Chapter 32 – When Right Feels Wrong
The days unfurled like the petals of a sunflower, each soaked in the radiance of summer. Within the ivy-laden walls of Black Castle, a sense of liberty and friendship infused the air. Harry, Hermione, Neville, Tracey, Daphne, and Rigel found themselves in a season's warm embrace, their mirth reverberating through the stately corridors and open fields.
The lake on the castle grounds was a hidden paradise, its water capturing the sky's azure hue. Harry swam freely, his green eyes taking in the world with an uninhibited clarity. Tracey's jubilance was uncontainable; her gleeful splashes sending ripples across the water's surface. Daphne, ever graceful, moved through the water with an elegance that matched her blonde locks floating on the surface. Rigel, his blue eyes frequently meeting Daphne's, emanated an unspoken understanding, a connection that transcended the need for words. Neville, although reserved, took cautious pleasure in the water, and Hermione alternated between swimming and sunbathing.
Ice cream was a constant companion, a delicious ally in their fight against the summer heat. Each flavour chosen was a small revelation of character: Tracey's choices were vibrant and bold, while Rigel and Daphne often found themselves selecting flavours that effortlessly paired together. Harry opted for classics like vanilla and chocolate, his choices as straightforward as his nature. Neville's shy demeanour was reflected in his simple, unassuming picks, and Hermione's selections were methodically chosen, each a calculated decision after considering all available options.
Scholarly pursuits were not left behind amidst the joy of summer. Hermione took it upon herself to initiate group study sessions. The library at Black Castle became a sanctuary of knowledge, where the scent of old books mingled with the determination in the air. Harry and Rigel, side by side, pored over texts on Defence Against the Dark Arts, their focus unwavering. Neville found comfort in Herbology, his fingers gently caring for magical herbs. Tracey, her enthusiasm palpable, perfected her technique in Charms, her wand dancing in synchrony with her will. Daphne and Hermione were deeply engrossed in Ancient Runes, a subject they both found fascinating.
Physical and magical training occupied a cornerstone of their days, for they couldn't forget the perilous times they lived in. Either Sirius or Remus, sometimes both, assumed the role of instructors, providing a seamless blend of wisdom and experience. Wands danced and spells echoed in the training grounds, as each member of the group honed their skills, the resonance of their friendship strengthening their magic.
When August 9th broke over the horizon, the castle seemed to greet the day with a renewed vibrancy, as if acknowledging Daphne's special day. Rigel awoke early, their magical bond tingling with the joy and anticipation that birthdays bring. The day had just begun, its hours a blank canvas, but its promise as tangible as the morning sun that bathed the castle in a golden light.
Rigel carefully slid out from under the covers, his movements deliberate so as not to disturb Daphne. His hand found his wand on the nightstand, the dark wood cool against his palm. Turning toward the window and the balcony beyond, he whispered an incantation. Purple tulips materialised out of thin air, their petals unfolding like a slow yawn. He placed them carefully on the window sills and along the balcony railings, their royal hue imbued with the morning light.
As he put the finishing touches on his floral arrangement, he felt a shift in the magical bond he shared with Daphne. She was waking up. Turning back toward the bed, their eyes met, her blue eyes shining like two clear sapphires.
"Good morning," Daphne murmured, her voice tinged with the sweet haze of slumber.
"Morning," Rigel returned, his voice resonating with love and a touch of excitement. "Happy birthday, love." He leaned down to kiss her, their lips meeting in a connection as deep as the bond they shared.
"Why are you up so early?" he asked, pulling back just enough to read her expression.
"With all the giddiness I felt from you through our bond, how could I keep sleeping?" She smiled warmly, her eyes drifting to the sea of purple tulips that adorned the room. "Besides, we dream together, Rigel. When you suddenly vanish from my dream, it's not exactly subtle that you've woken up."
Daphne's gaze swept over the tulips again, taking in their beauty. "Thank you for the tulips," she said, her eyes returning to meet his. "They're beautiful."
"I would have decorated the whole castle in them if you'd stayed asleep a bit longer," he confessed, his eyes gleaming with the unchecked affection of a man in love.
Daphne giggled softly, her laughter a melodic sound that filled the room. "I have no doubt you would have," she said. "And I'd also be quite certain you'd walk out of here without getting dressed."
Rigel looked down at his naked form and chuckled. "Yes, that probably would have happened," he admitted.
The room was filled with their shared laughter, a sound as natural and joyful as the morning chorus of birds outside their window. For a brief moment, the two of them were cocooned in a world entirely their own, a world framed by purple tulips and the promise of another day together.
The day unfolded like a carefully wrapped present, each moment a gift in its own right. There was a simplicity to Daphne's birthday that made it special—a stillness that seemed to hang in the air, punctuated by bursts of laughter and the sounds of rustling paper as gifts were exchanged. Daphne wore a smile that radiated genuine happiness, a reflection of the joy she felt being surrounded by those she held dear.
As twilight settled in, draping the castle in a warm, dusky glow, the friends reconvened in Daphne and Rigel's room. The room was lit by the gentle flicker of the fireplace, its amber flames casting a golden hue that danced across their faces. Their eyes shimmered in the firelight, each carrying a spark that mirrored the warmth and closeness of the room.
Tracey, always the livewire, couldn't resist the opportunity to inject a bit of her teasing charm into the atmosphere. "So Daphne, Rigel, it's been a pretty romantic day, hasn't it? Any... big steps taken?" Her eyebrows waggled suggestively, her brown eyes twinkling with mischief.
Daphne and Rigel exchanged a look that encapsulated the unspoken depths of their love, rendering them impervious to such teasing. Rigel grinned, "Well, we might have made the daring move to share a slice of birthday cake."
"And don't forget the wild hand-holding," Daphne added, her tone playful but gentle, a knowing smile gracing her lips.
Tracey feigned disappointment, her playful pout as exaggerated as her sigh. "Oh, you two are no fun!"
"Speaking of fun," she pivoted, undeterred, "how about another round of Truth or Dare? Last time was a blast!"
Daphne looked around at her friends, their faces lit up by the fire's warm glow. "While that was certainly entertaining," she began, "maybe we should give it a rest for a little while longer."
There was a murmur of agreement from the group, nods and smiles confirming the sentiment. Tracey let out a theatrical sigh, her pout playfully exaggerated. "Fine, have it your way. But don't say I didn't try to spice things up!"
The atmosphere returned to its original state of cosy tranquillity, Tracey's antics having added another layer of warmth to the room. As they sat together, each absorbed in their own thoughts yet bound by their friendship, the fire seemed to burn a little brighter, as if fuelled by the love and camaraderie that filled the room.
The atmosphere was imbued with a playful competitiveness as the group delved into an array of magical board games. From "Wizard Chess" to "Gobstones," the room was filled with the echoes of laughter, the clang of magical pieces moving on their own, and the enchanting glows of bewitched boards. Strategies were debated with the same intensity one might reserve for a Quidditch final, and alliances formed and dissolved like sugar in a hot cup of tea. The games seemed to bring another dimension of magic into the room, each roll of the dice or flick of a wand adding to the evening's enchantment.
As the castle clock tolled midnight, the group collectively decided to call it a night. Yawns were stifled behind hands, and weary but content eyes met across the room. One by one, they said their goodbyes, exiting the room with lingering smiles and soft footsteps.
Finally alone, Daphne and Rigel stood facing each other, the room now quiet save for the still-crackling fire. Rigel pulled Daphne close, their lips meeting in a deep kiss that seemed to contain all the unsaid words, all the unexpressed emotions that had filled the day.
Daphne pulled away gently, her eyes shining. "I had a wonderful time today, Rigel. Truly, it's been the best birthday yet."
Rigel looked into her eyes, his blue orbs reflecting the firelight and his love for her. "Well, that sets a pretty high bar for next year, doesn't it?" he said, his tone a blend of jest and heartfelt promise.
Daphne laughed softly. "If anyone can surpass it, it's you."
Hand in hand, they made their way to their bed. The soft sheets welcomed them, and they nestled close, their bodies a perfect fit—as if made to fill the voids in one another. A wave of comfort and peace washed over them, and with one last exchange of loving glances, they closed their eyes.
In the stillness of their room, surrounded by the lingering magic of the day, they both drifted off to sleep. And as they did, their dreams intertwined, just like their hearts and souls—forever united in a shared realm of love and endless possibility.
~~~o~~~
A few more days of summer bliss had rolled by, filled with laughter, games, and the unmistakable scent of blooming flowers wafting through the warm air. The friends had soaked up the sun, each day bringing a sense of camaraderie and light-heartedness that could only be found in the freedom of summer vacation. As they engaged in both magical and mundane activities, the walls of Black Castle seemed less like the stern keepers of ancient traditions and more like the backdrop to a season of youthful delight.
Walburga Black's stern voice resonated through the grand ballroom of Black Castle, silencing the idle chatter of the group of friends who had been summoned. The high ceilings, adorned with glinting chandeliers, seemed to amplify her words as she explained the reason for their gathering.
"It's high time you all learnt how to dance. Though there will be no formal balls this summer, the Yule Ball will be held at Hogwarts this coming school year. Furthermore, Rigel will likely necessitate several social events next summer due to his increasing influence in the political realm."
Walburga then set her eyes on the young faces before her, scrutinising as if assessing their very souls. "Daphne, you'll teach Rigel. Tracey, you may instruct Harry. Neville," her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, "you can teach Hermione—if you're willing, of course."
The pairs separated to give themselves room, a small but palpable tension filling the air. At Walburga's nod, Kreacher, who was standing by an ancient phonograph, cranked the handle and magical orchestral music filled the room.
As the music played, the pairs awkwardly attempted to navigate the complexities of the dance floor. Rigel, Harry, and Hermione clearly lagged behind, their steps faltering and out of sync with the rhythm. Their partners, schooled in the arts of etiquette and dance, tried to guide them, their faces tinged with varying degrees of patience and frustration.
Daphne's hand rested gently on Rigel's arm, her eyes meeting his as she silently communicated the steps through their unique bond. Tracey was far more vocal, laughing openly whenever Harry misstepped but always encouraging him to keep going. Neville appeared slightly flushed but focused, his eyes often meeting Hermione's as she concentrated intently on matching his movements, her face a portrait of determination.
After a few rounds, the room breathed a sigh of relief, not least Walburga, as the young wizards finally began to glide without trampling toes or colliding with their partners.
"Much improved," Walburga announced, crossing her arms. "However, we will continue this daily until you depart for the Quidditch World Cup. I have no intention of letting the House of Black be disgraced at the Yule Ball, especially not by my own grandson."
Her eyes lingered on Rigel as she spoke, a glint of uncompromising expectation clear in her gaze. The young wizards and witches nodded, their faces sober but resolved, as the echoes of the music slowly died away, leaving in its wake a room filled with both the weight of responsibility and the promise of more youthful summer days to come.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, the group of friends ambled toward the lake, keen to unwind after their challenging dance lesson. The water of the lake was a pristine crystal blue, a tranquil mirror reflecting the colours of the slowly darkening sky. The atmosphere was tinged with the earthy scent of freshwater mixed with blooming wildflowers that encircled the lake's edge. There was an unspoken consensus that swimming in this hidden oasis had become a treasured pastime, a silent pact formed through shared glances and laughter.
Harry felt his muscles loosen as he waded into the water, its cool embrace enveloping him in a refreshing cocoon. His eyes, though, couldn't help but dart around to his female friends. While all were undeniably attractive in their own right, Harry's gaze kept returning to Tracey. She was a vision, the water catching the light and playing tricks around her, making her look like some kind of nymph. He tried not to stare too long, unsure if his glances were met with her own keen observation.
His eyes briefly shifted to Daphne, noticing her elegant grace as she glided through the water. There had been a time when Harry might have felt similar stirrings toward her, but their relationship had evolved in complex ways over the summer. As close friends, and more than that, as the woman soon to be his brother Rigel's wife, she occupied a unique emotional space. He saw her now as something akin to a sister-in-law, and that brought with it a warmth and familiarity that was different from what he felt towards Tracey, but no less significant. It was a complicated interweaving of feelings and titles, but one that Harry wouldn't trade for anything.
It was Daphne who broke the moment, her voice tinged with an excitement that could not be masked. "I can't wait for the Quidditch World Cup," she exclaimed, her eyes shining brighter than the reflections in the water.
Harry snapped out of his reverie, his eyes locking onto Daphne's. "Yeah," he replied, his own voice rising in enthusiasm. "It's going to be incredible."
Hermione chimed in, paddling over to join the circle that had formed. "If we make it that far," she mused, wincing a little. "Those dance lessons are brutal. My feet are still burning."
A chorus of chuckles rippled through the group, the sound blending harmoniously with the gentle lapping of the lake's waters against its shore. Even in the face of aching feet and the looming academic year, for this moment, they were simply a group of friends, sharing laughter and stories in the fading light of a summer's day.
~~~o~~~
A few more days of summer escapades passed like the breeze, carrying the scent of blooming flowers and the laughter of friends. The Quidditch World Cup was now an imminent event, each day ticking closer to what promised to be a magical spectacle of athleticism and competition. The excitement was almost tangible, like electricity in the air.
One fateful evening, Daphne and Rigel found themselves ready to sink into the welcoming embrace of their soft bed. The room was enveloped in a comforting hush, the draperies swaying gently with the midnight breeze. Just as they were about to surrender to the lure of their shared dreams, a soft but insistent knock echoed through the room. It was Tracey, standing at the threshold in a tank top and shorts—far less formal than the nightgowns that Daphne and Hermione usually adorned for sleep.
"Can we help you?" Daphne inquired, her eyes reflecting curiosity.
"I have a plan," Tracey proclaimed, her lips curling into a sly grin. "A plan to finally exact revenge on Harry for his prank."
Rigel couldn't help but stifle a chuckle. Tracey was blissfully unaware that he had also played a role in her misfortune, along with Fred and George Weasley. They had enchanted her robes to mischievously hide her curves, transforming her attire into a punchline.
Undeterred, Tracey unfurled the details. "I've got the bath potion and the voucher Harry gave me for Christmas," she said, producing the small bottle and parchment as evidence. "But I need your seal of approval and Kreacher's magical assistance to pull it off."
Both Daphne and Rigel listened with rapt attention as Tracey outlined her ambitious counter-prank. It was intricate and required a touch of magical dexterity, but nothing Kreacher couldn't handle. As she completed her exposition, the room felt electric, buzzing with the thrill of impending mischief.
Daphne and Rigel exchanged a quick, amused glance before nodding in agreement. "Alright, you have our blessing, and you may use Kreacher for your little scheme," Daphne said, her voice tinged with amusement.
Rigel chimed in, "May your revenge be as sweet as you've imagined, Tracey."
Their chuckles mingled in the air, dissolving any last bits of nightly solemnity. Tracey exited the room, her spirit uplifted and her mind whirring with plots and spells. Daphne and Rigel finally sank into their bed, but not before sharing a conspiratorial smile.
~~~o~~~
Tracey's PoV
The sun had barely stretched its golden fingers over the horizon when Tracey Davis awoke, her eyes blinking open to meet the dim dawn light. Today was the day—her opportunity for sweet revenge. Without a moment's hesitation, she slid out from her blankets and reached for the bottle of potion and the voucher.
Dressed in her usual casual sleeping attire, she quietly navigated the echoing halls of Black Castle until she stood before Harry Potter's bedroom door. With a soft voice barely above a whisper, she called, "Kreacher."
The house-elf appeared beside her with a muted pop, his eyes twinkling curiously. "You summoned Kreacher?"
"Can you open this door for me and silence the area around Harry's bed for about fifteen minutes?" she asked.
Kreacher offered her a quizzical but obedient look. "Door is not locked, Master Harry never locks it," he said and, with a subtle snap of his gnarled fingers, a bubble of silence enveloped Harry's sleeping area. "Bubble will hold for fifteen minutes."
Giddy with anticipation, Tracey beamed at the elf. "Brilliant, thank you, Kreacher. I'll need your assistance again shortly."
Kreacher bowed solemnly. "Master Rigel instructed Kreacher to assist you today. Assisting you, Kreacher shall." With another quiet pop, he vanished, leaving Tracey alone in front of Harry's bedroom.
Carefully, she pushed open the door and tiptoed into Harry's room. Her eyes roved around, finally resting on the slumbering figure on the bed. Harry's hair, usually a rebellious mop of black, was a chaotic nest as he slept.
Pivoting from the tableau, she entered Harry's en-suite bathroom and was immediately struck by its grandeur. The bathroom was a symphony of elegant tiles and lavish fixtures, all arranged to give an air of luxurious comfort. The sink area was expansive, but unlike the rest of the Black family, Harry didn't seem to need a multitude of grooming products. A few basics stood neatly at one corner. The most striking feature, however, was the bath. It was spacious, designed to accommodate multiple people, but not absurdly so. It felt grand yet intimate—a beautiful paradox that took Tracey's breath away for a moment.
Tracey let out a soft exhale, her eyes shining with mischief and resolve. This, she thought, was the perfect setting for her revenge. Bottle of potion in hand, she set to work.
Eager to set her plan into motion, Tracey twisted the faucet, and hot water cascaded into the bath with a soothing, gurgling sound. Once it was filled to her satisfaction, she uncorked the potion bottle and emptied its contents into the water. As if by magic—well, it was magic—a froth of luxurious bubbles sprang to life, filling the bathroom with a delightful aroma that was both invigorating and calming.
She placed the empty bottle and the voucher conspicuously beside the sink, a subtle nudge for Harry in case the magical bubble bath wasn't the first thing to catch his eye. Then, with the calculated calm of a mastermind, she undressed. Her clothes were folded into a neat pile on the floor. She stepped into the bath fully naked.
The second her foot touched the bubbly potion-infused water, a wave of relaxation surged through her body, loosening every tense muscle. But this luxurious feeling wasn't what she had come for. Her mission was different. Submerging herself until only her head poked out from the pile of magical bubbles, she called, "Kreacher."
The house-elf materialised before her, his eyes narrowing slightly at the impish smile adorning Tracey's lips. "Can you take my clothes back to my room?" she inquired.
"Kreacher does this only because Master Rigel has instructed him to aid you," the elf grumbled, his tone tinged with disdain. Nevertheless, he gathered up her garments with a flick of his fingers before vanishing with a soft, disdainful pop.
Alone again, Tracey's wicked grin widened, reaching from ear to ear. She eased herself back onto one of the bath steps, her form comfortably hidden by a lush mound of frothy bubbles. Only her head remained visible, poised above the sea of white foam. All that was left was for Harry to rise from slumber and walk right into what was shaping up to be a morning brimming with unexpected delights. The stage was set; the trap was laid. It was a waiting game now, and Tracey Davis was more than eager to play her part to the hilt.
~~~o~~~
Harry's eyes fluttered open, greeted by the soft rays of dawn peeping through the curtains. His internal body clock was a slave driver, never allowing him to sleep in. Maybe, he mused, he should pull an all-nighter with his friends—just Daphne and Rigel though. He couldn't bear to imagine what kinds of mischief Tracey would incite in the witching hours.
Dressed in nothing but his boxers thanks to the sweltering summer heat, he shuffled his way to the bathroom, still half-asleep. He put on his glasses and stepped onto the cool tiles, making a beeline for the sink. Toothbrushing was his autopilot mode; his brain barely needed to be awake for it.
But as his hand reached out to grab his toothbrush, he noticed an out-of-place object: an empty potion bottle. His eyes darted and found the voucher—his voucher to Tracey. A cold sense of dread washed over him. He pivoted slowly, and there it was—the bubble bath. And in it sat Tracey, her head emerging from a mound of bubbles, grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
"Good morning, Harry," she chirped.
Harry felt like he had stepped into an alternate universe. This was a scenario he had played out in his mind more times than he'd like to admit, but to find it coming to life was another thing altogether. Words escaped him. "Uh, morning," he stammered. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm here to turn in my voucher," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You did offer hands-on help in trying out this potion. So here I am."
"It was a joke," Harry blurted, his voice tinged with panic. "I can't— I would never—"
"Your body seems to think otherwise," Tracey cut in, breaking into giggles.
Confused, Harry looked down and then it hit him—his body had indeed betrayed him. A very noticeable bulge had formed in his boxers. In a clumsy flurry, he tried to cover it with his hands, but this only seemed to amuse Tracey even more, her laughter echoing in the confines of the opulent bathroom.
"Come on, Harry," Tracey cooed, her eyes twinkling in a way that Harry found both enchanting and disarming. "Join me. I promise it'll be worth your while."
"Uh, no, Tracey. I can't. I won't," Harry replied respectfully, his voice tinged with a mixture of apprehension and regret.
Tracey pouted, her lips forming a sulky curve. "Are you telling me you never imagined this scenario?"
Harry's cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red, matching the rosy hue of dawn outside the window. "Of course, I have. You didn't leave me much choice. But I'm not ready to make this fantasy real just yet."
Tracey exhaled, a soft sigh escaping her lips. "Fine, if you don't want to join me, I'll leave. I'm sorry for disturbing you, Harry."
Tracey, looking smug and mischievous, began to rise slowly from the bath. The thick curtain of bubbles began to part, revealing her delicate collarbones first, then descending to unveil the soft curves of her breasts. The pristine water and remaining bubbles shielded only the area just below, making Harry's breath catch in his throat.
"Wait!" he blurted out, voice thick with surprise and burning desire. His eyes, wide and riveted, refused to stray from the tantalising view.
Tracey paused, the water level stopping just short of revealing her most intimate parts, her breasts fully exposed to Harry's gaze. She chuckled softly, taking in his flustered appearance with obvious delight. "Like what you see, Harry?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr.
Harry swallowed hard, clearly struggling for words. His face was a shade of red that could rival the brightest of rubies, and his body language screamed of both arousal and shy discomfort.
Tracey revelled in the attention, her smirk deepening. "What's the matter, Harry? Cat got your tongue?" she teased.
Flustered, Harry finally managed to stammer out, "Um, where are your clothes?" Tracey's laughter, light and teasing, echoed gently around the humid room, the very air seeming to thrum with the undercurrent of their charged interaction.
With a coquettish tilt of her head, Tracey replied with faux innocence, "Oh, that's rather odd. They were just here a moment ago. Seems I'll have to go back to my room without them."
Feeling like a deer caught in headlights, Harry's eyes widened, "Stop!" His voice unintentionally cracked, betraying his intense discomfort. Determined to flee the escalating situation, he turned toward the door, hand reaching for the handle. "Look, just enjoy your bath. I'll leave."
Just as he was about to open the door, Tracey's hand shot out, gripping his arm with surprising strength, pulling him back towards her. "Harry, wait," she whispered. As he turned, the sight that greeted him was incredibly flustering. Tracey stood there; her breasts fully exposed while the bubbles that veiled her groin were dissipating slowly. The intensity of the view combined with the weight of the moment caused a very visible reaction in Harry, his trousers suddenly feeling tighter.
Heart racing, Tracey's eyes bore into his. "Why don't you respond to my advances?" she asked, her voice suddenly softer and more vulnerable, a stark contrast to her earlier playfulness. "Am I not beautiful enough for you?"
His throat dry, Harry stammered, still struggling to form coherent thoughts under the pressure of her intense gaze and the compromising situation. "Tracey, you're undeniably beautiful. You can't seriously think—"
She interrupted, her voice just above a whisper, trembling with barely concealed emotion, "Then why, Harry? Why can't I make you see me, truly see me? More than once, I've tried to catch your attention, to make you desire me. Yet, here we are." Her words hung heavily in the steamy air, the unspoken emotions between them crackling with palpable intensity.
"You've succeeded, Tracey," Harry interrupted, his voice suffused with a sincerity he couldn't mask. "You've really, really succeeded. I think about you every night when I—"
He caught himself, his cheeks flushing a brilliant crimson. "Er, sorry."
Tracey giggled, the sadness in her eyes replaced by a shimmer of triumph. "Don't be. That's exactly what I was hoping for." She winked at him, a sultry grin forming on her lips.
Harry shook his head, a sheepish smile on his face. "Well, enjoy the bath. You love that potion, after all. I'll tell Kreacher to order another bottle for you—without a voucher this time."
Tracey's giggle turned into full-blown laughter as she sank back into the bath, her body enveloped by the comforting caress of the bubbles. "You've got yourself a deal, Harry."
Harry turned away, a maelstrom of thoughts whirling in his mind, and stepped back into his room. As he shut the door behind him, he realised that he'd need to find a way to kill some time now.
His eyes roved over the titles that adorned his bookshelf, each spine offering an escape into a different world. His gaze settled on a book he'd never really given much attention to: "The Tales of Beedle the Bard." Curiosity piqued, he picked it up and sprawled out on his bed, flipping it open.
His eyes were soon immersed in a world of folklore and wizarding fables. But of all the stories that danced on the pages, one stood out—the tale of the three brothers who met Death himself and received gifts that would prove both wondrous and terrible.
Just as Harry closed the last page on the sobering tale of mortality and foolish ambition, his bathroom door creaked open. Tracey stepped out, enveloped in a towel that did a very poor job of being modest. His body reacted almost immediately, a fact that elicited yet another giggle from Tracey. She'd clearly planned it that way.
"Done with my bath," Tracey chimed in a voice far too sweet and innocent, "but I seem to still be lacking in the clothing department."
Stammering, Harry managed to reply, "Uh, I—I can lend you some of my clothes." He fumbled through his drawer, pulling out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and handed them to her.
Tracey's eyes gleamed as she accepted the clothes. "Would you like to watch me change?" she asked, her voice dripping with sultriness.
Groaning, Harry said, "I think I've got more than enough material to occupy my thoughts at bedtime as it is."
With a knowing smirk, Tracey countered, "Ah, but the real thing would give your imagination a more accurate canvas, don't you think?"
Harry, flushed and clearly aroused, mustered a semblance of restraint. "Perhaps another time, Tracey."
Nodding, Tracey vanished back into the bathroom. Moments later, she emerged wearing Harry's shorts and t-shirt, the fabric hanging loosely on her frame.
"See you at breakfast," she said, winking at him. "You might want to, you know, blow off some steam before then."
And with that, she slipped out of his room, shutting the door behind her. Harry was left alone, a swarm of thoughts buzzing in his mind like Cornish pixies. Only these thoughts were less mischievous and far more... stimulating.
~~~o~~~
The atmosphere in the dining hall of Black Castle was positively buzzing with a sense of exhilarating anticipation. The grand room, illuminated by an elegant chandelier and an array of sconces, served as a fitting backdrop for the discussion that dominated the evening. Tomorrow was the Quidditch World Cup, and every face at the table—Harry, Tracey, Daphne, Rigel, Hermione, and Neville—reflected a potent mixture of excitement and curiosity. As delectable dishes floated onto the table, Sirius began to outline their plans.
"Listen up, everyone," Sirius started, his eyes scanning the faces gathered around the table. "Tomorrow is an early start. We'll have breakfast here, and Astoria, Daphne's little sister, along with her friend Luna Lovegood, will be joining us. I also extended an invite to the Weasleys, but they've got their own plans. Seems they have seats in the Minister's box."
Nods of acknowledgment rippled around the table, and the air felt thick with expectation.
"After breakfast," Sirius continued, "we'll be joined by Nymphadora Tonks. She's a freshly minted Auror and will primarily be guarding Rigel. She's bringing a portkey with her, which will whisk us away to a spot just outside the wards of the stadium."
The group listened intently, their senses heightened both by the details Sirius was providing and the enticing aroma of the dinner that had begun to serve itself.
"A tent is already prepared for us at the location," Sirius added. "So make sure to pack a change of clothes as we'll be staying overnight."
His gaze turned more serious. "Remus will be with us, and it's crucial that you obey any and all instructions from him, Tonks, or me without question. Understand?"
Heads nodded uniformly, underscoring the gravity of his statement.
"Excellent," Sirius said, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Don't oversleep; anyone who does is getting left behind."
The group had migrated from the grand dining hall to the more intimate confines of Daphne's and Rigel's room. The space was inviting, adorned with a mix of elegant and quirky decor—reflecting both its inhabitants. The room had a cosy ambiance, the walls radiating a subdued light that gave it an ethereal glow.
"I can't wait to see Tonks again! She's always so fun to be around," Rigel said, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
"I'm excited that Astoria and Luna are coming too," Harry added, taking a seat on the plush armchair near the window, his eyes meeting Daphne's in mutual joy.
"And perhaps we'll run into the Weasleys," Hermione chimed in, her fingers absentmindedly flipping through the pages of a thick tome as she spoke. She was stationed on one of the room's many cushioned seats.
The room's atmosphere, already high in spirit, escalated into a frenzied discussion about the upcoming match. Would Ireland take the Cup, or would Bulgaria snatch victory? The debate became increasingly animated, everyone tossing in their opinions. Even those less invested in Quidditch—Tracey, Hermione, and Neville—couldn't resist the infectious energy.
"You have to admit, Krum's a genius on a broomstick. Bulgaria's got a great chance," Harry insisted, locking eyes with Daphne who was perched at the edge of her bed.
"And you're ignoring Ireland's spectacular Chasers. They have teamwork; they have strategy!" Daphne fired back, her tone impassioned.
Both turned almost simultaneously toward Rigel, as if challenging him to break the tie. The room held its collective breath, all eyes fixing on him. Rigel felt the weight of expectation fall squarely upon him—choosing between the allegiance to his little brother or his betrothed. It was a curious position to be in as two months ago, he was a cat, indifferent to human dramas or sports rivalries.
Internally, he weighed his options. Supporting Harry would naturally appeal to fraternal loyalties. But then again, there was Daphne. He thought about the evenings they spent together, their conversations that lasted into the small hours of the morning, and the bed they shared. Did he really want to create a rift, however small, in that comfortable arrangement? His nights were peaceful next to Daphne, and he valued that harmony.
Drawing in a breath, he made his decision. "I think Ireland will win," he declared, a sheepish grin on his face.
Harry's face broke into a playful pout, feigning betrayal while Daphne's eyes sparkled, her mouth stretching into a triumphant grin. Tracey, sensing an opportunity, sidled up to Harry and offered him a comforting hug. Her allegiance was also with Bulgaria, but the embrace was less about the sport and more about seizing an opportunity for physical contact, a fact not lost on Harry.
And so they sat, a tangle of friendships and rivalries, of camaraderie and affections, all within the four walls of a room that had witnessed and would continue to witness the spectrum of their lives. With the Quidditch World Cup on the horizon, they revelled in the joy of the present moment, a fleeting sanctuary before the promise of a magical tomorrow.
~~~o~~~
As the first rays of dawn struggled to filter through the heavy drapes, the breakfast table became a gathering point for everyone. Astoria and Luna had also joined the group, and when Daphne caught sight of her younger sister, her face radiated pure happiness. They shared a tight hug, an embrace infused with newly rekindled sisterly love. Astoria then cast a sidelong glance at Rigel and teasingly said, "You're a lucky woman, Daph."
The room erupted in chuckles. Sirius, Remus, and Rigel exchanged amused looks.
Breakfast proceeded with an air of anticipation. Just as the final crumbs of toast were swept away, a burst of green light announced the arrival of Tonks, who tumbled out of the fireplace with her usual flair. "Wotcher, everyone!" she greeted, a broad grin stretching across her face.
For Rigel, seeing Tonks was a bit surreal. She didn't know he was the cat she'd spent so much time with. He couldn't fathom how to approach the subject, so he decided to postpone that particular conversation for later.
Before long, the group shouldered their bags and made their way to the garden. There, Tonks unveiled the portkey: an elegantly designed stone statue. Despite its modest height, the statue was unexpectedly hefty, requiring a firm grip. Its ample surface allowed all members to touch it simultaneously. The solid, cool stone seemed to bear not just its physical weight but the gravity of their upcoming journey.
"Alright, everyone circle 'round and make sure you're touching it," she instructed.
The air was thick with excitement. Harry reached out, his fingers lightly touching the cool surface of the statue. In a moment that seemed to stretch and compress all at once, the portkey activated, yanking them through space. It was a jarring, disorienting sensation; as if the world was twisted around them.
Then, with an abruptness that was almost rude, they landed. The younger members of the group stumbled and tumbled, their faces flushed and disoriented. Sirius, Remus, and Tonks, however, landed with grace, barely stifling their chuckles at the youthful disarray around them.
With mild groans and the rustle of fabric, the group pulled themselves to their feet, steadying each other with grasping hands and awkward laughs. Tonks wagged her finger at Sirius and Remus. "You two could've at least prepared them for what it's like to travel by portkey," she scolded, though her eyes sparkled with amusement.
Sirius shrugged, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Ah, but where's the fun in that?"
Shaking their heads and sharing good-natured eye rolls, the group trudged towards the stadium. When it finally came into view, the spectacle rendered them speechless. The atmosphere was electric; the air hummed with a concoction of excitement and tension. It was as if a gigantic, magical party was unfolding before them. A sea of tents stretched out, their vibrant colours competing with the raucous crowd for attention. Everywhere they looked, witches and wizards were proudly displaying their support—flags waved, faces painted, and cheers filled the air.
As they weaved through this vibrant tapestry of humanity, a cluster of familiar redheads materialised from the crowd. Luna and Astoria immediately wrapped Ginny in a warm hug. After a flurry of introductions, the twins Fred and George, Percy, and a man with a jovial face and thinning red hair appeared. The man introduced himself as Arthur Weasley and quickly struck up a conversation with Sirius and Remus.
The younger members of the group couldn't help but gravitate towards Ginny, Fred, and George, who exuded a magnetic, effervescent energy. Their voices rippled through the air like sparkling champagne, effusing the atmosphere with lively chatter. Their conversation topics ping-ponged with contagious excitement—from the heart-pounding thrills of the Quidditch World Cup to the dizzying prospects of the upcoming school year, every subject seemed brighter in their company.
Amidst this whirlwind of youthful enthusiasm, Percy stood as a bastion of stoic calm, a man seemingly unperturbed by the swirling vortex of emotion around him. His contributions to the conversation were carefully measured, imparting his own brand of collected wisdom to the expectant topics at hand.
During the conversation, Percy's eyes narrowed, meeting each of theirs in turn with a weighty gaze. "You should all prepare yourselves," he intoned, his voice imbued with a sense of gravity that was almost out of character. "The coming year at Hogwarts will be anything but ordinary."
Fred leaned in, unable to resist the bait. "Oh, come on, Percy, give us a hint!"
Percy shook his head, his lips drawn into a knowing smile. "You'll just have to wait and see."
The air seemed to thicken with curiosity and expectation, the enigmatic words from Percy adding a layer of thrilling uncertainty to an already electrifying day.
With an air of finality, Sirius broke into the conversation. "We'll have time to chat and explore later, but for now, let's get to our tent and stow away these bags."
"Of course, Sirius," Hermione replied, her voice echoing the sentiment shared by all. They hastily bid the Weasleys farewell, promising to meet up later.
The procession began, Sirius and Remus leading the way while Tonks held the rear. Like seasoned navigators, they charted a course through the bustling ocean of tents and enthusiastic supporters. The symphony of laughter, chatter, and the occasional cheer filled the air, making the atmosphere electric with anticipation.
Eventually, they reached a less populated section, where the tents were spread out more generously. As they approached, a man dressed in a uniform stepped toward them, his eyes narrow. "Pass, please."
Sirius produced a parchment, extending it to the guard. After a cursory inspection, the man nodded and pointed towards a black tent, distinguished only by its solitude. "This one's yours."
As the man turned to leave, Sirius couldn't help but mutter, "Welcome to the 'wealthy pureblood area.' Mother insisted we stay here for 'extra protection.' Truth be told, I can't stand being around these snobs."
Then, Sirius vanished into the tent, leaving Harry staring at the seemingly small structure with scepticism. "How are eleven people going to fit in there?" he thought, his eyes scanning the modest dimensions.
Harry stepped through the tent flap and instantly found himself in a space that defied all laws of physics and expectation. The inside was a labyrinth of rooms and hallways, all fashioned from the same canvas as the tent's exterior. It was like stepping into a different dimension, one where the laws of space were as flexible as a rubber band.
Sirius broke into his reverie. "Alright, everyone, pick a room. They're designed for two people each. And, for the sake of not having awkward conversations with your parents, we're going same-sex rooms, alright?" His words were met with nods, though Tracey's pout, exaggerated and comical, suggested she had hoped for different arrangements.
Turning to Daphne and Rigel, Sirius added, "You two are obviously the exception. But do keep in mind these walls aren't exactly known for their soundproofing, so let's hold off on any... 'funny business,' shall we?"
Rigel's eyes twinkled mischievously. "So, if I put up a silencing charm, does that mean 'funny business' is back on the menu?"
The room erupted—Sirius, Remus and Tonks laughed at Rigel's audacity, Hermione and Astoria gasped, Tracey and surprisingly Luna giggled, and Daphne shot Rigel a playful punch to the shoulder. "Behave," she commanded.
"Yes, dear," Rigel chuckled.
Capitalising on the moment, Tracey grabbed Hermione's arm. "Let's pick a room far away so we can engage in our own 'funny business'," she said, pulling a wide-eyed Hermione behind her.
Not to be outdone, Luna grasped Astoria's arm. "I quite agree," she chirped, leading Astoria to the room next to Hermione and Tracey's. The oddity of Luna's casual response made it all the more hilarious.
Laughter resonated as the remaining pairs dispersed to claim their quarters: Harry and Neville selected one room, Daphne and Rigel another, while Sirius and Remus bunked together. Tonks, meanwhile, had a room all to herself, conveniently located next to Daphne and Rigel's.
Sirius gathered them around before they all went their separate ways. "The match starts at 6 pm. I expect everyone back here by 5:30 at the latest. We'll meet here and head over to our box together. And if anyone forgot pocket money, come see me. No one's leaving this event without a souvenir." His eyes scanned each face seriously. "Oh, and one more thing. Stay within the wards. You can explore all you like, just don't go into tents that aren't ours."
Tonks, her hair today a vibrant shade of violet, spoke up. "Rigel, I'll be shadowing you. Got to make sure you're safe and all that." Her eyes twinkled, but the underlying seriousness was unmistakable.
Rigel chuckled. "Well, just make sure you enjoy yourself too, alright?"
She offered a warm smile. "I will."
The group exited the tent, a hubbub of excitement and plans for the day. Their first stop was the gift shop, which was bustling with fans eager to get their hands on Quidditch paraphernalia. As they sifted through the aisles filled with team scarves, hats, and banners, each bought souvenirs that announced their loyalties loud and clear. Daphne sported a scarf in Irish green, while Harry donned a Bulgarian red cap.
With bags full of new acquisitions, they ventured out to explore the warded area around the stadium. The atmosphere was electric, a melting pot of magical folk from all walks of life. Among the jubilant faces, they recognised quite a few—classmates and year mates, all caught up in the thrill of the forthcoming match.
The day promised fun, perhaps a dash of mischief, and a match that would be the talk of the magical world for months to come. And so, with hearts light and expectations high, they delved deeper into the enchanting pre-match carnival.
~~~o~~~
By 5:30, the group had reconvened at the tent, their faces flushed from the day's excitement. Yet, the highlight—the Quidditch World Cup final—was still ahead. A sense of heightened anticipation flowed through the air as the three adults and eight teenagers set out towards their box to witness the match.
But no sooner had they left the tent than they came face-to-face with Draco Malfoy and his father, Lucius. With his perfectly tailored robes and an air of condescension, Lucius greeted them. "Ah, the illustrious Blacks. What an unexpected pleasure." The formality of his words could not cloak the ice in his eyes; he still harboured a grudge. Rigel, after all, had seized the Black inheritance that Lucius had once coveted for Draco.
Turning to Rigel, he said, "And you must be Rigel Black. The pleasure is mine." His voice dripped with a courtesy so exaggerated it bordered on mockery. "Where, may I ask, have you been all these years?"
Rigel met his gaze, unflinching. "After my mother and her side of the family were tragically killed by Voldemort and his Death Eaters, my father"—he gestured toward Sirius—"sent me to live with a lesser-known branch of our family in Germany. Sirius was the only one who knew about this arrangement. So, when he was wrongfully imprisoned, Wizarding Britain seemed to... forget about me." The unspoken words lingered in the air, implicating everyone who had stood by and allowed the injustices to unfold.
Lucius paused, his eyes searching Rigel's face for a moment. "My condolences for your mother. A fascinating tale, indeed."
Lucius seemed to register Harry for the first time, his eyes drifting toward the scar on Harry's forehead. "Ah, Mr. Potter. Always in the most interesting of companies, aren't we?" His voice carried an air of disdain mixed with intrigue.
Harry met his gaze squarely. "I find good company wherever I can, Mr. Malfoy."
Lucius chuckled lightly, a hollow sound devoid of genuine mirth. "Indeed. May you find the match as... enlightening as your choice of companions." With a final, inscrutable glance at Harry, he turned away, allowing the heavy tension to lift ever so slightly as he and Draco disappeared into the throng.
They threaded their way through the sea of tents and bustling crowd, anticipation evident in the air as they approached the towering structure of the stadium. "Ugh, I really can't stand the Malfoys," Tonks said, scrunching her nose as if she'd just smelled something rotten. "They always seem like they're up to something nefarious."
Sirius chuckled, walking ahead of the group. "You're telling me. Not all family is as tolerable as we are."
Meanwhile, Daphne and Harry were involved in a playful yet intense dispute. "Bulgaria has no chance against Ireland!" Daphne asserted, casting a smug glance at Harry.
"Oh, really?" Harry challenged. "How about we make it interesting, then? A bet?"
Daphne smirked. "Alright. If Ireland wins, you owe Tracey a massage, on her terms. If Bulgaria wins, you can choose whatever embarrassing task you'd like for either Rigel or me."
Harry, feeling a flush of overconfidence, accepted. "Deal."
Finally, the group reached the stadium, their faces lighting up at the grand spectacle that greeted them. They ascended to their private box, welcomed by an array of refreshments and sumptuously plush seats.
Sirius let out a low whistle as he eased himself into a seat. "Say what you will about my mother, but she certainly knows how to use her connections."
Taking cues from Sirius, everyone else took their seats, eyes sparkling with the anticipation of witnessing their first professional Quidditch match. They chatted animatedly for a bit, speculating on the strategies both teams might employ, until the stadium dimmed slightly, announcing the beginning of the pre-show.
As the Bulgarian mascots sashayed onto the field, a force unlike any Harry had ever felt gripped him. It was as though an invisible thread had latched onto the very core of his being, pulling with such magnetic force that he could barely resist. "What... what are those?" he stammered, his voice tinged with a surreal yearning.
Casting their eyes in the indicated direction, the group found Tracey and Neville completely enraptured, unabashedly ogling the Veelas with glazed-over eyes. A ripple of laughter coursed through the assembled friends, a momentary distraction from the enchanting aura that seemed to cloud the air.
It was Hermione who sprung into action, with a determined look, she reached over and shook Tracey with a surprising firmness, snapping her out of her daze. Meanwhile, Harry regained enough composure to reach over to Neville, shaking him firmly until he, too, snapped out of his trance, looking bewildered and a bit sheepish.
For the first time, Harry noted, Tracey's cheeks flushed a vivid pink—a hue that hilariously clashed with her recently infatuated expression. Neville, too, seemed to snap back to reality, looking around as though he had just awoken from a particularly engrossing dream. Harry shook his head, grateful for the intervention yet unnerved by the powerful allure he had barely resisted.
And then the air was filled with the roar of the crowd as the match began. The Quaffle was in the air, the Seekers were on high alert, and they were all on the edge of their sumptuous seats, absorbed completely in the balletic violence and artistry of professional Quidditch.
~~~o~~~
The atmosphere inside the tent was a jumble of emotions as everyone trudged back from the unforgettable Quidditch World Cup match. Bulgaria had managed to catch the Snitch, but despite that triumph, they had still lost. Harry was utterly devastated by the outcome, his spirits sinking lower than he thought possible. And the cherry on this sour cake? He owed Tracey a massage.
Tracey, however, seemed invigorated, apparently unperturbed by her team's loss. "Alright, girls, to my chamber! We have some celebrating to do!" she declared before sweeping away like a queen leading her royal court. Hermione, Astoria, Daphne, and Luna followed, their laughter trailing behind them.
Sirius, grasping a butterbeer with a twinkle in his eye, grinned at the remaining group of males. "No worries, lads! We'll out-celebrate the girls, mark my words!" He then turned to Tonks, "Tonks, you seem to be in the wrong gathering."
Tonks chuckled, leaning casually against a makeshift table. "Ah, but you see, my client is a young man, not a young lady. I'm duty-bound to be here. Besides," she added, "I've been to my fair share of girl sleepovers. I'm a bit past the age of gabbing about cute boys and comparing cup sizes." She gestured vaguely towards her chest.
Harry and Neville both blurted out, as if on cue, "That's what they're doing?" The room erupted into laughter, the stress of the match momentarily forgotten.
Rigel, taking a long swig of his butterbeer, smirked. "Someone's clearly thrilled by the notion," he commented, casting a sidelong glance at Harry and Neville.
The mention conjured vivid, and slightly awkward, images in their minds, causing both boys to flush a deep shade of crimson.
Tonks, meanwhile, shook her head with amusement. "Honestly, I'd rather keep company with you fine gentlemen." She threw a wink at Remus, who suddenly found the fabric of the tent's wall to be exceptionally fascinating, his cheeks taking on a flustered hue of their own.
In the main area of the tent, the lads, joined by Tonks, were knee-deep in a festive spree. Butterbeers popped open with effervescent zest, filling the room with a heady aroma of butterscotch. A rhythmic chant, punctuated by bursts of laughter, harmonised with the clinking of bottles. "To Quidditch! To new friendships! To the many joys of magic!" Each toast was more exuberant than the last. Sirius even performed an impromptu jig, his limbs fluid despite the butterbeers he'd consumed, much to the amusement of everyone. Rigel and Harry found themselves amidst a mock duel with empty bottles, their faces flushed with youthful excitement.
Meanwhile, within the confines of Tracey and Hermione's room, the atmosphere was notably different but equally as animated. Five young witches sat in a close circle on colourful, plush pillows, their eyes sparkling in anticipation. Tracey wore a grin wide enough to split her face in two. "Oh, Daph, I cannot thank you enough for that bet! Just imagining Harry's flushed face already has me giddy!"
Daphne laughed, her eyes twinkling like stars. "You're welcome, Trace. I had a feeling it'd pay off for someone, and I'm glad it's you."
Astoria, clutching a pillow close to her chest, looked toward her sister and asked timidly, "So, Daph, how has it been living at Black Castle?"
Daphne's face softened, her eyes filling with a mixture of nostalgia and happiness. "It's been liberating, Tori. For the first time, I don't have to live in constant fear. I've experienced things, good things, that I never could have imagined. The only downside is not seeing you as often as I'd like."
Astoria smiled, her eyes shining. "I'm glad for you, Daph, really." Then, her cheeks tinged with pink, she continued, "So, um, how are things with Rigel? Have you...you know...?"
Tracey looked as if she was perched on the edge of her pillow, her eyes wide in anticipation.
Giggling, Daphne responded, "No, sorry to disappoint, but we haven't quite taken that leap yet."
Tracey slumped back, feigning a dramatic sigh of sorrow. "Ah well, one can dream." They all burst into giggles, their laughter echoing into the tent, a harmonious blend with the celebratory cheers of the room next door.
Luna, draped in her typical dreamy aura, tilted her head and blinked her large silvery eyes at Daphne. "Go on, Daphne, tell us more. We're all quite hungry for the delicious details, you know."
All eyes swivelled toward Daphne, their gazes a blend of curiosity and eagerness. It was as if the room had collectively inhaled, holding its breath in anticipation.
With a resigned sigh, Daphne relented. "Alright, you nosy witches. Fine, I'll spill." Her eyes softened, almost as if she were recollecting fond memories. "We've slept in the same bed since I moved to Black Castle, wrapped in each other's arms. We've also taken baths together, which is both incredibly romantic and a bit hilarious. And, yes, there have been some... rather heated snogging sessions with hands that wander a bit freely."
She paused, her face flushed but content. "So, to summarise, we've seen each other in the nude, and there has been a fair amount of touching, but that's as far as we've gone. No need to get your hopes up."
Tracey, who looked like she was a split second away from exploding with curiosity, blurted out, "So when are you planning on, you know, taking it to the next level?"
Daphne chuckled, her eyes twinkling mysteriously. "We'll get there when we're ready, Trace. It's not like there's a timetable for these things. Our relationship sort of... evolves naturally. And because of our unique bond, we're usually on the same page about how far to take things."
This seemed to quench the thirst for information among the girls, who collectively exhaled, their faces painted with varying shades of satisfaction and relief. For now, their curiosity had been sated, their appetites for romantic detail momentarily appeased.
Sometime later, the door creaked open gently, and Tonks' vibrant head popped into the room, her eyes twinkling with both amusement and a hint of authority. "I'm glad to see you lot aren't comparing cup sizes, but it's time to call it a night."
Tracey, always the instigator, grinned mischievously. "Oh, we did that earlier, didn't we?" She winked at Hermione, who blushed deeply and retaliated with a playful smack on Tracey's shoulder.
With Tonks' motherly nudge as a signal, the chatter began to wind down. Daphne, Luna, and Astoria rose from their plush, cushion-strewn circle on the floor and made their way to their respective rooms.
As Daphne entered her room, she found Rigel already settled in bed, a soft smile on his lips. The bed was small, clearly intended for just one person, but that didn't deter Daphne from slipping in beside him. To her delight, Rigel seemed more than happy with the cramped arrangement.
Rigel's eyes met hers as he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "Did you have fun with the girls?"
Daphne nestled her head into the curve of his shoulder and sighed blissfully. "Oh, lots and lots of fun. Did you have fun with the boys?"
Rigel chuckled softly, the sound filling the room like a warm, inviting fragrance. "We certainly had our share of merriment, I assure you."
With that, they closed their eyes, the comfortable silence enveloping them like a soft blanket. Within moments, they found themselves drifting into a shared dreamscape, the boundaries between reality and the fantastical becoming indistinct. And as they ventured into that magical world, Rigel held Daphne tightly, as if to say that, no matter what, they would always face both the dreams and the waking world together.
~~~o~~~
The quiet of the night shattered like glass as Harry was jolted awake, his eyes snapping open to find Sirius standing over him, a mask of urgency replacing his usual jovial expression. "Harry, get up. We have to go. Now."
Confused and startled, Harry groped for his glasses, his heart pounding. "What's happening?"
"Someone's attacking the camp. People are in danger," Sirius said tersely, his eyes alight with a fiery determination.
Glasses on, Harry grabbed his wand and stepped outside the tent. His friends and guardians were already there, wands at the ready, faces etched with tension and fear. The night air was thick with smoke, dark plumes rising from flaming tents. Shouts and screams of terror reverberated through the air, punctuated by the crackle of fires and the unmistakable sounds of spells being cast. It was a waking nightmare, a scene straight out of a horror film.
Sirius turned his gaze toward Remus and then back to the group. "Remus and I are going to help with the evacuation. Tonks will lead you back to the portkey."
A sense of dread washed over Harry. "Don't risk your life, Sirius. I can't lose you."
Before he could say more, Rigel grabbed his arm, his grip firm and unyielding. "Brother," he said, eyes meeting Harry's, "father is strong. He won't go down without a fight. Right now, we need to get to safety."
Tonks stepped forward, her usually vibrant hair now a muted shade of brown, as if to mirror the gravity of the situation. "Alright, let's go."
She led them through the haze of smoke and chaos, wands aloft, each step a careful negotiation between speed and stealth. As they moved, the shrieks and cries seemed to follow them, an auditory ghost haunting their flight. It was a grim trek, one they wished they'd never had to make, but necessity drove them onward, led by the flickering light of Tonks' wand through the darkness.
A veil of trees loomed before them as they entered a short strip of forest, the ground beneath their feet soft with fallen leaves and needles. The darkness here was thicker, like ink spilled across a canvas. Just when they thought they were nearing the edge of the woodland, three hooded figures materialised from the shadows. Wearing masks that obscured their faces, they formed a triangle around the group, effectively trapping them.
Tonks' eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her wand. "Split up. Take the ones at the back, while I handle the one in front. Don't hold back; they're not here to play games."
As if on cue, the air crackled with tension, and wands were raised. Harry, Rigel, and Daphne paired off against one of the assailants, their wands aimed and ready. Hermione, Neville, Tracey, Astoria, and Luna found themselves squared off against another, their expressions taut with resolve.
The forest seemed to hold its breath for an infinitesimal moment, and then the night erupted into chaos. Spells and curses flew through the air, forming a deadly ballet of light and darkness. Tonks was a whirlwind, her spells precise and relentless, forcing her opponent back step by step.
Harry, Rigel, and Daphne worked in tandem. Harry shot a disarming spell at their foe, forcing the hooded figure to deflect it hastily. Seizing the opportunity, Rigel sent a stunning spell that grazed the attacker's shoulder. Daphne completed the trifecta with a binding hex, which the attacker narrowly avoided.
Meanwhile, Hermione led the charge for the other group, her incantations articulated with razor-sharp focus. Neville, no longer the timid boy from their first year, provided backup with well-timed shielding spells. Tracey and Astoria launched a series of curses that kept their opponent on the defensive, while Luna, in her own inimitable style, employed some of the more obscure spells from her repertoire.
It was a gruelling struggle, a dance on the edge of a knife. Every spell cast was a potential game-changer, every dodge a lifesaver. The forest around them seemed to quiver, as if recoiling from the ferocity of their duel. In this dark, enclosed space, it was hard to tell who was gaining the upper hand, but one thing was crystal clear: they were fighting for their lives, and there was no room for error.
The tension in the air was almost palpable, like a physical weight pressing down on them. In the midst of the chaos, Tonks unleashed a jet of fire at her opponent, who deftly sidestepped, countering with a bolt of electricity. They clashed like titans, neither giving an inch.
On the other side, Hermione and her team were relentless, their spells creating a symphony of flashes and booms that echoed through the forest. Astoria and Tracey used their spells to set traps, which Neville fortified with protective charms. Luna, forever unpredictable, unleashed a spell that made the very ground beneath their opponent momentarily turn to goo, destabilising their stance.
In the same breath, Harry, Rigel, and Daphne intensified their onslaught. Harry unleashed a 'Confringo,' the blasting curse, towards a cluster of trees near their opponent, sending wooden shrapnel flying in all directions as a diversion. Rigel employed 'Protego' forming a darkly shimmering barrier that their adversary struggled to penetrate. Daphne executed an intricate wand movement, muttering 'Circumrota,' causing the ground beneath the assailant to rotate like a whirlpool, disturbing their balance. Their opponent, increasingly desperate, stumbled over dodges and parries, clearly unprepared for the level of magical prowess they were up against.
Amidst the frenetic battle, Harry found an opening. With a focused, almost mechanical flick of his wand, he unleashed a severing charm. The incantation slashed violently across the hooded figure's torso, slicing through fabric and flesh with grim efficiency. A guttural, muffled scream erupted from behind the mask as blood spurted out like a geyser, splattering the forest floor. The figure staggered and collapsed, utterly motionless.
The forest, still filled with the acrid scent of smoke and the coppery tang of fresh blood, fell eerily silent. As if on cue, the two remaining hooded figures glanced toward their fallen comrade. A moment of hesitation, and then they turned into dark mist and dispersed into the night air.
Tonks, sensing the immediate danger had passed, quickly approached the lifeless body. Her wand moved in a complex pattern as she muttered an incantation under her breath, a spell designed to confirm the absence of life signs. After a moment, her face hardened. "He's dead," she announced, her voice imbued with grim resolve. "We need to move. Now."
Harry stood there, his wand still outstretched, his chest heaving with pent-up emotion. The world around him seemed to narrow, focusing into a tunnel of self-contained horror. He had taken a life, and the gravity of that irrevocable act weighed like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach.
Just then, a strong hand gripped his arm, pulling him out of his daze. It was Rigel. "Harry, we need to go. Now," his brother urged, his eyes full of concern yet edged with determination.
They hurried back to the clearing where the portkey lay. Once there, they quickly formed a circle, each laying a hand on the enchanted statue. Tonks, her eyes still vigilant, uttered the emergency activation phrase.
In an instant, the sensation of being compressed through a tube overwhelmed them, and they were yanked back to the familiar surroundings of Black Castle. The late-night fight seemed like a distant nightmare, yet the stark reality was there in each of their faces. They had escaped, but at what cost? Harry's eyes met Rigel's, and in that moment, the weight of the night settled upon them all.
Tonks, her vibrant hair now taking on a more subdued shade, quickly ushered everyone inside. The dark wood of the grand sitting room in Black Castle provided a stark contrast to the turmoil that had just unfolded. Rigel, ever the composed figure, called out, "Kreacher, hot chocolates for everyone, please."
As if materialising from the shadows, Kreacher appeared and set to work. Tonks, meanwhile, knelt by the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo powder into the flames, her face taut with professionalism as she reported the night's horrors to the Auror Office.
Walburga Black burst into the room, her nocturnal finery disturbed by the chaos. "What on Earth is going on?" she demanded, her eyes surveying the sea of distressed faces.
Rigel took a deep breath. "We were attacked, Grandmother. Likely by Death Eaters."
The room seemed to grow colder at his words, each individual gasping in disbelief, their hands clutching the warm mugs Kreacher had just distributed.
Walburga swiftly changed her focus. "Is anyone hurt?" Her eyes met each face intently, searching for signs of injury. A chorus of head shakes responded to her query.
Tonks stood up, brushing soot from her clothes. "I've just got confirmation. Right after we left, the Dark Mark was cast over the campsite."
Rigel then turned to Harry, who sat there, his face an unsettling mixture of stoicism and deep-rooted shock. Gently but firmly, Rigel pulled Harry into a brotherly hug. "What you did was right," he whispered into Harry's ear.
At that moment, the floodgates broke. Harry's frame shuddered as he burst into tears, his arms clutching Rigel as if his life depended on it. "If it was right," Harry sobbed, his voice choked with emotion, "then why does it feel so wrong?"
"Because you're a good person, Harry," Rigel spoke softly, holding Harry's face in his hands so that their eyes could meet. "A good person can't easily take a life, even when it's the only option. This was life and death, Harry. We came out on top. Don't blame yourself. Don't ever blame yourself."
