirely, plunging them into near-total darkness. Daphne, still hidden, murmured a spell that made the shadows stretch and twist unnaturally, as though alive and reaching for the students. Fleur added a gust of cold wind that howled through the corridor like ghostly whispers.
One of the boys let out a strangled cry as a shadow slithered up the wall beside him.
Somewhere in the distance, Fleur conjured the sound of a baby's wail, faint and haunting, followed by Daphne's magic weaving ghostly figures into the shadows, their faces contorted in silent screams.
"You're not… you're… you're lying," one of the boys stammered, though he clutched his wand tightly.
Valerie threw her head back and laughed, a sound so unhinged it sent shivers down their spines. "Lying? Oh, my dear boy, do I look like someone who lies?" She stepped closer, and they instinctively backed away.
"B-But you c-can't be… h-her! S-She's d-dead!"
"Am I?" Valerie hissed, her voice dripping with mockery. She lunged forward, cackling as they all jumped back in fright. "Perhaps I've come back. For you. How sweet of you to notice!"
Davies' face paled, but he managed to force out, "W-W-What do you want?"
"What do I want?" Valerie hissed, her eyes narrowing. "Oh, nothing much. Just a little… fun."
"Please!" Marietta stammered, her face pale. "We didn't do anything to you!"
Valerie tilted her head, her lips curling into a sinister grin. "Oh, but you did." She began to pace in front of them, her wand now twirling lazily between her fingers. "You see, I've heard that you've been misbehaving. Bullying your fellow students, making their lives miserable. Makes me itchy. Makes me want to…" She paused, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "…play."
She waved her wand lazily, and a shower of crimson sparks erupted, illuminating her deranged expression for a brief moment before plunging them back into darkness.
"Please," Marietta blurted, her voice trembling. She, like the rest of her friends, remained frozen in place, terrified at the sight and the demeanor of this unhinged woman, whoever she was. "We… we didn't mean any harm!"
"Didn't mean any harm?" Valerie echoed mockingly. "Oh, but harm you did. And harm has a way of… returning."
The whispers grew louder now, circling them like a swarm of unseen specters. Valerie's grin widened. "I am hiding in this castle right now, and I am not leaving. But I cannot come out and play, you see. And your little bullying makes me go all giddy and I want to play too. But I cannot play. That upsets me. And when I get upset, I get angry."
They grew more terrified as she kept rambling maddeningly.
"So here's what you'll do. You're going to stop. Every cruel word, every petty act, every single thing you do to make someone else's life miserable—it ends. Tonight."
"A-And if it doesn't?" Davies croaked, his bravado utterly shattered.
Valerie's expression hardened into something far more menacing. "If it doesn't, then you'll see me again. And next time, I won't be so… polite." She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You wanna see what I can do? Should I cast it on you?"
Davies' knees buckled, and the group collectively recoiled, too terrified to speak.
Valerie cackled menacingly, her mad eyes glinting with amusement that was quickly replaced by sharp focus.
"Now, here's the thing," Valerie said, stepping back and addressing the group. "You've seen me. A problem. Because I don't like being seen. So here's how this will go…" Her expression turned deadly serious, her gaze slicing through each of them.
"If I so much as hear a whisper—just a little tweet tweet—that Bellatrix Lestrange has been seen wandering these halls," she snarled, her voice a razor's edge, "I'll know it was one of you. And I'll come for you. One by one."
The bullies stood trembling, their faces ashen.
"And what will I do?" Valerie's grin returned, unhinged and bloodcurdling. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Oh, imagine. I could peel the skin from your bones. Or maybe… feed you to the acromantula in that forest over there. They're always hungry, you know."
Behind her, Fleur conjured the faint sound of clicking appendages, their sinister whispers blending with Daphne's eerie murmurs of disembodied voices.
"You might think you'll get to me before I get you," Valerie said menacingly. "You're free to find out. I really hope you do."
They all shook their heads in fright as if they could not even imagine doing something like that.
"Good kiddies. Now, before I change my mind and disembowel you five right now, GET OUT!" Valerie suddenly bellowed, her voice booming like a thunderclap. The bullies didn't need to be told twice. Gasping and crying, they bolted down the mist-filled corridor, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.
Once they were gone, the mist dissipated, the cold wind vanished, and the shadows retreated to their natural shapes. Valerie let out a bark of laughter, dropping the guise of Bellatrix with a flick of her wand.
Harry, Daphne, and Fleur were waiting for her near the alcove. As soon as she crossed the threshold of the privacy ward Harry had cast around them, the four of them collapsed into silent laughter, muffling their giggles against each other.
"Did you see Davies' face?" She gasped, doubling over with laughter.
"Edgecombe nearly wet herself!" Daphne added, leaning against Harry, her cheeks flushed from suppressed giggles.
Fleur chuckled, brushing an errant curl from her face. "You were magnifique, ma chérie. Truly terrifying."
Harry pulled Daphne close, his face split with a grin. "The live performance was indeed brilliant. Remind me never to get on your bad side."
Valerie smirked, her eyes still sparkling with mischief as she tapped his nose lovingly. "All in a night's work. Now, who's up for some butterbeer?"
And with that, they left the corridor, their laughter echoing through the castle.
In their mirth, none noticed the figure of Barty Crouch Sr. disappear behind the door of an abandoned classroom in the adjacent corridor, levitating five unconscious students in front of him.