Ritual

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Harry watched Bellatrix for a moment longer, then stepped away, pocketing the cup. Bellatrix remained on her knees, visibly trembling as she tried to compose herself, her hair falling forward in wild curls as she clutched the edges of her robes. "Tell me the situation in Albania," he said coldly. 

Bellatrix straightened slightly, though she didn't dare rise. She took a shaky breath before speaking. "We escaped Azkaban with Barty Crouch Jr.'s help," she began, her voice quivering with an edge of excitement and fear. "He—he posed as his father, used Polyjuice to infiltrate the prison. Brilliant work, truly. Once he had the guards distracted, Rookwood, Wormtail, and I slipped away."

Harry hummed lightly, his expression impassive as he gestured for Bellatrix to continue. She licked her lips nervously, hesitating only a moment before launching into her explanation. "After we got out, he took us to Albania… to our lord," Bellatrix continued, though her lip curled slightly as she said the last part. She hesitated, her gaze flicking upward toward Harry's face. "At least, what we thought was our lord."

Harry's eyebrow arched faintly, but he said nothing, urging her on with a slight nod.

"The… the thing we found there," Bellatrix spat, her disdain evident now. "It wasn't you, not truly. It was… an abomination. A wraith, barely clinging to existence. It had no power, no strength—it was a disgrace to everything you stand for."

Harry tilted his head, feigning interest. "And yet you stayed."

Bellatrix flushed, her hands clenching her robes tightly. "Of course I stayed! He—he spoke with your voice. He knew things only you could know. I thought it was temporary, a condition that could be mended. He demanded the cup, said it would help him regain his strength. Rookwood and I left to retrieve it while Wormtail stayed behind to… tend to him."

"Tend to him?" Harry repeated, his voice calm, but his tone carried a faint bite.

"Yes," she confirmed hastily. "That miserable little rat remained there, catering to his every whim, setting the stage for a… a ritual, my lord."

Harry didn't miss the hesitation in her voice. "What kind of ritual?"

Bellatrix's eyes widened slightly, and she lowered her voice. "One to restore his body. It required blood. Special blood. He insisted it had to be Potter's." She paused, her lips tightening. "The boy was to be used as a key ingredient."

Harry frowned at the mention of his name but didn't interrupt. Bellatrix continued, her voice trembling with fear and fervor as she explained. "Barty Crouch Jr. laid out a plan, my Lord. He believed the Triwizard Tournament could be the perfect cover for… for luring Potter in. The boy would be forced to participate, naturally, and with careful manipulation, we could ensure it. He intended to place the boy in a position where he could be… used for the ritual."

Harry's brow arched slightly. "The Triwizard Tournament?" he repeated, his tone flat, hiding the spark of interest. "An event that hasn't been held in decades. How did he plan to ensure its revival?"

Bellatrix nodded quickly, eager to prove her knowledge. "Crouch Sr. had been working within the Ministry, laying groundwork. Barty's father—fool that he was—oversaw the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Barty used that position to plant seeds, pushing the idea of rekindling the tournament as a symbol of unity after the war. He was certain it would be approved in time for the next school year."

Harry's frown deepened as he considered this. The idea wasn't without merit. The Triwizard Tournament, with its elaborate challenges and prestigious reputation, would be the perfect stage for a trap. It wasn't difficult to imagine the Ministry falling for the bait, given their usual incompetence. But something didn't add up.

"And what of his father?" Harry asked. "Surely he would notice if Barty overstepped."

Bellatrix's expression soured. "The elder Crouch wasn't a problem for long. He became suspicious, yes, but Barty dealt with him. Imperius Curse—simple, effective. The old man became little more than a puppet, signing off on whatever Barty needed."

Harry hummed thoughtfully, his mind piecing together the information. "So, the plan was moving forward."

Bellatrix grimaced, her fingers twisting the fabric of her robes. "But after Crouch Sr. was imprisoned and I… removed Fudge, the plan might be delayed. It revolves around the Triwizard Cup."

Harry's gaze sharpened. "Explain."

She hesitated, her shoulders curling inward slightly. "The Cup is central to the tournament, a magical object connected to its enchantments. Crouch had planned to tamper with it—turn it into a Portkey leading to the ritual site. With the tournament reinstated, Potter would be forced to participate, and eventually, he would touch the Cup. That was when we would… bring him to that... wraith, my Lord."

Harry tilted his head, watching her closely. "And how does your handiwork with Fudge affect this grand scheme?"

Bellatrix's lips pressed into a thin line, her hands twisting harder. "The Ministry is in chaos, my Lord. Fudge's death has thrown the entire apparatus into disarray. The Triwizard Tournament itself is under scrutiny now—an initiative started under his leadership. It may proceed, but delays are inevitable."

"Short-sighted," Harry remarked, his voice flat. "Killing Fudge might have made a point, but it disrupted more than it helped."

Bellatrix flinched as if struck, her face pale. "I… I thought it necessary. The blood traitors and fools thriving under his watch—"

"Enough." Harry raised a hand, cutting Bellatrix off mid-sentence. "That impostor's plans do not concern me. Now that the delay is in place, it works to my advantage." He paused, observing her reaction with a cold, calculating gaze. "You did good, Bella."

Bellatrix's face lit up, her lips parting in a smile that bordered on manic. Her earlier tension melted away as she knelt lower, pressing her forehead to the floor in reverence. "Thank you, my Lord!" she breathed, her voice trembling with relief. "I am unworthy of your praise, but I swear I will not fail you again."

Harry didn't respond immediately. Internally, he frowned. This entire scenario had come far too close for comfort. If he hadn't pieced this together in time, if he hadn't learned of the plan's specifics… He didn't like relying on luck or happenstance. The thought of being manipulated into the Triwizard Tournament by an elaborate trap rankled him. It was a stark reminder that even with all his precautions, there were still games being played beyond his immediate control.

He couldn't allow that.

The room was silent save for the faint rustle of Bellatrix's robes as she knelt obediently. She dared not move without his permission, her head still bowed low. Harry's mind churned, cycling through the implications of everything he just learned.

The Triwizard Tournament itself wasn't the problem—it was the layers of manipulation around it. Crouch's plans to use the cup as a Portkey were clever. What truly unnerved Harry was the realization that such a trap could easily have ensnared him had he not stumbled across the details in time. The idea of being puppeted like that didn't sit well with him. Not one bit.

What would have happened if he walked into that blind? Could the fragment of Voldemort in Albania have regained enough strength to become a true threat again? The sheer audacity of the plot was enough to make him reevaluate his approach.

"Bella," he said at last.

"Yes, my Lord!" she responded instantly, her body straightening slightly as if eager for her next instruction.

"Gather the closest allies," Harry glanced around the dilapidated room. "Call those who fled today. I'll deal with them later." He paused, his gaze hardening. "Keep a low profile. Trust no one, not even among the loyalists. I'll need time—my power is still fragmented, and there are pieces I need to recover before we can move forward."

Bellatrix nodded quickly, her hair falling in wild tangles around her face. "Yes, my Lord. I'll summon only the most faithful. Those who would die for you without hesitation."

Harry's expression didn't waver. "Good. But don't rush. If they see desperation, it will raise questions. Take your time, work through the shadows, and ensure loyalty before bringing anyone here."

"As you command, my Lord," she whispered, her voice trembling with devotion. She stood slowly, careful not to rise higher than him, her hands clutching her wand tightly. "Is there anything else you require of me?"

Harry stepped past her, handing her a metal card to communicate with him. "Information," he said curtly. "I'll need detailed reports on anyone of value—inside or outside the Ministry. I want to know who can be used, who might resist, and who's too dangerous to leave unchecked."

Bellatrix straightened, her shoulders pulling back as if the task alone invigorated her. "I'll bring you everything, my Lord. Their alliances, their secrets—whatever I can uncover."

"And Wormtail?" Bellatrix's expression darkened at the mention of the rat. "He's still in Albania," she spat, the disdain in her voice evident. "Serving that… thing."

Harry's eyes narrowed, though he didn't react otherwise. "When the time comes, I'll call for him. For now, he's more useful where he is."

"As you wish," she murmured.

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