35 - Caught the Fish

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The news of the Malfoys coming to Hogwarts to watch the Quidditch match spread through the castle like wildfire, carried on the boastful tongue of Draco Malfoy. The mere mention of Lucius Malfoy, the renowned pure-blood wizard known for his immense wealth and influence, sent ripples of curiosity and excitement throughout the school. Lucius had generously equipped the entire Slytherin team with brand-new Nimbus 2000 brooms—sleek, powerful, and unmatched in performance.

The sight of the brooms alone struck envy into the hearts of other teams. The Slytherin players, now armed with the best equipment money could buy, walked with a swagger that came from more than just the promise of victory; it came from the validation of power. They vowed to crush Gryffindor in the upcoming match, determined to prove to Mr. Malfoy that his lavish investment was worthwhile.

For the Gryffindor team, however, the news was like a storm cloud looming over their heads. They scoffed openly, mocking Draco for his silver-spoon success. "He's only on the team because his father bought him a spot," they sneered. "Not like Harry, who earned his place with real talent."

Draco's pale face burned with indignation at every insult. His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white. Hatred simmered beneath his skin, mingled with fear. He wanted to prove them wrong—to show them that he deserved his place, not because of his father's money, but because of his own skill. And above all, he wanted to make his father proud.

"Harry Potter," he muttered through gritted teeth. "That orphan will learn his place."

Meanwhile, Harry Potter sat in the Gryffindor common room, his heart weighed down by emotions he could scarcely name. He tried to focus on the game, on tactics and strategies, but his mind kept drifting back to the image of Draco Malfoy being embraced by his mother. The warmth in her eyes, the protective way she held him—it was a simple gesture, yet it cut Harry like a knife.

He would give anything for a hug like that.

"Harry," came Hermione's gentle voice, pulling him from his thoughts. Her eyes, filled with understanding, met his. "Beat him on the pitch," she said softly. "Embarrass him in front of his parents."

Her words, though simple, ignited a spark within Harry. He gave a small nod, determination hardening his features.

The day of the match arrived with a charged atmosphere. The stands were packed, banners fluttering, and voices roaring in anticipation. In the VIP section, Lucius Malfoy stood tall, his polished cane resting against the railing. Narcissa Malfoy sat beside him, her expression one of restrained pride as she watched Draco mount his broom.

Just before the match could begin, Albus Dumbledore approached Lucius. The headmaster leaned in close and whispered a single word: "Diary."

Lucius stiffened. His breath caught in his throat, and a cold dread coiled around his heart. Without a word, he turned to Narcissa.

"I need to speak with Dumbledore," he said, voice strained.

"Now?" she asked, concern flashing in her eyes.

"Yes. Stay here. Watch Draco. I'll be back soon."

As he followed Dumbledore toward the castle, each step felt heavier than the last. The word "diary" echoed in his mind like a tolling bell.

In the headmaster's office, Lucius's eyes immediately fell upon a familiar figure: Professor Wes. The sight of the man made his pulse race with fear.

"Dumbledore," Lucius began with forced politeness, "to what do I owe this...invitation?"

Wes stepped forward, holding up a small, worn notebook. Its cover was scorched at the edges.

"You seem to have misplaced this," Wes said, his tone laced with quiet menace. "I found it at Flourish and Blotts."

Lucius's face paled. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "That's not mine," he stammered.

"Really?" Wes arched a brow. "Then you won't mind if I do this."

He pointed his finger at the diary. Flames erupted from it instantly, dancing like serpents along the cover. Lucius's facade crumbled. With a cry, he lunged forward, knocking the diary to the floor and stomping out the fire.

The flames vanished, leaving the diary intact. Lucius bent down to pick it up.

"Why so nervous, Mr. Malfoy?" Wes asked, voice low and sharp. "It's just a diary, isn't it?"

Lucius said nothing. Beads of sweat trickled down his temples.

"Horcrux," Wes whispered.

"Horcrux...?" Lucius Malfoy's voice cracked, and the diary slipped from his trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Pap! The sharp sound jolted Lucius from his stupor. His breath caught in his throat as he bent down to retrieve the diary, but a black leather boot pressed down on it before he could grasp it.

"Can Mr. Malfoy explain why this diary contains traces of dark, fragmented life?" Wes's voice was cold and sharp, cutting through the air like a dagger. "Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, is there a life bound within these pages?"

Lucius's hand recoiled as if he'd touched fire. His mouth opened, but no words came. His pale complexion turned ghostly, beads of sweat forming along his brow.

"Mr. Malfoy," Wes said, his tone low but charged with menace, "answer me."

Lucius's chest heaved with shallow breaths, his mind scrambling for an escape. The intensity in Wes's gaze was suffocating; it pinned him like prey beneath a predator's claws.

Wes bent down, lifting the diary with an air of disdain. "Voldemort entrusted you with this Horcrux," he said, eyes never leaving Lucius. "Yet, he didn't share the truth with you. How curious. Seems... he never fully trusted you."

Lucius's throat tightened. His legs threatened to give way beneath him as the implications hit like a sledgehammer. He could almost feel Voldemort's wrath looming over him.

"What do you think your master will do when he learns you lost his precious fragment?" Wes's voice softened into a whisper, laced with lethal intent. "Or worse..." His lips curled into a cruel smile. "That you willingly handed it over to Albus Dumbledore?"

Lucius staggered back, horror etched into every line of his face. His breath came in frantic gasps.

Dumbledore, standing in the shadows, stepped forward. His expression was grave, yet his eyes glimmered with quiet authority. "Yes," he said. "Today, Mr. Malfoy has chosen to relinquish this artifact to me... as a gesture of remorse for his past allegiance."

"No!" Lucius screamed, his voice raw with desperation. "You can't do this!"

"Can't we?" Wes tilted his head, voice mocking. "The Horcrux is in our possession. Do you think Voldemort will believe your denials?"

Below, the players took to the sky. Harry and Draco locked eyes across the pitch. The game began, but the real battle had already been decided—not on the field, but in the shadows of Hogwarts, where the past's sins had been dragged into the light.