Chapter 69

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Chapter 69: Cleaning Up the Mess

Harry sat on the edge of his bed in his secret chamber, deep within the Slytherin dormitory. His elbows rested on his knees, fingers steepled as he stared at the empty space in front of him. The air in the chamber was cool, quiet—too quiet for the storm raging in his mind.

He had made a mistake.

A huge one.

The moment Dumbledore informed him of Bartemius Crouch Junior's actions, Harry had felt a pit form in his stomach. He had forgotten about him. He had been so focused on eliminating Voldemort's Horcruxes, so sure that cutting the Dark Lord's tether to life was the only thing that mattered, that he had completely overlooked Crouch Junior. And now, because of his failure, five of the most dangerous Death Eaters were loose.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Antonin Dolohov. Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. And, of course, Crouch Junior himself.

Harry let out a slow, measured breath, trying to push away the self-recrimination clawing at his mind.

If Hermione had been here—the Hermione from his previous life—she would never have let him make such a blunder. She would have planned meticulously, accounted for every possibility before making a move. Even Ron, after everything they had been through together in the previous timeline, would have warned him to be careful before destroying the Horcruxes. But now, Harry had to deal with this alone.

And there was no time to mope.

He would fix this.

Harry stood and walked to his closet. He pulled out the destroyed diary, the once-intact pages now burned and blackened from the basilisk venom that had eradicated the Horcrux within. As he held it, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

With a flick of his fingers, a sock flew into his hand. Harry carefully placed it inside the ruined diary, hiding it between the pages. Then, he reached out with his magic.

Fawkes.

The phoenix answered his call immediately, appearing in a flash of golden fire. Without hesitation, Harry stepped forward, grasping Fawkes' tail, and in the next instant, the chamber vanished in a burst of flames.

Lucius Malfoy strode into his study, the smooth click of his dragonhide boots echoing across the polished marble floor. He had barely taken two steps inside when he froze.

There, sitting comfortably in his chair, behind his desk, sipping tea as if he owned the place—

"Potter."

Lucius's voice was a quiet hiss of displeasure.

Harry Potter, however, did not look the least bit concerned. He simply set his teacup down on the saucer with an air of leisure and glanced up at Lucius with a smirk that sent a ripple of unease down the older man's spine.

"Ah, Lucius," Harry said, as if greeting an old friend. "You really should improve your wards. Anyone can just walk in."

Lucius's eyes narrowed, but before he could say anything, Harry reached into his robes and tossed something toward him. Instinctively, Lucius caught it. The moment his fingers curled around the familiar leather cover, his breath hitched.

The diary.

The destroyed diary.

"Thank you for the gift, Lucius," Harry said, his tone edged with mockery. "But I already got a cursed diary for Christmas last year. Thought I should return it. I hear it's good manners."

Lucius's grip on the ruined diary tightened, his mind racing. How had Potter gotten in? Did he know?

Harry leaned forward, locking eyes with Lucius, and for a moment, the older wizard felt something... unnatural. A whisper at the edge of his consciousness. A subtle push.

Lucius blinked, his mind fogging for just an instant. The next moment, before he even truly processed it, he had already tossed the diary to Dobby.

"Put that away," he ordered absently.

Dobby caught the diary mid-air. The moment his fingers brushed over the leather cover, his large green eyes widened in shock. He looked down—saw the sock sticking out from the pages.

Everything seemed to freeze.

Dobby's eyes filled with tears as his small hands trembled around the diary. Then, realization dawned. His lip wobbled, and then—

"I is free," Dobby whispered.

Lucius's head snapped up, his trance broken. He turned in horror just in time to see the house-elf staring at the sock with a look of absolute, stunned disbelief.

"NO!" Lucius roared. He whirled toward Harry, his wand already drawn.

Harry, however, remained utterly calm.

"Go, Dobby," Harry said simply.

With a loud crack, the house-elf vanished before Lucius could even lift his wand.

"YOU—!"

Lucius whipped his wand forward, a curse already forming on his lips.

The spell never reached Harry.

The moment the magic left Lucius's wand, it collided with an invisible barrier around Harry and deflected harmlessly into the far wall, leaving a scorch mark.

Lucius barely had time to register what had happened before—

Expelliarmus!

His wand was ripped from his grip, flying through the air and landing smoothly in Harry's outstretched hand.

Lucius stumbled back, his breath uneven, as he stared at the boy—no, the young man—in front of him.

Harry twirled Lucius's wand between his fingers, examining it lazily.

"You know," Harry mused, his tone light but edged with something dangerous, "for someone who prides himself on his pureblood heritage, you really aren't that impressive of a duelist."

Lucius's face turned a furious shade of red.

Harry stood up from the chair, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He took a step forward, and Lucius involuntarily stepped back.

Harry smiled, but there was no warmth in it.

"You tried to curse me in your own home," he said, shaking his head. "Very foolish, Lucius." He tapped Lucius's wand against his own palm, contemplating.

Lucius swallowed, his pulse hammering in his throat. "What… what do you want?" he asked, his voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

Harry tilted his head slightly, considering the question. Then, with an easy, almost lazy motion, he tossed Lucius's wand back to him.

Lucius fumbled but caught it.

Harry took another step forward, and this time, his voice was calm, almost conversational.

"I want you," he said, eyes gleaming with something unreadable, "to get in touch with some of your friends."

Lucius's breath caught in his throat.

The room suddenly felt much colder.