The New Princess
Hogwarts Year 1 - Arc 2 - Part 3 - Chapter 26
Countdown to Halloween - Part 1
In the remote outskirts of Little Hangleton, near the brooding shadows of Riddle Manor, lay a secluded clearing hidden from prying eyes. Here, beneath the oppressive canopy of ancient trees, an ominous ritual was about to unfold—a sinister union between two disparate entities, set to birth a grotesque abomination unseen since ancient times. Anguished cries from a Muggle family trapped inside a cage reverberated through the stillness of the night, their pleas unheard, or rather ignored, silenced by a ward cast by their captor.
Nearby, inside another cage, a magical creature—a troll—lay unconscious, momentarily powerless. It was a rare and unfamiliar sight for a being of its typically formidable stature. The family watched helplessly as their second daughter lay bound and vulnerable in the center of a sinister ritual circle. Awake and terrified, her cries of fear and pain shattered the night air. Ritualistic runes were etched into her skin in her blood, chilling reminders of the impending forced transformation she was about to undergo—a metamorphosis that promised to twist her innocence into something monstrous.
Amidst this suffocating darkness, cloaked in shadows as dense as the night itself, stood Valda, the newly risen Dark Lady of the Nega-force. Malevolence and beauty intertwined, her eyes blazed with unholy fervor as she meticulously double-checked the runes she had etched into the little girl. Finally satisfied with her work, she raised her wand. With swift, precise movements, she conducted the final steps of her twisted ritualistic symphony, each incantation casting tendrils of dark magic that merged with the ritual circle, coiling around the girl like serpents, willing and ready, poised to strike and transform her, yet held at bay by the unfinished verses of the Dark Lady's chant.
"Please, we'll give you everything we have, just spare her!" the father of the family begged, his voice cracking. He clutched the bars of the cage, his knuckles white with desperation.
Valda, however, was unmoved. The father's begging meant nothing to her. As cold and unforgiving as ice, she ignored his pleas. The girl was essential to her plans—the birth of a new minion—and nothing could be allowed to interfere.
Finished with a particularly challenging verse, Valda allowed herself a moment of respite to glance at the bedraggled father. "Why so glum?" she asked in an innocent voice that sharply contrasted with the twisted smile curling at her lips. "Your daughter is on the verge of receiving a great honor, one not bestowed for millennia. She is about to become something truly powerful —something extraordinary! Above all, she will serve me. You should be rejoicing, not begging," she added, her voice deceptively gentle, almost honey-sweet, a stark contrast to her true, cold nature.
The look of incredulous shock and horror on the father's face brought a genuine smile to Valda's lips. Savoring his reaction, her smile widened into a grin as sudden realization turned to stark horror, which then deepened into profound despair.
Moments later, as her brief respite ended, Valda refocused on her incantations. As the ritual neared its climax, her chant grew louder and harsher, the ancient words of a long-forbidden language blending seamlessly with the serpentine tongue of old. The runes etched into the girl's skin pulsed with a sickly purple glow, beating in rhythm with the malevolent swirl of snakelike tendrils that continued to coil around the helpless girl. The final syllables of the chant slipped from Valda's lips, and with them, a gust of wind swept through the clearing, extinguishing all light except for the eerie luminescence of the runes.
The family's cries escalated to a fever pitch before abruptly cutting off as a flash of sickly dark purple light enveloped the girl. Her body convulsed, her screams twisting into guttural howls that pierced the air and tore at her parents' hearts. Her limbs stretched and contorted, skin tearing and reshaping into a grotesque form. As the light receded, two predatory purple eyes glared from the darkness, revealing in all its dark glory the monstrous transformation of the once-innocent girl.
Valda stepped forward, her lips curling into a satisfied smirk. "Rise, my child," she commanded, her voice dripping with dark authority. "Rise and embrace your destiny as a guardian of the Nega-force, a harbinger of the new age."
The creature that had once been a young girl shifted and rose, eager to embrace its new role. Its eyes, once reflecting innocence, now blazed with an otherworldly light. The girl's parents could only watch in stunned silence as the abomination that had been their beloved daughter bowed before the dark sorceress. The sight was a final checkmate, a grotesque testament to Valda's twisted power.
With an air of reverent submission, the creature spoke in a voice both familiar and alien, its tone distorted by the monstrous transformation. "What is thy bidding... my Queen?"
The words reverberated through the clearing, a chilling declaration of their new reality. A shiver ran through the parents as their hearts shattered, the finality of their loss sinking in. All hope now lay extinguished in the shadow of Valda's malevolent triumph. The realization settled over them like a suffocating fog—everything they had cherished was now irretrievably lost.
At that very moment, as the young girl underwent her horrific transformation, Cornelius Fudge, the newly appointed Minister of Magic, cheerfully whistled a merry tune. He remained blissfully unaware of the grave threat brewing many kilometers away—a danger poised to cast a shadow over his country and all who dwelled within it.
Fudge was deep in final preparations for a crucial meeting with his Muggle counterpart, the Prime Minister. His mission was to "inform" the Prime Minister about the hidden world of magic that coexisted with the Muggle realm and, if necessary, to ensure the Prime Minister's silence through magical means. This task, as ancient as the Statute of Secrecy itself, was a typically solemn duty performed by every minister whenever a new Muggle Prime Minister was elected by the so-called "barbarian rabble."
Normally, he would have delegated this task, which he considered both unimportant and tedious, to an aide. However, unless he was truly indisposed, he was required to handle it personally. Magic itself mandated this, a remnant of the Magna Carta agreement of 1215. At that time, his predecessor had negotiated with Muggle King John Lackland, establishing the Statute of Secrecy that separated and concealed the magical world from Muggles. The agreement stipulated that the magical leader must personally inform the Muggle leader. Thus, regardless of his inclinations, it was his duty to carry out this role.
Just as Fudge was lost in thought, a voice cut through his reverie. "Ah, Minister, just the person I was hoping to see," said a random Ministry official—one of the many whose name he could never quite recall or care to. "Could I have a moment of your time, please?" she asked, her tone both insistent and polite.
"Sorry, not now. I have a very important meeting to attend," Fudge said curtly, his irritation apparent as he gave the Ministry official only a brief, dismissive glance. To him, she was just another face in the crowd—one of the countless people he had no interest in knowing or remembering. Judging by her modest attire, she was neither affluent nor influential. Most importantly, she seemed inconsequential to his continued tenure in office—the only sort of person he valued.
"Ah, but...I—" the woman began to protest, her voice tinged with anxiety and urgency. But Fudge cut her off with a wave of his hand, his patience wearing thin.
"Look, I'm an incredibly busy man," he snapped, his tone growing more impatient. "Is this critically important? Does it need to be addressed right this minute?"
The woman's face flushed slightly, her hands gripping a stack of documents tightly as if they were a lifeline. "Well, no, not exactly... but—" she attempted to explain, her voice faltering under the weight of Fudge's dismissive gaze.
Fudge, however, was already turning away. "Then please make an appointment with my secretary. I'll speak with you when I have the time," he said, his tone final. Without waiting for a response, he moved along briskly, eager to escape the encounter.
The woman watched his retreating figure, frustration, and helplessness etched on her face. In her hands, she clutched the latest reports detailing the recent Youma attacks, an invitation to the upcoming Youma seminar, and a desperate request from the head of the Aurors for additional funding. Funding which was crucial to bolstering defenses against the rising threat. While not exactly immediately critical, it was all undeniably important.
She sighed deeply, her shoulders slumping in defeat. As she watched Fudge disappear down the corridor, she felt a pang of disillusionment . Despite numerous attempts to get his attention, she was always met with the same indifferent response. It was as if her efforts were mere inconveniences to him, overshadowed by his agenda and convenience.
Shaking her head in resignation, she turned and began to walk away, her footsteps echoing softly in the empty corridor. The reports and the plea for funding would have to wait—just like always. With a final, weary glance at the documents in her hand, she prepared herself for another round of bureaucratic battles and disappointments.
Back in the clearing
Meanwhile, on the desolate outskirts of Little Hangleton, Valda stood with a malevolent smirk, her gaze fixed on the heavy cage that imprisoned the hulking troll. Her eyes gleamed with cruel anticipation.
With a dismissive flick of her wrist, Valda unlocked the cage. The mechanism groaned in protest as the heavy door creaked open, releasing the beast within and dispelling the enchantment that had kept it dormant. Her gaze remained unwavering as the troll's eyes snapped open, burning with a primal rage. A low, guttural growl rumbled from its throat, the sound resonating through the clearing as the troll's instincts awakened to its newfound freedom.
A serious treat to most wizards and witches, the troll's massive form heaved and trembled as it shook off the remnants of its enchanted slumber. With a series of grunts and snarls, it stretched its limbs and roared defiantly at the encroaching darkness. Its small, beady eyes darted around, seeking the source of its abrupt awakening.
For a few fleeting seconds, the clearing fell eerily silent, save for the soft rustling of leaves stirred by the wind. The stillness was almost tangible as if the very air was holding its breath in anticipation of the chaos about to unfold.
Valda's grin widened, her eyes sparkling with malevolent delight as the troll's gaze swept across its surroundings, searching for the source of its imprisonment and agitation.
Unbeknownst to the grieving family, who were still lost in their profound sorrow, the troll's nostrils flared as it detected their scent. Driven by an insatiable hunger, it lumbered out of the cage, its massive frame moving with a disturbing grace. The troll's instincts, honed by countless battles and survival in the wild, led it toward a new source of food . Though it sensed an unknown presence, its hunger was the stronger drive. Its lumbering steps carried it closer to the family.
However, its advance was suddenly blocked by an unexpected figure. Standing resolutely in the center of the clearing was the Youma, a silent sentinel with an aura of formidable authority. The Youma's presence was a powerful deterrent, a guardian tasked with protecting its mistress's carefully orchestrated plans. The humans still had a specific role to play , and becoming a troll's meal was not part of it—not yet. The Youma stood firm, an impenetrable barrier to the troll's advance.
The troll, driven by its primal urge to conquer and feast, let out a deafening roar, the sound echoing through the forest like a war cry.
The Youma's response was not one of sound but of cold, unwavering resolve—a defiant glare that seemed to challenge the troll with an unspoken message: "Come and try if you dare."
The two creatures faced off, their fierce gazes locked in a silent contest of dominance. The tension in the clearing mounted, each moment stretching into an agonizing eternity as the two formidable beings prepared for their clash. The forest seemed to hold its breath, bracing itself for the inevitable confrontation.
Cornelius Fudge stepped out of the fireplace and into the opulent office of the Muggle Prime Minister, brushing soot from his emerald-green robes with a disgruntled huff. Despite the journey being relatively short , it had been tiresome, and he muttered complaints under his breath about incompetent underlings and the monotonous ritual of informing Muggles about the magical world. The room was a testament to Muggle affluence, with its polished mahogany furniture, sumptuous velvet curtains, and an ornate clock ticking softly on the wall, marking time with unwavering precision.
Yet, despite the grandeur, the office was conspicuously empty. Fudge's eyes narrowed in irritation as he scanned the room. According to the portrait, the Prime Minister was supposed to be present. He grumbled about the inefficiency of the Muggle as he moved toward a mahogany desk, disregarding the fact that he had never actually made an appointment. His gaze soon fell upon a small dog bowl labeled "Padfoot" on the floor beside it. Curiosity piqued, Fudge squinted at the bowl and then noticed a large black dog sprawled comfortably in the Prime Minister's chair, its body relaxed and seemingly at ease.
Dismissing the dog as an irrelevant distraction, Fudge began to grumble. "Where is that blasted Prime Minister?" he muttered, his voice thick with irritation. The task of informing the Muggle leader about the hidden world of magic was tedious enough without dealing with unexpected delays. He turned toward a portrait on the wall—a stern-looking man whose eyes seemed to follow every movement—a secret magical spy tasked with monitoring the Muggle Prime Minister. Fudge was about to demand an explanation from the portrait when a low growl cut through his thoughts.
The dog's eyes snapped open, revealing a glint of malevolence . It growled menacingly, its lips curling to reveal rows of sharp teeth. The room's previously elegant atmosphere now felt heavy with a palpable sense of danger. Fudge, taken aback, stumbled backward as his irritation quickly turned to alarm.
"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, his voice tinged with both shock and disbelief.
The growl echoed through the room, reverberating off the polished walls and cutting through the silence with an ominous tone. Fudge's heart raced as he tried to make sense of the situation. He cast a wary glance at the portrait, hoping for some guidance or an explanation. But the stern figure remained silent, its painted eyes inscrutable as the black dog slowly rose from the chair, its menacing growl intensifying.
Fudge took a cautious step back. The situation was rapidly escalating from confusing to potentially dangerous. With a wary eye on the growling dog, Fudge began to prepare himself for whatever unexpected developments might arise next.
"Shoo!" Fudge called out, waving his hands frantically in an attempt to ward off the growling dog.
The dog barked loudly, a series of deep, resounding woofs that echoed off the room's polished walls. Fudge's patience frayed as he drew his wand, his voice trembling with a mix of fear and authority. "Stupefy!" he cried, but the dog deftly dodged the spell and darted under the desk, vanishing from sight.
Fudge's wand hand shook slightly as he stared at the space where the dog had disappeared. The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the ticking of the ornate clock. He felt the tension in his muscles, the realization dawning that the encounter was far from over. He scanned the room for the dog and braced himself for whatever might come next, hoping the situation would resolve before it escalated further .
At that moment, the office door burst open, and a woman in a smart suit stormed in. "What on earth is going on here?" she demanded, her eyes wide with feigned shock. Unbeknownst to Fudge, she was thrilled to see the 'other' minister, fully aware of his impending visit.
Still flustered by the unexpected turn of events, Fudge acted without thinking. He pointed his wand at her, his voice wavering with the weight of the moment . "Stay back, Muggle!" he shouted, momentarily forgetting where he was.
The woman, performing with an award-worthy display of alarm , screamed, "Security! Help! Intruder!" She pressed a button on the wall, and a loud alarm began to blare, filling the room with its shrill wail.
Alarmed and with his mind racing, Fudge did the first thing that came to him. "Stupefy!" he shouted again. The woman, secretly a Muggle-born and therefore well aware of the spell's non-lethal nature, allowed it to hit her. She collapsed gracefully to the floor, her call for help already having alerted others.
Within seconds, a squad of security personnel burst into the room. These were not ordinary guards but ones who had been briefed about the magical world and were part of the elaborate plan set by the Prime Minister. They moved swiftly, reacting aggressively as per protocol. "Drop to the floor! Hands where we can see them. NOW!" one of them commanded, his voice firm and authoritative as he and the others swiftly encircled Fudge.
Realizing the gravity of his situation, Fudge hesitated. "You don't understand—" he began, but his protest was abruptly cut off as a guard deftly disarmed him, knocking his wand from his hand. The wand clattered to the floor, and before Fudge could utter a single spell, his mind raced in panic. How had everything gone so wrong?
The guards moved swiftly, their actions precise and practiced as they began to restrain him. Fudge, now disarmed and surrounded, felt the weight of his predicament settle heavily upon him. His frustration and confusion mounted as he tried to make sense of the rapidly unfolding chaos, realizing that his carefully laid plans had been upended in a matter of moments.
"Unhand me! This is preposterous!" Fudge shouted, his voice rising in panic. He was accustomed to being in control, not subject to the commands of Muggle security guards.
The security staff ignored his pleas, their focus unwavering as they meticulously patted him down and confiscated his magical items with practiced efficiency. Fudge squirmed under their scrutiny, his face reddening with a mix of anger and embarrassment. The reality of his dire situation began to sink in; he had no means of escape, as the Muggles had already seized his emergency portkey. Any attempt to signal for help would be futile, as assistance would come far too late.
As the search continued, the black dog reappeared, padding over to Fudge with a glint of mischief in its eyes. With a sudden audacity, the dog lifted its leg and urinated on Fudge's pristine robes. The Minister of Magic stood frozen, a portrait of horror, disbelief, and disgust, helpless to prevent the added humiliation.
The security guards struggled to maintain their composure, their faces twitching with suppressed laughter as they completed their search. "All clear," one of them announced, barely concealing his amusement. They handcuffed Fudge with deliberate slowness and began to escort him out of the room.
"This is an outrage! You can't do this to me! I'm the Minister of Magic!" Fudge bellowed as he was dragged away.
"Hmm... seems he's not right in the noggin... figures," one of the guards remarked with a smirk as they led the fuming Minister down the corridor. The sound of Fudge's shouts gradually faded, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.
left alone, the black dog trotted to the center of the room and transformed in a swirl of magic into a tall, handsome man with a mischievous glint in his eyes—Sirius Black. He straightened his tie, which bore a striking resemblance to the Prime Minister's style, and burst into hearty laughter. The portrait on the wall remained blankly indifferent, thanks to a spell that had rendered it oblivious to the recent chaos.
Sirius took a moment to compose himself before walking back to the Prime Minister's desk. He poured himself a generous helping of fire whisky from a hidden stash and settled into the Prime Minister's chair with a satisfied grin. "Ah, that was fun," he mused, savoring the victory. Fudge would have to endure 'Her Majesty's hospitality' until help arrived, and Sirius was confident it would take days before anyone thought to check here.
After all, who would guess that the Minister of Magic could be overpowered by mere Muggles?
He grinned to himself , already imagining the headlines about the Minister of Magic being outwitted by a mere Muggle. The scandal would be the talk of the magical world—a perfect blend of embarrassment and irony. Sirius pictured the Daily Prophet splashed with news of their top official being captured by Muggles. Best of all, Fudge could do nothing about it. The magical world was supposed to be a secret, and even if the truth came out, the secrecy of the magical world remained intact.
"Mischief managed!" Sirius declared with a contented grin, leaning back in the Prime Minister's chair and savoring the moment.
Back in the clearing, the Youma stood its ground, seemingly unconcerned. At the last moment, it moved with a grace that belied its monstrous appearance.
The troll, though formidable, was struggling to gain the upper hand. Its powerful blows landed with thunderous impact, shaking the ground and sending tremors through the trees. Yet, the Youma was no mere beast; it was a dark entity from another realm, its essence tied to the Negaverse. It could not be so easily defeated.
With every strike, the Youma absorbed the troll's fury, glaring at it with cold contempt. It danced around the troll's attacks, counterstriking with precision. The troll's roars shifted from triumphant to fearful, and then to desperate, as it began to understand the futility of its efforts. The creature had no chance against this adversary. It needed to flee, but the realization came too late.
In a move as swift as lightning, the Youma struck. Its hands, glowing with otherworldly power, grasped the troll's head. The troll roared and struggled frantically, its two hearts pounding in its chest, but the Youma's grip was unyielding. Its roar turned into a squeal of terror as it tried to escape, but it was futile. The Youma drained its life force, visibly weakening the troll with each passing second. Then, with a sudden final twist, the battle was over. The troll's body went limp, its final roar dying as it sank to the ground .
The troll lay defeated, its labored breaths ceasing, its strength utterly spent. The Youma loomed over it—a being of darkness and power, standing in triumph over its fallen foe.
Savoring the moment, the Youma's hand hovered above the troll's form before descending slowly, claiming its prey.
Throughout all of this, Valda watched with gleeful satisfaction. Her newest minion's victory had been assured from the start.
What transpired next remained shrouded in darkness, a secret held within the shadows of the clearing, witnessed only by the dark lady... and the remnants of a broken family.
As dawn approached, the creatures, their dark mistress, and the remnants of the broken family vanished without a trace. Only a burnt patch of grass remained, a silent testament to the transformation that had taken place.
A new week dawned at Hogwarts, and the Great Hall was abuzz with the usual morning chatter. Students from all four houses gathered for breakfast beneath the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the clear, sunny October sky. With Halloween just around the corner and the first Hogsmeade weekend approaching, spirits were high among the students.
Aryanna sat with her friends, her plate heaped with scrambled eggs and toast, as she listened to the lively conversations around her. As always, Quidditch was the hottest topic of the day.
"Did you hear about the Quidditch trial results?" Susan asked eagerly, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"No, who made the team?" Aryanna asked, spreading butter on her toast.
"I heard Gryffindor is having major trouble finding a new Seeker," Hannah chimed in , drawing the group's attention. "With Charlie Weasley gone, they're struggling to fill the position."
"That wouldn't surprise me," an older Hufflepuff said with a smirk . "Now that their star player has moved on to professional leagues, maybe we'll have a better shot at the cup."
"I hope so," agreed a fifth-year Hufflepuff. "It's been over twenty years since we last won the trophy. It's about time we changed that."
"They had to scrape the bottom of the barrel this year," a second-year girl who had been listening in added. "I heard they ended up picking someone from third year—Ethan Hawksworth. I didn't even know he played Quidditch or could fly. My friend in Ravenclaw heard it from a friend whose sister is in Gryffindor. Apparently, Wood wasn't too thrilled about it and has been moping around the common room," she said with a chuckle. A few others at the table joined in, amused by the thought of Gryffindor's predicament, despite the occasional scowl from the Gryffindor table.
"Hmmm, interesting. What about our team? Who got in?" Aryanna asked, her curiosity piqued. She hadn't been able to attend the tryouts herself due to a meeting with the headmaster and was eager to hear the results.
Susan's face lit up with enthusiasm. "Well, Anthony Rickett from fourth year made it as our new Beater, replacing James who graduated last year," she said, nodding towards a Hufflepuff boy a few seats down who was grinning and chatting animatedly with his friends. Anthony gave her a thumbs-up before returning to his conversation. "But poor Matt didn't make the cut," she added, glancing at another boy nearby who looked dejected.
"Chin up, Matt, there's always next year," the boy next to him started to say, but their conversation was interrupted by the flutter of wings as the morning owl post arrived. Dozens of owls swooped into the hall, dropping letters and packages to their recipients. Aryanna's attention was drawn to the ancient, sickly-looking Weasley barn owl heading straight for the Gryffindor table.
"Oh no, not again," Aryanna groaned, recognizing the bird. "HOWLER!" she announced loudly, reaching for her wand with practiced ease. Instantly, the hall erupted into a flurry of spells as students and even professors shielded their food and ears.
All eyes turned to Ronald Weasley as the scarlet envelope dropped in front of him. The barn owl collapsed onto his plate, exhausted from its flight. The hall fell silent, anticipation hanging thick in the air.
Almost immediately, Molly Weasley's voice screeched out over the hall, booming and echoing off the stone walls.
"RONALD BILLIUS WEASLEY! HOW DARE YOU DISOBEY US AGAIN! FLYING WITHOUT PERMISSION? AND CAUSING DAMAGE TO HOGWARTS PROPERTY! DID YOU NOT LISTEN TO MY LAST WARNING? DID YOU THINK I DIDN'T MEAN WHAT I SAID? YOU'RE IN BIG TROUBLE, YOUNG MAN! JUST WAIT UNTIL I AND YOUR FATHER ARRIVE AT NOON… YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO…"
The envelope screeched louder in fury , its volume piercing through even the students' and professors' silencing spells. Ron, already red-faced, turned an even deeper shade of red, then white, as the Howler continued its tirade, berating him in front of the entire school for his latest escapades with Draco Malfoy. When the Howler finally ceased, Ron was visibly shaking and in tears. The envelope, having exhausted its scolding, promptly burst into flames and crumbled into ash, leaving the hall in a near-deathly silence. Ron rose and fled, eager to escape the many curious gazes now fixed upon him. The eerie quiet soon gave way to the usual hum of conversation, now interspersed with snickers and whispers.
Aryanna shook her head sympathetically as she watched Ron's hurried exit amid the curious stares.
"Wow, that was intense," Susan whispered, impressed by the drama. Aryanna nodded, feeling a pang of sympathy for Ron. She silently thanked her lucky stars once again that Molly wasn't her mother. Surely, that had to be a new record for the loudest Howler ever. Molly Weasley was truly living up to her reputation as the Queen of Howlers. Moments like this made Aryanna wonder if some of the Muggle stories about banshees might have roots in such formidable parental outbursts.
Aryanna considered what she had just witnessed. While she thought that sending a Howler was extreme, she couldn't deny it had been well-earned. Her gaze drifted across the room to the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was chatting merrily with his friends, his smug expression making her blood boil. Once again, the true bully and instigator gets off scot-free, she thought, frustrated that only one of the guilty parties was facing consequences . Or so it seemed... again.
"Honestly, sometimes I think he's the one who deserves a Howler, not Ronald," Aryanna muttered, her eyes narrowing at Draco. "There's simply no justice at times. Draco was just as much at fault as Ron."
Susan nodded in agreement, her expression mirroring Aryanna's distaste. "You're right. Ron gets all the blame, while Malfoy skates away with everything. But that's how it always seems."
"Well, maybe not everything," Hannah interjected thoughtfully. "There are always consequences, even if we don't see them right away ."
Aryanna scoffed, unconvinced as she watched Malfoy laughing with his friends. "What consequences? Look at him, acting like he's untouchable," she said, gesturing towards the Slytherin who was now laughing and mimicking Ron's dramatic exit.
"Besides getting whacked by McGonagall for damaging her window, you mean?" Susan hesitated, her voice lowering slightly. "Well... I've heard rumors. I might be wrong about Draco, but some families still use the Cruciatus Curse on misbehaving children," she added, a touch grimly.
Aryanna recoiled at the thought. "Surely you're joking," she said, appalled. "I mean, he deserves punishment, but not... that. It's too much." She eyed Malfoy with a mixture of disdain and worry. The Cruciatus Curse was infamous for its excruciating pain, and using it as discipline seemed far beyond cruel. No way was that a proper way to discipline a child.
Susan patted Aryanna's back gently, sensing her discomfort. "Come on, let's finish breakfast. We need to get ready for class. Professor Flitwick mentioned a test today. Hope you studied."
Aryanna managed a weak smile, grateful for the change in topic. She glanced once more at Malfoy, still feeling a pang of injustice, but turned her attention back to her friends as they prepared for the day ahead.
The trio resumed their breakfast, the earlier tension gradually dissipating as they discussed their classes and plans for the upcoming Hogsmeade visit. The Great Hall soon buzzed with life once more , the Howler incident fading into the morning's gossip.
"Hold on, Aryanna," a voice suddenly called from further down the table.
Startled, Aryanna looked up to see Cedric Diggory, the affable third-year she'd met during her first week at Hogwarts, smiling at her with eager anticipation . Cedric, already a popular figure and likely the next Quidditch team captain, was well known for his enthusiasm about recruiting fresh talent for his future Hufflepuff squad.
"Now that our morning drama is over... I have to ask. Are you considering trying out for the team next year?" Cedric's question came with an eager twinkle in his eyes. Aryanna raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by the direct inquiry.
"Your father was a star Chaser for Gryffindor. If you're anything like him, we'd love to have you. You are like him, aren't you?" Cedric pressed on, clearly excited about the prospect of adding another skilled player to the team.
A swirl of pride and nervousness filled Aryanna at the mention of her father, a renowned Chaser for Gryffindor during his time at Hogwarts. Though she had only heard stories and seen old photos, the legacy loomed large. "Uh, yes, I am," she said, trying to sound more confident than she suddenly felt under the spotlight.
Susan, ever the enthusiastic supporter, jumped in with a burst of excitement. "Arya would be amazing! I'm definitely going to try out too next year. You'll join us, won't you, Arya?" Her persuasive look was practically a plea. "Hannah, you too, right?" she added, turning to their other friend who looked both excited and a bit overwhelmed by the idea.
Aryanna hesitated, torn between the thrill of following in her father's Quidditch footsteps and the daunting challenge ahead. "Sure, why not? I've been flying for about three years now, so I should be able to handle it," she said, her voice growing stronger as her resolve solidified. The thought of not only flying but also competing on a Quidditch team was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Could she truly live up to the expectations? she wondered.
Susan's face brightened with unrestrained enthusiasm. "Oh, she definitely will!" she declared confidently, making Aryanna smile with gratitude. That did it! Aryanna decided. The decision was set in stone; she was going to try out for the team.
Cedric's excitement was palpable. "Excellent! Do you have your own broom yet?" he asked, his curiosity sparkling. "It's totally fine if you don't, especially being a first-year, but having a broom of your own makes a world of difference. School brooms… well, let's just say they're not exactly top-notch," he added with a knowing chuckle which was echoed by others nearby.
"Far from it," a nearby eve-dropping Gryffindor mumbled.
Susan, ever the proud friend, jumped in. "Oh, you bet she does! And it's not just any broom—it's the latest Nimbus Extreme Series racing broom. It's what the real pros use, even faster than the Nimbus 2000!" she declared with gusto . The announcement caused the now wide-eyed eve-dropping Gryffindor to choke on his toast.
Aryanna's cheeks flushed with a blend of pride and discomfort. Boasting about her extravagant broom was far outside her comfort zone. But considering the circumstances, it was understandable. Most students, even those from wealthy families, typically had brooms like the Nimbus 2000, or perhaps a Comet if they couldn't stretch to the Nimbus. Owning a top-of-the-line Extreme Series broom was practically unheard of at Hogwarts, and even among many professionals. To put it in perspective, if a Nimbus 2000 was akin to a luxury car, then the Nimbus Extreme was a high-end sports car— an exceptionally rare and exorbitantly expensive gem.
Cedric's eyes widened in astonishment. "No way! An Extreme Series broom? That's incredible!" he exclaimed, his excitement barely contained. He immediately turned to Adam, the seventh-year Hufflepuff and current team captain, who was engrossed in conversation at the far end of the hall. "Adam!" Cedric called out, his voice slicing through the hum of the Great Hall and drawing curious glances from both students and professors. "You need to hear this!"
Adam looked up, intrigued, and made his way over. "Cedric, what's going on?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"We might have just found our next star player," Cedric said, his voice a mixture of pride and barely suppressed excitement. He gestured towards Aryanna, who blushed under the unexpected spotlight. "She's got serious skills, and from what I've just learned, her broom is no joke," he added, his voice now a near whisper, catching himself before revealing the exact model.
"Oh, it's a joke alright—and a cruel one at that," Hannah muttered under her breath, feeling equally embarrassed by the sudden attention on Aryanna.
Adam approached Aryanna with a thoughtful expression. Cedric was known for his keen eye for talent, so if he was impressed, it was worth taking seriously. Adam scrutinized Aryanna with a blend of curiosity and evaluation.
"Potter, right?" he asked. Aryanna nodded, her nerves evident.
Adam's expression shifted, showing a hint of concern. "Ced, I know she's a Potter and James was a Hogwarts Quidditch legend, but that's not enough reason to—" Adam started, but Cedric cut him off.
"She's got a Nimbus Extreme," Cedric whispered urgently, his eyes gleaming with enthusiasm .
That was all Adam needed to hear. Any objections he might have had evaporated instantly. His eyes widened with immediate interest as he turned back to Aryanna, nearly reaching out to grab her before catching himself. "Potter!" he nearly hissed, making Aryanna lean back away from him . Noticing her discomfort, Adam forced himself to calm down. "Would you be interested in a tryout later today?" he asked, his tone more of a challenge than a request. It was clear he expected a positive response and wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.
Aryanna's blush deepened, caught between excitement and nervousness. Her father had indeed been a legend. One of the few to win the cup six times in a row, twice as a Seeker and four times as a Chaser, two of those as the team's captain. Adding her broom to the mix, it was no wonder they wanted her on the team. "I'd love that. Can my friends join too?" she asked, glancing at Susan and Hannah, who were eagerly awaiting her response.
Suddenly, Adam's expression soured slightly. "Wait a second... you're all first years, right?" he asked. The three girls nodded in unison, which made Adam groan in frustration.
"Damn it," Adam muttered under his breath. "Just my luck!" He clenched his teeth before turning to Cedric with a pointed glare. "Cedric, you know first years aren't allowed their own brooms," he hissed.
"True, but there's no rule against them flying," Cedric interjected confidently, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "We can work around the ownership issue. They just can't officially own one. Worst case, Hufflepuff will have a secret broom in our kit for next year," he said, his smile turning into a predatory smirk, his eyes twinkling with excitement already fantasizing about next year when he would be the next captain. "In the meantime, we'll get them all trained up. The other teams won't know what hit them."
Aryanna furrowed her brow in intrigue. "That's... interesting."
Adam chuckled. "There's that, at least, I guess," he said with a begrudging nod. "Too bad I'll be gone by then, but... it'll have to do. Welcome to Hogwarts, where things aren't always straightforward," he added with a grin as he turned back to face Aryanna. "Let's do it. We'll figure out the logistics after the tryouts. I'll let you know when—we need to book the pitch first."
Aryanna nodded, her heart racing with excitement and a touch of nervousness at the sudden turn of events. She wasn't exactly thrilled about potentially joining the team because of her broom, but if it meant she could fly, she would take the chance.
Suddenly, the warning bell for the upcoming morning classes rang out. They had to leave now if they wanted to make it on time.
"We'll be there," Aryanna said seriously, flashing a smile as she got up from the Hufflepuff table and turned to rush away.
As they hurried out of the Great Hall, Susan nudged Aryanna playfully. "You're going to be amazing out there. Just imagine soaring through the air. Just like your dad!"
Aryanna smiled gratefully, thankful for her friends' support amidst the whirlwind of emotions. She may never have truly known her father, as he had died on that awful Halloween day, but hearing those words always filled her with pride and a renewed determination to do him and her mother proud. This was her chance, and so, she decided to seize it.
Hogwarts October Board of Governors Meeting, October 28th,1991
The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the ancient stone walls of Hogwarts as the Board of Governors convened in the private meeting room adjacent to the Headmaster's office for their annual October meeting. Accessible only through the Headmaster's office, this secluded space ensured that their deliberations remained far from the prying eyes and ears of students. Over the next few hours, the board would vote on several crucial topics—decisions that could shape the future of Hogwarts for years to come.
The meeting was currently in recess, allowing Albus Dumbledore, seated at the head of the table, to observe the assembled members and reflect on recent changes. His eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses as he considered the board's transformation over the last two decades.
Just a few years ago, the board had been dominated by Lucius Malfoy and his loyal supporters. The untimely deaths of the elder Potters at the hands of Lord Voldemort had left the Potter seat vacant, removing a crucial counterbalance to Malfoy's influence. Coupled with the incapacitation of the Longbottoms that same week, this had created a power vacuum that Malfoy exploited, often opposing Dumbledore's proposals, most times seemingly out of sheer principle.
However, thanks to the return of Setsuna Potter, who now filled the previously vacant Potter seat, the balance of power had shifted back to what it had once been. Dumbledore recalled the difficult years when Malfoy's majority often resulted in votes swinging against him by a margin of two to three. But now, with Setsuna's presence, the outcomes were usually decided by a single vote—still uncertain, but far more manageable.
Dumbledore sighed inwardly, careful not to let his fatigue show. The days of Malfoy's unchecked dominance were over, that much was true, but the challenges of governance yet remained. As he looked around the room, he felt a renewed sense of optimism. With dedicated members like Setsuna, Hogwarts now had a brighter future ahead.
He allowed himself a moment to relax and glance at each board member, pondering how each would vote tonight.
To his left, on the professor's side of the board, were the heads of Hogwarts' four houses:
First, representing the brave and chivalrous Gryffindors, was Minerva McGonagall. Besides perhaps himself, she was the best Transfiguration professor he had ever seen. One of the most loyal individuals he had ever had the honor of knowing, Minerva was rather traditional—although she would not admit it.
Beside her, seated on a pillow on a raised stool altered to his size, was Filius Flitwick, head of the intelligent and scholarly house of Ravenclaw. The diminutive master of Charms always seemed to have a near-giddy expression on his face, appearing to enjoy himself immensely. Despite his small half-goblin ancestry making it difficult to look over the table, his presence was formidable, and his expertise, especially in charms, unparalleled.
To his left was the smiling form of the proud and stout—although he'd never say it to her face—Pomona Sprout. As the head of Hufflepuff, she led the house of the loyal, the hardworking, and those unafraid of toil . A true friend and, like Minerva, a loyal confidant.
Next to her, as the last of the Hogwarts four, sat the calm and cheerful, yet very shrewd and politically astute figure of Andromeda Tonks. Under normal circumstances, as the true head of Slytherin, it would have been Severus Snape in her place tonight , but due to certain difficulties, the strict professor was indisposed, and Andromeda had the honor of standing in as the head of the cunning and ambitious Slytherins. However, as she was only standing in, she had no vote. Still, as a former Black, one of the most politically savvy - and dangerous - houses in the magical world, even as disowned by that house as she was, she was not someone to be underestimated, and her opinion would no doubt be highly valued.
Along with himself, in his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts and the tiebreaker vote, should it be needed, this made up the Hogwarts part of the board.
Meanwhile, facing him on his right, on the parent side of the board, there was:
Setsuna Potter, the rising star of the wizarding world, the newest member of the board, adoptive aunt of the Girl Who Lived, regent of the powerful and ancient houses of Potter and Peverell, the secret Sailor Guardian of planet Pluto... and most importantly for today's proceedings, his ace against the more uncompromising members of the board. With the death of little Aryanna's parents that fateful Halloween, he had feared the House of Potter lost, along with the votes and safety net that came with it. At a minimum, he had expected to wait for Aryanna to come of age before the house could reclaim its seat, that is, if her future husband allowed her to retain it and not use it himself. He had anticipated a long and difficult battle of wits and will, filled with compromises against the other members of the board , especially Lucius Malfoy. Thankfully, with Setsuna standing in for the Little Galactic Princess-to-be this was now no longer necessary. Or so he hoped.
Not so for the woman who sat beside her. Proud, strict, and uncompromising, Augusta Longbottom sat with her eccentric signature vulture hat, which she always wore wherever she went. A no-nonsense woman and a proud pureblood traditionalist, Augusta was a formidable presence. Albus sighed as he thought back to Neville's parents. Alongside the Potters, they were some of the most open-minded purebloods he had ever known and two of his greatest supporters. Alas, with Augusta as regent of House Longbottom, there was no hope of reclaiming House Longbottom's unwavering support anytime soon.
Albus was uncertain but hopeful about the next member of the board. Next up was the loyal and very influential Amelia Bones. She was from an old pureblood family, the current head of the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and the equivalent of the muggles' Minister of Law and Defense combined. A very powerful woman indeed and usually one he could count on to do the right thing. The problem with her, however, was that as powerful as she was, as a high-ranking member of the Ministry—and thereby defender of the Ministry's ideals—she was sometimes forced to vote in certain ways as it was expected of her. She could vote against the Ministry if she so desired, but doing so could weaken her position with those who controlled the Ministry. As such, she had to be very careful at times with her opinions and pick her 'targets' wisely. Luckily, Hogwarts was usually deemed outside most of the Ministry's control and left alone to run itself. As long as that remained so, Albus could see no true issues with Amelia anytime soon.
Next up was the 'dark horse' of the board: Cyrus Greengrass. Albus was never certain how he would vote, but of all the members, Cyrus was probably the most neutral—a delightful change from the usual status quo. Unfazed by the political grandstanding of the other board members, Cyrus was not your typical pureblood lord and rarely voted as expected by his peers. Well known for dealing with both the Muggle and magical worlds, he was not as much a traditionalist as most diehard purebloods, much to their ire. This had made him a sort of outcast—yet highly respected—among his pureblood peers. He would have the most level-headed opinion and be the one to convince if one wanted to succeed. In the end, he would most likely be the one—like it had been many times before—who would be the deciding vote in any decisions tonight.
Albus's eyes shifted to the final few members of the board, and he couldn't help but groan mentally, though he was careful not to let his disdain show on his face.
And then there were those. The dark hardliners and blind followers. Those who were most likely to vote against any motion unless they stood to gain from it in some way . Led by the extremely influential House of Malfoy, primarily due to its vast political connections and monetary power. Lucius Malfoy, was well-known for voting against any motion on sheer principle, especially if he, Albus Dumbledore, supported it, unless he profited from or agreed with it in some way.
The last two remaining members of the board, from Houses Parkinson and Nott, were long-time staunch supporters of the Malfoys due to pre-existing and impending family ties. In the case of House Parkinson, whose daughter was promised to Lucius's son, they were expected to vote in favor of House Malfoy. Similarly, both houses maintained political agreements and connections that aligned them with the Malfoys. Unless they felt strongly about something—strongly enough to defy the Malfoys—they would nearly always vote however Lucius voted.
"Welcome back, everyone," he began, capturing their attention as the meeting resumed. His voice carried the weight of authority and warmth. "Now that we have had our small break, we have several important matters left to discuss before we can call it a night, so let us begin without further ado. I don't know about all of you, but I've had a long day, and I have some... parchment work to complete before I turn in for bed," he lied convincingly. In truth, he had already completed the parchment work and was looking forward to reading a certain comic book he had managed to 'recover' from a student, but nobody needed to know that.
Seeing the agreeable nods from the other board members, Dumbledore gestured to a stack of parchment in front of him. "As you all know, there has been a growing interest in reintroducing several subjects that were previously canceled for one reason or another throughout the last few decades and centuries. To my eternal shame, I have only recently had the time to look into this, and I have realized that Hogwarts is quickly losing its position and prestige as one of the foremost centers of education in the world due to the limitations put on us by the current curriculum. This has resulted in fewer subjects being taught, fewer job opportunities for Hogwarts graduates outside of the British Isles, and consequently, a decline in the number of students applying to Hogwarts over the past few years. Obviously, this is not acceptable , and with your blessing, I intend to remedy this post-haste. As such, I hereby propose to reintroduce subjects that were once taught but were abandoned for various reasons, such as Alchemy and other specialized fields of magic like warding, enchanting, and healing."
A few of the board members looked at him with interest.
Minerva McGonagall, seated to his right and always his staunch ally, nodded approvingly. "I wholeheartedly support this initiative, Albus. Reintroducing these subjects will greatly enrich our students' education and better prepare them for their future endeavors. It's high time we made this move."
Filius Flitwick's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm. "Absolutely. Enchanting is a subject with rich historical significance. I've always wondered why it was discontinued. Our students would benefit immensely from its inclusion."
Pomona Sprout added with equal enthusiasm, "And Healing, of course. It's a crucial subject. I've never understood why it was removed. Its value is undeniable."
"Ministry interference, corruption, and sheer incompetence, that's why," Amelia Bones interjected, drawing everyone's attention. "A minister a century ago was uneasy about rival families having access to protection and healing. So, he weakened the curriculum to ensure only certain families had access to these subjects," she explained.
"Let me guess," Augusta Longbottom chimed in with clear disdain, "those 'certain families' were powerful purebloods loyal to him?"
"Exactly," Amelia confirmed with a nod.
"And? The other pureblood families in power just agreed with this?" Cyrus Greengrass, the head of the Greengrass family, asked incredulously.
"Of course not," Amelia replied with a smirk. "They removed the minister from power that very night—murdered him in his sleep, right in the safety of his home . Seized the opportunity to destroy his whole family at the same time , root and stem. But the damage was done. He had already enacted the law using emergency powers during the goblin war, and they conveniently blamed the goblins."
"Cutthroat politics at its finest," Andromeda Tonks murmured with a wry smile . 'Typical Black maneuvering,' she thought.
"But if he was overthrown, why wasn't the bill reversed and the subjects reintroduced?" Pomona asked.
Amelia rolled her eyes. "Because it suited them not to. Muggle-borns and half-bloods were gaining power and threatening some of the less influential pureblood families…"
Augusta's eyes lit up with understanding as she finished Amelia's thought. "So, rather than reversing the bill, they altered it to maintain their advantages, didn't they?"
Amelia nodded with a grin. "Exactly. They amended it so that students could only study these subjects through apprenticeships. This ensured that while Muggle-borns and half-bloods were allowed to apply, they were rarely accepted and thus effectively barred from these classes…"
"…since only purebloods were considered worthy of apprenticeships after leaving Hogwarts, and even then, only on a one-to-one basis," Augusta finished for her.
"Ah, that explains it," Cyrus said, nodding in comprehension.
"Once again, cutthroat politics at its finest," Andromeda Tonks muttered, this time with a look of disdain.
"Which is precisely why we need to ensure these subjects are reintroduced and accessible to all students," Dumbledore concluded. "To restore Hogwarts to its rightful status as a premier institution and to provide equal opportunities for every student."
"Pomona, what is your stance on the proposed changes?" Dumbledore asked, seeking her input to steer the meeting.
Pomona Sprout's face brightened with a warm, encouraging smile. "I'm in full agreement. The more diverse subjects we offer, the better equipped our students will be to navigate the complexities of the magical world."
With a nod of approval, Dumbledore turned his attention to Lucius Malfoy, anticipating a challenging stance from his usual adversary.
Lucius leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers thoughtfully. "While I see the value in these subjects, how do we plan to integrate them into the existing curriculum without overburdening the students?" he asked after a moment.
Dumbledore's smile was gentle and reassuring. "We propose to offer these subjects as electives, allowing students to choose them based on their interests and strengths."
Lucius nodded, seemingly satisfied. He had initially considered opposing the motion to keep the subjects from Muggle-borns, but the prospect of avoiding additional costs for Draco's apprenticeship was appealing. He would simply find another way to ensure purebloods maintained their advantages. 'Yes,' he thought, 'this arrangement could work out perfectly.'
"And where will the additional funding come from?" Lucius asked after a pause. "These subjects are valuable and, while necessary, costly. We'll also need to hire new professors," he said, fixing Dumbledore with a scrutinizing gaze.
Setsuna Potter chose that moment to speak up. "The Houses of Potter and Peverell will cover the initial costs, at least until Hogwarts' standards rise and tuition fees can be adjusted accordingly," she said with a smile.
Lucius raised an eyebrow. "How very... generous of you," he said, his gaze sharp. "And what's your ulterior motive? I assume you want something in return?"
"Nothing at all," Setsuna replied smoothly. "Consider it a donation."
"Very well," Lucius said, apparently finding no reason to oppose. "In that case, I support the motion. We appreciate your generosity."
Dumbledore's smile widened. "Excellent. Let us proceed with the vote."
With affirming nods from each board member, Dumbledore raised his wand. A gleaming globe emerged from the center of the table, one of only two in existence, designed to ensure the solemn integrity of each member's vote.
Usually reserved for only the most pivotal decisions that would shape Hogwarts for generations, this powerful artifact was rumored to have been gifted to Merlin by his enigmatic wife—a woman shrouded in secrecy, often whispered to be a goddess. Never once seen in public, her true identity had remained a mystery to all but Merlin himself. The globe guaranteed that each board member's vote reflected their genuine intention, impervious to coercion or the influence of any potion or spell. Originally a fixture of the legendary Round Table of Camelot, it served as a counter against traitors and those with ulterior motives during votes. It had found its way to Hogwarts as a gift from Merlin to the castle's founders in his final days.
Setsuna Potter, known for her calm demeanor and hidden power, smiled as she observed the globe, remembering the man it had once belonged to fondly. "Sometimes," she mused quietly to herself , "secrets are best kept secret."
"All in favor of adding the lost subjects and employing new professors as necessary to teach them, please raise your wands now," came Dumbledore's voice, snapping her from her memories.
Every wand in the room began to glow as each board member raised their wands into the air, indicating unanimous agreement.
"The Ayes have it by a count of 12 votes to nil. I repeat, the Ayes have it. The motion is hereby passed. I will begin hiring new professors by tomorrow and hope to have the new subjects in place by the start of the next school year at the latest," Dumbledore said happily. 'One hurdle down, another on the way,' he thought as he turned his attention to the next topic.
"Now... let us move on to the next and final part of tonight's proceedings," he paused for effect before continuing, "a proposal for a new school uniform," he finished, capturing the attention—and raising a few eyebrows— of everyone in the room.
"As you all know, it has been a tradition for the past few centuries to allow the students the honor of changing the school uniform once every hundred years. The last change brought us the uniform we see today. This uniform has served us well for the last hundred years, but it seems the time for change is upon us once more . I have here a ... recommendation from two students, which I would like all of you to review. Should we find it acceptable, the students will first be allowed to try the new uniform on a probationary basis. During this period, students can choose to wear either the existing uniform or the new one. If no issues arise, the students will vote on which uniform to keep. The winning uniform will then either be officially instated or reinstated as the Hogwarts uniform for the next hundred years."
Albus paused and smirked, his eyes twinkling merrily as he eagerly anticipated his staff's reactions. "Some of you may be... surprised, perhaps even appalled by what the students have proposed. However, I ask that you keep an open mind and remember that fashion, like many other things, evolves over time. Personally, I find the idea delightful, but ultimately, it is for you to decide whether we give the proposal the chance I believe it deserves."
With those words, he waved his wand, and several pieces of parchment flew over to each board member. 'This,' he thought, ' is going to be interesting!'
The dungeon of Riddle Manor was shrouded in dim, flickering light from the torches mounted on the cold, stone walls. Shadows danced menacingly, thickening the already heavy atmosphere. Lady Valda-Mort, her face cast in an otherworldly glow by the fire, stared deeply into the flames, lost in thought. Beside her, Quirinus Quirrell stood with an air of subdued pride, his head bowed in deference, awaiting her command.
But this was no longer the Quirrell of old. His body had been possessed by a youma, a dark entity from another realm, now serving as Valda's general and spy within Hogwarts. The youma had no care for the students or any collateral damage that might ensue.
Valda's voice, cold and sharp, cut through the silence. "Have you carried out my instructions to the letter?" she asked, her gaze still locked on the flames, as though it were beneath her to look at her subordinate.
"Y-yes, M-Mistress," Quirrell stammered, his voice carrying an unnatural resonance. "The t-troll is r-ready and w-waiting. It will be r-ready to attack on Halloween as p-promised."
"Excellent," Valda said, her blue eyes narrowing with a glint of satisfaction. "And lose the stammer while you're here. It's rather irritating," she added with a dismissive wave, earning a curt nod from Quirrell.
"And your sibling?" she inquired, her tone laced with impatience.
"Ready, resting, and awaiting your command, my Queen."
Valda's lips curled into a thin, cruel smile. "Good. Very good!" she cackled softly, her voice carrying an almost childlike glee. She finally turned to face Quirrell.
"Are you certain it will be effective?" she asked, her gaze cutting through him like a knife.
Quirrell nodded firmly. "It may be a mere troll now, but when the time comes, it will be a force to be reckoned with. It will not disappoint."
Valda's smile widened into a sinister grin. "Perfect. This will be a splendid test for Dumbledore and his precious school," she said, rubbing her hands together with malevolent anticipation.
"I've waited years for this moment," she continued, her voice dripping with venom as memories of past failures and near encounters flashed through her mind. "The old fool won't know what hit him," she declared fiercely, snapping out of her reverie. "That was the past; this is now," she reminded herself with a shake of her head.
She watched as Quirrell unlatched the heavy lid of a nearby crate and pushed it open. Inside, bound in enchanted chains, was a hulking mountain troll. Its rough, grey skin and brutish features were contrasted by the malevolent glow in its eyes, a testament to the youma's dark influence.
The troll's nostrils flared, and it let out a deep, guttural growl as it strained against its bonds. Valda remained unmoved, her gaze fixed on the creature with cold satisfaction.
"Take it to Hogwarts," she commanded. "Release it within the castle on Halloween night. Let it sow chaos. Let it instill terror in those who dare oppose me."
She paused, her eyes narrowing. "And ensure you are present to witness the old fool's downfall. I want to view it in a Pensieve."
Quirrell's eyes glinted with malevolent light. "As you wish, Mistress. I will stay close to the old man. The students will provide ample distraction, and he will undoubtedly rush to their aid... and then he will fall."
Valda's smile widened into a ghastly grin. "Perfect. Remember, Quirrell, unleash chaos with abandon. I want Dumbledore to feel such profound despair that he comprehends my true power before the end. Only then will I allow him to beg for death... and grant it to him graciously."
Quirrell nodded, stepping forward to transport the troll to Hogwarts. A small, swirling purple portal began to materialize nearby, its surface rippling like liquid night. It would lead him and the troll to the forest outside Hogwarts' wards, where it would remain hidden until the time was right.
As he began to push the crate, troll and all, toward the portal, Valda's chilling voice cut through the air once more. "Now, let's see how Dumbledore handles this. Check!" she declared with a cold, cruel satisfaction. Her fingers glided over the chessboard, moving a rook with deliberate, mocking precision, positioning it ominously near a white king whose face bore an unsettling resemblance to Albus Dumbledore.
With a final flicker of torchlight, the dungeon fell silent once more, save for the eerie, high-pitched echoes of Valda's deranged laughter, reverberating through the cold, stone chambers.