Bag of Depravity
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Master of Death, Lover of Witches: Chapter 23
🕑 Added 2025-03-18 07:41:30 +0000 UTCChapter 23
A New First Event
The Riddle House loomed like a blight above Little Hangleton. You could tell something was wrong with it just by looking. The locals knew its history, about the murders that happened there, but they didn’t know the full truth. Only wizards knew that, and a select few of them at that.
On that particular afternoon, a fat man stood in the garden. He hadn’t gotten far. His back was pressed to the door, and he was crying.
What a mess he was in. He’d gone and gotten mixed up with his old master again, because he was too frightened to disobey the Dark Lord even when that Dark Lord was a shade on the border between life and death. But he really wished he’d stayed away. Now, Pettigrew was stuck here, living in this nasty old house, caring for the weak and sickly version of Voldemort that he’d found. The thing was detestable to look at, let alone to touch! But Pettigrew had no choice. To run now would only confirm his death; the rest of the Dark Lord’s servants would certainly hunt him down when they found out.
There was only one thing he could do. He had to help the Dark Lord return to life, and hope the war would be won quickly after that. He’d be famous then! A war hero. And war heroes… those were rich. They didn’t have to worry about being killed, or arrested, or milking magical snakes to bottle feed crippled mummies.
“Ah. There you are.”
Pettigrew had been lost in daydreams when the voice spoke to him. His eyes bulging out (for this place was not supposed to be visited by anyone) Pettigrew drew his wand.
The man standing there in the garden didn’t mind having a wand aimed at him. He was one of the more peculiar sights Pettigrew had ever seen, and that was saying something. He wore a Muggle ski mask, wore very bright yellow robes, and had a satchel over his arm.
“Wh-Who are you?” Pettigrew demanded.
While most would say Pettigrew had no talents, that wasn’t actually true. There were three things he was excellent at— putting down large quantities of cheese, saving his own skin, and recognizing wizards more powerful than him. The last two went hand in hand. And right now, this man in the mask… Pettigrew was certain he was dangerous.
“Don’t worry about the name,” said the wizard. “That doesn’t particularly matter. What you should be interested in, is what I’m offering.”
Another fact about Pettigrew was that he dearly loved making a profit. Anything that could get him ahead in life, be it money or gifts or favors, got him unhealthily excited. Case in point, Pettigrew started to lower his wand.
“You want to make a deal?” he asked. “For what?”
“Not a deal so much as a gift.”
Pettigrew tried and failed not to drool. He liked where this was going.
“What kind of gift?”
“What you want most,” replied the man. “Take a glance at this.”
He pulled off his satchel. Pettigrew jerked his wand back up, but when nothing dangerous emerged, he lowered his guard again. The man tilted the satchel forward so that Pettigrew could see inside, displaying one of the oddest assortments of things Pettigrew could remember seeing.
A set of black robes had been included, the rest of the items resting on top of them. Near the back was a tall vial of blood, and in front of it, a small bag stuffed with bits of bone. Finally, a yew wand lay in the back, resting against the bloody vials.
“That’s the Dark Lord’s wand!” Pettigrew exclaimed. “I hid it myself! How could it be—”
“I fetched it to save you some time,” said the masked man. “Now listen, this blood belongs to Harry Potter—
“Harry Potter!”
“That’s what I said. And the blood is from Tom Riddle Senior—”
“The Dark Lord’s father!”
“Do you have to interrupt? You’re not adding anything of note right now.”
“Sorry,” Pettigrew said immediately. “I’ll stay quiet. I promise.”
Part of that knack he had for keeping himself alive came from knowing when to have good manners, and when to follow orders. Pettigrew didn’t know who this man was, but he did know that his best chance at survival hinged on not upsetting the powerful, unpredictable stranger.
“These two are important ingredients in this kind of potion. Has the Dark Lord mentioned the potion to you yet? He must have, because you’re looking awfully pale. He’ll be wanting the wand when he comes back, of course, and the robes I thought would be a nice touch. So what do you say, Pettigrew? Will you go and resurrect your master?”
“Won’t I be taking your credit?” Pettigrew asked.
He suspected that this was a Death Eater from the first war. Probably a member of the Inner Circle, too. Maybe Crouch escaped? This man didn’t sound like Crouch, but that long in captivity was bound to leave some lasting effects.
Death Eaters were the only ones Pettigrew could think of who would want Voldemort back. However, he just didn’t understand what Death Eater would be fine with someone else getting the credit for the Dark Lord’s resurrection.
“That’s perfectly fine,” said the masked man, pulling off his satchel and passing it over. “I don’t need anything like that… and you could use the help I imagine. It can’t have been easy, serving him like you have.”
Pettigrew didn’t sense any malice behind his words. Slowly, the rat-like man started to tear up. He reached out to gratefully accept the satchel.
“I won’t forget this!” he said. “Once I’m a war hero… I mean, once I resurrect the master, I’ll make sure to pay you back.”
“Really, you don’t have to worry about it,” said the man.
The satchel passed into Wormtail’s hands, and the ex-marauder prepared to duck back into Riddle Manor. He couldn’t wait to share this turn of fortune with the Dark Lord! He’d have to leave out how it came about, of course, so that the Dark Lord’s favor shone on him properly, but he was sure this magnanimous ally would understand.
Pettigrew had his hand on the doorknob when the stranger said, “Oh!”
Pettigrew looked back, smiling.
“There’s one more thing,” said the man. “It slipped my mind until just now.”
“What is it?” Pettigrew asked.
“I forgot how much I hated your stupid fat face,” the masked man said pleasantly.
He had a wand in his hand. He didn’t draw it, it just appeared there, as if conjured. Pettigrew felt a great pain in his neck. When it passed, he felt nothing at all. He fell to the ground, blood gushing from his throat while the satchel remained floating in the air.
“Can’t have your contents damaged by a fall," the masked man said to the bag as he took it back.” He looked down at Pettigrew, and as he died, Peter saw the unfiltered loathing in those green eyes.
Green… Eyes… Wait. This couldn’t be—!
Peter Pettigrew died before finishing his last thought.
“Who else can I go to?” Harry mused. “Crouch is still trapped at home, so maybe… What was that executioner called again? Macnair? Yes, that was it. He’ll do.”
One way or another, by the next afternoon, Lord Voldemort would be reborn. As he Apparated away, Harry couldn’t help but laugh.
He couldn’t wait.
O-O-O
“Morning!” Harry said cheerfully as he arrived at the Gryffindor table.
Ron nodded at him, but the redhead’s teeth were chattering too hard for him to speak. He’d gone chalk-white, which together with his red hair left him looking like a segregated candy cane.
Hermione didn’t even give Harry that much attention. He was pretty sure she hadn’t heard him, even though he was sitting right next to her. She had her nose buried in a textbook, frantically flipping through its pages.
Harry leaned over to Neville, who was sitting on the other side of him.
“Have they been like this long?” he asked.
“All morning,” Neville whispered back. “Hagrid came by to talk to Ron, and he’s been that way ever since. Hermione…. I don’t know. She’s just been like that.”
Harry reached over and stuck in had in between Hermione and her book. Her eyebrows furrowed, and she tried to push his hand away on autopilot. But when Harry proved stronger, and she couldn't move his arm, she finally looked at him, even if it was just to glare.
“Do you mind?” she asked.
“I get why Ron is like this,” Harry said. “He’s got pre-tournament nerves. But what’s gotten into you.”
“We’re students, Harry . We don’t need reasons to study, do we? We should all strive to be the top of our classes and perform to the best of our academic abilities….”
Buzz words continued pouring from her mouth, but her eyes gave away the real issue. She was looking across at the Ravenclaw table, where Luna Lovegoood was casually eating eggs. Around Luna, every other Ravencalw in their year was collectively looking down at textbooks, reading with the same amount of fervor as Hermione. Luna looked unbothered.
Shrugging, Harry removed his hand, allowing Hermione to dive back into her book. If that was how she wanted to spend her time, he wouldn’t get in her way about it. He just wanted to know.
Harry pulled ham, bacon, and pancakes onto his plate, eating a large and hearty breakfast. As time passed, he found himself growing excited. There was a tangible sense of anticipation that had settled across the students of all the schools, eager to watch the champions compete. The only place that seemed partially immune was the staff table— and even that was a pretty even split between composed faces and excited ones.
Most of the nervous faces weren’t teachers at all, but the Ministry officials present for the tournament. The table had been magically extended, creating seats for Crouch Sr., multiple Aurors, and other department heads involved in the spectacle to come. As Harry watched, a new Auror entered the room, whispering something in the ear of the others. Faces turned from serious to grim. As a group, all the Aurors present stood and excused themselves. No one but Harry seemed to notice, and if they did, they certainly wouldn’t have understood… but Harry knew the truth.
McGonagall came to collect Ron soon after. Gryffindor joined the rest of the students in a huge procession to the stands. As he led Hermione, who refused to leave her book behind even for this, Harry thought about how not even he knew what the first task was going to be, just that Ludo Bagman looked unhealthily excited when Harry saw him at breakfast.
The first impression was a bit boring, at least to him. They were using the same stadium that Harry remembered stealing dragon eggs in during his last two lives.
He was alone in his disappointment though. The other students looked at the coliseum-like stage that had been set and couldn’t stop whispering to each other.
“What do you reckon the first taste will be?” Harry asked.
“Mm,” Hermione grunted, turning a page.
“I hope Ron does well.”
“Mm.”
“You know, I’ve always thought buck teeth were actually cooler than normal teeth. They have a unique kind of charm.”
When he got no response, Harry sighed, accepting that he’d lost his friend to the great trap that was Intermediate Charms for Expedited Minds. Maybe he should get this new Luna to throw a couple of tests, just so Hermione would remember she was a living breathing girl.
The tent where the champions were waiting was in the same spot as ever. The nest with the fake dragon eggs was missing, though, along with the dragons themselves. Ludo bagman stood up, clearing his throat at the judge’s table.
“Hello hello HELLO!” he said, his naturally-loud voice amplified to deafening proportions. “Welcome all of you… TO THE GREATEST TOURNAMENT IN THE WORLD!”
A few of the most ardent Quidditch fans in the crowd grumbled at that, but Bagman succeeded in what he was trying to do: get the crowd excited with infectious enthusiasm.
Clearly pleased, Bagman pressed a meaty fist to his mouth, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you’re wondering. How will we test these great champions? You may have heard rumors in the Prophet that the answer was dragons. You might’ve even heard that we lost our dragons!” He laughed manically, and only a few in the crowd chuckled with him, because he was starting to sound a tad unhinged. “Of course that’s not the case! Do you think we’d settle for mere dragons? For you? Of course not.”
He slammed his hand down. Harry saw Igor Karkaroff jump, while Madame Maxine visibly wrinkled her nose at the uncouth English ex-Beater. Bagman was too caught up to notice.
“These competitors will run a gauntlet,” he declared, “pitting them against the most dangerous creatures from multiple continents. The goal is simple. All they need do is steal one part off of the beast's body— be it a claw, a hair, or a scale. Trust me when I say, this is more difficult than it sounds! Each of these creatures… Can kill as easily as they breathe!”
Bagman belly-laughed, while some of the younger students in the audience were starting to look fearful. Harry stared at the judge turned announcer, finding him more unhinged than he remembered.
It must have been the loss of the dragons. Gambling problems had Bagman in very deep debt, if Harry remembered correctly, and he had a lot riding on this tournament to get him out of it. He planned to make a name for himself as the one who organized these games, and use his newfound fame to pay Gringotts back. When the first task derailed itself before it even started, Harry could only imagine the stress the man had been under.
Bagman was certainly confident now, though. What could he have possibly gotten as a replacement that could compare—
A bellowing roar (quieter than a dragon but still fearsome) tore through the arena. Harry spotted cages far too small for something like a dragon, which was why he missed them at first. His eyebrows rose as a gout of fire spewed out, melting the bars.
“Looks like we’re getting started now!” Bagman said, apparently unbothered. “Up first, Viktor Krum! And as for his opponent…”
Something climbed out of the cage, heedlessly walking through molten mettle as it marched through the melting bars. It had the head of a lion, but with curved horns. Its body looked like a goats, with hooves and all, only as tall as a bus. At the back end, a serpentine tail flicked restlessly. It pulled its head back and released another gout of flames, this one aimed straight into the air.
“Only once has such a monster been killed by a wizard, and it cost the hero his life! Wielding the venom of a snake, fangs of a lion, and fire as hot as a dragon’s… Help me in welcoming the Chimera!”
Part of the crowd cheered, while the rest of the spectators remained conspicuously quiet. Hermione had finally forgotten about her book.
“That’s a class XXXXX Magical beast,” she said. “You don’t think they all are, right? Ron won’t have to face…?”
“I think now we know why he was so nervous this morning,” Harry said.
This task was even more insane than the one he took part in. Alone, a Chimera wasn’t as dangerous as a dragon, but the champions in the old task hadn’t been told to gouge out a dragon’s claw to win. They didn’t have to fight the dragons, just get around them to steal an egg. What other creatures had the Ministry gathered?
Viktor Krum emerged from the champion tent. Durmstrang cheered. Harry thought they sounded a tad nervous, though. Krum lifted his wand, and the Chimera spotted him. With that a fierce duel began.
Harry thought Durmstrang’s love fore combat courses showed. They had always been the most violent school out of the three, and Krum showed it, fighting tooth and nail against the beast in front of him. Unfortunately for Krum, the Chimera shrugged off curses and ate jinxes like they were love taps.
The ‘fight’ went on for five minutes, Krum barely keeping himself from burning up with a combination of cooling charms and shields to handle the fire breath. He hit the Chimera dead on with his strongest cutting curses to no avail.
If he focused on a single spot, landing consecutive curses there, he could have lopped off a lock of its fur. But without Harry’s experience, Krum didn’t know that, and eventually the Chimera overpowered him.
He tried to duck a strike from its snake tail, but he never spotted its rear legs. A hoof hit him in the shoulder, sending him flying with a loud crack. A collective wince traveled through the crowd. Soon, Quidditch fans in the crowd were clamoring. Harry heard some very unkind words directed at Bagman about risking ‘The Quidditch world’s greatest star!’ Wizards wearing heavily charmed protective equipment swarmed in, forcing the Chimera out of the arena before it could celebrate its victory.
“Excellent show!” Bagman said when the round was done, earning a glare from Karkaroff. “Onto the next challenge! Please welcome, Cedric Diggory!”
The home crowd quickly forgot Krum’s fate, roaring for the first Hogwarts champion. Cedric smiled and waved to the crowd, though he looked nervous.
“He’ll be trying his luck against Appalachia’s most dangerous inhabitant! Namesake of one of Ilvermorny’s houses… It’s the Wampus Cat!”
Another of the cages opened. Everyone waited with baited breath. They kept waiting, and waited some more…”
Bagman’s smile became nervous very fast. He cleared his head, making eye contact with the handlers and jerking his head at the cage. They squared their shoulders and marched inside. They didn’t come out.
Cedric was starting to look really worried, and so were the crowd. Minutes ticked by. Just as everyone was convinced nothing was going to emerge, a cat strolled out.
It could have passed for a regular cougar if not for its six legs, three of them on either side of its body. It walked out, stopped, and looked at the crowd with its yellow eyes. The Wampus Cat cocked its head. Then it stood up like a human.
It looked straight at Cedric. He stared back determinedly, moving his wand.
“Oh dear,” Hermione said. “He shouldn’t have done that.”
Seconds later, Cedric fell on his face. Hufflepuffs nearby screamed. The Wampus cat turned around, dropped back onto all-sixes, and walked into its cage.
“They can hypnotize you with one look into their eyes,” Hermione said. “They aren’t particularly violent though. He’s probably fine.”
Sure enough, when the magical screens at the top of the stadium zoomed in, they could see Cedric was snoring away. He was even smiling. Apparently, the Wampus Cat was considerate enough to give him good dreams.
He wouldn’t wake up, though, so tournament officials had to levitate him back to the tent. Two bouts were finished, and neither champion had succeeded or even gotten close.
Fleur emerged in time to watch Cedric float past her. She got cheers as loud as Cedric did, but there were mixed with boos. Her fans included Beauxbatons and the male half of the audience. The boos came from the other women.
“Ms. Delacour has perhaps the most dangerous opponent,” Bagman said. “Famed for hunting with the ultimate level of stealth, it’s the apex of the Amazon! I give you, the Nundu!”
Even Fleur looked frightened. Compared to a Chimera or even a Wampus Cat, her odds seemed very low. Harry leaned forward in his seat. Nundus weren’t known for mercy like the kind that the Wampus Cat showed. He might have to move his plans along faster than anticipated if he wanted to keep his favorite part-veela alive.
Fleur looked around waiting for a sign of what the Nundu might be up to. One of the cages had opened, but there were no clues to give away that something large moving around, not even a spot of displaced sand.
Fifteen minutes later, when nothing had changed, everyone started to relax. It was becoming apparent that there was no Nundu. Or on the off chance that there was, it didn’t want to fight.
Then, slowly, the same realization sunk in everywhere.
If the Nundu wasn’t doing anything… was it even still the arena?
“You assured me there was a Nundu in there. You assured me!”
Bagman’s frantic whisper to Crouch went wrong when he forgot to cancel his amplification spell. Blushing, Bagman cleared his throat.
“It seems Ms. Delacour has intimidated the Nundu away! What a stunning show of defensive posture!”
No one bought that for a second, not even Fleur herself, but Bagman hurriedly moved along.
“That covers the first three champions,” he said. “Normally, that would mean things were finished. But not this time! Ladies and gentlemen, here comes the fourth champion, Ronald Weasley.”
Ron walked into sight looking as pale as he had during breakfast. It seemed Fleur emerging in perfect condition hadn’t helped the nerves of seeing Krum and Cedric carried away.
Bagman went on narrating, but Harry forgot to listen. He felt something strange. Unable to take his eyes off the final cage, he tried to figure out what he was sensing and why it felt so familiar.
It wasn’t until he saw who else was staring at the cage that he placed the feeling. Just like him, Su Li was entranced. She turned back from where she was sitting a few rows below, making eye contact with Harry.
‘It’s here,’ she mouthed.
The last cage exploded into shrapnel, and standing in the wreckage, its huge bull-like body covered in flexing muscles, was the Nian. It roared, and the magical barrier protecting the stands flickered and broke. People screamed, some starting a stampede to escape the stadium, while the Nian watched these panicking people like they were gnats.
This… not even Harry expected.
Comments
Bag of Depravity
Certified bruh moment. (Thank you)
Miguel Sanchez
It seems like you pasted the chapter twice
