Summer
Tonks strolled into the Potter Manor, her bubblegum-pink hair shifting to a soft lavender as she glanced around. She hadn't been here in a while, but Sirius had invited her over, saying there was something she really needed to see.
She barely had time to step inside before two blurs zipped up to her—one with wild, spiky hair that almost looked like wolf ears, the other with a white streak running through his dark locks.
"Who’s this?" Lyall asked, tilting his head at her like he was scenting the air.
Pietro, ever the talker, immediately chimed in. "Mum said we have an aunt Tonks, but she never said she had pink hair! Can you change it? How many colors can you do? Can you do spots? Ooooh, what about stripes?!"
Tonks blinked, then turned to Sirius, who was grinning like Christmas had come early.
"Wait," she said, pointing at the two boys. "These are Wanda’s twins? The babies?"
"Not so baby anymore," Sirius said, clearly enjoying her shock.
Wanda stepped into the room, arms crossed, smiling at Tonks. "They had a bit of a... growth spurt."
Tonks shook her head in disbelief, then ruffled Pietro’s hair. "Blimey. You two skipped nappies and went straight to causing chaos, huh?"
Lyall grinned, showing off his sharp canines. "We’re very efficient."
Pietro bounced on his toes. "So, about the hair—can you do rainbow?"
Tonks laughed. "Kid, you’re gonna love me." With a dramatic wave of her hand, her hair shifted into a vibrant rainbow of colors.
Pietro gasped. "Best. Aunt. Ever."
Harry sat across from the twins in their living room a little while later, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Pietro excitedly move around, bouncing off the walls with his usual energy. Lyall, on the other hand, sat still, watching his brother with a look of amusement on his face.
Pietro suddenly stopped, his eyes bright with excitement. “Hey, Harry, do you want to know how it felt to grow up really fast?” He leaned in closer, speaking in his usual rapid-fire way. "I mean, you weren't there, but I could give you the memories. I made you and Lyall grow up super fast, remember? So you can feel what it was like for us! I could give you that, and then you'd understand. You’d get it."
Harry raised an eyebrow, surprised. "You mean, you could make me feel what it was like for you two to grow up that quickly?"
Pietro nodded enthusiastically, his words coming out in a rush. “Yup! You’d feel everything—how Mum and Dad were there for us, all the stuff we had to do, all the stuff that happened so fast. I could give you the memories so you don’t miss out on any of it. You’d feel just like you were there with us!”
Lyall spoke up quietly, his voice steady. "It was a lot. And it was hard. But if you want to understand what we went through, Harry, it’s all yours. The memories are yours to take. We just want you to know what we felt, even if you weren’t physically there."
Harry paused, thinking about the offer. It was strange to think about reliving their memories, feeling everything they had when they were growing up so quickly, especially considering he had been there for all the important moments in their lives as their godfather. But he understood the impulse to want to share those memories.
"Why would you want me to have them?" Harry asked, his voice soft. "You guys went through so much—"
Pietro grinned, his enthusiasm never faltering. "Because you’re our godfather! You’re part of our family, Harry. And we want you to understand. You’ve been there for us, but this... this is something different. You’ll get why Mum and Dad are so awesome, and why everything was so important."
Lyall nodded, his gaze steady. "It’s not just about the memories, Harry. It’s about us—our family, and how we grew. You’re a part of it all, whether you were there physically or not. We want you to know what it was like to be us."
Harry smiled softly, feeling the depth of their words. “Alright. I think I’d like that.”
Pietro’s grin grew even wider. "You won’t regret it! You’ll get to feel everything we went through, and then you’ll understand even more about us."
Lyall just gave a small, quiet smile, nodding in agreement.
Harry leaned back, feeling both grateful and humbled by the offer. It was more than just memories—it was a way to connect with them, to understand what they had experienced and how they had grown. He had always been there for them, but this was something more, something that tied him even closer to the twins.
Regulus was quietly browsing around The Black Emporium, with Sirius checking in on the shop’s latest deliveries. The store was quiet, save for the faint hum of magical energy that always seemed to linger in the air. The shelves were stacked with enchanted artifacts, and every corner held some trinket or magical curiosity.
Regulus, always quick to notice things others might miss, saw a figure moving at the back of the shop. A boy with messy red hair and a mischievous glint in his eyes, standing a little too still for a child.
Atreus. Loki. The same person.
He walked over, casually, not bothering to hide his recognition. As he approached, the boy—who was still in his Atreus disguise—grinned and looked up, clearly aware that he was no longer hiding his identity.
“Well, well,” Atreus said, his voice carrying a tone of mock surprise. “I didn’t expect you to find me here, Regulus.”
Regulus raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Please. You’re not exactly subtle.”
Atreus smirked, clearly unbothered. "I suppose not. I wasn’t trying to hide either."
Regulus took a moment before speaking again, a slight smirk creeping onto his face. “So… tell me. What’s your favorite prank to pull on Thor?”
Atreus—Loki—paused, his eyes twinkling with interest. "Ah, now we're getting to the good stuff, huh?" He leaned against a nearby shelf, pretending to ponder the question. "Well, my favorite one would have to be when I enchanted his hammer to be just a little too heavy for him to lift, but only when no one was around to see. Watching him struggle with it was…" Loki paused for dramatic effect. “…delightful.”
Regulus chuckled. "I bet that had him frustrated for weeks. What else?"
Loki’s grin widened, clearly amused by Regulus' line of questioning. "Another favorite? I once replaced the entire dining hall’s meat supply with magically-conjured vegetables that looked like steak. Thor tried to eat one, got halfway through, then nearly broke his teeth on it. Of course, he couldn’t figure out why he couldn’t eat the food, so he kept throwing a tantrum for hours about it."
Regulus laughed harder this time, his usual composed demeanor slipping. “I can only imagine the look on his face.”
"Oh, it was priceless," Loki said, laughing softly himself. "But there’s more where that came from."
Regulus tilted his head slightly, a more serious note in his voice now. “Why did you save me that day? The dementor attack?”
Loki’s expression flickered for a moment—Regulus had hit a more personal note. “You’re a smart kid, Regulus. I’m sure you’ve figured that out by now.” He paused, studying Regulus with an almost calculating gaze. “It wasn’t about just saving you. It was about watching you. You’re... different, I can see that. You’ve got a certain fire in you, and I respect that.”
Regulus frowned but didn't flinch. He had long ago learned not to fear the dark and dangerous corners of the world. “So, you’re saying I’m a project for you?” he asked, not entirely sure if he was amused or disturbed by the idea.
Loki shook his head. “Not exactly. You’re not my project. I just find you intriguing. And if you’ve learned anything from me by now, it’s that I enjoy keeping an eye on the interesting ones.”
Regulus didn’t reply at first, processing Loki’s words. Then, with a raised eyebrow, he asked, “So... I’m interesting to you, huh?”
Loki smirked, clearly amused by Regulus' bluntness. "Indeed. I don’t usually waste my time on those who don’t challenge me in some way. But you? You’ve got potential. Something different about you. Don’t let it go to waste."
Regulus thought about that for a moment. He wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered or concerned. Loki was, after all, the kind of being who could manipulate, deceive, and destroy without a second thought. Yet, in some strange way, Regulus found himself... intrigued.
“So, if I’m so interesting,” Regulus said, finally breaking the silence, “what do you expect from me? Should I start pulling pranks on Thor?”
Loki let out a low, amused chuckle. “I wouldn’t exactly call that my expectation, but if you wanted to take a page out of my book, I certainly wouldn’t stop you.” He paused, his expression shifting, a hint of something darker in his eyes. “But don’t be fooled. There’s a lot more to this world than just pranks and tricks. The game is bigger than you think, and you’ll need to decide soon where you stand in it.”
Regulus nodded slowly, his mind racing with the implications of what Loki was suggesting. The boy—or god, rather—was far more complicated than anyone truly realized. And Regulus had a feeling his involvement with Loki would be more than just an occasional conversation.
But for now, he would play along, just like the interesting little pawn he had become in Loki's eyes.
"All right, Loki," Regulus said, his tone light but with a challenge in his eyes. "I’ll keep that in mind."
Loki gave a knowing smile, his eyes gleaming with mischief and something else, something far more dangerous. “Good. Keep me entertained, Regulus."
You know my mum uses your picture for target practice?" Regulus asked Loki.
Loki raised an eyebrow, his mischievous grin not faltering for a second. “Really? I’m flattered,” he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me, how does she aim at a picture of me? I imagine it’s not easy when it’s so hard to get a good look at perfection like mine.”
Regulus smirked, clearly amused by his own comment. “Well, she doesn’t need to see you clearly to hit the mark. She said it’s great practice for when she’s dealing with more difficult targets.”
Loki paused for a moment, eyeing Regulus curiously. “Your mother, huh? I must say, I’ve never had anyone use my likeness for target practice before. How… charming.”
Regulus’ grin widened as he leaned back slightly, crossing his arms. “She said you make a good stand-in for whatever it is she’s aiming at.”
“Ah, I see," Loki responded, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "I suppose I should be honored that I’m the stand-in for anything she might need to face.”
“Don’t get too cocky,” Regulus said, the smirk never leaving his face. “She’s never missed once.”
"Oh. I know."
"I remember that day," Regulus began, his voice quiet but steady. "Right before you used me as a hostage to escape Thor, my mum shot you in the head. Point-blank."
Loki’s expression remained amused, though there was a flicker of something sharp behind his eyes. He knew Regulus had seen it. "Ah, yes, your mother’s aim is certainly precise. I’ll give her credit for that," he said, his voice laced with an almost playful tone.
"She shot you in the head." Regulus smirked.
"It wasn’t anything I couldn’t shake off," Loki interjected smoothly, his tone light as if it were an insignificant detail. "Being a god has its perks. You may have seen me take the hit, but it didn’t affect me the way it would a mortal. I’m far harder to kill than you or your mother might think."
Regulus didn’t look impressed, though. His arms remained folded, his stance skeptical. "So, you're saying it was nothing? You just stood there and let her shoot you?"
Loki let out a small chuckle. "I wouldn’t say let her shoot me. It wasn’t part of the plan, but I managed." He leaned a bit closer, eyes glinting with amusement. "You do realize it would take far more than a simple bullet to put me down, don’t you?"
Regulus didn’t respond right away, but there was a knowing look in his eyes. "I get it. You’re not just a regular person. You’re a god, and nothing can hurt you. But you’re still not someone I’d trust easily."
Loki regarded him with a mixture of amusement and respect. "Wise words, Regulus. It’s always best to be cautious when dealing with someone like me. But perhaps one day, we’ll see if we can trust each other, hmm?"
Regulus didn’t answer, but he felt the weight of the conversation, the underlying tension in the air. He didn’t fully trust Loki, but there was something undeniably intriguing about him.
"Before your father comes looking I have a question." Loki said.
"What?"
"When I saved you, you said you knew I was me. How? My disguise is perfect." Loki narrowed his eyes.
Regulus grinned. "The candy."
"What?"
"When I gave you candy and you made that face like you never had anything like it. Thor made the same face the first time he had some." Regulus crossed his arms smirking.
"You observant little." Loki chuckled. "You take after your mother."
"What are you doing? Why are you still around? Shouldn't you be hiding on another planet from Thor?"
"Please." Loki rolled his eyes. "Hiding in plain sight is the most fun. Enjoy." He vanished in a puff of green smoke leaving a box is every flavor beans.
Regulus picked it up. Maybe he's not the bad guy? Well not completely bad.
Harry’s breath came in shallow bursts as the chaos magic crackled around him. He stood, still, his hands trembling ever so slightly from the power coursing through them. He wasn’t sure when his training had shifted from pushing for control to pushing for something else. But there it was, this constant urge to be ready—always ready.
Wanda stood a few steps back, her eyes watching him carefully. “Harry, you're doing great. But you need to slow down. You’re trying to force it.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Harry said, his voice strained, though he was careful not to let the words become sharp. He wasn’t angry. Not really. But the weight of his own power—his own responsibility—felt heavier every day. The encounter with Mordo, the feeling of helplessness, the lurking power of the Darkhold—it all built up inside him like a storm, and Harry needed to channel it somehow.
"Harry calm down."
“I just need to be ready. I can’t let myself be caught off guard again.” His tone softened, but there was an edge to it, a quiet urgency. “The last time… It wasn’t just about me. People got hurt. If I’m not prepared, what happens next?”
Wanda’s expression softened as she took a step closer, her voice calm. “ It’s not just about being prepared, Harry. It’s about balance.”
Harry flicked a glance toward her, then refocused as his magic flickered again, curling like dark smoke from his hands. The chaos magic was always there, pulsing at the edges of his control. It wanted to run wild, wanted to be uncontained. But Harry had learned to keep it contained... for the most part.
“I’m balanced,” Harry muttered, as if the words themselves grounded him. He tightened his hands into fists, trying to feel the energy coiled within him, the magic waiting to be let loose. “But I can’t afford to be caught unprepared. Not again.”
Wanda looked at him for a long moment before speaking again, softer now. “That’s not your fault. What happened with Mordo... that wasn’t on you.”
Harry’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, the chaos around him surged again, the air crackling with a flicker of unstable magic. He closed his eyes, reining it in.
“I know,” he said through clenched teeth. “But I need to be better. I can’t let it happen again.”
Wanda nodded, stepping closer still, her presence steady and grounding. “You don’t have to be perfect, Harry. You just have to keep moving forward. We all do. You’re not alone in this fight.”
Harry exhaled slowly, feeling the tension ease just a little as he let his magic retract, the power settling back inside him like a storm dying down. His muscles still felt tense, but his thoughts were quieter now.
“I can’t afford to be caught off guard again. I won’t let anyone get hurt because I wasn’t ready.”
Wanda gave him a small, understanding smile. “I know. But you’re more prepared than you think. You always have been.”
Harry gave a brief nod, but the flicker of doubt in his eyes remained. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be fully ready. But he had to be. He owed it to everyone.
“Let’s just keep training,” he said, his voice a little steadier now. “There’s still a lot I need to learn.”
And with that, they resumed, the air between them still thick with magic, but a little more grounded than before.
The next day Harry took a break and took his girlfriend on another date.
Harry and Hermione went to a quiet café in London, one that wasn’t too crowded, so they could actually hear each other over the noise. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the way Hermione’s eyes lit up when she spotted her favorite pastry in the display case.
“Can we get two of those?” she asked, pointing to a chocolate croissant. “I know you’re going to want one, too.”
Harry grinned and nodded. “You know me too well,” he said, and a comfortable silence settled between them as they waited for their order.
Once they were seated, Hermione took a breath. “I’m glad we could do this. Everything’s been so crazy lately.”
Harry leaned back, thinking for a moment. “Yeah, it’s nice to just... be normal. You know, not have to worry about magic, or Mordo, or anything else.”
She nodded. “Just us. For once.”
Harry smiled, feeling the weight of her words. It was rare they could just be themselves without the looming pressure of everything else around them. The past few months had been a whirlwind of battles, secrets, and growing up too fast. This simple moment, just the two of them, felt like a bit of peace in the chaos.
“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Harry said softly, leaning forward a little. “I don’t think I could have handled all of it without you, Hermione.”
She met his gaze, her expression warm but with a hint of seriousness. “I’ll always be here for you, Harry. You know that, right?”
He nodded, his heart tightening at how lucky he felt to have her by his side. “I do. Just... sometimes it’s hard to not feel like I’m dragging you into all of it.”
Hermione reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “You don’t have to do this alone. We’re in this together. You and me, and Neville, and all of us. Don’t ever forget that.”
Harry gave her a soft smile, squeezing her hand in return. “I won’t. Thanks, Hermione. Really.”
They sat there for a few moments, just enjoying the simplicity of each other’s company, before their croissants arrived, and the conversation shifted to lighter topics—school, their favorite books, and what their summer plans might look like. For once, it felt like they were just two kids, talking about the little things that mattered most.
Harry grinned, his eyes glinting with mischief. "You ready to be an owl?" he whispered, teasing her.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "You know, I think you're just trying to get me to embarrass myself with all this Animagus talk."
Harry chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "No way. I think it'd be pretty cool. You'd make a fantastic owl."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but there was a warmth in her gaze. "Well, if you think it’s cool, I guess I’ll try. But don’t expect me to make any grand entrances like someone else might.”
Harry grinned. "Hey, I'm not the one who’s already imagining what animal I’d turn into," he teased, nudging her playfully.
She scoffed, but there was no real heat behind it. "I’m just trying to figure out if you’ll be able to handle being in the same class as a very mischievous owl."
He gave her a wide grin. "Mischievous? Me?" he said, putting on his best innocent face. "I think we both know who the real troublemaker is in this friendship."
Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "You're lucky I like you, Potter."
“Lucky me,” he said, raising an eyebrow, his voice full of mock seriousness. "You're just waiting to see my epic animal form in action."
“Don’t get too cocky now,” she warned with a grin, taking a sip of her drink. "We’ve still got a long way to go with this whole Animagus thing."
Harry leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Oh, I’m counting on it."
Fudge stood confidently at the head of the conference table in the Ministry of Magic’s meeting room. The atmosphere was heavy, filled with officials from the Department of Magical Games and Sports, some familiar faces, and others from foreign magical governments. Among the crowd was Sirius Black, who sat across from Loki, clearly displeased.
"Well, as most of you are aware," Loki began, his voice smooth and authoritative, "The Triwizard Tournament hasn’t been held in over two hundred years. But after much deliberation, we’ve decided that it’s time to bring it back." He let his words hang in the air, watching as the others exchanged nervous glances.
"Are you mad?" Sirius shot out, standing up abruptly. "This is a terrible idea, Albus! The last time it was held, it nearly led to disaster. What makes you think it’s a good idea to bring it back now?"
Sirius’ voice was tinged with concern, his frustration evident. He had seen the aftermath of too many magical incidents to feel comfortable with the idea of putting students in harm's way again. The memories of the chaos caused by the tournament were still fresh in his mind, and the fact that they were even discussing reviving it made him uneasy.
Loki, still maintaining his Fudge-like persona, smiled disarmingly. "Of course, Sirius, we are fully aware of the risks, which is exactly why we’ve made changes to the old format. We have extensive safety protocols in place this time—no room for mistakes."
Dumbledore, seated beside Sirius, quietly adjusted his glasses. He didn’t seem as vehemently opposed to the idea, though there was a hint of concern in his gaze. "The Tournament has always been a symbol of magical prowess and unity. It would allow the schools to come together, to foster cooperation, and to showcase the incredible talents of young witches and wizards."
Sirius shook his head. "I’m all for unity, but not at the cost of safety. It’s one thing to be a part of a competition, but you’re putting these kids in a dangerous situation—competing for glory, for the chance to show off their skills—but what happens if things go wrong?"
Loki leaned forward slightly, his expression earnest, though his eyes betrayed a hint of mischief. "This won’t be the same Tournament as before, Sirius. We’ve learned from past mistakes. The events will be carefully monitored, the dangers mitigated. It’ll be an opportunity for students to prove themselves without unnecessary risk."
Sirius stared at him, still unconvinced. "And what happens when something goes wrong, when a student gets hurt? How are you going to handle that?"
Loki’s smile didn’t falter. "We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it. But I’m confident that the safeguards we’ve implemented will ensure a smooth and safe event. Besides, the magical community is in need of a boost—morale is low, and this Tournament could restore some of that lost hope."
Sirius crossed his arms tightly. "It still feels like a risk that we shouldn’t take. These students are just kids, and you’re sending them into an arena to fight for glory."
Dumbledore sighed, a knowing expression on his face. "Sirius, I understand your concerns. But I believe the Tournament could prove to be a positive force. We will ensure that precautions are taken and that the students are properly prepared."
Loki nodded in agreement. "And we will make sure that everything is done according to the highest standards. The schools involved have already expressed their interest, and we have every confidence that this event will be a success."
Sirius didn’t seem convinced but let out a resigned sigh. "I’ll keep my eyes on this. If anything goes wrong, you’ll have me to answer to."
Loki's smile turned just a little bit too smug. "Of course, Sirius. Your vigilance is appreciated."
With the meeting continuing, it was clear that the plan for the revival of the Triwizard Tournament was in motion. Despite Sirius' concerns, the decision seemed all but final. Loki knew the importance of this event, both for the magical community and for his own plans. Unfortunately I have keep this going. Fudge already made to many promises and it wouldn't look well for him to back out now.
Neville had made a promise—one he intended to keep. He swore he would never willingly take part in one of Harry’s training sessions again. The last time, he had been sore for a week, convinced his legs had simply given up on existing. But somehow, here he was, standing next to Luna as Harry and Hermione sparred in the training room at Potter Manor.
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” Neville muttered under his breath, adjusting his grip on his axe-turned-necklace.
Luna hummed thoughtfully, tilting her head as she observed Harry move with seamless precision, blocking Hermione’s spell with nothing but his hand before vanishing and reappearing behind her. “I think you’re here because you know it’ll make you stronger,” she said airily. “And also because you don’t want to be the only one left out.”
Neville scowled. “That’s not—” He stopped when Harry suddenly turned to them, an unmistakable grin on his face.
“Well, well, well,” Harry said, crossing his arms. “Neville Longbottom. I never thought I’d see you willingly step into my training room again.”
Neville groaned, shooting a glare at Luna. “I blame you.”
Luna simply smiled, twirling her wand between her fingers. “I think it’ll be fun.”
“That makes one of us,” Neville grumbled.
Hermione wiped her forehead, smirking. “I think it’s great. Maybe you’ll finally understand why I keep complaining.”
Neville let out a heavy sigh, rolling his shoulders. “Alright, Potter. Let’s just get this over with.”
Harry’s grin widened. “Famous last words, mate.”
With a snap of his fingers, targets appeared in the air, glowing red with magic. Neville immediately regretted every single decision that had led him here.
Sirius leaned back in his chair, a tired but affectionate smile on his face. "Regulus is growing up too fast. I swear, I blinked, and he was asking questions about running his own business. It feels like just yesterday I was holding him as a baby." He paused, his voice softening. "It's hard to keep up with how quickly he's becoming his own person."
Remus nodded, a bittersweet smile crossing his face. "You think that's fast? My sons went from babies to 10-year-olds in a single day. They aged up because Wanda was in danger. It's been a whirlwind. I don't know how to feel about it—on one hand, they’re growing so quickly, but on the other, I’m just trying to keep up."
Sirius laughed softly. "I can only imagine. It’s not easy, is it?" He looked down, a faint hint of sadness in his eyes. "Sometimes, I wish I could slow it all down, but I know we can’t. All we can do is try to be there as best we can."
"That we can." Remus nodded.
Sirius chuckled, shaking his head as he thought about it. "Can you imagine if James could see us now? He'd probably be laughing his arse off at how serious we've become. He'd be saying something like, ‘Prongs, Remus, and Padfoot, all grown up and playing the responsible dads. What a joke!’"
Remus laughed too, though there was a nostalgic edge to it. "James always had a way of making everything seem lighthearted, didn't he? I can just hear him, making a joke out of all this. It's strange... it feels like so much of us is still shaped by him."
Sirius’s expression softened, the playful laughter fading into a more wistful look. "Yeah, I miss him. But I think he’d be proud of us, Remus. Even if we don’t always get it right, we’re doing the best we can. Our kids—well, they’re going to know how much we care. James would like that, don’t you think?"
Remus nodded, his heart heavy but full of warmth. "I think he would. And I think he’d be a bit surprised at how seriously we take things now, but he'd be happy. After all, he did help make us this way."
Sirius raised his mug, his eyes twinkling with fondness. "To James. The one who would’ve never stopped making fun of us for this, but would’ve been the first to step up when it counted."
Hermione ducked as Harry sent a controlled burst of magic toward her, rolling to the side and retaliating with a well-aimed Stupefy. He sidestepped it easily, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You’re getting better,” he admitted, blocking her next spell with a flick of his fingers.
She scoffed, hands on her hips. “I was already good. You just cheat.”
Harry chuckled, stepping back and running a hand through his messy, sweat-dampened hair. “Chaos magic isn’t cheating. It’s just an advantage.”
Hermione shot him a glare, but her focus wasn’t entirely on their sparring session anymore. Her eyes flicked to his left hand, clenched at his side. She knew what it looked like. He had told her about it—trusted her enough to share the truth. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset.
“You’re still not off the hook for not telling me about that,” she pointed out, crossing her arms.
Harry sighed, wiping his forehead with the hem of his shirt without thinking. Hermione froze mid-sentence, her brain short-circuiting as his toned abdomen came into view.
Again.
Damn him.
She quickly schooled her expression, but he’d already caught the pause. His smirk deepened. “You okay there, Hermione?”
She narrowed her eyes, schooling her expression into one of pure disapproval. “You are impossible.”
Harry chuckled, dropping his shirt back down. “So I’ve been told.”
Her frustration returned, though now for an entirely different reason. “We’re not done talking about your hand,” she warned, pointing at him.
Harry held his hands up in surrender. “Noted. Now, are we finishing this training session, or are you too distracted?”
Hermione let out an exaggerated groan before shooting another spell at him, determined to wipe that smug grin off his face.
Regulus sat on the edge of his bed, his pet demiguise, Motto, curled up at his feet, watching him intently. He knew he was being watched, but it didn't matter. The thought of telling his mom about meeting Loki again made his stomach twist in knots. He wasn’t sure why, but there was something about the encounter that felt off, even if Loki hadn't hurt him.
Motto let out a soft chitter, as if trying to get Regulus's attention. The demiguise could sense when he was holding something back, and it didn’t need to speak to know Regulus was troubled. Regulus absentmindedly scratched behind Motto’s ears, his mind racing.
"Should I tell her, buddy?" he asked quietly, his gaze flicking to the door where Natasha might walk in at any moment. But even with that thought, he hesitated. Natasha had always been strong, always knew how to handle things, but this was different. It was Loki.
The demiguise’s golden eyes locked with his, almost as if urging him to speak up, but Regulus shook his head. "Not yet."
He stood, pacing around the room. "I’m not sure what to even say. What if she gets mad at me for talking to him? He’s not... well, he's not someone you just casually run into, right?" He sighed, sinking into the chair by his desk. "Maybe I’ll figure it out later."
Motto let out a low whimper, and Regulus smiled faintly, giving the demiguise one more scratch before standing again. He wasn’t ready to tell Natasha—at least, not yet. He just needed some time to sort through the encounter himself first.
In the cold, dimly lit halls of Azkaban, a constant chill seemed to permeate every corner of the prison. The dark stones of the fortress echoed with the soft cries of the prisoners, their voices dampened by the harsh, oppressive atmosphere. The guards moved like shadows, their eyes hollow from years of watching over the most dangerous criminals in the magical world.
In a cell, deep within the heart of the prison, Peter Pettigrew lay on his thin cot, eyes wide open, watching the dark ceiling as if waiting for something. His breaths were shallow, deliberate, masking any hint of life. The guards had long since grown accustomed to his feeble state, believing him to be nothing more than a broken man, resigned to his fate.
But Peter was not broken. He was biding his time, waiting for the right moment.
When the heavy footsteps of a guard approached, Peter closed his eyes and began to slow his breath, mimicking the stillness of death. The guard, a tall and broad-shouldered man, unlocked the iron door with a sharp twist of his wand, the metal groaning as it opened. The guard’s eyes narrowed suspiciously, glancing inside, his wand flickering with a hint of magic, but he saw nothing unusual. The prisoner was, as expected, lying still, a pallid, pitiful figure.
With a grunt, the guard stepped inside, casting his gaze over the dismal cell. "Move it, Wormtail," he growled, reaching out to grab Peter by the arm, intending to pull him up for his daily inspection.
As the guard’s hand closed around his arm, Peter’s eyes snapped open. He lunged forward with a savage motion, his teeth flashing in the dim light. In an instant, the guard let out a strangled cry as Peter’s sharp teeth sank into his throat. The force of the bite was enough to puncture through the fabric of his robes, tearing into flesh. The guard staggered backward, gasping in shock and pain, but Peter held firm.
The blood poured into Peter’s mouth as he bit down harder, and with a final, brutal jerk, the guard collapsed to the cold stone floor, his lifeless body twitching once before stilling. Peter, breathing heavily, pulled away and wiped his mouth, his face twisted with a vicious grin.
His hand trembled slightly, not from fear but from the thrill of the kill. He glanced down at the lifeless body, his mind already calculating the next move. Quickly, he retrieved the guard’s wand, twirling it between his fingers before casting the simplest of spells to disguise the body. With a flick, the guard’s features were obscured, and Peter used the same spell to change his own appearance—allowing himself to blend into the shadows of the cell.
For a moment, Peter stood there, savoring the quiet victory. Then, without hesitation, he whispered a final word under his breath, his wand flicking again.
The cell door creaked open with a soft squeal.
Peter Pettigrew didn’t hesitate. With a desperate, almost frantic energy, he shifted into his rat form. His body shrank down, fur sprouting along his arms and legs as his fingers curled into tiny paws. His sharp, beady eyes darted around, and with a swift motion, he scurried out of the door, disappearing into the darkness of the prison halls.
The fortress of Azkaban, cold and lifeless, had no idea what had just happened within its walls. The escape of one of the most notorious traitors in history was a secret that would be discovered too late.
In his rat form, Peter skittered through the dark, tight corridors, avoiding the guards' patrols with practiced ease. He had been here far too long, but now, for the first time in years, he felt free.