BARTY materialized in the dimly lit entrance of the foreboding Riddle House, Isabella at his side, his hands still wound firmly around the witch's waist, though as he relinquished his grip on Isabella, he felt himself in a sour mood, instantly missing the heat she gave off. The air around them crackled with an ominous energy as he surveyed the desolate surroundings.
The Riddle House stood as a monument to the darkness that permeated the wizarding world. The night was silent, save for the distant whispers of the wind, as Barty wasted no time, unable to ignore the searing burning pain of the Dark Mark. He swiftly guided Isabella further into the oppressive atmosphere that clung to the grand hall.
The pale moonlight spilled through the broken windows, casting eerie shadows on the cracked floorboards. Barty's steps were measured and silent as he led Isabella up the decaying staircase, their presence seemingly absorbed by the malevolent aura of the house. The air was heavy with anticipation, and Isabella couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom.
They ascended the staircase with Barty's hand gently guiding Isabella, who moved hesitantly, her eyes darting nervously from side to side.
As they approached the designated room, the door loomed before them like a gateway to an unknown abyss. Barty halted, turning to Isabella with a whispered reassurance.
"Stay close and do not speak unless spoken to," he instructed in a hushed tone, his steel-dark brown eyes locking onto hers, searching her for reassurance.
Isabella nodded, her fear palpable.
With a determined exhale, Barty pushed open the door, revealing the chamber where the Dark Lord awaited. The room was dimly lit by flickering candles, casting an eerie glow on the figures within. At the far end, surrounded by shadows, stood Lord Voldemort. His crimson eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity as he turned to face the intruders.
"Lord," Barty announced respectfully, his voice carrying a mixture of loyalty and trepidation. "We have come, as you requested."
Voldemort regarded Barty with a measured gaze before shifting his attention to Isabella, who stood quivering in the doorway. The atmosphere in the room became stifling as the Dark Lord's presence seemed to intensify.
"You've brought the Obscurial," Voldemort stated, his voice a low hiss that sent shivers down Isabella's spine.
Barty nodded solemnly. "Yes, my Lord. Isabella Black, as requested."
Isabella felt Voldemort's piercing gaze bore into her very soul. The weight of his presence was overwhelming, and she struggled to maintain her composure.
The Dark Lord approached, his movements deliberate and commanding.
"Isabella Black," Voldemort said, his voice sending chills through the room. "You are the key that could aid us in our war efforts against the rest of the wizarding world. Do you understand the significance of your presence here?"
Isabella could only manage a timid nod, her breath catching in her throat. The room seemed to close in around her as Voldemort's dark intentions enveloped her. The fate that awaited her hung in the air like an unspoken threat, and she couldn't shake the feeling that her life was about to take a dark and irreversible turn. Voldemort circled Isabella, his eyes never leaving hers. His presence felt suffocating as if the very air conspired against her. With a sly smile, he addressed her, his voice a silky whisper that slithered through the room.
"Isabella Black, within you, the Obscurial within you has remained dormant for far too long, a force of great darkness. Do you comprehend the magnitude of what lies within?"
Isabella's eyes widened as the realization struck her. The parasite she had harbored following the incident that had changed her life forever, the force that had been both her strength and her curse, was now exposed in the presence of the most feared dark wizard of their time.
"I-I..." Isabella stammered, her voice barely audible. Fear and uncertainty etched across her face.
Voldemort raised a slender hand, and the room fell into an eerie silence. "Fear not, Isabella. We can harness this power, and unlock its potential. Together, we can unleash a force that will make the wizarding world bow before us."
Barty watched the exchange, his eyes flickering between Isabella and the Dark Lord. His loyalty bound him to Voldemort, but a flicker of unease crossed his features. Isabella, torn between terror and the realization that her existence had a purpose, waited for further instructions.
"You are not merely a vessel," Voldemort continued, his tone coaxing. "You are a conduit for a power that will reshape the very fabric of our world. Imagine the influence, the dominion we shall command together."
Isabella's mind raced with conflicting thoughts. The dark promise in Voldemort's words seduced her with the allure of power, yet the terror of the unknown lingered in her eyes.
"I can help you control it, mold it to your will," Voldemort murmured, his red eyes penetrating her soul. "Together, we can achieve what others only dream of. You shall be my instrument of change, Isabella Black."
Barty, sensing the gravity of the moment, stood silently, his gaze shifting between the two figures before him.
Isabella, caught between fear and the prospect of newfound power, hesitated. The room echoed with the weight of an unspoken decision that would shape the course of her destiny.
Voldemort extended a hand towards Isabella, a silent invitation to embrace the darkness that dwelled within her. The air grew taut with anticipation, and Isabella, her heart pounding, faced a choice that would determine the path she would walk in the shadows of the wizarding world.
Isabella hesitated for a moment, her eyes fixed on the outstretched bone-white hand of Lord Voldemort. The allure of the power that he offered her clashed with the fear of losing herself to the dark force within her that consistently screamed and begged for release.
Summoning her courage, she spoke in a timid yet determined voice.
"My Lord," Isabella began, her gaze nervously meeting Lord Voldemort's intense stare. "If I…if I do as you ask, if I become the instrument of your will, can you promise me that once my purpose is fulfilled, you will find a way to remove this…parasite from within me?"
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and a low, chilling chuckle escaped his lips. "Parasite, Isabella Black? What lies within you is not a mere parasite. It is a source of unparalleled power. However, your concern is not without merit. You seek assurances for your loyalty, for the sacrifices you may make in my service." Voldemort regarded her with an air of amusement, his fingers tapping thoughtfully against the side of his robe. "You underestimate the significance of what you could become. You won't be discarded; you will be elevated. However, such power comes with a price. Loyalty and service are not easily cast aside, nor are the consequences of betrayal."
Isabella nodded, her heart in her throat as her eyes pleaded with the Dark Lord for understanding. Isabella swallowed hard, a shiver running down her spine. The weight of the decision hung heavily in the air. "I... I just want to know if there is a way to be free of this burden once I've fulfilled my purpose. To live a life of my own, away from the darkness."
Lord Voldemort studied her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. "Power, my dear, is not easily relinquished. But rest assured, if you prove your loyalty to me and our cause, there are ways to reward it. Consider it an investment in your future among us."
Barty, ever watchful, observed the exchange with a stoic demeanor. The fate of Isabella Black intertwined with the ambitions of the Dark Lord, unfolded in that dimly lit room.
The air crackled with tension as Isabella awaited Voldemort's response, hoping for a glimmer of assurance in the face of the unknown.
Isabella took a deep breath, summoning the courage to voice her deepest fear. "My Lord, I—I understand the power you speak of, but this Obscurus within me, it's consuming me. It's poisoning me, tearing me apart. I can feel it, like a relentless force gnawing at my very soul. If I am to serve you, I fear that it will devour me before I can fulfill your purpose."
The Dark Lord regarded her with a calculating gaze, his red eyes piercing through the shadows. "The price of power is often steep, Isabella Black, a fact I am sure you will learn for yourself in the days yet to come. Sacrifices must be made for greatness to be achieved. Your concerns are valid, but you must understand that the path to power is fraught with challenges."
Isabella grew desperate, and her eyes pleaded with the Dark Lord for understanding. "But if I am to be of use to you, I must be able to endure. Is there no way to ease this pain within me?"
A moment of contemplative silence lingered in the room before Voldemort spoke, his tone measured. "There are ways to strengthen the connection, to make the symbiosis between you and the Obscurus more tolerable. However, make no mistake, Isabella, pain will be part of your journey. It is the crucible that forges the truly powerful."
Isabella nodded, her expression a mix of resignation and determination. "I am willing to endure, my Lord, for the sake of the power you promise and the purpose you envision. But if I am to serve you faithfully, I implore you to find a way to alleviate this suffering, even if only temporarily. So that I may continue to be of use to you."
Voldemort regarded her with a slight smile, acknowledging her resolve. "Your willingness to endure does not go unnoticed, Isabella Black. Rest assured, we shall explore ways to ease your burden. But remember, power demands sacrifice. It is the very essence of the magic we wield."
As the conversation hung in the air, a sense of grim determination settled within Isabella. The path she had chosen was fraught with peril, and the dark forces within her seemed both a curse and a promise.
Barty, who had remained standing steadfast and silent by Isabella's side, seized a moment of opportunity. He stepped forward, his voice firm as he addressed the Dark Lord.
"Lord," Barty began, "I trust that you remember our agreement. I played my part in ensuring your return, in guiding the Potter boy through the Triwizard Tournament. You promised me a reward, a boon for my unwavering loyalty."
Voldemort's crimson eyes bore into Barty, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. "Ever one to remind me of our bargains, Bartemius. Speak, then, and let us hear what reward you seek."
Barty's gaze flickered briefly to Isabella, who stood, still and wide-eyed, absorbing her exchange between her captor and the most feared and reviled Dark wizard of all time. He took a deep breath before continuing.
"My Lord, as my reward, I ask for the removal of the Obscurus from Isabella Black when she has served her purpose and is no longer of use to you. Let her be freed from the burden that plagues her. Allow her a chance at a life beyond the shadows, as you have promised me."
Isabella, stunned by the Death Eater's unexpected plea, stared at him with a mixture of gratitude and disbelief. Before she could utter a single word, Voldemort's cold laughter echoed through the room, the sound sending a chill through her.
"Barty, you are bold indeed to make such demands. The Obscurus is the very source of the power she brings to our cause. To remove it would be to weaken our potential. I trust you are aware that once removed, it is rendered useless without the host."
Barty's expression hardened as he pressed, "Yes, Lord, I am aware of this, but I have served you faithfully without question, and I ask for this not out of weakness but as a testament to my loyalty. Consider it a reward that ensures my continued devotion to your cause, Lord."
Lord Voldemort's eyes narrowed, the room growing colder with the wizard's displeasure. "You overstep your place, Bartemius. Loyalty to me is expected, not rewarded. The Obscurus stays. It is the price she pays for the power she will wield."
Isabella felt a chill run down her spine, torn between the unexpected plea for her freedom and the cruel reality that her fate was bound to the dark force within her. Before she could find her voice, Voldemort raised a hand, silencing both Barty and Isabella with a single gesture.
"Enough," Voldemort hissed. "The matter is closed. Isabella Black, you shall embrace the power within you. Barty Crouch Jr., be mindful of your place. The rewards you seek may not align with the path you tread."
Barty, undeterred by the Dark Lord's dismissive tone, however, persisted in his plea. "My Lord, I implore you to reconsider. The removal of the Obscurus from Isabella Black does not need to weaken us. It can be a gesture of goodwill, a demonstration of the rewards for unwavering loyalty. A loyal servant is a valuable asset, and I've proven my own dedication time and time again."
Voldemort's patience waned, his eyes narrowing to slits. "Barty, you tread on thin ice. As I have said, loyalty is expected, not negotiated. Her Obscurus stays, and that is final."
Barty's desperation fueled his defiance. "My Lord, with all due respect, I have upheld my end of the bargain. I ensured your return and protected the Potter boy as you instructed. If you deny me this, what guarantee do I have that you will honor any future agreements?"
The air crackled with tension, the room becoming a battleground of wills.
Voldemort's eyes flared with anger, his hand tightening around the wand at his side. "You dare question me, Barty Crouch? You forget your place."
But Barty, driven by his determination, pushed forward. "My Lord, I only seek what is rightfully promised. The removal of the Obscurus is a small price for the loyalty I have shown. Consider it an investment in the unwavering service I offer."
Voldemort's patience snapped, and his wand whipped through the air. "Crucio!"
Barty's body contorted in agony as the curse seized him, every nerve screaming in pain as he crumpled to the floor. The room echoed with his pained cries, but even in suffering, his eyes remained defiant. Barty's screams echoed through the dimly lit chamber, the tortured symphony of pain filling the air.
Voldemort showed no mercy, his red eyes cold and indifferent to the suffering he inflicted upon his loyal servant. The curses continued to rain down on Barty, each one intensifying the agony he endured.
Isabella, her hands pressed against her ears in a futile attempt to block out the harrowing cries, felt the Obscurus within her stir. It writhed like a caged beast, reacting to the darkness that permeated the room. The connection between her and the malevolent force grew stronger, and she could sense its hunger for the pain and despair that filled the air.
"My Lord, please!" Isabella's voice trembled as she dared to intercede. "He is loyal to you, he—"
Voldemort's cold gaze turned toward Isabella, cutting off her plea. "Silence!" he commanded, his voice reverberating through the room.
Isabella bit her lip, the metallic taste of fear lingering in her mouth. She could feel the Obscurus within her, a dark and turbulent force that threatened to consume her sanity. As Barty's screams reached a fever pitch, her distress grew.
"Stop!" Isabella cried out, her voice desperate. "Please, my Lord, he has learned his lesson. I beg you, stop this!"
But Voldemort remained unmoved, his wand held high as he continued to subject Barty to the torturous spells. The Obscurus within Isabella pulsed, resonating with the torment in the room. It whispered dark promises and reveled in the suffering, intertwining its essence with her own.
Barty, writhing on the floor, managed to gasp out a plea between tortured sobs. "Isabella... don't—"
Voldemort's eyes flashed with annoyance, and with a final flourish of his wand, he ceased the Cruciatus Curse. Barty lay on the ground, broken and gasping for breath, his body marked by the ordeal.
"Learn your place, both of you," Voldemort spat, his tone laced with disdain. "This is the cost of defiance. Loyalty is not a shield against consequences."
The room fell into an uneasy stillness as the aftermath of Voldemort's wrath settled. Isabella, her heart pounding with a mixture of terror and guilt, felt the weight of the Obscurus within her, a malevolent presence that now seemed to revel in the suffering it had witnessed.
A surge of anger, fueled by a mixture of fear, desperation, and the palpable darkness in the room, coursed through Isabella's veins.
The Obscurus within her responded to her negative emotions, its presence growing more prominent like a tempest breaking free from its shackles. As her eyes flickered, they transformed into the purest shade of black, an abyss that seemed to absorb all light.
Voldemort, momentarily caught off guard by the sudden shift in Isabella's demeanor, took a step back, his red eyes narrowing with critical interest.
The air crackled with tension as the Obscurus within Isabella manifested itself, a swirling mass of inky darkness. Isabella, no longer in full control, felt the power surge through her.
It was as if the Obscurus had taken over, amplifying her emotions into a force to be reckoned with. Her gaze, now an abyssal black, held an intensity that seemed to defy the very essence of the room. The Dark Lord, ever perceptive, recognized the shift in the balance of power. A flicker of uncertainty crossed his face, but he quickly regained his composure.
"Isabella Black," Voldemort intoned, his voice low and measured. "Control yourself. You wield a power beyond your comprehension. Do not let it consume you."
But Isabella, lost in the tumult of emotions and the newfound strength coursing through her, could hardly hear his words. The Obscurus, unbridled and unleashed, reached out like tendrils of shadow, twisting and coiling in the air.
A sudden gust of wind swept through the room, extinguishing the candles and casting the chamber into near darkness. Isabella's figure became obscured by the swirling mass of the Obscurus, her features momentarily lost in the void. Voldemort, sensing the volatile nature of the situation, raised his wand, ready to subdue the unleashed force.
The air crackled with the collision of dark energies as Isabella, now a vessel for the Obscurus, faced the Dark Lord in a confrontation that defied the very fabric of magical control.
The Obscurus, now unbridled and unchecked, surged with an uncontrollable force. Isabella, caught in the maelstrom of darkness, felt as if her very essence was merging with the malevolent power. The room trembled as the Obscurus extended its influence, shattering the fragile remains of the Riddle House.
Windows shattered, debris flew, and the walls themselves seemed to groan in protest against the unleashed might. The force of the Obscurus tore through the very fabric of the structure, consuming the ancient dwelling in an explosive display of destructive magic.
Voldemort, recognizing the danger, raised his wand in a futile attempt to regain control. However, the Obscurus had become an entity of its own, indifferent to the will of any master. In a blinding flash of dark energy, the Riddle House crumbled, its once-imposing structure reduced to rubble in the wake of the unleashed power.
Amidst the chaos, Isabella, her eyes still pools of deepest black, stood at the center of the storm, a conduit for the destructive force that now reverberated through the ruins. The Obscurus danced around her, a chaotic tempest that defied the laws of magical restraint.
As the last remnants of the Riddle House fell, a deafening silence settled over the desolation. The Obscurus, having vented its fury, seemed to retract, dissipating into the air like dissipating shadows. Isabella, her eyes returning to their natural state, staggered, weakened, and disoriented by the experience.
Voldemort, his once commanding presence now diminished, surveyed the wreckage with a mixture of frustration and calculation. The Riddle House, a symbol of his dark influence, lay in ruins, destroyed by a power he failed to control. With a disdainful glance at Isabella, Voldemort uttered a word of command, Disapparating from the ruins.
The air seemed to exhale as the Dark Lord vanished, leaving behind a lingering sense of the catastrophic events that had transpired. Isabella, left alone amidst the debris, sank to her knees, the weight of the unleashed Obscurus still reverberating within her.
The Riddle House, once a place of ominous power, now lay in ruins, a testament to the unbridled force that had been unleashed.
Amidst the wreckage of the fallen Riddle House, Isabella's voice trembled with desperation as she called Barty's name and received no answer. Her heart raced as she stumbled through the debris, searching for any sign of the man who had risked everything to plead for her freedom.
The air around her was suffocating, heavy with the scent of dust and decay, and the broken remnants of the once-imposing structure loomed like silent witnesses to the chaos that had just unfolded.
"Barty, please, answer me!" Isabella's desperate voice echoed through the ruins, a desperate plea that seemed to hang in the air.
As she moved further into the wreckage, Isabella's eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar form partially buried beneath a pile of fallen stones. Her breath caught in her throat as she rushed towards the spot, frantically clearing the debris with her hands.
"Barty! Wake up, please!" Isabella's hands trembled as she uncovered Barty's unconscious form. His face was pale, blood streaked across his forehead, but there was a faint rise and fall of his chest. He was alive. With a surge of relief, Isabella cradled Barty's head in her hands, gently tapping his cheeks in an attempt to rouse him. "Barty, come on. We need to get out of here."
After a few agonizing moments, Barty stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. His gaze met Isabella's, and a flicker of recognition passed across his eyes.
"Isabella," he rasped, his voice weak. "What happened?"
"The Obscurus... it's unleashed," Isabella explained quickly, her eyes flicking to the ruins around them. "The Dark Lord vanished. We need to leave, Barty, before—"
A distant rumble interrupted her words, and the remaining unstable structure groaned, threatening to collapse further. Isabella helped Barty to his feet, their escape made urgent by the imminent danger.
Together, they stumbled through the wreckage, navigating the treacherous terrain. The once-menacing Riddle House now lay in ruin, a silent testament to the cataclysmic events that had unfolded within its walls.
As they emerged from the debris, Isabella and Barty turned their backs on the fallen structure, leaving behind the echoes of darkness and destruction.
To her utter dismay and humiliation, she found herself unable to restrain her emotions any longer. Overwhelmed, she succumbed to a torrent of feelings and broke down completely.
Collapsing to her knees, Isabella hunched over, enveloped in uncontrollable sobs.
Oblivious to Barty's attempt to sit upright, accompanied by a muffled grunt of pain from the injuries sustained during the attack, Isabella felt his gentle arms encircle her.
Opening her eyes, she sensed his hand on her back, the other resting on top of her hair, clumsily rocking her as he whispered soothing words under his breath.
Much of it was nonsensical, but at that moment, Isabella couldn't have cared less.
"Shh, Belle, it's alright," Barty murmured, his chest vibrating with a comforting rhythm. "Let yourself feel it; there's no shame in it."
Sniffling and pulling back slightly from Barty's comforting embrace, Isabella wiped away tears with the back of her hand. As her sobs subsided to quiet sniffles, she regarded him with a curious expression.
"What did you just call me?" she inquired, her voice softened but tinged with vulnerability.
Barty met Isabella's gaze, his eyes reflecting concern and a touch of surprise at her question. He offered a tender smile, brushing a strand of hair away from her tear-streaked face.
"Belle," he repeated, his voice gentle. "I called you Belle. It just slipped out, you know, in the moment."
Isabella's eyes widened slightly, processing the unexpected endearment. A faint blush touched her cheeks, and she managed a small, grateful smile.
"Belle," she echoed, testing the sound of it.
The name carried an intimacy that resonated with her, and in that fragile moment, it felt like a soothing balm for the wounds, both physical and emotional, that they had endured together.
Barty's eyes softened as he continued to cradle Isabella in his arms. "It suits you, you know? It just felt right in that moment, and I didn't think twice about it."
Isabella's blush deepened, but a warmth spread through her at the sincerity in Barty's words. She leaned into his touch, appreciating the comfort he provided.
"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It's... it's nice."
Barty nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. In that quiet exchange, they found solace in the shared vulnerability of the moment.
As the weight of the moment lingered, Barty, emboldened by the shared vulnerability, leaned in and pressed his lips gently against Isabella's. The kiss, tender and filled with unspoken emotions, resonated with a newfound connection between them.
Isabella, initially surprised, responded with a mixture of hesitation and longing.
Barty's kiss spoke of unspoken gratitude, shared pain, and a tentative hope for the future. Isabella, in turn, felt a complex array of emotions stirring within her, a mingling of comfort and desire. When they finally parted, their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them. In that unspoken language, they acknowledged the shifting dynamics of their relationship, forged in the crucible of challenges they faced together.
The future ahead remained uncertain, but in the wake of chaos, a glimmer of hope stirred.
Isabella, guided by a newfound strength, managed to pull Barty to his feet and lead Barty away from the shattered remnants of the Riddle House, determined to lead the Death Eater who had pleaded with his master for freedom to safety. Barty leaned heavily on Isabella as they moved away from the ruins, his strength still depleted from the ordeal.
"Isabella," he murmured weakly, "take me home, please."
Isabella nodded, concern etched on her face. "Of course, Barty. We'll get you to safety."
Once they were a safe distance from the wreckage, Barty gestured for Isabella to sit him down. With a shaky breath, he looked up at her.
"Winky," he croaked, "call for Winky. Tell her...fetch Severus. She'll know what to do."
Understanding dawned in Isabella's eyes as she lifted her head. "Winky," she called in a wavering voice, "we need your help. Barty is hurt. Can you come to us?"
In a blink, the small house-elf Winky materialized before them, her large eyes widening at the sight of the injured Barty.
"Master Barty, you's is hurt! What happened?" she squeaked.
"We need to get him home, Winky," Isabella said urgently. "And then, we need your help to fetch Severus Snape. Barty thinks he can help."
Winky nodded, determination in her gaze. "Yes, Miss Isabella. Winky will do that right away. Winky will be back at the house, Master."
With a snap of her fingers, Winky disappeared, leaving Isabella and Barty alone on the outskirts of the ruined Riddle House.
Barty looked up at Isabella, gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Isabella. Severus should be able to help. He owes me a favor."
Isabella offered a comforting smile, supporting him as they waited for Winky to return. The air was thick with uncertainty, but a glimmer of hope flickered in the darkness.
Barty hesitated for a moment before gathering his thoughts. "Isabella, would you... would you consider staying with me? It's the least you can do, considering I tried to barter with the Dark Lord for you."
Isabella nodded shyly, her gratitude evident. "Of course, Barty. I want to help, and I appreciate what you've done."
Encouraged by her response, Barty was taken aback when Isabella leaned in and kissed him shyly. He blinked in surprise, and after a moment, a small smile formed on his lips.
"Well, if this is the reward for standing up for you more often, then it's worth it," he admitted with a hint of amusement in his voice.
As Isabella and Barty exchanged a surprised glance, the air crackled with magic, and Winky reappeared at their side.
"Winky is back, Miss Isabella," the house-elf announced with a quick bow. "Severus Snape is waiting for us at the house, Master Barty, sir."
Isabella nodded in satisfaction. "Good work, Winky. Let's not keep him waiting."
With that, Barty, Isabella, and Winky linked arms, and in a whirl of magical energy, they Disapparated, leaving the desolate surroundings of the Riddle House behind.
Unbeknownst to them, a pair of sharp eyes observed from the shadows. Rita Skeeter, the notorious journalist with a penchant for scandal, had been lurking in the vicinity, her quick-witted senses catching wind of the magical disturbance. Intrigued by the unfolding drama, she discreetly followed Isabella, Barty, and Winky, her quill and notepad at the ready.
As Isabella and Barty Disapparated to return to the manor to seek Severus Snape's help, Rita Skeeter remained hidden, her beetle-like Animagus form blending seamlessly with the darkness. Unseen and unheard, she observed their every move.
With a swirl of Apparition, Isabella and Barty vanished from the secluded home, leaving behind a ripple of magical energy. Unnoticed by the injured Death Eater and the panicked Obscurial, Rita Skeeter's sharp eyes followed their disappearance.
A wicked smile played on her lips as she prepared to weave a tale that would captivate the wizarding world.