Stealing Magic: A Darker Hogwarts

Sean ended the spell, the silver threads fading. His novice skill in Legilimency relied on Marwood's open mind; a stronger will would've blocked him. Fortunately, Marwood's surrender made it easy, like flipping through a book left open on a desk.

"Marwood, return to Hogwarts' region," Sean commanded, his voice low and firm, still laced with the eerie rasp of his Voldemort guise. "Hide your identity and quietly contact those willing to serve me. They need not be powerful, but their loyalty must be absolute. You'll lead them."

Marwood's eyes gleamed with zeal. He bowed low, forehead pressed into the damp soil, voice trembling with excitement. "Thank you, thank you, my Master!"

"Go," Sean continued. "If you must appear publicly, use Polyjuice Potion. To reach me, send an anonymous letter, and I'll meet you in Hogsmeade."

"I understand," Marwood rasped, nodding fervently.

He bent low, retreating step by step, then offered a final bow before Apparating with a faint crack, vanishing into the forest's charmed mist.

Sean exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. This was an unexpected victory. He'd been confident he could overpower Marwood in a duel, but killing him? Doubtful. Marwood's skill with Apparition would've let him escape, and Sean lacked the Anti-Apparition Charm to stop him. A loose end like that could've haunted him. Now, with Marwood bound by the Imperius Curse LV2, his loyalty was assured—unless someone broke the curse or exposed Sean as a fraud. For now, Marwood was his pawn, a secret ally in the shadows.

Sean turned, retracing his steps toward the ruined cabin, the forest's silence pressing around him. His mind churned. Barnabas's plot, uncovered through Marwood's memories, pointed to a traitor within Beauxbatons' region. Who could it be? The question gnawed at him, but answers would have to wait.

As he neared the cabin's wreckage, a familiar figure darted through the trees—Fleur, her silver-blonde hair catching the dim light. She was searching frantically, wand raised, eyes scanning the underbrush. Spotting Sean, she rushed over, her voice tight with worry. "Sean, where's the dark wizard? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," Sean said, offering a reassuring nod. "The dark wizard—I meant to escape with you, but the house collapsed. I had to run another way. The dense trees helped; I think I lost him."

Fleur's grip on his hand tightened, her fingers warm and steady, a quiet anchor in the chaos. "No," she said firmly, "we can't be sure he's gone. We need to leave—now. We don't even know where we are. Once we're back at Beauxbatons, we'll be safe."

Sean met her gaze, noting the fierce determination in her eyes, softened by concern. He kept silent about Marwood's fate. Revealing his use of the Imperius Curse or Smoke Rope Curse LV5MAX would risk too much, even with Fleur. Instead, he nodded. "Alright, let's move fast."

Fleur gave a sharp nod, her eyes darting to the surrounding trees, as if expecting the dark wizard to lunge from the shadows. Without hesitation, she grabbed Sean's hand again, her touch lingering a moment longer than necessary, and pulled him through the forest, her pace urgent.

They emerged near a small wizarding village, its cobbled streets lined with shops glowing with charmed lanterns, a far cry from the Muggle world.

Fleur raised her wand, summoning a sleek, enchanted carriage—Beauxbatons' equivalent of the Knight Bus, designed for wizards wary of Apparition or broom travel. The carriage, pulled by invisible forces, rattled to a stop, its door swinging open with a creak like a runaway Hogwarts cart.

Inside, Sean and Fleur sat close, their shoulders brushing as the carriage lurched forward. In hushed tones, Sean had already urged Fleur to keep the attack quiet, explaining he'd handle it himself to settle the score. Her silent agreement, sealed with a glance, deepened their trust, a subtle bond growing between them.

When they reached a larger wizarding hub and contacted Beauxbatons, two professors arrived swiftly, their faces etched with concern. They escorted Sean and Fleur back to the school's glittering palace, its spires shimmering under protective charms. Neither Sean nor Fleur was an ordinary student. Fleur's family held sway in Beauxbatons' region, her talent as a fifth-year unmatched. Sean, a Hogwarts exchange student, carried the Bulstrode name—a family with influence rivaling any in the wizarding world. An incident involving them would tarnish Beauxbatons' reputation.

In a candlelit office, two Aurors from Beauxbatons' authorities questioned them. "Sean, Fleur, you truly don't know who attacked you? No clue who's behind this?"

Sean and Fleur exchanged a glance, their silent agreement firm. Both shook their heads. "We don't know," they said in unison.

Fleur's ignorance was genuine, though she'd sensed Sean's secrecy. Sean, however, knew exactly who'd sent Marwood—Barnabas—and suspected a Beauxbatons traitor. Yet he held back. The Aurors, sensing their reluctance, pressed no further. After routine questions, they left, their cloaks swishing as they exited Beauxbatons' gates.

The enchanted carriage thudded to a halt, its compartment door creaking opened.

Barre Garcia stepped out, his cloak dusty from haste. At Beauxbatons, news of Sean and Fleur's safe return had spread like wildfire, prompting Barre to pack swiftly and flee. His destination: a distant wizarding region, far from Beauxbatons' reach.

Barre hailed from an ancient, fading pure-blood family in Beauxbatons' region. Though diminished, the family's wealth had funded his education, and their dwindling connections could've secured him a modest post with Beauxbatons' authorities after graduation. A quiet, respectable life awaited. But pure-blood feuds were vicious, more cutthroat than any Muggle trade war. As expected, his family crumbled, bankrupt and broken, leaving Barre and his ailing mother alone. Forced to live in the wizarding slums near Beauxbatons' region, Barre's world darkened—until a fateful night when an envoy from the Bulstrode family, hailing from Hogwarts' region, approached him.

Without a second thought, Barre pledged loyalty to the Bulstrodes, specifically Barnabas. Each year, Barnabas sent a hefty sum, enough to keep Barre in school and hire a skilled caregiver for his mother, easing his burdens. When his mother passed a month ago, Barre was left truly alone. That's when Barnabas made his first demand.

Barre agreed instantly. He crafted a cunning plan, cozying up to Professor Maupassant to become a liaison for Sean's affairs. His flawless performance earned Maupassant's trust, paving the way to approach Sean. The plan unfolded perfectly: using Fleur's trust, Barre rigged a Portkey to whisk Sean and Fleur to Marwood. The scheme would pin the Portkey's misuse on Fleur, and Marwood's task—killing her—would erase all traces back to Barre. Even if suspicions arose, no evidence would stick.

But Marwood, a dark wizard once tied to the Dark Lord, failed to kill even one target. Barre's plan unraveled, forcing him to enact Plan B: abandon Beauxbatons' region and seek refuge in a distant wizarding region. Once the uproar faded, he'd disguise himself and return to Hogwarts' region to serve Barnabas.

Barre hurried from the carriage, heart pounding, to a Portkey storage point Barnabas had specified. In just half an hour, he reached it—an abandoned building in the wizarding slums, its walls reeking of charmed decay, like a cursed Diagon Alley shop. Whispering "Alohomora," Barre unlocked the outer door and climbed to the top floor, his breath ragged.

He cursed himself for delaying Apparition lessons until his sixth year. Learning it earlier would've spared him this grueling trek. At the seventh floor, Barre leaned against the wall, gasping. After a brief pause, he searched the dusty rooms, eyes scanning for the Portkey. In a barren chamber, he spotted it: a shabby, out-of-place bust, likely a Muggle art tool, sitting oddly in the center. Its purpose didn't matter—it was his ticket to safety.

Barre stepped forward, hand outstretched, and touched the bust. A jolt, like a hook snagging his core, yanked him forward, the world blurring in a dizzying rush, akin to a rogue Portkey's chaos.

A smile crept across Barre's face. He was free. No Aurors from Beauxbatons' authorities would drag him to their prison—a place less feared than Azkaban but daunting enough to chill his blood. He'd escaped scrutiny, interrogation, confinement.

Bang! The bust hit the ground, and Barre's feet landed on solid earth. He started to turn, eager to see his new refuge, when a voice—shockingly familiar—echoed behind him.

"Mr. Barre, my young master is waiting for you inside. Please step forward to meet him."

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