Chapter 33Chapter TextThe soft, golden glow of enchanted lanterns illuminated the ornate interior of the Beauxbatons carriage. The air carried a faint, floral perfume, mingling with the subtle scent of old parchment and ink. Antique furniture upholstered in pale blue velvet surrounded a polished mahogany table, its surface scattered with parchment scrolls, an inkpot, and a silver tea set that steamed invitingly.
Horace Slughorn stood at the threshold, adjusting his emerald-green waistcoat nervously. The splendor of the carriage was dazzling, but the unexpected summons had unsettled him. The one to invite him, Antoine Delacour, a tall man with sharp features and a commanding presence, approached him with a charming smile, his blond hair catching the light.
"Monsieur Slughorn," Antoine greeted warmly, his French accent noticeable as he extended a hand. "It is a great pleasure to have you here. Please, come in."
"Ah, Monsieur Delacour," Slughorn replied, his joviality slightly strained as he shook the man's hand. "Your invitation was... intriguing, I must say. And this carriage! It's as magnificent as the rumors suggest."
Antoine chuckled, gesturing for Slughorn to take a seat. "I am delighted you think so. Beauxbatons is known for its elegance, after all. Would you care for tea?"
"Yes, please, thank you," Slughorn said, taking a seat in a chair. He felt himself sink into the comfortable foam and a small sigh escaped his lips. His eyes darted to the other occupant of the room, and he nearly dropped his teacup.
"Harry Potter!" Slughorn's voice betrayed a mixture of surprise and apprehension.
Harry, seated across from him, gave a polite nod, his green eyes calm but watchful. He wore a simple black jacket, but his posture exuded confidence that top businessmen always seemed to radiate. "Good to see you, Professor. I hope you don't mind me being here. This meeting concerns me too."
"Ah, yes, of course," Slughorn replied, his hand trembling slightly as he placed the cup down. Memories of his painful confession about Horcruxes to the young man resurfaced, and though he had shown him kindness, Slughorn still felt a gnawing sense of guilt.
Antoine's voice broke the awkward silence. "I understand this might come as a surprise, but Harry is, shall we say, an integral partner in this venture."
Slughorn's curiosity piqued, momentarily overriding his discomfort. He leaned forward slightly, his calculating nature taking a front seat. "A venture, you say? Fascinating! Do go on, my dear boy—ah, gentlemen."
Harry exchanged a glance with Antoine, who gave him an encouraging nod. Taking a deep breath, Harry began. "Professor, you know about the Chamber of Secrets, don't you?"
Slughorn blinked with slight surprise before he gave a short nod. "How could I not? The tales of that basilisk! Terrifying business. But... what does that have to do with this meeting?"
"I killed the basilisk," Harry said simply in a matter-of-fact tone, as if he was talking about the weather.
Slughorn's mouth opened and closed as Harry's words truly registered with him, and he gulped as he truly came to terms with it. His expression was a mix of awe and disbelief. "Merlin's beard! You mean to say… you've decided to harvest it?"
Harry nodded. "It's been over a year, and the basilisk's been lying down there uselessly. I don't think it benefits anyone to leave it there. It will take some effort and a lot of help, but yes. Last I checked, the basilisk's remains are intact. We've got to be a bit careful, but extracting its materials would be the correct decision now."
"Well," Slughorn gulped. "If you're truly going to harvest it, then you're sitting on a fortune."
"Multiple fortunes," Antoine remarked, his tone brisk as he sat straight in his armchair.
Slughorn nodded. "The venom, in particular, is the rarest and most valuable potion ingredient in the world. I do not know exactly how much it'd be worth in today's market but it's bound to be a massive sum."
"It can fetch upwards of half a million galleons per vial."
Slughorn's eyes widened, his fingers twitching as if reaching for an imaginary cauldron. "Half a million! By the stars! And you mean to supply it? You truly believe it's wise to have such a dangerous substance enter the market?"
"Under strict conditions," Harry clarified. "And I believe you can guess why we've asked for this meeting, Professor."
Slughorn stared at the floor with a thoughtful frown. "If you want my suggestion, then the venom should only be sold for medicinal purposes. The potions it can create are incredibly complex and expensive, but they can save lives."
"That's what we've thought as well," Harry nodded. "As for the other parts—the fangs, scales, and hide—they'll be distributed through Antoine's network, but we'll control the supply to avoid flooding the market."
Slughorn leaned back, his mind racing. "This is… unprecedented. To work with basilisk venom… I can only imagine the possibilities! But the challenges as well. Potions of this caliber require utmost precision."
Antoine smiled. "That, Monsieur, is where you come in. Your expertise in potions is unparalleled. Harry and I are in agreement that if anyone could ensure the success of this endeavor, it would be you."
Slughorn's eyes widened and his chest puffed up slightly, though a hint of caution remained in his demeanor as he composed himself. "Well, I'm flattered, truly. But such a venture requires careful planning. Licensing, distribution, quality control… not to mention the ethics of handling such a dangerous substance."
"Which brings us to an important point of discussion," Harry interjected, making Slughorn turn to him. "We are planning to move the operations, Professor."
"Move the operations?"
"We'll be operating from Italy, not Britain," Harry clarified, to Slughorn's surprise. "I want to be clear with you, sir. The Ministry is in shambles, and I don't have any confidence in starting a business here. And then there is another matter to consider… about… you know…"
Slughorn blanched, catching on to what Harry was insinuating.
"Y-You mean… h-he will—"
"I believe it's a matter of when, not if," Harry replied calmly. "And I don't want to risk the business in any manner. You know he will come after me and everything I have. It makes sense to start this business overseas."
"But Italy?"
"I am planning to move to Italy when I'm done with my obligations in Britain," Harry told him, to more of his surprise. "And that's where we will be operating this business from."
"Harry has told me about how you might be at risk, Monsieur Slughorn," Antoine remarked calmly. "I believe it would help you as well if you were out of the country. The Italian weather would suit you well too, I believe."
Slughorn stared at Harry in shock, wondering just how much he had told Antoine. Harry gave him a reassuring nod.
"This is the best possible solution for everyone, Professor," he replied.
Slughorn looked contemplative for a long moment, pondering on the proposal. Finally, he said, "I'd like to hear more about this."
"Sure. Everything has been accounted for," Harry assured him. "We will arrange the necessary permits through official ministerial channels. Antoine will take care of the boring paperwork given his background as a French businessman and a team of experts will be arranged to coordinate with you for the venture. He will take care of the supply chain. Also, the administrative headaches are not your concern. All we need is a seasoned hand to oversee operations, and I believe you are capable of doing that."
Slughorn nodded slowly, thinking deeply.
Harry leaned forward, his gaze steady. "Professor, I trust you. This business is going to be massively popular, and I won't say that money is not a significant factor in all of this, but this could save countless lives as well. We already have plans to discuss subsidization of medicinal potions created from Basilisk venom to treat rare and serious cases so that there is freedom of trade and the people get their treatments at prices they can afford. I am a capable wizard, but I know my limitations. This endeavor is only possible with someone of your skill and integrity. Will you join us?"
Slughorn hesitated, his eyes flicking between Harry and Antoine. The prospect of working with basilisk venom thrilled him, but the weight of responsibility was daunting. Finally, he exhaled, a small smile forming on his lips.
"How could I say no to such an opportunity? Besides, it's not every day one gets to work with materials of legend. Count me in."
Antoine clapped his hands together. "Excellent! Welcome aboard, Monsieur Slughorn."
Harry smiled. "Thank you, Professor. I know this will be a success with you involved."
Antoine leaned forward, his voice taking on a more pragmatic tone. "Now, let's discuss logistics. The basilisk materials are incredibly potent and volatile. We'll need your input on how best to preserve their efficacy and ensure safety during extraction and transport. What storage methods would you recommend?"
Slughorn stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… Basilisk venom must be stored in magically reinforced glass to prevent any accidental seepage. The slightest exposure to air could compromise its potency. As for the other materials… the fangs and scales can be preserved with stasis charms, but they'll require regular reinforcement. I'd suggest a schedule of monthly inspections."
Harry nodded. "What about potion brewing? The venom is only going to medicinal purposes, so how do we ensure it's not misused?"
"A legitimate concern," Slughorn agreed, his voice serious. "We'll need to create a registry of trusted potion masters. They'll need certifications and will have to adhere to strict brewing guidelines. Perhaps… an enchanted ledger that tracks every drop of venom distributed and its intended use, properly secured of course. That way, we'll have transparency."
Antoine leaned back, smiling. "I can arrange for the ledger's enchantments. Additionally, we'll implement a contractual clause with each buyer, ensuring compliance under penalty of severe fines or legal action. Our reputation depends on maintaining absolute control over this material."
Slughorn's eyes gleamed with approval. "Excellent foresight! I'd also recommend we limit the number of buyers at first. Start small, with only the most reputable potion-makers. This will help establish trust in the market."
Harry tapped his fingers on the table, considering. "And for distribution? Antoine, do you have contacts in regions where these potions could make the most impact?"
Antoine nodded. "Absolutely. My network spans Europe, North America, and parts of Asia. We'll focus on partnerships with medical institutions and independent healers. However, we'll need to carefully balance supply and demand—too much too soon, and we risk devaluing the product."
Slughorn's smile widened. "This… this is shaping up to be a masterstroke of both business and artistry. But tell me, what about security? Basilisk venom is bound to attract… unsavory interest."
Harry's expression darkened slightly. "We're prepared for that. The storage facilities will be protected with the strongest wards we can muster, and all transportation will be under magical escort. We'll also ensure that the public only knows the bare minimum about where and how the venom is stored."
Antoine added, "Discretion will be paramount. We'll employ trusted individuals and conduct thorough background checks. No one without clearance will have access to the materials."
Slughorn nodded approvingly, his initial reservations fading as the meticulous planning became evident. "Well, it seems you two have thought of everything. I must say, I'm honored to be part of such a groundbreaking endeavor."
Harry smiled. "We couldn't do it without you, Professor. With your guidance, this venture could change the face of magical medicine forever."
Slughorn returned the smile as he nodded. It most certainly did, and he could not help but feel excited over the prospect.
XXXXX
In the Room of Requirement, Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie stood huddled around a glowing golden egg.
Fleur was pacing, her silvery-blonde hair cascading down her back and her sharp, blue eyes narrowed in thought. "We must be missing something," she said, her voice tinged with slight frustration. "The sound this thing makes… this screeching… maybe it's not meant to be heard like this at all?"
Valerie, lounging in a cushioned armchair, toyed with a strand of her dark hair. Her eyes sparkled with amusement. "So, you're suggesting what? We go deaf for this one? I mean, it's an idea, but not exactly practical."
Daphne chuckled from her place on the couch, popping another strawberry in her mouth. Swallowing it down, she remarked, "Oh, come on, Val. Let's give her some credit. At least she's trying something, unlike that idiot who's out there doing business dealings and leaving this menial labor to us three."
Both Fleur and Valerie rolled their eyes.
"What did he call it? Division of labor? It's definitely labor, alright."
"Still, we need to get it done. Any more ideas?"
"What if the screeching is some sort of code?" Daphne mused thoughtfully. "You know, like changes in the pitch of screeches? Maybe it's meant to be broken down into some kind of sequence."
"That would be more clever than anything those idiots could come up with, if I'm being honest," Valerie remarked, making them chuckle. "Still, it's worth a try."
"You think the Extractum will work? It can translate sounds into images or words," Fleur mused aloud.
"I don't think it's ever been tried on something like this though," Daphne said. "It'd be quite an achievement if we can do this though."
"Say no more," Valerie smirked and got to her feet, approaching the egg. She reached out and grabbed the latch, and as one, all three witches applied silencing charms over their ears. With a twist, the egg spread open, glowing a brilliant shade of gold, and furious screeches filled the air.
"Sonorous Extractum," she said softly, and in an instant, the screeching from the egg morphed into a vibrating hum. Fleur flicked her wand and conjured a piece of parchment beside the egg. A thin, golden tendril emerged from the egg and linked up with the parchment that glowed the same shade of gold.
All three young women watched on curiously as golden scribbles began to appear on the parchment. It continued for roughly thirty seconds before the golden glow dissipated. Daphne reached out and picked up the parchment, staring at it for a long moment.
"Yeah, good luck figuring this shit out," she snorted and handed it over to Fleur whose eyes widened when she looked at what was written, or the lack thereof.
"It looks like someone gave a toddler something to write and the toddler went haywire," Valerie muttered, gazing at the parchment from beside Fleur who let out a sigh.
"It's all gibberish. Even translating this won't do," she muttered. She cast the translating charm for good measure, but to her surprise, the parchment did glow once again. Nothing else happened though.
"That was odd," Valerie remarked. "I've never seen that happen after a translating charm."
"Neither have I," Fleur muttered. "What language even is this?"
"You really think it's a language? It's more like some magical creature's screeching than some sound a human will make."
"So what? We now have to find someone who speaks an unknown magical creature's language?"
"Dumbledore might know," Valerie shrugged. "Don't think he'll be of much help though. Has to keep the tournament fair and all that."
They all rolled their eyes at that.
"If only there was a spell to translate this as well…"
"You think we're overthinking all this?" Daphne asked curiously. "We are meeting dead ends at every try. It has to be simpler than whatever we've tried so far."
"I think we're underthinking, Daph," Fleur muttered. "And by that, I mean we're not thinking stupid. For all we know, that answer might be something idiotic like dumping this egg in pumpkin juice or something."
"Or maybe singing to it. What if it's just a lonely egg and wants some friends?" Daphne snorted. They all could not help but giggle softly.
"Well, the simplest approach was to douse it in fire. That didn't do anything."
"What if we need to hatch it?" Valerie asked. "We got this egg from a dragon. Hatching it might reveal what's really inside."
"I'm not going to be a mother dragon. You two can get it done if you're so eager," Daphne waved them off. "And to be honest, I think we should take a break now. It's late, and Harry must be getting done with his little business meeting."
"I guess," Fleur sighed as she stretched. She glanced at the egg one more time before shaking her head. Together, the threesome fixed their clothes and walked out of their room, the large metallic door vanishing behind them.
"I guess everyone's feeling too cold to roam around," Daphne remarked as they descended the stairs. There were no students in sight, and the castle was enveloped in silence. Only the faint rustle of winter winds echoed around the corridors.
"For all the beauty, Hogwarts does feel creepy sometimes," Fleur muttered.
"Oh? Is our big, bad veela scared of the wind and the silence?" Valerie asked teasingly in a singsong voice.
"Shut up," Fleur muttered, making them chuckle.
They walked down a deserted corridor in silence that was broken by Daphne.
"So," she began, glancing at the others. "I guess it's finalized now. Bye bye, Britain. Italy, here we come."
"The business venture is more than enough to say that," Valerie replied. "It's going to be a lot of work though, setting up a potions business of such magnitude. I'm sure your father must be excited."
"He definitely is," Fleur smiled, adjusting her blue silk scarf. "He likes to expand his horizons, and the chance to have a role, however small, in a business that would be dealing with something like Basilisk venom… it's going to be revolutionary."
"Revolutionary, yes," Daphne repeated. "But also dangerous. Basilisks are not exactly cuddly creatures, and extracting its venom and then using it for making healing potions is going to be incredibly tricky. Not to mention the security concerns."
"You're not wrong. Isn't it unbelievable too, though? It is probably the most venomous substance in the world and still, it is so useful in making healing potions. An irony is there ever was one."
"Exactly," Daphne nodded. "And it's a massive opportunity as well. We are not exactly poor, but given how much demand there is for potions that are more effective than what's out there now, this is a massive opportunity."
"'Arry seems to have a knack for finding and exploiting opportunities. Papa is very impressed with him, and it is not so easy."
"And Slughorn is involved as well. I bet he's already imagined the grand opening, standing alongside us and smiling at the cameras," Daphne chuckled.
"That does sound like him," Valerie agreed with a grin. "Still. No matter what Slughorn did in the past, it doesn't nullify the fact that he's one of the best when it comes to Potions. It will be different from the teaching role he's so used to, but I believe he's the best person we could've gotten for this position."
"Would it be so different though?" Fleur asked. "He used to teach before. Now, he is going to be supervising and handling matters. I think he'll be perfectly at home as he guides the potioneers."
"Well, when you put it like that…"
They rounded another corner into an abandoned corridor, and immediately, they felt a shift in the air. It seemed colder, heavier, and the faint echo of footsteps in the distance lingered. The three witches were so attuned to the magic around them that they felt it easily.
"You two feel that, right?" Fleur asked as she stopped, holding up a hand.
"Yeah, it's… off. Feels like we're being watched." Daphne replied, palming her wand.
"It's the same as I felt during the Yule Ball," Valerie whispered, her eyes narrowing.
As one, the three witches drew their wands, their senses on high alert.
Their instincts did indeed prove correct.
With a sudden bang, the corridor was enveloped in thick smog, blinding them entirely. However, it was all for naught as they flicked their wands, sending powerful winds spiraling around, blowing all the smog away.
At the same time, five figures stepped out from the shadows at the other end, their wands raised threateningly. Their eyes narrowed when they saw who they were.
Leading them was Roger Davies, his face twisted into something darker than his usual smugness tinged with self-assured arrogance. Alongside him was Marietta Edgecombe, her face twisted into a sneer. The other three—the same dark-haired girl and the two boys from before—were also there. All their faces were twisted with rage.
"You lot never learn, do you?" Daphne sighed in exasperation.
"Shut the fuck up!" Marietta snarled, taking them by surprise. Her eyes were bulging, her hatred radiating off her.
"You three whores have gotten away with it for too long," Davies hissed, his eyes mad. "You fucks think you're untouchable, don't you? That you can keep humiliating us and get away with it every time?"
"Potter will get his very soon, but it's your time first," the dark-haired girl growled.
The air exploded with flashes of multicolored lights as the first salvo of spells flew. Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie split into a formation, their wands moving in perfect sync.
"Oppugno vines!" Edgecombe shouted, sending a tangle of thorny vines whipping toward Daphne.
Daphne reacted instantly, slashing her wand through the air. The vines disintegrated mid-flight, but she was forced to erect a shield as a powerful Confringo from one of the boys blasted toward her. The shield absorbed the spell and Daphne retaliated with a banishing charm that caught the boy, sending him crashing against the wall where he slumped over with a dull thud.
Meanwhile, Fleur was locked in a fight with Davies. He fired a volley of hexes, each more vicious than the last. The veela deflected them with ease, countering with a sharp gust of wind that Davies shielded against. He was sent skidding back a few feet and once he came to a stop, he grunted, glaring at her with utter loathing.
"You are pitiful," she hissed, further fueling his ire.
Valerie darted and spun as spells whizzed past her. She pointed her wand toward the dark-haired girl and a sharp lance of fire shot forward, forcing her to dive to the ground. Valerie pressed her advantage, but she was forced to swerve to the side as a vicious cutting curse phased through where she just stood. She hissed as the curse grazed her upper arm and glared at the boy who had cast it.
Both Daphne and Fleur saw the small cut on Valerie's arm and they saw blood. Daphne snarled, her wand slashing downward. A wave of silvery smoke erupted around them, blinding everyone apart from Daphne momentarily. However, unlike their adversaries, Fleur and Valerie could still see as Daphne shared her sight with them, and together, the three witches pounced on their attackers like ravenous predators.
Shards of ice erupted on the floor where the attackers stood, making them cry out in pain. Before they could react, they were all yanked up in the air, flailing helplessly as they were slammed against each other. Another flick of the wands and they were banished against opposite walls. Painful grunts escaped them as the fell to the floor.
With another flick of their wands, they bound their attackers with enchanted ropes that threatened to tighten whenever they dared to move too much.
As the smoke dissipated, Edgecombe snarled in frustration, sending another cutting curse toward them which was swatted away lazily by Valerie. The ropes tightened further, making her cry out as her hands went slack and her wand fell on the floor.
Within a minute, the fight was over. The five Ravenclaws lay scattered, unconscious or groaning in pain as Fleur gave her wand a swish, healing the cut on Valerie's arm. The brunette nodded at her wives and together, they walked over, standing over them.
"Think that's enough of a lesson, or should we make sure they learn it for good?" Daphne growled, her wand trained on Davies who tried to stay conscious but was failing. With a faint snarl, he succumbed as the ropes tightened around him.
Suddenly, a sharp voice rang out and they looked up.
"What is the meaning of this!?"
Professor Sinistra and Professor Vector emerged from near the end of the corridor, their footsteps hurried as they approached them. Shock was written across their faces as they reached them, surveying the scene with wide eyes.
"What in Merlin's name happened here?" Sinistra asked, aghast.
"They attacked us, Professor," Daphne said tightly. She lowered her wand but did not relax in the slightest.
Vector frowned as she knelt by the unconscious dark-haired girl. "And you decided to take matters into your own hands?"
"They did not give us much choice," Fleur replied sharply. "They ambushed us and we acted in self-defense."
The two professors exchanged a glance as they nodded. "We'll deal with this from here. You three can go for now. Your heads of house, and your headmistress, Miss Delacour, will be told about this incident."
"Understandable," Valerie replied, as the other two nodded. With a final glare at their attackers, they sheathed their wands and turned to leave. The two professors watched them go toward the Entrance Hall before they turned to each other, sighing.
Five minutes later, the corridor was empty once again as the professors left with the five injured students levitating in front of them. Once their receding footsteps faded entirely in the distance, a subtle shimmer rippled at the far end of the corridor. A figure stepped out from the shadows, his disillusionment charm fading just enough to reveal the faint outline of a man.
He approached the spot where Valerie had been struck, and for a moment, he stared. His plan had worked out as he had expected. A subtle hint of induced rage and targeted motivation planted into his pawns' minds and he had gotten what he wanted.
His wand glinted faintly as he waved it over the ground and a few drops of blood hovered in the air, glowing faintly in the dim light. The figure conjured a small vial, and with a precise flick, the blood floated into it.
Pocketing the vial, the figure turned and disappeared into the shadows, the disillusionment charm cloaking him all the while.
Chapter 34: UnveiledChapter TextThe atmosphere in Dumbledore's office was tense as hell. All those weird silver gadgets that usually whirred and puffed smoke cheerfully now seemed to be holding their breath. Even Fawkes the phoenix was perched motionless, watching the drama unfold with beady eyes.
Harry sat with his arms crossed, practically radiating frustration. Next to him, Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie weren't doing much better. Daphne kept tucking and re-tucking the same strand of blonde hair behind her ear. Fleur's fingers tapped an impatient rhythm on her knee, while Valerie's dark eyes narrowed dangerously every time she shifted her arm that had been cut.
Dumbledore, looking every bit his considerable age today, peered at them over those famous half-moon glasses.
"This cannot go on, Professor," Harry finally said, breaking the silence. He leaned forward, not bothering to hide his irritation. "Davies and his little gang have been hassling us for weeks, and what happens? They get told off, maybe lose a few points and privileges, and then they're right back at it. But this time—" He jabbed a finger toward the desk. "This time they crossed a serious line."
Dumbledore folded his hands. "I understand your frustration, Harry."
"No offense, sir, but I don't think you do," Valerie shot back. Several portraits gasped at her tone, but she ignored them. "They weren't just pulling pranks or calling names. They had their wands out before we even saw them. They were waiting around that corner specifically to ambush us."
Dumbledore's expression darkened. "That is deeply concerning."
"Concerning?" Fleur's accent thickened with her rising temper. "It is more than concerning, Headmaster. I am not just any student—I am the Beauxbatons Champion. Madame Maxime will be furious when she hears about this. She'll see it as an attack on our school's honor, possibly even sabotage of the Tournament."
She tossed her silvery hair over her shoulder. "And frankly, can you blame her? Three students ambushed in such planned manner, with one of them being a foreign champion? It doesn't exactly inspire confidence in Hogwarts' security."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "You make a valid point, Miss Delacour. I will speak with Madame Maxime personally about this matter."
"There's something else weird about this whole thing," Daphne chimed in, her voice cooler than the others but no less intense. "Davies is a jerk, we all know that. But he's never been violent before. We've been having issues with him for weeks now, and he's always been more talk than action. But the way he looked at us today..." Her lips pursed slightly. "There was something seriously wrong with him. It was like looking at someone else wearing his face."
"Your observation is astute, Miss Greengrass," Dumbledore said, straightening up. "Madam Pomfrey detected traces of magical interference when examining Mr. Davies and his friends. They were under the influence of a rage-inducing enchantment or potion."
The office went dead silent.
"Wait, what?" Harry blinked in surprise. "Someone drugged them? Made them attack us?"
"Essentially, yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "Their natural dislike was amplified to dangerous levels of aggression."
"Who would do such a thing?" Valerie asked, suddenly alert. "And why target us specifically?"
"That remains unclear," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes troubled.
Fleur leaned forward. "This changes things, non? If they were manipulated—"
"It changes some things, but not everything," Harry interrupted. "Yeah, someone pushed them over the edge, but they still chose to corner you three with their wands already drawn. The rage might've been artificial, but the decision to ambush you wasn't forced on them."
He locked eyes with Dumbledore. "They chose to act on those feelings, enhanced or not. So what happens to them now? And please don't tell me they're getting off with detention and a stern talking-to."
"They will not," Dumbledore said firmly, and something in his tone made everyone sit up straighter. For a brief moment, they caught a glimpse of the wizard Voldemort had feared.
"Mr. Davies and his associates will face serious consequences. They will be stripped of all positions and possible candidacy in the future, and banned from all extracurricular activities. They will serve detention separately, under the supervision of Professor Snape and Mr. Filch, for the remainder of the school year."
Harry almost felt sorry for them at the mention of Snape and Filch. Almost.
"Additionally," Dumbledore continued, "their Hogsmeade privileges are permanently revoked instead of only until the end of this year, and comprehensive letters will be sent to their families explaining exactly what transpired. The Board of Governors will also be informed."
"And the Aurors?" Harry pressed.
"Representatives from the Auror Department will arrive tomorrow to take your statements," Dumbledore confirmed. "This goes beyond school discipline now."
Harry nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "Good."
"What about whoever enchanted them?" Daphne asked. "Are you investigating that as well?"
"Rest assured, that is my top priority," Dumbledore said gravely. "Using students as unwitting weapons is unconscionable. The aurors will be investigating this matter as well. It is likely that whoever induced them to ambush you has malicious intentions."
A silence fell over the room. Outside the window, the evening was drawing in, casting long shadows across the grounds.
"Well," Harry said finally, "since we're talking about plans... we're leaving Hogwarts for the holidays."
Dumbledore raised an eyebrow but didn't seem particularly surprised. "I take it you've made arrangements?"
"Yeah. We've got a place." Harry didn't elaborate, and Dumbledore didn't push.
Instead, the Headmaster asked, "When do you plan to begin harvesting the Basilisk? The permits have been approved."
Harry's expression shifted to something a bit smugger. "I'll let you know once we've settled in. For now, our new place needs some serious security upgrades."
Dumbledore nodded. "I understand. Know that despite recent events, Hogwarts remains your home, should you wish it to be."
"Maybe," Harry said noncommittally, standing up. The others followed suit. "But right now, I think we all need some space from this place."
With that, they left the office. The stone gargoyle jumped back into position behind them with a grinding sound that echoed in the empty corridor.
"Well, that went better than I expected," Valerie said once they were alone. "Though I still think they're getting off easy."
"Snape's detention for months? Trust me, that's not easy," Harry replied with a grimace. "Remember my first year? I had to pickle rat brains for three hours straight."
"Still," Fleur said, her eyes glinting dangerously, "they will not enjoy what comes next. Madame Maxime does not forgive easily when her students are threatened. And the other students will not be kind to them once word spreads."
"Let's focus on our own problems," Daphne suggested practically. "Whoever set Davies and his friends up is still out there, and they clearly don't mind playing dirty."
"Yeah, about that," Harry said as they descended the spiral staircase. "I've got some theories."
"So do I," Fleur said. "And none of them are good."
"Tell me about it on the way to the kitchens," Harry suggested. "I don't know about you, but all this talk has made me hungry."
Valerie snorted. "And here we thought you'd dress us three up real nicely after we came under such a heinous attack."
"Let me get my energy back, and I'll nurse you all to more than a hundred percent," Harry said with a grin, earning a playful swat on the arm from her as they all chuckled.
Fleur smiled, taking Harry's hand in hers and giving it a firm squeeze. "Oh, I think this holiday is going to be very interesting indeed."
"That it will," Harry replied with a smirk, squeezing her hand back.
As they walked down the corridor, they expertly ignored the briskly approaching figure of Severus Snape. The man didn't bother with a glance toward them either as he passed, which suited them fine.
"Reckon Dumbledore's called him for what happened with Davies and his lackeys?"
Harry shrugged. He honestly couldn't care less about Snape.
XXXXX
Severus Snape strode into Dumbledore's office with his usual dramatic flair, his black robes billowing behind him despite the complete absence of wind. His expression was, if possible, even sourer than usual.
"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" he asked, though it wasn't really a question. He already knew why he'd been summoned.
Dumbledore gestured toward the chair the students had recently vacated. "Yes, Severus. Please, sit."
Snape remained standing for a moment, as if considering whether to comply, before finally lowering himself stiffly into the offered seat. "I trust this is about the... incident with Davies and his friends?"
"Indeed." Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of him and his expression grave. "I've just finished speaking with Harry, Miss Greengrass, Miss Delacour, and Miss Swann."
"And I'm sure Potter painted himself as the innocent victim," Snape said with a curl of his lip.
Dumbledore's eyes flashed briefly, a hint of steel beneath the grandfatherly exterior. "As a matter of fact, Severus, they were the victims. Madam Pomfrey has already confirmed that Mr. Davies and his companions were under the influence of a rage-inducing substance."
That caught Snape's attention. His dark eyes narrowed. "A potion?"
"That's what I was hoping you might tell me," Dumbledore pushed a roll of parchment forward, prompting Snape to pick it up. His beady black eyes went over the scribbled notes.
A few moments passed in silence as Snape drummed his long fingers against the armrest, his mind already working through the possibilities. "I've been conducting an inventory of my stores. There have been... discrepancies."
"What kind of discrepancies?" Dumbledore asked, leaning forward.
"Missing ingredients. At first, I thought it was merely student carelessness or petty theft for amateur experimentation." Snape's tone made it clear what he thought of such activities. "But the specific combination is troubling."
"Go on."
"Several key components for brewing Baruffio's Rage Remedy are missing. It's an old formula, rarely used in modern potion-making due to its volatility and side effects. In its pure form, it was meant to give warriors courage before battle, but if brewed incorrectly—or perhaps correctly, with malicious intent—it becomes a potent rage inducer."
Dumbledore's expression grew grave. "And you believe this is what was administered to Mr. Davies and his friends?"
"It seems the most likely explanation. The symptoms align perfectly: increased aggression, impaired judgment, heightened suggestibility to violent impulses." Snape's face twisted into something resembling concern, a foreign expression on him. "The potion is dangerous, Headmaster. It doesn't create rage where none exists, but it amplifies existing resentments to dangerous levels. Given the old nature of the potion and its application in this manner, someone knew exactly what they were doing."
The headmaster sighed heavily. "I was afraid of that."
A silence fell between them, broken only by the soft whirring of the silver instruments that had resumed their activity after the students' departure.
"There's more," Snape finally said, his voice dropping lower. "Other ingredients have gone missing as well. Specifically, components needed for Polyjuice Potion. Boomslang skin, bicorn horn, fluxweed harvested at the full moon."
Dumbledore's head snapped up, his blue eyes suddenly piercing. "Polyjuice? You're certain?"
"Entirely." Snape's lips pressed into a thin line. "Initially, I suspected Potter. He has a history with that particular potion, as you might recall."
"But now?"
"Now I'm not so certain." Snape admitted reluctantly. "The timing of these thefts doesn't align with Potter's movements. And today's attack suggests something far more insidious at work. Someone who would dose students with a rage potion would hardly balk at stealing potion ingredients."
Dumbledore stood and began to pace, his long silver beard swaying with each step. "This is troubling news, Severus. Very troubling indeed."
"It suggests premeditation on a level beyond simple student rivalries," Snape continued. "Whoever did this has been planning for some time. Both potions require considerable skill to brew correctly. We aren't dealing with an amateur."
The headmaster paused at the window, gazing out at the darkening grounds. "Have you considered who might be the target of all this?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Isn't it obvious? Potter, as usual."
"Perhaps." Dumbledore turned back to face his Potions Master. "But I'm not convinced. I've been thinking about the attack today. Why target those three specifically when they were not with Harry? If Harry was the target, why not go after him when he was alone instead?"
"Because Potter is rarely alone these days," Snape pointed out dryly. "He's constantly surrounded by his... entourage. The attacker might have expected him to be there."
Dumbledore shook his head slowly. "I believe there may be more to it. The timing is too convenient to ignore."
"What do you mean?"
"Consider the circumstances, Severus. The Death Eater escape from Azkaban. The steady darkening of the Dark Mark—yes, I've noticed you rubbing your arm when you think no one is watching."
Snape's hand instinctively moved to cover his left forearm before he caught himself.
"And now this," Dumbledore continued. "Rage potions and Polyjuice ingredients missing. An orchestrated attack on three young women who have become close to him, and none on him. It's too precise and controlled."
"You suspect Death Eater involvement?" Snape asked, his voice carefully neutral. "Here at Hogwarts?"
"I suspect we must consider all possibilities, no matter how improbable they might seem."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You have a specific theory."
It wasn't a question, but Dumbledore answered anyway. "I'm wondering if perhaps Miss Valerie was the intended target."
That caught Snape by surprise. "The transfer student? Why would anyone target her specifically? The escaped Death Eaters might hate muggleborns by passion, but they won't let their prejudices get in the way of logic and self-preservation. It's not worth the risk at this hour."
"I'm not entirely certain," Dumbledore admitted, though his tone suggested he had suspicions he wasn't sharing. Valerie's secret was not his to tell. "But in my position, with as many responsibilities as I have, I must consider all aspects, even those that might not make much sense at face value."
Snape studied the headmaster carefully. There was something Dumbledore wasn't telling him, which wasn't unusual—the old man played his cards close to his chest—but this seemed different.
"If you truly suspect Death Eater involvement," Snape said slowly, "and believe there's an infiltration involving Polyjuice, then we're dealing with something far more complex than student pranks gone wrong."
"Indeed."
"It would mean whoever is behind this has intimate knowledge of the school. They would have known about the recurring animosity between Davies' group and Potter's... friends." Snape couldn't quite bring himself to use the word 'girls'. "That suggests the infiltration happened some time ago. Weeks, possibly months."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "That's precisely what worries me, Severus. How could I have missed something of this magnitude? And even now, I don't know who might have been impersonated."
A troubled look crossed the headmaster's face as he returned to his desk. "The staff? A student? A guest, perhaps? How can we know for certain?"
"Polyjuice has limitations," Snape reminded him. "It requires regular dosing. Whoever is using it would need privacy to maintain their disguise."
"True, but Hogwarts offers many places to hide, as you well know." Dumbledore sighed heavily. "And someone skilled enough to brew these potions would be skilled enough to avoid detection."
"Perhaps," Snape conceded. "But why target the girl? What makes her special?"
Dumbledore's expression became unreadable. "That, Severus, is the question we must answer."
Snape wasn't satisfied with this non-answer, but he knew pressing the issue would be futile. When Dumbledore decided to keep something to himself, no amount of questioning would pry it loose.
"What would you have me do?" he asked instead.
"Keep an eye on things. Watch for unusual behavior among the guests, staff, and students. And continue monitoring your supplies. If more ingredients go missing, inform me immediately."
"And Potter and his friends?"
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "They're leaving Hogwarts for the holidays. Perhaps that's for the best at the moment. Distance may provide some safety while we investigate."
"You're letting them leave the castle?" Snape couldn't keep the surprise from his voice. "After what's happened?"
"They're not prisoners, Severus. And Harry has assured me they have secure accommodations."
Snape scoffed. "Potter's idea of 'secure' and reality rarely align."
"Nevertheless," Dumbledore said firmly, "it's their choice. And perhaps whoever is behind these attacks will reveal themselves once their targets are no longer accessible."
"Setting a trap, Headmaster?"
"Merely observing that predators often become careless when deprived of their preferred prey."
Snape nodded slowly. "I'll keep watch."
"Good." Dumbledore stood, signaling that their meeting was concluding. "One more thing, Severus. The Aurors will be here tomorrow to take statements about the attack."
"I assume they'll want to inspect my storage as well," Snape said with resignation.
"Most likely. Be prepared to provide a complete inventory of what's missing."
Snape rose to his feet, already mentally cataloging the extensive list of ingredients he'd need to document. "Is that all?"
Dumbledore hesitated for a moment, and then added, "Keep an especially close eye on who shows attention to Miss Swann when they return. If she is indeed the target, we will find some anomaly."
"You know something about her that you're not sharing," Snape said bluntly.
The headmaster met his gaze steadily. "We all have our secrets, Severus. Some are not mine to reveal."
The Potions Master's expression darkened, but he didn't press further. "Very well. Good evening, Headmaster."
As Snape reached the door, Dumbledore called after him. "And Severus? Do be careful. If Death Eaters are indeed involved, no one is entirely above suspicion."
Snape paused, his hand on the doorknob. "No one ever is," he replied without turning around, and then swept from the room, leaving Dumbledore alone with his troubled thoughts.
The headmaster turned to Fawkes, who had watched the entire exchange with intelligent eyes. "What do you think, old friend? Am I seeing shadows where none exist, or have I been blind to what's right in front of me?"
The phoenix trilled softly, a sound both beautiful and sad.
"Yes," Dumbledore agreed, "that's what I'm afraid of too."
Outside the office, Snape descended the spiral staircase, his mind racing. Polyjuice Potion and rage inducers. Death Eater involvement at Hogwarts. And something about that transfer student that Dumbledore wasn't sharing.
It was all connected somehow, like a particularly complicated potion with ingredients that shouldn't work together but somehow did. And like any volatile brew, this one seemed ready to explode at any moment.
Snape quickened his pace toward the dungeons. He had inventory to check, suspects to monitor, and far too many questions with far too few answers.
XXXXX
The door creaked open as Barty Crouch Jr. slipped inside, his movements hurried. The tension in his shoulders was visible as he closed the door behind him, his eyes immediately scanning the dimly lit room. Rookwood stood in the corner, hunched over a makeshift laboratory setup, various vials and instruments arranged methodically on a worn wooden table. Pettigrew cowered near the fireplace, his eyes darting between the newcomer and the small, skeletal figure seated in the armchair.
"My Lord," Crouch said, dropping to one knee before Voldemort. "I have what you requested."
Voldemort's gaze shifted from the dancing flames to Crouch, his red eyes gleaming with interest. "You have not disappointed me, Barty. Show me."
With trembling fingers, Crouch reached into his robes and produced a small vial containing a dark crimson liquid. The blood seemed to shimmer in the firelight, casting an eerie glow across his face.
"How did you acquire it?" Voldemort asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"An engineered attack, My Lord," Crouch explained, his voice steady despite his inner excitement. "I engineered a small… ambush. An attack on all of Potter's girls. She got a cut on herself while fighting. I ensured my pawns didn't go overboard. A small cutting curse just grazed her, enough to serve our purpose and not rouse any preventive measures on her part..." He held up the vial. "No one can tie this to me."
"You used a potion for this, I assume?" Voldemort asked, daring him to say otherwise.
"Indeed, My Lord," Crouch nodded. "One brewed by me, with ingredients stolen from Snape's cabinet. I left behind enough crumbs to let them think there's a trend, that it could be someone using Polyjuice. Little do they know, no other potion's involved. Let them chase something that doesn't exist."
Voldemort's lipless mouth curved into a semblance of a smile. "Excellent, Barty. Your resourcefulness continues to impress me." He turned his attention to the man in the corner. "Rookwood, you may begin."
Augustus Rookwood nodded, his scarred face coming into clearer view as he stepped forward. "Everything is prepared, My Lord. The analysis won't take long."
Crouch handed the vial to Rookwood, who accepted it with a reverent nod. As Rookwood returned to his makeshift laboratory, Voldemort gestured for Crouch to take a seat.
"Tell me, Barty," Voldemort said, his skeletal fingers drumming against the armrest. "What else have you discovered about the girl?"
Crouch settled into the chair across from his master, his posture rigid. "She's... remarkable, My Lord. Her magical abilities are exceptional, far beyond what one would expect from a student her age. She's particularly adept at Defense Against the Dark Arts." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "And there's something else... something in her eyes. A darkness, but not destructive. I observed her when she was fighting my pawns. She is protective of Potter, and the other two girls, as they are of her and each other. But underneath the protectiveness, there is a ferocity that reminds me of..."
"Of Bellatrix," Voldemort finished, his voice unnaturally soft. "Yes, I gathered as much from your previous reports."
"Bellatrix, before she was in your service, My Lord," Crouch said softly and hesitantly.
"I see…" Voldemort trailed off, thoughtful.
In the corner, Rookwood worked methodically, adding drops of the blood to various solutions, muttering incantations under his breath. The liquids bubbled and changed colors, emitting occasional sparks or wisps of smoke.
"The resemblance is uncanny," Crouch continued. "Not just in appearance, but in mannerisms as well. The way she holds her wand, the tilt of her head when she's considering something..." He trailed off, watching Rookwood's work with apprehension.
Pettigrew shifted uncomfortably, drawing Voldemort's attention. "Something to add, Wormtail?"
"N-no, My Lord," Pettigrew stammered, shrinking under the Dark Lord's gaze. "I was just... wondering..."
"Speak, then," Voldemort commanded, irritation evident in his tone.
"If the girl is... connected to Bellatrix," Pettigrew said, his voice barely audible, "what does that mean for your plans?"
Voldemort's eyes narrowed dangerously. "My plans remain unchanged, Wormtail. Though the girl's identity may prove... interesting." He turned back to Crouch. "The tournament continues as planned. Potter must reach the cup. Nothing else matters."
Crouch nodded emphatically. "All arrangements are in place, My Lord. Potter has overcome the first task, and I've ensured he'll have the necessary... assistance for the second, should he need it."
"Good," Voldemort said, his gaze drifting to Rookwood, who was now waving his wand over a bubbling cauldron. "And what of the girl's relationship to Potter?"
He had dismissed it earlier, being the least bit interested in Potter's dalliances, but things had changed now.
"They appear to be a... couple," Crouch admitted. "Very serious ones at that. They spend the entire time together, Potter and the three girls… If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed they all were married, My Lord."
Voldemort's expression darkened, and everyone shivered at the sheer rage they could feel oozing off their Master. "Keep watch on her interactions, Barty. I want to know everyone she speaks with, everywhere she goes, every little development in her life. If she is what I suspect—"
"My Lord!" Rookwood's voice cut through the conversation, his tone filled with disbelief. "You need to see this."
Voldemort slowly glanced up, his frail body struggling. Crouch rose up and stepped aside as Rookwood levitated the table in front of the fireplace, leaning over to take a look, his curiosity palpable.
The cauldron at the center of the table now contained a swirling silver substance, similar to the contents of a Pensieve. Within it, images formed and dissolved—a family tree, magical signatures, and most prominently, two matching magical fingerprints.
"Impossible," Rookwood whispered, his eyes wide with shock. "The blood... it's not a match for a daughter of Bellatrix. It's a perfect match for Bellatrix herself."
A heavy and oppressive silence fell over the room. Voldemort stared at the swirling contents, his red eyes burning with an unreadable emotion.
"Explain," he commanded, his voice dangerously soft.
Rookwood swallowed hard, gesturing to the cauldron. "The magical signature is identical, My Lord. Not similar, not related— it's identical. This blood belongs to Bellatrix Lestrange. There's no mistake."
"That's impossible," Crouch said, his voice hoarse with disbelief. "Bellatrix had been in Azkaban. She'd been there for over a decade. And now she's dead. It has been confirmed from every possible angle."
"And yet," Voldemort said, his finger tracing the edge of the blanket over his body, "here is her blood, taken from a girl who walks freely through Hogwarts." He turned to Rookwood. "Could it be a trick? Could someone have tampered with the blood?"
Rookwood shook his head firmly. "No, My Lord. This analysis goes beyond simple genetics. It reveals the magical essence, the very soul imprint in the blood. It cannot be faked or altered. This is Bellatrix—her complete magical signature."
Voldemort's hand clenched into a fist, his rage building visibly. "How is this possible?" he hissed, his voice rising. "Rookwood, I demand answers!"
"There are... theories, My Lord," Rookwood said hesitantly. "Time magic, perhaps. Or something more complex—a transfer of consciousness, a complete magical transference."
"Or it could be Bellatrix herself, somehow de-aged and placed at Hogwarts with altered memories," Crouch suggested, his mind racing with possibilities.
Voldemort shook in place as he ran his fingers over the blanket, his movements jerky with barely contained fury. "I would have known," he muttered. "I would have felt it. The connection between us—the Mark—it binds her to me."
Everyone remained silent.
"The connection was severed," he continued, more to himself than the others. "I felt it, the moment news of her supposed death after her breakout from Azkaban reached me. And I didn't question it—for nothing can sever my connection with one of my own. And yet..."
His head snapped up hard, his eyes blazing. "Someone has interfered with magic beyond their understanding. Someone has tampered with the bond between myself and the most loyal servant I created for myself."
"Dumbledore," Crouch whispered, voicing what they were all thinking.
"Yes," Voldemort hissed, his voice dripping with venom. "Only Dumbledore would dare. Only he possesses the knowledge, the audacity to attempt such magic."
Pettigrew, who had been silent until now, spoke up timidly. "But why, My Lord? Why would Dumbledore want to... to transform Bellatrix into a student?"
Voldemort turned his burning gaze on Pettigrew, who immediately shrank back. "Why does Dumbledore do anything, Wormtail? To meddle, to manipulate, to control the pieces on the board as he sees fit." His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "But he has made a grave mistake. He has taken what is mine."
"What shall we do, My Lord?" Crouch asked, watching Voldemort carefully.
Voldemort's rage seemed to crystallize into cold, calculated determination. "Nothing changes with our immediate plans. The tournament continues. Potter must reach the cup." He turned to Crouch, his red eyes gleaming. "But now, Barty, you have a secondary mission. Watch the girl. Learn everything you can about her. If she is indeed Bellatrix—transformed, memory-altered—there may be ways to trigger her true self."
"And if we succeed?" Rookwood asked. "If we can somehow restore her memories, her true identity?"
A cruel smile twisted Voldemort's face. "Then Dumbledore will have unwittingly placed my most devoted servant within the very heart of his precious school." He laughed, a high, cold sound that sent shivers down the spines of all present. "The irony would be... delicious."
Crouch nodded, his expression determined. "I will not fail you, My Lord."
"See that you don't," Voldemort said, his voice suddenly tired. The surge of rage had taken its toll on his weak form. "This revelation changes everything... and nothing. Our path remains clear, but the possibilities..." He trailed off, staring into the swirling contents of the cauldron once more.
"Augustus," he commanded, "preserve this analysis. I want every detail documented. There may be clues we're missing, hints about the magic Dumbledore employed. Work on it. I will tolerate no failure."
"Yes, My Lord," Rookwood said, already beginning to transfer the contents into separate vials.
Voldemort sank back into his chair, his skeletal frame seeming to collapse in on itself. Pettigrew hurried to his side, offering a vial of strengthening potion brewed using Nagini's venom, which Voldemort accepted with a dismissive wave. The massive serpent slithered along the floor, rising up to lean its head against its Master's bony little hands.
"The old fool thinks himself so clever," Voldemort muttered, his eyes fixed on the dancing flames in the fireplace as he absently stroked Nagini. "He believes he can outwit Lord Voldemort, that he can steal my servants and bend them to his will." His fingers tightened on the blanket. "But he forgets—the Mark is not merely a symbol. It is a bond, a connection that goes beyond mere flesh. It may be dormant, but it cannot be erased."
"What do you mean, My Lord?" Crouch asked, leaning forward.
Voldemort's lips curled into a sinister smile. "I mean, Barty, that it is impossible to sever my mark completely. Dumbledore might have manipulated this, cut off her connection with me, but he cannot get rid of it in its entirety. Bellatrix's true self is not gone—merely hidden. And what is hidden can be found. What is dormant can be awakened."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the implications sank in. Finally, Crouch spoke, his voice filled with renewed purpose. "I will watch her every move, My Lord. I will find a way to reach her true self."
"Good," Voldemort said, his voice fading to a whisper. "Blood does not lie, Barty. And Bellatrix's blood—her very essence—flows through that girl's veins. Dumbledore may have changed her appearance, altered her memories, but he cannot change what she truly is. What I made her into."
He leaned back, his eyes half-closed as exhaustion overtook him. "She is mine," he murmured. "And she will return to me. One way or another."
As Crouch prepared to leave with his new mission firmly in mind, Voldemort's voice stopped him at the door.
"Remember, Barty," he said, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light. "Subtlety is key. If the girl is indeed Bellatrix, transformed and memory-altered, approaching her directly could alert Dumbledore. We must be... delicate in our approach."
Crouch bowed deeply. "I understand, My Lord. I will proceed with the utmost caution."
"See that you do," Voldemort said, his voice barely audible. "Now go. I must rest... and plan."
As Crouch slipped out of the Riddle House and into the night, his mind whirled with the implications of what they had discovered. Bellatrix—not a daughter, not a relative, but Bellatrix herself—walking the halls of Hogwarts. The possibilities were staggering, the potential both thrilling and terrifying.
Behind him, in the darkened house, Voldemort sat alone with his thoughts, his skeletal fingers tracing patterns in the air as he considered the new piece on the board—a piece that had been his all along, hidden in plain sight by his greatest enemy.
"Dumbledore," he whispered to the empty room, "you have overplayed your hand at last."