Chapter 282: Chapter 282: "Twilight of an Eventful Year"
The sun hadn't yet risen over Hogwarts when Harry Potter, still wearing yesterday's robes and sporting a rather suspicious grin, attempted to sneak into the Ravenclaw dormitory. He was almost to his bed when Roger's voice shattered the silence.
"And where exactly have you been, Mr. Potter?"
Harry froze, turning to see not only Roger but Reggy as well, both sitting up in their beds with identical, knowing grins.
"Why are you two up so early?" Harry asked, attempting to feign casualness. "Usually, you're barely awake before classes."
Reggy chuckled. "Oh, we were asleep. But we set an alert ward by the stairs to let us know when you'd come sneaking back."
Harry mentally scolded himself. He hadn't expected anyone to put an alert charm in the Ravenclaw dorms. "Why would you do that?"
Roger raised an eyebrow, looking every bit as mischievous as Reggy. "We're the ones asking questions here, Harry. Where were you last night?"
Harry kept his tone casual. "I was training. With everything going on, I don't want to waste a moment; got to get as strong as possible."
"Interesting," Roger drawled, his eyes glinting. "Because someone mentioned a certain silver-haired champion was missing from her dorm as well. You wouldn't happen to know where she was, would you?"
Harry smirked. "Fleur? Yeah, she was training with me. Can't exactly spar alone, can I?"
Reggy leaned forward, his grin widening. "Just training, or was there more to it?"
Harry sighed, exasperated. "What's with all the questions? I need to get ready for my morning session. Ask me later—we've got the whole day."
With that, Harry quickly changed into his training clothes and left the room before they could continue their interrogation.
At breakfast, Roger and Reggy looked ready to renew their questions, possibly with reinforcements, but a new topic of conversation swept through the hall, and they were temporarily distracted.
Charles Potter had been released from the hospital wing. He was back to his usual self, having recovered from his encounter and exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.
The Great Hall buzzed with curiosity when Harry and his dormmates arrived for breakfast. Students from all houses and schools craned their necks toward the entrance, waiting for the first sight of Charles. The whispers flew fast.
"I heard he fought You-Know-Who in a proper duel-"
"Don't be daft, he's dead-"
The whispers only grew as Charles entered, flanked by Ron and Hermione like personal guards. Ginny and Neville followed close behind, forming a protective circle. Charles looked pale but determined, seemingly unbothered by the attention.
Before the rumors could take off again, Dumbledore stood up at the staff table.
"While we all share concern for Mr. Potter's wellbeing," he announced, his blue eyes somehow managing to meet every student's gaze simultaneously, "I must ask that you respect his privacy and refrain from overwhelming him with questions. When and if Mr. Potter wishes to share his experience, that will be his choice."
Dumbledore's words had the intended effect, and the direct questions ceased, though not quite as intended. Instead of open stares and inquiries, students now observed Charles from behind books, around corners, and through gaps between friends, with whispered theories growing more elaborate.
Charles seemed to shy away from the attention now, preferring to spend his time at Hagrid's cabin with his close friends. Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of pride for his younger brother. The once arrogant boy, always eager to be in the spotlight, had matured into someone humble and grounded, content to stay out of the center of attention.
Everything Charles had been through at Hogwarts had changed him for the better, and Harry was genuinely impressed with how bravely he had handled himself during his encounter with Voldemort.
The rest of the day passed in a strange mixture of end-of-term excitement and subdued grief. The empty seats at the Slytherin table were a constant reminder of recent losses. Several students had left early, summoned home by family. Draco had departed with his mother days before.
Harry spent the afternoon with his friends by the lake, Fleur nestled comfortably in his arms. Their relationship had shifted subtly but significantly after the previous night, a new certainty underlying every touch and glance. Their friends, to their credit, kept the teasing to a minimum - mostly.
"So," Arabella asked innocently, "how was last night's training?"
"It was great," Fleur replied before Harry could, her eyes sparkling. "We trained for hours. Very... enlightening. I'm still sore from it all."
Roger choked on his pumpkin juice while Cedric fell backwards laughing. Even the Elvinia, usually so composed, couldn't help giggling.
As evening approached, the castle's atmosphere shifted. The final feast awaited, but it would be different this year. Black banners hung along the walls, and the enchanted ceiling displayed a clear night sky, stars twinkling against velvet darkness. Thousands of candles cast a warm glow, but the mood was somber.
Students filed in, their usual end-of-term excitement tempered by the events of the past week. The Slytherin table, normally proud and aloof, sat in unusual solidarity, many of its members wearing black armbands. Even the ghosts seemed more solemn, floating silently above the tables.
When everyone was seated, Dumbledore rose. The hall fell silent immediately, every eye fixed on the headmaster. His customary end-of-term twinkle was absent, replaced by something deeper, more serious.
"Another year has gone," Dumbledore began, his voice carrying to every corner. "And what a year it has been. A year that began with the excitement of the Triwizard Tournament, yet ends in shadow. We have witnessed incredible displays of magical prowess, celebrated international cooperation, and forged bonds between our schools that will last lifetimes."
His expression grew more serious. "But we have also faced darkness. Lord Voldemort has returned."
A collective shudder ran through the hall at the name. Several students gasped audibly.
"It would be an insult to you all to pretend otherwise. Charles Potter faced him in that graveyard, displaying courage beyond his years. He escaped, thanks to the intervention of an unknown wizard, but not before witnessing horrors no child should endure."
Dumbledore's eyes found Charles at the Gryffindor table. "His experience reminds us that dark times approach. Yet it also shows us that even in our darkest moments, help can arrive from unexpected quarters."
"We have also suffered losses. Several of our students have lost fathers - deaths that the Ministry may classify differently, but whose absence will be felt deeply regardless. While some may choose to ignore the truth of these losses, we cannot ignore the pain they have caused."
His gaze swept the hall, lingering particularly on the Slytherin table. "In the coming darkness, we must remember that we are strongest together. House rivalries, school competitions, and even old prejudices must give way before the bonds of shared humanity. Those who seek to divide us will find that their actions only give us more reason to unite."
"Remember those we have lost. Comfort those who grieve. Stand firm against the encroaching dark. And above all, keep your hearts open to love - for it is love that will light our way forward. Love that gives us strength to face whatever darkness may come."
The silence that followed was profound. Harry noticed more than a few students wiping their eyes, while others reached out to clasp hands across house tables.
After the feast, it was time for Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to depart. Unlike in the canon, both schools had decided to leave that very night. Harry wasn't entirely sure why, but he guessed that with the nearly confirmed return of Voldemort and the deaths of Death Eaters, the other ministries might have acted quickly, calling their students back to learn all they could about the dark events that had unfolded.
The night was clear and cool as students gathered on the grounds. The massive carriage and ship stood ready, but neither group seemed eager to leave.
As students said their goodbyes, Fleur pulled Harry aside.
"Remember, 'Arry," she said, her voice carrying that melodious accent he loved, "you are mine now." Her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Don't you dare forget it."
"As if I could," Harry replied softly, pulling her close.
"Oui. And if any English girls try to steal you..." She left the threat hanging playfully.
"Get a room!" Roger called out, then quickly dodged Harry's wandless stinging hex.
"Already did," Fleur whispered with a wicked smile, just loud enough for their friends to hear, causing several eyebrows to shoot up and setting off another round of laughter.
Their final goodbye was interrupted by Madame Maxime calling for her students. As Fleur turned to leave, she pressed something into Harry's hand - a delicate silver chain with a tiny charm shaped like a thunderbird.
"To remind you," she said softly, then kissed him one last time before hurrying to join her schoolmates.
Harry watched as the massive carriage rose into the night sky, followed shortly by the Durmstrang ship submerging beneath the lake's dark surface. The remaining Hogwarts students drifted back inside, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.
Tomorrow, he would leave for home. Summer would be hectic, but some things, he thought, were worth fighting for.
Chapter 283: Chapter 283: "Return to the Black Castle"
The Hogwarts Express steamed away from the station, a scarlet blur against the emerald countryside. Harry stood on the platform, watching until the last wisps of smoke disappeared over the horizon. Cedric, Roger, Reggy, and the rest had all departed with promises to write soon and plans to meet up over the summer.
Now, standing alone, he felt a mix of relief and anticipation. The quiet was a welcome change after the chaotic end of term, but he knew it wouldn't last. Turning away from the empty tracks, Harry made his way home to the Black Castle. There waiting for him was what promised to be another summer of training.
The grand hall was just as Harry remembered—ornate tapestries depicting the Black family history, suits of armor lining the walls, and the ever-present warmth that made it feel like home. The flickering torches cast a golden glow, highlighting the intricate details of the castle's storied past.
"Welcome back, Harry," a voice called out from the entrance. Harry turned to see Arcturus Black approaching, his tall figure clad in dark robes that seemed to absorb the fading light.
Harry smiled faintly. "It is good to be back. It was a hectic year. Where is Sirius?"
Arcturus sighed. "Caught up at the Ministry, I'm afraid. The aftermath of the events of the Triwizard Tournament has everyone scrambling. He sends his apologies."
Harry nodded. "I figured as much. He's going to be busy for some time."
As Harry neared the doors, a pop sounded, and Mira appeared, her tiny form emerging from a concealed spot. "Welcome back, Master Harry," greeted Mira with a warm smile.
"Thank you, Mira. It's good to be back in your care," Harry replied, feeling the familiar sense of comfort her presence provided.
Arcturus observed Harry keenly, his piercing blue eyes seeming to look right through him. "You seem... different," he remarked as they made their way to the sitting room.
"Do I?" Harry asked lightly, though he could sense where this was heading.
"Indeed. There's a weight on your shoulders that wasn't there before," Arcturus noted, settling into an armchair.
Harry took a seat opposite him. "It's been an eventful year."
Arcturus's eyes bore into him. "Eventful, yes. But I suspect there's more to it than that."
Harry met his gaze steadily but said nothing.
After a moment, Arcturus sighed. "You can drop the act, Harry. I know."
"Know what?" Harry asked cautiously.
"That you were the mysterious wizard who saved Charles, fought Voldemort, and decimated his Death Eaters," Arcturus stated plainly.
Harry's composure faltered for a split second before he composed himself. "What makes you think that?"
Arcturus gave a wry smile. "You're not the first Potter to take such bold actions. Your great-grandfather, Charles Potter, was much the same. The style, the strategy—it all points to you."
Realizing there was no point in denying it, Harry leaned back. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you figured it out."
Arcturus nodded. "You're becoming quite the formidable wizard. But such actions carry heavy consequences."
"Do you disapprove?" Harry asked carefully.
"On the contrary," Arcturus replied. "In times of war, difficult choices must be made. You did what you thought was right, and I respect that. However, the loss of so many pureblood wizards, misguided as they were, is regrettable."
Harry looked down, feeling a pang of guilt. "I didn't take any pleasure in it. But they chose their path, and without them, Voldemort will be much weaker in the coming war."
"Indeed," Arcturus agreed. "Let us hope their families can find a better way forward."
There was a moment of silence before Harry spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "So... you'll keep this between us? It is not good for even Sirius to know, at least not yet."
"Of course," Arcturus assured him. "It's not my place to reveal your secrets. Besides, we have more pressing matters to attend to."
Harry's eyes lit up with a mix of relief and determination. "Does that mean we can begin my training in the Dark Arts? I need to be prepared for whatever Voldemort throws at me next. I tried to finish Voldemort that night, but he escaped."
Arcturus held up a hand. "Patience, Harry. Your training will continue in due time. But first, we must focus on the upcoming Wizengamot meeting."
Harry blinked. "The Wizengamot?"
"Yes," Arcturus confirmed. "In light of recent events, an emergency session has been called. As the new Lord Potter, you are expected to attend."
Harry frowned, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. "I had never paid any attention to how the Ministry of Magic worked. It looks like there are some things I am still clueless about."
Arcturus leaned back, his expression contemplative. "Claiming your title grants you a seat on the Wizengamot. It's time you learned how to navigate the political arena."
Harry sighed, frustration bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "Politics wasn't exactly what I had in mind for the summer. I thought of a future in politics, but not this soon."
"Very few young men dream of joining politics," Arcturus said with a chuckle, though his eyes remained serious. "But it's a necessary part of our world. Power isn't wielded only with a wand."
"Alright," Harry conceded. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow morning," Arcturus replied. "I will begin with the basics and help you identify key figures in the Wizengamot. You'll need to be well-prepared."
"Understood," Harry said, his resolve solidifying. "I'll do whatever it takes."
"Good," Arcturus said approvingly. "Now, get some rest. You'll need a clear mind."
As Harry made his way to his room, he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had heard only bad things about being in politics in his previous life and had no other knowledge of it. This was going to be a challenge, but he was determined to rise to it.
---
Meanwhile, in a shadowed chamber far from the Black Castle, Lord Voldemort seethed with rage. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from flickering candles that cast sinister shadows on the stone walls. Around him stood a handful of Death Eaters, their dark cloaks enveloping them like wraiths awaiting their master's command.
Voldemort paced back and forth, his serpentine eyes gleaming with fury. "How could it come to this?" he hissed, his voice echoing menacingly. "I have returned, and already I have suffered a significant loss. That insolent wizard escaped only because I had just been resurrected and was not at full power. If he dares to face me again, I will show him why people fear to even speak my name."
The assembled Death Eaters remained silent, their gazes fixed on the cold stone floor. None dared to interrupt their Dark Lord's tirade.
"Explain to me," Voldemort snarled, his gaze piercing each of them in turn, "where were you when I summoned everyone? I could have used your talents there, Greyback. With your senses, that interloper could not have appeared so suddenly before me."
Fenrir Greyback stepped forward, his feral eyes reflecting the dim light. "My Lord, I was outside the country and could not return swiftly enough. I accept any punishment you see fit."
Voldemort's lip curled in disdain. "Yes, but count yourself fortunate that you are needed right now. I will deal with your failings after I have dispatched that meddlesome brat. If only I knew who he was."
Greyback bowed his head. "My Lord, I can command the werewolves to be on the lookout for that wizard."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "Good. See to it. Find him, and inform me immediately. I want him captured so I can exact proper revenge for what he did."
Greyback nodded eagerly, his expression one of savage anticipation. "Yes, my Lord."
Voldemort then turned his gaze to Severus Snape, who stood with his head slightly bowed, his face a mask of composure. "And you, Severus. How fortunate you are to have avoided the fate of the others."
Snape met his gaze briefly. "My Lord, I was unable to respond to your summons without arousing Dumbledore's suspicion. He keeps a close watch on me."
Voldemort regarded him with cold scrutiny. "Your loyalty has always been... complex."
"I am ever your servant," Snape replied smoothly, his voice devoid of emotion.
"See that you are," Voldemort warned, his tone icy. "I will require your expertise in potions to restore my strength fully."
"Of course, my Lord," Snape agreed with a deferential nod.
Resuming his pacing, Voldemort's expression darkened further. "Our losses have been substantial. With so many of my faithful gone, we cannot strike as openly as before. The Ministry refuses to believe I have returned, which works to our advantage for now. The recent incidents have diminished the fear wizards once held for me. We must lie low, strengthen our numbers discreetly, and then strike when the Ministry is utterly unprepared."
Greyback snarled, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Let me bring you the werewolves. They have no love for the Ministry. They will fight for you."
"And the giants," another Death Eater suggested tentatively. "They could be swayed to our cause."
Voldemort dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. "Tempting, but without sufficient resources, we cannot offer them what they desire. Gold, freedom—these things require influence we currently lack."
Another Death Eater stepped forward—a dark wizard whose name was whispered with fear in the hidden corners of the wizarding world. "My Lord, there is a faction of dark wizards who have remained hidden, who fight for the same cause as us. They might be persuaded to join our ranks."
Voldemort's interest was piqued. "Oh? Tell me more."
As Voldemort leaned in, the air thickened with anticipation, hinting at alliances waiting to emerge from the darkest corners of the wizarding world.
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