AN: Harry re-enters the UK! But from a different PoV.
Time: Summer Before Rose Potter Starts Hogwarts, Lyra, Violet and Harry are all Sixteen
The lone daughter of the Black family sighed in sheer boredom as she was forced to come to another one of these ludicrous, complete waste of time Ministry balls, no thanks to the old, greasy douchebag that had arranged this ball to curry favour with other equally sleazy politicians.
Why was her father even here?
It was during such times that Lyra was stressed by the importance the Black family held in magical England.
She had beaten a hasty retreat out of there as soon as she could, though it had not been quick enough for her liking. Sirius had forced her to at least stay and politely greet each and every single Pureblood invited to the party, making her gag mentally as she was forced to erect a best faux smile in her best Pureblood princess impression, trying to ignore the disgust she felt at shaking the hands of the old, senile geezers, or the way their eyes roamed over her body.
She did not even know who had arranged the party, all she knew was that this was an important Ministry head from the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures. Honestly, she did not care even for that useless little tidbit of information.
No, what she was more interested in, were all the Aurors standing on high alert throughout the lush Pureblood mansion.
Why?
Simple enough reason.
The senile old geezer who had thrown the party had publicly insulted the Stalker, calling the serial killer a weak coward who hid in the shadows and trembled before the might of the English Ministry of Magic. It had all been an attempt to exploit the Stalker's seeming aversion to the UK to flatter Fudge and probably gain something, but the plan had massively backfired.
Fudge had blown a gasket as soon as the news reached him, unable to censor such a public speech delivered right in the middle of Diagon Alley during an election campaign. Partly because he wanted all information about the Stalker to be kept away from the public, believing it would be some sort of offering to the serial killer, and secondly, because it was common knowledge that insulting the Stalker was equivalent to a death sentence.
What had been going through the politician's mind when he spoke those words?
Lyra did not know, nor did she want to.
All that anybody knew, was that the Stalker was already on British soil. The Head had already reported that he was being followed always, that there were eyes observing him everywhere, shadows lurking outside every door. He spent longer cooped up in the safety of his office with Aurors standing guard outside... but the damage was already done.
He was probably exaggerating, the knowledge that the Stalker was following him muddling his senses and making him think everything was the act of the serial killer, and honestly? Lyra could not find fault with that, such was the terror the mysterious, enigmatic murderer inflicted on the common wizarding populace. The ability to sneak wherever he liked, whenever he liked, without anybody being the wiser, terrified them to no end, to think that he could be right there with them in that very room.
But it was not to say that the Stalker did not do anything and let the terror do most of the work. No, the terror was secondary to what the Stalker did.
One day, the old Head of the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures almost choked to death, finding a simple black band in the tea served to him by trusted employees at the Ministry. The black band was a ring, with a little piece of parchment carefully rolled up and hidden inside it, bearing a message in beautiful black letters, written in cursive. It read-
'Take care of my ring for me, will you? Don't worry, I'll meet you soon to collect it ;)
-The Stalker.'
How had it ended up in the tea served to the man during a private meeting with Cornelius Fudge in the Minister's office was anyone's guess.
It only served as another reminder of the power the mysterious Stalker held.
The public might have been less afraid if he was some vigilante killing criminals, corrupt politicians, etc. but the Stalker's body count included innocent children, as well as law-abiding Aurors, common citizens, anyone and everyone.
That's probably why they were so terrified.
The party had probably been hosted because the host felt he was safer in the presence of several Aurors and innumerable prominent guests, all powerful witches and wizards in their own right, so he had thrown the party.
Nobody felt the need to remind him that the majority of the Stalker's victims had disappeared in broad daylight, in public.
As it was, Lyra did not feel even a single bit afraid at being so close to the Stalker's potential, no scratch that, future victim. Simply because the Stalker believed in power displays, and in the murderer's eyes, it involved killing his target without anyone being the wiser. So, Lyra was confident, with the degree of arrogance the Stalker always displayed, he would not betray his own code and kill anybody else. This also meant, that ironically, staying as close to the target meant that you had the least chances of dying.
For some reason, Lyra had an ominous feeling about this evening. And it didn't have anything to do with the innumerable politicians she had to greet. No, in fact, she had no idea why she was getting such a queasy feeling, and by the looks of it, her two fathers were on the same boat as her, what with the frequent backward glances and the twitches for their wands.
Something bad was going to happen tonight, Lyra was quite sure of it. She just didn't know what, but it didn't take much to guess.
After all, the Stalker was surely lurking right around the corner, waiting for his chance.
Feeling suffocated and stifling hot despite the cooling charms sewn into her tight, stylish dress, Lyra escaped the ballroom, ignoring the betrayed looks Sirius sent her, searching instead for a balcony where she could breathe in the fresh air and take a moment for herself, in an attempt to get away from the crowd.
Navigating through the dense network of mostly deserted corridors and halls, she somehow found herself in the East Wing of the mansion, though, thankfully, she could spot an open balcony at the end of the corridor she was in.
Smiling quietly to herself at the thought of spending the rest of the evening out here, alone with only her thoughts and the soothing, cool and calming wind as company, she made a beeline for the glass door that spanned the entire wall, leading to an unreasonably extravagant balcony that only Purebloods could afford.
Lyra pushed the door open, stepping into the pleasant balcony silently, as if making any noise would disturb the beautiful, natural serenity of the place.
She sighed in relief at the calming wind buffeting her, ruffling her clothes and making the leaves of the small plants potted on the balcony, rustle, creating a beautiful, soothing chorus of sounds that gently stroked her agitated mind.
Allowing herself some liberties, she whipped out her ebony and dragon heartstring wand, before levitating the lush, expensive-looking chair towards the edge, so that she could look out over the entire world in comfort.
Lyra gave a little smile as she sat on the chair, wriggling her cute butt for a moment as she felt herself sink into the purple velvet cushions, making her giggle childishly at the freedom, despite her age.
The third-year (or was it fourth now that the school year was over?) Slytherin reclined regally in the chair, kicking her high heels off, not caring a bit as they clattered to the floor. Damn, they were killing her feet.
Letting a small smile sweep across her pink lips, Lyra closed her eyes, allowing the wind to buffet her face, not caring that it messed up the stylish braid she had done for the occasion.
She opened her eyes again, briefly admiring the balcony she was in. She had to admit, that the old, suicidal politician had taste.
The entire balcony floor was made from dark obsidian, polished so that it reflected everything like a black mirror, with oak wood making the elaborately carved railings and velvet chairs and a mahogany table, with a porcelain set of cups and a little teapot resting on the low table, filled with steaming tea that the house-elves had probably made especially for her, seeing her head over to the balcony. A small pastry, yellow with icing and a juicy looking cherry on top, rested on a little blue China plate with a dainty silver spoon beside it.
Not in the mood to enjoy the delicate the house-elves had so thoughtfully left her, Lyra continued her visual explorations, taking in the beautiful flowers that bloomed in the flower pots that hung over the edge of the balcony, all shades of bright orange, violet and red, the sweet smell wafting over to her where she sat.
Unable to resist it anymore, her eyes wandered over to the yard.
The entire mansion was U-shaped, with two Eastern and Western wings with the main wing in between, leaving a yard in the middle, with an elaborate, probably very expensive marble fountain in the middle that glowed with soft lights, boasting of the spending power of the Pureblood aristocracy. A beautiful marble mermaid perched on ivory rocks, the little vessel she carried spouting water that made a beautiful sound as it flowed over the carved marble, before joining the little pool below.
The yard was lined with a small garden, small, dainty trees, properly trimmed and well maintained, only a few feet taller than the average person lining it, probably smaller than Hagrid. They swayed and rustled in the gentle summer breeze that offered relief in this stifling evening, their leaves looking like fresh emeralds, much similar to the eyes of the Potter daughters.
Her position allowed Lyra a great view of the wizards and witches who popped out of nowhere, before swishing in through the gates, the picture of regality, all of them roped up in a display of how well mannered and cultured they were, whether they wanted it or not. Bright shades of green and blue dresses for the women were accompanied by black suits for the men, only the strictly orthodox Purebloods sticking to dress robes for the occasion.
Even the Malfoys had turned up in suits and dresses.
Lyra eyed the drop-dead gorgeous Malfoy daughter with increasing jealousy glimmering in her stormy grey eyes, identified by her platinum blonde hair, inadvertently hiding behind the balcony railing despite the knowledge that they couldn't possibly see her.
Celeste Malfoy was in her year, drop-dead gorgeous with plenty of suitors after her, both for her beauty and her father's wealth, and suffice to say, she ruled Slytherin with an iron fist.
Lyra had her fair share of admirers as well, she knew she was blessed in the looks department, but her aggressive, often boyish attitude and constant hexing of any suitors had ensured that the male population of Hogwarts learnt to divert their attention from Lyra and her closely-knit group of friends.
And, like a true Slytherin, Celeste used it to her own advantage, flaunting her body and shamelessly flirting with the boys, using their hormones against them and amassing an army of blind, loyal followers ready to execute everything she asked of them, no questions asked.
However, despite that, Lyra had to hand it to her, Celeste Malfoy was still a virgin. She would be, after all, no Pureblood ever wanted 'used goods' for a wife.
The sheer sexism that the magical society reeked of, made Lyra wrinkle her nose in disgust.
Unable to resist the temptation of comparing herself with her arch-nemesis, the Black daughter glanced down at her own dress, a simple, off shoulders black dress that hugged her frame, showing off her lithe curves without any of the showboating the Malfoys boasted of, making her feel torn between gratitude for its simplicity, and rage for how much of her body it displayed for the viewing pleasure of lecherous, wrinkled perverts.
Shaking her head to get rid of such thoughts, Lyra looked back out over the yard.
Smiling slightly as she caught a glimpse of the Potters apparating into the grounds, she couldn't help but giggle as she witnessed both Violet and Rose inevitably stumble and almost fall, only saved from the misfortune by their parents holding them up.
She didn't bother moving, sure that her two sisters in all but blood would find her on the balcony.
Instead, Lyra continued her observations, exploiting her point of vantage to examine the mansion itself, the guests who arrived, everything.
The evening was so peaceful, with no sign of any impending danger, making a small smile curl on Lyra's lips.
Her facial muscles hadn't even finished the twitch of her lips when her breath caught in her throat.
Of course, she had to jinx it.
Her heartbeat quickened, spotting a figure on the roof of the Western wing, directly opposite her. What was it even doing there, fifty feet from the ground?
Was it some visitor who had mistakenly apparated to the roof of the mansion?
Swirling her ebony wand, she jumped to her feet, knocking the chair back as she conjured a pair of binoculars.
Cold beads of sweat rolled down her forehead, her hair standing on end in terror as she concentrated on the figure. The obsidian floor suddenly felt as if it was burning her feet, her brain too slow to comprehend the danger she was in, the same cloying terror gripping her mind as a helpless infant deer cornered by a hulking lion.
Through her binoculars, she watched the Stalker... staring directly at her. She was sure that it was the Stalker, because it was not probable that any Auror was stationed in the roof. Not only that, but his clothes that helped him to merge with the dark night behind him, barely visible, all screamed out that he was danger, a perfectly camouflaged predator waiting to pounce on his prey.
Her breath quickened, but she couldn't move her body. Her muscles simply wouldn't obey her brain's frantic screaming. Her lips parted as she tried to scream for help, no sound coming from her.
The Stalker was dressed in all black, almost invisible against the dark night sky behind him. He was perched right on the ridge board of the mansion's sloping roof, one foot before the other as he leaned casually on the knee that was in front.
The wind must have been stronger at his height, as his black trench coat swayed violently in the biting wind, which suddenly felt too cold for Lyra. His messy raven hair, somehow very familiar to her, copied the trenchcoat's violent swaying, albeit to a much lesser extent. His identity was protected by a plain black mask that barely showed any features. All that the mask had to distinguish it from others were white triangles that interlocked over where his mouth was supposed to be, like fangs, and white stripes like a tiger.
But what was more terrifying was the eye visible through the single eyehole the mask sported. A single, strange-looking eye, the colour of blood, shined in the darkness, looking towards her with gleaming insanity, a mixture of intelligent, predatory curiosity... and was that longing?
Lyra shook her head, he was too far for her to accurately get a read on anything that he showed her, no matter how little it was.
But all that was overpowered by the sheer crushing pressure that Lyra felt, like gravity had somehow become a thousand times stronger, impending her movements, like there was a constrictor suffocating her, tightening its coils around her lithe body. She could almost hear it hissing in her ear, as she continued to look at the black-clad figure, the red eye piercing through her very soul.
"Guess who?" A playful voice interrupted her, knocking her conjured binoculars to the ground and almost making Lyra scream out in terror.
"I found Daphne and Astoria looking miserable, so we came here- what happened, Lyra?" Violet asked, slightly worried at the sweaty, pale and terrified look that the Black daughter sported, whirling around to face them with the tip of her wand glowing and a horrible curse ready on her lips. She looked as if she had just come face to face with the Stalker himself.
Lyra's lips moved, but no sound came out. At the confused, worried looks the Potter and Greengrass sisters sent her, Lyra resorted to pointing frantically where she had seen the Stalker.
"There's nothing there, Lyra." Daphne voiced out, squinting towards the direction the Black daughter was pointing towards.
Sighing, Rose, the shortest of them all, leaned down, picking up the binoculars that lay on the ground, and giving the entire rooftop a once over. "Daphne's right, Lyra. There's nothing there- here, Astoria, check."
"Mm." The younger Greengrass nodded her confirmation, making Lyra snatch the binoculars from them.
"N-no, I swear, h-he was there... looking right at me!" Lyra almost screamed in terror, frantically searching for where the Stalker might have gone, coming up empty-handed.
"Relax, Lyra. Whatever you have seen might just be something your mind made up. There's nothing there. Even if there was anything, there are several Aurors here, they will check it out." Violet reassuringly rubbed Lyra's back, offering her shoulder as support to the weak-kneed, terrified girl. "Relax, take a deep breath. Here, drink this."
A glass of water thoughtfully conjured by Daphne was thrust into her hands, making Lyra hurriedly down the glass, moistening her parched throat.
"Yo-you don't get it- h-he... the Stalker was there!" She pointed frantically at the roof of the mansion's West wing. "He was staring right at me!"
With every word that escaped their lips, the other four girls paled, until all of them resembled paper.
"Shush, Lyra. Breathe not a word of this. Not until we get to Potter manor. Alright?" Violet hissed, silencing the girl at once, clutching Rose tightly, protectively to her side. "He won't touch us, not as long as he doesn't get to the host first, anyway. Just keep silent. Don't speak his name. Draw your wands, and be careful. Avoid any dark spaces, and keep to the centre of the hall."
She took command effortlessly, as she had so often seen her father do. "Daphne, you're the best at fighting among all of us. Take point. Astoria, come back to Lyra. Rose, you too, go to her."
The pale-faced blonde Greengrass heiress nodded her confirmation, slightly pushing the terrified Astoria towards Lyra, as her mahogany wand effortlessly slipped into her hand.
She glanced at the Black daughter, who already had her wand in her hand, handing her heels to Rose. Following her lead, all of them took off their heels to facilitate running at top speed if it came to that, handing them to the two youngest of the bunch.
"Great. Lyra, go in the middle. I will bring up the rear. Keep your eyes peeled, you too, Rose and Stori. Warn us at the littlest sign of danger." Violet spoke, raising her wand as well. "We must return to the ballroom safely. And even after we do, act calm and do not draw attention. Nobody must know that we saw the- him." Violet cut herself off abruptly, biting her tongue to prevent the Stalker's name from escaping her lips. "Do not even think about speaking his name, not as long as you are secure in your respective homes, alright? We have no idea if it's cursed or not."
The five girls quietly tiptoed through the deserted corridors, their hearts in their throats, three wands raised. Suddenly, they were thankful for the lights flooding the halls, the innumerable mirrors and reflective surfaces, the polished floor and the glasses that aided them in keeping a three-sixty degree watch all around them.
Lyra almost crashed into Daphne when the Greengrass heiress stopped abruptly in the middle of nowhere.
"Why are you stopping..." Lyra's words trailed off, her throat drying up.
Rose and Astoria were pale, clutching Lyra's dress in search of protection as they looked all around, searching for the Stalker, but to no avail.
"Umm... Violet?" Daphne's voice was weak, her hand shaky as her eyes remained trained on the mirror beside her, all her muscles stiff and immobile, the Slytherin afraid to even look back out of fear of what the Stalker might do.
There was a black figure, like a phantom ghost straight out of horror books, leaning against the wall behind them.
Slowly, stiffly, like she was a clockwork doll, Violet turned around, trying to protect the others as she faced the Stalker, her wand in front of her.
It was shaking violently, but nevertheless, she managed to hold it.
The three elder girls swallowed their fear, trying to ignore their hearts trying to escape their chests as they faced the terrifying, all black-clad Stalker, forming a wall of three glowing wands as they tried to protect the two younger ones.
No spells would fly until and unless they had to protect themselves. They were sure that if they managed to offend him someway, they were as good as dead.
Every one of the five prayed to whoever would listen, that the Stalker was in a good mood.
He shifted from leaning against the wall to sitting on the windowsill, the slow movement like a snake who was waiting for his prey to finally succumb to the venom, sending the girls on edge and making them alert, even more so than they already were, their dilated eyes following every one of his slow, casual yet deliberate movements.
His long trenchcoat gleamed in the lights of the room, his silver-studded leather belt twinkling. Black boots silent on the marble floor as he shifted, the only sound the rustling of the black fabric of the trenchcoat as he exposed himself to the slight breeze.
Violet watched his gloved hands move with increasing fear and nervousness, fearing when he would draw his wand and trying to discern where the hell his wand even was, though she was hell-bent on not letting anything leak through the walls of her Occlumency.
The Stalker cocked his head, his red eye gleaming as his long, raven hair slightly shadowed his masked face.
Violet gulped, struggling to stay on her feet, trying to ignore her trembling knees as his eye roamed over their bodies, hungrily taking everything in, lingering for a bit on their faces.
Nobody spoke, afraid that they would break the serial killer out of whatever mood he was in, nobody made any move to hide their bodies from his wandering gaze.
Violet flinched as he opened his mouth, exhaling noisily. His mask moved with his lower jaw, the interlocking fangs separating to reveal his mouth. His breath, despite the high temperature, was visible, emerging as a slight white mist that curled from his lips, like cigarette smoke, but sweet-smelling, like an intoxicating, cloying drug.
The tension hung thick in the air, but he seemed to be unaffected, content with merely examining them with his single eye.
On closer inspection, Violet double guessed her earlier decision if his eyes were really red. They seemed to be under some sort of disguising charm.
She had never seen anybody have a black sclera before, and the exact scarlet shade of the Cruciatus curse that shone in his gleaming iris, promising pain, was hard to recreate, taking her breath away for all the wrong reasons.
He was like a Venus flytrap, brightly coloured and sweet-smelling, and she was a fly.
The stare-off lasted for a few moments more, the tense silence broken by the Stalker. Without saying another word, he leaned back, his eye not leaving any of them as he let himself casually fall out of the window, in a swirl of black leather and terror.
Unable to help herself, Violet rushed to the window, staring down at where she expected the Stalker to be, if he even managed to survive the drop.
Nothing. Only the polite laughter of the guests filing in through the main entrance greeted her, no sign of the Stalker ever being there. Nobody gave any indication that they had even seen the tall, black figure drop out of a window in the brightly lit mansion.
A thud behind her brought Violet back to her senses, making her turn around to see three of her four companions on the floor, in various stages of fear, relief and hints of attraction shining in their eyes, which made her frown.
Daphne was faring little better than the rest, as she was doubled over, trying to hold in whatever she had eaten.
Lyra smiled weakly, devoid of any hint of humour.
"We... We came face to face with him..." Even in the state she was in, she avoided speaking the moniker he was given, "We are fucked, aren't we? It's just a matter of time before he gets us..."
Violet shook her head. Why was she so calm?
Despite the crippling fear, the intense intimidating pressure she had felt in his presence, she did not think that the Stalker bore them any ill intent. Her heart told her that he wouldn't hurt her, for some reason, and as a purebred Gryffindor, she had learnt to trust her heart above all else.
"Come on, Lyra. Nobody knows what goes on in his head. We will only know if he truly means to stalk us when he begins to do so." Violet smiled comfortingly at them. "We have Albus Dumbledore to protect us. No matter how crazy he is, nobody will be crazy enough to try to harm anything when the Headmaster is around, right?"
Slowly, colour returned to their cheeks as they registered her words. If the Stalker truly wanted to kill them, why would he let them go? There was nobody around to even see them, and they were completely defenceless. Three fourth-year girls, and two girls who hadn't even started Hogwarts yet, would be helpless against the man who had killed Gellert Grindelwald.
"Yeah... and looking at it now, he seemed somewhat off..." Daphne trailed off.
"Yeah, whatever it is, whatever games he wants to play, we will play for now. Let's get back home first, and then we will see. Do not even try to draw attention to yourselves. If we retreat early, and he does attack later, then it will be suspicious. We have no option but to stay quiet, and hide it. Reinforce your Occlumency, and don't breathe a word about what happened here to anybody. Even after that, only reveal it to your parents, and once you are safe in your home, alright?" Violet spoke hurriedly, trying to make sure that they completely understood what she was trying to say.
The two sixteen-year-olds, and two twelve-year-olds, nodded their heads shakily, agreeing with her. Given all the cases about the Stalker, it was the most obvious conclusion.
"Alright, then. I'm guessing he won't return after us tonight. Then, let's go to a nearby washroom, and freshen up before we go to the ball, alright?" She tried to erect her best smile for them.
It came out strained, but for a different reason. Her mind was still whirling around what her guts told her about the Stalker.
Who was he? And more importantly, why were they immune from his wrath?
It had been barely five minutes since they had re-entered the ballroom with no intention of wandering ever again, her eyes scanning the crowds happily mingling together for her parents, Sirius or Remus, anybody she knew.
The five girls huddled together, despite all the crowds surrounding them, they could not help but feel alone, especially with the fear of the Stalker and his overwhelming presence still fresh on their minds, wary of every unknown face they saw, every single eye that wandered over to them with even the slightest suspicious intent.
"Look what the cat dragged in." A familiar voice interrupted their silent stewing in their own fear, making Violet's heart leap in her throat in relief.
She whirled around, coming face to face with the familiar, somehow comforting sneer of Celeste Malfoy, and her equally bratty younger brother, Draco, their matching platinum blonde hair shining in the light.
"Oh, it's you." Violet tried to keep the relief out of her voice, just happy at seeing a familiar face. Although Celeste was quite accomplished with a wand, enough to give Daphne or herself a run for their money, she would not be of much help if the Stalker really decided to show up. Despite that, the five could not help but feel relieved.
"What's with those expressions?" She snarked, sneering at them.
"Don't sneer, Celeste, or it might just get permanently stuck on that bitch ass face of yours." Lyra returned her barb with equal venom, enjoying the familiar trading of insults that brought a sense of calm to her pounding heart.
"You shouldn't be hanging out with these... riff-raff," Draco spoke haughtily, looking at Astoria, who was trying to hide behind Rose. "As my future betrothed, you have to maintain appreciable company. My father will..."
"It's always 'my father this' and 'my father that' with this one, isn't it?" Daphne came to her sister's rescue, speaking with a straight face, as if it was a serious question.
"Hey, don't speak like I'm not here at all! I can hear whatever you say, bit-"
"Draco," Celeste warned her brother against saying anything rash, trying to hide her own irritation with her brother's constant blabbering about their father, as she stared at Daphne with visible anger burning in her icy grey eyes, as she stared into Daphne's equally icy blue, the two girls engaged in a silent battle of wills.
The elder Malfoy parted her full pink lips to retort in a scathing manner, with venom that did not suit her beauty, when she was cut off as someone stumbled into her.
"Watch where you are-" The snarl died on her lips as she stared up at the stranger who had bumped into her, instead getting replaced by a furious blush as blood rushed to her cheeks, colouring her face a bright shade of red.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." The smooth, powerful voice sent little shivers of arousal down the spines of the females present, making goosebumps erupt on their skin.
"I-I, umm, a- I-" Celeste stuttered dumbly, her lips parted as she continued to stare dreamily at the stranger who was holding her, her hands tightening on the expensive-looking black suit he was wearing, holding onto him as if her life depended on it.
The five girls plus Draco stared shocked at the Malfoy daughter, wondering what had caused her to react like that. Celeste Malfoy was a high-level Occlumens, practically nothing less than Voldemort or Dumbledore using Legilimency to wreck her mind would make her lose composure like that, much less a random stranger who had just stumbled into her.
"I'm really sorry for that." The stranger repeated, setting Celeste back on her feet. Still, the Malfoy daughter refused to let go of his clothes, staring up at him open-mouthed, her eyes dreamy, and slightly hazy with lust, her lovestruck expression completely alien on the elder Malfoy's visage, which everyone was used to seeing in a sneer or a smug smile. The red tinge on her pale cheeks refused to subside.
"Here you go. I hope you girls are having a good time." The stranger spoke, finally looking up at them.
Celeste looked annoyed that he had his attention on anything that was not her, while Draco looked ready to pop a vessel at being so callously excluded from the conversation, ignored like he wasn't even there. Even his sister continued to cling to the stranger like he was her lifeline, completely overlooking his existence.
Furious blushes similar to the Malfoy daughter erupted on the cheeks of the five girls, nothing they did making it any less subtle.
Lyra was experiencing the same symptoms as when she was faced by the Stalker. Loss of speech, dry throat, inability to even move a muscle.
But for completely different reasons.
Six sets of eyes hungrily roamed the features of the smiling stranger, all thoughts of politeness or the Stalker gone from their mind, as they boldly ogled him, mentally undressing him with their eyes.
Was this what it felt like to have a crippling crush on somebody? Much less somebody you just met and don't even the name of?
Their eyes roamed over the slight two-day-old stubble that darkened the sharp, well-defined jaw of the man, before lingering for a bit on his single bright, emerald green eye. The fact that he only had one eye- the right eye being covered with a black eyepatch, if anything, only added to his mysterious allure. The eyepatch, the little scars visible on his jaw and the dark tattoos peeking out from underneath his clothes just adding to the image of a strong wizard that made their knees weak.
The five girls could not help but feel jealous of the Malfoy daughter still in his arms, their thoughts synchronised, albeit unknowingly, as they watched the shrewd, opportunistic Slytherin feel up all the muscles that they could see visibly straining against his tight suit.
The messy man bun that his dark, pitch-black hair was thrown into, and the alluring smile on his lips made them ignorant of the rest of the world, or the loud complaining of the Malfoy heir.
No, they had much important matters to attend to.
The man struggled against Celeste's iron grip for a brief moment, before sighing in defeat.
"Alright, alright." He conceded, "Let me just go and greet the host, then I will be yours for the rest of the evening."
At the dangerous looks the other girls sent in his direction, he amended his statement, smiling brilliantly at them, as if he had known them for years. "I mean I'll spend the rest of the evening with you and your friends."
Nobody bothered to correct his incorrect assumption. No, if it meant that they could have the smoking hot stranger all to themselves, Celeste and the girls were willing to put aside their differences and work together.
Reluctantly, she let go of the stranger, who adjusted his coat, smiling charmingly at them and fanning their blushes even further. He didn't seem to care that he was at least eighteen, and that the group he was flirting with contained two twelve-year-olds, one of whom was the Girl who Lived.
His feigned ignorance of Rose's celebrity status only endeared him to the closely-knit group of the Potter, Greengrass and Black daughters.
Sending a last alluring smile in their direction, he left towards where the host could be seen laughing and greeting his guests, effortlessly picking up two glasses of fine wine from a floating tray on his way.
The six girls continued staring at him from afar, sighing dreamily at everything he did, their differences temporarily forgotten, as were all thoughts of the Stalker being around.
Draco hung around for a few moments more, before leaving to find his father with a furious scowl etched on his features.
If only the girls had been in the right state of mind, they might have observed that he was dressed in all black, as if he was in mourning, or remembered that they had yet to learn his name.
If only Lyra or Violet hadn't been so enamoured by his face, his muscles, his words and his delicious looking lips, they might have observed the simple black bands serving as rings on his fingers. They might have noticed how he cracked his fingers with every passing second, or the white band on his finger that could only be made by a missing ring.
As it was, they could only stare from afar as he greeted some older politicians, smiling gently at them as he stole away the old, senile host for a private conversation, which was laughed off by the others. They watched him offer the host a glass of wine, before taking a sip from his own.
They watched them converse for a while, before the Head of the Department of Magical Creatures was silently, without struggle, led away from the party to a dark, deserted corridor by the smoking hot stranger in all black.
But before he left, he glanced back at the six girls still staring longingly at his departing back, his single emerald eye glimmering mischievously, fanning their matching blushes as he winked teasingly, giving them a knee-weakening grin before he left, closing the door behind him as he gently guided the slightly tipsy Head of the Department of Regulation of Magical Creatures away from the crowd.
The six girls- Violet, Rose, Daphne, Astoria, Lyra and Celeste, could not think about anything for the rest of the night, waiting for the anonymous stranger to return as he had said, before returning dejected to their respective families.
It was only the headline of the Daily Prophet the next day, that the senile politician had been murdered in his own home, and his body stolen, that made the blood drain from their faces.
The Stalker had been flirting with them, and they hadn't had any inkling.
England was not as safe anymore.
Everything had just turned a whole lot darker.
AN: Oof. Thoughts?
Next chapter, Harry infiltrates Hogwarts, and we get a look at the regular life of Hogwarts students.
Keep calm and headbang!