A Familiar Bond: Chapter 32

The front page of the Daily Prophet was held aloft in Pettigrew’s trembling hands, and from the way the paper fluttered slightly, it felt as though it too was afraid. Voldemort’s thin, malformed fingers twitched on the armrest of his high-backed chair, his red, slit-pupilled eyes glaring at the spectacle displayed before him.

"You thought this—" he said menacingly, his voice, high and cold, cut through the tense air like a shard of ice, "—was worthy of my time, Wormtail?"

Pettigrew recoiled, nearly dropping the newspaper as he bowed low, somehow managing to keep the paper right where it was. “M-my Lord, it—it mentioned Potter, and I thought—”

“You thought!” Voldemort snarled, his voice swelling with a quiet, terrible fury. He was soon enveloped in a coughing fit, his frail body shaking as he glared at the pathetic man. He rasped, his voice skin to nails scratching on a rusted surface, “You thought I would care about schoolchildren’s fumbling romances? About Potter’s adolescent dalliances?!”

Pettigrew fell to his knees, clutching the newspaper like a shield in front of him. "Forgive me, my Lord! I thought any news of Potter might be—"

"Silence."

The voice was soft, barely more than a whisper, but it still cut through the terse silence, cracking on Pettigrew like a whip. He stopped mid-breath, his eyes wide with fear.

Voldemort’s eyes shifted back to the moving image in the photograph. It depicted four young figures twirling about, either in pairs or all together all at once in a symphony of vibrant dress robes and enchanted lights emanating from the floor and all around them. There were several other figures in the background, but none seemed to catch his attention. No, it was one face that held his gaze, piercing and firm.

The girl—with her dark hair done up intricately—smiled with her delicate features, her rose gown twirling gracefully as she was spun around by Harry Potter. Voldemort watched how she laughed without an ounce of fear or worry, and despite the chilling silence that had enveloped the room, it seemed to echo in his mind.

The room grew colder as Voldemort glared piercingly at her, no one else even mattering to him. Pettigrew, still cowering in fear behind the newspaper, chanced a cautious glance upward and found his lord’s cruel, fearsome gaze trained on the photograph, his expression unreadable but still striking tremendous fear in his heart.

“Interesting,” Voldemort murmured at last, his voice raspy as he turned to Pettigrew. Silently, he ordered the cowering man to emerge from behind the newspaper, which Pettigrew shakily obliged to, and Voldemort continued, “I believe there are some interesting developments taking place at Hogwarts which our dear friend Barty has not deemed fit to inform me about. Wormtail, summon Crouch.”

“C-Crouch, my lord?” Pettigrew asked, his voice barely above a whisper, and he blanched when his lord turned his glare back onto him.

“Can you not even hear properly anymore, Wormtail?” Voldemort hissed, his crimson orbs shifting back to the photograph in the newspaper. “Bring him to me at once.”

XXXXX

Deep within the Ministry of Magic, Barty Crouch Jr., disguised expertly under the guise of his father and taking up the role of the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, sat hunched over a cluttered desk. A single drawer, reinforced with enchantments, held the sum total of his investigations carried out throughout the day, consisting of nothing more than a few scraps of parchment, a few hastily scribbled notes, and little else. He scowled in frustration, fisting a blank parchment harshly.

The bint, Valerie Swann, seemed to have no magical background. There were no birth certificates, no academic records of her prior years apart from the third, and nothing to identify her as a witch. For all intents and purposes, it seemed as if she had appeared out of thin air. He had exhausted his resources, and all he found was a whole load of crap.

Either she truly had emerged from nowhere, or someone powerful had hidden all the information about her. There could be only one man with that sort of power, and the mere thought of that old coot made Crouch seethe.

He dared not probe deeply or through official channels. If Dumbledore had gone to such great lengths to conceal that girl’s past, then there was indeed something massive to hide, and it did nothing to quash his suspicions. Instead, it bolstered that particular line of thought—one that screamed at him to believe that Valerie Swann was indeed the daughter of the infamous Bellatrix Lestrange.

He could not think of any other explanation, or perhaps none seemed as plausible to him. The resemblance was uncanny, and he truly could not stop himself from thinking about it.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp stinging sensation on his forearm and he jerked where he sat, his eyes narrowing. His Master was summoning him, and he knew better than to make him wait. His eyes narrowing, he shoved the drawer shut before he cast a locking and concealment ward on the drawer for good measure. It was the office of the Head of the Department, which meant no one would venture in any way, but it was still better to be doubly sure. He stood up and swept across the room, his heavy robes billowing behind him as he strode purposefully to the nearest apparition point.

He appeared shortly in front of the gates of Riddle Manor with a crack. His eyes darted around as he walked, tongue flicking out. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, allowing furious snowy winds to shoot through.

“Shut the damn door, Crouch!”

“Still lounging about here, Rabastan? Don’t have anything meaningful to do, eh?” Crouch asked snidely as he shut the door behind himself. “And what’s with all this ruckus?”

“Go and see for yourself,” Rabastan muttered, gesturing toward the other room with his thumb. Crouch sneered and shaking the snow off himself, he made his way over, squinting slightly into the room.

“Fucking hell,” he breathed as he stepped inside the pathetic excuse of a silencing charm cast on the room—only that did the bare minimum.

On the bed was Amycus, naked, with his sister Alecto on her knees as she straddled him. The man was pounding relentlessly into her while she bounced on top of him, her saggy tits flopping about. For a moment, Crouch simply stared before calling out, amused, “Enjoying yourself, Amycus?”

Amycus looked over at him around his sister’s arse, his eyes widening.

“Catching up on lost years, are we?” Crouch continued. “Tell me, while you’re cleaning out the front yard, how about I work on her backdoor?”

Amycus grunted, furiously drilling into his sister as he gasped, “Huh? What’d you say, Crouch?”

“Forget it,” Crouch waved his hand dismissively and turned around, quickly climbing up the steps that led to the room his lord resided in. He paused outside for a moment and slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside and shutting it behind him.

He spotted Rookwood first, the man nursing the huge snake on a table in the corner of the room, and they exchanged a small nod as he walked over to the seat in front of the fireplace.

“My Lord,” he said respectfully, dropping to one knee before his Master.

“You have kept me waiting,” Voldemort said without looking at him, his eyes still fixed on the newspaper.

“Forgive me, my lord,” he murmured, keeping his head bowed low.

Voldemort did not respond, his eyes firmly on the newspaper as Crouch kept his head down, awaiting a response. Finally, the Dark Lord turned his gaze to Crouch, his expression impossible to decipher.

“Wormtail,” Voldemort called out, jolting the coward who perked up slightly. “Show him.”

Pettigrew shook as he reached over, holding the paper out, and with furrowed brows, Crouch gazed at the front page of the Daily Prophet.

“What do you know of the girl, Barty?” Voldemort asked with an undercurrent of warning in his tone, and the implication dawned immediately on Crouch who gulped. He knew what his Master was talking about, or rather, who.

“Valerie Swann,” Crouch said with slight hesitation. Carefully, he continued, “A transfer student, or so they claim. She arrived at Hogwarts last year. Mudblood, according to school records—“

“Lies,” Voldemort interrupted coldly, his voice sharp enough to make Crouch flinch. “You knew, didn’t you, Barty? About her?”

“M-My Lord—“

“Do not test me, Barty,” Voldemort whispered menacingly, his crimson orbs glinting.

“I did not pay her any attention earlier, My Lord,” Crouch said softly. “I noticed the veela and the Greengrass girl, yes, but not the Mudblood, at least not as closely as I should’ve. But last night… Being so close, it was impossible to miss her. Throughout the Yule Ball, I observed her closely, My Lord. The way she was carrying herself, the way she acted, the way she moved… Her magical signature… her lack of background information… things do not add up, My Lord.”

“You have looked into her, I hope?”

“I tried, My Lord! I’ve done all I could within the limitations I’ve to operate within, but there is little to go on. It is as though she appeared out of nowhere.”

“People do not fall from the sky, Barty,” Voldemort whispered. “I want to hear your thoughts on her. Do not hide anything from me.”

Crouch gulped as he nodded frantically, remaining on his knees in front of his Master.

“I believe her to be Bellatrix’s daughter, My Lord,” he revealed. “I remember seeing her in another ball back in the day, and the resemblance is uncanny.”

Voldemort leaned forward slightly, his serpentine features casting shadows across his sunken face. A low, hissing laugh escaped his mouth, sending a chill down everyone’s spine.

“You think Bellatrix hid something like this from me, Barty?” Voldemort asked sharply, leaning forward. “You think anyone could’ve hidden something so significant from me?”

Crouch cowered under the intense stare, his voice stuttering, “N-No, M-My Lord, of course not. I-I only meant—“

“You meant,” Voldemort hissed, “to entertain your own foolish conclusions. And yet you failed to see the truth. Bellatrix never bore a child. She could never bear a child. I saw to that personally.”

Crouch’s eyes widened in shock. “My Lord—“

“I ensured no one else could take her from my service,” Voldemort continued, his gaze drifting back to the photograph, “Bellatrix’s body… her very essence… it was prepared for one purpose—a ritual that required her womb. A vessel for my own power. I ensured that no other man could ever touch her in that way.”

Crouch’s breath hitched, his mind spinning. He struggled to comprehend the implications. “Then this girl… Valerie… how is she connected to—”

Voldemort leaned back, his small, skeletal fingers steepled beneath his chin. His eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and a thin smile curved his lipless mouth.

“I do have my theories, Barty,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “The resemblance… the timing of it all… it all suggests that there is something else going on… something bigger than what it seems.”

Crouch stared hard at the ground, his thoughts racing. “Do you believe she… she could be connected to you, My Lord?”

“I did not see the need to perform the ritual at the time, Barty,” Voldemort spoke. “That girl is not mine. And I do not believe someone else ever got close to Bellatrix. Rudolphus tried once, but the safeguards I had put in place successfully deterred him from ever approaching her.”

Crouch remembered it with crystal clarity. He had been one of the onlookers who had been witness to Bellatrix cursing the living daylights of her husband soon after their wedding.

“However, what I believe is irrelevant. What I know is that her blood will reveal everything. Blood does not lie, Barty. It holds secrets even memory cannot touch. Bring me her blood—or her hair, if that is all you can manage. Do so as soon as you can, but without rousing any suspicion. This is important, but your continued presence there is more crucial. As for this girl… If she is what I suspect…” His voice trailed off, his expression twisting into something both contemplative and dangerous. He did not give voice to his thoughts, knowing it served no purpose to get ahead of himself.

“My Lord…” Crouch began hesitantly, unsure if he should voice his thoughts. “If she is somehow connected to Bellatrix—if she is indeed… a child she sired with another man—how could such a thing have happened without your knowledge, and what does it say about her loyalties?”

Voldemort’s lips curled in disdain, but his voice remained calm. “That,” he said softly, “is the question, isn’t it?” He glanced back at the photograph, where Valerie’s smiling face moved among the swirling dance partners. His expression hardened, and his voice grew venomous. “There is only one man capable of hiding such a truth from me. Only one man audacious enough to interfere in my plans and shroud this girl’s origins in mystery. Only one man to weave such an expert and intricate wave of trickery. Bellatrix’s loyalty, the influence I had on her, this girl’s upbringing, everything.”

“Dumbledore,” Crouch whispered, his voice trembling as he dared to speak the name.

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed, his mouth curling into a sinister smile. “Precisely. Dumbledore has meddled for decades, playing his games and keeping secrets. But no secret is eternal, Barty. Blood cannot be denied.”

Crouch swallowed hard, his thoughts a whirlwind. He bowed his head deeply, his voice reverent and shaken. “I will not fail you, my Lord. Her blood will be yours.”

Voldemort’s smile grew sharper, more inhuman. “See that it is. And, Barty,” he added, his tone dropping to a deadly whisper, “do not underestimate her. If she is tied to Bellatrix, then she is more than a mere girl. If she is what I suspect, Dumbledore would have ensured she is no simple damsel. Do not make a mistake that will expose you—or me. Is that clear?”

“Perfectly clear, my Lord,” Crouch said, his voice thick with fear and determination.

Voldemort waved a dismissive hand, his attention returning to the photograph. “Go. And remember, Barty, blood will tell us all.”

Crouch rose to his feet, his movements stiff as he gave his lord a respectful bow. He backed away slowly, his mind still racing as the magnitude of his Master’s words settled over him like a suffocating cloak. He dared not look at the other two Death Eaters in the room or the ones who lingered like wraiths around the manor as he stepped down the stairs. Not even bothering to acknowledge the naked figures of Amycus and Alecto as they fucked by the wall right at the entrance to that room, he strode toward the exit door, his eyes sharp with absolute focus.

As the sharp crack of apparition echoed outside the manor, Voldemort’s gaze lingered on Valerie Swann’s moving image, her face frozen mid-laugh. His mouth curled into a cold, triumphant smile, his thoughts swirling with possibilities.

“Dumbledore,” he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the crackling fire. “What have you done this time?”

XXXXX

“So it’s going ahead, hmm?” Daphne asked as she stood alongside Harry and Fleur near their bed in the Room of Requirement while Valerie lingered by the tall mirror, putting the final touches on her attire.

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. Turning to Fleur, he remarked, “It was nice of your father to pull the plug on his expansion plans in Britain.”

“Papa knows competition within family like that is foolish,” the veela chuckled. “We grow together when we all combine our efforts. If we were working against each other, none of us would grow. Like this, both us and Papa will be gaining.”

Daphne and Harry nodded in agreement.

“Still, it means we’ll keep a connection to this country even after we move to Sicily,” he remarked.

“That was to be expected,” Daphne remarked. “We might live there, but it’s not as if it’s going to take us any time to move back and forth.”

“True, and once we’ve established ourselves with the Italian ministry, we can either move our operations there or start a new branch in Italy,” Harry shrugged. “It’s all going to streamline in the future.”

“All right, I’m done,” Valerie called out and turned around, a predatory smirk on her modified face. “How do I look? Hideous enough?”

Harry stared at her with a grin, taking in the evil witch that she had morphed into. He had seen Daphne’s memories, but the real thing still felt different.

“A proper bitch,” Daphne smirked.

“Oh? Careful there, blood traitor! I might slip and fry your brains without even meaning to,” Valerie warned exaggeratedly. Daphne snorted, prompting both Fleur and Valerie to giggle while Harry chuckled, shaking his head. He reached out and took Valerie’s hand, squeezing gently.

“You look positively hideous, love,” he said, his lips curling into a small smile, and continued, “but your eyes… they tell the true story of who you truly are. They can never lie.”

Valerie shook her head with a small smile and patted his cheek, turning to Daphne and Fleur quickly.

“Modify my eyes to make me look as mad as you can,” she urged.

“An illusion then,” Daphne nodded and quickly pulled out her wand. “Fleur, get the other eye.”

Together, the two women went to work and Harry watched as they cast an illusion over her eyes to make them look cruel, mad, and vindictive. Nothing changed truly, but the subtle shifts in the air right in front of her eyes did the job perfectly.

Smirking cruelly, Valerie turned to Harry and winked. “Now then, let’s get going, shall we?”

In response, Harry pulled out the Marauders’ Map and unfurled it.

“Yep. Let’s go.”

Finding their targets was child’s play. The Marauders’ Map aided them all the way as Valerie, disguised as Bellatrix Lestrange under the Invisibility Cloak and holding the map, led them on their way with their mind link. Harry walked with Daphne and Fleur on either side of him, their hands clasped as they ignored the looks and whispers directed their way by the students they passed.

It was perhaps their fortune that Davies and his lackeys were in an isolated part of the castle. It made their job all the more easier.

As they reached their destination, Valerie signaled for them to stop and they all immediately went to work. His spells hummed softly, creating a silent warded bubble around the corridor. He ensured that anyone approaching would be deftly redirected elsewhere and no one would be able to see or hear what was going on inside the bubble. His lips curled into a faint smirk as he glanced at Daphne, whose own wand was weaving subtle threads of illusion magic, darkening the air, making the torches flicker unpredictably, their light an ominous, blood-red hue.

Fleur stood beside him, whispering softly as she enchanted their surroundings, and the air grew heavy with a sense of dread. A phantom wind began to howl faintly through the corridor, carrying faint whispers that were just out of reach of understanding. The atmosphere thickened with an unexplainable pressure as if the castle itself was holding its breath.

“Oh, this is great already,” Harry murmured with a grin as Valerie emerged from under the cloak and gazed at him.

“You’ve seen nothing yet, love,” she smirked. Her wild, frizzy black hair cascaded down her shoulders, her dark eyes glittered with manic glee, and her dark, dry lips twisted into a menacing smirk. Her black robes swirled dramatically as she shifted, wand in hand as she awaited her cue.

“Ready, Daph, Fleur?” Harry asked, and with final flourishes of their wands, both blonde women nodded with matching grins. Valerie shot them all a wicked grin before stepping into the corridor, and they followed behind her at a sedate pace.

Roger Davies’ loud and obnoxious voice carried down the hall.

"Did you see her face? Honestly, if you’re that pathetic, you don’t belong at Hogwarts," he sneered. His lackeys chuckled meanly.

However, their laughter faltered as the air around them shifted. A bone-chilling cold seeped into the corridor, and the flickering torches dimmed further. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, reaching for them like clawed hands.

“What the…?” The dark-haired girl muttered, looking around uneasily.

A low, cruel laugh broke through the group, freezing them on the spot, their eyes wide.

“Who’s there?” Edgecombe snarled, her grip tightening on her wand.

The laugh came again, rising in pitch and intensity, echoing like the toll of a death knell. From the shadows emerged Valerie, every inch the embodiment of Bellatrix Lestrange. Her black boots clicked ominously against the stone floor, and her wild eyes bore into theirs.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. “What do we have here? Little children playing at being wolves? How utterly… adorable.”

Roger, to his credit, attempted bravado. “Who the hell are you?” he snapped, though his voice wavered.

Valerie’s grin widened, exposing teeth. “Who am I?” she repeated, her voice a singsong lilt that quickly dropped into a growl. “My, I thought everyone knew my face by now! Am I not famous enough yet? The Dark Lord would be so disappointed in me if he finds out there are people who don’t recognize me…”

The students shook where they stood as the woman kept talking to herself in that scary voice of hers. The mention of the Dark Lord sent shivers up their spines and their frightened minds quickly ran to connect the dots. The realization made them gasp, and Valerie noticed. Her smile widened wickedly as she stepped closer.

“Ah! You recognize me now! Yes, kiddies! I am the stuff of your nightmares. The whisper of my name should make your blood run cold.” 

She raised her wand, and with a flick, the torches extinguished entirely, plunging them into near-total darkness. Daphne, still hidden, murmured a spell that made the shadows stretch and twist unnaturally, as though alive and reaching for the students. Fleur added a gust of cold wind that howled through the corridor like ghostly whispers.

One of the boys let out a strangled cry as a shadow slithered up the wall beside him.

Somewhere in the distance, Fleur conjured the sound of a baby’s wail, faint and haunting, followed by Daphne’s magic weaving ghostly figures into the shadows, their faces contorted in silent screams.

“You’re not… you’re… you’re lying,” one of the boys stammered, though he clutched his wand tightly.

Valerie threw her head back and laughed, a sound so unhinged it sent shivers down their spines. “Lying? Oh, my dear boy, do I look like someone who lies?" She stepped closer, and they instinctively backed away. 

“B-But you c-can’t be… h-her! S-She’s d-dead!”

“Am I?” Valerie hissed, her voice dripping with mockery. She lunged forward, cackling as they all jumped back in fright. “Perhaps I’ve come back. For you. How sweet of you to notice!”

Davies’ face paled, but he managed to force out, “W-W-What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Valerie hissed, her eyes narrowing. “Oh, nothing much. Just a little… fun.”

“Please!” Marietta stammered, her face pale. “We didn’t do anything to you!” 

Valerie tilted her head, her lips curling into a sinister grin. “Oh, but you did.” She began to pace in front of them, her wand now twirling lazily between her fingers. “You see, I’ve heard that you’ve been misbehaving. Bullying your fellow students, making their lives miserable. Makes me itchy. Makes me want to…” She paused, her voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “…play.”

She waved her wand lazily, and a shower of crimson sparks erupted, illuminating her deranged expression for a brief moment before plunging them back into darkness.

“Please,” Marietta blurted, her voice trembling. She, like the rest of her friends, remained frozen in place, terrified at the sight and the demeanor of this unhinged woman, whoever she was. “We… we didn’t mean any harm!”

“Didn’t mean any harm?” Valerie echoed mockingly. “Oh, but harm you did. And harm has a way of… returning."

The whispers grew louder now, circling them like a swarm of unseen specters. Valerie’s grin widened. “I am hiding in this castle right now, and I am not leaving. But I cannot come out and play, you see. And your little bullying makes me go all giddy and I want to play too. But I cannot play. That upsets me. And when I get upset, I get angry.”

They grew more terrified as she kept rambling maddeningly.

“So here’s what you’ll do. You’re going to stop. Every cruel word, every petty act, every single thing you do to make someone else’s life miserable—it ends. Tonight.”

“A-And if it doesn’t?” Davies croaked, his bravado utterly shattered.

Valerie’s expression hardened into something far more menacing. “If it doesn’t, then you’ll see me again. And next time, I won’t be so… polite.” She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You wanna see what I can do? Should I cast it on you?”

Davies’ knees buckled, and the group collectively recoiled, too terrified to speak.

Valerie cackled menacingly, her mad eyes glinting with amusement that was quickly replaced by sharp focus.

“Now, here’s the thing,” Valerie said, stepping back and addressing the group. “You’ve seen me. A problem. Because I don’t like being seen. So here’s how this will go…” Her expression turned deadly serious, her gaze slicing through each of them.

“If I so much as hear a whisper—just a little tweet tweet—that Bellatrix Lestrange has been seen wandering these halls,” she snarled, her voice a razor’s edge, “I’ll know it was one of you. And I’ll come for you. One by one.”

The bullies stood trembling, their faces ashen.

“And what will I do?” Valerie’s grin returned, unhinged and bloodcurdling. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Oh, imagine. I could peel the skin from your bones. Or maybe… feed you to the acromantula in that forest over there. They’re always hungry, you know.”

Behind her, Fleur conjured the faint sound of clicking appendages, their sinister whispers blending with Daphne’s eerie murmurs of disembodied voices.

“You might think you’ll get to me before I get you,” Valerie said menacingly. “You’re free to find out. I really hope you do.”

They all shook their heads in fright as if they could not even imagine doing something like that.

“Good kiddies. Now, before I change my mind and disembowel you five right now, GET OUT!” Valerie suddenly bellowed, her voice booming like a thunderclap. The bullies didn’t need to be told twice. Gasping and crying, they bolted down the mist-filled corridor, tripping over each other in their haste to escape.

Once they were gone, the mist dissipated, the cold wind vanished, and the shadows retreated to their natural shapes. Valerie let out a bark of laughter, dropping the guise of Bellatrix with a flick of her wand.

Harry, Daphne, and Fleur were waiting for her near the alcove. As soon as she crossed the threshold of the privacy ward Harry had cast around them, the four of them collapsed into silent laughter, muffling their giggles against each other.

“Did you see Davies’ face?” She gasped, doubling over with laughter.

“Edgecombe nearly wet herself!” Daphne added, leaning against Harry, her cheeks flushed from suppressed giggles.

Fleur chuckled, brushing an errant curl from her face. “You were magnifique, ma chérie. Truly terrifying.”

Harry pulled Daphne close, his face split with a grin. “The live performance was indeed brilliant. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Valerie smirked, her eyes still sparkling with mischief as she tapped his nose lovingly. “All in a night’s work. Now, who’s up for some butterbeer?”

And with that, they left the corridor, their laughter echoing through the castle.

In their mirth, none noticed the figure of Barty Crouch Sr. disappear behind the door of an abandoned classroom in the adjacent corridor, levitating five unconscious students in front of him.

To be continued…