Victor turned around just in time to see Fleur looking in his direction.
The moment their eyes met, Fleur smiled faintly and gave him a playful wink before continuing to walk with Gabrielle and Madame Maxime.
...I honestly have no idea what that woman's thinking right now, Victor thought.
The next second, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his hand. He looked down to find Hermione gripping it far more tightly than before. She had clearly seen Fleur's little gesture.
"Hermione," Victor said, trying to keep a straight face, "I think you're crushing my hand."
Hermione blinked, looked down, and immediately loosened her grip. "Oh... sorry."
Victor rubbed his hand, which had turned slightly red.
Women can be terrifying when they're jealous, he thought.
Ron, having witnessed the entire exchange, couldn't resist the opportunity.
"So, Victor," he said with a grin, "why did Fleur wink at you? Is there something going on between you two?"
Hermione didn't say anything. She simply looked at Victor, waiting for his answer.
Victor glanced at Ron before replying in his usual deadpan tone. "It's because I'm more handsome than you."
Ron snorted.
Victor continued without missing a beat. "And unlike you, I don't spend half the day drooling over her. Maybe she finds that more decent than someone who can't stop staring."
Harry let out a laugh.
Ron immediately turned red. "I wasn't drooling!"
"No," Victor replied. "You were just staring hard enough to make it obvious."
Ron folded his arms with a smug grin. "Nice try. You're changing the subject. There's definitely something going on between you and Fleur — I can feel it."
Hermione stopped walking. She folded her arms and looked at Victor expectantly, a faint pout on her face that made it clear she wanted an explanation too.
Victor glanced from Hermione to Ron before letting out a quiet sigh.
He turned back to Hermione. "Hermione."
"What?"
"You're the smartest girl I've ever met."
Hermione blinked. "And?"
"You're also the prettiest."
The pout on her face faltered for a moment.
As expected... girls really do appreciate compliments.
Victor continued in the same calm tone. "So I'm sure someone as intelligent as you can tell when a certain red-haired troublemaker is deliberately trying to stir things up."
Hermione looked at Ron, then back at Victor. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite herself.
Ron stared at them in disbelief. "Oi! Don't distract her with compliments!"
"I wasn't distracting her," Victor replied smoothly. "I was stating facts."
Hermione tried to keep a straight face, but the compliment had clearly worked. The suspicious look she'd been giving Victor had softened considerably.
Ron pointed an accusing finger at him. "See? That's exactly what I meant! You talked your way out of it."
Victor shrugged. "Or perhaps you're just jealous that nobody's complimenting you."
Harry burst out laughing.
Ron groaned, his attempts to needle Victor having failed yet again.
***
That night, Harry slept fitfully in the Gryffindor boys' dormitory.
Before long, the dream came again.
He was standing in a dimly lit room. A fire crackled weakly in the hearth, its light throwing long shadows across the walls.
Someone sat in a high-backed chair, facing away from him. Harry couldn't see who it was, but he knew the figure radiated a cold, terrifying presence.
Standing nearby was Peter Pettigrew, his silver hand glinting in the firelight. He looked frightened, constantly wringing his hands as he spoke.
"Master... is the boy really necessary?"
The voice from the chair was soft and unnaturally cold. "Yes."
"But... isn't there another way?" Pettigrew asked nervously. "This plan carries risks."
"There is no better choice," the voice replied. "It must be him."
Pettigrew hesitated. "If something goes wrong..."
A long silence followed. Then the voice became even colder. "It will not go wrong."
Pettigrew immediately lowered his head. "Yes... Master."
The fire crackled again. Harry strained to hear more, but the voices suddenly became muffled, as though he were sinking underwater. He could catch only scattered words.
"...blood..."
"...return..."
"...soon..."
The rest dissolved into an indistinct murmur. No matter how hard he listened, the conversation remained frustratingly blurred, as if the dream itself refused to let him hear everything.
Then, without warning, a sharp pain exploded across Harry's forehead. His scar burned.
He gasped — and shot upright in bed, clutching his scar as his heart hammered in his chest.
The dormitory was silent except for the steady breathing of the other boys. Moonlight streamed through the window, but Harry's scar still throbbed. He couldn't remember every word of the dream — only the feeling it had left behind.
Most of the conversation had been swallowed by the dream itself, leaving only scattered fragments. The boy. Blood. Return. Nothing that made complete sense on its own. Even so, an uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach.
He didn't know exactly what Voldemort and Pettigrew were planning. But he was certain they were planning something. And somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that the "boy" they'd been talking about was him.
Harry glanced around the dark dormitory. Ron was snoring softly in the bed opposite, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his mind.
Are they planning to come to Hogwarts?
The idea made his stomach tighten. Hogwarts was supposed to be the safest place in the wizarding world. With Dumbledore there, it seemed impossible that Voldemort would dare attack the castle.
Yet the dream refused to leave his thoughts.
*****
A/N : 🔥 On Patreon🔥
⚡ A 15-chapter early access is available for those who want to read ahead ⚡
👉 patreon.com/JakeA30