Chapter 57. The Start of Fourth Year.
Two months had passed since the day we obtained Bellatrix's signature. We took the cup from her vault, and according to the signed contract, after the Lestrange family's demise, the entire contents of her vault would pass to the House of Black. And they would certainly die—we would see to that.
We decided not to attend the Quidditch World Cup, despite a personal invitation from the Minister himself. After all, it wasn't the most suitable time to fully reveal our power, and besides, we still needed Malfoy to remain free. We knew that if we had been present during the unrest, we most likely wouldn't have been able to resist freezing a couple of Death Eater asses solid. When such things don't happen right beside you, they don't tug at your heartstrings as strongly as when you're in the thick of it all.
However, that was no longer important. What mattered far more was that along with the cup, we had destroyed five of Voldemort's seven Horcruxes, leaving only Harry and Nagini.
Nagini was currently inaccessible, and most likely, she would have to be destroyed simultaneously with the Dark Lord. As for Harry, Dumbledore was trying to find a way. According to him, our soul-related rituals had given him a couple of ideas. So there was hope that we wouldn't have to resort to drastic measures and sacrifice the boy.
And now, we were on the train with everyone else, anticipating the first event-packed year in a long time. Besides, now that we had finally given up the Time-Turner, this year would feel even more intense.
"Does anyone know what's so special about this year? My parents went on and on about how lucky we are, but they were so mysterious and refused to say anything," Ron complained once he finally finished sharing his impressions of Quidditch and how much he admired Krum.
"Hmm, I suppose we should spare you the Slytherins' mockery for your ignorance," we murmured thoughtfully through Regulus.
At that moment, as if on cue, the compartment door opened. Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom entered. It was immediately clear that a renewed discussion of the Quidditch tournament was about to begin.
"Hello, everyone," Seamus greeted cheerfully, still wearing his souvenir Irish team merchandise from the tournament.
"Hello to you too, Seamus," we replied, more restrained compared to the equally exuberant greetings from the others.
"Before you start discussing Quidditch again, allow me to tell you what exactly awaits us this year," Regulus continued.
"You know?!" Dean immediately exclaimed.
"Yes. And judging by your reaction, you've already run into a couple of peacocks," Andromeda answered.
"And it will be..." we didn't drag it out. "The Triwizard Tournament."
"Wow!" Ron exclaimed excitedly before adding, "What's that?"
"Don't you read any books at all?" Hermione sighed irritably beside him.
"Well, excuse me for not reading everything in sight," the boy retorted.
"Alright, that's enough," we interrupted the brewing argument. No matter how many years we had been friends, Ron and Hermione were like fire and water—incompatible. "Hermione, you wouldn't mind enlightening everyone present, would you?" Andromeda addressed the girl in a soft tone.
"Of course," Hermione said, proudly lifting her chin, and began to explain.
The brief rundown didn't take long: essentially, the Triwizard Tournament was simply a competition between three schools, each selecting its own champion.
"Eternal glory..." Ron muttered dreamily. "I absolutely have to try and become a champion!"
"You should curb your enthusiasm, Weasley. Scum like you wouldn't even be considered," the compartment door opened again, revealing Malfoy with his cronies. "Although there's also a cash prize, so go for it, Weasley—your chance to climb out of the gutter," the blond said with a nasty smirk.
"Getting a bit too bold, aren't you, Malfoy? Want a duel? Oh, that's right, you're a little coward; even if you agree, you usually don't show up, do you?" Ron retorted confidently, drawing his wand.
"A duel with whom? With you? You're not worthy," the blond didn't falter.
"Malfoy," we addressed him, deliberately allowing the temperature in the compartment to drop slightly for atmosphere. "You'd better spend more time with your father this year, because on the last day of the tournament, when he-who-should-be-dead returns, he will be gone. That is our prophecy."
For a moment, an icy silence fell over the compartment. Even Crabbe and Goyle behind Malfoy nervously gulped.
Draco himself paled. Because of us, he had become much more hardened compared to the canon version due to difficulties within his own house. However, coming here hoping to mock his foes, he hadn't expected to hear something like this. His arrogant mask slipped for a second, revealing a frightened boy.
"What... what are you talking about, Black?" He was still trying to maintain his arrogant facade, but it was already cracking.
"You heard everything," we replied. "It's not a threat. It's a prophecy, and whether to believe it or not is your decision." We couldn't help but smile. If there was anyone we genuinely disliked, it was the Malfoys.
Malfoy froze, as if trying to decipher whether it was a bluff or not. But something in the twins' absolute, emotionless confidence made him flinch. He abruptly turned, shoving the hesitant Crabbe with his shoulder.
"Let's go. It's too filthy here," he threw over his shoulder, trying to regain his contemptuous tone. But he was moving too fast, and the door slammed shut behind him with an overly loud bang.
"Vega, stop fooling around, I'm cold," Hermione's reproach reached us.
"Sorry, sorry," we immediately apologized and restored the temperature to normal.
"Was that... were you serious?" came Neville's uncertain and slightly frightened voice, who immediately added, "...about Malfoy's father."
"So far, our prophecies haven't been wrong; otherwise, we wouldn't be sitting here with you," Regulus answered him.
"Well, fine, one less Death Eater; have you forgotten what they did at the Quidditch World Cup?" Ron interjected, sensing the strange atmosphere. "I don't know about you, but I personally won't shed any tears for him. Better look what I've got."
Ron pulled out a small figurine of Viktor Krum.
"I saw him just as close up as you. Dad managed to get tickets for the top box..."
Ron managed to lighten the mood fairly quickly. Besides, he was right—few would mourn a man like Lucius Malfoy; perhaps only his wife and son. Many disliked and hated him, especially given how he had bought his way out after Voldemort's fall.
Meanwhile, as we finally began approaching the castle, a thunderstorm downpour started outside. We had to make our way to the carriages, shielding ourselves with magic along the way, and since not all of us were sufficiently skilled in magical arts, we had to take care of the others as well.
And so, sitting in the carriage, hugging each other, we looked out the window at the approaching castle. Finally, we would be able to see how much our preparations had borne fruit.
"This is going to be fun," we smiled in anticipation.