The towering marble facade of Gringotts loomed before Arcturus Black like the fortress it was, its shimmering surface reflecting the cold, unforgiving nature of the wizarding world's most secure bank. As he strode through the ornate doors, his black robes billowing behind him, he carried himself with the air of a man who belonged here—one whose name alone could command attention. His eyes were sharp, and his mind laser-focused on the task ahead.
The grand halls of Gringotts seemed to part for him as he made his way toward the main desk, where a particularly surly-looking goblin stood. The goblin's eyes flicked over Arcturus with an unreadable gaze, his sharp features shifting in faint recognition.
"I need access to the vault belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange," Arcturus stated, his voice smooth and measured, yet carrying a weight that made it clear there would be no argument.
The goblin, whose features seemed chiseled from stone, regarded him coolly. His beady eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Verification," he demanded, his tone blunt and unyielding. "House Black, eh? Are you sure you haven't come to pilfer her collection of dark artifacts for yourself, Lord Black?"
Arcturus's lip twitched ever so slightly, the faintest hint of a smile appearing, but only just. "If I were here to pilfer, I doubt I'd bother with all the formalities," he replied, the weight of centuries of Black family pride evident in his voice. He reached into the inner pocket of his robes and produced a small, ornate locket. The Black family crest gleamed brightly, the serpent entwined with the lion—a symbol of power and lineage. "This should be all the verification you need."
The goblin's sharp eyes flickered to the locket, his gaze flicking back to Arcturus. There was a momentary pause, the briefest hesitation before the goblin's expression softened imperceptibly. It was a fleeting, barely perceptible shift, but it was enough. He glanced over his shoulder before returning his gaze to Arcturus.
"Very well, Lord Black," the goblin said with a begrudging nod. "Follow me. And do try not to leave a mess. Bellatrix Lestrange's vault has quite the reputation for being... sensitive."
Arcturus's smile grew, but his eyes remained cold, calculating. "I'll do my best to leave it in the same condition I found it," he said dryly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "After all, I wouldn't want to upset the delicate balance of dark magic she's no doubt accumulated."
The goblin led him through winding corridors of Gringotts, each step taken with the precise intent of someone who knew exactly where they were headed, who knew exactly what was at stake. The shadows of the vaults loomed around them, the thick air filled with ancient secrets.
Finally, they reached the imposing door to Bellatrix's vault—gleaming with runes and protective enchantments that practically hummed with power. The vault door itself was a masterpiece of dark magic, and it looked as though it might bite if you got too close.
"Here we are," the goblin muttered, though it was clear that even he held a healthy respect for the vault's defenses. "The door will require your identity to be verified once more, Lord Black. I trust you don't mind."
Arcturus tilted his head slightly, eyeing the goblin with a glint of amusement. "Really? I had assumed my mere presence would suffice," he said, his voice smooth as silk, but with that signature edge of savage mockery.
The goblin glared at him with a look that could melt steel, but Arcturus merely smiled. "Proceed," he said, his voice dropping to a tone of finality that brooked no refusal.
The goblin made a sound of frustration, but nonetheless stepped forward to cast the appropriate verification spells. After a moment of shimmering light, the door to Bellatrix's vault rumbled open with a deep groan, as if protesting the intrusion.
As Arcturus stepped inside, his eyes quickly adjusted to the dimly lit vault, scanning the room for the prize. There, nestled among the numerous dark artifacts and cursed relics, lay the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff—gleaming, deceptively innocuous. It radiated dark magic, its presence both an invitation and a warning.
Without hesitation, Arcturus reached out, his fingers brushing against the cold surface of the cup. The air seemed to thrum with a malevolent energy as he grasped it firmly. A ripple of unease ran through him as the dark power within the Horcrux pulsed, but he gripped it with steady hands, his face expressionless.
"Ah, how quaint," he murmured to himself, his voice just loud enough to echo slightly in the silence of the vault. "The Cup of Hufflepuff. How fitting that it has fallen into such hands." His lips curled into a twisted smile as he pulled the object from its resting place, carefully wrapping it in a cloth. "Now, let's see how long it takes before our dear Bellatrix notices it's gone."
As he made his way back toward the vault entrance, he passed the goblin who had been observing him, still standing guard outside. The goblin's eyes flickered with a mix of suspicion and grudging respect.
"Anything to report?" Arcturus asked with a grin, his tone so dry it could strip paint.
The goblin snarled in reply. "Only that you have far more confidence than anyone should when robbing a vault this dangerous."
Arcturus chuckled softly. "I wouldn't call it robbing, my dear goblin," he said, his voice deep and mocking. "I'm merely... reclaiming what was once ours."
With a final glance toward the vault's threshold, Arcturus gave a nod of thanks to the goblin—if such a gesture could even be considered polite in the dark, murky world of Gringotts. "Enjoy the rest of your night," he added, though his eyes were already focused on the next step of their mission. "I'll be off to destroy yet another one of Voldemort's toys."
As he exited the vaults, his footsteps echoing in the empty corridors, Arcturus felt the weight of the Cup in his grasp, knowing that with each Horcrux destroyed, they were one step closer to defeating the Dark Lord. And despite the dark path that lay ahead, Arcturus had no intention of stopping until the job was done.
After all, as head of House Black, it was his duty to make sure that darkness—any darkness—never had the chance to grow unchecked.
—
Harry lay sprawled across the bed, his limbs heavy with exhaustion, still reeling from the effects of the ritual. The room around him was dimly lit, soft golden light filtering through the heavy curtains. He tried to shake off the lingering dizziness, but the feeling seemed determined to stick. As he turned his head, he spotted his grandmother, Dorea, perched at the edge of his bed, looking down at him with a mixture of concern and that signature no-nonsense expression she always wore when she meant business.
"Harry dear, I'm not letting you off the hook this time," Dorea said, her voice as warm as it was authoritative. She had her hands on a steaming bowl of soup, a spoon poised with dangerous precision, ready to make him take the first bite whether he wanted to or not.
Harry, still feeling a little woozy, smiled weakly. "I'm fine, Grandma. Really," he tried to protest, but his voice was hoarse from the exertion of the ritual, and his stomach rumbled loudly, betraying him.
Dorea didn't even flinch. Her eyes narrowed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Now, Harry," she began, her voice soft but firm, like a velvet-covered iron fist. "I didn't raise you to be stubborn. You need to eat." She lifted the spoon closer to his lips, her tone brokering no argument.
"Grandma, I really—" Harry started again, but the spoon was already there, and he found himself opening his mouth without much choice in the matter.
She chuckled softly, her eyes gleaming with the same mischievous twinkle he remembered from his childhood. "Don't give me that nonsense. You're as bad as your grandfather was with food, you know that? Always acting like you could manage without it. But I know better."
He swallowed the warm soup, letting the comforting liquid soothe his throat and the tension in his muscles. His mind slowly started to clear. It wasn't so much the food, though; it was the feeling of being cared for, the way his grandmother had always made him feel safe, even in the darkest of times.
"You really don't have to do this, Grandma," Harry said softly, his voice stronger now but still quiet, almost hesitant. He glanced at her, meeting her gaze. "I'm not a little kid anymore."
Dorea's expression softened, though her resolve remained unwavering. "You'll always be my little one, Harry," she replied, her voice thick with affection. Her tone had that steady warmth to it that only grandmothers could master. She leaned in a little, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders, as if making sure he was cocooned in comfort.
"Besides," she continued with a raised eyebrow, "you've got that rebellious streak. It'll be back in no time, I'm sure. But for now, just let me pamper you a bit. No harm in that, is there?"
Harry smirked despite himself. "I suppose not," he said, allowing the spoon to come back to his lips for another bite. The soup was warm and rich, full of flavors that made him feel as if everything might just be okay. If only for the moment.
Just then, the door creaked open with a soft rustle, and a tiny figure scuttled in, a house-elf in a tattered pillowcase that looked a bit too large for his small frame. Kreth, the Potter family's long-suffering but ever-loyal elf, peeked in with a sheepish expression. His large, round eyes glanced nervously at Harry, then at Dorea.
"Master Harry still needs more rest, does he?" Kreth squeaked, his voice high-pitched but with a distinct touch of exasperation that only Kreth could manage. "Kreth would've brought a more restorative soup, yes sir, if he were asked." He wrung his hands, shifting from one foot to the other. "Kreth has a special recipe, handed down from Kreth's grandmother, full of magical properties—guaranteed to make Master Harry feel like he could outpace a Nimbus!"
Dorea, never one to miss an opportunity to tease Kreth, gave him a pointed look. "And what, Kreth? You think Harry needs more magic to rest? Perhaps you've forgotten that he's already surrounded by more magic than he knows what to do with."
Kreth's ears drooped slightly at the reprimand, but he straightened up immediately, giving a little bow of sorts. "Kreth never forgets, Mistress Dorea, never! Just trying to make Master Harry feel better, yes?" he added, his voice bouncing back to its high-pitched enthusiasm.
Harry chuckled softly at the house-elf's antics. "I appreciate the offer, Kreth, but I think this soup is doing the trick." He glanced at his grandmother. "It's really good, Grandma. Thank you."
"You're welcome, my dear," Dorea said with a soft smile, a flicker of pride in her eyes. "Now, drink the rest of this, and then we'll have you tucked into bed for a proper nap."
Kreth, still hovering by the door, cleared his throat and snapped his fingers, his ears twitching excitedly. "Kreth will make sure Master Harry gets plenty of rest. Plenty! And should he require any more soup, Kreth will be ready at once!" he declared, puffing out his tiny chest like a proud peacock.
"Thank you, Kreth," Harry said with a grin, his spirits lifting a little. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the playful energy that Kreth brought to the estate. The elf's constant antics were always a reminder that, despite everything, there was warmth here. Real warmth.
As Kreth disappeared back down the hall, Dorea handed Harry the spoon one last time, her gaze softening as she looked down at him. "You're going to be alright, Harry," she said, her voice quiet but certain. "It may take time, but you'll come back stronger than ever."
Harry nodded, swallowing the last of the soup. He leaned back into the bed, his eyes heavy with the comfort of both food and family. "I'll get there, Grandma. With you and Kreth looking out for me, how could I not?" He smiled up at her, the exhaustion still lingering but now tempered with warmth. The sort that could only come from a place of love.
"That's my boy," Dorea replied, her voice thick with emotion. She leaned over, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead before giving him a lingering kiss on the temple. "Rest now, Harry. I'll be here when you wake up."
As Harry closed his eyes, the rhythmic sound of his grandmother's soft humming filled the room, a lullaby of sorts that had soothed him countless times in his life. With Kreth's promise of more soup and Dorea's quiet love, he felt safe, cared for, and for the first time in a long while, truly at peace.
—
Kreth, the ever-anxious house-elf of the Potter estate, appeared in the doorway like a whirlwind, his eyes wide and his large ears twitching with excitement. "Madam Dorea, Madam Augusta Longbottom and Master Neville Longbottom have arrived!" he announced, his voice a mix of urgent delight and barely contained panic. His long ears fluttered in an almost comical display of enthusiasm.
Dorea, who had been seated at Harry's bedside, looked up from her position with an indulgent smile. "Thank you, Kreth," she said in her warm, commanding tone. "Show them in, please."
As Kreth scurried off to do as instructed, Dorea rose from her chair with grace and an almost regal air about her. She had always carried herself with a quiet elegance, and today was no different. The rustling of her dark green gown filled the room as she approached the entrance. Within moments, Augusta Longbottom, sharp-eyed and stern as ever, and Neville Longbottom, his shy smile lighting up his face, entered the room.
Dorea's face immediately softened at the sight of them. "Augusta, Neville, it's so wonderful to see you both," she exclaimed, her arms opening for an embrace. As she enveloped them both in a warm hug, her demeanor was warm and full of genuine affection. "Please, sit down. Kreth will bring some tea, I'm sure."
Augusta, her silvery hair pulled back into a severe bun that matched the pinched expression on her face, returned the smile but in her usual reserved manner. "Thank you, Dorea," she replied, her voice firm but kind, with an undertone of the years of experience that had shaped her. She turned slightly to glance at Harry, lying quietly on the bed. "I see your grandson is recovering well."
Dorea nodded, a knowing look in her eyes. "Yes, thankfully. He's much better now." She gave Harry a brief but tender glance before looking back at her guests. "Kreth, tea if you please!" she called to the elf.
The small elf popped back into the room with a brisk, "At once, Madam Dorea!" He hurried to the table and began setting up the fine china with the speed of someone who had done this a thousand times over. Dorea, always the gracious hostess, turned back to Augusta and Neville.
"And how are you both?" she asked, her voice shifting to a gentler tone as she seated herself beside them. "Neville, I hear your potion-making is improving. Your grandmother mentioned that you've been working on some more complex mixtures."
Neville, who had been sitting with a sort of awkward dignity, his hands folded in his lap, immediately flushed a deep shade of pink. "W-well, I've been practicing a bit," he stammered, his voice a little quieter than he probably intended. "I… um, I've been trying to get better at the basic ones first. But, I, uh, might have tried a few advanced ones as well."
Augusta gave him a sidelong glance, but there was no reprimand in her gaze—only pride, though carefully hidden. "He's being modest," she remarked dryly, her voice tinged with fondness. "The boy's got talent, despite his tendency to second-guess himself."
Dorea chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, I know all about second-guessing," she replied, giving Neville an encouraging smile. "There's no harm in trying, Neville. You're working on the fundamentals first, which is the wise way to go about it."
Neville nodded eagerly, clearly relieved by her understanding. "Th-thank you," he said, his voice growing more confident. "I really enjoy it. I, um, I also heard Harry was, uh, sick. I hope he's feeling better now?"
Dorea's smile softened, and she looked over at Harry once more. "He's feeling much better, dear. It was nothing too serious—just a little fever from the ritual. He's recovering, though." Her tone was light, though there was an unmistakable undercurrent of concern in her voice. "He's eager to see you, Neville. I'm sure it would brighten his day to have a visitor."
Neville's face lit up with a bashful smile, though his eyes remained slightly uncertain. "I'd… I'd like that," he replied, his voice soft. The shyness that had clung to him since childhood was still there, though perhaps with a little less of the weight it once held.
Dorea gave him a reassuring nod, her voice gentle. "After tea, I'll take you to see Harry. He'll be glad to see you, Neville. I'm certain of it."
Augusta, who had been watching the exchange with the keen eye of someone who saw both her grandson's strengths and his vulnerabilities, let out a small sigh. "Ah, that's the problem with boys like Neville," she said, though there was no malice in her words, only a sort of affectionate exasperation. "Always too modest for their own good."
Neville shifted awkwardly in his seat, but Dorea patted his hand affectionately, her smile warm. "It's a good trait, Neville," she said, her voice earnest. "Humility is a virtue. It's also a rare one these days."
Just then, Kreth, having successfully prepared the tea, marched over with a flourish, his face alight with pride. He placed the steaming cups before everyone, adjusting each one just so. "Tea for the Mistress and Masters!" he chirped, his voice carrying the peculiar blend of enthusiasm and serious dedication that only Kreth could manage. His wide eyes darted around as he finished setting everything down, and he gave a dramatic bow. "Kreth is most pleased to serve, as always!"
Dorea raised an eyebrow but couldn't suppress a chuckle. "Thank you, Kreth," she said, a slight edge of amusement in her tone. "You always make sure everything is perfect, don't you?"
Kreth puffed out his chest, his large ears wobbling with pride. "Of course, Madam Dorea!" he replied with a proud flourish. "Kreth's service is impeccable. Only the best for Master Harry's visitors, yes sir!"
Neville looked at Kreth with wide eyes, clearly a little fascinated by the elf's peculiar energy. "Th-thank you, Kreth," he stammered again, clearly not sure how to respond to such an enthusiastic gesture. Augusta, however, merely gave the elf a mild nod of approval, her expression unchanging.
As the tea settled into the quiet room, Dorea took a sip and then looked back at Neville, her expression thoughtful. "You'll find that Harry's been quite the handful these days," she said with a smile that suggested both affection and a hint of mischief. "But I think you'll both be good for each other. A little dose of adventure, perhaps?"
Neville's face lit up with a genuine, if shy, smile. "I… I think so, too," he said, his voice tinged with newfound excitement. He glanced toward Harry's room, as if imagining what their next encounter might be.
Dorea gave a final, loving glance at her grandson before standing and offering her arm to Neville. "Well then, shall we go see Harry? I'm sure he's been waiting to see you." She made a sweeping motion to the door, her voice light, full of warmth. "Let's not keep him waiting any longer."
As the group began to make their way toward Harry's room, Kreth turned to tidy up, already muttering to himself about the next thing on his list of duties. The house-elf might have been a bit excitable, but in a strange way, he was exactly the right presence to bring comfort and even a bit of levity to the Potter estate. And for all their seriousness and burdens, the house and its inhabitants knew that the love and support they shared would carry them through whatever challenges lay ahead.
—
As they approached Harry's door, she paused, giving Neville a look of quiet affection.
"Now, Neville," she said, her voice rich with maternal warmth, "don't be nervous. Harry's eager to see you, and I think you'll find he's quite the chatterbox once he's in good spirits."
Neville's face turned a shade of red that only a Longbottom could manage, but he gave a small nod of acknowledgment. "I-I'll try not to be. I just… I didn't want to bother him."
Dorea raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at her lips. "Nonsense, dear. Harry's been waiting for this. Trust me, you'll do just fine. Besides," she added with a conspiratorial wink, "you're the only one of us who isn't worried about making too much noise."
Neville glanced down at his shoes, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he followed her to the door.
Dorea gave the door a light tap, her voice soft but clear. "Harry, dear, Neville's here to see you."
From within, there was a rustling sound followed by a muffled, "Come in!"
With a slight gesture to Neville, Dorea opened the door. Harry was propped up against the plush pillows of his bed, his green eyes alight with curiosity and energy, despite his recent illness. A book was abandoned beside him, forgotten for the moment as he smiled brightly at Neville's entrance.
"Hi, Neville," Harry greeted warmly, a grin spreading across his face. His messy hair stuck out in every direction, giving him a look of someone who had just been caught mid-adventure. "You're the last person I expected to come visit today."
Neville shuffled in, clearly a little unsure of his footing, but his eyes were sparkling with concern and a bit of curiosity. "H-Hi, Harry. How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice quiet, but there was a sincere undertone to his words, something that made Dorea pause and smile to herself from the doorway.
Harry leaned back into his pillows with a dramatic sigh, though the smile on his face didn't waver. "Oh, you know, a bit tired. It's mostly just a fever," he said with a cheeky grin, glancing at the open book on his nightstand. "The good news is I haven't melted into a puddle yet, so that's progress."
Neville couldn't help but chuckle at Harry's joke, though his face remained serious. "I'm glad to hear it," he said, his shyness lifting a little. He took a few steps closer, his hands still nervously clasped in front of him. "I—uh—actually wanted to ask if you needed anything? You know, while you're stuck in bed and all. A few books? Some snacks?"
Dorea, who had stepped aside to let the boys talk, observed them from the corner of the room. She crossed her arms with a fond smile, the edges of her lips curling in approval. "I think Harry's managed to survive without a snack for the last hour, Neville," she teased lightly, her voice as warm and rich as velvet. "But I'm sure he wouldn't mind a bit of company."
Harry gave her an exaggerated eye-roll, making sure to be loud enough for both Neville and Dorea to hear. "Oh, really, Grandma? I think I can survive on my own for once," he said, but the playful twinkle in his eyes betrayed the sarcasm. "Though, Neville's always been good about offering snacks."
Neville's face reddened, and he fumbled nervously. "I-I don't have any snacks, actually… I was just saying that." He sighed, almost as if realizing how awkward he sounded.
Dorea let out a quiet chuckle, the sound rich and smooth like dark chocolate. "It's alright, Neville," she said, walking over to the bedside table and pouring herself a cup of tea from the pot she had carried with her. "We all know you've got a heart of gold, even if you can't quite get your words to cooperate."
Harry grinned wider, clearly amused by his grandmother's teasing. "Yeah, Neville's one of the best at—what did you call it?—modesty?" He looked back at Neville, his expression softened. "I'll be fine, really. Just… happy to have someone to talk to."
Neville's eyes softened at Harry's words, and for a moment, the shyness that had defined him for so long seemed to lift. He took a seat at the edge of Harry's bed, his posture still a little stiff but his hands now resting comfortably on his lap. "Well, I'm glad you're feeling better. I… I just didn't know what to expect. You know… coming to see you here."
Harry, noticing the slight tension still lingering in Neville's shoulders, smiled gently. "I get it," he said, his voice full of understanding. "It's a bit different here, huh? But I think… well, I think you'll find it's not so bad." He leaned forward, suddenly grinning. "And who knows? Maybe I'll show you the secret passageways under the house."
Dorea, still lingering in the background, snorted softly. "Harry, those 'secret passageways' are just old broom closets. You've been telling Neville they're tunnels to pull his leg."
Harry waved her off with a dramatic flourish. "Ah, but they are tunnels, Grandma! They lead to the most interesting places," he said with mock seriousness, before looking back at Neville. "Trust me, you'll see."
Neville, now thoroughly entertained by Harry's antics, chuckled. "I don't know, Harry. Maybe you'll have to show me first."
Dorea, unable to contain her amusement, clinked her teacup gently against her saucer. "Oh, they'll have their adventure, I'm sure." She turned her sharp gaze toward Neville, her voice warm but with a touch of wry humor. "Just don't expect to find any real treasures under this roof. I've already had my fill of magical shenanigans for one lifetime."
Neville laughed again, his unease now fully gone. "I'll take whatever I can get," he said, glancing at Harry as he finally relaxed into the moment.
Harry nodded sagely. "The secret to a good adventure is having the right partner. And, well," he added with a wink, "I think I'm stuck with you for the long haul."
Neville smiled back, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn't the awkward, uncertain smile of the boy who had always felt out of place. It was a genuine, growing confidence that seemed to bloom in the warmth of Harry's presence and Dorea's quiet, approving gaze.
As the conversation continued, Kreth popped back in to refill the tea cups, his face full of pride at having performed his task without a hitch. "Master Harry, Master Neville, may Kreth offer more tea? Perhaps a spot of biscuits too?" He asked, his voice brimming with his usual enthusiasm, his wide eyes gleaming with a sense of accomplishment.
Harry raised his hand. "Yes, please, Kreth. But only if it's the chocolate ones." He grinned at Neville. "I've got a thing for chocolate."
Neville's face broke into a grin as he nodded. "Who doesn't?"
And so, in the cozy warmth of Harry's room, two friends began the process of building a bond that would, in time, turn into a partnership. They would face many challenges together, but for now, the simple pleasure of shared laughter and the comfort of good company was enough.
—
The atmosphere at Blackmoor was thick with tension, a palpable heaviness that seemed to settle in the very air, clinging to everyone present. Arcturus Black strode into the room, his tall form casting a long shadow under the flickering candlelight. The Cup, an artifact of unimaginable evil, was gripped tightly in his hand, its weight not just physical but metaphorical. The task before them was not one for the faint of heart. This was a moment steeped in power, a decision that would echo for centuries to come.
The room fell into a hushed silence as Arcturus arrived at the table, the assembled wizards and witches standing in solemn respect. His piercing gaze swept over them, and in that moment, every single person in the room could feel the immense gravity of the moment. The Black family bloodline was known for its pride and strength, but it was Arcturus' commanding presence that made it undeniable.
Behind him, Ammon walked in with the Diary held in his steady hand, his face a picture of calm determination. Ammon's presence, in contrast to Arcturus' intimidating stature, was like a quiet storm—powerful, but with a composed edge. He placed the Diary on the table next to the Cup, and for a moment, the two artifacts seemed to almost hum in acknowledgment, their dark magic swirling in the air. The tension between the two objects was tangible, a silent duel between light and dark.
The room held its breath.
Arcturus set the Cup down with a deliberate finality, his voice low and commanding as he glanced at Ammon. "If this goes awry, I trust you'll take full responsibility?" His gaze shifted from Ammon to the rest of the group, his lip curling into a wry smile. "I'm sure that we will be blamed in some way, regardless."
Sirius Black, leaning against the stone wall, snorted in a way only he could. "I can already hear the howls of 'Sirius ruined everything!' coming from my dear cousin Bellatrix, as though anyone would care about her opinion."
Benjy Fenwick, standing beside him, grinned. "I'd rather hear her shrieking than deal with her hexes. At least it's more entertaining."
Charlus Potter, ever the voice of measured authority but with an acerbic wit sharp enough to cut glass, gave a dry chuckle. "Oh, I'm sure she'll be thrilled about the destruction of these little trinkets. Just another opportunity for her to feel important."
"Yes, because that's what everyone needs," Sirius added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Another Black trying to claim some self-important cause."
Arcturus gave them both a sidelong glance, his voice as cold as the grave. "If you're done with the familial jabs, I believe we have something much more important at hand."
Ammon nodded, his face set in resolute calm. "Indeed," he said, stepping to the table with a practiced grace. His fingers brushed lightly against the Diary, and the room seemed to hold its breath. "It begins now."
With that, Ammon spoke the incantation, the words flowing from him with precision, each syllable carrying the weight of ancient magic. As he spoke, the air began to crackle with energy, a static hum that reverberated through the stone walls of Blackmoor. The gathered wizards and witches, all skilled in their own right, stood rooted in place, eyes fixed on the two dark objects, awaiting the outcome of this dangerous ritual.
The Cup trembled on the table, as if reacting to the spell. Beneath the relentless force of Ammon's incantation, its magic fought back, thrashing violently. The Diary, too, seemed to react, flicking open as though its pages were seeking something, its very essence recoiling from the destruction aimed at it. The light in the room dimmed, and shadows danced across the walls like twisted specters.
"Careful now," Charlus muttered, his voice carrying a wicked edge. "I'd hate to have to clean up this mess."
Sirius smirked, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for something more physical. "If it does get messy, I'm sure Benjy's the one who will get to clean it up. After all, he's so good at making things disappear."
Benjy grinned, shrugging. "You're welcome to try your hand at it, Sirius. Just don't complain when it's your lucky face in the fire." His voice was as smooth and sharp as a knife, the playful banter masking his constant vigilance.
Raza, whose immense presence in the room demanded respect, stood silently in the corner, his arms crossed. His dark eyes were fixed on the artifacts, watching with the intensity of a man who had seen far too much of the darkness they contained. His low voice rumbled with authority. "If this goes wrong, it's not just Voldemort's soul we'll be fighting. The entire magical world will feel the backlash."
"We're aware, Raza," Arcturus responded coolly, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of knowledge. "But the time for caution has passed. We must act."
Ammon's voice rose as he reached the climax of the incantation. The Cup and the Diary erupted with an explosion of raw magic, their dark forces battling the light that was overwhelming them. The room was filled with blinding light, and for a moment, it was impossible to see anything at all.
Then, as if the magic had reached a tipping point, the light blazed once more, and with a resounding crack, both the Cup and the Diary disintegrated into a fine dust, the remnants of Voldemort's soul scattering into nothingness.
The room was deathly silent for a moment.
Finally, Ammon staggered back from the table, breathing heavily. Sweat dripped from his brow, and his face was pale from the sheer exertion. He looked at the group, his voice hoarse but triumphant. "It is done."
Sirius grinned, clapping his hands slowly in mock applause. "Well, that was a bit anticlimactic, don't you think? No dramatic last-minute villain monologue, no evil laughter? What a letdown."
Benjy chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe we should've given them a round of applause, then. Perhaps they would've put on a better show."
Charlus, though, was not smiling. His eyes, dark with fatigue but gleaming with satisfaction, met Ammon's. "We've succeeded. But don't think for a moment that the road ahead will be any easier. The pieces of Voldemort's influence are still scattered across the world. And there's always more work to be done."
Melania, who had been quietly observing the scene, nodded gravely. Her voice, smooth and elegant like liquid velvet, broke the tension. "But tonight, we've taken a step forward. And that is no small victory."
Raza stepped forward, his voice a deep rumble. "Let us not forget the cost of this victory. There is still much to be done."
With the Horcruxes destroyed, the group stood united, not in celebration, but in quiet acknowledgment of the battle they had won—and the wars that still loomed ahead.
The ritual was complete, but the fight for peace was far from over.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!