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  This chapter was edited by Gdiusx. Check his works on HP and ASOIAF, I highly recommend them.

  Wednesday morning, June 2nd.

  Chamber of Secrets

  It was the morning following the funeral, and Harry had a lot on his mind; chief among them was magic.

  He had his wand out as he reviewed the books on the table beside him. Dobby was relentlessly toiling over the final parts of the Basilisk’s carcass nearby. Once done with the snake, Harry will have to find some new work for the energetic elf.

  The books were The Standard Book Of Spells, grades one and two, and while Harry was confident in his magic casting, he had yet to truly test himself ever since his awakening. He decided to py it safe and start with first-year spells and aimed at the rudimentary target he set across the chamber, one of the snake statues that the Basilisk had turned to rubble in its rampage.

  “Wingardium Leviosa.”

  The piece of masonry, easily over a hundred pounds, was lifted from the ground, and Harry raised an eyebrow. He aimed at one of the much smaller pieces of debris near it, yet it was not too hard; the strain was very light. With some effort, he’d definitely manage to lift a whole statue. He moved his wand around the chamber, and the piece of rubble followed his movements. Curious, he directed the piece of debris higher and higher until it was twenty feet in the air and released the spell. The rock fell like a puppet with its strings cut.

  Wingardium Leviosa!

  The piece of masonry hovered once more, just a few inches above the damp floor.

  Harry smiled at his success, only to be distracted by enthusiastic cpping sounds.

  “Oh well done, Master Harry Sir. Yous did the spell silently!”

  Had he truly?

  For a handful of heartbeats, Harry reviewed the events from a few moments earlier - yes, he had not spoken the incantation out loud indeed. It had not even been a deliberate thing. Harry grinned at Dobby before severing the charm and casting it several more times.

  It was quite more taxing than usual, especially on the mind, and his control felt flimsier than before.

  “I bet you could do the same with nary a thought, eh Dobby?”

  He was just joking, but the elf nodded his head rapidly and snapped his fingers. Harry could feel magic so simir to his own yet also inherently different, flooding the chamber as all debris and other statues floated from the ground for a few feet. He could even feel his clothes lift a bit before Dobby released his spell.

  “Dobby is more powerful with Master Harry’s magic now.” His ears flopped downwards, “Still can’t move people, though.”

  “That’s alright, Dobby. You did well.”

  Harry turned back to his magic practice while the elf jumped around happily at the praise before returning to his work. He wanted to move on to more offensive magic, but a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Hermione told him to try out all the other basic spells first.

  First was Lumos. The spell was easy to use and didn’t even have a power limit, as he discovered when he created a new sun in the chamber by pouring more magic into the spell. Next was Spongify, which, while couldn’t be overpowered like Lumos, could still be cast in a way that affected a rge area, as he found out when he turned half the ground in the Chamber into a bouncy-like texture. Reparo worked like a charm, pun intended, when it repaired all the broken statues to their pristine condition.

  Casting silently was a tad more difficult, but it was also like a muscle in the end - the more he practised it, the easier it got.

  An hour ter, Harry decided he was ready for the more… complex magics.

  This time, He decided to use an abandoned vault they discovered for the next spells. He pced a few straw targets and a rge wooden pole. After some thought, he also pced a rusted metal beam by the wall and moved to the centre of the room.

  'Diffindo'

  A thin, light green line erupted from the tip of his wand and cut one of the straw targets halfway. It was what he expected as the cutting charm was created specifically for cutting soft targets like paper, cloth, and straw. It barely left any mark on the wooden pole behind.

  Harry tried it a few more times, alternating between silent and verbal and noticed the spell barely consumed any of his magic. It was time to test whether this would be his go-to spell for offence or if it would be a bust. Harry focused on the spell, remembering exactly how it was taught and following the directions to the letter. He could almost hear Flitwick’s voice as he taught them the spell st year.

  A v-shaped tick ending with a sharp swish.

  Then, just as he felt his wand itching to release the spell, he poured more power through it. The Holly wand drank his power eagerly and channelled it to the tip where the spell was forming.

  'Diffindo'

  Only for a few sparks to erupt from his wand and dissipate uselessly, all his focused power wasted. He frowned in thought; clearly, brute forcing his way through spells won’t work. Harry remembered that the creator of the spell was a seamstress some six hundred years ago and figured that she pced safety measures on it as he recalled its true purpose.

  Although according to Hermione, some magic spells were so intricate despite their simplicity that simply adding more power would do little, if not outright, destroy the spell construct. Still, the cutting charm was not completely useless – if Harry managed to nd the spell upon an unprotected neck, it might as well be fatal.

  It seemed his only choice was to either figure out how to modify spells or learn new and more dangerous magic. Any hesitation about picking up Arithmancy as his elective was now gone.

  Harry tried the disarming charm next on the crude straw targets, and predictably, the spell acted unpredictably. Since Expelliarmus was designed to cause anything held in the target’s hand to fly high out, if there was no hand to target the spell would cause the target to recoil instead. Harry cast it again with more power and found that it was more useful in bsting anything in his way than disarming opponents. The powerful shockwave that erupted from his wand and sent all his targets, wooden or metallic, crashing into the wall was evidence of that.

  He beheld his handiwork, and he had to admit Expelliarmus was a handy spell. Disarming your foes was quite useful, and so was knocking things away.

  Incendio, on the other hand, was far more dangerous than one would think despite being a first-year magic. The spell was incredibly basic, and if you followed the instructions to the letter, one would be able to create a gout of fme hot yet small enough to light a firepce. Naturally, Harry poured as much power as he could into it just for, err…science and the result was him running out of the vault and hurriedly shutting the stone entrance to escape the confgration he created.

  “Is you okay, Master Harry Potter, sir?!”

  “I’m alright – cough – really, Dobby, it’s fine.” Harry waved away the fussing elf while he made sure he wasn’t on fire, just soot.

  “Master needs to be more careful, or Dobby will be forced to help.”

  Harry froze at the promise; no, it was most definitely a threat coming from his elf. Yet, he could not deny that caution was due. Magic was not a child’s py in Westeros, and it was not here now.

  “Fine, Dobby. Let’s see the results of my spell, shall we?”

  They both waited until they felt no more heat coming from the door before opening it. Dobby banished the roiling cloud of smoke with a snap of his fingers. Harry was not surprised to find all the straw targets gone to ash, as well as the wooden pole. The metal beam, however, was intact, albeit glowing with a dull, orange light, all its rust gone.

  “Hot enough to burn straw and wood to ash but not enough to melt steel. Too bad it's completely uncontrolble; what do you think, Dobby?”

  “Dobby thinks master Harry has had enough fun and should go meet with his mistress Mione.” The elf folded his arms and stared defiantly at him, but Harry could barely hold his ughter, considering the mismatched clothes the elf had asked to be garbed in.

  “You’re such a worry wart. There’s no rush, and I have one more spell to test.”

  He returned to the Chamber to review his notes on the Patronus charm while ignoring Dobby’s exasperated huff.

  He focused on a happy memory, the first time he flew on a broom, and channelled his magic into his wand.

  “Expecto Patronum!”

  A small, translucent puff of pale mist hesitantly formed but quickly dissipated. The spell made him feel a tad tired; it actually required quite a lot of effort to perform. A bark of ughter rolled out of his lips as a wide smile found its way to his face.

  Nothing worthwhile was ever easy, and the challenge made his blood boil in excitement!

  A*L*S*M

  Thursday morning, June 3rd.

  Ministry of Magic

  Eleanor Fawley was not sure if she liked her job as one of the bookkeepers of the Office of Records in the ministry. On the one hand, it was an extremely easy job that was basically given to her on a ptter by virtue of her name and the connections her father made. On the other, it was so easy and simplistic that even a muggle could do it. She was so bored most of the time and mented the ck of anything exciting happening to tell her younger brothers. Sadly, for one who only graduated from Hogwarts a mere year ago and not with the highest honours, mind you, she could not nd a more prestigious job even with her family’s connections.

  To be honest, that was fine with her. Eleanor was not overly fond of abusing her connections like this. It reminded her of her less fortunate friends from Hogwarts who had to work extra hard just to scrape by.

  Eleanor was roused from her thoughts as she heard her name being called by her supervisor.

  “Apologies, did you need something, Mr Rowle?”

  “I said I need you as a witness for a will amendment. Meeting room four, now.”

  Thorfin Rowle was the father of her dear friend Concordia. Unlike her bright and merry friend, Mr Rowle was a stern and sometimes cruel man whom she had never seen smile. Internally, she pitied her friend, who had lost her mother young and was forced to live alone with such a man, and she wondered how Conny had become so delightful to everyone. Outwardly, however, Eleanor smiled pleasantly at him as she bobbed her head.

  “Of course, Mr Rowle.”

  It would not do to annoy Mr Rowle or appear incompetent; for all his unpleasantness, he was incredibly well-connected and could either make or break her budding career in the ministry. She followed him to meeting room four, where several people were present, but she was surprised to recognise a face she had seen in the papers a few days ago.

  “Apologies for the dey, Mr Malfoy. I have my subordinate here as a witness, and we may proceed with your request.”

  Lucius Malfoy did not appear to be in a pleasant mood and was gring at a formal-looking roll of parchment, clearly the will he had decided to amend for some reason. He looked up at Mr Rowle, and Eleanor was shocked to find the man’s complexion was extremely pale with chattering teeth and bluing lips.

  “I-It w-was no b-bother. J-just hurry, f-for there a-are pces I-I n-n-need to be.”

  It was only now that Eleanor realised the man was not dressed for a warm June day. He was tightly wrapped in a heavy-looking fur-lined cloak, but even underneath, his frame looked bulky, as if he was dressed for a trip to the Arctic.

  “Lucius, are you sure about this? I will have to pull many strings to ensure this doesn’t leak, especially now that you are in the spotlight.” A long-haired man sitting beside Mr Malfoy warned, “Not to mention how little this will affect things, as your son Draco would surely object to it. The only ones who could possibly benefit from this are your distant retives in France. Is this truly necessary?”

  Malfoy gred at the man beside him, “I h-have made my d-decision, Th-thick-nesse. I-I will not l-let that h-harlot get away with h-humiliating me like t-this. Now, get to it!”

  She recognised the man as one of Britain’s most famous solicitors. Pius Thicknesse was responsible for abusing the Imperius defence that allowed many accused Death Eaters to avoid Azkaban. He sighed in defeat before pcing his wand on the paper, followed by Mr Rowle.

  “Your seal, Fawley.”

  Eleanor hurriedly used her wand to pce her seal as a witness on the parchment that essentially decred such. In the event of the death of Lucius Malfoy, his marriage to Narcissa Malfoy née Bck would be annulled, although his heir, Draco Malfoy, would still inherit all his titles and properties. Considering the House of Bck was essentially extinct, it was social execution as the woman would have to completely rely on her son’s mercy.

  There was no way Lucius Malfoy would have dared to do such a thing if the Bcks were still alive. Sadly, with their death, no one would truly care about this as they weren’t well-loved. Either way, it was none of her concern. Eleanor did not know any of them nor cared enough about the matter apart from how much juicy gossip it would be when she went home.

  A*L*S*M

  At the same time, in Hogwarts.

  “Keep it up, Hermione. Only one more p left.”

  Harry cheered his friend on as she reached the starting point and ran the opposite way. This was the second day Hermione had joined him for his morning exercise, and she had persevered well so far.

  Not the entire routine, mind you, but simply the morning jog he took after his workout in the Chamber. Even then, Hermione only joined in near the end, and it would not do to force her to do more than her capabilities allowed. Despite being known as a bookworm, she was surprisingly athletic and was candid in telling him how her parents had forced her to take swimming csses when she would not budge from her books. That, and her annual visits to her family in France and swimming in the sea, had done well for her stamina.

  Unlike poor Neville, who had colpsed on the ground, struggling to breathe. The boy looked like he had run all the way to Hogsmeade and back, though the reality could not be further from that. The boy had asked him to join in his exercise after seeing Hermione also participate yesterday.

  Harry took a deep breath and kept massaging the muscles in his legs to stimute the flow of blood while resting between his ps. “You alive there, Neville?”

  He got nothing but wheezes from the boy who had colpsed after the first p, but Harry had high hopes for him.

  The course he used was about one kilometre, starting from the edge of the ke near Hagrid’s hut, under the covered bridge, past the Owlery and the Quidditch pitch and ending near the whomping willow before returning the same way.

  Usually, Harry would go for ten of the ps, but he settled for five since he had company. Hermione was doing her final round, just three in total, while Neville colpsed on his way back from the first trip, and Harry had to help him the rest of the way.

  Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he could get some training armour to run with, just like Ser Rodrik made Jon and Robb run around with. Ahh, such good memories. Running with no additional weight was just… too easy.

  “… You’re insane, Harry.” It was a few minutes ter when Neville had caught enough of his breath to speak and was slowly getting back enough strength to stand on his feet.

  Harry blinked at the rather sudden insult, “How so?”

  The pudgy boy wiped his sweat from his forehead as he gred at him, “The fact you don’t realise that what you are doing is beyond regur exercise is proof. There’s no way muggles train like this every morning.”

  An unbidden chuckle escaped his mouth.

  “Oh, Neville, you sweet summer child. Whoever said I’m following a muggle regiment?”

  It was the blonde boy’s turn to blink his eyes in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m saying that this is just how our regur Quidditch practice starts. You think I’m insane? You haven’t had the pleasure of training under Oliver Wood, then. Now, if you have the energy to speak, you should get up and loosen up your muscles unless you want to get cramps.”

  Just as Neville was complying, Hermione had returned from her final p. She was panting, but not heavily, showing she still had enough energy to keep going. The girl had her hands resting on the knees of the comfortable-looking leggings she wore, while her bushy hair, tied in a ponytail, did its best to release itself from its constraints.

  “Good job, Hermione. Come on, join us in cooling down, and then we can start magic practice.”

  Hermione took one st deep breath before straightening up, and Harry smirked when he noticed Neville blushing at her sweat-covered top. It looked like the girl had already gained a fan.

  Or was he always a fan?

  “What magic will we practice, then?”

  Harry carefully began stretching his strained muscles and joints. “I’m gd you asked! It will be twofold. Dodging and aiming. I will dodge while you two will try your best to hit me with a stinging hex. After a while, we will switch turns.”

  Neville frowned, “That sounds simple enough. Would it really help us?”

  Hermione replied for him. “Quite so, I believe. The best way to avoid having spells cast at you is to not be in their path, Neville. Furthermore, this would be a good chance for us to improve our aiming.”

  Left unsaid was how Neville had the worst aim in their year. Actually, he was by far the worst magic caster in their year, and his only saving grace was how much of a natural he was in herbology. The boy truly had a green thumb or two.

  “Alright, you two, chop chop. Let’s get this started.”

  The control on his senses slipped for a moment, and Harry realised his earlier observers were still here, albeit too shy. His heightened senses were great, but the increased influx of new information tended to make him dizzy after a while, so he had tried to suppress them.

  It was not too easy, and his control oft slipped, but it was better than being overwhelmed by too many things. Thankfully, Ghost was still there to warn him of any danger he might have missed.

  .

  .

  .

  “Alright, good work, you two.”

  Neville was rubbing his arms at the spots Harry hit him with while staring at his wand in frustration. Hermione bit her lip as she clearly wanted to say something but was worried she might overstep her bounds. It was times like these that Harry both appreciated Jon’s ability to observe and to read body nguage, even when trying to cmp down on his sensory abilities.

  “Come on. Let’s have a seat.”

  He led them to a rge rock by the keshore and motioned for Neville to sit. He and Hermione remained standing, however, as he gave her a knowing look which she returned with a nod. The blonde boy stared at them with confusion.

  “Neville, I won’t beat around the bush, and I’m pretty sure Hermione had noticed this as well. This isn’t actually your wand, right?”

  Immediately, the boy withdrew into himself. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course, this is my wand.”

  “It might be yours now, but I’m willing to bet it's a legacy wand. Was it your mother’s? Or maybe your father’s?”

  Neville fidgeted uncomfortably. “My father’s, but why does that matter? It's served my family for generations. My dad, my granddad, and even my great-grandmother used it.”

  That brought a pause to Harry’s thoughts. The same wand was passed down for three generations, and all three matched well for it? Neville would be the fourth generation it would be passed down to, and that was actually impressive in its own way.

  Seeing Harry silent in thought, Hermione stepped in. “We get that, Neville. But your magic is unique to you, and a wand that chooses you can make a world of difference. Just look at how much my wand helped me in css.”

  Neville still looked hesitant. “I've thought about it before, but I just can't bring myself to do it. What if it’s not the wand’s fault but completely my own? What if I disappoint my family by asking for another wand only to be the same lousy wizard still?”

  Harry could see the boy’s point. It was not that he wasn’t convinced, but rather he was afraid of the consequences, quite possibly due to pressure from his family.

  Harry was not sure of the details, but he knew that Neville lived with his grandmother. If the wand was originally his father’s and his grandfather's, then it's very likely that his grandmother would have pressured him to use it as it worked for her husband and son.

  “Look, Neville. I’m not saying this without proof. Ron also had a legacy wand, and while it worked well enough, he compined that he always had problems with transfiguration. Now, he may have had trouble with the branch of magic itself, or the wand might have matched him for charms but not for other magic branches, we will never know. But the fact remains, he could have used a much more suited wand instead.”

  “But we can’t really know that, Harry,” Hermione interjected. “Wandlore is an obscure discipline, and even I have found very little about it in the library…”

  “That might be true,” Harry nodded and sat down beside Neville, pcing a comforting hand on the mencholic boy’s shoulder. “Yet, that’s precisely why you might want to go to Diagon Alley and perhaps speak with Ollivander. The man’s knowledge of wands is unsurpassed, and I’m sure he could offer you wisdom and advice. He does craft wands for a living and matches them to all sorts of wizards and witches, after all.”

  He could tell that the boy was convinced but still a bit reluctant. “I'll think about it, alright? But I can't promise anything just yet.”

  Harry squeezed the boy’s shoulder, “Nothing is worse than uncertainty, Neville. Why beat yourself over things you have no control over?” He shook his head with a sigh. “Now, onto another matter – have you both decided on what electives you will choose?”

  A*L*S*M

  “Merlin’s floppy hat, does he ever go anywhere without company?”

  The girl stared at her target from her hiding spot as he conversed with the other two by the ke. She could not hear anything they said, and she didn’t try to eavesdrop as that was just rude. Astoria had been watching them for nearly an hour now, waiting for a chance to catch the Boy-Who-Lived alone for a quick chat.

  “Doesn’t seem like it.”

  A zy drawl came from behind her, and she jumped in fright as she turned quickly to the speaker only to sigh in relief and worry.

  “Daphne! How long have you been there? Why are you here? And where’s Tracey?”

  Her sister yawned exaggeratedly as she looked past the younger girl to the ke.

  “A while. We were on our way to the Owlery to send a letter to Father when we saw you. Tracey went ahead and said she would meet us ter,” her usually pcid face now grew uncharacteristically stern. “As for why I’m here, Madame Pomfrey tells me you have missed your weekly checkup for the second time. Are you avoiding her, Astoria?”

  The younger girl gulped and smiled shakily, “W-what do you m-mean? I’m not avoiding any nasty potion regi–geh.” The girl spped her mouth with her hands at her slip-up and stared at the unamused Daphne.

  “Really? You’re skipping your potions because they taste bad?”

  Astoria let out a silent growl, but it sounded more like an angry kitten yowling than anything. “Alright. Fine! I’ll go to the icky checkups. Happy?”

  Her sister gave a zy smirk, her green eyes half closed as if ready to nap at any moment. “Ecstatic, actually. Especially considering what I caught you doing. Still haven’t given up, Tori? You do realise that Potter would probably help you with whatever you need, the goody two shoes that he is. You aren’t a Snake, and he likely doesn’t even know you’re my sister.”

  The younger girl pouted heavily at her sister, “I told you not to call me that!”

  Daphne blinked.

  “Call you what? Tori? I’ve always called you that, and you love it when I do, Astoria.” Her sister smiled warmly and squeezed her cheeks, then began to run her hands through her dark curls.

  Astoria couldn’t help but close her eyes; she really enjoyed it when Daphne did this. But it made her look like a little child, so she had to try to suppress the rising rush of heat rushing to her face at the embarrassment.

  With a shake of her head, she stomped on her sister’s foot in frustration but held back at the st moment; she was not a baby anymore. “Yeah, well, I don’t like it anymore. Not since Luna told me it means birdie in Japanese.”

  Daphne just smiled zily and continued her ministrations undeterred.

  “Yet it also means victory in Latin. I know you like that quirky girl, but I wouldn’t take everything she says as gospel.”

  Her sister gasped and backed off theatrically, “No way! Do you mean the Crumple-Horned Snorkack doesn’t exist? W-what about the Moon Frogs? The Dabberblimps? Does that mean I don’t have to worry about Nargles stealing my stuff?”

  Both sisters stared at each other for a moment before bursting out into uncontrolble giggles.

  It took a minute for Astoria to stop ughing like a loon and wipe the errant tears from her eyes.

  “You know I don’t believe all that Luna says, just some of it, but I still love her. She’s my only friend, and she’s so lonely. Ginevra, seemed so distracted all year and would rarely speak with anyone. There are hardly any students at all in our year. I think barely a dozen across all houses, and not many want to associate with me due to err…reasons.”

  Her arsehole of an uncle, and well...

  Daphne gave a sad smile. “Reasons, huh? Well, at least you know what to do if someone bothers you, right?”

  Astoria nodded rapidly, “Kick them, run to you, then we both hex them together.”

  The elder Greengrass sister cpped her hands happily.

  “Exactly. Now, let me have a look at your crush. He’s been more dashing since he lost his spectacles. ”

  “Daphne! He’s not my crush.”

  “Oh? Then who’s your crush now? Wasn’t it Macmiln st week? Or was it Boot? Gasp, It can’t be Malfoy!”

  Astoria’s eyebrow twitched at her sister’s exaggerated hand motions. “Hey, what’s wrong with Draco?” At her elder sister’s bnk look, the younger sister fidgeted uncomfortably. “Okay, he might be a big berk, but he’s so handsome!”

  Daphne gave a pitying look at her sister, “Whatever. Let me have a looksie at Golden Boy over there. Oh, -, I can see why you would spend so much time admiring Potter, especially from behind. If you don’t make a move, someone else will soon. Do you think he likes doppelgangers? We practically look like him with our bck hair and green eyes, and we might even pretend to be his sisters.”

  Astoria stomped her sister’s foot for real this time.

  “I said I am not crushing on him,” Her flushed face, however, did not seem to convince Daphne of her words. “I just want to know where Luna is. She’s been gone since the Weasleys left, and maybe Potter knows when she will be back. Hey, are you listening to me? Also, his sisters? Eww, Daph, that’s not cool. Hey, stop pushing and find your own spot.”

  Neither girl noticed a snowy white owl perched on a nearby tree staring at them unblinkingly.

  A*L*S*M

  Wednesday, Early Morning of June 9th.

  Knockturn Alley

  “Incendio!” The belch of fire leaving his elm wand was so weak, and combined with his shaky hands, Lucius took a good half a minute to light up the bloody firepce.

  His shivering was getting worse - it was two in the morning, and he was woken up by the now familiar nightmares of beautiful yet terrible creatures of Ice and their obsession with creating inferi.

  At first, Lucius was beyond terrified of those nightmares that had begun after that fateful night he lost his elf and was humiliated by the wretched brat. Now, however, he had gotten used to them… as much as one can get used to night terrors that never allow you to have a full night’s sleep.

  Yet, the following bout of chill as he awoke with his heart beating like a drum, covered in cold sweat, was worse.

  This happened every single time he tried to get some sleep – a telltale sign of some sort of obscure curse.

  Worse, no matter how much he warmed himself up, whether with spells, clothes or potions, he would get no reprieve except from fire. Not magical fire, but the most mundane fire.

  It irked him so much to be forced to sleep on the ground, barely a yard away from the firepce like some animal. Yet, he had no choice, for the cold was growing more and more relentless, and the chill could be felt even in his bones. Lucius had asked, nay begged, his treacherous wife to find him a cure in the Bck library as only those born to a Bck by name and blood were allowed inside. Yet, she had failed to deliver anything.

  Thinking of his wretched wife annoyed him to no end.

  It had been a week since Narcissa returned from whatever outing she had gone to and metaphorically kicked him out of his own house. He was too busy trying to cajole Cuffe to retract that accursed article he published, so he didn’t remember where she said she was going. His wife was a formidable witch despite being seven years his junior and never involved with any of the…outings, he had with his colleagues or her own sister. Narcissa cared little about muggles, and if one asked her, they were not worth her time, even for fun things like torture and murder.

  Though, after the Dark Lord fell, there were no benefits to openly sticking to old loyalties like some of his more moronic associates who were probably already gone mad in their not-so-cosy cells in Azkaban.

  With the death of the Dark Lord, it was every wizard for himself, and unlike them, Lucius did not care enough about the cause to remain loyal to a dead man. He had managed to gather other like-minded individuals and position himself as their leader to use Thicknesse’s prowess in matters of w to avoid Azkaban altogether. With Beltrix and her ilk nguishing in prison and Orion Bck dead, Lucius enjoyed the freedom to amass more and more power in the Ministry and subsequently across Wizarding Britain.

  The loss of his seat in the Wizengamot was but a simple setback and compromise to ensure the fools on Dumbledore's side believe he felt remorse and wished to offer recompense.

  Soft-hearted fools the lot of them.

  His thoughts inadvertently returned to his wife as he felt a particur bruise on his backside. They had never duelled before, yet he was confident he would have prevailed if they did. Except his wand had failed him. It was almost as if it did not recognise him at times or would not budge from the cane sheath he put it in.

  Narcissa had easily given him the trashing of a lifetime, and he had still not fully recovered from the curses and bludgeons she had bsted him with on his way out of his own bloody manor.

  Lucius could barely understand the enraged ramblings of the former Bck witch, but he got the gist of it. She had somehow discovered the truth of the diary and that he had caused the Basilisk to kill that Weasley whelp. Granted, he did understand her anger and the fact she most likely didn’t care about the boy’s death as much as what could have been the alternative. If he had known that Slytherin’s monster was a Basilisk, he would definitely have thought twice about releasing it, as he might very well have caused the death of his own son.

  His quest to cause trouble for that annoying red-haired lout would have had to wait for a more opportune time.

  Truth be told, Arthur Weasley was nothing more than an annoyance with his newly found Muggle Protection Act, which had already backfired terribly. Yet, Lucius did not get where he was by letting cretins like that target him.

  Nevertheless, his rise to power had garnered a lot of enemies for the Malfoy Lord, and now that he was being kicked down, they would be coming out of the woodwork to try and get a piece of him.

  His soft wife’s face twisted into an enraged scowl when he rationally told her they would simply make another child if it was Draco who died. Lucius was gd he trusted his instincts to disappear immediately when he saw the tip of her wand glow red. He had seen his former master’s wand glow that eerie red one time too many when he punished his followers when they displeased him, and he did not want to risk her wrath.

  Despite her usually demure demeanour, Narcissa had turned into a crazed harpy akin to her eldest sister while enraged.

  He should have wed a Selwyn or a Fawley; their women were far more… soft and pliable despite cking in looks in comparison.

  Now, he was forced to rent this dingy room in Knockturn for the past week. Oh, all of his enemies would pay for their foolish daring. His bitch of a wife had already been struck from his will.

  Nobody crossed a Malfoy and got away with it.

  Nobody!

  Not even his crazy hag of a wife!

  The Potter whelp, Fudge, Narcissa, they would all pay in due time.

  But first, he had to get rid of this bloody chilling curse.

  After forking out an obscene amount of galleons, one of his less savoury contracts had managed to dig out a ritual, a simple way to transfer the curse, instead of risking backsh by dispelling it.

  The Lover’s Sacrifice.

  His catty wife grew enraged halfway into his expnation, when he forced another meeting with her a few days ago. She had the gall to refuse to do her duty! But Lucius was not without options, and gold kept opening doors. If a willing wife would not do, a trio of unwilling muggle virgin maidens would make do.

  The mere thought brought warmth into his loins before the cold banished it, making him scowl through his chattering teeth. He angrily glowered as his eyes gazed at the rolls of paper he had used as a headrest on the ground – Potter’s face greeted him and made every fibre of his being vibrate with fury.

  It could have been Dumbledore who cursed him that eve, but no, Lucius had been on guard around the old yet powerful warlock. No, the reason for his woes was definitely Potter.

  Such a vile attack would not go unanswered!

  Yet for now, on the front page of the Prophet, Ronald Weasley’s pitiful funeral and his family’s sombre faces capped with their ugly red hair brought a smidgeon of joy to his heart.

  Eleanor Fawley is an OC, but her brothers are canon, at least according to the wiki. Concordia Rowle is also a canon character that I’m borrowing from that Camity shtick that was released a couple of years back. Don’t expect anything from it, I’m just borrowing the characters instead of creating new ones from scratch.

  Expect a different take on the cssical portrayal of Daphne Greengrass. A reminder that I will be changing character ages.

  Lucius finally rears his ugly head, and they are both frozen solid. Is he overreacting over Narcissa? Yep. Does he know that? Probably. Does he care? Nope. People make dumb decisions when they are emotional, especially if they know that it's a bad decision. Doubling down on your mistakes is a time-honoured tradition for egotistic assholes. It doesn’t help that an unknown curse might be affecting his cognitive ability as well.