Harry sat by the Black Lake, the gentle breeze brushing lightly through his hair, the surface of the water shimmering under the afternoon sunlight. He had really been having a lot of free time this year. Hermione and Ron were busy with their prefect duties, and well, he didn't really have a lot of other friends he regularly hung out with. He mused, a faint smirk playing on his lips, that it was certainly odd. Guess when you're not snooping around, fighting dark lords, or being hunted by psychotic teachers, you suddenly have a surprising amount of free time on your hands.
He let out a long sigh, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned back on his elbows, soaking in the calm. The world around him was quiet, almost serene. The air smelled fresh and crisp, the sun warm but not too hot on his face, and the gentle lapping of the water against the shore added to the atmosphere of peace, a tranquil lullaby.
The world was peaceful.
Well, mostly peaceful.
Right now, Hogwarts was in absolute chaos.
Just last night, a couple of upper-year students had broken curfew, sneaking out into the night—maybe to make out, or on a dare, he really didn't know what took them so deep into the Forbidden Forest—but whatever their reason, it had led them to a horror none had expected. They had stumbled back, screaming in terror, their faces pale and profoundly shaken.
They had found Dolores Umbridge.
Or rather, what was left of her.
Apparently, when they were in the forest, they had come across the severed head of the toad-like woman, impaled in brutal, grotesque fashion on a tree branch, a macabre trophy displayed in a manner eerily reminiscent of Vlad the Impaler.
He inwardly wondered if the centaurs had finally grown tired of her. Her body was discovered not long after by the professors, hidden deeper in the woods, torn and broken beyond recognition.
You would think they would have kept her for longer, but I guess they, too, couldn't stand her screeching.
By dawn, the entire castle was abuzz, the news traveling faster than a Firebolt.
The Ministry had responded swiftly, with Minister Fudge himself marching into Hogwarts, furious, accompanied by dozens of Aurors. There had been shouting in the Great Hall, furious arguments behind closed doors in the teachers' office, and now all of Hogwarts was holding its collective breath, anticipating the fallout.
Fudge, red-faced and sputtering, had all but declared war on Dumbledore outright, blaming him for Umbridge's brutal end. He claimed Dumbledore had orchestrated the entire event, that he had killed her to cover up whatever "weapon" she had sent letters about to the Ministry, and he thundered that he would not stand for this, threatening inquiries, arrests, and sanctions.
Harry, for his part, just watched the spectacle unfold, utterly delighted.
He had sat back at the Gryffindor table, leisurely eating toast and sipping pumpkin juice, while the chaos swirled around him like a violent tempest. He inwardly chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound, as he saw the look of utter fury and genuine confusion on Dumbledore's face. It had been a personal delight, a great feeling of vindication.
He didn't think he was a sadist, but perhaps he was, because seeing old Dumbledore suffer like this was just a great feeling. The old man had tried so hard to maintain control, to keep secrets, to watch over him like a puppetmaster behind the curtain. Like some sort of great leader doing the world a favor, but at the end, he was just an old man fooling himself into thinking he was doing this for others.
And now, all of that was unraveling before his very eyes. The man was now more occupied, his attention even less on Harry than before. He knew the man was always watching him whenever he had the chance, but now he was too busy. A bonus point was that with this, Voldemort would undoubtedly see this as an opportunity to act, to make his move.
Voldemort would die soon. Dumbledore would die soon.
And Snape too…
Snape was the one he couldn't stop thinking about.
That man wouldn't just die. Not easily. Not quickly. Not without suffering.
A quick death would be merciful. Too merciful.
Snape deserved every ounce of pain he had inflicted on others returned a thousandfold. For the smug looks. For the constant belittling. For the twisted, unhealthy obsession with his mother, Lily. For betraying his parents to Voldemort, leading to their deaths, and whatever the man was hoping to do with his mother had Voldemort not killed her. Harry couldn't help but feel disgusted thinking about it, imagining Snape behaving like those 'hentai bastards' he'd read about, locking her up, maybe even forcing himself on her, and calling it 'love' or some other sick, twisted perversion. After everything, there was no letting this man live, but he didn't want him to die without suffering.
Harry's fingers clenched unconsciously, digging into the soft grass beneath him.
He had to think of something perfect. A punishment tailored precisely to the man's sins, a poetic justice that would make his suffering a masterpiece. But planning the perfect murder was proving more difficult than expected.
"Why is poetic justice so damned hard?" he muttered, the words escaping in a frustrated whisper. Why is planning the perfect murder so hard, it wasn't like he was trying to think of something hard, just the most painful, heartbreaking, mind shattering torture that he wanted Snape to suffer. Was that too much to ask for.
Maybe someone will give him an idea of the perfect way to do it.
Just then, he heard footsteps approaching from behind. Harry turned his head slightly, expecting a curious housemate or perhaps Hermione, she had been using any free time to pester him on his campione nature, but stopped short. His eyes widened slightly in surprise, then narrowed in a smirk of genuine delight.
Daphne Greengrass.
Her presence was a welcome surprise, a delightful interruption to his dark musings. She walked with that same elegant, almost ethereal grace he'd come to recognize and love, her movements fluid and controlled, that did things to her body, drew him in just by walking. Cold and composed as always, he noticed a soft, almost imperceptible flush across her cheeks, a subtle hint of something beneath her icy facade.
"Daphne," he greeted, a smirk forming on his lips, his voice a low, teasing drawl. "What a surprise. What are you doing here? Were you looking for me?"
"Yes," she said plainly, her voice cool and clear, like the chime of ice. "In fact, I was."
His brow rose, intrigued. That was odd. While their conversations had become more frequent and notably less hostile, they were not at the point where she could just ignore Slytherin's 'code' and just openly approach a Gryffindor, especially him. No doubt her housemates would be furious if they found out. So what was so important that she would approach him like this, risking her reputation?
"Oh? And what for?" Harry prompted, leaning back slightly, amused.
"I've never been one to dance around things that interest me, Potter," she said, taking another step closer, her gaze unwavering. Her voice was as cool and detached as ever, as if she were completely disinterested, but Harry didn't miss the slight shift in her posture, the subtle tightening of her hands at her sides, or that faint blush on her face. "So I'll take the usual straightforward approach."
Then, without preamble, without a hint of hesitation, she added, her voice a soft, almost imperious declaration:
"You'll be taking me out on a date during the coming Hogsmeade visit."
Harry blinked. Once. Twice.
Then laughed.
A genuine, surprised chuckle left his lips, a sound of pure delight. "Oh? And you decided that all by yourself, did you, Ice Queen?"
He stood, rising from the grass, now standing only a step or two away from her. He was just a bit taller than her, so she had to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes, a flicker of challenge in her own. She shifted her stance, her left hand going to her waist, a pose of confident defiance.
"Are you saying you're not interested in me, Potter?" she said, her voice dripping with mock disappointment. She gave a dramatic sigh before turning a little, like she was thinking of leaving, tilting her head to see him, a playful glint in her eyes. "Well, that's disappointing. I was hoping you had better taste. Guess I'll just have to ask someone else. Such a shame, and here I thought you were interested, but I guess I was wrong."
Harry chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I'm interested, Daphne. How could I not be? It would be an honor to take the lovely Ice Queen out. I was just joking."
"Good," she replied smoothly, though her eyes sparkled with undeniable amusement, a rare display of emotion. "Just make sure to wear something nice, it would be a shame not to look so on our first date."
And then, just like that, she turned on her heel and walked away. The breeze caught her cloak, causing it to flutter dramatically around her, emphasizing the graceful sway of her hips.
Harry watched her go, a wide, crooked smile growing on his face. He watched her leave, her movements fluid and confident, her 'fat ass' swaying as it always did, a captivating sight.
Straightforward. Confident. No games. It was… incredibly refreshing. He preferred it this way, to be honest, mind games were always annoying.
'Well, guess I've got a date next weekend,' he thought, the idea bringing a surprising lightness to his step.
His eyes followed her as she disappeared around a bend in the path, lingering perhaps a little too long.
And Merlin… she walks like she knows she's being watched. Maybe she did. Those sways should not be her natural way.
He leaned back into the grass, his earlier dark thoughts about Snape and Dumbledore fading into the background, replaced by a much more pleasant anticipation. He still had enemies to kill, prophecies to subvert, and magic to master—but for now?
He had a date coming up, and he let that thought play around in his mind
Meanwhile...
Deep within the dark recesses of Malfoy Manor, Lord Voldemort sat rigidly on a throne of obsidian, his crimson eyes glowing with an intense, predatory light.
A Death Eater kneeled before him, trembling slightly, their voice barely a whisper.
"Say that again," Voldemort said softly, a dangerous silkiness to his tone that promised unimaginable pain.
"Umbridge has been found… dead, my lord. In the Forbidden Forest. Beheaded. And… Arthur Weasley has been seen entering Hogwarts just moments ago."
The silence that followed was thick and choking, heavy with unspoken power.
Then, slowly, a cold, cruel smile spread across Voldemort's serpentine face, stretching his lips into a grotesque parody of delight.
"So… It begins. Dumbledore sacrifices Umbridge to sneak Potter into the Ministry. A bold move. Ruthless. I wouldn't have thought the old man had it in him to get rid of the toad just to ensure a distraction for Potter to get into the Ministry, but I suppose if it is to defeat me, such ruthlessness is a must." He felt his ego inflate a bit, believing Dumbledore would do anything to win against him.
After all, for the woman to vanish just as the days of when he knew Dumbledore's plan was to be enacted, then killed, drawing attention of everyone to Hogwarts, someone who would cause chaos but won't really matter in the end. After all, she was someone insignificant, and her death could be smoothed over just by a little promise here and a few coins there.
And now, Arthur Weasley, who had no business being in Hogwarts, had been seen heading over even before the news of Umbridge's death was made known, he was probably going to pick up Potter, and they would be heading to the Ministry soon.
He stood, his robes falling around him like a shadow given form, the air in the chamber growing heavy with his magic.
"Dumbledore always was a master of manipulation. I underestimated just how far he'd go. But this? This is a declaration. He intends to use the prophecy against me, to defeat me."
He turned to his inner circle, who had gathered at the edges of the chamber, their masked faces eager, terrified, and expectant.
"Summon my loyal servant. It's time. Let the world remember what it means to fear me. To Fear the Dark Lord Voldemort."
His voice echoed with growing power, a dark promise of unimaginable suffering to come. Glee in each word.
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