Scrimgeour beca the new Minister of Magic.
The Daily Prophet trumpeted the news.
He was almost exactly the kind of minister wizards had dread of—young, capable, skilled in dueling, and on good terms with Mr. Potter and Professor Dumbledore.
It seed that the British wizarding world was, once again, stepping into a golden age.
Godric's Hollow, the old Potter house.
The family was gathered together on the couch, staring at each other wide-eyed.
Geralt had originally planned to depart earlier.
But... the Ministry had just changed leadership, and in the Muggle world, the Pri Minister had also been replaced.
The Ministry was currently negotiating with the new Pri Minister, and it would take so ti to process the identities of Geralt and Yennefer.
With July drawing to a close and Harry's birthday approaching, they decided to stay and celebrate first before dealing with those matters.
"Geralt and Yennefer," Sirius concluded after listening to Harry's explanation, "are your godfather and godmother from another world?"
Lupin, sitting beside him, couldn't hide his astonishnt.
Yennefer nodded, scrutinizing Sirius with a critical eye.
She had learned about him from Harry and struggled to comprehend this exuberant young man.
Geralt leaned over to chat quietly with Lupin, curious about werewolves in this world.
Another world...
Sirius and Lupin found it hard to accept. They had never heard of a phenonon like the Conjunction of the Spheres. If not for Harry's usual seriousness—and the fact that Dumbledore only joked about harmless things—they might never have believed it.
After a few days together, everyone reached a clear consensus: Geralt might seem cold, but he was warm-hearted and easy to get along with. Yennefer, on the other hand, was exactly as frosty and difficult as she appeared.
Sirius was grateful he had brought Kreacher. Only a house-elf could serve such a troubleso woman.
Surprisingly...
Sirius had thought he would resent Geralt, this father figure to Harry who'd seemingly jumped out of a rock. But in fact, they got along well—drinking together, dancing, even training and studying together.
Yennefer called it collusion.
But the rest of them—even Harry—were quite pleased with the term.
Then ca Harry's birthday.
July 31st.
The Weasleys, Hermione, and the Longbottoms—Neville and his grandmother—all arrived at the old Potter house.
It was a lively gathering.
Yennefer walked up to Hermione, examining her critically. "You're Hermione Granger?"
Hermione nodded politely.
"You don't take care of your body," Yennefer circled her. "You mustn't be like those slly boys, becoming so sloppy."
Hermione looked down at her shoes.
Don't take care of her body?
But she'd spent all morning grooming, bathing, shampooing, wearing her best clothes, even tried a touch of makeup—not as overdone as last year. Her mum had even said she looked lovely. Why was this woman criticizing her from the mont they t?
"Ma'am, and you are...?" Hermione asked, mustering courage.
"Harry's supposed to call 'Mother,' though he never does," Yennefer replied.
Harry sighed. "Yennefer, you look too young. It's not like I haven't used a respectful title—you just didn't like any of them."
Yennefer's gaze turned dangerous.
When Harry was younger, he'd started by calling her "sister." Then, upon learning her true age, he'd insisted on calling her "granny" and was electrocuted several tis before learning his lesson. Ever since then, he'd just called her "Yennefer." That "sister" never escaped his lips again.
Harry turned his head away.
"Mother?" Hermione stamred, flustered. "Oh—like a godmother? But you look so young..."
"Age isn't exactly a pleasant topic," Yennefer waved a hand and seized Hermione's. "How's your Transfiguration?"
"Pretty good. I'll probably get an O on my OWLs," Hermione replied honestly.
Yennefer nodded. "Good. Co upstairs. I need to teach you how a woman should highlight her charm."
Hermione hesitated.
"Don't think Harry doesn't care," Yennefer scoffed, casting a sharp look at Geralt. "These witchers are all the sa—look proper, but in truth... none of them are any good."
She dragged Hermione up the stairs.
anwhile, Neville had greeted Sirius and hurried over. "Harry, I really didn't expect you to invite to your birthday."
"I've got a birthday gift for you," Harry smiled.
Neville blinked. "Thanks. I brought one for you too."
"Want it now?" Harry asked.
Neville blinked again.
Harry waved his wand. The Daily Prophet flew into his hand. "This is a rather special gift. Want it now?"
Neville looked at the paper—it wasn't today's edition but the one reporting the destruction of Malfoy Manor and the deaths of Voldemort and his Death Eaters.
He realized sothing and stared at Harry in disbelief.
Harry nodded.
"Of course," Neville growled through gritted teeth.
Harry said goodbye to Sirius and brought Neville outside. With their permission, Ron followed them across winding paths to a deserted field.
"Here's good," Neville said, unable to wait any longer.
Harry waved his wand—Banishing Charms, Anti-Apparition Wards, Transfiguration to change the terrain. Stone platforms rose, iron bars enclosed the area like a coliseum.
Then, Harry drew a box from the Sorting Hat. It clicked open—and out ca Bellatrix Lestrange, stuffed in with a grotesque posture.
Neville stared at her, heart pounding, deaf to everything else.
All he could hear was the buzz of his blood.
Harry flicked his wand.
The box spilled her out. Harry fed her a potion and tossed her aside. The draught began working—she stirred.
"Neville. Neville," Harry called until Neville snapped back to reality. "When Dumbledore and I reached Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix was the only one there. Barty Crouch Jr. was gone. If I find him, I'll let you know."
Neville took a deep breath. "She's already a great gift."
"Are you ready?" Harry asked quietly. "Use your own thod to kill her."
"Unless she's about to kill you, I won't interfere."
Neville nodded.
Harry and Ron ascended the platform. Harry drew a wand from the Hat and tossed it at Bellatrix's feet.
Ten minutes passed.
Bellatrix awoke in agony. Her ti with Harry had been worse than Azkaban—he'd subjected her to bizarre thods, trying to recover her mories. Often blindfolded, brought to unknown places, altered with dark magic.
She was used to waking up as a test subject—then imdiately passed out again.
But now there was no pain.
No bonds.
She felt the wind, the rustling leaves, insects chirping.
She opened her eyes to a blood-red sunset.
And then saw the towering walls, the cage-like arena, and two boys on the platform above—Harry Potter and the Weasley boy—and another child down here with her.
He looked familiar.
"Rember , Bellatrix Lestrange?" Neville asked, voice shaking.
Bellatrix studied him. "Longbottom?"
"So you do rember." Neville grew more agitated. "Yes, I'm Longbottom—son of Alice Longbottom, whom you tortured with the Cruciatus Curse."
Bellatrix cackled. "Alice? And Frank? Their son?"
"You look just like your father."
"Are they still alive? We didn't use the Killing Curse—just the Cruciatus—"
"You have no right to say their nas!" Neville roared. "I've co to take revenge!"
He raised his sword and wand.
"You?" Bellatrix sneered. "Potter, you underestimate . A child? Or do you just want the whole Longbottom family broken?"
Harry said nothing.
Ron looked worried. "Harry, my mum said Lestrange is mad. She's—"
Bellatrix was infamous—ruthless, powerful, cruel.
Harry shook his head, watching Neville roar. "This is his choice."
"He's dread of this day."
"And he's prepared. Trust him—he's a true Gryffindor."
Neville raised his wand. "Enough talk, Lestrange!"
Rage burned through every part of him, except his mind—still cold and clear.
He cast Armor Charm on himself, then shouted:
"Expelliarmus!"
A red light shot toward Bellatrix.
And in that mont, the sunset flared—like it had been ignited by magic—burning even more crimson.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance Chapters: /michaeltranslates
Reviews
All reviews (0)