As the group began to file out, their steps heavy with the weight of their victory, Arcturus, towering and imposing like a specter, paused just before crossing the threshold. His sharp gaze fixed on Severus Snape, standing stiffly in the corner of the room, his expression unreadable but for the faint flicker of unease in his dark eyes. Arcturus smirked, a cold, predatory thing. "Ah, Snape," he drawled, his voice silky but dripping with venom. "Did you enjoy the little twist Charlus gave to your spell?"
Snape's face remained impassive, but the cold dart of surprise flashed in his eyes before he quickly masked it. The words hung in the air, and it was clear to anyone who knew Snape well enough that the carefully cultivated façade had cracked, if only for a moment.
Arcturus leaned slightly toward him, a mocking glint in his eyes. "That charming little piece of magic you've been so fond of—'Sectumsempra,' wasn't it?" He smirked at the memory of the spell's twisted legacy. "You thought you were the only one with a secret, didn't you, Severus?"
Snape stiffened, the wordless exchange between them brimming with unspoken tension. He had created the curse back in his youth, a powerful, savage spell designed to cut and shred, leaving its victims to bleed out slowly. He had thought himself untouchable, the only one who knew the counter-curse. It was supposed to be his trump card, his mark of superiority over the likes of the Death Eaters.
But Charlus, the ever-devious, had found a way to adapt it. To make it more, well, efficient.
Sirius, standing next to Arcturus, shot Snape a grin that could only be described as a wolfish smirk. "I think you'll find that the counter-curse you so generously shared with your buddies doesn't really work on your own handiwork anymore. Might want to reconsider your position, Sev," he teased, his voice booming with a familiar and playful edge. "You know, I'd say it was a masterstroke if I wasn't so thoroughly disgusted."
Snape's jaw tightened at the jab, though he said nothing, his fingers twitching as though he might reach for his wand.
Charlus, never one to miss an opportunity for a well-placed burn, took a step closer, his voice low and chilling. "You see, Severus, we don't just break things for the fun of it. Oh no, no. We make them better. Ever hear of a modification spell? A little enhancement?" His words were like ice, slicing through Snape's pride. "You should have been more careful with what you shared, Snape. Because what you thought was a clever trick... Well, it's just another weapon in our hands now." His eyes narrowed, and his tone grew venomous. "I suggest you be very careful about what you show us in the future."
Sirius chuckled darkly, crossing his arms. "Honestly, Snape, you should be flattered. We made your work even better—a true masterpiece, I'd say." He laughed, the sound rich and mocking. "But I'm sure you'll get over it... eventually."
As Snape's lips pressed together in a thin line, Arcturus turned, his voice cutting through the tension. "I'd love to stand here all day and watch you squirm, Severus, but duty calls." His gaze lingered for a moment longer, almost savoring the discomfort in the air before he spoke again. "Just remember: the next time you try to play with things you don't understand... be ready for the consequences."
With that, the group turned on their heels and began to leave, leaving Snape alone in the quiet aftermath of their words. The silence in the hospital wing felt suffocating, and Snape, his hands clenched into fists, fought the urge to shout. He was no fool; he knew what they had done to his spell. The thought of it—the grotesque cruelty that had been added—made his stomach churn.
As he watched them depart, Snape's mind raced. What else had they done to his work, to his knowledge, to his carefully crafted world? He had been foolish to think the Potters, the Legion, were simply a group of sentimental fools. No, they were predators. Cold, calculated, and utterly merciless.
Outside, the others moved with grim purpose, ignoring the tension that still hung in the air.
Benjy, ever the sharp-eyed one, glanced back toward Snape with a knowing look, his face hard as granite. "That guy's still alive? Amazing," he muttered, his voice low and clipped, like the sort of statement made only by those who knew the full weight of their own dark work.
Moody, who had been unusually quiet up until now, let out a low, rasping chuckle that was half-bitter, half-amused. "I think we broke him," he said with a wry smile, his eye swiveling toward Benjy as if sharing a private joke. "Good riddance, too."
Charlus, still walking ahead, couldn't help but shoot a final remark over his shoulder. "You know, I almost pity him. He's still playing the game like he's got the upper hand. Poor Snape. But we know better, don't we?"
Sirius shrugged with a grin. "What can I say? He's a bit of a prick. But he's our prick."
Arcturus glanced back at the hospital wing, his sharp eyes scanning the darkened corridors, then straightened, a glimmer of satisfaction crossing his face. "The problem with people like Snape is that they never learn," he said with a cold smile. "But we'll make sure he does."
Dumbledore, watching them go from the shadows of the room, felt the crushing weight of his isolation settle over him. Each step the Potters and their allies took away from him felt like another piece of his carefully crafted world crumbling into dust. He had never expected his plans to be so easily unraveled, and yet, the truth was inescapable: the Potters, the Legion—they had already outmaneuvered him. And worse, they seemed to relish every minute of it.
The future, uncertain and fraught with peril, loomed over him like a dark storm cloud. But for Dumbledore, it wasn't just about surviving—it was about regaining control. And for that, he would need far more than a few clever tricks.
As the door swung shut behind the group, Dumbledore stood still, his mind already planning his next move. It would be his last.
—
In the softly lit parlor at the Potter Estate, the air was thick with the scent of freshly brewed tea and the flicker of firelight dancing on polished wood. Four women, formidable in both spirit and stature, sat together, the years falling away as their conversation flowed effortlessly. The parlor was a haven of warmth and familiarity, filled with memories of days gone by, of laughter, and of shared adventures.
Minerva McGonagall, with her sharp eyes and commanding presence, sat with her back straight, as always. She was every inch the seasoned professor, the woman who had faced down Dumbledore and lived to tell the tale. Dorea Potter, regal as ever, perched on the edge of her seat, a glass of wine held delicately in her hand, her lips curling with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. Melania Black, elegant and poised, leaned forward, her dark eyes glittering with pride as she spoke. And Augusta Longbottom, the epitome of practicality, sat with her arms folded, her expression one of quiet determination, though there was a warmth in her gaze that few ever saw.
"Well, well, Dori, Gussie," Melania began, her voice a rich, melodic tone, laced with a touch of admiration. "I dare say you won't believe it, but Minerva—our Minerva—crossed wands with Dumbledore himself. Stunned the old man and took the final Horcrux." She grinned, her smile both mischievous and proud. "Bravery and loyalty to the Legion, if I ever saw it."
Dorea's sharp eyes narrowed as she turned her attention to Minerva, her usual icy demeanor replaced by something more complex. "Is that true, Minnie?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with something else. "After all these years of silence... I have to admit, I'm surprised. Impressed, even. But why didn't you stop Dumbledore from leaving Harry with those Dursleys? You knew how wrong that was."
Minerva's gaze softened as she met Dorea's eyes, the weight of old regrets hanging between them like a shadow. "I know, Dori. I failed him. Every day, I regret it. But you must understand, at the time, I thought I was doing what was necessary to protect him. I didn't see the full picture then. I didn't realize just how much manipulation Dumbledore was weaving. But I couldn't stand by and let him keep controlling Harry's life any longer. It was time to do something, to really do something to make up for my mistakes."
Augusta, who had been silently observing, nodded thoughtfully, her sharp features softening for the briefest moment. "You've always had a fierce heart, Minnie. Never one to bow down, not to anyone—not even Dumbledore. That's why we loved you, why we followed you. But you're right... You could've stopped Dumbledore, and you didn't. That's a weight you'll carry." She paused, then added, a rare warmth in her voice, "But it doesn't mean you can't redeem yourself. And this—this is a start. You took down the last Horcrux, Minnie. You gave us a fighting chance."
Melania let out a low laugh, shaking her head. "I knew you had it in you, Minnie. Never one for the spotlight, but when it matters, you show up. Just like back in the day, when we ruled the school. The four of us, Minnie, Dori, Mel, and Gussie. We were untouchable."
Dorea gave a fond, albeit slightly exasperated, glance at her. "Speak for yourself, Mel. I didn't rule anything. I was far too busy keeping you lot out of trouble." She arched an eyebrow at Minerva. "Though, I must say, Minnie, you did have your moments. I remember you were the only one who could make the entire class go silent with a single glare."
Minerva smiled, the corner of her mouth quirking up in that familiar, no-nonsense way. "Some things never change, Dori. But I don't remember you ever complaining about it when you needed backup for your little schemes."
Augusta snorted, her lips twitching. "Ah, yes, the schemes. Let me remind you, Melania, that it was Dorea who got us out of more trouble than we can count. I'm pretty sure if it weren't for her, we'd have all been expelled before third year." She turned to Minerva. "Though, Minnie, you were always the one with the quiet authority. You were a bloody force, whether you wanted to be or not."
Minerva's gaze softened, the years of camaraderie clear in her eyes. "And I wouldn't have had it any other way. We may not have realized it then, but we were stronger together. Each of us brought something to the table."
Dorea's voice softened as she took a slow sip from her glass, her eyes flickering with something unspoken. "We were young, and we didn't know just how much we needed each other. We thought we were invincible. But life... life has a way of shattering those illusions. And yet, here we are, decades later. We've seen it all. And now, Minnie, you've done more than we could've hoped for."
Minerva nodded, a rare vulnerability in her eyes. "I've made my share of mistakes, Dori. But we all have. And at least now... at least now I can say I've done something right. I've done something for Harry, something that matters. I won't let him face this alone."
"That's what makes you one of the best, Minnie," Melania said, her smile warmer now. "You never let anyone face the fight alone. You always lead the way."
A comfortable silence settled over the group, each of them reflecting on the bond they shared. Augusta, usually so guarded, finally spoke, her voice steady but full of a quiet conviction. "We've been through enough to know that we don't waste time. We've lost too much. But together? We've always found a way to win. And this? This is just the beginning."
Dorea raised her glass, her voice calm but firm. "To us. To the days when we ruled the school, and to the days when we'll rule this fight."
Minerva, Melania, and Augusta raised their own glasses, the clink of crystal echoing in the room.
"To us," Minerva agreed, her voice low but resolute. "To never giving up."
And for the first time in a long time, there was no hesitation in their hearts. The future was uncertain, but they were united. And that bond—unbroken by time, trials, or distance—was the strongest magic of all.
—
The room at Blackmoor was thick with the palpable weight of anticipation, a tense silence hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. Ammon Raza stood at the center of the gathering, his form a silhouette against the flickering candlelight. His expression was unreadable, focused, a sharp contrast to the palpable anxiety of those around him. The diadem—the final Horcrux—rested on the stone altar before him, its cursed presence radiating a malevolent energy that set the hairs on the back of one's neck standing.
"Everyone, stand back," Ammon's voice, deep and commanding, cut through the tension like a blade. "This process requires total concentration. No interruptions, no distractions."
Sirius, leaning casually against a column with his arms folded, flashed a grin. "What, no celebratory speech first, Ammon?" His voice was light, but his eyes never left the diadem. "You've been preparing for this moment for ages. Can't we get a little buildup? Maybe a dramatic pause?"
Ammon didn't spare him a glance, his face as inscrutable as ever. "Save your theatrics, Black. There's no time for showmanship now."
Arcturus, standing at the far side of the room, gave Sirius a look that could freeze a man in his tracks. "He's right, Sirius," Arcturus intoned in his deep, resonant voice. "The ritual is delicate. We'll need all the focus we can muster. There is no room for error."
Sirius smirked but pushed himself off the column, the grin still playing on his lips. "Fine, fine. Just trying to lighten the mood. But I can see you're not in the mood for my wit tonight."
Ammon's voice, dark and steady, filled the room again as he began the chant. His hands moved with practiced precision, his fingers tracing symbols in the air, each one glowing faintly as he invoked the ancient spell designed to break the enchantment holding Voldemort's soul tethered to the diadem. His eyes were fixed on the cursed object, watching as the dark magic within it pulsed in time with his incantation.
Benjy, his arms crossed, stood closest to the altar, his gaze sharp, unwavering. "I've seen dark magic, but this—this is something else," he muttered under his breath. "You could almost feel it trying to fight back."
"That's what makes it fun," Moody grunted from the far side of the room, his magical eye swiveling in all directions. "Dark magic never goes down easy. It's a battle of wills—yours against his."
The diadem suddenly emitted a violent tremor, as if it were alive. The air grew thick with crackling energy, an oppressive pressure settling on everyone in the room. A high-pitched scream echoed out from the cursed object, a sound that felt like it was ripping through the very fabric of reality. Even the most hardened among them flinched at the shrill, soul-wrenching noise.
Sirius winced, his hand gripping the edge of the table as he leaned forward. "Blimey, that's louder than the last time I tried to sneak past my mum's kitchen."
Arcturus' voice, low and cold as the depths of the grave, carried across the room. "Focus, Sirius."
Ammon's grip on the diadem tightened, his knuckles white as he continued the chant. His face, usually so calm and controlled, now betrayed a hint of strain. The curse resisted, the soul fragment within the diadem clawing to hold on. The tension in the room was unbearable, the air thick with the oppressive force of the struggle between Ammon and the diadem.
Charlus, his arms crossed with an air of cold authority, leaned slightly toward Sirius. "I'll be honest, Black," he murmured with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "If you can't hold it together for a simple ritual, how do you expect to face the real battle?"
Sirius raised an eyebrow, smirking back. "Always with the sharp words, Charlus. You could've been a Slytherin. You know that, right?"
Charlus' lips twisted in the barest hint of a smile. "If I had, I would have been their king."
The light in the room blazed brighter as Ammon's chant reached its peak. The diadem's screams intensified, the energy in the room spiraling out of control. Ammon's face contorted with the effort, sweat pouring down his brow as he poured more power into the ritual. "Hold steady," he muttered under his breath, his voice a fierce, controlled growl.
The diadem shook violently, the dark magic pouring from it like black smoke, wrapping itself around Ammon, trying to choke the life out of him. But with a final, guttural cry, Ammon pressed his hands to the diadem with unrelenting force, uttering the final word of the incantation.
With a deafening crack, the diadem shattered. The high-pitched scream cut off abruptly, and for a moment, there was nothing but an eerie silence.
The room felt lighter, as though a heavy, suffocating weight had been lifted. The oppressive darkness that had hung in the air vanished, leaving only the faint glow of the candles in the room.
Ammon, breathing heavily, lowered his hands, his eyes closing for a moment as the last of the tension drained from his body. "It's done," he announced, his voice tinged with exhaustion but firm. "The final Horcrux is destroyed. Voldemort is now vulnerable."
The tension in the room snapped, and the collective breath that had been held was released in a wave of relieved sighs and quiet triumph. Benjy's lips curled into a rare, satisfied smile. "Well, that was something. Who's up for a drink?"
Moody's gruff voice rumbled through the silence. "It's about bloody time. I've been itching for this moment since we started hunting those blasted things down."
Charlus gave Ammon a long, appraising look, his voice low and measured. "You've done it, Raza. Not many could pull off something like that." He nodded slightly, a gesture of respect in the midst of their usual banter.
Sirius grinned, the usual mischievous gleam in his eyes. "See, that wasn't so bad. Maybe I'll let you do all the hard work next time, Ammon. As long as I get to blow something up afterward."
Arcturus, standing at the rear, looked on with an expression as cold and calculating as ever. "You've broken the final piece, Raza. But remember this—the war is far from over. Voldemort is weak now, but that doesn't mean we can rest."
Ammon's gaze swept across the room, his eyes sharp, every ounce of weariness swept aside by a growing resolve. "No. The final battle is yet to come. And when it does, we finish this." His voice was like iron, unyielding.
Benjy clapped a hand on Ammon's shoulder with a grin. "That's the spirit. Let's go crush a snake."
Moody's gravelly chuckle echoed through the room. "With a bit of luck, we won't even have to use wands for this one."
With the Horcrux now shattered, the weight of their task seemed to lift slightly, but the storm was far from over. Each one of them knew it—the final confrontation was still ahead. And when it came, they would be ready.
—
In the cozy, firelit parlor of the Potter Estate, Dorea, Augusta, Melania, and Minerva sat, their conversation thick with urgency. The shadows of the evening had deepened, and the warmth from the hearth flickered over their faces as they discussed matters of great consequence—plans that could shape the course of the coming war. Though they spoke in hushed tones, their words carried the weight of generations.
Kreth, the Potter family house-elf, flitted about, adjusting the décor and offering tea with a flustered air, as though he were in the presence of royalty, which, to him, these women undoubtedly were. His sharp, inquisitive eyes darted between them, listening in on their words with curiosity but never daring to interrupt.
"Voldemort's Horcruxes are destroyed, but the danger is far from over," Minerva McGonagall said with a seriousness that carried her usual strictness. Her spectacles glinted in the firelight, reflecting the depth of her concern. "We still have to figure out how to deal with him once and for all."
Dorea Potter, tall and poised, raised an eyebrow as she adjusted the hem of her black dress. "We don't have time for what-ifs, Minerva. The damage is done. We need to act swiftly." Her voice was firm and commanding, yet there was an undercurrent of concern in it—one that only those who truly knew her could detect. If anyone could meet Voldemort's madness with cool, calculated strength, it was Dorea.
Augusta Longbottom, her silver hair gleaming in the candlelight, sat forward, her sharp eyes narrowing. "We need a contingency plan, Dorea. This isn't the first time we've come close to him. If we're going to protect the next generation, we have to be prepared for anything." She glanced toward the door, as if expecting to see her grandson, Neville, wandering in, his curiosity ever-present. Her voice had the authority of decades of experience, tempered with a grandmother's love.
"You're right, Augusta," Melania said softly, her elegant features lit by the fire's glow. She spoke with the quiet grace that always made her appear as though she were in command of every room she entered. "We can't afford any more mistakes. This is about the future." She paused, her voice laced with a hint of worry. "We need to ensure that Harry and Neville are kept safe. They're not ready to face what's coming."
Minerva's eyes softened at the mention of Harry, and she folded her hands neatly in front of her. "Children grow up faster in times like these, Melania. Sometimes whether they're ready or not, they have to face the truth." She gave a small, almost wistful smile. "And there's nothing quite like seeing a child rise to the challenge."
Kreth, having finished dusting a silver tray, scurried back to the corner, nearly tripping over his own feet in his eagerness. He whispered to himself, "Young masters always so curious. They'll be trouble one day, yes, they will."
The door creaked, and Harry and Neville, both just shy of being caught, froze. The boys had been playing outside in the garden, but their curiosity, as it often did, led them toward the source of the adults' conversation. They'd managed to creep close enough to hear snippets of the discussion, and though they'd tried to hold their ground, the temptation was too great. Now, their faces were pressed to the door, eager to know what they weren't supposed to hear.
Just as they leaned in a little too close, Dorea's sharp eyes flicked toward the door. Her gaze locked onto the two boys. "Hadrian James Potter and Neville Longbottom—what do you think you're doing?" Her voice was a mix of fond exasperation and mild reproach. It was the voice of a woman who had seen it all, and then some.
Both boys froze like deer caught in the headlights, their faces flushing as they were caught in the act of eavesdropping. Harry straightened, offering a sheepish smile that he knew well wouldn't save him. "We're sorry, Grandma," he mumbled, his words tumbling out in his usual way, full of energy but lacking the right amount of seriousness.
Neville, his cheeks redder than Harry's, added quickly, "We didn't mean to overhear. We were just... curious."
Dorea gave a long, exaggerated sigh, the kind of sigh that made her appear a decade older but still formidable in her leadership. "Curiosity is a dangerous thing, especially when it gets you into trouble," she said, but there was a touch of amusement in her voice. "I know you both are eager to help, but there are some things you're not ready to hear yet."
Augusta smiled at her grandson, her voice gentle, but no less firm. "And you will, Neville, when it's time. But you must learn to trust us, alright?"
Melania nodded. "We're doing everything we can to protect you both, to protect all of you. Don't forget that."
Minerva, who hadn't been quite as amused as the others, softened at the sight of the boys. "You will both learn when the time is right. But until then, I think it's best you go and enjoy yourselves while you can."
Harry looked up at Minerva, his eyes alight with the curiosity she'd just mentioned. "But we met you before, didn't we? At St. Mungo's, when you came to visit Sirius?"
Minerva's lips twitched at the memory, and for a moment, she softened. "Yes, that was me. I'm here to help your family, Harry. But I promise you, there is more time for questions later."
Kreth, still in the corner, muttered to himself. "Time for questions? Always with the questions... young masters need to be told everything—right now." His voice was laden with his characteristic mix of annoyance and duty.
Harry shot him a quick glance but said nothing as he followed Neville toward the door, still too curious for his own good. "Thanks, Grandma," he said with a grin, though there was a hint of reluctance in his voice. "We'll go play, but only because you say so."
Dorea watched them go, shaking her head in mock dismay. "Those two are going to be a handful. I can already see it."
"They're just like their fathers," Melania murmured, her smile tender. "Brave and stubborn. Let's hope they know when to channel it."
Minerva raised an eyebrow. "When not to channel it, you mean."
Dorea chuckled, but her expression grew more serious as the door clicked shut behind the boys. "We've only just begun. There's no time to waste."
Kreth, now standing at attention, nodded vigorously. "Master Hadrian and Master Neville will be just fine, yes. I'll make sure of it."
"Let's get back to work," Augusta said, as the room returned to its earlier solemnity. "We've come this far. We can't stop now."
Dorea nodded, her eyes glinting with resolve. "Agreed. The next step is even more dangerous than the last."
Minerva leaned forward, her gaze steely. "We will be ready."
And with that, the conversation turned back to its darker undercurrents—strategies, spells, and the looming threat of Voldemort—but for just a moment, a faint sound of children's laughter echoed down the hall, as if reminding them all of what they were fighting for.
—
Kreth, having witnessed the retreat of the two young boys, straightened his little vest with the utmost precision, as though it were a matter of great importance. His large, round eyes flitted nervously between the grand parlor and the long, labyrinthine corridor, making sure no one would notice his quiet movements. The Potter Estate, despite its grandeur, was a vast web of rooms and winding halls where trouble could easily slip through unnoticed. And trouble, Kreth knew all too well, often wore the faces of Hadrian and Neville.
With an exasperated sigh, Kreth adjusted his spectacles once again and called after the boys, just loud enough to avoid drawing attention from the other inhabitants of the estate. "Master Hadrian! Master Neville!" His voice was an odd mixture of urgency and mild annoyance, though no one would have heard it over the soft sound of his feet gliding across the polished wood floors.
Harry, who had been practically bouncing down the hall with the energy of a caffeinated rabbit, glanced over his shoulder with that mischievous grin of his. "What is it, Kreth? Are you coming to tuck us in too?" he asked with a teasing lilt in his voice. Kreth winced, his nerves fraying at the thought of the boy's never-ending cheek.
"Master Harry, Master Neville, no more mischief now," Kreth chided, as he caught up to them. His high-pitched voice, though gentle, carried the unmistakable weight of someone who had spent far too much time policing the antics of unruly children. "You were told to go to bed—no more sneaking about, eavesdropping, and causing trouble for poor Kreth." His eyes narrowed, and his hands rested on his hips in an imitation of the kind of sternness he imagined might make his point. It wasn't exactly convincing, but it was something.
Neville, who had a guilty habit of constantly glancing over his shoulder as though the walls themselves might be spying on him, muttered, "We weren't eavesdropping, Kreth! We just... heard stuff." His voice trailed off, unsure how to explain that insatiable need to know more.
"Ah yes, 'heard stuff,'" Kreth muttered with a raised eyebrow, though there was no mistaking his growing disapproval. "If that 'stuff' were so terribly important, do you think the grown-ups would be having such hush-hush conversations, hmm?" He sniffed, adjusting his spectacles again—he'd never quite gotten used to the way Harry and Neville had a knack for digging up the bits they weren't supposed to know. "You two," he sighed, "are a real handful."
Harry, however, wasn't ready to drop the subject. "We were just trying to understand! You know, what's going on with the... you know, the bad guy." He made air quotes around "bad guy" as though it was some joke that Kreth wasn't quite in on.
Kreth raised both his eyebrows now, eyes wide with mock horror. "Bad guy talk, Master Harry? You think you're ready for bad guy talk? It's far too much for young minds, even the cleverest minds such as yours!" He leaned in closer, dropping his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, though his tone remained strict. "You must rest now. You'll need your strength for tomorrow. No more eavesdropping, no more sneaky behavior. I'll see to it myself." He puffed out his chest with a small, almost imperceptible sense of pride. "It's time to sleep, yes? You're both off to bed, now, before you get ideas above your station."
Neville, caught halfway between a grin and a pout, tried to argue, "But we're not even tired yet, Kreth..." His voice was a soft whine that suggested he thought he might win this battle.
Kreth's face faltered for a moment. The boys were relentless. "Not tired? Not tired?!" he exclaimed, though his voice remained nearly inaudible. "You were yawning before, Master Neville! Don't think Kreth hasn't noticed!" He leaned closer, shaking a finger at them both, though his expression softened the slightest bit as he crouched down. "And do you really think Kreth won't make sure you're both tucked in properly? Come now, there's no need for this nonsense."
Harry, not one to back down from a challenge, flashed Kreth a grin. "Well, if we have to go to bed, could we at least get a bedtime story first?" he asked, eyes sparkling with mischief.
Kreth blinked in surprise, momentarily thrown off course by the request. "A... a story?" he repeated slowly, as if the idea were foreign to him. He straightened up with a new sense of purpose, though, clearly willing to play along if it meant an end to their antics. "Ah, of course! Kreth has many stories. But I warn you, this story... it doesn't involve sneaky grown-ups."
Neville's eyes widened. "No sneaky grown-ups? Now that sounds like something worth hearing."
Kreth, who knew full well that he'd only given them more fuel for their curiosity, tried to stay composed. "Yes, yes... no sneaky grown-ups. Just a nice, harmless story to keep your minds occupied." He gestured to Harry's door, swinging it open with a subtle flourish. "Now, into bed. No more tricks." He added with a mischievous glint, "And no more 'bad guy' talk."
As Harry and Neville climbed into bed, still grinning at each other, Kreth lingered in the doorway for a moment, eyeing them carefully. "I'll tell you about the time Master Harry's father tried to stay up past midnight and Kreth had to—"
"No, no, no, Kreth!" Harry blurted out, his face a mixture of panic and pleading. "You don't need to tell that one!"
Neville, snickering, leaned over the edge of the bed. "What happened, Harry? Did your dad get caught sneaking chocolate at night?"
Harry shot a warning look at Kreth, who smirked knowingly. "Nothing! Nothing happened, Neville," Harry hastily replied, flushing slightly. "Just... go to bed!"
Kreth stood back a few steps, his arms crossed. "I'm watching you two, you know," he said, as though that were a threat, even though his tone was too affectionate to be taken seriously. "No more sneaky business, yes? And no more standing outside doors. I'll be keeping an eye on you." He shot them one last, pointed look, knowing full well that even that wouldn't stop them from trying.
Neville let out an exaggerated sigh and, after a few moments of hesitation, finally gave in and climbed under the covers. "You can't stop us from being curious forever, Kreth."
Harry, however, had already surrendered to the warmth of his bed, his eyelids drooping. "Yeah, Kreth, you know we'll find out eventually, right? Grown-ups can't keep everything from us."
Kreth shook his head with a bemused smile. "That may be true, Master Harry, but I'll make sure you wait until the time is right." He paused, casting a knowing look over both boys. "For now, sleep. I have a story to tell, and I'm sure Master Neville won't fall asleep this time."
With that, Kreth cleared his throat and began in a low voice, "Once, long ago, in a land far away—"
Harry and Neville exchanged one last glance, their eyes starting to droop, the gentle cadence of Kreth's voice lulling them to sleep.
Kreth, satisfied that the two young masters were finally asleep, quietly slipped out of the room. He closed the door with the softest click, his hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment as he muttered to himself, "One day, they'll ask too many questions. And I'll have no choice but to tell them everything."
The house-elf turned away from the room and disappeared down the long, shadowed hall, content—for now—to leave the questions unanswered.
---
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