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As Harry soared down the wide corridor of flames on his broomstick, the entire stadium erupted in cheers.
He held the Golden Snitch aloft in his hand, like a triumphant warrior.
"Potter!" "Potter!" "Potter!" "Potter!"
Students from all four houses shouted Harry's name—though Slytherin, predictably, was less enthusiastic, their cheers laced with the distinctive clipped tones of the purest-blooded among them.
No one mourned the Dementors. After all, who could possibly like those wretched creatures forcibly stationed at Hogwarts?
Not to mention, Dementors posed a serious threat to the students' health and safety. Anyone who actually liked them would have to be utterly mad.
Lee Jordan's ecstatic roar echoed across the field at just the right moment.
"Harry Potter has caught the Golden Snitch! Gryffindor wins!"
The moment Harry touched down, the blazing azure flames in the sky vanished into thin air.
Not a single Dementor involved in the hunt for Harry escaped; they had all been obliterated.
As everyone knew, the Patronus Charm could only drive Dementors away, but ancient spells like Fiendfyre and Gubraithian Fire—these high-tier flames—could inflict real, tangible damage on them!
Even Dumbledore watched Harry with a mix of astonishment and uncertainty.
He could, of course, replicate Harry's feat, but even he couldn't summon Gubraithian Fire on such a scale to engulf the entire sky.
Perhaps this was the unique power of the Philosopher's Stone's vessel, Dumbledore mused, stroking his chest as an inexplicable sense of reassurance settled over him.
Voldemort?
Hah.
In the face of the original You-Know-Who, how dare you call yourself the Dark Lord?
The Quidditch players who had landed rushed forward, Fred's left shoe sinking into the mud, though he didn't care to rescue it—he only wanted to join his teammates in hoisting Harry into the air.
"We won!"
Captain Wood shouted with unrestrained glee, joining the Gryffindor Quidditch team in lifting Harry above the crowd.
Fred and George, the incorrigible twins, each grabbed one of Harry's legs, raising him higher.
"You two better not mess around!" Harry warned quickly. "I don't fancy splitting my trousers down the middle…"
The twins exchanged a mischievous glance—
Hey, if you hadn't said anything, we wouldn't have even thought of it.
But with the girls watching from the stands, they refrained from any pranks, instead carrying Harry swiftly around the pitch, waving their free arms and cheering as they ran.
High above the field, Sirius Black stared, dumbfounded. He could scarcely believe his godson was capable of such… extraordinary feats.
Merlin's beard, those flames in the sky—surely even Voldemort at his peak couldn't have conjured such a vast expanse of rootless Fiendfyre?
He had no doubt Voldemort could burn London to the ground, but that would require wind to fan the flames and fuel to sustain the fire…
Yet the blaze that had just lit up the sky was summoned purely through magic.
Blimey, what kind of genius did you father, James? Sirius thought, still gaping.
Unbeknownst to him, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, watching from the castle, had spotted his canine form.
"Sirius?"
Professor Lupin frowned. He had been observing Harry through a telescope, but this was an unexpected discovery.
He was all too familiar with his old friend's Animagus form.
For now, he kept silent, deciding to observe a little longer.
After the Dementor attack during the Quidditch match, Harry had expected Dumbledore to summon him for a talk.
To his surprise, it wasn't Dumbledore but Professor McGonagall who came to check on him, full of concern and care.
Rumor had it Fudge was furious, but since the Dementors had entered the school grounds and attacked a student first, he had no choice but to swallow his anger.
Over a hundred Dementors wasn't a small number, but for Azkaban's Dementor population, it wasn't a crippling loss either.
In the wake of the incident, Hogwarts banned Dementors from acting as school guards, leaving Fudge to figure out how to capture the escaped convict Sirius Black on his own.
Fudge's agreement came largely due to an onslaught of complaints from parents.
They had all heard about the attack on the Boy Who Lived. If even the Savior of the Wizarding World could be targeted by Dementors, what hope was there for ordinary students?
Fudge might think his plan was flawless with a mere flap of his lips, but the consequences would fall on their children.
The parents weren't helpless—they took to the Daily Prophet, publishing scathing articles, and even French tabloids ran headlines screaming, "British Ministry of Magic Allows Dementors to Harm Students at School," in true sensationalist fashion.
Fudge wasn't one to care about his reputation, but he certainly cared about his position as Minister of Magic.
With so much opposition, however reluctantly, he abandoned the idea of sending more Dementors to Hogwarts.
As for Harry's feat of incinerating the Dementors, it was quietly swept under the rug—Fudge was all too eager for everyone to forget it ever happened.
To Harry's surprise, Professor Snape sent him two vials of Invigoration Draught via owl, with a note claiming it was to ensure the "little troll" didn't miss his Potions homework.
"I should've faked being ill," Harry said regretfully to Ron, shaking his completed Potions essay.
To everyone's relief, this week's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was back in the hands of Professor Lupin.
He looked like he'd been ill—his old robes hung even more loosely on his frame, and dark circles shadowed his eyes.
Even so, when the class settled in, Lupin greeted them with a warm smile.
The students immediately launched into complaints about Snape's behavior while he'd been substituting—even the Slytherins joined in, as they, too, weren't thrilled about writing essays.
"It's not fair! He was just a substitute—why did he give us homework?" they grumbled in unison.
"We don't even know what a werewolf is!" Seamus protested.
"—Two rolls of parchment!" Crabbe and Goyle chorused, their complaint resonating with everyone in the room—except Hermione.
"Didn't you tell Professor Snape we haven't covered that yet?" Lupin asked, frowning slightly.
The class erupted again.
Hannah complained loudly, "We did, but he said we were too far behind—"
"You know him, Professor, he never listens to us," Ron chimed in.
"—Two rolls of parchment!" Crabbe and Goyle repeated, earning nods of agreement from their classmates.
Lupin merely smiled.
"Don't worry, I'll speak to Professor Snape. You won't have to write that essay."
The classroom exploded in cheers, with Gryffindors shouting the loudest.
Of course, there was one exception…
"Oh, no," Hermione groaned, cradling her head in disappointment. "I already finished it…"
But no one cared about the overachiever's feelings—if she wanted to write it, that was her problem.
After class, Harry was informed that Professor Dumbledore was waiting for him in the Headmaster's office.
Lately, Harry had been pouring effort into researching references to Death, but he'd come up empty-handed.
Inevitably, he was feeling exhausted, yawning even as he made his way to the Headmaster's office.
Inside, he found not only Dumbledore but also Newt Scamander and his wife, as well as Veratia and Cassandra.
After exchanging greetings, Harry pulled up a chair and sat down.
The mood was grave, especially Dumbledore's. His eyes, hidden behind half-moon spectacles, were unreadable.
"Voldemort appears to have allied himself with Death," Dumbledore said bluntly.
What an opening line—it seized Harry's attention immediately.
"Allied with Death?" Harry asked, puzzled.
"Yes, Harry," Newt said, his head bowed. "At the very least, we know Voldemort's summoning ritual succeeded—but which specific Death he summoned, we don't yet know."
"Are there multiple Deaths?" Harry asked, confused. "Besides the Death from the Deathly Hallows, who else is there?"
"Oh, there are many," Newt replied quickly. "For instance, Voldemort previously attempted to summon Anubis, the Egyptian god of death, associated with mummification and the guardian of souls on their journey to the afterlife."
"He's often depicted as a man with a jackal's head, though sometimes as a jackal wearing a ribbon, its forelimbs bent and holding a flail."
"Then there's Hela, the Norse goddess of death, queen of the underworld Helheim, who also governs aging and disease. She's said to be the youngest child of Loki, the trickster god, and the giantess Angrboda, sister to the great wolf Fenrir and the serpent Jörmungandr."
Finally, Newt added, "And of course, there's Hades, the Greek god of the underworld, master of the three-headed Cerberus. He's described as a majestic man seated eternally on his throne, holding a scepter, his form shifting between middle and old age."
"So which Death did Voldemort summon?" Harry asked, intrigued.
"We don't know His true name," Newt admitted, shaking his head. "But you know who I mean—"
Harry thought for a moment. Newt was likely referring to the Death they commonly pictured: cloaked in black, wielding a scythe.
He wondered if it was related to the Death he'd seen in Cassandra's mind—a female figure.
If he had to give her a name, it would simply be "Death."
"At the very least, we've learned that the younger version of Tom Riddle is on the verge of being fully resurrected," Dumbledore said, rubbing his knuckles. "Our top priority now is to locate and destroy his Horcruxes—"
"How many Horcruxes does he have?" Cassandra asked, tilting her head.
"We don't know," Dumbledore replied. "But last Christmas, Harry destroyed one—a diary."
At the mention of the diary, Harry recalled a certain… detail.
"Speaking of that diary," Harry said to Cassandra, "it once disguised itself as you, draining the life force of Slytherins to sustain itself…"
Cassandra's face twisted in disgust at the revelation.
"Don't let me find out where it is," she said through gritted teeth. "If I do, I'll make it taste lightning…"
What a dark chapter in her history. No wonder Draco had been so hesitant to bring it up.
"Besides the diary, I believe there's also a ring that may be a Horcrux," Dumbledore continued. "I saw it in Morfin Gaunt's memories. And… that ring mysteriously disappeared. As we suspected, it's likely stored in the Lestrange family vault, alongside Ominis Gaunt's portrait."
At that, Veratia produced a lock of hair.
"This is Bellatrix Lestrange's hair," she said. "Its owner is Voldemort's most loyal follower. Perhaps we can use Polyjuice Potion to take her form and investigate the vault at Gringotts."
"But Bellatrix Lestrange is a high-security prisoner in Azkaban," Newt said, frowning. "I doubt Gringotts would allow us access to her vault."
"Oh, that's true," Dumbledore said with a mysterious smile at Harry. "But we could, through certain channels, compel the goblins to let us into the Lestrange vault—though that would damage Gringotts' reputation."
"However, if we use this method, it gives the goblins an out. Even if word gets out, they can claim it was Bellatrix Lestrange herself accessing her vault. After all, who would suspect someone could obtain her hair and wand to impersonate her?"
"A brilliant plan," Harry said, catching Dumbledore's drift. It was about giving the goblins a plausible excuse.
Transforming into Bellatrix wasn't the point—it was about providing Gringotts with a way to save face.
"So," Dumbledore said, turning to Veratia, "this will require your efforts, Miss Grindelwald. I happen to know that, after over a decade in Azkaban, Bellatrix's mental state… isn't exactly stable."
In other words, she was mad as a hatter.
Veratia suddenly threw her head back, letting out a string of unhinged laughter.
Her hair fell over one eye, and she scanned the room with the other, her white teeth biting her red lips until they paled, her smile tinged with manic energy.
"Potter," she said, striding over to Harry. She knelt one knee on his leg, grabbed his collar, and hissed, "Is this the vibe, Potter?"
"Maybe tone it down a bit," Harry said quickly, feeling the pressure of Veratia's intense performance.
Everyone nodded, though Cassandra muttered under her breath, "That mad Grindelwald woman."
To be fair, Veratia's act was a touch too deranged. Harry couldn't help but wonder if, had he chosen Cassandra over Veratia, she might have ended up like this.
The conclusion? A 99.99% chance she'd turn into this obsessive, unhinged mess—especially considering that time she grabbed his collar and demanded he cast the Cruciatus Curse on her.
"I happen to know Severus has some Polyjuice Potion on hand," Dumbledore said. "If you have the time, perhaps you could try your luck at Gringotts…"
"We?" Veratia asked.
"Yes, you," Dumbledore said, giving Harry another enigmatic smile. "I know Harry has some sway at Gringotts. If he goes with you, it might save a lot of hassle."
Veratia immediately understood Dumbledore's intent, casting an approving glance at her perceptive old schoolmate.
Was Dumbledore doing this on purpose? Well, maybe just a little.
As a staunch supporter of Harry and Veratia, he was more than happy to play matchmaker—very happy, indeed.
Of course, Veratia's influence at Gringotts wasn't insignificant either. Back in her day as half of a notorious duo, she'd left quite a mark on the goblins.
But she didn't call out Dumbledore's scheme. Nor did she mind going on this mission with Harry.
Dumbledore winked at Harry, then beckoned Fawkes over. After whispering a few words to the phoenix, Fawkes vanished in a burst of flame.
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