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    Harry spent the first week of summer at home, settling into a quieter routine than usual. The days passed uneventfully, split between apanying Petunia and the mighty cat: Crookshanks, who prowled the house with an air of ownership only pausing to asionally bat at Hedwig’s feathers; Hedwig, whose soft hoots filled the room; and Misty, who ensured everything in the house ran smoothly. Misty had a knack for anticipating Harry’s needs before he even voiced them.


    Harry’s friends had wanted to meet up during the holidays, but he politely declined their invitations, telling them he needed a break after the hectic school year. The only exception was Selena, who had been understandably disappointed that their nned South America trip had been scrapped. To make up for it, Harry met her for a day in London.


    Selena didn’t dwell on the missed trip, instead pulling him into an afternoon of exploring muggle museums and discussing the intricacies of magical and non-magical history. By the time they parted ways, Harry felt he had smoothed things over with her.


    After a week of rtive peace, Harry received a message that changed the tone of his summer entirely. Delivered discreetly through themunication system Betrix now had ess to, the missive was brief and cryptic: “My Lord, I have something urgent to report. Please advise.”


    The note left no room for interpretation. Betrix’s use of the term "urgent" wasn’t casual; it meant the situation demanded his immediate attention. Quietly, Harry prepared to re-enter the game he had been ying so carefully.


    Disapparating from a secluded spot behind the house, Harrynded at the edge of a forested area near the meeting point Betrix had indicated in her message. The hideout was well-hidden, a small cottage concealed by wards that would have been nearly impossible to detect without prior knowledge.


    Harry approached cautiously, his wand low but ready as he passed through theyered wards with a practiced ease. The magic buzzed faintly as it parted for him, attuned to the signature Betrix had keyed in. Once past the wards, he didn’t proceed immediately. Instead, he slipped into the Astral Dimension, his surroundings dulling into muted grays and faint outlines of magical energy.


    Inside, he scanned the cottage. He counted carefully: Betrix, Lucius Malfoy, the Carrows, Crabbe Senior, Goyle Senior, and Nott. As expected, Mulciber, Selwyn, and Travers were absent; they''d been captured during the chaotic battlest week.


    Satisfied there were no surprises waiting, Harry returned to the physical ne and stepped toward the door. The door creaked as he pushed it open, stepping into the dimly lit interior. The smell of damp wood and old dust filled the air, mingled with the faint metallic tang of old magic. Betrix was already on her feet, her wild eyes lighting up as she spotted him. She dropped to one knee in a movement that was almost theatrical.


    “My Lord,” she said, her voice dripping with reverence.


    Harry ignored the disy and swept his gaze around the room. The air felt thick with tension as he noted the varying reactions of the Death Eaters gathered before him. Betrix remained on one knee, her eyes locked on him with unwavering devotion. The others, however, were a different story—skepticism, fear, and shock mingled across their faces.


    Lucius Malfoy stood stiffly near the back, his pale face betraying the turmoil he was trying to suppress. The Carrows fidgeted, ncing between each other and the floor as though avoiding Harry’s eyes would spare them from whatever judgment he might pass. Crabbe and Goyle senior both looked distinctly ufortable, while Nott stood rigid, his fingers twitching near the wand in his pocket.


    Harry’s smirk deepened. This wasn’t the first time they’d seen him. Under the guise of Albus Riddle, Harry had visited the Carrows'' pub several times over the past year, gathering bits of information.


    Then there was the battlest week—a chaotic mess in Knockturn Alley where he’d appeared to save Betrix. But their unease was understandable. The image of a “Dark Lord” didn’t include actions like pulling Betrix from the jaws of defeat. Harry knew they were questioning his motives, and he nned to use that doubt against them.


    His gaze finally settled on Lucius. The tension in the room thickened, and Harry let the silence stretch just a beat longer before speaking.


    "Lucius," he said, his tone light, almost amused. "You seem... hesitant. Is there a problem?"


    Lucius’sposure wavered, his jaw tightening. "No, my lord," he began carefully, but Harry raised a hand to stop him.


    "No?" Harry’s smirk turned cold. "Yet you stand there, looking at me as though I’m a stranger. As though you’ve forgotten the diary I entrusted to you. You lost it, didn’t you? And now you dare to defy me?"


    Lucius’s face drained of color. His eyes widened, and his knees buckled as he dropped to the floor. “My lord, forgive me!” he stammered, his voice trembling. “I—I thought it was safe! It was… it was Dumbledore, my lord! The Headmaster destroyed it before I could recover it.”


    Harry’s smirk didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened. "The old fool destroyed it, you say? And yet you allowed him to get near it in the first ce. How careless of you, Lucius." He stepped forward, his voice dropping into a quieter, more dangerous register. "Tell me, what else have you failed to safeguard in my absence?"


    As Lucius started to bber, Harry stopped him with a sharp wave of his wand. All of them fell to the ground, faces mming against the dusty floor as though an invisible force had pressed them down. The air thickened, and a crushing weight descended on the room. They gasped and struggled, but it was futile—Harry’s magic held them firmly in ce.


    It wasn’t just any spell. It was Harry’s own variation of Wingardium Leviosa, reversed to exert pressure instead of lift. In his earlier days with the system, it had been a crude trick with weak results. Now, bolstered by his growing power and the aura of Voldemort he projected, the magic hit like a storm, leaving them stunned. The sensation was unlike anything they had ever experienced, and it shook them to their cores.


    "In my absence," Harry began, his voice low and cutting, "you weaseled out of Azkaban by iming I used the Imperius Curse on you? While Betrix and those loyal to me rotted in prison, you livedfortably, denying your connection to me?"


    Lucius squirmed against the force pinning him down. His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air, but no sound came out. The others were no better—Betrix was the only one who seemed to embrace the crushing weight, her eyes closed as if savoring the power pressing down on her.


    Lucius let out a strangled gasp, his pale hands wing at the floor. “M-my lord, I—”


    “Silence.” The weight intensified for a moment, cutting Lucius off mid-sentence. The Carrows, Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott flinched, their faces pale as sweat trickled down their temples. Even Betrix, the only one not entirely pinned, remained frozen, her wide eyes darting toward Harry with something that was almost awe.


    Harry let the silence stretch, his gaze sweeping the room like a de. Each person he looked at seemed to shrink under his scrutiny.


    Lucius found the courage to speak, his voice trembling. "T-the Mark, M-my Lord, the Mark had disappeared, and we thought… we thought you…"n/?/vel/b//jn dot c//om


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