Under the Cursed Moon - CH - 55

The days in the secluded Scottish Highlands passed in a quiet rhythm, far removed from the turmoil brewing in the Wizarding World. Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, had no interest in reliving his role as a savior to a community that had once turned its back on him. His cottage, nestled among ancient trees and enchanted wards, became his sanctuary—a place where he could wait, prepare, and protect his family while the storm outside gathered strength.

Harry sat by the window of the cottage, watching the mist roll over the hills. In his hand, the Elder Wand thrummed faintly, a reminder of the immense power he wielded. But power wasn’t what he sought. He had once believed in changing the world, in guiding the Wizarding community toward equality and understanding. Yet, their betrayal after the revelation of his werewolf nature had extinguished that idealism.

“I’m not here for them,” Harry muttered to himself. “I’m here for those who matter.”

Behind him, Teddy’s laughter rang out as he played a spirited game of wizard’s chess with Leah. The sound brought a small smile to Harry’s lips. Protecting Teddy, Hermione, Leah, and the few friends who still stood by him—that was his purpose now.

Hermione entered the room, her arms full of books she had borrowed from the extensive library they’d built in the cottage. She placed them on the table and studied Harry’s expression.

“You’re brooding again,” she said gently, sitting down beside him.

“I’m thinking,” Harry replied, not taking his eyes off the window.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Hermione reminded him. “We’re all here for you.”

Harry sighed. “I know. But you and I both know that the Wizarding World doesn’t deserve our help. They’ll just use us and toss us aside again.”

Hermione placed a hand on his arm. “This isn’t about them, Harry. It’s about the people who do matter. Neville, Luna, the Weasleys—they’re counting on us. And we can’t let them down.”

Harry nodded, his resolve hardening. “I won’t let them suffer. But I also won’t lead another crusade for a world that doesn’t care.”

Days turned into weeks as Harry waited for news from his friends. Neville sent updates about whispers from the Herbology community, where small pockets of support for the new Dark Lord were quietly growing. Luna reported strange occurrences in magical creature sanctuaries—abductions of rare creatures that could be used in dark rituals. Fred and George, operating from Diagon Alley, sent coded letters detailing rumors they overheard from their shop.

Harry read each report carefully, piecing together the puzzle. The new Dark Lord’s approach was unlike Voldemort’s—subtle, insidious, and targeting the disenfranchised. The promise of vengeance against Pure-blood dominance was a powerful lure for those who had suffered.

While waiting, Harry devoted himself to training. Every morning, he dueled with Hermione in the clearing behind the cottage. The Elder Wand crackled with raw energy as Harry pushed himself further, honing his spells and tactics. Leah joined in, her skills as a warrior adding a physical edge to their sessions. Even Teddy, eager to emulate his father, practiced harmless jinxes under Hermione’s watchful eye.

“You’re getting better, cub,” Harry said one afternoon, ruffling Teddy’s hair after the boy successfully cast a harmless Rictusempra on Leah.

Teddy beamed. “One day, I’ll be as strong as you, Dad!”

“You’ll be stronger,” Harry promised, pulling him into a hug.

News trickled in from the Wizarding World, carried by enchanted letters and whispered by enchanted mirrors. Pure-blood families were being targeted indiscriminately, their homes attacked, and their vaults raided. The Ministry of Magic, paralyzed by bureaucracy and infighting, failed to act effectively.

Minerva McGonagall sent a discreet letter to Harry, her writing terse and urgent:

Harry,
The situation grows worse by the day. The Ministry is losing control, and the Wizengamot is divided. I fear the new Dark Lord’s supporters are growing within the Ministry itself. We need your guidance, even if only from the shadows. Please consider this.
Minerva


Harry read the letter and placed it aside. He wouldn’t be drawn into the Ministry’s chaos. He had made that decision long ago.

One evening, Dennis Creevey arrived at the cottage, his face grave.

“There’s been another attack,” he said, collapsing into a chair. “This time on the Fawleys. They’re Pure-bloods, but they’ve always stayed neutral. The Dark Lord’s forces don’t seem to care.”

Harry’s jaw tightened. “What else do you know?”

Dennis hesitated. “There’s talk of a gathering—supporters of the Dark Lord rallying in an abandoned manor near Dover. It could be a chance to learn more.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Hermione. “We’ll go,” he said firmly.

The decision to leave Hermione behind wasn’t easy for Harry, but it was necessary. This wasn’t a fight; it was reconnaissance. Bringing Hermione, who was deeply recognizable and too often associated with Harry’s plans, would only increase the risk. He chose Dennis Creevey, whose quiet presence and history as a muggle-born made him the ideal partner for this mission.

Dennis, despite his youth, carried a solemn maturity. Losing his brother, Colin, during the Battle of Hogwarts had changed him. He had been approached multiple times by the new Dark Lord’s followers, who sought to exploit his muggle-born status and his bitterness toward the wizarding establishment.

The night before, Harry outlined their plan to Dennis at the cottage.

“We’re not going to fight,” Harry reiterated, pacing near the fireplace. “We’re going to gather information. That’s all. If anything feels off, we retreat immediately.”

Dennis nodded, clutching his wand tightly. “I understand, Harry. I want answers, too.” His voice trailed off.

Hermione, though reluctant to stay behind, had agreed. She hugged Harry tightly before he left, whispering, “Be careful.”

Harry and Dennis apparated to the outskirts of Dover, where the abandoned manor was hidden under heavy magical wards. The air was thick with tension and faint traces of dark magic.

They approached cautiously, both cloaked and moving silently. As they neared the manor, Dennis spotted movement—a few robed figures entering through the grand, crumbling entrance.

“That’s them,” Dennis whispered.

Harry nodded. “Keep your hood up. Let’s blend in.”

Using Disillusionment Charms, they crept closer until they could enter with a group of attendees, careful not to draw attention. Inside, the atmosphere was oppressive. Dozens of witches and wizards were gathered in a dimly lit hall. The air buzzed with murmurs and occasional bursts of laughter.

At the far end of the room, a makeshift stage had been erected. A tall wizard with a commanding presence stepped forward. His robes were plain, but his voice carried authority.

“Brothers and sisters,” he began, his voice cutting through the noise. “We stand on the cusp of a new era. For too long, the pure-bloods have ruled with impunity, treating us as lesser beings, as outsiders in our own world.”

A ripple of agreement spread through the crowd. Harry scanned the room, noting the diverse makeup of the attendees—muggle-borns, half-bloods, and even a few disillusioned pure-bloods.

“We are not here to bring chaos,” the speaker continued. “We are here to bring justice. To destroy the old order and build a society where all wizards and witches are equal. But to achieve this, we must first dismantle the system that oppresses us.”

Dennis’s grip on his wand tightened, and Harry subtly nudged him, a reminder to stay calm.

As the speech continued, Harry’s attention shifted to a small group in the corner, speaking in hushed tones. Using a non-verbal spell, he enhanced his hearing to pick up their conversation.

“They’ve identified the next targets,” one whispered. “The Shacklebolts and the Greengrasses.”

Harry’s stomach clenched. The Shacklebolts, staunch defenders of equality, and the Greengrasses, neutral pure-bloods, were being targeted indiscriminately.

“Phase two begins in a week,” another added. “We will send a message that no one is safe.”

Harry exchanged a glance with Dennis, who had also overheard. They had to leave with this information.

As the meeting concluded, Harry and Dennis began to slip away. But before they could reach the exit, a voice called out, “You there! Stop!”

Both froze. A tall wizard approached, his wand drawn.

“What’s your name?” he demanded, looking directly at Dennis.

Harry’s mind raced. Dennis, quick on his feet, responded, “Dennis Creevey. I was recruited last week.”

The wizard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re new? Then why haven’t I seen you before?”

Harry subtly flicked his wand, casting a Confundus Charm. The wizard blinked, his suspicion fading.

“Of course, Dennis. Carry on,” he mumbled, stepping aside.

Harry adjusted the hood of his cloak as he and Dennis Creevey approached the large, ominous manor. The structure loomed against the darkened sky, its walls weathered yet fortified, a testament to the secrecy and power of those inside. Dennis, visibly nervous, clutched his wand tightly.

"Stay here," Harry instructed, his voice low but firm. "You're a muggle-born, and they trust you enough to invite you. That trust will keep you safe for now. Don’t do anything to jeopardize it."

Dennis nodded reluctantly. "Be careful, Harry. I’ll try to blend in."

Harry gave him a curt nod before silently casting a Disillusionment Charm over himself. His body shimmered momentarily before blending into the surroundings. With muffled footsteps, he slipped into the manor just as the large oak doors creaked open to admit more attendees.

The interior of the manor was dimly lit, with shadows flickering against the stone walls. The murmurs of voices echoed faintly through the corridors as Harry moved soundlessly, his wand at the ready. He had no intention of confronting the so-called Dark Lord tonight—his purpose was information.

The gathering hall was filled with robed figures, their faces obscured by hoods. Harry's eyes narrowed as he spotted the man who had been identified as the Dark Lord. The figure stood tall, addressing the group with a commanding presence, his voice a blend of charisma and menace. Yet something about him didn’t sit right with Harry.

As the meeting progressed, Harry observed the man discreetly leaving the hall and heading down a narrow corridor. Silently, Harry followed, casting a spell to muffle his footsteps. The man strode purposefully, his posture relaxed yet confident, as though he had no fear of being followed.

The corridor ended at a heavy wooden door. The man opened it, stepped inside, and shut it firmly behind him. Harry pressed himself against the wall, his heart pounding. From inside, faint voices drifted out—one male, the other female.

Harry waved his wand and silently cast Eavesdropping Charm, focusing on the conversation within.

Man's Voice: "Everything is proceeding as you instructed. The muggle-borns are eager to fight, and the purebloods are scrambling to defend themselves. The chaos will weaken them further."

Woman’s Voice: "Good. Divide and conquer. Make them destroy themselves before we step in to take control. Have the muggle-borns received word of the next attack?"

Man: "Yes, they believe it is their idea. Their anger is a powerful weapon."

Woman: "As it should be. Continue as planned. And remember, if any of them suspect the truth, eliminate them. No loose ends."

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a fireplace roaring to life.

Man: "Understood, my lady. I will not fail you."

Harry’s mind reeled. This so-called Dark Lord wasn’t the true leader—he was taking orders from someone else. And this woman, whoever she was, was the true mastermind. Before he could process further, the door creaked open, and the man stepped out, his expression calm as he adjusted his hood.

Harry held his breath as the man passed by him, oblivious to Harry’s presence. Once the corridor was clear, Harry slipped into the room, wand at the ready. But the room was empty save for a roaring fireplace, its flames already dimming.

Harry quickly retraced his steps, ensuring he left no trace of his presence. When he returned to Dennis, the young wizard was surrounded by a few other muggle-born attendees, nervously exchanging ideas.

“Everything alright?” Dennis asked under his breath as Harry emerged from the shadows.

“For now,” Harry replied, his voice grim. “But there’s more to this than meets the eye. Keep playing your part, Dennis. We need more information before we act.”

Dennis nodded, though his face betrayed his fear. Together, they apparated back to Harry’s cottage in Scotland, where Hermione, Leah, and the rest of the family waited anxiously for his return.

Once inside the safety of the cottage’s wards, Harry recounted everything he had overheard. The room was tense as Hermione, Leah, and Andromeda processed the information.

“A woman?” Andromeda mused, pacing. “We’ve never heard of any female leader. This changes everything.”

“It’s not just about blood status anymore,” Harry said. “She’s manipulating both sides, pitting them against each other to weaken the entire wizarding community. If we don’t uncover her identity soon, it could be too late.”

Leah crossed her arms. “You’re not doing this alone, Harry. Whoever she is, she’s playing a dangerous game, and we’ll need all the help we can get.”

Harry nodded, though his jaw tightened. This wasn’t the war he had fought before—it was something far more sinister. And this time, he had a family to protect.