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HP: Bloodraven Chapter 300 - Another Year in Motion (I)
🕑 Added 2026-01-02 21:32:57 +0000 UTCSome time earlier, Little Hangleton village.
Darkness pressed over the small community, heavy rain and gusting winds rattling shutters and bending the trees along the narrow lanes. In the distance, thunder growled, and lightning tore through the clouds, briefly revealing the lone mansion perched on the hill, its crooked silhouette flashing in and out of existence before the night swallowed it again.
It was otherwise a typical night in the area for this time of year. And just as another flash of lightning faded, before the rumble of thunder could follow, an intense red light suddenly erupted from an upper window of the abandoned mansion, followed by a wailing scream that echoed through the storm.
Clearly, the supposedly abandoned lone mansion was not empty after all. Inside, in the room from which the red light had erupted, firelight flickered across the walls, the flames shuddering as if afraid. A man could be seen lying sprawled on the floor, his body jerking uncontrollably, his fingers clawing at the stone as if trying to escape his own skin.
“Crucio!”
The word was followed by another flash of crimson and a shriek louder and more desperate than before, finally collapsing into helpless sobbing.
Near the hearth, cradled in the arms of a short, heavyset man, was something scarcely human. Voldemort’s current state was perhaps even more pitiful than it had been when he had been parasitizing Quirrell, needing assistance even to move from one place to another.
Even so, his cruelty was no lesser than before, and the act of performing dark magic did not trouble him in the slightest.
He wriggled slightly in Wormtail’s arms, his tiny fingers curling and uncurling, “Worthless,” the high, cold voice cut through the crackle of the fire. He thrashed just enough to make the wand in his hand tremble. “Worthless. You let them capture my most loyal servant and fled like frightened animals.”
The room no longer held the confidence it once had. Gone were the ranks of hooded figures, and gone was the presence that had once been thick with arrogance. Now, aside from Voldemort and Wormtail, only three remained—well, four, if the writhing figure sprawled on the floor, convulsing like a fish, was counted.
Another broken grunt escaped him, his limbs trembling from the torture his “benevolent” master was inflicting. “My lord… mercy,” he gasped, jaw straining as the words forced their way out. “It was an ambush. The Aurors… they were waiting for us.”
Voldemort’s eyes flared. “Are you suggesting I am a fool?”
“I dare not… I would never.”
He did not dare voice what truly burned in his mind, that the Dark Lord’s decision had been reckless, even stupid, to strike so openly at an international wizarding event simply to make a point.
Rosier, back then, had warned against acting so brazenly more than once, but Voldemort’s arrogance had drowned out all caution, convinced that he could do whatever he wished.
“My lord,” and just then another voice cut in, one of those who were kneeling.
Voldemort turned his gaze slowly, “Barty,” he murmured, “my faithful servant. Perhaps you would care to explain.”
“It is the new Minister, my lord,” Barty Crouch Jr said, lifting his head slowly. “This has his hand all over it. He is nothing like that greedy coward Fudge.”
His gaze sharpened, words spilling faster. “I believe he anticipated an attack and deployed Aurors in advance, already positioned and waiting.... Therefore, i think our priorities must change.” His lips twisted into a strained, almost unhinged smile. “He should be dealt with before we act any further.”
None of the escapees present knew that Maverick had intervened as well. They had fled the moment the attack began to collapse, and the newspapers never mentioned his involvement. As far as they knew, the Ministry had earned the credit, their swift response turning terror into failure.
“Indeed,” Voldemort said at last, his fury cooling into something sharper and more calculating. “Put me down, Wormtail.”
Pettigrew obeyed instantly. He lowered Voldemort onto the worn sofa beside the fireplace with exaggerated care, as though placing down something sacred and fragile. His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary before he stepped back, eyes never leaving his master.
“It seems this hypocritical country has finally been graced with a Minister who possesses some measure of competence,” Voldemort said thoughtfully, his gaze drifting across the room. “Still, there are whispers that he is no more than a puppet, placed where he is by others...”
A memory surfaced, and his eyes flashed red as he recalled that brief encounter inside Hogwarts two years earlier. “Caesar…” The name slipped from him thick with loathing. He had not forgotten the humiliation, how a the boy had overwhelmed him, how close he had come to being consumed by cursed fire.
Even so, he did not entirely dismiss the boy’s genius. It was undeniable, perhaps even uncomfortably close to his own. Still, Lord Voldemort stood above all others, as he always had and always would. How could a mudblood with no lineage ever hope to measure himself against him, the descendant of Salazar Slytherin himself?
After indulging his own thoughts, he turned his attention back to his servants. “Does any of you possess a means of penetrating this new Minister’s inner circle?”
But only silence answered him. Even Crouch Jr. kept his gaze lowered, saying nothing.
“Worthless,” he spat.
And just then, a thin, reedy voice broke the silence. “My lord…”
Voldemort turned to see Wormtail crouching low, sinking until he was nearly at eye level with his master.
“Surely you do not suggest, Wormtail, that you possess inside knowledge of the Ministry…” The contempt in his voice was not without reason; after all, he was Wormtail.
Even the kneeling men let out a few breathless chuckles at the rat’s audacity, but the laughter died instantly when Voldemort snapped a sharp command for silence.
“Lucius, my lord,” Pettigrew said quickly. “Lucius Malfoy. If anyone can spy on the Ministry, it is him.”
“Lucius,” Voldemort repeated, tasting the name as memory stirred.
“A coward,” Barty Crouch Junior cut in. “When you fell, my lord, he was the first to publicly deny you…”
Voldemort laughed, though whether it was amusement or disbelief was unclear. “Do you think I am unaware of something so obvious?”
“I dare not think, my lord...” Barty said immediately.
“But Lucius did answer my call last night, did he not?” Voldemort asked.
A pause followed, and Barty Jr. muttered a reluctant, “Yes.”
“And what of his fate?” Voldemort continued softly. “Was he among those who died for my cause?”
“It was chaos, my lord,” one of the men said. “We do not know. He may be dead. He may have escaped.”
“Then bring him to me,” Voldemort decreed. “And not only him. I want every coward who abandoned me brought before my eyes. It is time they stood once more in the presence of their lord.”
“But my lord… surely they cannot be trusted to meet you,” Wormtail interjected again, bowing so low his face nearly kissed the dusty floor. While the rat appeared to speak out of concern for his master, in truth, the cowardly fool was only worried that if their whereabouts were discovered, he would be the first to be caught.
“What if one of them leaks our whereabouts—”
“Silence!”
Voldemort’s eyes burned with a dangerous red glint, filling the room with silent menace. Of course, had he any choice, he would not resort to this, but there was none.
Since his supposed death, Voldemort had divided his followers into two kinds: those who feared him absolutely, never daring to betray him even after hearing of his demise, and those fools who denied him, convinced that his absence freed them from all duty.
And yes, it was fear, not trust, for Lord Voldemort trusted no one—not even his most perfect creation, Bellatrix, who had now been removed from the equation.
The original plan had depended on the first group, the Azkaban escapees, whom he believed were completely loyal to him, but they were gone now. Only the cowards remained, and now he had no choice but to place them at the heart of his schemes.
Still, their fear of him remained, of that he had no doubt. Otherwise, they would never have dared to answer his summons for the attack.
“Worthless fools,” Voldemort spat. “Dozens of you, even with two Great Magi, could not capture a single cripple. And you expect just the four of you could carry out my plan?”
No one answered. Indeed, if the Dark Lord still intended to carry out the plan to capture the Potter boy, he would need more hands. More importantly, with no way to infiltrate Hogwarts directly, only one path remained: someone with ties to the Ministry, someone capable of opening doors and finding another way forward.
“Plans change,” Voldemort said, turning his gaze toward the fire, watching the flames writhe and twist. “Direct infiltration must be abandoned. But with an insider...”
The loss of Bellatrix and Rosier weighed heavily on him, especially Bellatrix. Whether by fear or otherwise, her devotion had always gratified him more than he cared to admit.
And now, their absence had forced him to reconsider everything. What remained were cowards, doubters, and one trembling servant who clung to him like a lifeline. If only he had heeded caution, allowed the opportunity to present itself, and acted only then to seize that boy—
No. Lord Voldemort does not regret, and he would not yield like a mere mortal. Yes, he was immortal, unkillable. His serpentine eyes glimmered in the firelight. He would have what he desired, and none could stand in his way... not the Minister of Magic, not that old fool Dumbledore, and certainly not a mudblood boy who imagined he could best the Dark Lord simply because he possessed a fraction of power.
---
Back to the present.
Summer still held Hogwarts in its grasp, the lingering warmth softening into a gentle evening breeze as the sun sank toward the horizon, painting the grounds in gold and deepening green.
In that familiar scene, Maverick descended slowly from the sky, his robes fluttering lightly in the breeze until he came to a stop before one of the towers, the large windows opening directly into his office.
A low hum slipped from him, absentmindedly thoughtful, his lips curving faintly as he tilted his head toward the tallest tower. “Normally, the old man would have summoned me the moment I crossed the wards…” he murmured, then, just as quickly, brushed the thought aside with a small, careless shrug.
He glanced once at the setting sun, its glow spilling across the castle rooftops, then turned back to the window, letting the fading light wash over him.
With a lazy wave, the glass panes parted, and he glided inside with unhurried grace. His office greeted him exactly as he had left it, neat and orderly, and the lights flickered to life at his approach. He shrugged off his coat and, with a casual flick of his wrist, sent it sailing to the stand by the door.
A quick look at the time reminded him of Dumbledore’s message. Dinner tonight, an important meeting, and attendance declared mandatory.
There were still a couple of hours to spare, so he moved to his desk and sank into the soft leather of the high-backed chair. Maybe… get some work done in the meantime?
After all, he was still a professor, and lesson plans for the new year did not arrange themselves out of courtesy alone. Besides, he wasn’t the sort to procrastinate… much.
Hmm. I should probably hire an assistant… no, wait… wasn’t that the plan from the very beginning? Or had it slipped my mind? Well… I’ll bring it up with McGonagall at tonight’s meeting… anyways.
With a resigned sigh, books and parchment appeared neatly before him, pages opening as pens rose to hover expectantly above them.
He leaned back in his chair, expression calm, and allowed his thoughts to flow. At least it wasn’t as tedious as it would have been for a regular teacher.
Mother magic had its perks. In this case, he could work on several tasks at once while doing little more than thinking, so he leaned back, relaxed, and let the work begin.
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Author’s Note:
Sorry if it feels a little “meh”… I literally edited this on my phone, sneaking in moments whenever I could to write.
School starts next chapter, book four of the original story. This year's going to be epic, and I can’t wait to share it with you all.
On another note... 300 chapters, over 600k words in exactly one year. Holy shit 😁
Anyways, I hope you’re all enjoying the New Year as much as I am, because I’m having a blast 😁 Wherever you’re from, enjoy the holidays!
Comments
Brommier
300!!!!!!
ShadowKnight
I lost this novel for the longest time and couldn’t find it and now I’m back but it sucks cause I caught up and now it’s back to waiting
