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A Familiar Bond: Chapter 29
🕑 Added 2024-09-14 16:30:01 +0000 UTCThe harsh winter wind howled fiercely outside the dilapidated manor house that used to belong to the Riddle family, its once-grand facade now a shadow of its former glory. Inside, the gathered Death Eaters huddled around a crackling fire in what had once been an opulent sitting room. The flickering flames cast long, dancing shadows across their pale faces and dark robes, occasionally glinting off the silver fastenings that adorned their attire.
Barty Crouch Jr. stood before them, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of triumph and barely contained madness. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides, the adrenaline of their victory over the aurors still coursing through him. The successful capture of Auror Captain Blackthorn and his team had energized the group – their first outing in decades resulting in a resounding victory. However, questions still lingered in the air, just like the acrid smell of dark magic oozing off the group.
The Death Eaters stared at the unconscious and bound forms of the five aurors before they shifted their gaze to the only man standing. Antonin Dolohov was the first to break the tense silence. "Crouch," he began, his voice gravelly from years in Azkaban, "You’re going to explain now? Why this attack now? Why this particular team?"
An amused Crouch's lips curled into a sinister smile as he turned to gaze at the best duelist they had in their ranks. He raised an eyebrow, almost amused by the simplicity of the question. "An excellent query, Antonin. And I do applaud you for being specific. It seems my fears of your wits being dulled after all those years in Azkaban were for naught.”
Dolohov’s lips thinned as he regarded Crouch who let out a small chuckle.
“Our timing, as always, is impeccable," he continued as he began to pace, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous room. Antonin had a feeling that Crouch was keeping each step deliberate, and measured, as if he were orchestrating a complex symphony only he could hear. It made him wonder about his mental state as well. After all, Crouch had been in Azkaban for a while before being extracted from the island prison by his father who had kept him under the Imperius Curse for years. Such prolonged exposure could not be any less than the influence the dementors would’ve had on him.
He was pulled out of his musings when Crouch continued after a brief pause.
"Captain Blackthorn and his entire team were scheduled to begin their paid vacation time starting Christmas," Crouch explained, his voice taking on a lecturing tone. "It's the perfect opportunity for us to... shall we say, step into their shoes?"
Alecto Carrow leaned forward, her eyes narrowing behind her thick mane of hair that was draped over her face, making her look more menacing than she truly was. "And what good does that do us? We're still weak from Azkaban. How can we hope to fool anyone in our current state?"
Crouch stopped his pacing and fixed Alecto with a piercing stare. "Patience, Alecto," he chided, wagging a finger. His voice was soft but carried an undercurrent of steel. "You may be weakened, but you are far from powerless. Your minds, your cunning – I know those remain as sharp as ever. This period of deception serves multiple purposes, each more crucial than the last."
He resumed his pacing, hands clasped behind his back. "First, it allows us to regain our strength while hiding in plain sight. The very people hunting us will be providing us with shelter, nourishment, and the means to recover our full magical abilities. Funny, isn’t it?"
Crouch paused, letting his words sink in before continuing. His eyes gleamed with malicious glee as he delivered the next part of his plan. "Second, and more importantly, it puts us in a position of unparalleled access. Blackthorn's team was one of those scheduled to provide security for the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament."
A collective murmur of understanding rippled through the group. Augustus Rookwood spoke up, his analytical mind already racing. "The maze. We'll have direct access to Potter."
Crouch nodded, a manic grin spreading across his face. "Precisely, Augustus. But let's not limit our vision. This goes far beyond Potter, though he is, of course, a key piece in our grand design."
"Tell us more, Barty," Amycus Carrow urged, his curiosity piqued. "How does this serve our Lord's greater purpose?"
Crouch's expression softened slightly at Amycus's words, his shared fanaticism for their lord endearing him to the man more than most. "Ah, Amycus. Always focused on the ultimate goal. You see, as members of the Auror force, we'll have the freedom to move and act as we see fit while supposedly upholding the law."
Rudolphus Lestrange growled, his fingers twitching on his wand. "Playing at being law-abiding citizens? That's hardly befitting of the Dark Lord's most loyal. We should be striking fear into the hearts of blood traitors and mudbloods, not pretending to protect them!"
Crouch's eyes flashed dangerously, and for a moment, the room grew colder. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but filled with so much menace that even the Lestrange brothers looked nervous. "Careful, Rudolphus. Your eagerness for violence is admirable but very shortsighted. Our Lord requires more than mere brutality. He needs cunning, patience, and above all, loyalty that goes beyond simple bloodshed."
He approached Rudolphus, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's temporary, my friend. A means to an end. We regain our powers, gather intelligence, and position ourselves perfectly for the Dark Lord's return. We'll have access to every department in the Ministry, every secret they hold dear. And when that glorious day comes..." He trailed off, his eyes taking on a faraway look.
"We strike," Rabastan Lestrange finished, his voice filled with anticipation.
Crouch nodded, coming back to the present. "Yes, Rabastan. We strike, and the wizarding world will never see it coming. They'll realize too late that the very Aurors they trusted to protect them have become their worst nightmare."
The room fell silent as the Death Eaters contemplated the audacity and brilliance of the plan. It was Dolohov who spoke again, his tone measured. "And what of Blackthorn and his team? Surely their absence will be noticed. And when we return in their place, won't their colleagues realize something is amiss?"
Crouch's smile turned cruel, his eyes glittering with malevolent intelligence. "Ah, Antonin. Always thinking ahead. This is why you were one of our Lord's most valued lieutenants." He gestured grandly as if unveiling a masterpiece. "Oh, they'll be returning to duty, rest assured. Though they may seem a bit... changed."
He turned to Rookwood, his expression now one of clinical detachment. "Augustus, I trust you can handle the necessary extraction of their memories and mimicking their personalities?"
Rookwood inclined his head, a spark of intellectual curiosity in his eyes. "It will be delicate work, but yes. Personality alterations, memory implantation... They'll unknowingly be our puppets, hidden while we take charge."
"Brilliant," Crouch said with a grin, clapping his hands together. "You see? This is why we will triumph. Our Lord values not just loyalty, but innovation, intellect. We are not mere thugs, but architects of a new world order."
Dolohov, who had been contemplative, leaned forward. "And what of the long term, Crouch? Surely we can't maintain this charade indefinitely."
Crouch's eyes gleamed with manic intensity. "Perceptive, Antonin. No, this is but the opening gambit in a much grander game. Once our Lord returns, once we have gathered the intelligence and positioned ourselves throughout the Ministry, we will be poised to topple the entire rotten structure from within."
He began to pace again, his movements more energetic now. "Imagine it – every department, from Magical Law Enforcement to the Department of Mysteries, under our control. We'll rewrite laws, redirect resources, all while maintaining the illusion of normalcy. By the time they realize what's happening, it will be far too late."
Crouch stopped, turning to face the assembled Death Eaters. "But for now, we must perfect our disguises, study our targets' mannerisms, ensure our story is airtight. Every detail, no matter how small, must be accounted for. We are no longer just Death Eaters – we are actors on the grandest stage, playing the most important roles of our lives."
His voice dropped to a near whisper, forcing everyone to lean in. "The Dark Lord's return is at hand, and we shall pave the way for his triumph. When he rises again, he will find not a scattered, broken force, but an army entrenched in the very heart of his enemies' stronghold."
As Crouch's words faded, a palpable sense of dark anticipation filled the room. The Death Eaters began to discuss the finer points of their plan, their voices a mix of excitement and calculated planning. They had endured years of imprisonment and hardship, but now, on the cusp of their master's return, they were poised to strike from within the very heart of wizarding Britain's defenses.
Crouch watched them with satisfaction, his mind already racing ahead, plotting contingencies and anticipating obstacles. He had orchestrated this symphony of chaos, and soon, very soon, the world would dance to his tune – all in service of the Dark Lord.
Outside, the wind continued to howl, as if nature itself sensed the gathering storm of dark magic and malevolent intent brewing within the old manor's walls. The night grew darker, and somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled – a fitting accompaniment to the birth of a plan that had the potential to shake the wizarding world to its very foundations.
XXXXX
The Room of Requirement had been unusually quiet for a while, the only sound being Harry adjusting his emerald tuxedo in front of an enchanted mirror. The mirror, with its playful, almost gossipy tone, offered compliments as it shimmered under the light.
"Oh, Mr. Potter, you are positively dashing tonight. That emerald tuxedo really does bring out the green in your eyes, doesn't it? And such a sharp cut too—who designed this, I wonder?"
Harry chuckled, running a hand through his tousled hair. The tux fit him perfectly, hugging his form in all the right places. He had never worn something so regal, yet it felt strangely comfortable. He straightened his bowtie, glancing at the partition behind him that concealed his wives. They had insisted on this surprise, something about wanting to see his reaction when they revealed themselves together.
The idea of seeing them all together, dressed for the night, filled him with a quiet thrill. He couldn’t help but imagine how each of them would look, but his thoughts fell short of what reality would likely offer. As the minutes ticked by, anticipation built inside Harry. Finally, the shimmering partition began to dissolve, the magic of the Room of Requirement yielding to the collective wish of its occupants. Harry turned slowly, his heart racing.
The sight that greeted him was nothing short of mesmerizing. His breath caught in his throat, his pulse quickening as his gaze traveled over the three women standing before him.
Fleur, in a gown of shimmering silver, looked like a goddess carved from moonlight itself. The fabric flowed over her body like liquid stardust, intricately adorned with delicate beadwork that sparkled with every slight movement she made. The dress hugged her slender figure, accentuating her curves while maintaining an elegance that was unmistakably her. Around her neck, a simple but elegant sapphire pendant drew attention to her collarbone, and her platinum blonde hair cascaded in soft waves.
Daphne, in contrast, was a vision in midnight blue. The deep, rich color of her gown was like the night sky at its most alluring, and the way it clung to her form, emphasizing every curve, made her appear both regal and dangerously seductive. Her gown's fabric shimmered subtly, like the stars glinting in the dark of night. A necklace of dark diamonds and sapphires adorned her neck, matching the glint in her cool, icy-blue eyes.
Then there was Valerie, in a soft rose gown that radiated warmth and softness. Her gown was designed to flow gracefully around her, the material light and delicate, creating a perfect contrast to the boldness of her figure. The soft blush of the dress seemed to bring out the warmth in her cheeks, her playful smile mirrored by the soft gleam of the jewels she wore—a subtle but enchanting collection of rose gold and pearls. Her dark hair was swept into a loose, romantic braid, with strands cascading down her back, framing her radiant face.
The three of them together were a symphony of beauty, each distinct but equally captivating, and Harry found himself momentarily speechless.
Or scratch that altogether! Rendered momentarily speechless was as massive an understatement as it could possibly be. Harry, for all his years facing down Voldemort’s shades and battling impossible odds, felt completely out of his depth at this moment. His mouth opened, but no words came out. He took a step forward, still awestruck by the sight of the three women before him.
Fleur stepped closer, a knowing glint in her sapphire eyes as she reached up to adjust his already perfect bowtie. "It seems we ‘ave broken 'im, girls," she said, her French accent lilting with amusement. "I told you, 'Arry wouldn’t be able to handle it."
Daphne smirked, her eyes traveling up and down Harry’s figure appreciatively. "It’s not entirely his fault. You do look rather stunning tonight, Fleur." She let her hand drift over Harry’s arm as she moved closer, her touch as cool and soft as silk. "But we’ll be gracious, won’t we? After all, he does clean up nicely himself."
Valerie sidled up to Harry’s other side, her fingers brushing lightly against his hand as she gave him a mischievous grin. "I don’t think we need to be too gracious," she teased, her voice low and playful. "I quite like watching him squirm. It’s a rare treat."
Harry finally found his voice, though it was hoarse from the sheer emotion of the moment. “I’m… I don’t even know what to say. You all look… fuck… I’m out of words, honestly. You sure we can’t just sod it all and skip to the main event already?”
They all let out tinkling laughs as they stared at him, caressing his tuxedo gently.
“I’m really not kidding,” he chuckled. “I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the night without staring at the three of you the entire time. The wait would kill me.”
Valerie laughed, a musical sound that filled the room, her eyes bright with delight. "Oh, my dear Harry, I think we’ll enjoy that. After all, isn’t that the point of dressing up like this? To be admired?"
Daphne’s eyes sparkled with a playful glint as she leaned in, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Just remember, Mr. Potter, you’re the lucky one tonight. Just a little bit of patience and you’ll have it all. After all, we’re all yours."
Fleur, ever the confident one, wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed herself to his side, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "Oui, and you, mon amour, ‘ave outdone yourself as well. This emerald tuxedo? Magnifique."
Harry laughed, though his voice was still shaky. "I’m definitely the luckiest man alive."
Fleur smiled up at him, her eyes filled with warmth. "That, ‘Arry, you most certainly are."
The playful banter finally winding down, Harry stood in the center of the room, still feeling a bit overwhelmed by how stunning his wives looked. The grin on his face was a mix of admiration and pure joy. With the teasing having subsided, he took a moment to glance between the three women.
“Well, I suppose the big question now is… who’s the lucky one to accompany me to the Yule Ball?” he asked, raising a brow with a smirk.
Fleur chuckled, her sapphire eyes twinkling mischievously. "Oh, ‘Arry, you already know ze answer to zat question, don’t you?" she teased, stepping closer and trailing her finger down his chest playfully.
Valerie grinned as she leaned against Daphne, her voice soft and teasing. “It was a close call, love, but Daphne here won the contest fair and square,” she said with a wink. “Not that we’ll let her forget it anytime soon.”
Daphne gave a self-satisfied smirk, her eyes gleaming with victory as she slid her arm through Harry’s. “I suppose I’ll just have to enjoy my victory,” she said, her tone sultry, “and make sure it’s worth all the fuss, won’t I, love?”
Harry laughed softly, feeling Daphne’s fingers curl possessively around his arm. “You always do, Daph. Lead the way, then.”
As Daphne straightened up, giving her gown a graceful sweep, Fleur and Valerie exchanged a playful glance. Fleur, ever the flirt, reached up to brush a lock of Harry’s hair from his forehead. "Do not worry, 'Arry," she said in a low voice, her breath warm against his ear. "We will not be far behind. But for tonight, Daphne is ze queen."
Valerie chuckled, walking past and patting his shoulder with an easy grin. “Enjoy yourselves. We’ll make an entrance of our own.”
With Daphne on his arm, Harry couldn’t help but feel the stir of excitement rising in his chest as they made their way to the door, Fleur and Valerie following closely behind. The four of them moved in perfect sync, the collective elegance and grace between them exuding an air of quiet power and confidence.
As they descended the castle’s grand staircase, the corridors were alive with students heading toward the Great Hall. Heads turned as the group walked by, eyes widening in awe at the sight of Harry flanked by Daphne, with Fleur and Valerie walking closely behind. The reactions were immediate—a wave of whispered admiration, surprise, and no small amount of envy swept through the crowd.
A group of younger students huddled near the base of the staircase, stared unabashedly. "Is that Daphne Greengrass?" one of them whispered, her eyes wide.
"She’s with Potter! And Delacour and Swann are together—look at them!" another added.
Harry caught the murmurs and smirked, glancing at Daphne. “See? You’re also a celebrity now.”
Daphne met his gaze, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Let them talk," she whispered, her tone both amused and slightly exasperated, earning a chuckle from him.
Fleur, walking just behind them, winked at a group of students who were staring with slack-jawed amazement. Valerie flashed them a bright smile, her eyes gleaming with amusement.
"Seems like we’re making quite the impression," the brunette murmured, her voice full of mischief.
As they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, they came across Viktor Krum and his date, Hermione Granger. Krum looked every bit the champion he was, wearing a finely tailored set of dark red robes that highlighted his broad, athletic frame. He gave Harry a curt nod, his eyes respectful, before doing the same with all three women with him.
Hermione, in a periwinkle gown, stood beside him, her posture straight and her eyes sharp as they moved from Harry to the three women accompanying him. There was something reserved in her expression as she nodded politely, though the slight tension in her shoulders didn’t go unnoticed by Harry who chose to ignore it.
"Potter," Viktor greeted in his thick accent, offering his hand. "Good to see you."
Harry took Viktor’s hand and gave it a firm shake. "Good to see you too, Krum," he replied, smiling genuinely. "You’ve met Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie, of course."
Krum glanced between the three women, his eyes lingering respectfully on Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie. "Of course. Ladies," he said with a polite bow of his head.
Hermione gave a slight, polite smile, though her eyes flickered briefly to Daphne and Valerie with a subtle wariness. "Mr. Potter," she greeted, her tone formal, as though she were addressing a colleague.
Harry, ever the diplomat, offered a warm smile in return. "Miss Granger. Enjoy the evening."
With the pleasantries exchanged, they waited until they were bid to enter the Great Hall. Professor McGonagall merely raised an eyebrow when she saw Fleur accompanied by Valerie as she bid them entry.
The Great Hall’s grand space had been transformed for the Yule Ball. The enchanted ceiling glittered with thousands of stars, casting a soft, ethereal glow over the guests who had already gathered. As Harry and Daphne stepped into the room, with Fleur and Valerie following close behind, the reactions from the crowd were immediate. A hush fell over the hall as heads turned toward them.
Daphne, her arm still looped through Harry’s, held her head high, the midnight blue of her gown shimmering under the lights. Her posture was regal, exuding a quiet, confident beauty. Fleur and Valerie, walking together in perfect harmony, looked every bit as radiant as they entered side by side—Fleur in her silver gown, a goddess of grace, and Valerie in her soft rose gown, the picture of warmth and allure.
The whispers among the guests were filled with admiration and awe.
"Look at Greengrass with Potter," one student murmured, his voice tinged with disbelief. "And Fleur Delacour with Swann!"
"They look like royalty," another said, wide-eyed.
Harry couldn’t help but smile to himself at the reactions, feeling the weight of the attention on them. He glanced at Daphne, who met his gaze with a soft, knowing smile. "Seems like you’re quite the popular one tonight," he teased.
Daphne chuckled, her eyes gleaming with amusement. "Perhaps, but they’re not staring at me, Harry. They’re staring at us. All of us."
Behind them, Fleur and Valerie exchanged a smirk. "They’re jealous," Valerie whispered, her voice filled with laughter. "And can you blame them?"
Fleur gave a soft, elegant shrug, her eyes scanning the crowd with amusement. "Let zem be jealous. Tonight is ours."
As they reached the center of the hall, Harry and Daphne stood proudly at the front, with Fleur and Valerie just behind them, and Viktor and Hermione following suit. The crowd parted, giving way to the champions and their partners, and for a moment, it felt as though time slowed.
Harry’s eyes flickered to his wives—Daphne, poised and regal at his side, and Fleur and Valerie, standing together with playful elegance. The crowd could look all they wanted, but at this moment, Harry knew: they belonged to each other, and nothing could change that.
XXXXX
The opening dance concluded with grace and grandeur, leaving behind the lingering hum of music and the sound of excited chatter as the evening shifted to dinner.
The long, elegantly adorned tables were set with silver cutlery and glittering glass goblets, the flickering candles casting a warm, golden glow across the Great Hall. Harry, Daphne, Fleur, and Valerie found themselves seated at one of the tables reserved for champions and the higher-ups in the wizarding world—Ministry officials, esteemed professors, and notable guests.
Seated among them were Headmaster Dumbledore, Madame Maxime, Igor Karkaroff, Professor McGonagall, Ludo Bagman, and, notably, Barty Crouch Sr., who sat a few places down across from Valerie, right beside the exuberant former Quidditch player. The atmosphere was lively as conversations flowed easily over the course of the elaborate meal.
Harry, ever comfortable in diplomatic settings, was deep in conversation with Dumbledore and Madame Maxime about the intricacies of international magical cooperation, showcasing his ever-growing knowledge of such delicate matters, much to the surprise of the foreigners present. Daphne chimed in now and then, her wit sharp as she discussed the various politics at play in the Triwizard Tournament. Fleur, always poised, engaged Ludo Bagman with polite conversation, expertly ignoring his slightly glassy-eyed look. However, her eyes often drifted to Valerie, who sat quietly, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her goblet.
It wasn’t like Valerie to be so reserved, and Harry noticed. Leaning slightly towards her, he whispered, “Everything all right?”
Valerie glanced at him and smiled faintly, though her lips pursed slightly. “It’s nothing. I just… I feel like someone’s watching me. I don’t know who though.”
Harry’s brow furrowed. He scanned the room subtly, his gaze moving from one guest to another, but everything seemed in order. The professors were chatting amongst themselves, the Ministry officials were engaged in animated discussions, and the other students seemed too caught up in their own excitement. Still, it did not fully reassure him. Something in Valerie’s demeanor made him uneasy.
Across the table, Barty Crouch Sr. raised his glass to his lips, his eyes lingering on Valerie for just a moment too long before he turned back to his conversation with McGonagall. It was a brief glance, almost imperceptible, but enough to stir a sense of unease in the air.
Daphne, ever observant, leaned closer to Harry, her gaze fixated on Valerie. “What is it?” she asked quietly, her voice low enough so as not to disturb the conversation.
“Val thinks someone’s watching her,” Harry murmured, his voice barely audible. He didn’t want to alarm anyone, but there was a faint tension in the air now, something he couldn’t quite shake.
Valerie shifted in her seat, her eyes scanning the room again. She hadn’t said much during dinner, her usual light-hearted demeanor subdued. The feeling of being watched had crept up on her slowly, like an itch she couldn’t scratch. It wasn’t paranoia, but something more instinctual—a subtle, unshakable sense that someone’s eyes were on her.
Fleur, sensing the shift, leaned in closer to Valerie, her voice a soft murmur. “Maybe it’s just ze crowd,” she suggested gently. “Zere are so many people ‘ere, and you are breathtaking tonight. Of course people would stare.”
Valerie gave a small, unsure smile. “Maybe,” she agreed, though the tightness in her voice suggested she wasn’t fully convinced.
“Or maybe it’s that prick Davies,” Daphne muttered, eyeing the bloke who was indeed glaring over at them from his spot near the wall, his date sitting forgotten on the chair in front of him as he stood with his pals. His lips pursed, Harry eyed Davies who sneered before shifting his gaze.
“Maybe…” he muttered, although he wasn’t fully convinced either.
Throughout dinner, Harry kept a close eye on Valerie, his protective instincts kicking in. He noticed how her eyes would occasionally dart around, as though expecting to catch someone in the act. However, there was nothing—just the buzz of the Great Hall, the clinking of goblets, and the murmur of conversation.
Daphne continued to engage in conversation with Madame Maxime and Dumbledore, but her hand subtly found its way to Harry’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll figure it out,” she whispered, her voice steady. “If something’s off, we’ll know soon enough.”
Off to the side, Barty Crouch Sr. sipped from his goblet again, his movements slow and deliberate. His eyes, cold and calculating, flickered once more toward Valerie when he thought no one was looking. It was the kind of glance that seemed harmless but, when repeated, took on a more sinister undertone. He quickly averted his gaze when Harry’s eyes began moving in his direction, returning to the conversation as though nothing had happened.
The tension around the table began to simmer just below the surface. Valerie, though trying to maintain her composure, couldn’t shake the sensation that something wasn’t right. The feeling of being watched was growing stronger, like a prickling at the back of her neck.
She finally leaned closer to Harry, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know it sounds crazy, but… I can feel it. Someone iswatching me.”
Harry’s eyes hardened. He glanced at Daphne and Fleur, silently communicating with them. Daphne’s expression became steely, her focus shifting to the table and its occupants, while Fleur placed a comforting hand on Valerie’s arm.
Dumbledore, ever perceptive, looked between them, his keen eyes picking up on the subtle shift in the atmosphere. He didn’t say anything, but there was a flicker in his gaze as he observed the group. His eyes met Harry’s and he raised an enquiring eyebrow, his lips pursing when the young wizard subtly shook his head.
Harry’s mind was swirling with thoughts. All of them had practiced their magic tremendously and could sense anything amiss if they reached out with their magic, and for Valerie to feel so uneasy meant there was indeed something fishy going on.
He wanted to take Daphne’s words at face value, for Davies had indeed been glaring at them, but he was anything but subtle. He did not believe his glances would perturb Valerie so much, for he was someone inconsequential. Indeed, he believed someone else was involved here, and he could not help but fear the worst.
For all the changes, Valerie still resembled her younger self to some extent. Her features might have morphed significantly, but someone who had known Bellatrix well enough could still identify her. Andromeda had done it at first glance, after all.
His thoughts were not private, and all three of his girls could hear his ponderings. Their concerns grew as well; the thought of someone recognizing Valerie and figuring out who she truly was taking root in their minds for the first time ever.
The foursome exchanged a conspiratorial glance with each other, silently conveying their thoughts and reassurances to each other as Harry and Fleur both shifted slightly closer to Valerie, ensuring their movements were as subtle as possible.
They did not want to give away anything to whoever this watcher was. However, there was one thing they needed to ensure.
They needed to figure out who it was, and what this person knew.
This secret of theirs was too massive to ever come to light.
To be continued…
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