Chapter 37. The Intermediary
The remainder of the task proceeded as expected. Kiril was the second to retrieve his partner, while Gabrielle was the last. Teresa's impatience as the Veela struggled to reach her was amusing. It became outright comical when Teresa had to haul Gabrielle back to shore instead of the other way around, effortlessly slicing through every obstacle in their path. If she had been the rescuer, Beauxbatons would've fared far better.
Gabrielle's inadequacy was on full display today, marking her as the weakest. And that is simply the truth. Teresa and I are so powerful that this tournament feels like a joke. Rose's time-manipulation powers make her phenomenal. Thyra is an extremely strong Knight wannabe who's already in the upper echelons of a renowned guild. Even Kiril is more than just a daddy's prince, as his levels prove. Among a crowd of prodigies, the Veela has only her beauty and allure to her name. Perhaps she can leverage them in the final task—or perhaps not.
Fleur's plan to use her sister to establish 'Veela supremacy' is now beyond hope, a truly laughable notion.
The scores are in. Hogwarts leads with 130 points, earning five perfect 10s once again. Durmstrang follows with 124. Beauxbatons trails in last with 114. Had Teresa cared more about the scores, Gabrielle would've been reprimanded for her lackluster performance. Luckily for her, Teresa has far more pressing concerns than this trivial tournament.
"That was anticlimactic." Rose walks along by my side, her arms crossed behind her head.
"I agree," I say, nodding at Teresa as the champions separate to go their own ways. "Hopefully, the last task will be more… stimulating."
Her lips twitch as she side-eyes me. "Please don't use the word 'stimulating.' It gives me inappropriate mental images."
"I shouldn't be surprised. There's a reason I call you a pervert," I quip, not dodging her arm as she slings it around my neck, dragging me close to her.
She ruffles my hair, her gaze drifting towards the stands as they slowly empty. "Maybe. Still, I'm amazed you don't choke on your own hypocrisy when you call me a pervert. I don't even have a word for you and your… proclivities."
"Again, not surprising. You never were the brightest. I'm impressed you can even use 'proclivities'." I try not to smile as she pouts, taking it like a champ instead of straight-up murdering me for the insult. Then again, I'm not dealing with the grouchy one here.
"That hurt." She flicks me on the forehead, her arm still around my shoulders, as we wait for Iris and Mum beneath the stands. "Iris insulting me is one thing, but you, my favourite brother? That just hurts."
"Apologies, my not-favourite sister. I didn't mean to hurt you. Should I kiss it better?" I don't bother hiding my grin anymore as she scowls and flicks me again.
"Keep this up and forget ever receiving a kiss."
I don't get the chance to continue our banter as I spot the approaching group. I straighten up when I recognise the man trailing after Iris and Mum. Rose, too, stiffens beside me, her face going blank—her playfulness dissipating as if it were never there.
It's been a long while since I last saw my father. I try to decipher the ball of emotions spinning in my chest. Well, there's hardly any emotion at all, I realise. Just annoyance that I have to deal with him today, curiosity about the shite he'll spew to rationalise being a deadbeat, and mild amusement at seeing Isabella wrapped around his arm.
Isabella Zabini is an interesting woman. She's a blatant black widow whose husbands never manage to live past a year into their marriage. On top of that, she's also working for Nicolas Flamel. Teresa hasn't been able to tell me why the infamous Zabini has tied herself to her master. Though that's easy to answer, I guess. Who wouldn't want to be tied to him? It has already made her the most powerful witch in the wizarding world. To most people, she is the richest lady with unprecedented influence, a queen, unaware that there's a man in the shadows controlling her strings. If I take Teresa's word on face value, Nicolas Flamel isn't too concerned with the world, allowing Zabini to do whatever she wants with the borrowed power. It's no wonder Zabini is in league with him.
It says a lot about her that she still has to go out and hunt a new husband. Isabella Zabini loves exercising her power, I reckon. Marrying and killing a man isn't a financial need but a psychological one. And it says a lot about my relationship with my father that instead of trying to save him, I'm ogling his future wife.
She's dressed in a dark-green gown with wide sleeves. While her arms are entirely covered, her breasts look an exhale away from spilling out. The V-neckline starts at her shoulders and plunges down to a point at her belly button, exposing a lot of dark, sun-kissed skin. There must be a charm keeping her large tits in place because the gown definitely doesn't seem to support their weight. The silky fabric flows all the way to her toes, hiding her feet. I'd call it a conservative dress if not for the ridiculous neckline or the snug fit around her waist that accentuates the flare of her hips.
Along with a hot body, she's got enough beauty to turn heads. Her purple eyes and high cheekbones definitely make her stand out. Her dark, glossy hair is twisted into an updo, baring her long neck.
All in all, I'd fuck her if I ever got the chance. Let's see what my [See] says.
Isabella Zabini
Level: 36
Beauty Tier: S
Seduction: 30%
Points Available: 10
Kinks: Domination, Incest, Pet Play
Those are some fun kinks. Does this mean Blaise is a lucky bastard? Or has she yet to bonk him? Who am I kidding? Isabella Zabini is a shameless woman. Morality and decency wouldn't stop her from having her way with her own son.
Not that I'm judging, mind you. I don't have the right to.
"You both did great. I'm so proud of you." Mum pulls us into her arms, hugging us tight.
I pat her back, well aware of how anxious and territorial she gets whenever James is around.
Once we step back, James finally decides to speak. "No hugs for your dad?"
His confidence wavers when we stay silent, fixing him with cold glares.
"Now, now, children," Isabella begins in a saccharine voice, "don't be so cold to him. He may not be a great father, but he does love you."
I raise an eyebrow. As if her words would change anything. She should keep quiet; she's an outsider in this family drama.
"I… guess," Rose mutters slowly.
I whip my head towards her, unable to believe what I just heard. My eyes narrow when I notice something odd.
Her face is flushed pink, her eyes glassy and full of desire as she gazes reverently at the dangerous woman. My sister looks besotted. And it's not just her—James, Mum, and Iris all wear the same dazed expression, ready to do Isabella's bidding.
So this is her allure. I remember Teresa mentioning how Flamel can sacrifice Veelas to steal their accumulated allure and transfer it to someone else. That must be why Isabella has this ability, even though she isn't a Veela.
"That's enough, Miss Zabini." I shoot her a disapproving look. "I don't think charming people to force them to make up is viable in the long run."
"Oh my, you're not affected." She leans in, tapping her chin, giving me a generous view down her gown. "You must be mentally unshakeable, Harry. Or do you prefer Rayhmir?"
…
…
Her smile reeks of smug confidence, and it only takes me a moment to decide how to deal with her.
"You know my secret. Now I'll have to kill you." I raise my hand, a blue ember, barely a dot, flickering in my palm, ready to burn her until she's nothing but ash.
~xXxXx~
Isabella Zabini
Isabella had a plan.
At first, she intended to seduce Harry Evans slowly over the next couple of months. However, after speaking with her son, Blaise, she realised that Harry's opinions of Master Flamel might already be influenced by Teresa. She reprimanded her easily distracted son for failing to keep her informed. She had specifically told him to watch Teresa, to be her eyes and ears. Had she known that Teresa and Harry had grown close, she would have devised a different plan.
This also confirmed that Harry is, in fact, Rayhmir. Teresa's presence at the Auction finally makes sense.
The bullheaded girl wasn't there at the behest of Alice Longbottom, she was there for Harry. Wait, no, Teresa was there for Master. Didn't she look disappointed when she realised Master Flamel wouldn't be there? What were these two concocting?
Isabella is aware of Teresa's hatred and desperation. But Teresa wouldn't think the partnership with Rayhmir would allow her to overpower Master Flamel, did she? That's absurd! Yes, 'Rayhmir' is extraordinary, but he couldn't compare to the man who's been alive for more than 600 years! Teresa wouldn't be stupid enough to engage Master Flamel with Rayhmir in a straight battle, would she?
…Actually, Isabella can see it happening. Two overconfident teenagers, drunk on their own power, deluding themselves into believing they could defeat Nicolas Flamel.
She should've headed back and reported to her master. That would be the safest option.
But here she is, probing Harry, checking if he could be enslaved with lust. She had expected it not to work, of course. If he's really Rayhmir, she'll prove no challenge to him. Still, there was no reason to not try. He wouldn't kill her in front of everyone. And a woman like her can offer a different sort of apology for tickling the dragon.
That's what she had thought.
But now, staring at the small pinprick of blue light aimed at her, all the bravado vanished. She remembers Harry using this same fire to consume the dragon fire. She has no doubt what would happen if it comes in contact with her.
Adopting a meek smile, she reins in her allure, freeing his family from her clutch. "Very funny. You're quite a jokester. Just like your father."
He stares blankly at her, not dispelling the blue fire.
Her smile falters, and she tries not to squirm. "How about we have a private conversation? It appears we started on the wrong foot."
"What's happening?" Lily rubs her forehead, coming out of her daze.
It was a great choice to use the full potency of her allure. The people under the effect become nothing more than mindless dolls. That means Lily and the others don't remember what took place after they were bewitched.
"Nothing, Mum," Harry replies offhandedly, still staring at her. "I was just getting to know Miss Zabini. How about you take James away? I need to have an important discussion with his girlfriend."
Isabella crushes James' rising protests before he can open his mouth. "Go, James. Have the heart-to-heart with your daughters like you always wanted to. Harry will be there soon. I just need to have a small work talk with him."
She wants to run after them, to escape the man who can squash her like a bug. But a little risk is needed to achieve great things in life. Courting death is required to attain immortality. And if the worst comes to pass and their talk doesn't go in the right direction, she has no qualms using her body to escape. She did note his interest in her offerings, so sex should deter a murder. Probably.
The Evans/Potter family hesitate before doing what they're told. She already knew they—except James—were aware of Harry's secret identity.
"Where can we get some privacy, Harry? May I call you Harry?" She links their arms, faking confidence.
"Sure, Isabella. I know a place." He leads her away from the crowd. And to her shock, no one glances at them.
He must've used the Notice-Me-Not charm. A strong one at that.
They leave the lake side and venture into the Forbidden Forest.
A doubt still lingers, enough to fill her with trepidation. He won't kill her in cold blood, will he?
To her relief, they don't go too deep into the woods. The trees around her are still separate instead of a wall of unchecked wilderness, allowing sunlight to wash through, evoking a serene mood rather than a disturbing one.
He peels himself away and sits on the large rock near a miserable brook, facing her.
If she weren't consumed by dread, she might have admired his handsome face and strong body. However, the fear of being killed and left for the animals does seem to dampen her fanciful observations.
She stills in front of him, her arms folded beneath her breasts. For once, it's not to draw his eyes to her blessed curves but to hold herself, seeking courage and reassurance, unsure what to do with her hands.
Isabella has always hated powerful men—the type who can bend others to their will. She still remembers the torturous years with her first husband. That beast had painful wants. His affections came in the form of split lips and broken limbs. And for all the power and influence she had inherited from her father, it was nothing compared to his. That man was the uncrowned king of Italy. And kings can get away with anything.
The only good thing to come out of that marriage was her son, Blaise—and the moment she finally grew a spine. Long story short, she built her influence, partnered with his enemies, and dethroned him. Then she killed him.
That day, she came to know herself. She loved the rush of turning a powerful man into her toy. She loved it so much that she couldn't stop, lost in the game of marriage and murder, amassing a notorious reputation.
Yet, men are stupid creatures, so easy to ensnare, so quick to fall in love with a single smile.
She doubts Harry Evans is one of them. And being before him makes her recall the bad days, when she was caged and oppressed, a doll for her first husband's wants.
"So, you know I'm Rayhmir." He props his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his fist, regarding her with an amused smile. "And yet, you went ahead and messed with my family. Either you're hiding some terrifying power and can kill with a snap of your fingers, or you're just dumb."
She manages a rueful expression, too intimidated to take offence. "I'm sorry about that. I just wanted confirmation. The great Rayhmir wouldn't have been so easily mastered. There was no malicious intent in charming your mother and sisters."
His smile widens. "You have your confirmation. What will you do with it?"
"I was actually going to tell you about Nicolas Flamel. Though, I see now you don't need an introduction." She exhales, choosing her words carefully. "But I fear you may have already formed… unsavoury opinions about him. Teresa, your new friend, is biased—understandably so. She's been experimented on since childhood. But I implore you, don't do anything rash. Master Flamel has no quarrel with you. In fact, he's impressed and wants to meet you. There's no need for you to throw yourself into their personal conflict."
She watches him like a hawk, wishing she could read minds.
He looks thoughtful, gazing at her but not truly seeing her, his mind elsewhere. A minute passes before he finally speaks.
"Teresa is a good friend of mine. But I see your point. I accept your proposal. It's better to talk with Nicolas Flamel before taking action. No need for violence when words can achieve the same result. All I want is for Teresa to be free. Maybe we'll come to a deal. We'll see."
That's better than she hoped. Nodding at him, she takes a step back. "I'll inform him about your wise decision. And I'll be in contact to organise a meeting."
"Okay."
She nods again and retraces her steps. If her pace is hurried and panicked, there's no one to see.
It's not until she's out of the woods that she finally breathes a sigh of relief.
That was… stressful. She really hates powerful men, except Master Flamel. He is the only one who doesn't trigger her fight or flight instincts. She knows it's because he has no sexual interest in her and doesn't care what she does with her borrowed power.
Now, it's time for her to run back and tell him everything.
~xXxXx~
I watch her walk away, fiddling with my Seed necklace.
This new development is a mixed bag. On one hand, I don't have to wait until the end of the tournament to deal with Flamel. On the other hand, I can't rely on my Seed necklace to mature and grant me my deepest desire. That means I'll have to depend on my own skills and items to bridge the level gap. It's doable, of course—but I was hoping for skewed odds in my favour. Defeating an enemy is only fun when you don't have to work for it, when you can freeze him and order his own minion to finish the job.
Being friendly with Teresa is what gave my persona away. It was bound to attract attention when a chronic loner suddenly gained a friend. And, yes, my anagram probably kickstarted this whole mess. Maybe I shouldn't have been cocky enough to sneak my real name into my pseudonym. Whatever, what's done is done. It might even turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Now I'll finally meet Nicolas Flamel face to face. Teresa will be with me, which means she can use her power to trap him in a pocket dimension, where we'll team up and kill him for good.
In a way, we're right back to our original plan.
I'll talk to Teresa at lunch. For now, I have a family reunion to attend.
I make my way back to the castle and hurry towards Mum's classroom, hoping they took James there. If not, I'll check my quarters.
The walk takes longer than necessary. My friends and housemates keep stopping me, offering congratulations and trying to rope me into conversations. I just smile and keep moving.
At last, I reach Mum's classroom. The door is locked. At my knock, it swings open, and Iris lets me in.
I feel the tension instantly. Mum is seated at her desk, as if she's still in class. Thankfully, her enchanted glasses are resting on the desk instead of perched on her nose. Rose is there too, slumped on the edge of the desk, glaring at James, who sits on the front bench, looking up at them like a student in detention.
As Iris moves to stand beside Rose, I sense James shrinking into himself, looking wildly uncomfortable.
"Isabella is gone, James. You might want to leave too," I say, walking towards my family, stopping beside Iris and scowling at him.
"I… I wanted to talk to you," he mutters, unable to meet my eyes. "I'm proud of you. Of Iris and Rosie—"
Rose's face turns an angry shade of red at his daring use of her nickname.
"I just wanted to say sorry for not being there. I know my absence is unforgivable. But please… give me one more chance. I want to be there for you three. You're my only children. And that was deliberate. I could never replace you."
My chest burns with all the rage I want to hurl at him. Iris looks miserable, unable to stay angry at him, still yearning for a father. Rose, on the other hand, is trembling with fury, one word away from punching him. Mum wears a stony mask, for once allowing us to choose how we handle this.
It would be a lie to say some part of me isn't relieved. I've always wondered why I didn't have half-siblings from his endless string of marriages. And now I finally understand—he couldn't bear to replace us. It's a bittersweet feeling. James Potter loves us in his own selfish way. There's no doubt about that. But it's too late. I don't need a father anymore.
"It's too late, Dad." I sigh, rubbing my face. "We're practically adults now. You weren't there when we needed you. We learned to live without you. We've been fine without you—great, even. It would be awkward and too much work to try now. Sorry, but I don't want you in my life."
Rose nods stiffly. "What he said."
Iris glances between us, then at Dad. Her damp eyes latch onto me, and as I offer my arm, she snuggles into my side, forcing herself not to look at him, refusing to tempt another disappointment.
Dad gives us a watery smile and stands up. "I see. Uh… okay. Take care."
Then he leaves, shoulders hunched, bent, as if he can't bear his own weight.
Guilt wars with rationality. It screams at me to call him back, to tell him there's still a chance. But I remain silent. As the door closes behind him, Rose crumbles, burrowing into Mum's arms. Mum hugs her tight, whispering into her ear.
Out of the three of us, Rose had the most memories of Dad. It's obvious this meeting tore open an old scar.
I tighten my embrace around Iris, who is just as hurt—but for a different reason.
I'll tell Isabella not to kill Dad.
That will be my last gift to him.
~xXxXx~
After lunch, just as everybody is leaving the Great Hall, I approach the Ravenclaw table. Teresa notices me, getting up. But before I can reach her, someone else steps in my way.
Fleur Delacour.
Unlike usual, there's no casual arrogance oozing from her. Even her attire is less provocative. It's a simple blue robe that while hugging her generous curves, restrains from showing much skin.
"Fleur." I nod, noticing the tightness in her eyes and the rigidity of her smile. Someone's not in a good mood. I wonder why.
"'Arry." She nods back. "When are you taking me on that date?"
Not today, obviously. I'd rather not stroll with our arms linked while she wears a frown.
"Tomorrow. We can spend the whole day together."
She doesn't look happy. I'm sure she'd rather just fuck me and be done with our deal than waste an entire day with me. Unfortunately for her, I'd like to try something more meaningful than one time sex. She is too hot and interesting to just fuck and forget. I want to know her. I want to figure out whether her confidence is real or just a mask for something deeper.
To her credit, she conceals her displeasure and offers me a 'warm' smile. "I can't wait."
Once she is gone, Teresa steps towards me, shaking her head. "I still don't know how to feel about throwing away the second task just because you want to sleep with her."
"I did not ask you to lose. I just said to give Gabrielle a chance." I make an excuse, gesturing to her to follow me.
She rolls her eyes and begins walking with me. "Same thing."
"Don't act like you're bothered by it." We leave the Great Hall, trailing behind the blue-robed Beauxbatons out of the castle.
"I am bothered by it. While I'm not obsessed with winning the tournament, I don't want us to be ridiculed either. The poor girl is already facing backlash from our school. I don't think she even showed up for lunch." That's a surprising amount of concern. I didn't think she was close to Gabrielle. Then again, Gabrielle is hard to hate or dislike. I'm sure this disgruntlement will die down in days. The younger Veela is that beloved.
"Don't worry. There's still the third task. She'll get the chance to redeem herself." I wave off her concern.
"Hmm." She makes a noncommittal sound.
We stray away from the path leading to the Beauxbatons Carriage, vaguely advancing towards the Forbidden Forest.
The fickle sunlight has gained strength in the afternoon, shining on our heads, making the grass and the foliage around us brighter and lively. As we descend the rolling hill, I catch the sight of Hagrid herding Thestrals into the woods.
Frowning, I decide there's no need to go into the dark forest. The weather is shockingly good today.
I sit down right there and lie on my back.
Teresa stands before me, eyeing me with a small smile. "What are you doing?"
"I was going to take you there for an important conversation. Then I realised a privacy and a notice-me-not charm will do. Take a seat, have some sunlight."
She lowers herself beside me. "Is this about Isabella? I saw you with her in the morning. And I must warn you again, please do not try to sleep with her; she'll kill you."
I scoff. "What do you think I am?"
"Suicidal and horny."
My laughter is answered with a deadpan look. "Not really, but whatever. I wanted to inform you that Isabella knows that I'm Rayhmir. That means, your master also knows my secret identity. On top of that, Isabella assumes, correctly, that you may have ensnared me in your evil plan to challenge him."
The easy smile disappears and panic makes her freeze. "You don't look too concerned about this disaster."
"I'm not." I agree, using my hands as a pillow, basking in the warm ground and the cool air. "Before she realised I'm with you, Isabella was sent here to recruit me. I demanded that I want to talk with Nicolas Flamel, and she accepted. We'll be invited to meet with him soon enough. When we finally have him right before our eyes, you can use your power to drag him to a pocket dimension where we'll finally defeat him."
Teresa twirls a lock of her blonde hair. "So the original plan. No waiting for the end of the year."
"Yes."
"I hope you know this will be different from Voldemort, Harry. There's a reason why I always tried to run away instead of fighting him. He may very well kill us."
I take her hand and put it on my chest. "We will win. I cannot lose."
She chuckles, yet there is no humour in the act. "We will see."
I don't attempt convincing her; I've already used all the words I can. Teresa will only believe it once it's done. Only then will she accept her freedom.
~xXxXx~
In the evening, the entire Gryffindor house skips dinner, revelling in the party thrown for our victory in the second task.
Just like last time, there's music and booze aplenty. And with the permission from Professor McGonagall, we even have the ability to call the elves and have food too.
Since Rose and I are the reason for this celebration, we had to spend the first hour talking with everyone, accepting the praises and the 'valuable' suggestions for the last task.
It's good that the socialising part is over now.
I'm seated between Iris and Hermione on a sofa in one corner, allowed a breather now that I've finally talked with everyone. Rose is still surrounded by a throng of seventh-years, laughing and bobbing her head. Katie and Leanne are on either side of her, rebuffing any inappropriate advances. Alcohol does tend to make people forget that Rose never had a boyfriend and nor does she want to.
"Have you seen Neville, mate?" Ron interrupts our conversation.
I shake my head. "Wasn't he just here?"
"It's been an hour since he went out for some 'important' work," Ron grumbles, gulping down the content of his cup. "I guess I'll go check if he's alright."
I just nod, going back to debating with Hermione on which spell is fastest to cast. Iris butts in with occasional insight, but she is mostly busy with the novel in her lap.
I'm just about to shut Hermione's wrong opinion with a kiss when the door to the common room slams open.
Professor McGonagall is pale and grim, her voice loud and commanding. "Prefects, take the attendance right now. See if anyone is missing."
The announcement sobers us up. Hermione and I share a look, leaving the sofa and approaching her, while the other prefects do as they are told.
"What happened, Professor?" I ask.
"Neville is dead," she whispers, her declaration prompting a shocked silence before it's drowned by chaos.