fear

*Narrator pov*

Tom Riddle's usually composed demeanor fractured like shards of glass. A dark and ominous feeling engulfed the room, mirroring the tempest within him. The air thickened with an unsettling energy as he paced, the weight of his own fury and fear pressing upon him.

His mind was racing, how had he never heard of someone so powerful? How did he get inside the manor?

'HOW DID HE KNOW MY NAME!' Tom thought in confused anger

Not only has he received one box, but ever since the first box Tom received he has been getting boxes with his follower's heads inside every time he sends a group out.

The room, adorned with ancient tapestries and regal furniture, became a witness to the unleashed turmoil of the Heir of Slytherin. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, now burned with a fierce intensity that bordered on madness.

Without warning, he seized an ornate vase from a nearby table, its delicate craftsmanship belying the storm within him. With a primal roar, he hurled it against the wall, the crash resonating through the room like a thunderclap. Fragments of porcelain littered the floor, mirroring the shattered fragments of Tom Riddle's composure.

His breaths came in ragged bursts as he surveyed the destruction. Yet, the room's pristine silence endured, unyielding to the tumult within. Riddle's fists clenched, and another object met its demise, this time a chair sent hurtling into a shadowed corner.

The mansion itself seemed to shudder, as if recoiling from the unleashed tempest within its once-hallowed walls. The air hung heavy with the scent of suppressed magic, a palpable testament to the potent force of Tom Riddle's fury.

As if seeking an outlet for the tempest within, Riddle directed his anger at the very symbols of authority surrounding him. Ancient tomes flew from shelves, their pages fluttering like disturbed spirits. Dark artifacts trembled on their pedestals, and the room bore witness to an unraveling of order.

Yet, amid the wreckage, a flicker of fear danced in Riddle's eyes—a fear not of the room he had disfigured but of the forces that threatened to consume him. It was a chilling realization, and for a moment, the Heir of Slytherin stood in the eye of his own storm—furious, yet haunted by the shadows of uncertainty that loomed ominously on the periphery of his consciousness.

"Stop, I must take a step back," he muttered softly

As Tom breathed deeply,

Inhale,

Exhale,

Inhale,

Exhale,

The calming pattern settled Tom's nerves, "I will find you and kill you," Tom muttered before calling for a meeting

'The attacks will stop while we search but recruiting will be a top priority I need to bolster my ranks' Tom thought bitterly

***

In a different part of Britain, Bellatrix Black sat in her grand-fathers study silently waiting for her grandfather to arrive, this summer has been weird for her.

First, she got her mind fixed when she didn't even realize there was a problem. It's interesting when your mind gets fixed and suddenly you realize some of the things you have done makes no sense.

Although she still agreed with a lot of what she did.

The door cracked open and her grandfather walked in his mere presence seemed to cause pressure to build in her very being. His calm stone-like face gave no indication of his emotions.

It was a stark contrast to how he acts with Morpheus, this was the great Arcturus Black wizards and witches alike feared and respected.

"Tell me what you did wrong," Arcturus's voice was not loud nor quiet but, it was powerful and commanding

Bellatrix felt her heartbeat fasten, 'why am I feeling like this? Grandpa never made me feel like this before' she thought in a nervous fear

She gulped replying, "I almost joined a Dark Lord that my house does not fully support which could cause division in our house and bind us to that Dark Lord," she replied softly

Arcturus nodded, "Yes, you almost forced me to involve our house in something I do not want to be involved in. You were foolish and naive, when does a member of the Black family ever serve someone," his response cut at the heart of the issue

"But father and mother arge-"

"I do not care what my foolish son agrees with or not, he might be the Lord but I still have the highest authority," Arcturus cut her off

"Now leave and if I hear anything of you trying to join this 'Lord' again I will have to resort to unsavory methods to make you understand, do tell your father I wish to talk," Arcturus dismissed Bellatrix with a wave

As Bellatrix left the room she felt her breathing become normal once more, she would never forget this day.

It would be engrained into her memory for the rest of her life.

*Morpheus pov*

Hunting those wizards has been the highlight of my summer, how pathetically easy and entertaining it was.

The newspaper is filled with questions about who is killing the death eaters and guessing the death eaters' true identity.

The reason I didn't leave the heads behind is simple, it would be pointless to reveal purebloods are running around killing half-bloods right now.

The smart witches and wizards will be able to peace together purebloods have disappeared right after the death eaters' demise.

It should help Albus with gathering some allies.

I can see the situation in Britain will calm down for right now, which will allow me to make one more stop before summer break comes to an end.

Standing from my seated position I walked over to the ritual chamber in my manor. Between hunting the death eaters I have been building a detailed and advanced divination technique.

Many rare resources will be going into this process, so I must be able to gain the insight I need.

Walking into the chamber I breathed deeply, my eyes shone with confidence as I began.

*Narrator pov*

The room, adorned with symbols and ancient artifacts, resonated with an ethereal energy that seemed to respond to his very presence. Candlelight flickered in anticipation as Morpheus, with eyes akin to mirrors reflecting unseen realms, stood at the center of an intricate pattern drawn on the floor.

A large, ornate mirror, veiled in secrecy, awaited its role in the divination ritual. Its surface, like Morpheus's own eyes, seemed to hold a transcendent quality—an ability to peer beyond the veil of the ordinary. The air hummed with latent power as Morpheus, attuned to the energies that surrounded him, began the ritual.

First, he lit a series of candles arranged in a circular pattern, their flames dancing to an unseen melody. The chamber embraced a symphony of muted whispers, an indiscernible language that resonated with ancient incantations. Morpheus, with measured steps, circumambulated the mirror, his presence leaving an ephemeral trace in the charged air.

As the candles cast a soft glow on the reflective surface, Morpheus gazed deeply into the mirror, his mirror-like eyes meeting their counterpart. A whispered invocation, a key to unlock the hidden realms, escaped his lips. The mirror responded, its surface rippling like liquid moonlight, and an arcane connection formed between Morpheus and the mirrored depths.

With an outstretched hand, Morpheus traced symbols in the air, each gesture an invitation to the unseen forces. The mirror, now a portal between worlds, shimmered with veiled visions and symbolic patterns that danced in response to Morpheus's command. His mirror-like eyes seemed to draw from the reflective surface, absorbing the mystic currents swirling within.

Morpheus's voice, a melodic chant resonating with the echoes of forgotten ages, reached a crescendo. The chamber pulsed with energy, and the mirror became a canvas upon which the future and the hidden truths were painted. Images, both vivid and elusive, unfolded within its depths.

—

A/N: Patre on : patreon.com/Boogie324