Lucius Malfoy stared at the fuming visage of one of his mistresses and smirked. He could admit he loved them being shy or sensual at all times but it was so more fun to watch them squirm. Especially when they wanted something from him.
Something he wasn't going to give.
The funny part was, they knew it was futile to attempt to change his mind, but he couldn't deny that he felt exhilarated at their attempts.
"I can't believe you! After all this time-you promised me!" she cried. "You said nothing will happen to my family!"
"Oh Lavinia," he shook his head, coming closer. "Do you have any idea how ravishing you look?"
She backed up against the desk but he kept approaching. "Please tell-" she was cut off as he shoved her back and kissed her full on the lips.
As always, despite all of her massively exaggerated misgivings, she responded in kind.
He pulled away and she heaved, her blue eyes a pool of desire and worry. He loved that on her.
His hand travelled down to her bubble butt. "Anger doesn't suit you," he said huskily, squeezing.
Lavinia was still breathless as she held her hands on his chest, pushing him away. He let her. It was always fun to see her resist and then given in.
"They had Gerald...they tortured him-and y-you!" she shot at him in anger, "you promised nothing like this would happen!"
Lucius looked at her in disappointment. "I promised to protect your family as long as I could, my dear," he explained, "But the Dark Lord is not someone I can disobey."
The Lady Greengrass' eyes filled with tears. Lucius felt his breeches become uncomfortably tight.
"You promised!" she shrieked, her cheeks attaining a dangerous rosy tint. "You said my family will be safe as long as I-"
She didn't finish and he kissed her again. She shrank away before he could even get another taste.
"As long as you what, sweetheart?"
The honey-blonde witch wept and glared but didn't utter another word. He felt a burst of anger and humour. "As long as you promised to be my whore?"
She flinched and looked away.
He smirked, grasping at her chin to make her look at him. Her stormy orbs bore into his and he resisted the urge to throw her on the table and take her right then and there. "Don't tell me you don't enjoy our time together," he drawled, rubbing his hands up and down her sides, "You've always been willing, Lavinia, haven't you?"
He saw nothing but shame in her eyes. And betrayal, of course. The latter made him smile inwardly.
He may be a downright bastard, but that didn't mean he didn't like to see his women own their hypocrisy.
"Believe me, I had no idea that the Dark Lord will insist on calling every pureblood to arms for him," he sneered, telling the truth. "Your husband was one of the few who were caught." When his witch didn't react, he leaned closer, his breath against her temple. "But it's not the end of the world for you and your family. They'll be under the Dark Lord's protection," she looked at him then, "Let's sit down and talk about it."
He summoned two chutes and a bottle of firewhisky. "Your favourite," he smiled as benignly as he could.
Something seemed to shift within her though and she pushed against him, escaping his confines.
"Yo-you scoundrel!" she hissed, tears running down her cheeks. "I should've never listened to you! Never! Gerald-oh! He knows! I've alre-oh-I've been such a horrible-my life is ruined!"
"It doesn't have to be," he said without regret.
"You're a liar!" she retorted angrily, "A filthy son of a-and now I'm ruined. Gerald already suspects something-he'll tell Daphne and oh! You've ruined me!" she wailed.
Lucius felt his smile slipping a bit.
"Don't tell me that you suddenly feel bad for years of willingly cheating on your magically wedded husband!" he snapped.
"No!"
He ignored her. "All of this," he gestured, between the two of them, "was with your consent. Or did you forget?" he sneered with venom, "that you came to me all those years ago, begging for help?"
"Shut up!" she shrieked in rage, "shut up!"
"No I won't!" he roared and she stumbled as his magic flared. He looked at her cowering form in detest. "Go back to your husband and tell him about me, about us! Look if I care!"
She moved away hastily, heading for the door.
"Go tell him that I was always your first choice," he called after her, "when you were a blushing maiden and when you were married to a man who never deserved you!"
He didn't bother going after her. She could run away from his Manor but could she really run away from him?
Did she even want to?
He didn't think so.
-_-_ .
His back pressed against the cool wall of the DMLE interrogation room, Harry tightened his grip on the Invisibility Cloak, blending seamlessly into the dimly lit surroundings. The flickering overhead lights cast unsettling shadows on the prisoner seated at the center of the room. The man was slumped in his chair, wrists bound by heavy magic-suppressing bracelets, his eyes rolling in different directions as if he were barely aware of where he was.
Harry studied him closely. The prisoner's disheveled hair was matted with sweat, and drool pooled at the corner of his slack mouth. His lips moved occasionally, but the words that escaped were unintelligible—a garbled mess that seemed less like a language and more like the remnants of a broken mind trying to piece itself together.
The two Aurors in the room were visibly frustrated.
"It's no use!" exclaimed the younger, bronze-haired one, pacing back and forth. "This is our eighth try, and we're getting nowhere."
The older Auror, with a head of grey hair and a weary expression that spoke of years in the field, folded his arms and sighed heavily. "We don't have the luxury of giving up. This is our only lead, and if we lose it, we've got nothing. Not a single thread to pull."
The younger man gestured wildly toward the prisoner. "But look at him! He doesn't even seem to know his own name, let alone anything useful. Whatever happened to him—whatever _they_ did to him—it's made him useless."
The older Auror's eyes darkened, and his voice dropped into a grave tone. "That's exactly the point. He wasn't like this when we brought him in. Someone got to him while he was in our custody. It's a conspiracy, plain and simple."
Harry stiffened at the word _conspiracy_. His instincts had been screaming at him that this entire situation was more than it appeared, but hearing it confirmed out loud only deepened his unease. His gaze flicked back to the prisoner, whose empty eyes seemed to bore into nothingness.
The Aurors continued to argue in low voices, their conversation now centred around reviewing the security of the DMLE cells. Harry tuned them out, his mind racing. If the prisoner had been tampered with while in custody, then whoever was behind this was either extraordinarily skilled or had access to someone inside the department.
After several more minutes of heated discussion, the older Auror clapped a hand on his colleague's shoulder. "Let's step out and regroup. We need to recheck the ward integrity and figure out how this happened." The younger Auror nodded reluctantly, and the two exited the room, leaving the prisoner alone with Harry.
As the door clicked shut, the faint sound of high-heeled boots echoed from outside. A moment later, the door creaked open again, and Bella stepped inside. Her sharp features were set in a neutral expression, but her dark eyes glimmered with purpose as she scanned the room.
"Come out, Harry," she said softly, her voice carrying easily through the now silent room.
Harry slipped off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into his pocket. "That took long enough," he muttered, stepping forward.
Bella clicked her tongue. "These things require subtlety." Her eyes flicked to the prisoner, and she frowned. "You see what we're dealing with, don't you? He's a shell of what he was yesterday."
Harry nodded. "Someone cursed him."
"Or fed him something."
"And they could still be in the Ministry?"
"Yes, but that is for me to handle," Bella's lips thinned in thought, but then pointed at the shackled incoherent man, "Here is why I need you. If there's even a shred of coherent thought left in that head of his, I want you to find it."
Harry hesitated. "You're sure? If his mind's as broken as it looks, this could get... messy."
Bella's hardened gaze didn't let up. "I wouldn't ask this of you if I thought there was any other way. But we need answers, Harry. Whatever's going on here—it's big. Bigger than any of us want to admit."
Harry took a deep breath and approached the prisoner. His wand felt cool and steady in his hand as he pointed it at the man's temple. "Legilimens."
The world around him blurred as he was pulled into the prisoner's mind. It was chaos—memories floated aimlessly, like fragments of shattered glass suspended in midair. Harry moved cautiously, wading through the mess. Most of the memories were incomprehensible flashes of colour and sound, but as he pushed deeper, he began to find fragments that made more sense.
One memory stood out. It was faint, flickering like a candle on the verge of going out, but it was clearer than the others. Harry reached for it, seeing a large group of wizards gathering in a dilapidated hall but frustratingly enough, he couldn't touch it, instead, he was suddenly standing in a dark alleyway. The prisoner was there, speaking in hushed tones with a cloaked figure.
"You'll get your payment after the World Cup Finals," the figure was saying. "Just make sure you're there when we call."
The man nodded eagerly. "I'll be there. But what's the point of gathering all those people?"
The figure's response was cold and curt. "You don't need to know that. Just follow orders."
The memory dissolved, and Harry was yanked back into the present. He staggered slightly, his breathing uneven. Bella was at his side in an instant, her hand steadying his arm.
"What did you see?" she asked.
Harry recounted the memory in detail, his voice low but steady. As he spoke, Bella's expression darkened, her usual composure giving way to a rare flicker of anxiety.
"They're planning something at the World Cup," she said grimly. "Just as we thought."
Harry nodded. "It sounds like they're using the event to gather people for... something. But I don't know what."
"How many were there?"
Harry thought back to the hall in which he'd seen scores upon scores of people. "Hundreds, probably more."
Bella paced the room, her mind clearly racing. "We'll need to alert the ambassadors. This could be catastrophic if it's not stopped."
Harry hesitated. "I agree, but I think we should be careful. If we raise the alarm too loudly, there will be too many questions for you to answer."
"I'm not even sure it's possible to stop them now," she speculated. "We have little time and no way of knowing their goal before the matches."
"We have to be ready for anything," Harry murmured. "There will be too many in attendance to know who is there for mischief and who's not."
"It won't be safe." Bella stopped pacing and fixed him with a serious look. "I would rather that you and the Potters don't attend. It's too risky."
Harry's shook his head. He had been anticipating the World Cup Finals for weeks—not because of the Quidditch, but because he knew from his old world of what _could_ happen there. He couldn't explain it to Bella, not without revealing the truth about where he came from, but he needed to be there.
"I won't skip it," he said firmly. "If something's going to happen, I need to be there to stop it."
Bella's eyes narrowed. "You're putting yourself in danger."
"I know," Harry admitted. "But I won't be alone. You and Sirius will be with me."
Bella still looked unconvinced. "And what about John? He's been looking forward to the Finals for months. If you go, he'll want to go too."
Harry winced. Why was this always so complicated with his twin? "I'll talk to him," he said, though the words felt hollow even as he spoke them.
"And Rose?"
"She'll understand when I tell her that it's too dangerous."
"And she won't ask why you'redetermined to launch yourself into danger, I suppose," she snarked.
Harry winced. "Bella, you have to understand, I need-"
"No I don't, Harry," Bella crossed her arms, her expression hard. Harry thought she was going to be asking too many questions now. "But this isn't just about you. If something happens, and you are caught in the crossfire..."
"I know the risks," Harry interrupted, his voice determined. "But sitting back and doing nothing isn't an option. We need to be proactive, not reactive."
"Lily will kill me," Bella said flatly.
"I'll talk to Mum and Dad before we attend."
Bella studied him for a long moment before finally sighing. "Fine. But we do this my way. No risks, no heroics. If anything seems off, we're pulling you out immediately."
Harry cracked a grin, relief flooding through him. "I can't promise no heroics but I agree with everything else."
Bella glared at him but he didn't relent.
As they left the interrogation room, Harry's mind was already racing with plans. The World Cup Finals were no longer just an event to watch—they were a potential battleground.
And Harry knew better than anyone that battles were rarely won without sacrifices. He even wondered if things were going to be the same as before.
He thought back to how he'd been so excited to be attending the Quidditch World Cup with the Weasleys and Hermione and it almost felt like a different life now. Then, he had been a naive little kid who was just happy to get some love from a family who'd so generously taken him in.
But he could no longer reminisce the bygone with any sliver of happiness as it'd been tainted by the actions of his so called friends.
As he pressed the button for the Atrium on the lift, Harry began to think of ways to make his parents understand that he wanted to attend the Cup, regardless of the impending dangers it promised.
He didn't think it was going to be simple task.
-_-_ .
Bellatrix cursed, raising some stares as she pushed her heels to the limit in stalking out of the Ministry atrium. She was bloody late to her own meeting.
Her movement was slowed somewhat by a familiar voice interrupting her dark musings.
"Black! Leaving so early?"
She sighed but acknowledged him. Stephan Dunn was one of the few Aurors in her department that were tolerable enough to talk.
"I'm late to a Family meeting," she said truthfully.
He nodded, giving her a knowing look which then transformed into a conspiratory grin. "I hope the Minister wasn't so hyper today." Bella laughed.
"I don't think she's gonna have a chance to calm down before we get to the end of the matter."
The Auror looked annoyed. "There's only 9 days remaining for the Cup."
"Don't worry, we're making good progress," she said, "Even if we don't end up catching them all, we do at least have plans to handle any trouble."
"It still isn't...ideal, isn't it?" he said, with reluctance.
Bella said nothing despite feeling his gaze on her. Ideal was a foreign word when you were looking after an entire country. You just did your best with what you had. Optimal, as she'd told herself, was the correct word.
Stephan looked at his watch. "Well, I'm off to our nightly patrol."
Bella got ready to take her turn in the floo. "Good luck!"
Six minutes later, she was entering a cosy parlour in the Potter Manor to see that the adult members of the Family including Harry were all assembled and enjoying a quiet conversation.
Her presence brought almost every eye upon her.
Harry got up to hug her as she took a chair.
"What's the status of the threat?" Lily asked without preamble.
Bella sighed. "Not good. We caught close to fifty hostiles today," she rubbed at her temple. "We're not confident that that number is correct."
"How many have you caught so far in total?" James questioned.
"Two-hundred and fifty-eight."
The family sat contemplating on the number for a moment.
Sirius leaned forward. "It wasn't by accident, was it?"
Bella shot him a nod. "Doesn't look like it. Otherwise we wouldn't be so consistent with our raids."
"Then we're not looking in the right places."
Lily huffed. "Not all of us speak the police language, you know."
Bella pursed her lips but didn't retort. From her brief experience with the Muggle world, she knew the police were supposed to be the Aurors for Muggles. "We don't think we are catching these many hostiles by accident. We are of the opinion that they wanted to be caught."
"To what end?" James asked.
"No."
Everyone stared at Harry.
"What is it, Harry?" Lily asked, her brows furrowed.
Harry was hosting a deeply troubled look. "These are only the hostiles that wantedto be caught, Mum. It's meant to be a diversion."
Sirius grinned proudly, although it didn't reach his eyes. "Correct."
"A diversion for what?" James asked.
"It's a cover for the swathes of hostiles that are being smuggled into the country by other means." Sirius concluded.
"Means which are completely unknown to all of us," Bella added.
"Do we have any idea of a number?" Lily asked, biting her lip.
Bella shrugged. "It could be anything. In hundreds or even thousands." Harry gave her a knowing look. She then met her family's eyes, steeling herself. "Which is why I've developed a plan to have us all attend the World Cup with necessary precautions."
She pulled a thick bundle of parchment from her robes and tapped her wand to enlarge them. The Family moved to make a tight semi-circle around her.
"Let me explain."
-_-_ .
Daphne sat perched on her favourite chair by the window, her long legs crossed elegantly beneath the flowing fabric of her silk gown. The summer sunlight spilled through the windows of the Greengrass Manor, painting the room in golden hues, but Daphne's mood was anything but bright.
Her gaze was fixed on the meticulously manicured gardens outside, but her thoughts were far away, replaying a moment she'd rather forget.
"Daph! Daph! Are you even listening to me?" Tracy's voice cut through her reverie, sharp and familiar, like a childhood melody she couldn't quite ignore.
Tracy lounged across Daphne's bed, her bare feet dangling off the edge and her long hair cascading messily over the pillows. She wore an oversized T-shirt that barely covered the tops of her thighs, an outfit as relaxed and effortless as Tracy herself.
Daphne turned her head lazily, raising a perfectly sculpted brow. "What is it, Tracy? You've been squawking like a harpy for the past five minutes."
Tracy snorted and threw a pillow at her. "Don't you dare give me that Ice Queen attitude right now. I _know_ you're thinking about him."
"Thinking about who?" Daphne replied coolly, catching the pillow with one hand and setting it beside her.
"Oh, don't even try to deny it," Tracy said, sitting up and fixing Daphne with a wicked grin. "Harry bloody Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. The Duelling Champion. The hottest thing to ever happen to Hogwarts since... well, ever."
Daphne rolled her eyes and looked away, but her cheeks betrayed her with the faintest tinge of pink. "You're delusional."
Tracy let out a loud laugh, swinging her legs off the bed and leaning forward, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Am I? Because I saw the way you looked at him after that duel. Merlin, Daph, you were practically undressing him with your eyes."
Daphne's mouth opened to retort, but no words came out. She closed it again, her jaw tightening. Tracy's grin widened.
"Oh, come on," Tracy teased, her voice dropping to a low, sensual whisper. "Admit it. You've thought about him pinning you against a wall, his hands all over you, his lips—"
"_Tracy!_" Daphne snapped, throwing the pillow back at her. Her face was burning now, and she hated how easily Tracy could get under her skin.
"What?" Tracy said innocently, catching the pillow and hugging it to her chest. "It's not like I'm lying. You _have_ thought about it, haven't you? Merlin! I havethought about it! All that raw power, that confidence... I bet he'd—"
"Stop!" Daphne cut her off, standing up abruptly. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to regain her composure. "It's not like that."
"Oh, please," Tracy said, rolling her eyes. "Don't act like you're above it. Everyone's talking about him, Daph. But you... you're different. You don't just want him because he's hot or famous. You want him because he told you to your face that you're full of shit."
Daphne flinched at the bluntness of Tracy's words, but she couldn't deny their truth. She turned away, staring out the window again. "It doesn't matter what I want," she said quietly. "He sees right through me. I tried to manipulate him, Tracy. I thought I could... I don't know... convince him that he needed me. That I could help him handle all the attention and the pressure. But he saw right through it. He rejected me without a second thought."
Tracy's teasing grin faded, replaced by something softer. She stood and crossed the room, placing a hand on Daphne's shoulder. "Daph..."
"I've never even been nice to him," Daphne continued, her voice tinged with bitterness. "For three years, I ignored him. Barely acknowledged his existence unless I had to. And now I expect him to just... forget all that and see me as someone worth his time? I was a fool."
Tracy gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You're not a fool, Daph. You're just... your life is complicated."
Daphne let out a humourless laugh. "That's one way to put it."
Tracy moved to stand in front of her, forcing Daphne to meet her eyes. "Look, you screwed up. Big deal. You're not the first girl to mess up with a guy, and you won't be the last. The real question is, why does this bother you so much? Is it just because he rejected you, or is it something more?"
Daphne hesitated, her mouth opening slightly as if to answer, but before she could say anything, a sudden shout echoed from downstairs, followed by the unmistakable sound of something breaking.
Both girls froze, their eyes widening in unison.
"What the hell was that?" Tracy whispered.
Daphne's heart was pounding as she turned toward the door. "I don't know. But it didn't sound good."
Without another word, she moved toward the door, Tracy close on her heels. The air between them was heavy with unspoken questions, but whatever was happening downstairs demanded their immediate attention. Daphne's thoughts of Harry and her failures were momentarily pushed aside as she braced herself for whatever awaited them below.
Her heart raced as she made her way down the grand staircase, Tracy a few steps behind her. The echo of her father's furious shouting reverberated through the halls of the Manor, each word sharper than the last. It wasn't often that Gerald Greengrass raised his voice—he was the type of man who wielded his authority through cold stares and soft measured tones. To hear him yelling like this was jarring.
The sound drew her to the heavy oak doors of his study. She hesitated outside, her fingers brushing against the ornate brass handle. Tracy's hand landed lightly on her shoulder.
"Are you sure you want to go in there?" Tracy whispered.
Daphne gave her a tight nod, her jaw set. "I have to."
Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The scene that greeted her made her stomach twist. Her father stood behind his desk, his face pale but flushed with rage. He was clutching his side with one hand while he took support from the desk, his injuries a visible reminder of what her family was going through, but that didn't seem to dull the venom in his voice.
Her mother, stood on the other side of the room, her normally pristine composure shattered. Tears streaked her face, and she clutched a handkerchief in her trembling hands.
"-lying, conniving bitch!" her father roared, slamming his good hand down on the desk so hard that the inkwell wobbled precariously. "Fourteen bloody years, Lavinia. Fourteen years of me turning a blind eye to your late-night floos and unexplained absences. I told myself, 'She's my wife. She wouldn't betray me.' But no, you've been whoring yourself out to that snivelling bastard!"
Her mother flinched at his words, her sobs growing louder. "Gerald, please, it wasn't like that!"
"Wasn't like that?" he repeated, his voice dripping with disbelief. "Then what the fuck was it? You were shagging Malfoy for the good of the family? Don't insult my intelligence."
Daphne froze near the doorway, her chest tightening as the words sank in. She had always known her parents' marriage wasn't exactly a love story for the ages, but this... this was beyond anything she could have imagined.
It had to be a bad dream! A very, very bad dream.
"Gerald, I did it to protect us," her mother pleaded, her voice cracking. "To protect our daughters! Do you think the Greengrass name carries enough weight to keep us safe? Lucius promised—"
"Lucius promised," Her father sneered, cutting her off. "Lucius promised to keep us neutral, to keep the Dark Lord's attention off our family. And now look where we are! He's back, Lavinia, and your precious Malfoy is too busy grovelling at his master's feet to give a damn about us!"
Her mother's shoulders shook as she broke down completely. "I didn't know what else to do," she whispered. "You don't understand, Gerald. He said—he said he'd protect Daphne and Astoria. I couldn't risk—"
"You couldn't risk?" her father thundered. "So you risked our marriage? Our dignity? You spread your legs for that slimy bastard again and again and called it 'protection'? Merlin, Lavinia, you make me sick."
"Father," Daphne's quivering voice cut through the tension like a whip. She felt the ground shifting beneath her feet and a cold, heavy feeling settle into her gut. She couldn't believe it.
Both of her parents turned to look at her, their respective expressions of shock and shame. Her mother hastily dabbed at her eyes, trying to compose herself, while her father's furious glare softened just slightly at the sight of his eldest daughter.
"Daphne," he said, his tone still harsh but now tinged with regret. "This isn't—"
"Don't," she interrupted. She stepped further into the room, suddenly glad that her little sister was away at a Puff's house. "Don't try to sugarcoat this, Father. I heard everything."
Her mother let out a soft gasp, her hand flying to her mouth. "Daphne, darling, I—"
"Don't you dare 'darling' me," Daphne snapped, her blue eyes blazing with cold fury. "You've been lying to all of us. To Father, to me, to Astoria. And for what? For Lucius Malfoy? A man who wouldn't piss on us if we were on fire?"
"Watch your language, young lady," her mother said weakly, her voice trembling.
"Why?" Daphne shot back. "So I can sound as proper as you while I ruin everything I touch?"
"Daphne," Her father said, his tone softening as he moved toward her. "This isn't your burden to bear."
"Isn't it?" Daphne asked, her voice cracking. All of her desperation and despair and hopelessness was now coming to a crescendo as she looked at the broken remains of her family.
"Daphne I'm so-"
"Do you have any idea what this means for us? For me? Do you think people won't find out? Do you think they won't whisper about how the Greengrass matriarch whored herself out to Lucius Malfoy for protection that never came?"
"No one will-"
"Really Mother?" Daphne's voice cut like ice, her hand gripping the doorknob until her knuckles were white. "You think Malfoy won't use this against us? To control us?"
Her mother's face crumpled at her daughter's words, and she sank into the nearest chair, burying her face in her hands.
Her father sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. "I should've put a stop to this years ago," he muttered. "I should've trusted my instincts."
"You should've," Daphne agreed, her voice suddenly hoarse from sheer venom. And for the first time in her life, it was all directed at her father. She couldn't believe her mother would betray her father and her family for years and he wouldn't know about it. Maybe he was one of those men who didn't wantto know about it. "But you didn't. And now we're all going to pay the price."
The room fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of her mother's muffled sobs.
Finally, Tracy, who had been standing awkwardly by the door, cleared her throat. "Uh, maybe I should go."
"No," Daphne refused, her gaze never leaving her parents. "Stay, Tracy."
Tracy didn't argue, and Daphne saw her lean against the doorframe and put her hand on her arm.
"What happens now?" Daphne asked, her tone hard. "Do we just... pretend this didn't happen? Do we act like everything's fine while the Dark Lord looms over us and Malfoy and-everyone laughs behind our backs?"
Her father didn't reply for a long moment. Then his jaw tightened. "No. We don't pretend. We don't cower. We fight. The Greengrass name will not be dragged through the mud by the likes of Lucius Malfoy," he looked at her mother then, "or anyone else." She flinched and Daphne felt a stab of satisfaction at seeing her crumble after destroying her own family.
"And how do you propose we do that?" Daphne asked, her voice level. "We're outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and out of options."
Feeling her father's gaze upon her, she turned to him, and for the first time that day, she saw a glimmer of determination in his gaze. "We'll find a way," he said firmly. "I will find a way. I don't care what it takes. I will make sure that we survive this. All of us."
Daphne wanted to believe him. She really did. But as she looked at her mother's broken form, her father's weakness in the face of it all, she bit back a cry. She then sought through her own empty heart and she despaired.
In just a short few weeks, she didn't feel like she recognized her life anymore.
-_-_ .
Harry sat in the Grimmauld library, his back leaning against one of the grand bookcases as he fiddled with a quill in his hand. He would never admit this but at this moment, he couldn't concentrate because he was brooding.
The moonlight streamed through the windows, painting the room in ivory light and he imagined walking in the gardens outside. A walk always calmed him when he got into a state like this, perhaps it will work?
First had been a subtle comment at dinner from Bella about Hermione's apparent absence in the Potter Manor as of late to which he hadn't responded. And then she had asked him, while looking dead in the eye and in not so many words too, as to whether he'd fought with her.
The most puzzling thing, Harry felt, was that he didn't know how and what Hermione was feeling. He'd never meant to flaunt his...activities in her face. It had been an innocent question from his sister who hadn't known about the implications.
But Hermione's reaction had both made him feel bad and ignite a hope in his heart. He'd felt guilty, happy, and then guilty again for being happy all in one swoop.
"You look like a kicked Kneazle," came the sharp, teasing voice of Bella as she sauntered into the library. "What's the matter?"
Harry didn't bother looking up. "Piss off, Bella."
"Ooh, testy today, are we?" Bella cooed mockingly, dropping onto the armrest of the chair nearest to him. "Is this about the party night? Or shall I say... the _morning after_? Heard you had quite the _eventful_ birthday."
Harry's sighed, more exasperated than annoyed, glaring at her. "What do you want?"
Bella smirked, her dark eyes glittering with mischief. "Just checking on my favourite nephew." She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "So, how's Claire? Or should I be asking about Hermione? Poor thing, she looked like she'd been hit with a Bludger when Rose made that comment at the lunch."
Harry broke the quill in half, the sharp crack echoing in the room. "Not another word, Bella."
But she only laughed, unbothered by his anger. "Oh, don't get your knickers in a twist, Harry. I'm just having a bit of fun. But Merlin's saggy balls, you really stepped in it, didn't you?"
"Bella," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.
She raised her hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to hex me. But come on, Harry. You can't honestly tell me you're not thinking about it."
"Thinking about what?" he snapped.
Bella arched a perfectly manicured brow. "Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I mean. Claire _and_ Hermione. Two witches, both clearly smitten with you, and you're sitting here sulking like a sodding first-year."
"Hermione isn't smitten with me. Not at all." he denied firmly.
"So it is a work in progress?"
Harry ran a hand through his messy hair, groaning in frustration. "I don't want to talk about this."
"Too bad," Bella said, sliding off the armrest and plopping herself into the chair opposite him. "You're going to talk about it, whether you like it or not. Because if you keep brooding like this, you'll end up doing something stupid. Like pushing them both away."
Harry glared at her, but the fire in his eyes had dimmed slightly. "You don't understand."
"Don't I?" Bella challenged, leaning forward. "I've been around long enough to know how these things work, Harry. And let me tell you something—you're not the first wizard to find himself in this situation, and you won't be the last."
He looked away, his shoulders tense. "It's not that simple."
Bella snorted. "Of course it's not simple. Nothing worth having ever is. But you've got to make a choice, Harry. Either you go after what you want, or you let it slip through your fingers."
Harry was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the floor. Finally, he muttered, "What if I want both of them?"
Bella blinked, clearly taken aback, before a slow, sly smile spread across her face. "Well, well, well. My godson has a bit of a greedy streak, doesn't he?"
"Don't," Harry said sharply, his cheeks flushing. "I didn't mean it like that."
Bella waved a hand dismissively. "Relax, Harry. I'm not judging. In fact, I think it's quite bold of you. Most wizards wouldn't have the guts to admit it, even to themselves."
Harry scowled. "This is a disaster."
"It's only a disaster if you let it be," Bella said, her tone surprisingly gentle. "Now, listen to me. If you're serious about this—about them—you're going to need to be honest. With yourself and with them."
Harry looked up at her, his green eyes filled with doubt. "You really think that'll work? Hermione isn't someone who can be convinced by empty words."
"Do you plan to offer empty words to her?"
Harry bristled. "Of course not!"
"Then what is the problem?"
Harry looked away, his jaw tight as he mulled over Bella's words. He had to admit she had a point, as much as he hated hearing it from her. Hermione's face after lunch—the raw hurt she'd tried so desperately to mask—flashed in his mind, and it twisted his stomach with guilt.
Bella, watching him closely, seemed to sense where his thoughts had wandered. Her sharp gaze softened just a touch, though her smirk remained firmly in place. It almost looked like it was carved out of stone.
Harry exhaled harshly. "She left the table so fast, Bella. She barely looked at me, and when she did…" He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "It was like I'd stomped all over her."
"Because, my poor godson, you sort of did," Bella said bluntly, leaning forward. "She thought she meant something special to you, and then Rose goes and announces that you've spent the night with Claire in front of everyone. What did you think would happen?"
Harry shot her a glare but said nothing.
Bella continued, undeterred. "The good news is, Hermione's a smart witch. She'll think things through before writing you off entirely. But if you want to fix this, you'll have to handle her very carefully."
Harry gave a rueful laugh. "Carefully? Bella, I don't even know where to start."
Bella leaned back, crossing one leg over the other, and gave him a sly smile. He couldn't help but admire the way her skirt rose higher up her milky thighs. "Lucky for you, I'm feeling generous today. Let me give you some advice."
Harry deliberately and slowly met her gaze again, arched a brow but didn't interrupt.
"First off," Bella began, ticking her points off on her fingers, "acknowledge her feelings. Don't try to explain them away, and for Morgana's sake, don't belittle them. She's upset, so you need to be gentle with her."
"Alright," Harry said slowly. "I can do that."
"Second," Bella said, her tone growing serious, "You need to show her that you understand that she's not just another witch—and that you're not taking her for granted."
Harry nodded.
"And third," Bella said, her grin returning, "you've got to be honest with her about Claire. Not the gory details, Merlin knows no one wants that. But make it clear where you stand. If Claire's alright with the idea of sharing, and I suspect she might be—"
Harry's knew that but his head snapped up. "What makes you think that?" he asked with suspicion. Just what did Bella know about her?
Bella shrugged elegantly. "Claire seems pragmatic. And she's French. And she's not the sort to throw a tantrum or demand ultimatums. She's got her eye on the prize—_you_. And if keeping you means sharing, well… I doubt she'll lose any sleep over it."
Harry frowned, processing her words. "But what about Hermione? She won't go for that."
"Maybe, maybe not," Bella said, her expression turning contemplative. "Hermione's pride might take a hit at first, but deep down, if she cares about you, you've got a chance. If she sees that you're sincere—that you genuinely want her—she might surprise you. Just don't push it all at once."
Harry groaned, resting his head in his hands. "This sounds too complicated to not end in a disaster."
Bella laughed, a low, throaty sound that made a delicious shiver run down his spine. "It's only a disaster if you cock it up."
Harry shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. "You're unbelievable, Bella."
"Flattery will get you everywhere," she teased, standing and leaning towards him. His eyes travelled unashamedly down her neck and down her blouse.
Ruffling his hair as she stood up. "Now, go on. Start mending fences with Hermione. I can't have you moping around the house."
"I wasn't moping!" he protested but she only laughed.
Harry watched her go, her hips swaying as she disappeared into the hall. He leaned back in his chair, his emotions comprised of a few different things now. The most prominent ones being confusion, determination, and lust.
He closed his book and extracted a fresh piece of parchment. Hedwig was going to have a new task soon.
Halfway through his letter, he was forced to ponder the implications if his simple plan did end up working. He thought back to everything his older counterpart had lived through and felt a strange mixture of exhilaration and anxiety.
It wasn't as if his knowledge of the future was going to be of much help, now that he'd changed so many things in this world. The Harry of this world was never supposed to be who he was now. He was never supposed to be a duelling champion, close with his family, have multiple girlfriends, and have the world vying for his attention.
He'd never thought about the long term implications of his actions yet. No, he'd only focused on being who he wanted to be, without limitations.
And maybe, he thought ruefully, that wasn't an approach viable for the long term.
-_-_ .
The August Emergency Session of Wizengamot was looking to be full. Comprised of a total of eighty-four seats, with seven seats representing the Ancient and Noble Houses, twenty-eight seats representing the Ancient Houses, thirty-four seats representing the Noble Houses, nine seats for the Ministry, including the Minister, and six for the Order of Merlin recipients, it felt as if more than ninety-percent of the members were going to be in attendance.
Sirius Black hated it all.
The posturing, the sneers and the taunts, the venom-laced politeness and the passive-aggressive nature of the entire affair just grated on him. Endlessly. It was same in the ICW but at least it was funnier because outside of Britain, not many knew the art and the skill of looking down on others.
But here, everyone learnt it before they could walk.
But again, he was here with his brother in arms and so he had to tolerate it.
"Ready for the show?" he asked after glancing around puffed up bastards with a lazy sneer.
James slid into his seat at the row closest to the floor, representing the highest ranked members of the British Magical government. "Let's see what Amelia has planned for us."
"Didn't I tell you that we should've brought snacks?" Sirius muttered as his grey eyes scanned the crowd. "This is going to be a long one, Prongs."
James adjusted his deep crimson robes, marked with the Potter family crest embroidered on the shoulder. "You're insufferable, Pads. This isn't some Quidditch match."
"Could've fooled me," Sirius quipped, nodding toward a small cluster of Noble House representatives gathered near the entrance to the Wizengamot chamber. "Look at them. All puffed up like bloody peacocks. Bet they're warming up for a good show—shouting, finger-pointing, maybe even some spell-flashing if we're lucky."
James sighed. "Merlin help us. I hope they don't bring down the ceiling on us or something."
"Don't worry, I've got an ICW portkey," Sirius replied, pulling an exaggeratedly stern expression that made James snort despite himself. "Only if they spent half as much time fixing problems as they do arguing about who's to blame."
James shot him an amused look. "You're not wrong, but for Merlin's sake, keep that to yourself. I suspect fireworks already."
Sirius gave a mock salute before slumping into his seat. The murmur of voices around the chamber grew louder as more members filed in. The emergency session was drawing significant attendance, and Sirius noted with mild disgust the various representatives of the Noble and Ancient Houses, their faces masks of practiced aloofness.
At exactly ten o'clock, a sharp chime echoed through the chamber, silencing the din.
All eyes turned toward the raised dais at the front of the room, where Albus Dumbledore, the Grand Sorcerer, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, stood in his ornate, deep-purple robes adorned with silver embroidery. His long, white beard flowed freely down his chest, and his half-moon spectacles glinted as he surveyed the room with a calm but commanding presence.
Dumbledore raised both hands, palms out, a gesture of both authority and unity. "Members of the Wizengamot," he began, his voice resonating through the chamber, amplified by an unseen charm. "As Chief Warlock, it is my solemn duty to ensure that our proceedings today are conducted with respect, dignity, and purpose. Let us remember that our decisions here bear the weight of our nation's future."
He lowered his hands and drew his wand, a slender, knotted piece of wood that hummed faintly with power. With a single, deliberate flick, the massive iron gates at the rear of the chamber creaked and groaned, closing with finality. The sound echoed ominously through the hall, and a wave of golden light cascaded over the gates, sealing them with powerful wards.
"As is tradition," Dumbledore continued, "this session is now sealed. No one may enter or leave until the matters at hand are resolved. Let this serve as a reminder of the gravity of our purpose today."
"Merlin, he lays it on thick doesn't he?" Sirius commented.
James elbowed him.
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the assembled members, lingering momentarily on each of the key representatives—Bellatrix Black at the DMLE podium, Minister Amelia Bones in his central seat, and the various heads of Noble and Ancient Houses scattered throughout the tiers.
"Order is the cornerstone of justice," Dumbledore said, his voice steady but firm. "Let us proceed with open minds and measured words. The floor now passes to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Madam Bellatrix Black."
He stepped back, his wand vanishing with a flick of his wrist, and took his seat on the high dais. As Bella rose to address the chamber, the faint whispers of awe and trepidation that Dumbledore's presence always inspired began to fade, replaced by the charged anticipation of the session's first arguments.
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd as Bella began. "The agenda today concerns the recent influx of dangerous criminals smuggled into Britain and the resulting implications for the security of the Quidditch World Cup. This event is not only a matter of national pride but also an international gathering, with thousands of witches and wizards from across the globe in attendance. The failure to ensure their safety would be catastrophic—politically and otherwise."
She paused, letting her words sink in. "This is why I'm now putting forward a proposal for Britain to formally demand ICW's assistance for security for the duration of the Quidditch World Cup to be held on our soil."
A flurry of official looking parchments flew from the dais onto the members' seats as the chattering began in earnest.
The first to rise was a balding wizard with a brown beard from the Ancient Houses section. Sirius rolled his eyes; it was always old Farley, eager to hear the sound of his own voice.
"Madam Black," Farley intoned, "while the issue at hand is undoubtedly serious, I must point out that it is the Ministry's failure to adequately patrol our borders that has allowed this influx. Perhaps we should discuss why the DMLE has not been more proactive in addressing these threats."
Bella remained unfazed. "The DMLE has been working tirelessly, Lord Farley, often with limited resources and even less cooperation from certain quarters." Her gaze swept over the chamber, lingering just long enough on a few members of the Dark Faction to make her point. "However, this session is not about assigning blame. It is about approving a solution. I suggest you keep that in mind."
Farley sat down with a grumble, and the pink toady witch from the Ministry's seats stood. Her robes marked her as a senior official, and her tone was simpering as she spoke. "If I may, Madam Black, the Ministry has already proposed an increase in security at all major transportation hubs and magical landmarks. However, these measures will require significant funding—funding that will be necessary from the pockets of our esteemed members."
The chamber erupted into a flurry of indignant murmurs, and James leaned forward in his seat, his brow furrowed. Sirius, meanwhile, looked like he was struggling not to laugh.
"Bloody hell, Pads," James muttered under his breath. "This is going to turn into a circus."
"It already is, mate," Sirius replied with a grin.
Amelia intervened then, raising her wand, and the room fell silent again. "Let me make this clear," she said, her voice steely. "The DMLE is not here to debate politics. They are here to present facts. Over the past month, they have apprehended many individuals attempting to cross into Britain illegally. Many of them have ties to known criminal organizations in the continent."
A collective gasp went through the room, followed by hushed whispers.
"Furthermore," Bella continued, shooting a glance to the Minister, "we have credible intelligence suggesting that these individuals are planning to disrupt the World Cup. Whether their goal is to sow chaos, send a message, or something worse, we cannot afford to take this lightly."
A stout wizard from the Noble Houses stood abruptly. "If this is true, why has the DMLE not taken more aggressive action? Surely, we should be detaining anyone even remotely suspicious."
Bella arched a brow. "We have been detaining many escaped convicts who haven't provided even a shred of information beyond confirming that their presence was to be expected at the World Cup. We do not know to which end. It's all there in the parchment in your hands."
A wizard from the Dark Faction stood, his deep crimson robes gleaming under the enchanted lights of the chamber. His slicked-back hair and sharp features gave him the air of a serpent ready to strike. Mulciber, Sirius thought with distaste.
Lord Mulciber sneered as he addressed the chamber. "Is this what we've come to? Begging the ICW for help like some desperate, third-rate Ministry? The British Isles have always prided themselves on their independence, and now we're being told to grovel before foreigners because our DMLE can't handle a few criminals?"
A murmur of agreement rippled through a section of the Wizengamot dominated by members of the Dark Faction. The disdain in their voices was palpable, and Sirius's grip on the armrest of his chair tightened.
Bella didn't flinch. She leaned forward slightly, her dark eyes fixed on Mulciber with a predatory intensity. "This isn't about pride or politics, Lord Mulciber," she said, her tone dangerously calm. "It's about protecting innocent lives. If you'd rather sit back and let chaos unfold at the World Cup, feel free to excuse yourself from this chamber and save us all the theatrics."
Mulciber's face darkened, but before he could retort, another wizard rose from his seat, his expression weary but resolute. It was Lord Ogden, an older member of the Wizengamot with a reputation for pragmatism.
"While I agree that the situation is dire," Ogden began, his voice measured, "there's simply no time. The World Cup begins in a week. Even if we were to appeal to the ICW, their bureaucratic processes would delay any meaningful assistance. This resolution is a waste of time and resources. We should be focusing on what can be done now, with the resources we already have."
The chamber erupted into chaos once more, voices overlapping in a cacophony of outrage, agreement, and frustration.
"Utter nonsense!" someone shouted from the Ancient House section.
"Do you have a better plan, Ogden?" another retorted.
"This is exactly why the ICW exists!" a third voice chimed in.
"Enough!" Bella's voice cut through the noise like a whip. She stood tall, her presence commanding. "If you have suggestions that will actually address the threat at hand, I am all ears. But if all you have to offer is complaints and finger-pointing, I suggest you sit down and let those of us who are actually working to protect this country do our jobs."
Sirius felt a surge of pride as he watched Bella hold her ground. She'd always been formidable, but in moments like these, she was nothing short of terrifying.
From his seat beside Sirius, James leaned in and muttered, "They're like bloody toddlers throwing a tantrum."
"Except toddlers don't usually have access to centuries of family magic or millions of galleons," Sirius replied dryly.
The debate continued, growing increasingly heated. Mulciber and his faction were relentless in their criticism, while Ogden and his supporters argued for immediate, practical action. Through it all, Bella remained a pillar of composure, countering or discussing every argument with unyielding logic.
Just as Sirius thought the session might devolve into actual shouting, a wizard from the Dark Faction stood abruptly, his face twisted with fury.
"This is a farce," the man spat, his voice echoing through the chamber. "We sit here, wasting time, while our Ministry grovels and our so-called leaders squabble like schoolchildren."
Sirius's instincts flared, a sense of unease prickling at the back of his neck. If not for his red-rimmed eyes, he knew this man.
"Lord Greengrass, I assure yo-"
"He has a point!"
"Shut up Greengrass! It's probably your group who benefits the most from this!" someone from the Light faction shouted.
The man's hand moved to his wand, and Sirius slid his own into his hand, suddenly alert.
"Perhaps it's time for a change in leadership," the wizard continued, his voice cold and menacing. "Starting with you, Potter."
The wand was drawn in a flash, and before Sirius could react, a jet of brown light shot across the chamber.
"James!" Sirius shouted, lunging towards his friend.
And then suddenly, someone was falling over him in a hurry to get away from the curse, toppling over another wizard and a witch who were screaming as their bodies impacted with the chairs and the railings and each other.
In the pandemonium, Sirius threw off the wizard from above him and began to crawl in the direction of James, his heart thudding, not knowing if the curse had actually struck its target true or not.
All he'd seen was James falling from his seat into the floor below.
-_-_ .
AN: Thanks for reading.
If you want to read the next 7 chapters, or join my discord, see the link in my profile. See you all next time!