Strange Potter

The morning sun filtered softly through the high windows of the Gryffindor common room. A quiet hush lingered in the air, broken only by the occasional turning of a page or the crackle of the fireplace.

Hermione sat curled in her favorite armchair near the hearth, a copy of the Daily Prophet unfolded in her hands. Her brows lifted as she read the headline:

"Dr. Strange Calls for Magical Reform: House-Elf Rights Brought to the Wizengamot Floor"

Her eyes scanned the article, surprised—and impressed. It quoted Strange directly, calling house-elf enslavement “archaic and ethically indefensible,” and proposing a magical rights bill for their protection.

She lowered the paper slightly, lips parted in surprise. “No one’s taken this seriously before...” she whispered.

Across the room, Harry leaned casually against the arm of the couch, watching her with a quiet, knowing smile.

Hermione looked up—and instantly knew. That subtle spark in his eyes, the kind that only showed up when he’d pulled something behind the scenes for someone else’s sake.

“You,” she said softly, folding the paper.

Harry shrugged. “Strange has pull with the Wizengamot. He’s been working on it since Dobby. I just told him it was a great idea."

Hermione set the paper down and walked over, wrapping her arms around him tightly.

“You’re unbelievable,” she whispered.

Harry smiled, returning the hug with one arm around her waist. “You made some good points. Figured it was time someone actually did something.”

She pulled back slightly, hands resting on his chest. “I love you, you know.”

“I was starting to suspect.”

She grinned and kissed him deeply.

While those two where having a peaceful morning other's were not so lucky. 

A certain twin to be exact.

Lyall had accepted he was different and had more animalistic behaviors. He learned to calm them down but right now he wished he could stab a poltergeist.

He was with a group of first-year Hufflepuffs huddled together near a hallway tapestry, trying not to make eye contact with the grinning menace floating upside down above them.

Peeves cackled gleefully as he juggled ink bottles over their heads, occasionally letting one tip just enough for a drip to land on someone’s robes.

“Oh, what have we here? Little badgers with nowhere to scurry!” he taunted, doing somersaults mid-air. “Maybe a drop here, a splash there—just enough to ruin your day!”

“Go away, Peeves,” one girl muttered, shrinking closer to the wall.

But Peeves only grinned wider. “Oh no no no, dearie, Peevsie’s just getting warmed—”

He froze.

A subtle shift in the air sent a chill through the corridor. The flickering torchlight dimmed for a heartbeat as a figure stepped into the hallway. Wanda Maximoff walked slowly, arms crossed, her expression unreadable—but her glowing eyes said enough.

Peeves turned, and his usual confidence drained from his face. “O-oh. Mrs. Lupin,” he stammered, voice cracking like an out-of-tune flute.

Wanda didn’t speak at first. She floated forward just enough to bring herself directly in front of him. The silence dragged. Peeves’s smile faltered, his transparent form flickering ever so slightly.

Then Wanda leaned in and, in a low, calm voice, simply said, “Boo.”

Peeves let out a shriek like a banshee and bolted down the hall, leaving a trail of dropped ink bottles and a stunned silence behind.

One of the Hufflepuff girls blinked, then grinned. “Your mum is amazing, Lyall.”

Lyall, standing quietly with his hands in his pockets, smirked proudly. “I know.”

Wanda turned, her expression softening as she ruffled her son’s hair. “You okay?”

Lyall nodded. “Yeah. He won’t mess with us again.”

"Next time, he tries something Im removing him from the castle. " she muttered.

Footsteps thundered down the hallway—fast, too fast—followed by a sharp skidding sound. Pietro slid into the corridor, practically bouncing off the opposite wall. Regulus followed, breathless but grinning.

"Ah! I missed it?!" Pietro groaned.

"Yep," Lyall said casually leaning back against the wall, arms folded, a smirk on his face. "Run faster, bub."

Pietro shot him an annoyed look. “I was helping Regulus with his homework!”

“I said I could do it myself,” Regulus muttered, still catching his breath.

"You were ten minutes into a sentence with four semicolons," Pietro deadpanned. “I had to intervene.”

"You're one annoying babyboy." Regulus said.

"But I'm smart." Peitro grinned.

"And never shut up." Lyall shrugged. “Excuses, excuses.”

Wanda turned to them with a small smile. “Peeves will think twice now.”

“Or never,” Regulus added. “He looked like he’d just seen a ghost get possessed.”

“Which is saying something,” Pietro muttered, then brightened. “So what did you do exactly? Did you lift him up? Make his teeth melt? Turn his hat into a bat again?”

Wanda just gave him a pointed look. “I glared.”

The two boys exchanged wide-eyed looks.

“That’s it?” Peitro asked, clearly impressed.

Regulus whistled. “Remind me never to make you mad.”

Pietro shook his head looking at Lyall. “I swear, we have the coolest mom in the castle.”

"Only because my mums not here. No offense Wanda." Regulus said.

"None taken." Wanda gave them all a slightly warning look despite her fondness. “And if you two ever try to reenact it, you’ll be learning about frog anatomy for a week.”

Pietro leaned toward Lyall. “Worth it.”

Lyall grinned. “Totally.”

"She didn't say anything about me." Regulus smirked.

"I'll tell your mother." Wanda said.

"Nevermind!" He said quickly.

"Okay you boys. Back to what you were doing." Wanda smiled and walked down the hallway.

"Ready?" One girl asked Lyall eagerly.

He nodded back and sat on the cold stone floor, then a was blindfolded with a scarf, smiling despite himself.

“All right,” Regulus grinned, glancing at the others. “He’s covered. You sure you’re up for this, wolf-boy?”

Lyall chuckled. “Try me.”

Across the corridor,  a few others—Pietro included—raced off in different directions. Doors creaked open. The sound of soft footsteps disappeared down branching halls.

“Okay, go!” a girl whispered excitedly.

Lyall took a deep breath.

The scent of the castle filled his nose—stone, parchment, dust... and something more subtle: the soap Pietro always used, the ink stains on the Hufflepuff robes of Daisy Greenwell, the faint trace of chocolate frogs from Regulus’s pocket.

He turned slowly, angling his head like he was listening, but it was his nose doing the work. After a moment, he walked calmly past a suit of armor and stopped by a tapestry, nose twitching.

“Found you,” he said quietly.

A hand pushed the tapestry aside. Pietro groaned. “Seriously? That fast?”

Lyall smirked. “You still smell like lavender shampoo.”

The others laughed. One by one, Lyall tracked them down with uncanny precision—behind a staircase, tucked into an alcove, even hidden behind a moving bookshelf panel. He didn’t rush. He didn’t stumble. He just knew.

When the game ended, the group walked back toward the common areas, voices filled with praise and wonder.

“That was insane!” said one boy. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“Yeah, you could be a Seeker or something,” another added.

But a few older students lingering near the corridor didn’t share the awe. One boy from Ravenclaw leaned in to a friend and muttered, just loud enough, “Freak. Bet he’s not even human.”

The words hung in the air like a cold wind.

Lyall froze mid-step, his smile faltering.

Before anyone could speak, a new voice cut in—sharp, clear, and unimpressed.

“Really mature, calling a kid a freak because he’s good at something.”

Susan had been walking by, arms full of books, and had clearly caught the comment.

The older boy scoffed but said nothing more, quickly ducking away under Susan’s glare.

She turned to Lyall, softer now. “You okay?”

Lyall nodded, trying to hide the sting behind his usual grin. “Yeah. Just a stupid comment.”

Regulus stepped beside him. “You found me when I was hiding behind a portrait of a troll eating soup. I’d never find someone there. You’re not a freak. You’re awesome.”

The others nodded.

“Seriously,” Daisy chimed in, “you’re the only reason this game even works.”

Lyall’s smile returned, a little more genuine now. “Thanks.”

Susan gave him a small nod. “Good friends. Keep them close.”

And with that, she disappeared down the corridor, books in hand, while Lyall was swarmed by his classmates again begging for another round.

Down the hallway Wanda smiled as she watched her boys. She may have missed those years but these moments were hers to enjoy.

A little while later.

The Room of Requirement had reshaped itself into a vast, open clearing, the enchanted ceiling above mimicking a twilight sky dotted with shimmering stars. A soft breeze rustled through the magically conjured trees, making the setting feel more like a hidden forest than a room inside Hogwarts.

Blaise, Susan, and Luna stood in eager anticipation, eyes filled with curiosity as Harry, Hermione, Neville, and Regulus prepared to reveal their Animagus forms.

"Alright," Harry smirked, rolling his shoulders. "Who's first?"

Hermione stepped forward, a confident gleam in her eyes. With a graceful movement, she shifted, her body shrinking and morphing until a beautiful brown owl with golden-speckled feathers stood in her place. She flapped her wings, lifted off the ground, and did a quick loop before landing on Harry's shoulder.

"Of course, she’s a bird," Blaise remarked with an amused smirk. "Always got her head in books, like she’s perched up in a tree somewhere."

Hermione hooted in response, playfully nipping at his ear before taking flight again.

Neville was next. He took a steadying breath and transformed, his body expanding into a massive golden lion with a thick mane and piercing eyes. He let out a deep, reverberating growl before padding forward, his presence commanding.

Susan and Blaise took an instinctive step back. "Okay, that’s actually terrifying," Susan admitted, though there was admiration in her voice.

Luna, however, simply smiled dreamily. "You look majestic, Neville." And ran her fingers through his mane.

Neville let out a huff, looking quite pleased, before returning to his human form.

Regulus smirked and without hesitation, smoothly shifted into a sleek, white wolf. His eyes locked onto his audience as he circled them with practiced ease, his movements silent and predatory. Then, in a flash, he leaped, shifting back midair and landing effortlessly on his feet.

"Show-off," Blaise muttered.

Regulus just grinned. "Jealous?"

"Maybe."

Finally, all eyes turned to Harry. He grinned mischievously. "Ready for a show?"

Before their eyes, Harry's form twisted and changed rapidly—a sleek black panther prowling forward, then a regal stag like his father’s, then a massive Hungarian Horntail, wings spreading wide with a low, rumbling growl. The transformations happened so quickly it was dizzying to watch. Finally, he settled into his default form—a large, shadowy Grim-like dog.

Blaise folded his arms, shaking his head in disbelief. "So, let me get this straight. Hermione's a wise owl, Neville's a bloody lion, Regulus is a dangerous-looking wolf, and you can be whatever you want. Meanwhile, we don’t even have Animagus forms."

Susan nudged him. "Sounds like we have work to do."

Luna simply smiled. "I think it's wonderful. It means we get to watch the magic unfold."

Harry exchanged a look with his friends before grinning. "Well, if you ever want to learn… we know a thing or two about the process."

Blaise smirked. "Oh, we definitely need to learn now."

"Come with me." Harry opened a portal behind him.

The swirling red glow of a portal faded as Harry stepped out onto the familiar stone path leading up to Potter Manor, with Susan, Luna, and Blaise following close behind. The grounds were peaceful, a sharp contrast to the wild battles they had recently endured.

“I still can’t believe you can portal like that,” Blaise muttered, glancing behind them as the magical gateway sealed itself.

Harry smirked. “Perks of chaos magic.”

Susan raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s normal.”

“It’s... a lot less normal than I make it sound,” Harry admitted with a shrug.

"I think it's beautiful." Luna smiled.

"In a terrifying way?" Susan asked.

"Yes." Luna said. "Scary can be beautiful too."

“Come on. Sirius should be inside.” Harry chuckled.

They entered the manor, the warmth of the fireplace crackling in the foyer. Within minutes, they found Sirius in the study, flipping through a photo album of baby pictures with an amused look.

Sirius looked up as they entered. “Hey, kid. Thought you were going to take a break, not gather a committee.”

"Hi Stubby Boardman." Luna greeted Sirius.

"Luna." Sirius smiled back. He stopped trying to convince her he wasn't the singer and just went with it.

Harry grinned. “Had to show them something and now they want in."

Susan's face was bright with excitement. “We want animagus too."

Sirius blinked. “You want to become Animagi?”

Blaise nodded. “If Harry’s doing something dangerous and cool, we figured we should too. For safety, of course.”

Susan elbowed him. “And because it’s amazing.”

"And fun." Luna added.

Sirius leaned back in the chair, rubbing his jaw with a grin. “Well, you’re serious about it. That’s a start.”

“That's your joke,” Harry pointed out.

Sirius winked. “I know. Now let’s see what kind of animals you two might be hiding under the surface.”

Susan and Blaise exchanged excited looks as Sirius began to explain the process. Luna followed along eagerly as she began imagining what her animagus could be.

The torches lining the walls flickered warmly as students filed into the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The buzz of whispers filled the room—most about the second task, others about Harry’s underwater magic performance, and a few simply speculating what the lesson might be now that things had briefly settled.

Harry walked in beside Hermione, Neville close behind, with Blaise trailing them, quiet and observant as always. The four of them took their usual seats near the front, each bearing the faint fatigue of too many battles, too much training, and too little rest.

Remus stood at the front sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His presence brought calm. The lines on his face were softer now, the strain of past years having faded since he’d been cured. He smiled as the last student took their seat.

“Good afternoon, class,” Remus began, his voice steady and familiar. “I hope you’re all recovering well from your... swim.”

Harry grinned faintly, and Hermione nudged him with her elbow before raising her hand. “Will today’s lesson involve any practical casting?”

“Absolutely,” Remus said with a nod. “But first, a bit of theory.”

He waved his wand, and a diagram of a humanoid figure appeared behind him, segmented into labeled magical zones. “Today we’ll be focusing on defensive counters. Specifically, how to deal with multiple opponents or magical ambushes.”

Blaise leaned over to Harry, murmuring, “Sounds like a Tuesday.”

Harry smirked. “Or breakfast, lately.”

Remus gave them a look—half stern, half amused—before continuing. “These counters are about awareness and reaction. Anyone can cast a Shield Charm. Today, you’ll learn to move while doing it.”

Neville sat up straighter, eager. “Like real dueling?”

“Exactly like real dueling,” Remus confirmed. “But with a layer of teamwork. Most of you will never face a threat alone—and even if you do, knowing how to watch someone else's back can save your life.”

He gave a pointed glance toward Harry, who nodded, recognizing the message.

“Pairs,” Remus called. “Potter with Zabini. Granger with Longbottom. Wands out.”

As the students stood and spaced themselves around the room, Hermione whispered to Neville, “Try not to aim near my hair this time.”

“No promises,” Neville grinned, gripping his wand with newfound confidence.

Remus walked between them as practice began, occasionally flicking his wand to send harmless stun pulses their way to test their reflexes. Blaise was smooth and defensive, while Harry weaved between spells with quick, precise movement.

“Better,” Remus commented as Harry deflected a redirected bolt. “Now switch attackers.”

The sound of spells and shuffling feet filled the room. Remus watched it all—proud, alert, but measured. He had seen too much in his life to relax completely. But as Harry pivoted mid-duel to block a spell aimed at Blaise’s exposed side, and Neville managed to pull Hermione behind cover while casting at the same time.

They were learning. They were readying themselves for something larger—even if they didn’t yet know it.

He just hoped it would be enough.

“Again,” Remus called. “Let’s see if you can make it look effortless.”

The classroom was filled with the crackle of spells and the rustle of moving feet. Remus stood at the front, his expression calm but alert as he watched the students practice defensive charms against a magical dueling dummy that shifted forms to simulate different threats.

"Focus!" Remus called. "Defense is about control, not panic. Don't overpower your spell—guide it."

Neville braced himself and swung his wand. "Protego Maxima!"

The shield worked, barely, but his footing faltered and the dummy broke through his stance.

"Better," Remus encouraged. "Work on your footwork, Neville."

Hermione was next. Her shield was solid, her counters precise. The dummy recoiled. She turned to look at Remus, expecting praise.

"Excellent work, Hermione," Remus nodded.

Then Harry stepped up. Quiet. Calm. His fingers twitched slightly—he still felt the dull ache from the injury he was hiding—but his expression didn’t shift.

The dummy surged toward him in the form of a werewolf.

Harry didn’t flinch.

A blast of red light shot from his wand, sharp and fluid, flipping the dummy across the room with disarming precision. Before it even hit the ground, he cast a follow-up hex, forcing it to shapeshift again—this time into a Death Eater figure.

He circled it like a predator, wand never still.

"Stupefy."

"Expelliarmus."

"Protego."

"Levicorpus."

The classroom filled with gasps. The dummy was helpless under the barrage of perfectly executed spells, each one cast faster than most seventh-years could manage.

Remus watched, mouth tightening slightly, as Harry ended the duel with a silent wand flick—his opponent frozen in midair, glowing with an orange stasis charm none of the others had even learned.

The classroom fell into stunned silence. Blaise and Neville exchanged a look. Even Hermione blinked, briefly thrown.

Harry let out a breath and lowered his wand.

Remus cleared his throat. “Well... that was—”

“Overkill?” Harry offered with a dry smile.

Remus shook his head slowly. “—impressive. Very impressive.” He turned to the rest of the class. “That… is what control looks like. Not panic. Not fear. Just precision. Thank you, Harry.”

"I had a good teacher." Harry nodded and stepped back, ignoring the way eyes followed him.

From the back, Blaise muttered, "He's getting scary good."

Neville smirked. “He’s been scary good.”

Hermione just smiled to herself, her shield at her side, pride glowing behind her calm eyes.

Despite his rage at Potter, Draco felt a chill run up his spine watching him. Potter was good. To damn good.

The classroom was unusually quiet for midday. Desks sat neatly in rows, chalk untouched on the board. Remus leaned against his desk, arms crossed, eyes focused on the swirling golden portal that opened near the far wall.

Strange stepped through. “You called.”

Remus nodded and gestured toward the door, already closed and magically sealed. “Thanks for coming. I didn’t want to send anything in writing—too easy to intercept these days.”

Strange stepped closer, immediately sensing the tension in the room. “What’s going on?”

Remus sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “During our faculty meeting, Snape mentioned something troubling. He’s noticed a pattern of missing ingredients—Polyjuice components, the rare kind. Dumbledore, McGonagall, and the others are already aware, but I thought you’d want to know too.”

Strange’s eyes narrowed. “Snape didn’t raise alarms publicly?”

“Just enough to make it official,” Remus said. “He’s been monitoring the storage rooms himself since then.”

“And you’re telling me now because…?”

“Because I’ve got a bad feeling,” Remus admitted. “Sirius and I checked the Marauder’s Map. Every name is showing exactly as it should. No odd names. Nothing. But someone is sneaking around the castle.”

Strange frowned and folded his arms. “Polyjuice needs time to brew. Whoever stole the ingredients has had this in motion for weeks—maybe longer.”

Remus nodded grimly. “Exactly. And whoever it is knows how to avoid the map.”

Strange paced slowly across the classroom, eyes distant. “If they’re using Polyjuice inside the school, it’s not just to hide—it’s to replace someone.”

Remus's jaw tightened. “That’s what worries me.”

Strange stopped, eyes glowing faintly as he opened his palm, conjuring a glowing ring of runes. “I’ll begin tracing the missing ingredients around the storage room and see if I can follow the residue.”

“Thank you,” Remus said quietly.

Strange nodded once. “If someone is impersonating a Hogwarts staff member or student, we’ll find them. Before it’s too late.”

As he prepared another portal, the Sorcerer Supreme’s eyes glinted with resolve. Something dark was brewing beneath the surface of Hogwarts—and time was running out.

The Great Hall was filled with a tense murmur as the second task came to an end. Students were discussing the Triwizard Tournament, speculating about the challenges ahead. The air was thick with anxiety.

Harry's eyes scanned the room, glancing at his friends, Hermione and Neville. Then his gaze shifted to the staff table, where Dumbledore sat, his usual calm demeanor hiding the tension underneath. Harry couldn't help but feel that something was wrong. And he was right.

The chatter in the Great Hall came to a sudden halt as a golden portal tore open midair with a crackling hum. Professor McGonagall shot to her feet, wand halfway drawn, as Strange, flanked by Wong and two other sorcerers, stepped through. Natasha and Sirius behind them, their eyes hard with barely-contained anger. They had followed him into the hall, each of them radiating a sense of urgency

“Everyone remain calm,” Strange said, his voice steady but commanding. “Nobody move. And nobody draw a wand.”

With a swift gesture, he cast a shimmering wave of blue light across the room. Every witch and wizard found their wands suddenly heavy—unusable. A preventative ward of absolute suppression.

Wong stepped forward, his expression grim. “Ingredients for Polyjuice Potion have gone missing. That kind of magic leads only to deception.”

The students exchanged nervous glances. At the staff table, a few eyes subtly turned toward Bartemius Crouch Sr., who sat stiffly, face pale.

Strange raised both hands and wove a circular sigil in the air. “This will reveal anyone under disguise—no glamour, no potion can hide you.”

"Polyjuice is undetectable." Someone said.

"The ingredients aren't." Strange smirked. 

The spell pulsed through the Hall, bathing everyone in golden light. It passed over the students harmlessly, flickered briefly on a few professors, then suddenly flared brightly on Crouch Sr.

Gasps echoed around the room as the light intensified around him. He stood abruptly, sweating, eyes darting toward the door.

“No—!” he shouted. “You don’t understand—”

He bolted. But Wong was faster.

With a flick of his hand, a sling ring portal opened directly in front of the fleeing man, depositing Wong into his path. The sorcerer thrust his staff forward, binding the imposter in glowing orange bands of magic.

The man's face twisted in agony as his features began to shift, the Polyjuice wearing off. Bones reshaped, hair lengthened, and the suit of Bartemius Crouch Sr. melted away into the younger, feral-eyed form of Barty Crouch Jr.

Murmurs erupted. Several students recoiled in shock.

Wong’s face was impassive. “We have our culprit."

Crouch Jr. snarled, face contorted with fury and madness. “He’ll come back! The Dark Lord will rise again—Potter can’t stop him—none of you can!”

Strange’s voice was cold. “He already did once. And this time he has to deal with me."

As the magical bands tightened around Crouch Jr., Strange turned to McGonagall and Amelia Bones, who had arrived moments earlier.

"That's Crouch Jr." McGonagall said. "He's supposed to be dead!"

“You have the one who put Harrys name in the goblet. And your answers,” Strange said. “But this isn't over. He's just a pawn."

Crouch Jr. spat at them.

“We’ll keep him alive,” Wong said. “For questioning.”

Amelia came over, her wand trained steadily on the unrepentant Death Eater.

"Barty Crouch Jr.," she said sternly, "you are under arrest for impersonating a Ministry official, conspiring with a known dark sorcerer, and endangering the lives of countless students. You’ll answer for your crimes."

Crouch’s breathing was erratic, but his gaze was fixed firmly on her—fear, defiance, and madness warring in his expression.

"Allow me." Wanda came over her eyes fully red. You think you can hide things from me? "Talk or I will make you."

"Like hell I will," he spat. He heard the story of what she did to Lucius and had a back up plan. He moved quickly, too quickly for a stunned student or teacher to react. His tongue moved then he bit down hard on something hidden behind his back molar.

“No—!” Amelia shouted, lunging forward.

But it was too late. A sickening crack sounded as Barty Crouch Jr. bit through the capsule. His eyes rolled back instantly, froth forming at the corners of his lips as he collapsed onto the stone floor.

Gasps echoed across the hall.

Amelia was immediately at his side, wand in hand, muttering diagnostic spells. "He's gone." Her voice was grim, almost numb. "Fast-acting poison. Magical compound. Designed to erase memory traces."

Wong crouched beside her, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "He was prepared. He knew he'd be discovered eventually—and he was willing to die to keep someone else's secrets."

"Whose secrets?" she muttered.

"You already know." Wong's gaze flicked toward the far end of the Hall, where some students were still whispering among themselves, and then toward the shadows—where no one stood, but where the air still felt… wrong.

As the professors worked to regain control of the shaken students, Strange stepped silently into the Hall, his face grim. He looked down at the dead body, then up to Wong.

Strange stepped forward, his voice tinged with grim finality. "That," he said, his voice quiet but filled with authority, "was the man who was responsible for putting Harry’s name in the Goblet of Fire. His plan is now dead with him."

Sirius and Natasha stood behind Strange, their expressions filled with both relief and anger. They had been waiting for this moment, knowing that the truth had to come out. Natasha’s gaze was hard as she looked around the room, daring anyone to dispute the truth now laid bare.

The staff was frozen in shock, and Dumbledore, who had been silent throughout the entire scene, stood and cleared his throat. His eyes were heavy with the weight of what had just been revealed, and he moved to speak, but Strange cut him off.

"We’ll discuss the implications later," Strange said with a firm tone. "But for now, I suggest we all take a moment to digest the fact that this tournament has been tampered with from the start."

The tension in the hall was palpable. The students looked at each other, some whispering, others too stunned to speak. But one thing was clear: this tournament was no longer just a game, and the danger it posed to Harry—and everyone else—was very real.

Harry's eyes met Strange's, a silent understanding passing between them. The fight wasn’t over.

In the dimly lit chamber off the Great Hall, Strange stood with his arms crossed, his cloak shifting slightly as he faced Harry, Sirius, Natasha, and Wanda. Remus lingered nearby, his expression tense. Regulus stood close to his parents, his fingers clenched into fists.

Crouch Jr. was dead. Poisoned before they could rip any more answers from him. But the damage had already been done. Harry was still bound to the tournament.

Harry, arms folded, studied Strange carefully. "Why didn't you just use the Time Stone? You could've found out Crouch Jr. did this before my name even came out."

Strange sighed, rubbing his temple. "The Time Stone isn’t a shortcut to fixing every problem, Harry. It’s dangerous. Every time I use it, I risk creating fractures in reality that I can’t always repair. The more I interfere, the worse the consequences can become. I have to be careful."

Sirius scoffed, barely holding back his frustration. "So careful that my godson was thrown into a life-or-death competition?"

"Do you think I wanted this to happen?" Strange snapped, his voice sharp. "If I had seen it sooner, I would’ve stopped it. But using the Time Stone too freely doesn’t just risk my sanity—it risks all of time itself. I could’ve set off a chain reaction that put Harry in even greater danger, maybe even made it impossible to stop Voldemort when the time comes."

Harry watched him, searching for any sign of dishonesty, but found none. Strange had always been careful with the Time Stone. He wasn’t one to play with fate lightly.

Natasha exhaled, her jaw tight. "So what? We just keep reacting while the enemy keeps getting ahead of us?"

Strange met her eyes. "I’m not just reacting, Natasha. I’m making sure we win when it matters. Crouch Jr. was clever. He stayed hidden because he knew someone like me could see through him. If I had messed with time too soon, he might’ve taken a different approach, one we couldn’t track."

Harry nodded slowly. "I believe you."

Sirius turned sharply to his godson. "Harry—"

"He’s right," Harry said, voice firm. "If he played with time too much, it could’ve made things worse. I trust Doc. He’s never used it to manipulate me before, and he’s not doing it now."

Strange’s face softened just a fraction. " I don’t care what magic bound you to this tournament—I’ll be watching."

Wanda, quiet until now, stepped forward, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. "We all will."

Harry took a deep breath, nodding. "Then let's get ready. Because if I have to do this, I’m going to survive it."

Hogwarts – Staff Room

The atmosphere in the staff room was tense. The long table was lined with key figures from Hogwarts and the Triwizard Tournament council. Professor McGonagall sat rigidly beside Professor Flitwick, while Madam Maxime and Headmaster Karkaroff kept glancing at each other, both clearly shaken.

Dumbledore stood at the head of the table, his expression grim. His hands were folded before him, a stark contrast to the storm in his eyes.

Arthur Weasley, seated near Amelia, looked pale but composed. As Undersecretary to the Minister, he had been pulled into the emergency meeting after the explosive events in the Great Hall.

Dr. Strange stood by the window, arms folded, his cloak twitching as if still on edge from earlier.

"The fact remains," Dumbledore said gravely, "Barty Crouch Jr. had infiltrated this school under our noses for nearly a year. He impersonated his own father and deceived us all."

McGonagall pursed her lips. "Albus, how could he have maintained Polyjuice Potion for that long without someone noticing?"

"Remus told me of the missing ingredients. I knew a spell to reveal someone with those inside them." Strange said.

Arthur glanced at Strange. “But to reveal him like that, in front of the entire Great Hall?”

Strange turned, his voice even. “It was necessary. Everyone needed to know the truth. And if I had waited, we might have lost the chance. I consider doing it in smaller groups but the risk of Crouch hearing it from someone was to high."

Amos Diggory’s chair scraped back slightly. “He ate poison. Didn’t say a word before he died. No explanation, no confession. Just... dead.”

“A final act of defiance,” Karkaroff muttered, clearly rattled. “And now we are left with more questions than answers.”

“Not entirely,” Amelia countered. “He was working for someone. That much is obvious.”

“Who else would it be but You-Know-Who?” Arthur added, eyes narrowing. “There’s no other reason for someone like Crouch Jr. to do something. He was devoted to his master."

There was a heavy pause.

Dumbledore looked to Strange. “The wards around the final task are being re-examined as we speak. The maze will be secured. I will see to it personally.”

“Good,” Amelia said. “But understand this, Albus—there’s no more room for secrets or assumptions. The boy may be in more danger than any of us realized.”

“We will protect him,” Dumbledore replied.

“I will protect him,” Strange said sharply, his eyes narrowing. “Because if another threat slips past, the next reveal won’t come with a warning.”

Dumbledore met his gaze, tension thick in the air between them. “Then we are agreed."

The room fell silent for a moment.

Ministry of Magic – Minister’s Office

The heavy rain outside tapped rhythmically against the grand windows of the Minister’s office. Inside, the atmosphere was thick with tension. Reports cluttered the desk, headlines screamed scandal from the Daily Prophet, and the scent of ink and anxiety hung in the air.

Cornelius Fudge sat behind his desk—at least, the man everyone thought was Cornelius Fudge. Loki, still wearing the Minister’s flesh like a well-pressed robe, steepled his fingers and leaned back with the perfect blend of fatigue and concern.

Across from him stood Arthur, having returned from Hogwarts, his face pale but composed and Amelia, firm-jawed and sharp-eyed as ever.

“The public is shaken,” Arthur began, glancing at the reports. “They just saw a high-ranking official exposed as a Death Eater—Barty Crouch Jr., no less. And then he kills himself in the middle of the Great Hall. We can’t pretend that’s nothing.”

“We’re not,” Amelia cut in, her voice brisk. “But we need to shape the narrative. If we move quickly and show we’re taking action—real action—we can control the damage.”

Loki nodded slowly, tapping a finger against his chin. “And your suggestion, Amelia?”

She didn’t hesitate. “Publicly honor the Aurors and Strange for uncovering the truth. Reaffirm our zero-tolerance stance on dark magic infiltration in the Ministry. And most importantly—transparency. Controlled transparency. Release a statement that we had suspicions and were working with trusted allies to confirm them.”

Arthur chimed in, “Also, we should establish a small task force. Something official-sounding—'Magical Internal Integrity Division' or something like that. Put a few trusted names on it. The public will think we’re rooting out any remaining rot.”

Loki suppressed a grin. Clever little mortals. They practically feed me the path to power. Out loud, he gave a weary sigh and nodded.

“Yes… yes, good,” he said with calculated hesitation. “I can’t pretend this isn’t damaging. But if we show we’re acting fast, I believe we can turn this to our advantage.”

Arthur looked encouraged. “Exactly. And if you continue relying on Amelia and myself, it’ll show that you’re taking advice from level-headed, trusted figures.”

“Oh, I do rely on both of you,” Loki said smoothly, giving them each a solemn nod. “Your insight has been invaluable. This is not a time for pride, but unity.”

Amelia arched a brow slightly, surprised at the sudden humility. “Well. That’s… good to hear, Minister.”

“I’ll have a speech drafted by morning,” Loki continued. “Arthur, you’ll oversee the task force suggestion—excellent name, by the way—and Amelia, I’d like you to lead the initial internal review. Quietly. We’ll publicize it once the first results are in.”

They both nodded.

“I’ll call a press statement for tomorrow evening,” Loki added, rising. “You’ll both stand with me. We show a united front, and remind the public that we’re not afraid to face uncomfortable truths.”

Amelia nodded. “It’ll play well.”

Arthur gave a faint smile. “The first thing we’ve done right in weeks.”

As they left the office, Loki moved to the window, watching their reflections vanish from the glass. His posture relaxed as a faint smirk curled at the corner of his mouth.

So eager to trust their Minister when he sounds reasonable, he mused. And the more they believe they’re steering the ship… the easier it is to let them feel in control.

He turned from the window, green eyes flashing. “One crisis defused,” he muttered, “and so many more to shape.”

Hogwarts - Charms Class

The classroom buzzed like a beehive as Professor Flitwick stood at the front, his and tapping rhythmically against the desk.

“Silence, please!” he called, his voice squeaking over the chatter.

But the students barely heard him. The room was alight with discussion, laughter, and hushed gasps—every conversation centered around the same topic.

“I still can’t believe it,” Dean Thomas said, leaning over to Seamus. “Crouch Jr. was in the castle—pretending to be his own father!”

Seamus shook his head. “Strange didn’t even blink. Just—bam! That revealing spell showed the truth like it was nothing.”

Lavender leaned in, wide-eyed. “Did you see how fast he moved? One second Crouch was trying to lie his way out of it, and the next—he was choking on poison!”

“Didn’t even get a full sentence out,” Parvati added. “He knew he was caught. You think he really would’ve taken Harry to You-Know-Who if Strange hadn’t stopped him?”

Hermione glanced sideways, clearly trying to stay focused, though her quill hovered above her parchment without writing.

“People are acting like they’ve never heard of Polyjuice Potion before,” she muttered to Harry without looking at him. “It's been around for ages. What’s more impressive is that Strange did it so fast.”

Harry offered a small shrug. “Guess he’s just good at what he does.”

Ron snorted from behind them. “He’s terrifying, that’s what he is. If he stared at me like that, I’d admit to stealing the broomstick before I even did it.”

The entire class chuckled at that, and even Flitwick cracked a smile.

“Alright, alright,” the professor said, raising his wand. “That’s quite enough about dark wizards and magical interrogations. Today we’re working on Silencio—and I daresay, some of you could use the practice.”

As the students reluctantly began practicing the spell, Hermione nudged Harry gently with her elbow.

“They're never going to stop talking about it.”

Harry offered a tired grin. “Then let’s give them something better to talk about. Think we can pull off a perfect Silencio on the first try?”

Hermione smirked. “You know I already did.”

And with that, Charms class—noisier than ever—finally began in earnest.

The Daily Prophet – Front Page
Special Edition
EXPOSED: DARK DECEIT IN THE TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT!

In an astonishing turn of events at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, it has been revealed that Barty Crouch Jr.—a presumed-dead Death Eater—was alive and actively manipulating the Triwizard Tournament from within the castle. Even more shocking: he was impersonating his own father, Senior Ministry official Barty Crouch Sr., using Polyjuice Potion to avoid detection.

This incredible revelation came during a stunning moment in the Great Hall when the respected Sorcerer Supreme, Dr. Stephen Strange, used a revealing spell before the entire Hogwarts body. Under the effects of the spell, Crouch Jr.'s disguise melted away, exposing the gaunt and deranged man underneath. Before he could be restrained further, Crouch Jr. bit down on a hidden poison capsule concealed in his molars and died instantly at the scene.

Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, alongside Director of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones, has vowed a full investigation.

“We were under the impression Barty Crouch Jr. died in Azkaban years ago,” Madam Bones stated during a press briefing late last night. “Clearly, we were misled. The Ministry will be conducting a thorough internal review to uncover how he escaped and who aided him.”

“Dr. Strange has my full support,” Minister Fudge added. “This situation is dire, and I will not rest until we understand the full scope of what was orchestrated here.”

Sources confirm that Crouch Jr. was responsible for placing Harry Potter’s name into the Goblet of Fire under false pretenses, forcing the young champion into a dangerous tournament meant only for of-age students.

While young Mr. Potter has once again found himself at the center of a crisis, his courage and performance in the tasks have drawn widespread admiration. Even Minister Fudge has reportedly recommended him for high honors.

A full Ministry inquiry is now underway. More updates to follow as the story unfolds.

Turn to Page 2 for Dr. Strange's full statement and expert analysis of Polyjuice disguises.

The room was cold, damp, and filled with the scent of decay. Voldemort sat in an old, rotting chair, his snake-like features twisted in deep thought. Nagini coiled lazily near his feet, her tongue flicking out as she tasted the air.

Wormtail stood before him, trembling slightly, while Nott remained stiff, his eyes darting toward the door as if expecting an attack at any moment.

"You mean to tell me," Voldemort’s voice was quiet, yet razor-sharp, "that Crouch is dead?"

Wormtail swallowed hard. "Yes, m-my lord. It seems he was discovered before he could complete his task. Aurors—Strange's interference—it’s clear he took his life rather that reveal you."

Nott shifted. "With his death, we’ve lost our best man inside Hogwarts. His knowledge, his access—it’s gone."

Voldemort exhaled slowly, eyes burning with something unreadable. "It is a setback," he admitted, "but not the end of my plans."

He stood, stepping closer to the fire flickering in the corner. Shadows danced against the walls, making his skeletal form appear even more sinister.

"The Tournament is still going forward," he mused, fingers trailing along the back of his chair. "Harry Potter’s name has already been entered. The wheels are in motion. We only need to ensure he reaches the final task."

Wormtail hesitated before speaking. "But without Crouch, how—"

"Silence," Voldemort hissed, and Wormtail immediately shrank back. "We do not need Crouch to make this happen. There are… other means. Other pieces in play."

Nott frowned. "Are you suggesting we place another in his stead? It will be difficult. Security at Hogwarts will be tighter now, especially with Strange’s interference and that woman—Maximoff or Lupin whatever she calls herself."

Voldemort’s fingers curled into a fist at the mention of Wanda. His fury simmered beneath the surface, but he refused to let it consume him. Not yet.

"We do not need to replace Crouch," he said at last. "The Tournament itself will do the work for us. The tasks are already set, the final one leading to the cup… and the cup can be altered."

Wormtail's eyes widened with realization. "A Portkey."

Voldemort smiled, a cold, cruel thing. "Exactly. We need only to ensure that Potter touches it. The Tournament will bring him to me, whether Dumbledore and his precious fools realize it or not."

Nott nodded, his expression darkening. "Then we need someone to get close to that cup. To be sure it is done properly."

Voldemort turned toward him, eyes gleaming. "Then we find someone."

The torches in the chamber flickered as Strange stood over Barty Crouch Jr.'s lifeless body. His sharp eyes scanned the corpse, his hands weaving golden runes above it, searching for lingering traces of magic. The energy around the body was twisted—faint remnants of Polyjuice Potion still clung to the skin, but something else felt... off.

Amelia Bones stood nearby, arms crossed, her face set in a deep frown. “Strange, what are you looking for?”

Strange didn’t answer immediately. His fingers twitched, the runes shifting as he traced them over Crouch’s left forearm. His brow furrowed as realization dawned on him.

The Dark Mark was gone.

His expression darkened as he straightened. “It’s missing.”

Amelia raised an eyebrow. “What is?”

“The Dark Mark. All Death Eaters bear it, burned into their very flesh. It serves as both a brand and a tether to their master.” Strange’s eyes flickered with thought. “Yet there isn’t even a trace of it here.”

Amelia’s frown deepened. “Could it have faded after his death?”

“No.” Strange shook his head. “This wasn’t natural. It was removed—intentionally. And only one person could have done that.”

Amelia’s breath caught. “Voldemort.”

Strange nodded grimly. “He erased Crouch Jr.'s mark before sending him here, likely to prevent anyone, especially me, from tracking his movements through magical means.” His gaze sharpened. “Crouch was working for him, but Voldemort needed him undetected. Removing the mark ensured that if he was discovered.”

Amelia exhaled sharply, her mind racing. “That means Voldemort was already planning ahead, ensuring his operations remained hidden even from you.”

Strange’s expression was unreadable. “Yes. And that’s what worries me the most.”

A heavy silence settled between them, the weight of the revelation pressing down.

Amelia clenched her fists. “Then we need to move fast. Whatever Voldemort is planning, he’s being careful. He knows we're watching.”

Strange’s jaw tightened. “And that means he’s about to make his next move.”

As they stared at Crouch Jr.’s lifeless form, an unspoken understanding passed between them—this war was far from over, and Voldemort was already steps ahead.

The Common Room was quiet as Harry sat on one of the armchairs, his fingers absently tracing the rim of his mug. Hermione had been sitting across from him for some time now, her eyes glancing at him every so often, but not saying anything. The tension between them from earlier had not yet passed, and though the room was filled with murmurs from the other students, there was an unspoken understanding between them.

Finally, Hermione broke the silence, her voice quiet but earnest. "Harry," she began, "You know what the final task is, right?"

Harry met her gaze, his expression unreadable for a moment. He nodded slowly, then set the mug down, his fingers tapping against the porcelain. "I know," he said, voice low.

"You... you really want to do this, don't you?" she asked, her brow furrowing with concern. "I think Voldemort is the one behind this and he's waiting for you. You want that dont you?"

Harry didn't respond right away, instead focusing on the fire in the hearth. He had been thinking about this for days, weeks even. His heart felt heavy, yet there was something else simmering beneath the weight of it. A thirst for justice, for retribution.

"Yes," he finally said, his voice so calm it startled her. "I have to. He deserves to pay for everything." His hand clenched into a fist at his side, the muscles in his arm taut. The quiet rage in his words echoed, but there was a flicker in his eyes—almost as if his anger wasn't just his own. His eyes glowed faintly red, a sharp contrast to the calm he had on the outside.

Hermione noticed, and a shiver ran down her spine. She had seen that look in his eyes before. The same one he had when he spoke of the things he had been through, when he spoke of the chaos, the darkness. But this... this felt different. It felt like something far more dangerous.

"I want to make him pay," Harry continued, his voice colder now, a hint of something darker slipping through. "For my parents. For everything he’s done."

Hermione swallowed hard, the gravity of his words weighing down on her. She wanted to argue, wanted to say something to dissuade him, but she knew it wouldn’t work. Harry had always been like this—when he set his mind to something, no one could change it.

"I just... I just don't want you to lose yourself in this, Harry," Hermione said, her voice barely above a whisper, the concern evident in her eyes. "You can't let him control you."

But Harry didn't respond. Instead, he stood, his hands clenched at his sides, his jaw set with determination. "He won't control me," Harry muttered under his breath, and for a brief moment, his eyes flickered brighter, the red glow in them deepening.

Hermione’s heart raced as she stood up, moving to stand beside him. "Harry," she said softly, her voice full of worry, "Promise me you'll come back. Promise me you won't let him get to you."

Harry's gaze softened as he looked down at her. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder, the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. "I'll come back, Hermione. I always do," he said quietly, though the resolve in his voice was absolute. He didn’t want to leave her or anyone behind, but deep inside, he knew what had to be done.

As the fire crackled in the background, the weight of the coming days seemed to grow heavier. Harry was ready to face Voldemort. The question was—was Voldemort ready for what was about to happen?

The hidden chamber was damp and choked with smoke from the small fire crackling in the corner. Shadows flickered along the cold stone walls, but none reached the far end of the room, where a misshapen, barely human figure hunched beneath a tattered cloak.

His red eyes glowed from beneath the hood, the only sign of the dark power still thrumming through his withered body.

The door creaked open. Nott stepped inside, his wand drawn, his expression unreadable. Behind him, a nervous student—no older than fourteen—was shoved forward, stumbling as he tried not to cry.

"My Lord," Nott said with a bow. "As requested. He was alone in the alley behind the Honeydukes cellar."

"Excellent," Voldemort rasped, his voice like dead leaves scraping stone. "Leave us."

Nott hesitated, casting a wary glance at the boy, then gave a nod and backed out, shutting the door behind him.

The boy stood frozen, shaking from head to toe. "P-please, I didn't see anything—"

"Silence."

The single word cut like a blade. The boy's mouth snapped shut as Voldemort lifted his skeletal hand. A dark glow built at his fingertips.

"I need a simple favor," the Dark Lord murmured, his tone deceptively gentle. "A minor task, really. You’ll be my instrument."

The boy took an uncertain step back. "I-I don’t want—"

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Crucio."

The boy collapsed, screaming as his body writhed on the floor. Voldemort watched, expressionless, until the screams gave way to exhausted whimpers. Then, he waved his hand.

"Imperio."

The boy’s body stilled. His breathing evened out. His eyes glazed over.

Voldemort drifted closer, lifting a small, enchanted object—no bigger than a coin—from within his cloak. It pulsed faintly with dark magic.

"You will take this," Voldemort whispered, placing it in the boy’s palm, "and attach it to the Triwizard Cup. Do not speak of this. Do not think of this. You will not even remember the task once it is done."

The boy nodded mechanically, clutching the object as if it were nothing more than a trinket.

"Now go," Voldemort commanded. "Return to the village. Act as if nothing has happened. And do not fail me."

The boy turned and exited in silence, disappearing into the tunnel that led back to Hogsmeade.

Voldemort remained alone in the dark, his ragged breathing the only sound.

"Very soon," he whispered to the fire. "I will walk in flesh again. And Potter… will fall."

The student nodded blankly, the last vestiges of his will vanishing under the spell’s thrall.

Voldemort sat back, pleased. His plan was now set in motion. Soon, very soon, Harry Potter would be in his grasp, and nothing—neither Strange, nor the Avengers, nor the meddling fools at Hogwarts—would be able to stop him.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the snow-covered streets of Hogsmeade as Harry and his friends made their way down the cobblestone path. The air was crisp, a chill biting at their faces as they huddled together, the promise of the upcoming final task looming over them. Despite the weight on their shoulders, there was a sense of peace as they walked, the quiet town offering a rare moment of calm before the storm.

Harry, flanked by Hermione, Neville, and Blaise, felt a strange mixture of anticipation and dread. It was a break, a brief respite before the inevitable battle. They had seen the dangers that lay ahead, but there was still a part of him that clung to hope.

“I’m going to need all the sugar I can get to survive the third task,” Hermione said, breaking the silence with a small smile. “A honeyduke’s stop is mandatory.”

Neville chuckled beside her. “You know you can’t resist the fudge. Let’s just make sure we get there before Ron eats it all.”

“Oi!” Ron, who had been walking a few steps ahead with Fred, turned to glare at Neville. “You know I’m faster than you when it comes to candy!”

Harry grinned. "Sure, Ron. But are you faster than the Slytherins when it comes to anything else?"

Blaise shot them a look. "Careful, Potter. You wouldn't want to make enemies out here."

Neville nudged Blaise. "You know he's teasing, right?"

"I know," Blaise replied with a smirk, "But who knows, maybe I enjoy giving Potter a hard time."

Harry chuckled, but his smile faltered for just a second. His thoughts flickered briefly to the impending task and the strange visions of his possible futures. Strange had warned him, but Harry couldn’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a game with no real way out.

"Let's make it quick," Hermione said, her voice more serious now. "I have a feeling the third task won't be as simple as we expect."

"Right," Harry said, his voice low but steady. "After all we've been through, I'm not letting anything get in the way of finishing this."

As they approached Honeydukes, the familiar aroma of sugar and chocolate filled the air. Harry inhaled deeply, letting the comforting scent momentarily ease the tension in his shoulders. For a brief moment, it was just him and his friends, no tournaments or dark magic looming over them.

They filed into the shop, the bell above the door jingling as they entered. Inside, rows of colorful candies and treats lined the shelves. But Harry couldn't help but glance at the window, where the reflection of his group danced with the shadows of the town behind them. The reflection didn’t show peace—it showed a path forward, dark and uncertain.

"Let's make it count," Harry murmured to himself, resolute. The task ahead was daunting, but he'd face it—he had no other choice.

And beside him, his friends were ready to face it too.

The air was lighter in Hogsmeade now. The dome was gone, the corruption defeated, and the village—though still recovering—was filled with cautious relief. Inside Honeydukes, the familiar scent of sugar and cocoa warmed the air as students filtered in, trying to pretend, just for a moment, that things were normal again.

Harry stood near the back, eyeing a shelf of Fizzing Whizzbees while pretending he wasn’t listening to Luna Lovegood humming behind him.

She tilted her head at a stack of Chocolate Frog boxes and said dreamily, “You know, you’ll probably be on one of these soon. ‘The Boy Who Lived, Defeated a Dark Sorcerer, and Survived a Mirror Dimension.’ Has a nice ring to it.”

Harry turned red. “Luna—”

“Oh, it’s only a matter of time,” she continued serenely. “I’ll save room in my collection.”

Neville walked over with a box of Pepper Imps in hand, grinning. “She’s right, you know. I mean, you’ve already outdone half the current card roster. You beat Karl. You destroyed the Darkhold. I’m surprised they haven’t started printing them already.”

Harry groaned. “You’re both terrible.”

Hermione approached from the next aisle with a small paper bag of sweets and an affectionate smile. “Don’t be so grumpy. You’ll have to get used to the attention, Mister Order of Merlin First Class.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond, but she cut him off with a quick, sweet kiss on his cheek—then, just as quickly, one on his lips.

Luna clapped quietly. Neville snorted into his candy.

Hermione gave Harry a playful nudge. “And when they make the card, I want the original signed.”

Harry chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck as his ears turned red. “You all are the worst.”

“But you love us,” Hermione said, sliding her hand into his.

Harry smiled, squeezing her fingers gently. “Yeah. I really do.”