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Chapter Text

Ingress Lestrange was a weird boy. Truly, what with his characteristic wavey raven hair that was like a curtain down to his waist save for showing his pale face? With high checks and regal baby-blue eyes that seemed to frequently scare people, he was a looker.

But, what many didn't know from the hollow look in his eyes to the way his lips would tug at the sides if he made eye contact with you... was that Ingress was by no means a good kid. Not quite as batshit as his estranged aunt - yet not as well mannered as any other pureblood house.

No, Ingress Lestrange was gifted in ways only all the wrong people knew. 

ingress /ˈɪnɡrɛs/

noun

ASTRONOMY•ASTROLOGY The arrival of the sun, moon, or a planet in a specified constellation or part of the sky.

Long curly raven hair, calm blue eyes, sickly pale skin, a voice made of butter with the intimidation of a knife, woodland forests with a dash of snow and a pinch of wisteria. 

That was how some would describe the boy. While others would only describe him as fear itself.

Name: Ingress Blanc Lestrange 

DOB: 01/01/1980

Family:

Rabastan Lestrange (Father)

Charolette Lestrange [nee Blanc] (Mother - Deceased)

Rodolphus Lestrange (Uncle) 

Bellatrix Lestrange [nee Black] (Aunt) 

Lillian Rosier (Legal Guardian)

Wand:  11 inches long and made of holly with a phoenix feather core.

Ingress Lestrange [Ben Barnes]

Rabastan Lestrange [Russell Brand]

Charolette Lestrange [Mélanie Laurent]

Lillian Rosier [Eva Green]

|Playlist - Ingress Lestrange|

Saints - Echos

Killing Butterflies- Lewis Blissett

Sick Thoughts - Lewis Blissett

Time of the Season - The Ben Taylor Band

Cradles - Sub Urban

Walls Could Talk -Halsey

Play with Fire - Sam Tinnesz

you should see me in a crown - Billie Eilish 

911 - Ellise

If I Killed Someone For You - Alec Benjamin

Angry Too - Lola Blanc

plus more:

✨

Chapter Text

Ingress watched as the man beside him squirmed slightly, hesitance radiated from his physical appearance and fear in the colour of black tainted the man's eyes. The man turned to the raven-haired boy, his eyes begging for a saviour while his eyes flickered with brilliant golden flecks.

"I won't save you, foolish muggle," A curt voice sounding light yet impossibly intimidating sounded from the boy.

There was a snicker to the front of the pair, calm blue eyes found their way to cowardly brow ones.

"I'll go speak with Lucius and Narcissa about the arrangements," the boy continued to speak his gaze unwaveringly, "is there anything else you'd like, my Lord?"

The small decrepit nod of dismissal from a bundle in the back of the room was all the boy needed. Taking heed to grab the polished broom from the side of the wall, one single glance was spared at the muggle who dared to eavesdrop on the Dark Lord's conversation. The poor arrogant soul was hitting the floor by the time the teen had closed the door behind him.

The cold night air was more than enough to keep the teen focused on the task at hand as he had no desire to die by falling off his broom. The wind howled around him, raven hair flying out behind his head in every direction as his locks got tangled at the speed he zoomed across the lands. Unable to apparate yet, the teen was left with minimal choices as his guardian wouldn't be picking him up or dropping him off any time soon. The teen was only fourteen after all, given the legal wizarding age was seventeen he had a few years yet. 

Finally, after getting beaten by the wind, Ingress made it to the Malfoy Manor. After crossing the gates, Ingress set his broom in its usual place just outside the doors where a house-elf would no doubt look after it. Before the curly-haired boy could even raise his hand to reach for the knocker, Mrs Malfoy had opened the door. 

"Ingress my dear, lovely to see you," Narcissa greeted in a tight yet kind manner. 

"It's good to see you too, Narcissa," Ingress greeted with a small smile. 

The boy took a second to look over Narcissa, flawless robes with light makeup painting her fair skin. Her beautiful blue eyes flickered a murky colour briefly, her smile tightening as the hue grew. 

"What caused this surprise visit, Ingress?" 

"Orders. It'd be best if I could speak with Lucius too. Is he around?" Ingress diverted his attention back to the conversation at hand. 

"He's at work," Narcissa frowned, "But he shouldn't be more than an hour if you'd like to stay seeing as you flew all the way here." 

"As long as I'm not intruding," Ingress accepted as Narcissa moved from the door. 

"To worry about that," Narcissa fondly scoffed as she led Ingress to the living room. 

After a few minutes, the two were seated and cups of tea had been served with both having engaged in idle chatter. 

"How is dear Lillian? I'd imagine you'd be heading back over to Australia for the schooling year?" Narcissa shot a few questions at Ingress, her eyes gaining a purple hue.

"Lillian is doing well, rather over being my caretaker, to be frank, but I can't blame her," Ingress chuckled, "as for school... I believe it's currently mid-semester but with late events, I was called back to England. On that note, Hogwarts goes back in a few weeks?"

"Yes," Narcissa perked at the mention of Hogwarts, "Draco is looking forward to going back. There's the Quidditch World Cup match coming up too. Perhaps Lucius would agree to take you too?"  

"That would be nice, Ireland versus Bulgaria if I recall?" Ingress stifled a snort of amusement, "I'd bet the Irish win." 

"Even with Krum on their side?" A third voice joined the conversation. 

"Ah, Draco," Narcissa smiled and waved him in, "Ingress has called in for a visit." 

"Did you come alone?" Draco asked, his brow raised. 

"I just had some paperwork I needed help with, your father seemed the best option," Ingress offered a toothy grin at Draco.  

"So, you really think the Irish will be able to beat Krum?" Draco launched back into the Quidditch conversation. 

By the time Lucius returned from work, he spotted the broom with dark engravings on the wooden handle that was all too familiar. The man was aware that something was brewing, that the past Death Eaters were planning to make a scene as the result of the potential return of the Dark Lord. With the Lestrange boy here, it was all the more obvious that plans were being set in motion.

As soon as Lucius walked into the parlour, Narcissa walked out of the sitting room and swiftly walked towards him.

"Ingress has stopped by for a visit," she curtly informed, now allowing the worry to stir behind her eyes.

"Did he say what for?"

"He wished to speak with you," Narcissa quietly spoke, "Be careful, Lucius."

"He is only a boy, there is only so much he can do," Lucius stated, and a wash of confidence surged through him.

"Give me a few moments, I'll be in my study," Lucius told Narcissa who then passed the message on to Ingress.

The young boy was able to note several changes in attitude, the only one oblivious was Draco who seemed only more excited for the Quidditch Cup than before. Ingress watched on as Narcissa calmed herself down to speak to the boys before a house-elf came along and informed them that Lucius was free. 

Ingress stood with a warm smile, turning to Draco with his eyes dancing in humour the teen spoke.

"Your precious Krum will catch the snitch, but remember - Quidditch can be won without the winning team catching the snitch," Ingress offered his insight before following the house-elf towards Lucius' study. 

After knocking on the pristine door, Lucius called for Ingress to enter. Upon seeing the platinum blonde Ingress took in the man before him. Lucius was looking like his usual haughty self bar of the underbearing stress that showed his age in his facial features. 

"How have you been, Lucius?" Ingress started, his eyes seeing the pale grey irises flash a darker hue showing his discomfort. 

"Quite busy with work I'm afraid. This Quidditch World Cup should be a good break. The Minister for Magic has invited my family to seats in the Top Box with him. I could put in a word if you'd like to join us. I'm sure Draco could use the company," Lucius offered.

"I'd be delighted to join if it is permitted," Ingress offered a smile as a purple hue joined the darker colours in Lucius' eyes, "Now, as for why I'm here unannounced... Someone wishes for me to attend Hogwarts while Lillian is contracted to business here. Seeing as my Guardian is no longer able to look after me - nor sign the paperwork, I was hoping you'd be able to help with things?" 

"You don't have anyone else listed as an emergency contact?" Lucius asked the question before realizing, "I suppose you don't. Narcissa is as close to a family that'd you'd get. I'll make sure they'll allow Narcissa or myself to sign. Was that all?" 

"Actually..." Ingress broke off as he saw flickers of emerald in Lucius' eyes, "I'd like to impose if at all possible until the school term starts."

"Oh?" Lucius raised a brow, this was uncharacteristic of Ingress.

"Seeing as Lillian is away - in the sense that she's working a full-time job for several months, the case seems to be quite challenging, I'm not legally allowed to live by myself and the Lestrange Manor is compromised currently. Something to do with vampires the Aurors couldn't clear out," Ingress sighed, a spark of maturity shining through the already pretty mature boy. 

"You wish to live here for a while?" Lucius asked as he thought over the situation. While it was true Ingress was underage and far too valuable to risk a mishap he didn't know how Draco would feel about the teen imposing on his home.

"If possible, I can leave for a while if you'd like while you talk to Narcissa and Draco about matters. It should only be until the schooling year starts," Ingress noted that Lucius seemed somewhere between displeased and mildly inconvenienced. 

"That... would be the best idea. You can wait in the gardens if you'd like, sunset isn't for another hour or so," Lucius suggested as he looked over Ingress' expression of indifference. 

"Call me when you've got an answer," Ingress offered a polite smile before casually making his way to the gardens. 

Ingress had always liked the Malfoy's gardens seeing as they were well-kept and had beautiful roses at the back. His preferred colour of rose was cream, the soft delicate colour that wasn't often in the eyes of people he associated with. Imagine Lucius with a cream hue to his eyes, the thought made Ingress snicker. As if Lucius would have a moment of charm and thought with the utmost pure intentions. 

Ingress kept walking through the maze of flowers, each colour fluttering in association with emotions or meanings. The snapdragons, chrysanthemum (that smelled odd like the perfume Narcissa wore on occasion), and the enchanted carnation had faintly glowing pink orbs hovering around the magenta flowers. Ingress could go on to list the flowers, enchanted or others that grew in this garden. When he was younger and more naive he had made a point and Narcissa once explained all of the flowers to him. 

He was never going to admit it as a teenage boy, but the beauty found in flowers attracted him to the idea of gardening. He was no fan of herbology, the odd plants often held too many dangers or looked too gaudy for his liking. That being said, gnomes in a garden were an annoyance to deal with. The thought of his Australian herbology classes gave him shivers from the terrors that were the national horrors that lurked in the raw environment. Why his past Professor deemed it important for the class to learn about the horned fern only found between Australia and scarce parts of New Zealand was well and beyond him. It wasn't even a useful plant, covered only because it was dangerous to the wildlife. Gillyweed was a much more interesting subject matter that was somewhat impractical still. It wasn't hard to guess that Ingress favoured classes in spellcasting, especially transfiguration.   

"Master Lestrange," another Malfoy house-elf called, gaining the teen's attention, "Master Lucius requests you to come inside."

"Thank you," Ingress dismissed before he could catch himself. 

With a firm glance at the stunned house-elf, Ingress made his way inside with a tense glance of his shoulder. He couldn't afford to make simple mistakes anymore - not with the times coming. 

Upon entering the manor, Lucius and Narcissa were waiting for him while Draco was nowhere to be seen. Narcissa offered a warm smile, a warm yellow hue swam in her eyes whereas Lucius had an arrogant violet shade flecked in his irises. 

"I informed both Narcissa and Draco of your requests," Lucius started, gesturing for them to walk towards the sitting room before continuing, "You are welcome to stay with us until the school semester starts. I'll send an owl tonight to see if Narcissa's signing will count and allow you to transfer schools."

"Draco is excited to have the company," Narcissa explained in his absence, "But he did need to finish his homework before he got too excited so we've asked him to do it now."  

"I see. Thank both of you and Draco for your courtesy, it means a lot to me," Ingress smiled, behind his smile, neither adult could see... was a jolt of terror for what was to come. 

Chapter Text

After settling at the Malfoy Manor and retrieving some necessities from his past house which was seemingly abandoned, Ingress was well on the way to getting ready for both the Quidditch World Cup and his fourth year of schooling - this time confirmed to be at Hogwarts. 

Malfoys causal clothing was rather similar to Ingress' in the sense that they both dressed in dark, tidy clothing. Other than that, even at the ripe age of fourteen, Ingress had a very attractive appearance. Everything about him screamed formal, professional and not in the way that it repealed people. Draco was somewhat jealous of his childhood friend, seeing as it was often noted how handsome Ingress was going to grow up to be - Ingress on the other hand only prided himself on his looks since he could use them to his advantage. 

The Malfoys were taking a Portkey to get the Cup grounds, the key for the trip was an unusual yet uninteresting goblet that Lucius had enchanted. Seeing as it would take too long to fly by broom - which Ingress would have liked more anyway - Portkey seemed the best option. Collectively the family and Ingress left from just outside the gates of the manor, the swinging and pulling that Ingress felt like the world bar for the Malfoys became a horrendous blur. Draco didn't look much happier to be travelling this way and the two adults plastered a passive look on their faces bar for the small jolts that made Narcissa's eyes flare a very dark hue. 

When the group landed, they landed smoothly on their feet. Draco gave a slight stumble to the blonde's annoyance and Ingress' amusement. After a small jibe, the group started heading towards where Lucius had a tent set up for them. The masses crowded around them set Ingress on a small edge, his social etiquette forced his chin high, shoulder broad and eyes to swim with trained attention at the path in front of him. Draco was much less composed, looking around at things with mild interest and slightly relaxing into the festive mood. 

Once the group reached their tent that Lucius had claimed they'd only be staying in for the day and leaving before the masses that night as it was likely to get too busy. Ingress saw the dark in his eyes and knew something was happening. The teen knew after all, that there was a plan in the works and tonight was just going to be the start - he could only hope the tension wouldn't affect him. 

After looking around the luxurious tent, set within a decent distance from the pitch, Ingress and Draco were allowed to look around the stalls together.

"Don't buy anything useless, stick together and be back before the game begins," were Lucius' orders. 

Ingress didn't have a problem walking around, bumping shoulders with people often resulted in them being offset since he had quite a prominent presence compared to most. Some would call him selfish but the reality Ingress was only a tad selfish, it was more the inability to act the way wanted that caused him to seem like he had a stick shoved so far up his arse he was getting off on it. 

Draco accidentally knocked shoulders with an older woman, the woman in odd mix-matched robes rounded on the teen with her red facepaint only intensifying the red her skin was flushing with bright red flecks in her eyes to match her rage. 

"Excuse you," She snapped, her bark catching the attention of those around, "Do I get an apology you brat?" 

"'Brat'?! Just who do you think you're talking to?!" Draco snapped back his scowl being enough to show how annoyed he was. 

"You- Arrogant little shi-" "Excuse me," Ingress cut the woman's swear off, "Ms, my cousin didn't mean anything by bumping into you. The crowds, as you can see, are rather rough and it was me that knocked into him first."

"Oh?" The woman snapped, obviously ranking her eyes up and down the teen, "You think your looks and stiff back can let you get away from apologizing to me?" 

"As a matter of fact," Ingress muttered under his breath, deciding to take a different approach before speaking up, "I believe an apology is overrated and that we should just go our ways." 

"Oh fuck off," The woman hissed, her eyes blazing into an offending red, "Where are your shitheads' parents? I'd like a word with them!" 

"My parents," Ingress started, pushing past a complaining Draco to walk right up to the woman a hairs length from brushing against her, "are in Azkaban you insolent fucking sow." 

The woman turned as white as a sheet for a moment before black overcame the red in her eyes. She swiped her hand down at Ingress' face, the boy stopping the slap by grabbing her wrist in a crushing grip.

"I suggest you move along, you'd have more of a chance chugging dragon's piss than attempting to keep this feud with me," Ingress threw her wrist down, watching the shadow of fear increase in her eyes, "Boo."

With a shriek of a huff, the woman tore away pushing people over in the process. Ingress stood straight and took a deep inhale before letting the breath out and turning back to an amused Draco.

"Never knew you were so damn intimidating, also 'cousin'?" Draco let an awkward chuckle out.

"It gets worse the more you know me, and I needed something that would work better than a friend" Ingress let the corner of his lips turn up, "I'm constantly on the threat of being expelled from school, wonder if Hogwarts will be any more tolerating of my attitude?" 

"Let's hope so, Father will blame your behaviour on me," Draco grumbled. 

"No, I think he's onto my... hidden attitude," Ingress gave a genuine laugh that startled Draco before the teen gave him an eye-roll. 

The pair shot jibes at each other and the overpriced vendor's wares as they went about. No one else had the nerve to confront the two for bumping into them mainly because the excitement was growing in the atmosphere. By the time Ingress had a massive headache that made it hard to see, Draco had decided to call it seeing as her friend had started to become tenser towards the crowds.  

The Malfoys, knowing of Ingress' abilities, had a calming draught prepared just in case he was unable to completely handle the intense atmosphere. Thankfully, in the Top Box with the Minster for Magic, they would be seated where Ingress should be able to tolerate the levels of excitement.  

Ingress trailed behind the Malfoys as they made their way through levels of stairs to get to their seats, as Lucius walked to another level Ingress heard the loud exclamation of a boy.

"Blimey dad, how far up are we?" A ginger-haired boy, similar to Draco and Ingress' age, with several other red-heads surrounding him, called out.  

"Well, put it this way, if it rains... you'll be the first to know," Lucius called out as Ingress and Draco walked up to him peering up at the other family. 

"Father and I are in the Minister's Box," Draco sneered back, keeping the bite from his tone as the family glared down at them, the other family started to move and Draco kept going, "By personal invitation of Cornelius Fudge himself." 

"Don't boast Draco," Lucius rounded on his son, giving him a tap on the stomach, "There's no need with these people. 

Ingress watched on as a boy with round glasses pushed a girl with bushy hair away from the Malfoys. To Ingress' surprise, Lucius grabbed the boy by the arm with his cane and gave a curt warning.

"Do enjoy yourself, won't you... While you can," Lucius didn't hesitate the threaten the boy.

With red flecks in Lucius' eyes, the older man gave a tight smile before letting the boy go. Ingress watched as the scruffy boy gave him a quick glance over before carrying on his way. Ingress didn't miss the colours the boy's eyes sparkled - there were obvious hints of reds and magenta but the flecks of brilliant cobalt blue and the odd tiniest spot of gold. The boy's eyes were naturally an emerald green but the curious and defined colours that swam in them caught the Lestrange teen off guard. It had been a long time since he had seen eyes so beautiful and the hints of magenta made a coy smirk slip onto the teen's face. 

"So, who were they? I'm not in my best element for social circles," Ingress reminded the two as they went to move on now Narcissa had caught up.

"The gingers were the Weasleys, blood traitors," Lucius said with a bitter tone, his eyes glimmering violet yet again, "The girl, Granger was it Draco?" 

"Granger's a Mudblood, the git with glasses is the one and only Harry Potter," Draco sneered, glancing back towards where the family was. 

"So that's the crowd The Boy Who Lived chose to associate with? Well, it's typical isn't it," Ingress allowed a coy smile to grace his face causing Draco to inch closer to his father.

"We best get moving, they'll be starting soon," Narcissa cut in with a smile. 

The group made it to their seats, Cornelius Fudge himself was rather close to the Malfoy family. Ingress felt somewhat out of place, hardly knowing anything other than the former Death Eater social circle and living abroad for several years had him growing up well out of the loop. 

Massive spotlights floated across the crowds, balloons of red, black, white and green floated up towards the sky while the spectators roared in anticipation. The energy and noise stopped Ingress from focusing on where the teams might come out of. Suddenly, players in greens swooped down from above with trails of green and white smoke following their formation. 

"The Irish!" Draco cheered, gripping onto the railing as his eyes widened in excitement. 

Ingress felt a wide smile form across his face as the Irish left a firework that took the shape of a dancing leprechaun. With cartoonish figure started to dance while the crowds roared in sheer amazement. Music started to play for the enchanted mass to dance to while the crowds started to cheer 'Ireland, Ireland, Ireland.' The Irish team pulled up and waited for the Bulgarians to arrive. Surprisingly they crashed through the enchanted fireworks which exploded in red and blacks. The team tanked through, swooping around half of the stadium before Krum did a one-armed handstand on his broom, the crowd holding up a projection of the famous seeker as he did so. As the projection grew, chants of 'Krum, Krum, Krum' echoed and the projection showed the seeker in front of a Bulgarian-coloured flag with his name on it.  

"Still reckon the Irish will win, Ingress?" Draco shouted over the roars.

"I stand by it!" Ingress smirked back with a humoured glance at Krum.

"Good evening," Fudge's voice cut through the crowd, "As Minister for Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you. To the Final of the 422nd Quidditch World Cup. Let the match... Begin!" 

As Fudge called out his last word, he let a flare out with his wand. As the light drifted upwards, the match began and Ingress could only watch on as the two teams went at it. 

...

By the time the match was finished, Draco was sulking over how Ingress had called the play. With Krum catching the Snitch but the Irish still winning. The blonde secretly handed over five galleons to Ingress as the two had made a bet. Little did Draco know but his father had to do the exact same thing later on. In the tent, away from the parties outside, the family sat getting themselves ready for the trip home. 

Lucius had excused himself to go speak with someone, Ingress knew it was an excuse to get away from the family for the time being. Narcissa kept a very close eye on the two teens while Lucius was gone, noticing the fear in her eyes Ingress decided to allow her closure of sorts. 

"Narcissa, is it okay if I go and find Lucius?" The question made Draco perk his tired head up.

"Why?" Draco butted in, curious as to what Ingress had planned.

"I've got another headache and would like to get out of here sooner than later. I won't be long and I'll stay close to him and his crowd," Ingress' words confused Draco but made a flutter of orange hue in Narcissa's eyes.

"I see, be careful Ingress. I'll let Lucius look after you for now," Narcissa's message was clear - if Ingress left it would be on himself to find a way back to the Manor. 

"I'll be back," Ingress reassured before leaving the tent.

Chapter Text

While the partying wasn't slowing down, the headache Ingress was feeling wasn't a lie by any means. The game the teen was playing wasn't going to be fun by any means and realistically he should have stayed with Narcissa and Draco but Ingress was far too curious about how things were going to be pulled off.

Witha jolt of realization, Ingress figured that Narcissa and Draco would actually meet with Lucius somewhere in the nearby woods. They came by Portkey, Lucius didn't have another conventional way home.

"I'm a fucking idiot!" Ingress yelled at the sky with sudden rage, "But, I already knew that."

The teen huffed kicking a nearby stone into somebody's tent. The yell of a wizard had the teen moving towards nowhere in particular, noting that if he could find Draco in the crowd he would be fine enough. The crackle and pop of a loud fire followed by laughter and screams caught Ingress' attention. He bolted towards the incoming dangers before the masses realised something was wrong. He reached the area where hooded wizards stood - Death Eaters in their masks and robes proudly holding a muggle woman up by in the air with magic so her knickers were exposed as she floated.

"Well, I did know exploitation came with the job," Ingress' remark caught some of the wizards' attention.

"Lestrange, you shouldn't be here," The Death Eater hissed, looking for the mask of Lucius to take the boy back.

"I'm underage and foreign, they only know my last name and the last time I checked Lillian had mixed ties. I'm fine to be curious here," Ingress flicked his raven hair over his shoulders, his eyes queering a challenge.

"Lestrange-" He cut himself off, "Go find the Malfoys and get the hell out of here."

As Aurors arrived at the scene Ingress decided to take the advice and book it, but not before finding out where Lucius had planned to meet his family - the wizard was beyond pissed at what the teen was pulling. The last thing Ingress saw as he ran was ginger hair running towards the Death Eaters with their wands raised. 

With nimble and swift movements, Ingress navigated the crowds towards the forests and away from the attack. With sharp eyes dancing around looking for a scrap of a familiar face, presence or emotion - Ingress finally spotted something familiar. Red hair. Ingress bolted towards the group of four red-heads in hopes that the group would cross paths with Draco or Narcissa. Several people smacked into Ingress as he made his way across the debris and crushed tents towards the treeline of the woods. 

Ingress barrelled into the treeline, soft pants fled his lips as he ducked behind a tree and closed his eyes. He needed a minute, unaware the panic was hitting him so hard his ears were ringing and his mind spinning. 

"You were with Draco!" The sound of a boy's voice caused Ingress' eyes to snap open. 

"And you are?" Ingress tested his voice, finding it had fallen towards an Australian tinge and cursed his mind for being so chaotic. 

With his back straight up against the scratching bark of the tree he leant on, Ingress could finally see who was talking to him and his jaw clenched slightly. One red-head, the Mudblood and Harry Potter were cautiously peering at him from behind a small mound in the forest's floor. 

"Did you get separated?" The same voice spoke, as Harry's mouth moved - Harry Potter was worried about him?

"Yes, did you see Draco or his family?" Ingress sighed as his legs gave in and forced him to fall onto his hands. 

"Hide him here, I don't know where Draco went but he's in the forest somewhere," Harry explained as the ginger and himself hurried over with their heads low. 

With a scowl, the red-head helped haul Ingress over his shoulder while Harry took the other half of his weight and pushed him into their hiding place. Ingress could now see the trio closely as well as the mound they were hiding behind being a fallen tree trunk. With a soft sigh, Ingress let his body rest upon the damp tree with moss growing over it. The cold feeling allowed him to reclaim his thoughts and emotions from the lingering panic and fear. 

"What's your name?" The bushy-haired girl whispered.

"Ingress," The teen whispered back, "Ingress Lestrange." 

It didn't take good vision and wits to see the red-head flinch back.

"Lestrange as in the Sacred Twentyeight Lestrange?" The Weasley boy's voice went up a pitch.

"The one and only," Ingress let a small sigh hiss out of his teeth.

There was deathly silence around the group before the Mudblood's eyes lit up with a colour of blacks, blues and a glimmer of white-like silver. 

"How old are you?" The question made the two boys look at her funny while Ingress smiled.

"Smart, but I'm only fourteen and very lost as to why the riot happened," Ingress answered, his honestly only being in the first half of the sentence. 

Further conversation was stunted when a spell was called out, one that made Ingress lurch forward despite how dizzy he was. 

"Morsmordre."

The trio watched as Ingress' eyes shot to the skies following a green light from the forest very close to them. The three looked up to see a skull form in the sky, a green light emitting from it before a snake formed and curled around before coming up in a hissing position underneath the skull. The Dark Mark. Ingress was unaware he was shivering but the fear that spewed off the remaining crowds from the reaction caused the emotion to become his tenfold. It wasn't until Harry Potter placed a warm hand on his shoulder that the fear drowned out to his own emotions. There was a lot less fear in his mind than what his face gave off, he wasn't scared so much as nervous. 

Suddenly the area was full of Aurors looking for the caster. The group was circled in moments and Ingress felt his stomach drop, he was the son of known Death Eaters - how this had just come to his mind now he was caught at the scene stunned him at his own stupidity. To his credit, the teen didn't display any other emotion other than hollow fear and confusion much like the trio he was with. 

The Aurors found Potter's wand alongside Barty Crouch's house-elf Winky at the designated scene of the crime. Ingress knew the truth, but he knew a worse fate awaited him if he did anything other than letting the crime go unsolved. Ingress was thrown under the bus several times once they caught wind he was a Lestrange, the adult who came for the trio he learnt the full names of - Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermoine Granger - did nothing to help him other than state he was with them when the spell was cast. 

The scornful face of Barty Crouch lingered on the shaking teen a moment before everyone finally realised they were all underage - even Ingress who was just severely lost at the moment. Arthur Weasley had gathered up the kids under his care noting that Ingress just stood stiffly as the Aurors milled about and argued. 

"Ingress, was it?" Arthur asked, surprising his companions.  

"Yes, Sir," Ingress spoke, his brow raising as he looked at the colours in the man's eyes.

The warmth and honey-like glaze that coated the man's green eyes made them an odd colour but the flecks of reds and yellows were somewhat drowned out by the flecks of white that made reading the muddle of colours much easier. Sympathy and pity. 

"I know Lucius and I aren't on great terms but we can look after you until he comes and collects you," Arthur's offer stunned Ingress and despite the teen's effort to stop his eyes from widening, they did. 

"I- I don't know how well Lucius will take that but thank-" "Nonsense," The older man cut off, walking up to Ingress.

"No matter how Lucius feels, waiting a night to get you won't impact him. We can even owl him as soon as morning comes," Arthur smiled, "You are still a child and I can't allow you to stay here by yourself."

"Sounds like a brilliant plan, Mr Weasley," Barty Crouch cut in, walking up and pushing Ingress towards the family, "We'll be too busy finding the culprit to send someone to return a lost child."

Ingress tried not to let his anger show but the clenching of his jaw showed. While the teen peered into the man's shadowed eyes that held a vibrant colour of red and murky maroon, Ingress had to assume the anger was held towards his surname rather than his actions as he had yet to encounter this man who Lucius once stated was a big name at the Ministry of Magic here. 

"Come along, we'll return to our tent for the time being," Ingress was pushed along with Arthur's hand on his back. 

Once the group had returned to the tent, Ingress made sure not to mingle very much despite his curiosities. It wasn't until one of the younger kids mentioned the Dark Mark that he properly tuned in.

"The Dark Mark is the sign that You-Know-Who's supporters leave whenever they murder someone. It started in the First Wizarding War," Arthur grimly explained, "Those hooded wizards were Death Eaters, followers of You-Know-Who."

Arthur explained many things that Ingress already knew, and one of the man's older sons added in about interesting behaviour from the Death Eaters tonight.

"They fleed for some reason," The older, Bill, observed, "Probably because they were scared of not staying loyal to You-Know-Who after his downfall." 

"Can I ask why Mr Crouch was looking like Ingress was the culprit?" Hermoine's voice caused Ingress to look towards her.

"My parents, Charolette and Rabastan Lestrange were both known as Death Eaters. Rabastan is still in Azkaban while Charolette passed while I was a child. I don't know how he drew any connection to me," Ingress let out a tiny sigh, "I've just come back from Australia after all."

There was a thick tension in the room that Ingress couldn't figure out how to break. 

"I suppose it's a bit hard to trust a Death Eater's son after what just happened. I can go and find-" "I think everyone's just exhausted Ingress. How about we all get some sleep before we head for the PortKey? The Diggory's won't wait for us."

With muttered agreement and Arthur giving Ingress a bed to curl up on, the lights were off and slowly heavy breathing and snores filled the room. Ingress sat wide awake not only unsettled from being with strangers and their kindness but because he forgot what stigma felt like. Being in Australia was a break from the power and fear that was linked to the Lestrange name, sure some teachers had heard the name and feared him but not enough people to make his life hell. 

Whereas here, back in Britain, the Lestrange name was well-known for being Death Eaters and prestigious Purebloods of the Sacred Twenty-eight. Here, Ingress had to be a follower of Voldemort because he no longer had the choice to not be. It might seem unrealistic, but Ingress didn't give a flying fuck about someone's blood purity status. For the sake of survival in times to come, Lillian had been kind enough to enforce how he had to act whenever there were wizarding folk around or he would be ratted out should Voldemort ever rise to power again. Who would have guessed he was directly involved all because a snake spoke to him? The memories of his past life in Australia sent a twisted rage to buzz through his veins, hormone-induced rage, loss and abandonment filtered through him before he forced his emotions away and allowed him to look at the wall of the tent blankly until light filtered through it. 

Lords, how was Lucius going to react to Bloodtratiors looking after him for a night with a Mudblood? Arthur was efficient in getting everyone who had managed to fall asleep to get up and ready to go at the crack of dawn.    

Chapter Text

Mrs Weasley was quite the woman Ingress came to learn. After pulling each of her family members into a crushing hug and going on about what could have happened, she turned to Potter and Granger giving them hugs as well. Finally, her eyes danced across Ingress' broad-chested, chin-high appearance. The Lestrange teen had yet to go a moment of ill posture and allow himself to look as vulnerable as he had in front of the trio again, not that any of the three teens had enough gull to confront him about it. 

"Oh, Arthur, who's this?" The woman's eyes were a shade of warm oranges, yellows and pinks. 

"Ingress Lestrange, he was with the Malfoys but got separated. I'll send an owl to Lucius now... Ron, Harry and Hermoine looked after him while they hid," Arthur spoke as he rummaged around to find parchment. 

"Oh dear," Mrs Weasley put a hand over her mouth, "I hope they're not too worried. I can't imagine what it would be like to lose a child under your care."

While the sliver flecks carried over her bright brown eyes, there were faint hues of maroon giving away her stress on the matter. To Ingress' surprise, she put a warm hand on his shoulder and offered the kindest smile he had seen.

"We'll get you sorted dear, you must be so worried," The woman's eyes melted into maroon and pink colours, a colour that Ingress had only seen women have when they were fretting over their children. 

"Thank you," Ingress tried not to cut her off, "Your concern is truly appreciated but I'd really best be getting back to the Manor as soon as possible. I'd hate for Lucius to think I ran off on purpose just to cause trouble." 

"Why are you staying with the Malfoys? I've never seen you at school," Ron suddenly but in. 

"Well," Ingress tried to not turn up his nose at the insensitive question, "As mentioned my parents aren't in my life and my caregiver gave me to the Malfoys to look after until she's finished in Britain." 

"I suppose all you-" One of the older boys was cut off by their older sibling elbowing them. 

"How proper," Ingress huffed, "This is why Mr Crouch thought I had something to do with the Mark. All because I'm the son of Death Eaters I must go down the same path."

While trying to show how he truly felt, Ingress was playing up his act a fair bit but it was worth it was the Weasley twin that tried to insult him shut right up.

"So, you're saying you don't believe in their prejudiced ways?" One of the older boys asked, this one was called Bill if Ingress could recall correctly. 

"I... I'm not in a position to explain that right now," Ingress sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with a scowl he couldn't force himself to hide. 

"Enough with this talk," Mrs Weasley cut in, "Ingress is our guest and is by no means responsible for last night. He's likely just as shaken as all of you!"

"Now, we'll have breakfast in peace and if I hear another word out of any of you about Ingress you'll be on gnome duty!" The words of the woman scared her family and their guests into sitting at the wooden breakfast table. 

Ingress was impressed that so many people could functionally live in one house like this. It gave off a vibe Ingress was largely unfamiliar with but only assumed it was 'homey' and what people associated with a loved living environment. As Mrs Weasley piled his plate triple what he would have liked, he also took note that the food was some of the best he'd ever tasted even coming from a wealthy lifestyle for most of his life. The bacon was perhaps the best he'd ever tasted. As Arthur read out an article from the Daily Prophet, it came to his attention that the witch writer Rita Skeeter was insinuating untrue things and he and the other Ministry worker in the house, Percy, needed to go to the offices and sort things out. With brief regards to Ingress and a hug from Mrs Weasley, the two were gone and the remaining people were still scoffing breakfast long after Ingress had choked back his fill. Potter was the only one with an appetite as tiny as his, though for likely vastly different reasons as it just seemed the boy was poorly looked after by his guardians. 

Not half an hour later, as Ingress was sitting out in the cluttered living room with Bill, Fred, Gorge, and Ginny, a crack was heard outside. With a speed that almost made him trip, Ingress was glaring out the window at an approaching form. Dark robes, a cane and silvery hair that cascaded down his back, Lucius Malfoy looked horribly annoyed and Ingress allowed himself a nervous gulp.

"Wow," Fred commented as he looked over Ingress' shoulder.

"Malfoy looks pissed," George added with a whistle. 

The trio came downstairs upon hearing the crack from Lucius' apparition. They noted the generally tense atmosphere and Mrs Weasley gathered Ingress by the shoulder as if to offer some form of support. There was no telling what Lucius would do to a boy that wasn't his own. 

To save the sneering man from knocking, Bill opened the door and offered nothing more than a bitter glance at Lucius. Who happily returned the gesture before grinding out.

"Ingress is here, I believe?" The tone of general irritation in the man's voice made Ingress choke back a laugh before retaining his posture. 

"I'm here, Lucius," Ingress allowed his personality to snap back to being a Pureblood, his chin jutting up with a wink at the Weasleys who watched the personality change. 

"Come along now, we have a lot to sort and little time," The faintest tones of dissatisfaction slipped through to Ingress' senses.  

"Thank you for looking after me," Ingress allowed his voice to become its haughtier version but the calm tones remained all the same, "It was... Quaint."

Ingress didn't miss the way Lucius' sneer faltered for a much more satisfying smirk with the sides of his mouth almost curling cruelly. Ingress could see the yellow tones of joy and purple tones of snide conceitedness in his eyes. As they walked away from the house the Lestrange teen didn't offer a look back, not directly at least. He glanced up at the house as a whole and hid his smile from Lucius. 

"For Merlin's sake, Ingress, suck with the Weasleys after the stunt you pulled?" Lucius grumbled as the two reached the end of the drive.

"Well, to be fair I tried to follow Draco but I got lost in the panic," Ingress explained with a small jut of his nose.

"Left to spend the night with muggle sympathizers and a Mudblood," Lucius scowled, "the thought alone makes me sick."

"Harry Potter was there though, interesting kid," Ingress mused, "They could all probably use a haircut though."

Lucius let out a belt of a laugh before grabbing Ingress' arm and disapparating with a loud crack.

Ingress felt like his body was being forced through a funnel, twisting and pulling in every direction while also imploding. This wasn't the first time Ingress had apparated with someone, but he wasn't fond of being a passenger in the mode of transport. Finally, with a resounding bang, Ingress and Lucius had landed back at the Malfoy Manor. 

"Did they ask you any questions?" Lucius asked as they walked up to the gate.

"The Ministry did before they realized I was underage," Ingress rolled his eyes.

"So all is well?"

"Yep," Ingress offered a charming smile, "I even got Potter to think I was nice enough of a person."

"And you're not?" Lucius raised a brow.

"Why else would Lillian be leaving me in your care? I thought she liked to complain as to why I got kicked out of schools?" Ingress glanced up at the now dark eyes of Lucius.

"You never did elaborate on your defence," Lucius slowly his eyes flashing a glimmer of silver and maroon, "Two schools expelling you is quite the feat."

"Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to mind, he accepted me," Ingress let out a tiny sigh, "though, it's only partly my fault for the way I act. There isn't any point in going to Healers anymore either that will just make everything that much worse."

Lucius stopped still, his eyes blazing a bright blue as his jaw tightened. Ingress spared a glance at him, walking ahead of Lucius before turning around.

"Lillian never told you then? It is filed in my records," The blue-eyed teen tilted his head up at the skies, "I'll get a copy given to you when we get my school supplies. St Mungos should be able to request a copy for both the school and yourself."

"... Are you okay, Ingress?" 

The words caused the Lestrange boy's eyes to widen, a sheen of silver glazed over his eyes before he closed them and smiled a cruel expression.

"I'm just fine Lucius, carrying out my family lineage of being mad and all. At least the expectation of a Lestrange is mediocre at best here in Britain," Ingress allowed his manic smile to fall into a much calmer state, "Shall we continue inside? We need to plan when we're going to Diagon Alley."   

Lucius didn't respond other than a mute nod, his eyes betraying his true feelings. Lucius Malfoy was indeed capable of caring for someone other than his wife and son. The white-grey and pink flecks in the man's cold grey eyes spoke more than his words and actions ever would - though Ingress would never admit that Lucius was one of very few who had ever asked Ingress if he was okay. The first was a young boy at Thundelarra's Wizarding School in Australia when Lillian worked in Perth. He'd only attended for two years before he was kicked out at the age of thirteen, not even a month into the first semester. 

...

There was only a small drama and scolding that Ingress received followed by an hour-long lecture that he and Draco had to sit through as to why the Weasleys were Blood-Traitors and lower class than themselves. The day was followed by Draco and Ingress playing Exploding Snap before doing silly dares together, not to mention Ingress helping Draco understand his Defense Against the Dark Arts and Lethifold assignment he was doing for extra credit. 

After a wonderful lunch that the Malfoy House elves prepared, the two teenagers went about and roamed the neighbourhood and massive lands of the Malfoy Manor that expanded out the back. After Ingress stumbled upon a snake, bat nest and patch of Snapping Ivy the two decided to call it a day as Ingress had narrowly escaped getting a bite from the Ivy. 

Following a family dinner, more paperwork had arrived for Ingress' application to Hogwarts.  It was also that dinner that Lucius made note of a family trip so Ingress could buy his school supplies seeing as he was accepted but finicky paperwork was needed. Draco lit up like a Christmas Tree upon hearing he and Ingress would be able to go to the Alley together and that Ingress had only been as a child. 

The night was slow for Ingress but the positive emotions that Draco had been giving off even after the damage that the Quidditch Cup had caused - which Ingress was trying his best to forget. The raw panic the masses made him feel was etched into his mind, the inability to power over the emotions and his body falling numb at the sensation wasn't going to leave him for a long time. As the teen recalled the events that were happening, staring up at the clean coffered ceiling above his head with details in the most minute way.  The shadows of the room danced around the edges of Ingress' vision as he remembered the flicker of flames and the terrified screams of people. His mind then went back to the muggle man who Wormtail killed for the Dark Lord. The bright golds of hope had shone so brightly in the muggle's eyes. The fear of death hadn't sunk in until Ingress had turned his head on the man, an ice-cold shiver akin to a snake along his body shook the distressed teen. 

Ingress had been having nightmares since he had started his magical schooling, if not slightly before. He'd learnt to calm his nerves in various ways and refused to break down as he continued down the path he'd chosen. This much was clear given he was the youngest non-official Death Eater of his generation. No, at the end of the schooling year, everything would be in limbo and Ingress just had to forge a safety net for himself in that time. Just before Hogwarts took him.

Chapter Text

Ingress was woken by a house-elf a day after the events that had unfolded. Upon throwing on some tidy robes and following his morning routine, Ingress soon found himself munching on some pancakes with Draco as Narcissa and Lucius flitted about their own morning, all having greeted each other. 

"Has it really been six years since Lillian took you to Diagon Alley last?" Draco asked around a mouthful of pancake and syrup. 

"Don't speak with your mouth full, Draco," Narcissa scolded from across the room.

"Yes," Ingress chuckled, "There was a similar place in Australia, much more like an American mall than an alley though."

"Weird," Draco scoffed, "Wouldn't it be too obvious to muggles if it were that big?"

"It's charmed five times over, naturally, the muggles didn't see anything more than a grocery store," Ingress held back a snort of amusement as Draco allowed the information to roll past him.

The conversation faltered as the boys finished breakfast and Narcissa was rushing them to brush their teeth so the family could get a move on - they did have to buy both boys their textbooks and not lose Ingress per his growing reputation. 

...

Going via the floo network, Ingress ended up in the Alley, not a minute after Draco had stepped out of the soot himself. The two boys were quick to gain their bearings while the adults arrived, Draco pointing out Quality Quidditch Supplies before Lucius had them head towards a store called Flourish and Blotts. Ingress was in awe, though his shoulders tense and chin high. There were a lot of witches and wizards out and about, the magic of the alley wasn't lost on the young children flitting about. But, with so many people it meant that Ingress could feel the strong emotions of excitement, nervousness and the odd dabble of fear on occasion. 

Lucius took to putting a hand on Ingress' shoulder, guiding the boy through the crowds as he tried to map the alley out in his head. Soon enough the crowd was at the bookstore and split into twos to look around before buying the school books.

"Ingress," Lucius' words drew the boy's attention from the book on dyeing charms, "I'll be taking you to get the paperwork from St Mungo's after we've brought all your supplies."

"I see," Ingress nodded before quietly asking, "Did Dumbledore ever get back about having my situation dealt with?" 

"There's yet to be a response," Lucius stated, silver curiously flaring in his eyes.

Ingress mutely nodded, looking back at the books about useful charms. Finding nothing worth purchasing that wouldn't be in the school library, the pair went back to Draco and Narcissa before buying the sets of books - Lucius paying for both boys which caused Ingress to go on a quiet tangent about imposing until Draco started a heated discussion about broom types.

Draco had, miraculously, stopped his rant at the approach of another store called Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. 

"Have you ever had ice cream here, Ingress?" Draco perked up, his eyes glowing with excitement. 

"No, but I'll assume they're good," Ingress grinned.

"You have to try the Strawberry Cheesecake flavour," Draco boasted, "It's one of the best I've tried!"

As the group approached, Narcissa with yellow flooding her eyes, Draco pulled Ingress towards the storefront. Pushing past a couple who were walking out with five scoops high, Draco was a hair away from the glass barrier from the tubes of ice cream. There was a small line that was quick to go through as the server greeted Draco before turning to Lucius and Narcissa who were holding back with mixed colours. Draco's eyes were lit up in yellow-red tones, Lucius' eyes were a set violet while Narcissa's had adopted a mixed hue of both yellow and purple. 

Ingress looked over the flavours as Draco feverishly explained several of them, several times bringing Strawberry Cheesecake back into the conversation before jumping to another flavour of a much different variety. 

The only ones to catch Ingress' attention were those of the chocolate chip variety due to the similar flavours in Australia. One title caught Ingress' eye and it apparently showed.

"Strawberry cheesecake and chocolate chip cookie dough I assume," the server smiled, yellows flashing in his eyes, "Double scoop, you can try testers if you'd like though."

Ingress and Draco shared a look, more warm tones followed by a regal streak of pink - not a colour that Ingress often saw in the youngest Malfoy's eyes. 

Draco looked at Lucius at the mention of tasters, to which he got a nod of approval, before requesting not only a strawberry cheesecake spoon for Ingress but cherry chocolate, sourcream vanilla - which was a poor choice - and the chaos that was fourfold the threat as well. 

All in all, Ingress still much preferred the small spoon of the cookie dough flavour, seconded by - yes - the strawberry cheesecake flavour.  Draco looked rather smug when he pried the answer out of Ingress' hands, even Lucius looked a little bemused by the situation. 

Still bouncing in excitement, though very passively under his father's eye, Draco tugged Ingress towards a seat outside so the pair could eat their ice cream. The pair still purchased their original flavours in the end, the weird pinky-peach strawberry cheesecake had small chunks of actual strawberry in it. The chocolate chip cookie dough was a stark remembrance of the one time Narcissa had baked cookies for Ingress and Draco years ago, around the time when Ingress was lurking and learning about gardens. 

After ice cream came quidditch shopping, where Draco had to have his father track him around the store. Then, finally, came the time when Narcissa took Draco home and Ingress was trying to ignore the fact he was staring down the tip of a wand per se.

St Mungos was never a fun place to visit, especially when your current guardian was about to find out just how traumatized you were - Ingress supposed he could ignore how it made him feel for a little bit longer. 

The lovely witch who was at the reception looked a bit baffled by the appearance of Lucius Malfoy and a scrawny teen with a sombre look on his face.

"What can I do for you two today?" she politely asked. 

"I'd like to get two records of my medical record copied, specifically my neurodivergent assessments," Ingress spoke up, his voice unwavering. 

"I see, and you are?" 

"Ingress Lestrange, my current caregiver is away for work so the Malfoys are the closet I have to a guardian right now," Ingress further explained, Lucius noting that it was unlikely this was the first time Ingress had to deal with this given how well he handled things.

"I'll have to ask you some questions before I can get those documents for you," the witch mused, waving her wand and summoning a folder. 

"Go ahead."

"Full name?" "Ingress Blac Lestrange."

"Date of birth?" "First of the first, Nineteen-eighty." 

"Mother and Father's names?" "Charolette and Rebastain Lestrange." 

"Current legal guardian?" "Lillian Rosier."

"Thank you, sorry for the process," the witch smiled at Lucius' impatient frown.

"If possible, can you please copy the management papers for my diagnosis too?" Ingress cut in, seemingly lighting up at the idea.

"I don't know how accurate you'll find what we have on file, otherwise it's no trouble."

The two men waited for the witch to return which took a few minutes before hushed whispers flowed out of the staff room that was out of sight.

"Here we go again," Ingress muttered, his expression turning sour.

"What's wrong?" Lucius glanced over at the teen.

"Ah, the sympathy - it's on record what I've been through in light detail, so whenever the nurses get a look it's immediately a pity party they can't hide. I almost expect the same from you, but you'd have the decency to keep it limited to family privacy." 

"Is your... gift... on record?" Lucius tensed, noting that it was a very prestigious secret between the former Death Eaters. 

"Haha, no, no, it's been listed as a light empath case - to their knowledge I can merely sense emotions with no direction." 

"I see," Lucius mused as the witch walked back out not even trying to hold back the saddened look in her eyes. 

"Here you go hun, two signed copies and the assistance sheets provided by Doctor Gilbert." 

"Thank you, have a good day," Ingress smiled, watching as the witch's sympathy melted into a kind of respect.

The pair left, Ingress easily handing the documents to Lucius as they were sealed in an envelope. Lucius held a very pensive posture as they walked, something about him was a lot stiffer in the back and Ingress wasn't going to call it out until Lucius spoke.

"Can I review these with you in my study when we get back?" 

"Of course, though it might not be the easiest dealt with."

Without much more thought, the two used the floo network to return home. Upon arriving the two greeted Narcissa and Draco before excusing themselves to Lucius' study. The blonde had a house elf prepare tea for them as the task at hand seemed to be rather daunting. 

As soon as the tea set was at the desk, Lucius was rather slow to pry open one of the envelope seals and pull out the three sheets inside quirking a golden brow at the number of documents. 

"There's a bit more going on than what it seems on the surface, as you can tell," Ingress cleared his throat.

Lucius skimmed the first page before his eyes fell onto bolded words that made his jaw tense and made silver flood his eyes the more he read the darker the colour turned.

"PTSD and... Reactive Detachment Disorder?" Lucius asked, clearly unsure of the latter.

"I can't respond to situations very well, I've tried my best to school it but it can get away from me on occasion. Was half the reason I got expelled," Ingress slowly explained, his eyes unknowingly looking haunted, "There's a form inside to help deal with it, as long as my teachers actually read it everything should be well enough."

"You're the disinhibited type? You seem rather controlled for it," Lucius stated before stuttering to take back the words.

"You'd be right if not for the effects of the trauma, Lillian was a big help in opening old wounds and schooling me... shall we say incorrectly? Mistreatment is a bit of a trigger, sets me off to be a bit manic these days, unfortunately."

"Taking in both of these, I should hope the staff allow you to leave the room when need be. Does it help, to remove yourself?" the blonde took a careful sip of his tea.

"Sometimes. If the RDD is too bad I'll blow up and make a scene, the students in the room boost me subconsciously. I've had to be disarmed several times in class before, someone said I should have aid but I doubt Hogwarts is that kind." 

"No, I haven't heard of Hogwarts helping students that way but I can request, we do have influence Ingress," Lucius offered.

"Won't I get bullied? Ah, that gets to me too... sorry, if they get me in a mood I'll fight back much harder than need be..."

Lucius took another delicate sip of his tea prompting Ingress to do the same, surprised that it was a rather refreshing mint blend.

"It can't be helped, all we can do is make sure you have safe places within the school. We're running out of time but I can ask if Severus wishes to meet you. A good friend of ours and soon to be your potions professor."

"If you think he's got enough skill to handle me, tell him to talk to me at school - he'll have a first-hand experience with me first. Classrooms are kinda difficult after all," Ingress answered, Lucius, seeing the child the boy was briefly before the maturity clouded it back up.

"I'll send these to Dumbledore and revise them with Narcissa, do you mind if I mention it to Draco? Perhaps you'd like to yourself?"

"Inform them both for me, from my experience no matter how kind kids really struggle to grasp my mentality and not get scared or angry with me."

"I'll keep that in mind, Ingress. Thank you."

The Lestrange knew he meant that too.

Chapter Text

Ingress stood beside Draco as the Hogwarts Express loomed before them, the older Lestrange boy hid the awe in his expression well. That didn't stop Draco from teasing Ingress with a cocky smirk and a quick nudge on the shoulder. The two teens quickly went about giving each other sharp nudges on the shoulder before Lucius cleared his throat with a fond roll of his eyes. 

Narcissa gave them both big hugs, giving Draco a quick peck on the forehead before the two boys had their luggage given to a handler and boarded the train.  

"You'll know a few people here, Ingress," Draco spoke as the two walked shoulder-to-shoulder down the halls, "You'll know Zabini, Parkinson, Crabbe and Goyle?"

"From a few gatherings, it's been a few years," Ingress nodded along.

"And the excitement for the Tournament," Draco's eyes lit up, "I can't wait to see what happens."

"Makes me wonder who will participate," Ingress mused, his eyes flicking to the students around them.

"Who knows, Father said it was a random magical selection," Draco puffed his chest out as they walked towards the back of the train.

The two fourth-years found Draco's Slytherin friends and the group greeted Ingress with falsities and formalities. There was hesitation in their eyes, none of them had spent as much time around Ingress as Draco had and, therefore, were less knowledgeable about the boy's behaviours and personality. 

Ingress quietly mused over what that meant about him if people were so unwilling to be social with him - not that it was anything new.

Suddenly Draco perked up to a conversation that was happening outside of their compartment, the blonde poking his head out with a sneer. 

"Don't tell me you don't know? You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago... heard it from Cornelius Fudge," Draco sneered at the now-familiar faces of Harry, Ron and Hermoine, "But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry... Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley... yes, they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."

Ingress watched as Ron blushed a harsh red, still not knowing what Draco was on about. All the while, bright green eyes with flecks of a creamy-pink were locked with Ingress' own blue eyes. The immediate aura of the dark-haired teen was that of simple curiosity and irritation, slightly deeper was personal intrigue followed by hesitation and confusion aimed at Ingress. Harry Potter was a boy of legend yet he was easier to read than most of their peers at the moment. 

"What's wrong, Potter?" Ingress decided to voice, "Scared it won't be another peaceful year at school?" 

The trio's attention snapped to Ingress whose tone wasn't implementing nor insulting but they somehow regarded it as such given Draco gave a sharp laugh. 

"Would you happen to know anything, Lestrange?" Hermoine snapped, her eyes growing a red tint, "I thought you might've been different from your name's sake." 

"How bold of you to assume, kid," Ingress offered a charming smile, "I haven't been sorted yet here you are assuming I'm a Pure-blood fanatic."

"Is the Mudblood wrong?" Pansy laughed with a scared glance at Ingress.

"Who knows?" Ingress' tone dropped to a new pitch that made even Draco look at him uncertainly, "I think I'm going to like my time at Hogwarts."  

The trio pushed away from the group, leaving an awkward atmosphere in the wake of Ingress' teasing. The blue-eyed teen glanced out at the window towards the dark grey sky that showed midday as time seemed to pass by Ingress despite the long trip with him half-heartedly participating in conversations. Ingress was only now starting to get angry at himself for the lack of emotional control he had over the situation. 

At one point Ingress decided to excuse himself to change into his black school robes to show he didn't have a house yet. The one thing that Ingress had declined several times over despite Lucius' protests was getting the back hats. Ingress had never liked wearing hats, headbands and accessories he could stand but hats annoyed him with a passion. As Ingress was walking towards the compartment where Draco was, a small girl about his age walked straight into his chest. With a small oomph, the girl with silvery eyes danced in the colours of dreams and freedom. Such eyes on a young fourteen-year-old surprise the teen greatly. 

"Sorry about that," The girl started in a chipper yet soft voice, "I got distracted due to the magical presence you have. It's quite unusual you know?" 

"I must say I'm aware..." Ingress looked down at the yellow and azure in the teen's eyes, "What's your name? I'm Ingress Lestrange."

"Luna, Luna Lovegood," The witch smiled up at him, "Are you new?" 

"Transferred from Thundelarra's Wizarding School, it's in Aussi- Australia," Ingress cleared his throat after the dialect tumble, "I'll be in my fourth year."

"Oh, so we'll share some classes. It'll be nice to see a familiar face," The blonde smiled up at him, "I must be going, did you have somewhere to sit?" 

"I'm testing to see how long it takes for Draco to realise I'm more off than he thought," Ingress sent a cheeky smile and wink to Luna before vanishing down the hall though the blonde didn't seem to mind as she waved him away.

After having trouble sleeping for several nights in a row beforehand, Ingress found it hard to not dose off in his seat on the train. He wasn't able to enjoy the bragging fest that Draco had started up, the talk of family or the gossip about their peers. With his head in a potions textbook, scribbling notes in his legible spidery handwriting. 

"What're you doing, Ingress?" Zanbini asked, the tan teen raising a brow at the curly-haired boy.

"Oh, this is a pass-time," Ingree raised his eyes to meet the curious eyes of the teen, "I don't know how well Snape will take to me making shortcuts in Potions but if it's anywhere near as half as well as my past Professor I'll survive." 

"A fourth-year modifying potions?" Parkinson raised a brow, not believing the teen, "I've never heard of that even out of the Ravenclaws."

"It's not a matter of smarts so much as trial and error as well as the laws of nature - a pain the ass to grasp though," Ingress muttered as he nodded to himself glancing over the page of notes.

"I didn't know you liked potions?" Draco sent Ingress a confused glance, light betrayal flickered in his eyes.

"I don't, it's boring - I'm more of a caster than anything else - but I enjoy finding shortcuts to life," Ingress explained as he put his book down, "I'd love to be able to explore spell casting in such a manner but Lords it's confusing."

A few of the teens chuckled in response to the casual mention of a terribly difficult topic being mentioned like learning how to charm things. 

"Imagine the look on McGonagall's face if you were able to rewrite a transfiguration spell," Parkinson laughed, Draco following suit with a sneer.

"Manage to shut her up pretty good, do you think you can, Ingress?" Draco glanced at the teen with amusement. 

"Could try," Ingress glanced out the window just as the train whistle blew, "Need some time though."

"You've got a whole year," Draco laughed as they collected their things.

Ingress allowed the dark feathered Horned Owl, Amber - named after the colour of the owl's eyes, to perch on his shoulder while he carried the owl cage. While Lucius had offered to save the expense and use the Malfoy family owl, Ingress decided he wanted a companion of his own for the time being. He was getting rather sick of snakes making their home in his robes and hopefully, the owl would deter some of them. 

Ingress looked around the station with sharp glances, not knowing if he should follow the first-years or join Draco on the carriages. The tall half-giant that was gathering the eleven-year-olds seemed a tad daunting to the aristocratic stick Ingress had up his ass. 

"I'm sure you can follow us, someone will find you at the gates," Draco pulled on Ingress' arm dragging the teen to the line for the carriages. 

With wide eyes, Ingress glanced down at the creatures heading the carriages causing a spark of a surprise to go through him. 

"That's a bit of a novelty," Ingress mused, "Horseless carriages..."

"What of them?" Draco asked, his friends giving Ingress similar looks.

"I hope you don't find out," was all Ingress offered, happily climbing into the carriage first and settling himself. 

As Ingress turned back out of the idle chatter, he was able to look on in awe as the Hogwarts Castle came into view. Between the trees and the evening sky, tall builds of beautiful brickwork peaked into sight making Ingress' jaw drop.

"I suppose it was beautiful at first sight," Parkinson sighed, noting the awe in Ingress' expression.

"Even growing used to the school itself," Ingress muttered, "It would be hard to dye the beauty of this place dark."

"Ominous words, Lestrange," Zabini commented, eyeing the teen weirdly. 

"To some," was all that Ingress bothered to reply with.

As the carriage came to a stop, Ingress was the last to jump off and brushed his fingers against the neck of the thestrals before following the group to the door where a woman with a long pointed hat, and flawless robes with a green accent was waiting for them.

"Mr Lestrange, I assume?" The woman looked over Ingress, "I'm Professor McGonagall, this way please."

Ingress followed the Professor with a casual smile, her prim and proper way did set him off a tad as she seemed the type to take no insolence. As the two were walking through stone halls, a poltergeist was carrying small balloons filled with water. The poltergeist hid up at the ceiling hoping to avoid Professor McGonagall's watchful eye and succeeded, not without Ingress pushing his index finger to his lips and winking at the troublesome creature. 

"Now, Mr Lestrange," Professor McGonagall started as they came to a hall, "I'll have you wait here until the first-year arrive and have you sorted straight after them. Just follow the back of the line."

"Alright, thank you, Professor," Ingress offered a polite smile as he watched the tension grow in the teacher's eyes in the form of silver and reds.

Quickly, the woman's heels clicked away as she went to gather the first years. Ingress allowed his mind to wander back to the face of Harry Potter, the teen seemed more than happy to indulge the idea of getting to know Ingress... But at what cost? Ingress was so far damned he didn't know where to go from here.

Soon enough, young eleven-year-olds were trotting along under Ingress' feet with eyes in shimmering yellows, golds and silvers. The children clad in their blank, dark robes with pointed hats cast him curious glances as they whispered about him until Professor McGonagall returned to drag them all out into the hall. 

The hall was broken into hushed whispers as the anxiousness and excitement flared in Ingress' senses. The raven-haired teen decided to play the part of the cold and brooding as he stood with his hands in his pockets trying not to yawn. McGonagall kept shooting him glances, trying to have his attention settled as the kids were slowly getting sorted by a ratty old hat that yelled. Bursting applause followed all houses but Slytherin when in that case the Slytherins cheered the loudest. Ingress allowed his gaze to sweep over the room a few times, trying to ignore the tension pulling at his senses.

"That's all for the first years," Dumbledore's voice pulled Ingress back to face the man as he stood alone in front of everyone, "Now for a new fourth-year who will be joining us as a transfer."

McGonagall cleared her throat before calling his name, a certain type of silence followed the announcement. Ingress wasn't a halfwit, he knew transfer students were rare, especially amongst all this Harry Potter business that the school.

"Ingress Lestrange," the woman called forward as hushed whispers ran throughout the house tables. 

Ingress walked towards the tiny stool, his senses reaching the apprehension in the room and making his fingers twitch with nerves. With a small grin that read more condescending than what it was, the teen sat down on the stool and allowed McGonagall to place the sorting hat on his head. Unlike the children, it didn't quite sink over his eyes but dipped over his forehead instead. 

"Ah, a Lestrange," the words that seemingly echoed in his head surprised Ingress. 

"A Lestrange indeed, no one told me the hat spoke," Ingress felt a jolt of amusement at the concept. 

"No one told me your mind would be so..." the hat trailed off, unsure of its words.

"Corrupted? Vile? Oh, I know... it's disturbed," Ingress supplied. 

"That aside... I'll keep your secrets. To the task at hand, where to put you?"

The hat shifted on his head, whispers had started to grow in the crowds. McGonagall was glancing at the teen as a minute ticked over. 

"Why are they all whispering?" Ingress huffed, speaking to the hat.

"Because you're likely to be a hat stall," the hat grumbled, "I can't choose where to put you."

"It should be obvious," Ingress snapped, "Slytherin for my heritage, my speak and my goals."

"Slytherins tend to be ambitious, shrewd, cunning, strong leaders, and achievement-oriented. You're some of these, yes. But, you also sit well in valuing hard work, dedication, patience, loyalty, and fair play - well maybe not fair play," the hat snorted to itself. 

"Slytherin makes my life easier," Ingress muttered, starting to get stressed. 

"But I believe Ravenclaw is where the heart belongs," the sorting hat offered.

"I can't," Ingress felt something build in his chest, "He won't take me seriously as a Ravenclaw - for my plan to work I need to be in Slytherin, surely you understand?"

"Maybe you'd be suited to Gryfindor yet," the hat quietly scoffed as everyone sat with baited breaths.

"SLYTHERIN!" the sorting hat declared, making Draco and various others from the green table rise and cheer. 

The cheering was diluted when Ingress released the pressure in his chest as a cocky, dry and illusioned laugh. As he walked towards the table, Draco made a seat for him, his dry laughter was all that the students could focus on. The staff watched on with varied looks, some of them horror while some of them showed pity. It was the latter that caught Hermoine Granger's attention - why would the staff pitty a psycho Lestrange?  

Chapter Text

After Ingress was seated and the odd feeling in the room calmed by Dumbledore's greeting, it was time for the announcement of dinner. During that time, the teen was stared at several times by other students most being other Slytherins. 

Ingress didn't pay much attention to what the old man was saying, too focused on the manipulative glint hiding in his eyes - even at a distance. It was in those moments that Ingress knew if he ever wanted to part with the road he was taking, he needed to gain at least the bare minimum of trust from Dumbledore. Some route to hide or at least possess the ability to change sides on a whim. The teen frowned as he tried to ignore the fact that 'Moody' had yet to arrive and Professor Snape was sending curt glances towards the Lestrange. This was never going to work, not in a million years - but Ingress had to try. Despite the fangs latched into his very soul, he had to try... if not for the sake of living then for the sake of the game. 

Suddenly, there was food placed on the tables. Beautiful roast dishes, pumpkin juice, and other English delicacies among the rest. All the while noise burst forth of student chatter that Ingress had to wince at. 

While the noise was relentless, the food was pretty good - Ingress could only assume the house elves here were happy to work in catering due to the school's reputation. He'd have to find ways into the kitchen if he kept going at the rate he was... maybe the inability to handle crowds would be worth mentioning to a teacher then again - it could be a cause for more bullying too.

Ingress ducked his head and pretended to eat his meal, a small charm to lack those near him's focus on the very full plate in front of him. By the time dessert had come out, the teen was so disengaged in that around him that he chose to start reading Magical Drafts and Potions as if that would catch less attention. Though Draco had passed him the odd look or two, he was too busy trying to brag to his friends about the holidays and what he and his family had gotten up to - even tossing in that their adventure into the manor lands had nearly wound up with Ingress losing a leg or something. 

The transfer had decided that it was best to not look around the room as he'd caught one too many curious or hateful stares from other students, even those in Slytherin. An outsider would always be an outsider, he'd guessed. Not that he was able to facilitate the pain in his chest, much less register it. 

Suddenly a hush fell upon the room as the desert vanished away. Ingress shut his book with a soft snap and returned his attention to the podium where Dumbledore stood. There were muted whispers, something about this being unusual to the routine students had gotten used to. 

"As some of you may have heard, there is to be a special event at Hogwarts this year," the old wizard spoke, "For the first time in 300 years, I am pleased to announce that Hogwarts will be the host of the Triwizard Tounemanet!" 

Thunderous cheering rang out, Ingress scowling at the smack of the unwanted experiment that forced its way through him before he pushed it out. 

"Now," Dumbledore called quietly, "At the week's end we will meet and host the other participating schools where the rules will be covered and the selection process to start! For peace of mind... Not just anyone should enter the tournament, as it will be a matter of life and death. Something the Ministry has decided to put restrictions around. More will be announced later, now off you pop!"

With that prefects jumped into action, student chatter deafened Ingress and a splitting headache rocketed around in his brain.  Whether he knew it or not, Draco helped Ingress out of his seat and into the line that followed the gathered kids. The prefects lead them down halls, suddenly rounding in a hall with another house or so descending the stairs towards a basement floor. Ah, Ingress recalled that Draco mentioned the common room is in the basement of the castle. The prefects were directing students, not that Ingress was sane enough to pay attention to the woman a few feet ahead of him surrounded by the small eleven-year-olds. 

The common room was a dungeon-like room with greenish lamps and chairs. This dungeon extended partway under the lake it seemed, giving the light in the room a green tinge. The common room had lots of low-backed black and dark green button-tufted, leather sofas; skulls; and dark wood cupboards.

"Goodness, not pushing a stereotype are they?" Ingress muttered to himself, the nearest prefect to him offering a muffled laugh. 

There was the odd tapestry or painting that held other Slytherins or serpent-like detailings. All very on-brand with the slightest of chills in the room. 

The prefects had settled the new students, including Ingress, onto the sofas where they geared up for the introductory speech and introduced themselves before a man with pale skin draped in all black walked through the portrait. 

"I am Professor Severus Snape, Potion Master and Head of Slytherin house," the black-haired man introduced in a rather enunciated way.

"Greetings to all of our new snakes, to you I offer a few words of advice. There shall be no slacking tolerated in this house, as such there shall be arranged tutor sessions. Such will be announced on the notice board as will any house announcements."

The Professor's black robes and cloak billowed around him as he spoke, addressing the seated students with a curious yet strict appearance. 

"Furthermore, the Slytherin house has gathered an unfavoured opinion amongst the other houses as such I'd suggest travelling in groups of two to three, especially in first-year. We must prove that we are always untied as a house, there is to be no trouble outside of the common room. If you must bicker you will do so behind closed doors as it is not only a matter of utmost appearance but personal safety. Finally, do not be afraid to confide in each other, the prefects or the Astronomy Professor Aurora Sinistra who has yet again offered her ears for those who need them."

Snape looked around the small group of students, eyes lingering over Ingress' lanky form before drawing away with a slight pinch in his brow. Ingress, however, saw the very silver hues in his eyes. Curious, perhaps even sympathetic? Time will tell, no doubt. Ingress was sure that he'd spend more than enough time with the head of house be it for punishment or to explain his lack of behaviour control in classes.

Without much more to say, the prefects took over and started guiding students to their rooms. The male prefect, Quintius Crockford, Ingress had heard right. They'd just set the last trio of boys off and the pair remained as Ingress took in the dark halls.

"Right, so being a fourth-year we don't have any available rooms just yet," Crockford awkwardly explained, eyes growing in orange tones, "Unfortunately you'll be on your own unless you find a group who's willing to room with you or we get in some new students. But, on the bright side, Professor Snape filed for you to have the snake live in here with you! I heard that Mr Malfoy had it delivered for you not long after the train departed!" 

Crockford seemed rather happy about the idea of the snake while all Ingress wanted to do was sulk. He was growing out of love with snakes at an alarming rate and he'd just been sorted into the house of such. 

"Brilliant, would you mind passing my thanks on to Professor Snape?" Ingress eased into a smile, eyes showing faux joy. 

"Of course, though for good measure on Friday night's study group, you'd want to thank him before the mess of a tournament gets in the way. I hear all the staff will be particularly busy this year." 

"Thank you, Crockford, have a good night," Ingress warmly dismissed. 

"You too Lestrange, be up for breakfast before half eight - that's when the hall's busiest." Crockford went with a wave as Ingressed opened the thick wooden door. 

Inside was a double bed, emerald drapes hung up across the sets of four poster beds. Everything had Slytherin greens and silvers, the floor rugs holding the imagery of the house crest and some odd backlit overhead windows on one side of the room let in an eerie green light. All of Ingress' belongings were in his trunk on his bed and Amber was perched on the owl stand. There was also a hearty black and silver adder sitting atop what must have been his bed. 

"Hello," Ingress murmured, starting to unpack his trunk.

"Snake Speaker," the two-and-a-half-foot snake greeted back. 

Ingress almost paused his settling before he decided to roll with it, magic assisting with folding and putting his clothing in drawers. 

"Do you have any orders here?" Ingress mused as he regarded the adder, now speaking parseltongue. 

"Scary being wants you watched, must report." 

Ingress had assumed as much but wasn't all that happy to hear it. Clicking his tongue he stopped to focus on the conversation. 

"Do you have a name?" 

"What is a name? Should I have one?" 

"I suppose not," Ingress hummed, "It's what people call you, mine is Ingress Lestrange." 

"You are Snakelet, Master is the dark one," the snake paused, "I am me." 

"Do you mind if we find a name to refer to you as? I have no issue with calling you snake but it seems rather rude." 

"You may." 

"I'm thinking Shadow? Perhaps Silver?" Ingress referred to the snake colouring, "Hm, I think Umbra had to do with shadows?" 

"Umbra," the adder slithered forward, "That one. I am Umbra." 

"Nice to meet you, Umbra. May our school year go to plan," Ingress reached out for the snake to wind up his arm, "Did you have a heating rock or shall I make one for you?" 

"Warm rock good," Umbra agreed as her head rested close to his neck. 

Transfiguring some spare clothing into a rock was no issue for Ingress, getting a good level of heat to charm the rock was taking a few more attempts, however, he managed to get it good enough until he could study why the charm wasn't taking well. Umbra was done waiting after he'd got a good enough temperature and decided to slink over and head to sleep. Ingress thought he might pop out to the common room before heading to bed and decided to do so. 

Ingress stepped out of his room, the heavy door shutting behind him with a muted thud. The common room was quieter now, most students had either retreated to their dorms or settled into quiet conversations. A few older Slytherins occupied the larger sofas near the fireplace, their murmured discussions low and guarded. He took a slow breath, trying to shake off the weight pressing against his mind. Everything about this castle felt like a carefully set trap, each step a calculated move in a game he had no choice but to play.

Taking a seat in one of the less crowded corners, Ingress let his gaze wander. A pair of fifth-years were bent over what looked like advanced Transfiguration notes, while a group of younger students whispered about the Triwizard Tournament, their excitement barely contained. The energy in the room was charged, but beneath it, Ingress could sense something deeper—caution, curiosity, and, in some cases, distrust.

A sudden presence at his side made him tense, "Not in bed yet, Ingress?"

Draco dropped into the seat across from him, arms draped lazily over the backrest. His sharp grey eyes studied Ingress with an expression that was hard to read, somewhere between calculation and mild amusement glimmering in shades of orange and silver.

"Neither are you," Ingress replied smoothly, his fingers drumming lightly against the armrest.

"Too much excitement tonight, what with the tournament announcement and all," Draco smirked, though there was a flicker of something unreadable behind his eyes, "And, of course, our newest addition to Slytherin. Everyone's been talking."

"How unfortunate for me," Ingress deadpanned.

Draco chuckled, but his gaze remained sharp, "You don't talk much to strangers, do you?"

"I'm not good at small talk with our age."

A brief silence stretched between them before Draco's smirk widened, "You know if you're going to survive here, you might want to work on that. People get touchy when they feel slighted."

"Duly noted," Ingress replied flatly, though he wasn't sure he cared.

"You've got people curious. Being a transfer is one thing, but being a Lestrange? That's something else entirely. You know that as well as I do."

Ingress didn't respond immediately. He did not doubt that being a Lestrange was going to be a problem, a label he could neither escape nor fully embrace. 

"People can think what they want," he said finally, keeping his voice neutral.

"Oh, they will," Draco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, "But if you're smart, you'll make sure they think the right things. Slytherin thrives on perception. Right now, you're a mystery, and that's dangerous. You might want to start making allies."

Ingress considered the words carefully. Draco wasn't wrong. He had spent the entire evening accidentally distancing himself, but in a house like Slytherin, isolation could be as dangerous as blind trust. He didn't need friends, but allies? That was another matter entirely.

Draco stood, brushing imaginary dust from his robes, "Well, I suppose I should turn in. Don't spend too much time lurking, Ingress. People might start thinking you're brooding."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ingress murmured as Draco strode off, a quiet air of confidence trailing him.

Leaning back into his seat, Ingress let out a slow breath. The night was still young, but he already had more to consider than he'd planned.

Chapter Text

By breakfast, Ingress had realised he'd missed the announcement that Quidditch would be cancelled this year in favour of the Tournament, a shame as he'd like to see Draco play. He'd also made a few more acquaintances and properly scared a seventh-year for daring to bad mouth him to his face.   

The fourth-year Slytherins had Charms first, which Ingress thought was an agreeable start to the day. Flitwick seemed like a good enough teacher, and Ingress knew most of what they had been taught, so there was little to catch up that he couldn't find by reading a book. The joys of being back in school and able to use magic on a whim were blessed. 

Herbology followed. Ingress has virtually zero natural aptitude for caring for plants, but he did appreciate them. Draco would not stop teasing him for immediately upsetting his Bubotuber in their collection process. Lastly, they had an elective to which Ingress had Ancient Runes, which he'd barely learnt about in Australia. The jump was decent; he'd have to do a fair bit of catch, and Professor Babbling was a good help,p offering her office hours to Ingress as they left. 

Dinner was to be an affair following Draco, it seemed, tired of the day, Ingress wanted no part in the bright reds and blacks that clouded the blonde's eyes. He seemed hellbent on antagonising the Potter trio and was quick to prod at the Weasley boy. Ingress noted that Alastor Moody was among the staff at the head of the table between the doors. The group had pulled to the side of the hall, opting to start their bickering with Draco flicking a Daily Prophet at Ron.

"Seems your father has lost his touch," Draco mocked, "Unable to so much as keep himself quiet when he's involved in something." 

Ingress nosed at the article on the ground, which portrayed an attack on Moody's residence the other evening. It was interesting that Mr Weasley was one of the first to help respond to the attack - Ingress wasn't aware that was his field. There was a lot of red in people's eyes; Ingress mused as Harry bit out a rather crude insult about Narcissa. 

"Draco's mother is nothing short of an angel, and I won't hear you speak poorly of her," Ingress swiftly cut in, "Moral alignment doesn't mean all that much, does it?" 

Draco, however, thought it was time to draw wands publicly, and Ingress would follow him if he needed help. It was deemed unnecessary when Harry and Hermione turned a fuming Ron around, although Draco seemed to have other ideas. He looked to cast something, and Ingress' lips parted to scold him for the underhanded play when Draco suddenly shrank into a blonde ferret.

"I'll teach you to cast at someone with their back turned," someone growled. 

Ingress' brain short-circuited at the dangerous transfiguration, and he curtly let a fire charm hit the floor between the threat and Draco. The boy, now a ferret, raced for him and climbed up his pant leg to hide in his robe. Wand pointed at him; Moody greeted him with a scowl. 

"Professor Moody, what are you doing?!" McGonagall bellowed out behind the scene. 

"Teaching," Moody grunted as he looked between Ingress and Harry's group. 

Ingress dropped the flames, movement stiff.

"I suggest finding safer punishments, or I'll turn you into a mutt, Professor," Ingress swore he usually thought before speaking, but he was angry. 

Moody levitated Draco out of his robes, and McGonagall quickly approached, "Is that a student?" 

"Put Draco down, or I'll punch you," Ingress cut in, his wand still out. 

"It's technically a ferret," Moody responded to McGonagall and Ingress moved. 

He was fast, too used to catching wizards off guard with physical tactics. Moody dropped his attention from Draco, sensing the genuine threat there, while McGonagall snapped something about stopping. Moody's real eye clouded dark grey as Ingress flicked out a wordless Protego and rounded whatever hex the Auror had cast at him. Three quick steps - he sprinted at the wizard and cast a swift leg-locking spell at his legs as he reared up to sock the Auror, who looked a tad surprised at the development. 

McGonagall managed to have him blasted back and on his back beside a restored Draco before his knuckles stood a chance at connecting to Moody's face. 

"You've got bollocks, boy," Moody commented, his blue fake eye twitching around. 

"Professor McGonagall, is it within the school's practice to transfigure students as punishment?" Ingress opted to lock eyes with the woman, whose eyes were stormy maroon and grey with specs of pitying green flashing through.

"Professor Moody, we never use transfiguration as a punishment," she huffed, "Surely Dumbledore told you that?" 

"He might've mentioned it," Moody gruffly amended.

"You will do well to remember it," McGonagall scolded.

"Potter, with me," Moody drew the boy away as he locked eyes with Ingress. 

"Lestrange, I believe we need to have a word," McGonagall rounded on him, "Join me in my office, I'll be asking Professor Snape to attend." 

"Yes, Professor," Ingress numbly agreed, that hadn't taken long to fuck up.

Draco, having not been called on, scampered away with whoever stuck around from his crew. At least everyone knew Ingress would throw a punch. He sighed as there was a different feel to the area, and now the tension was over. 

McGonagall didn't speak a word until they reached her office in the transfiguration classroom, she'd quietly sent a portrait to find Snape. 

"Professor," Ingress spoke out, "I do not think Professor Moody acted appropriately to the situation." 

"To that, we agree, Mr Lestrange, however, it was not your duty nor your place to go on the offensive to correct that behaviour." 

"He turned my friend into a ferret and levitated him-" "Please wait for Professor Snape to arrive, he needs to hear this as your Head of House." 

"I understand," was all Ingress felt he could say at the moment, McGonagall's now brown-hued eyes calmed him a bit. 

Ingress sat in the stiff wooden chair across from Professor McGonagall's desk, his posture deceptively relaxed despite the simmering irritation beneath his skin. His knuckles still itched from where they had almost made contact with Moody's face. He idly noted the neatly stacked lesson plans on her desk, along with a few student essays, one with an alarming amount of red ink scrawled across it - it must have been a rough holiday assignment. 

There was a quiet knock at the door before it swung open to reveal Professor Snape, his black robes billowing behind him like an approaching storm cloud. His dark gaze immediately locked onto Ingress, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly unimpressed if the colours were anything to go by.

"Minerva," Snape greeted curtly before shifting his focus to Ingress, "I was told there was an altercation?"

"An incident," McGonagall corrected sharply, shooting Ingress a glance before recounting what had occurred just outside the Great Hall. As she explained, Snape's expression darkened, though his features remained carefully schooled.

When she finished, Snape exhaled through his nose, his arms folding across his chest. 

"So let me see if I understand correctly. Professor Moody decided to humiliate Mr Malfoy outside the Great Hall, and rather than wait for the staff to intervene, you-" he eyed Ingress critically, "-chose to physically attack him?"

"He wasn't stopping," Ingress replied, voice firm, "I don't take well to seeing my friends turned into rodents for amusement. Call it a personal failing."

Snape's lip curled ever so slightly, "An admirable display of loyalty, Mr Lestrange, though a foolish one. You do not attack professors, especially ones with... unorthodox methods."

"I'll keep that in mind for next time," Ingress said dryly, earning him a sharp look from McGonagall.

"I don't expect a next time," she said sternly, "Regardless of your personal opinions on Professor Moody's conduct, you are a student, and you will conduct yourself as such. Hogwarts does not condone students' duelling or brawling with teachers. This is your first warning."

Ingress forced himself to nod, "Understood."

McGonagall sighed, rubbing her temples, "Severus, given the circumstances, I believe it best if you decide the appropriate course of action."

Snape regarded Ingress for a long moment, his fingers tapping against his arm as he weighed his decision. 

"A week of detention should suffice," he finally declared, his voice smooth and deliberate, "With me."

Ingress didn't flinch. He had expected as much, "Alright, when and where?"

Snape's eyebrow arched at the lack of protest. 

"You will serve your time after dinner,r assisting with my potion stores, replenishing ingredients, and ensuring the classroom is in pristine condition. If you wish to behave like a reckless Gryffindor, then perhaps you will enjoy the laborious consequences."

Ingress smirked faintly, "Can't wait."

McGonagall shot them both a disapproving look but chose not to comment further, "Very well. You are dismissed, Mr Lestrange."

Ingress rose smoothly from the chair, giving them both a polite nod before exiting the office. He could still feel the weight of their stares as he left, but he didn't particularly care.

Outside the classroom, Draco was waiting for him, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His expression flickered between irritation and amusement. 

"You tried to punch an Auror?"

Ingress snorted, "He deserved it."

Draco shook his head, lips quirking up. 

"I would have liked to see it properly," He paused, glancing toward the Great Hall, "Potter's probably feeling smug. Moody's practically his personal guard dog."

Ingress hummed noncommittally, "Doesn't matter. You're back in one piece."

Draco studied him for a moment before scoffing, "You're insane, you know that?"

"It's been mentioned," Ingress smirked.

Draco let out a low chuckle before pushing off the wall, gesturing for Ingress to join him.

"Come on, let's get back before people start thinking Moody turned you into a ferret, too."

Ingress rolled his eyes but followed, already mentally preparing for the inevitable whispering that would follow him through the halls. He could only hope the next day would be slightly less eventful.

As the boys went towards the Slytherin common room, Ingress decided to actually make sure Draco was alright.

"Now, from the looks, I trust Professor McGonagall to transfigure you correctly, but there's nothing wrong? You're okay?" 

"Merlin, are you actually a softie at heart, Ingress?" Draco teased with warm emotions, "I'm fine, startled if anything, and I will be telling Father." 

"Lucius will be pissed," Ingress snickered, "Maybe a bit mad that I decided trying to punch the teacher was a good idea." 

"Given you almost landed a hit on an Auror, I'd say he'll let it pass if you practice duelling with him sometime." 

"I wouldn't say no," Ingress laughed, finally relaxing after the event. 

The evening simmered down with Draco replaying a bit more tactical side of events and no hesitating to boast that Ingress would punch a professor for him - something Ingress corrected to say he'd punch anybody doing something that potentially harmful which seemed to sour a few other Sytherins. 

The first Defense Against the Dark Arts class that fourth-year Slytherins had was nothing short of fuel to flames. Moody had decided to cover the Unforgivable Curses, and Ingress couldn't bring himself to be too shocked, he'd actually likely had the killing curse cast as he had watched some many weeks ago when he'd first shown up on the Malfoy's doorstep. His encounter there was hard to forget when Umbra coiled around his neck in warning when he woke some mornings. 

It didn't stop the way Ingress felt his skin crawl when Moody first cast Imperius Curse on a spider he'd enlarged in front of the class. Ingress was too sensitive to the way most of the class recoiled in fear as the spider danced along to Moody's whims. The additional emotional input had him grinding his teeth in discomfort, fingers worrying over the dips and groves in his wand hidden in his sleeve. 

At the mention of the Cruisatus Curse, the tension in the room crested, and Ingress dared to raise his hand without thinking. 

"Something to say, Lestrange? I heard your father was fond of these spells." 

Some of his fellow Slytherins sparked into a small rage at the insinuations, Ingress felt the overwhelming rush of needing to push the bastard and wanted to hex him until all he knew was pain. 

"Good thing he's been in Azkaban more than I'd had a chance to know him then?" Ingress smiled, but there was nothing kind about it, "Are you allowed to show us the Unforgiveables? You prefaced this by saying casting simply one would send you to Azkaban." 

There was manic energy bubbling just under the surface, and Ingress knew his eyes would be a few shades lighter than they ought to be. Merlin, he wanted to hurt Moody for winding him up. 

"As your Professor, I have the privilege of showing you these spells and how to defend against them-" "Does that imply you'll cast them on us? To teach us resistance to say, the Imperius Curse?" 

"Are you offering, Mr Lestrange?" 

"You can't cast it on a student," Pansy, of all people, suddenly spoke up. 

"If Mr Lestrange is this determined to prove a point of being a brat in my class, I shall treat him as such, even if he has... excuses." 

Ingress felt the temperature in the room drop, and he'd decided it was either going to be removing himself very quickly or throwing the table at Moody and screaming himself into hysterics. 

"Omit to that in public again, and I'll have you in Dumbledore's office," Ingress hummed, clicking his fingers.

What was out on his desk packed itself away as he stormed out of the room, holding his hand up subtly to stop Draco from following after him. Thank all Gods that he had no further classes today, just his detention with Snape. 

With the quiet of the halls, Ingress finally felt like he could breathe again. 

Chapter Text

Ingress skipped dinner without meaning to, truly he'd accidentally gone and fallen asleep in the library with an ancient runes book open on the table under him. He'd gone and pulled his hair into a loose ponytail and promptly forgotten about life other than trying to ebb the simmering anger in his veins from the shocking treatment. Madam Pince had yet to rouse him, likely due to the intentionally weak Disillusionment Charm he'd placed on himself. 

He had yet to figure out what time dinner was due to end, and the exhaustion of the last two days crept up on him with a vengeance, even though he had just slightly risen from a nap. He felt weird, and he didn't know what to do with it, so Ingress let himself fall into a doze again. 

The clearing of a throat and a shadow looming over Ingress certainly drew his attention, eyes blinking open to stare at Severus Snape.

"Professor, did I lose track of time?" Ingress swiftly commented.

"Follow me, Lestrange, now."

Ingress casually got rid of the Disillusionment Charm and tapped the book with his wand sending it back where it belonged. Snape's eyes were in two colours: grey and silver. Sympathy and discomfort. Intriguing. While walking there was a moderately tense silence, only broken when Ingress realised they'd passed the last turn-off for the dungeons.

"Professor Snape, where are we going?" 

"To Headmaster Dumbledore's office," Snape drawled, "Do not look like that, you are not in any more trouble than you were yesterday."

"That's a good thing, right?" Ingress quirked his brow, uncertain.

"I should hope so." 

Ingress nodded along as they came across a stairwell with Snape calling the password which sounded oddly like the name of a sweet. As they started walking up the spiral of stairs, Snape decided to open a conversation again. 

"Most of us are aware of what you've been diagnosed with both by muggles and wizards, we are attempting to have things in place for you, Lestrange, but it is not an easy process and one that has failed you at previous schools." 

Ingress blanched at the blatant address and softly spoke, "Is anyone aware of what's wrong with me... that isn't documented formally?" 

"In the staff?" Snape slowed his steps, "Myself, for now. I will be informing the Headmaster if it continues to a point where I need to."

Ingress mutely nodded, not quite sure what to think about that.

The door to Dumbledore's office opened before Snape could knock, revealing the warm, candlelit space beyond. The old wizard sat at his desk, hands folded over a parchment as he regarded them both over his half-moon spectacles. Professor McGonagall stood nearby, lips pursed in her usual stern manner, while the ever-watchful Mad-Eye Moody lurked in the shadows like a gargoyle, his magical eye whirling unnervingly.

Ingress exhaled sharply through his nose, "An audience. Lucky me."

"Sit, Mr Lestrange," Dumbledore instructed, his voice calm yet firm, "I imagine you are wondering why you have been called here."

Ingress lowered himself into the chair, resisting the urge to fold his arms. 

"I can guess. It's about yesterday's incident with Professor Moody, isn't it?"

"Partially," McGonagall answered, "But more broadly, it concerns your behavioural tendencies and how we, as your professors, ought to address them."

His fingers twitched in his lap, "Oh? I wasn't aware my 'behavioural tendencies' were up for discussion."

"They have been since before your arrival, Ingress," Dumbledore admitted softening the blow with the casual address, leaning forward slightly, "Your previous educators were thorough in their reports."

Ah. So that's how it was. Ingress barely suppressed an eye roll.

"They claimed I was difficult, didn't they? Unmanageable? Perhaps even dangerous?"

"They expressed concerns regarding your difficulty with emotional regulation," Dumbledore corrected smoothly, "And your inclination toward impulsive responses, particularly when confronted with perceived injustice."

Ingress scoffed, tilting his head. 

"Right, and that's why nobody informed me that the entire staff was meant to be aware of my... 'difficulties'?"

"It was meant to prevent situations such as what occurred last night," McGonagall said, her tone edged with a touch of regret, "Professor Moody was unaware."

Ingress let out a bitter laugh, "Oh, how unfortunate for him."

"Lestrange," Snape's voice was sharp, cutting through his sarcasm like a blade, "This is not an attack."

His jaw clenched, "Then what is it?"

"An opportunity. For us to ensure that you are not misunderstood in the future. And for you to understand that while we do not condone violence, we acknowledge that you do not lash out without cause," Dumbledore's gaze remained unwavering.

That... was not quite what he'd expected. He had assumed the purpose of this meeting was to reprimand him further, not to explain that Hogwarts was meant to accommodate him. His fingers flexed, restless.

"So what now?" he asked, "Do I get a minder? A warning label? 'Prone to sudden bouts of defiance, handle with care'?"

"Hardly," Snape interjected, "However, you must make an effort to control yourself."

Moody, who had thus far been silent, let out a gravelly chuckle. 

"Control himself? That boy moves like a trained duelist. If I hadn't been ready, he might've landed that punch."

Ingress gave a sharp grin, "Pity I didn't."

Moody's real eye narrowed, but Dumbledore cleared his throat. 

"Professor Moody, while I appreciate your... perspective, I believe we should focus on moving forward."

"Aye," Moody grumbled but said nothing more.

McGonagall inhaled, then softened just a fraction. 

"Ingress, if ever you feel yourself reaching the point of impulsivity, you must inform a professor. Myself, Professor Snape, or even the Headmaster. You are not alone in this."

Ingress hesitated, caught between scepticism and something deeper, something he wasn't sure he wanted to name. It wasn't the first time he'd heard such sentiments from teachers, but it was the first time they seemed genuine. Not condemning, not condescending just... steady.

"Alright," he finally said, "I'll try. It does come on rather quickly but I'm not exactly subtle."

Dumbledore smiled faintly, "That is all we ask."

As he was dismissed and followed Snape from the office, he mulled over the meeting in his mind. He still wasn't sure how he felt about being discussed like some case study, but at least he now knew where he stood.

"As for detention tonight, seeing as you were late," Snape scowled, "I'll have you cleaning the classroom until it is pristine. Be grateful it is too early in the term for many potions to have gone wrong yet." 

"I haven't even had potions yet," Ingress happily chimed in, "You are a Poitions Master, yes? What's your take on developing shortcuts within the potions process?"

"Unless you are more experienced than you seem, Mr Lestrange, I will have you out of my class for such dangerous experiments," Snape barely turned to face him.

"What if I said I'd made a successful shortcut to the Confusing Draught using devil's claw instead of sneezewart?" Ingress curiously asked, he'd not been allowed to actually try the potion's results but the formula had held. 

Snape stopped to look at him, his eyes were bright if not a bit confused. He seemed to think it over for a moment.

"Why devil's claw?"

"It's more common, for a simpler potion, I could find it in the... Um," Ingress didn't know how to finish that sentence. 

"You'd use a muggle plant because it is more accessible?" Snape raised a brow, scoffing. 

"I made it, at my last school. It was steady, I just wasn't allowed to see if it worked." 

Ingress quietly acknowledged before pressing his lips into a thin line. Snape didn't further the conversation, opting to continue towards the dungeons for the detention. 

Ingress followed Snape down the dimly lit corridors of the castle, his mind still running circles around the meeting with Dumbledore and the others. He hadn't expected... whatever that had been. Not exactly understanding but not outright condemning him either. It was unsettling. He wasn't sure what to do with it.

Snape's silence was thick, but not uncomfortable. That was one thing Ingress could appreciate about him he didn't fill space with meaningless words. Instead, the Potions Master seemed to be considering something, his robes billowing as he strode forward.

When they finally arrived at the dungeon classroom, Snape waved his wand, and the doors creaked open. The scent of herbs, aged parchment, petrichor, and faint traces of burnt ingredients wafted toward them. Ingress gave the room a quick once-over, noting that while it wasn't overly messy, there were enough cauldrons and workstations in need of scrubbing to make his night unpleasant.

Snape gestured toward a bucket and a set of worn cleaning cloths, "Get to work. No magic. You will clean every surface properly."

Ingress gave a theatrical sigh but moved toward the supplies without complaint. He wasn't about to push his luck, not tonight. As he knelt by the first cauldron and dipped his cloth into the bucket, he could feel Snape's gaze lingering on him.

"Your experiment," Snape finally said, folding his arms, "The Confusing Draught variant. You say you tested it?"

Ingress nodded, wringing out the cloth. 

"At Thundelarra's. I followed my own notes and brewed it properly, but they wouldn't let me test the results. Said it was too risky."

"A reasonable concern. Devil's claw can be temperamental. It reacts unpredictably if combined with the wrong binding agent," Snape's voice remained even, but there was a spark of interest in his gaze, "Yet, you managed to stabilize it?"

"The trick was using powdered silverweed as a neutralizer. Cuts the volatility in half I found," Ingress smirked.

"Acceptable, in theory. Though I would not recommend experimentation without proper supervision," Snape hummed in thought, tilting his head slightly.

"So, does that mean I could try it in your class?" Ingress raised a brow, deciding to test the waters.

 "Absolutely not," Snape scoffed.

Ingress snorted, "Worth a shot."

For a moment, Snape said nothing, simply watching as Ingress continued scrubbing. Then, in a quieter voice, he spoke again. 

"Your problem is not intelligence, Lestrange. It is impulse."

Ingress froze for a second before forcing himself to continue cleaning. 

"Yeah, I hear that a lot."

"Perhaps it would do you well to listen, then," Snape's tone was not cruel, nor was it particularly soft, "Do not mistake our efforts for indulgence. If you wish to make something of yourself, you will have to learn restraint."

Ingress bit the inside of his cheek, resisting the urge to argue. Instead, he focused on his task, letting the steady rhythm of scrubbing ground him. For now, that was enough.

The conversation faded, leaving them in silence once more, save for the quiet sounds of cloth against metal. And despite himself, despite the night's events, Ingress found that for the first time in a long while he didn't entirely mind the quiet.

Ingress had managed to finish off the detention to an adequate standard on his first attempt, he was used to serving detentions and whatever his previous teachers had thrown at him unless unreasonable was always completed. Ingress curtly thanked Snape for his time, not really getting more than a dismissal before trekking his way back to the Slytherin common room. 

Ingress hadn't expected a particularly exciting week, not with the looming detentions Snape had so generously assigned him, but he had underestimated just how tedious scrubbing cauldrons, organizing ingredient stores, and deciphering Snape's near-illegible cursive handwritten notes would be.

By the third night, he had developed a deep and abiding resentment for dragon liver, which had a revolting tendency to congeal no matter how many times he scoured the cutting boards.

"Again, Lestrange," Snape's voice cut through the dim dungeon air as he inspected the latest cauldron Ingress had painstakingly cleaned, "I can still see residue. I would hope that whatever instinctive intelligence you possess would tell you that leftover potion ingredients in a cauldron could be deadly."

"Would it be easier if I just melted the whole thing down and started from scratch?" Ingress exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the brush tighter.

"And waste a perfectly good cauldron? Do not be ridiculous," Snape stared at him, unimpressed.

And so the week dragged on, a dull routine of classes, eating as quickly as possible, and then slinking down to the dungeons to serve his penance. It would have been mind-numbing, were it not for the fact that Snape, despite his sharp tongue, was not Moody.

Moody, who still loomed at the edges of Ingress's vision at the worst times.

Moody, who never failed to scrutinize him in the hallways with that wretched, swirling eye of his.

Moody, who, even after Dumbledore's attempt at understanding, still seemed to treat Ingress like a creature to be assessed rather than a student to be taught. It showed in class and served to upset more Slytherin's than not. 

Ingress could tell. He had grown up under watchful, untrusting eyes. He could feel the weight of suspicion even when Moody wasn't speaking. It was maddening and worse, it was making him reckless. During class, he could barely resist the temptation to push back. His posture was too tense, his answers too clipped. His wand hand twitched whenever Moody turned his back. He knew Draco had noticed, though, to his credit, the boy had yet to comment.

McGonagall noticed something entirely different about him. It happened on Thursday afternoon during Transfiguration, as the Gryffindors and Slytherins were meant to be practising the Switching Spell. A relatively straightforward spell in theory: swap one object's properties with another, but it requires finesse to avoid unintended effects.

Ingress, as usual, was hunched over his desk, lips pressed into a thin line as he muttered under his breath, wand moving in precise little flicks over his quill and inkwell. Unlike most of the class, who were still struggling to get their objects to change at all, he was adjusting. Tweaking.

And McGonagall noticed.

"Mr Lestrange," Her voice was firm as she approached his desk, "Show me."

Ingress looked up, blinking. Then, with a careful flick of his wand, he muttered, "Permutatio."

His quill shifted, not just into an inkwell, but into a different kind of inkwell, subtly different in size, with an intricate silver design running along its edges.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes slightly.

"Try again," she instructed.

Ingress pursed his lips but obeyed. Again, the transfiguration happened, and again, the object did not simply switch, it refined itself.

"Lestrange, what exactly are you doing?" McGonagall's brow furrowed.

Ingress hesitated. He had a feeling this was the sort of question that could either get him praised or get him into trouble. But McGonagall had never been cruel to him. She was strict, yes, but she was fair.

"I—" He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair, "I just thought, well, spells are instructions, right? Like... recipes. If you understand the ingredients, you can adjust the proportions."

"Go on," McGonagall's lips parted slightly. 

"I—I've been thinking about how spells are built," he admitted, "Like, the Switching Spell is kind of like a combination of a Vanishing Charm and a Summoning Spell, but also a bit of a Transfiguration spell, right? But if you isolate the bits that make it switch and tweak them a little, you can refine what gets altered," He frowned, "It's like breaking down the pieces of a spell and reconstructing them differently."

McGonagall stared at him. No, not just starred. Assessed.  

"That is not a concept most fourteen-year-olds would consider," she said finally, her voice neutral but carrying an undercurrent of something else.

"Am I not supposed to?" Ingress shifted uncomfortably. 

Her lips twitched slightly, "It is not a matter of what you should do, Mr Lestrange, but what you can do." 

She straightened, glancing at his desk once more before speaking, "Continue your work. I will be watching with interest."

That was all she said before striding away, leaving Ingress with an odd sense of accomplishment mixed with unease. She was watching him now, too.

Later that night, after another gruelling detention, Ingress lingered inside the Potions classroom, his rag still damp in his hands. Snape was at his desk, sorting through parchments with his usual air of controlled irritation.

Ingress hesitated before speaking, voice quiet but steady. 

"Professor Snape."

"Yes?" Snape barely looked up. 

A beat. Then: "How long is he going to keep watching me?"

Snape paused, quill hovering over a parchment. His expression did not change, but something flickered in his dark eyes before he exhaled through his nose. Agitation, at who - Ingress wouldn't guess.

"I assume you refer to Professor Moody."

"Who else?" Ingress clenched his jaw.

Snape set his quill down and laced his fingers together. For a long moment, he studied Ingress in that calculating way of his. Then, as if reaching a decision, he spoke.

"He will watch you as long as he deems necessary."

"That's not an answer," Ingress scoffed, looking away.

"It is the only one I can give."

The tension between them hung heavy, and for a moment, Ingress expected Snape to dismiss him entirely. Instead, the man continued, his voice lowering slightly.

"Professor Moody is an auror first and a professor second. That is his nature," His gaze was unreadable, "He sees threats before he sees people."

"Right. And what exactly does he see when he looks at me?" Ingress let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

There was no immediate response. Snape watched him for a long time, unreadable and quiet.

"That is up to you, Lestrange," he simply said.

Ingress didn't have a reply for that.

With nothing else to say, he gave a curt nod and turned, slipping out of the classroom without another word. The door shut behind him with a soft click.

The week had passed, but the weight of Moody's gaze had not and now, McGonagall was watching too.

Ingress wasn't sure whether that was better or worse.

Chapter Text

The Syltherins had just finished Friday classes, ending with potions, which Snape had assigned Ingress an extra credit assignment. He had to analyse the Wit-Sharpening Potion and, to Ingress' surprise, write justifiable reasons for any corrections he would make to the potion. Draco had later informed him it was a fifth-year potion at that, which only served to get Draco invested in how he broke things down and tweaked them. 

On that note, Hermione Granger had sat closer to him in their next transfiguration class. She has posed one singular question to him about the Bouquet Spell - Orchideous and how he had managed on his sixth attempt to get one of the Chrysanthemums he'd managed to bloom to appear red instead of pink as typical with the spell. He'd lost her trying to explain where he thought the colour component of the spell came into it and proceeded to keep quiet the rest of the lesson. 

The first eight weeks of classes had been the same; the only real struggle was keeping up with reading charms homework and not hexing Moody while trying to listen to the class (it wasn't working, Draco was teaching him and some of his friends extras in a spare period.

Walking to dinner after their final class of the week, the Slytherins saw a crowd of students gathered around a noticeboard, excited whispers filling the corridor.

"What's that about?" Pansy asked, craning her neck.

Draco pushed through the throng with the kind of casual entitlement only a Malfoy could manage, scanning the sign before turning back with an eager expression.

"The Beauxbatons and Durmstrang delegations are arriving next Friday," he announced, "Lessons will end early on the 30th."

That was all anyone could talk about for the rest of the night.

"Don't embarrass the school," Theodore mimicked the older students, rolling his eyes. "As if we don't have enough to deal with already."

"And don't let them know how little you know about the Switching Spell, Longbottom," Pansy added in a high, mocking tone, snickering.

Ingress had never cared much about the Triwizard Tournament, but the hype was starting to get to him. He wasn't nervous exactly just... restless.

Which was a problem.

Because the closer they got to the 30th, the worse it became.

By Monday, the usual hum of Hogwarts had shifted. Everyone seemed a little sharper, a little busier. Professors doubled down on assignments, and students, particularly the older years, were fussing over their appearances, arguing over which school would bring the most impressive witches and wizards.

Beauxbatons was known for elegance, Durmstrang for power.

"I still think I should have gone to Durmstrang," Draco muttered at breakfast, scanning the Great Hall with an air of superiority. They focus on the right things. Not this—" He gestured vaguely to a group of third-year students struggling over their Charms homework, "Soft nonsense."

"Yes, Draco, I'm sure you would have loved wearing fur-lined capes all day in some freezing castle in the middle of nowhere," Pansy scoffed.

Ingress, tuning them out, focused on his problem, namely, the Wit-Sharpening Potion essay Snape had assigned.

He had thought he'd found a way to make the potion more efficient, but the numbers didn't add up. Something was off. He'd spent the past two nights going over ingredient interactions in his head, but no matter how he adjusted the quantities, something kept ruining the stabilization process and that bothered him.

By Tuesday, he was distracted enough in Transfiguration that even McGonagall had taken notice.

"Lestrange."

"Professor?" Ingress snapped to attention.

McGonagall gave him a measured look over her glasses.

"Would you care to explain why you seem more interested in your notes than in practising your spellwork?"

He hesitated. He could lie. But - well, it was McGonagall.

"I was trying to figure out a problem," he admitted.

Her expression didn't change, "A problem unrelated to my lesson, I presume?"

"Kind of," he said before he could stop himself. Then, realizing that wasn't much of an answer, he added, "It's about how magical components interact. Specifically, why certain aspects of a spell or potion can be broken down but not reconstructed in the same way."

McGonagall stared at him.

So did Hermione.

Before she could ask - because she would - McGonagall turned to the class.

"Everyone, continue practising," she instructed, then turned back to Ingress, "Show me."

"What?"

"You said you're trying to break something down," she said briskly, "Prove it. Take the Switching Spell, and explain to me why some students struggle with it while others do not."

Ingress hesitated only a second before launching into an explanation.

"The spell forces an object to take on another's properties, right? But that means there's an underlying magical transfer happening. It's not just a switch it's an exchange."

McGonagall nodded, "Go on."

"So, logically, that means a stronger spell could control how much of the object gets transferred. Like, if you adjusted the incantation or changed the wand movement slightly, you could control whether the entire item switched or just certain properties. Shape. Texture. Mass. Those things are easy for some people to consider into spellwork where others don't think clearly about it..."

He trailed off, suddenly aware that McGonagall wasn't stopping him. Her lips pressed together, but not in the disapproving way he expected. Instead, there was something almost thoughtful about the way she regarded him.

"I assume you've been experimenting with this?" She asked after a moment.

Ingress nodded cautiously.

McGonagall hummed. Then, after a pause, she simply said, "Continue."

It wasn't quite permission, but it wasn't not permission either. Ingress had the oddest feeling that he had just passed some kind of test. By Wednesday, everything irritated him.

Part of it was the waiting, Hogwarts itself felt restless. But the rest?

The rest was Moody.

Ingress hated Moody.

It wasn't just the paranoia, the way the man's electric blue eye lingered on him longer than it should, or the thinly veiled contempt in his tone whenever he called on him in class. It was the way Moody spoke about magic like it was nothing but a weapon, as if everything had to be turned into a tool for war.

Ingress had kept his mouth shut for weeks. He really had. But by Thursday's lesson, he'd had enough.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" Moody bellowed as he slammed his hand against the desk, making half the class jump.

Draco rolled his eyes. Ingress clenched his jaw.

"Nothing," Moody continued, pacing in front of them, "Nothing is more important than being prepared for an attack. Do you think knowing spells is enough? Knowing how to hex your opponent? Wrong. You have to expect them to strike first. You have to know what they'll do before they do it. And if you hesitate-"

His wand snapped toward a shy Slytherin, who yelped as his chair tipped over backward.

"You're dead," Moody finished.

Ingress felt his temper spike.

"Or," he said before he could stop himself, "You could not make your entire strategy about paranoia."

The room went silent.

Moody turned his head slowly.

"Oh?" he drawled.

Ingress knew this was stupid, but he couldn't not say it.

"You keep saying we have to expect an attack," he said, voice tight, "But that assumes we're always reacting. If you only focus on defence, you'll never understand the spells themselves."

Moody stared at him for a long moment, then he grinned. It wasn't a nice grin.

"Well, well," he said, "Look who thinks he's got all the answers."

"I don't," Ingress shot back, "I just think constantly assuming you're about to be hexed isn't a strategy. It's a trauma response."

There were several gasps. Even Draco looked a little stunned. Moody's expression didn't change.

"Detention," he said.

Ingress gritted his teeth.

Fine. Whatever.

He could do a single detention.

Ingress should have known Moody's detention wouldn't involve scrubbing cauldrons or writing lines. He stepped into the dimly lit office, where the scent of old parchment, burnt metal, and something sharper, like the residue of dark magic, coated the air. The walls were cluttered with odd, twitching artifacts. A Foe-Glass reflected shifting, blurry figures. A set of cursed objects hung ominously from the far shelf.

Moody sat behind his desk, his magical eye whirring as it locked onto Ingress. The door shut with an unnatural finality behind him.

"Sit," Moody ordered, his voice gravelly.

Ingress sat, keeping his posture loose but ready. He'd been in enough fights to know when someone was looking for an opening.

Moody didn't speak at first. Just stared. His real eye was sharp, but the magical one roamed erratically, flicking to Ingress' hands, his wand, and even the pulse point at his throat.

It wasn't normal.

It wasn't right.

Ingress had been around plenty of powerful witches and wizards. He knew what a magical presence felt like. Knew what it was like to stand in a room with someone whose aura burned against his own. Moody's magic didn't feel like that. He'd grown up around ex-Death Eaters, for Merlin's sake, he knew something was afoot. 

It was off, unsteady in a way that didn't match his reputation. There was something false about it, like an instrument just barely out of tune. Ingress schooled his expression.

"You think I'm wrong," Moody finally said, his voice low.

Ingress didn't answer.

"Oh, don't play dumb now, boy. You had plenty to say in class," Moody's mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

Ingress didn't rise to the bait. He wasn't stupid.

"You ever been in a real fight, Lestrange?" Moody leaned forward, his fingers drumming once against the desk.

Ingress fought the urge to scoff. More than you know.

He'd been brawling since he was starting shit in primary school. Street fights, play yard tussles, formal duels. He knew what it was like to be thrown to the ground, to take a hit and keep moving. So, instead of answering, he held Moody's gaze, letting silence do the talking.

"Good. You're not stupid. But you are reckless," Moody grunted.

Ingress arched an eyebrow.

"That stunt in class," Moody went on, "Was the mark of someone who doesn't know when to shut up. You see, most students sit down, take notes, and get the hell out. You? You think too much. You pick at things."

"That's what we're supposed to do," Ingress narrowed his eyes.

"Is it?" Moody tilted his head.

A pause.

Then, with no warning, Moody moved.

Ingress saw the flicker of movement, the sharp twist of his wrist, and reacted before the spell could leave his wand.

He was on his feet in a blink, twisting to the side as a streak of red light shot past his shoulder and exploded against the wall behind him. His own wand was in his hand, already tracking Moody's next move. The man's eyes flared in dangerous reds and silver as he stared onward. 

Silence stretched between them.

"Not bad," Moody's lips curled.

Ingress' pulse was steady. He knew better than to let adrenaline take control. 

"That's your idea of detention? Ambushing students?"

"Teaching them."

"You think that was a lesson?" Ingress let out a slow breath through his nose.

Moody didn't answer.

Instead, he watched. Too closely. Like he was waiting for something, and that was when Ingress realized - Moody wasn't testing his reactions. He was testing his instincts. Something was wrong with him. The way his magic moved. The way he watched people. It was like he was waiting for someone to call his bluff.

Ingress shifted slightly, his grip on his wand adjusting. He could handle himself but Moody, this Moody, wasn't someone he wanted to tip off just yet.

So instead of pressing, he forced his body to relax and exhaled.

"You done?" he asked, voice dry.

Moody studied him for a beat longer. Then, so suddenly it was almost jarring, he let out a raspy chuckle, "Yeah. I'm done."

Ingress didn't trust it.

But he nodded once, turned, and walked out.

He didn't look back.

That night, in the Slytherin common room, Draco flopped onto the couch beside him.

"So," he drawled, "How bad was it?"

Ingress stared at the fire. He could still feel the way Moody's magic had felt against his own unnatural, twisted in a way that was hard to put into words.

Something was wrong, and nobody else seemed to notice.

"...Bad," he muttered.

Draco frowned, "Yeah? What'd he make you do?"

Ingress exhaled through his nose.

"...Nothing I didn't expect," he lied.

Draco hummed, unconvinced but willing to let it go. Ingress didn't sleep much that night; Umbra coiled close to his neck as he sat watching the ceiling. 

By Friday, the castle was practically buzzing with anticipation. Everywhere Ingress went, students were talking about Durmstrang, about Beauxbatons, about who might be entering the Tournament.

"We'll be watching the arrival in the evening," Draco reminded their group as they made their way to dinner, "I'd bet anything Durmstrang's entrance will be the most impressive."

Ingress, distracted, barely heard him. He had spent the whole week feeling like something was about to happen, and tonight?

Tonight, the feeling was worse than ever.

Chapter Text

By the evening of the 30th of October arrived, the energy in Hogwarts was almost unbearable. Lessons ended early, as promised, but hardly anyone paid attention that morning anyway. Ingress could barely focus on his Charms essay, distracted by the chatter of students predicting what Beauxbatons and Durmstrang would be like.

"They say Beauxbatons students are part-Veela," Blaise Zabini mused as they made their way down to the entrance hall, adjusting his robes with casual arrogance.

"That's just a myth," Pansy Parkinson said, rolling her eyes.

"Not entirely," Draco Malfoy interjected. "My father's met their headmistress, Madame Maxime. She's a giant."

Ingress, walking a few steps behind them, half-listened as he surveyed the gathered students. The entire school had filed out onto the front steps, forming a sea of black Hogwarts robes against the darkening sky. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp leaves and distant wood smoke.

There was a collective shiver of anticipation. Then, the first sign of arrival came.

A low rumbling sound, followed by the distant rush of wind.

Ingress turned his gaze upward just as the massive, powder-blue carriage of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic soared into view, drawn by a team of enormous, winged palomino horses. Each was the size of an elephant, their golden manes gleaming in the setting sun. A gasp rippled through the crowd as the carriage descended, gliding with an almost unnatural grace before landing with a heavy thud on the grass. The ground shuddered slightly beneath them.

The door swung open, and a woman of truly staggering proportions stepped out, Madame Maxime, a literal giantess draped in elegant robes. She cast an imperious glance over the gathered Hogwarts students before turning and motioning for her students to follow.

The Beauxbatons students emerged gracefully, their light-blue uniforms catching the torchlight. They moved with almost choreographed precision, their expressions a careful balance of polite interest and mild disdain as they took in their British counterparts. Ingress caught sight of a girl who did seem to have Veela heritage, her silver-blonde hair shimmering unnaturally in the twilight.

Then, before anyone could fully digest Beauxbatons' arrival, a new disturbance stole their attention.

The lake.

A great whirlpool formed at its centre, churning violently as though some ancient force was rising from the depths. A second later, something truly massive broke through the surface - an enormous ship, its towering masts slick with water, rising as if from the deep. It creaked and groaned as it steadied itself, floating ominously on the now-still lake.

Durmstrang had arrived.

Students murmured in awe as a plank extended from the side of the ship and a line of Durmstrang students disembarked. They moved quietly but purposefully, their blood-red robes stark against the darkness. Unlike the elegant Beauxbatons students, Durmstrang carried themselves with the confidence of warriors, many tall, broad-shouldered, and with an unmistakable air of discipline.

Leading them was the most famous Quidditch player in the world.

"Viktor Krum!" Someone hissed, and at once, the whisper shot through the crowd.

Even in Australia, Krum's skill was legendary, but seeing him in person, with hunched shoulders and a brooding scowl, his effortlessly commanding presence was different. He wasn't just an athlete. He carried himself like a fighter.

Draco was watching Durmstrang with keen interest. Ingress knew why. Draco had nearly gone there, but instead of voicing that, Draco simply muttered, "They look like proper wizards, don't they?"

Ingress remained silent, his focus flicking back to Karkaroff, the Durmstrang headmaster, as he strode forward to greet Dumbledore. There was something off about him. His smile was too sharp, his eyes too calculating. 

As greetings were exchanged between the heads of schools, the Hogwarts students were ushered inside for the feast. The Great Hall, already impressive, was now a grand display of international magic. The long tables gleamed under floating candles, and the enchanted ceiling was alight with the last hues of sunset, slowly deepening into night.

The Hogwarts students returned to their respective house tables, their excitement over the foreign schools still lingering in hushed whispers and sideways glances. The Beauxbatons students had settled at the Ravenclaw table, their delicate silk uniforms looking strangely out of place among the heavier Hogwarts robes. The Durmstrang students, meanwhile, had taken seats at the Slytherin table, something that made Draco preen with unmistakable pride.

Ingress slid into his usual seat between Draco and Blaise, but his eyes were still fixed on the visitors. The Beauxbatons students were eyeing the Hogwarts fare with a mixture of curiosity and restrained displeasure. The Durmstrang students, on the other hand, spoke in low voices, occasionally throwing glances at the head table.

Ingress wasn't the only one who noticed Karkaroff's icy stares at Dumbledore as if expecting some kind of trick. He seemed entirely too eager to ingratiate himself with the older wizard, his sharp-toothed smile never quite reaching his eyes. Moody, seated near the end of the staff table, was watching Karkaroff closely, his magical eye whizzing as if searching for something beneath the surface. Ingress stiffened at the sight of him, instinctively tightening his grip on his goblet.

"Oi, Ingress," Draco nudged him, drawing his attention back, "You have to put your name in the Goblet, right?"

"Hmm?"

"The Tournament," Draco said impatiently, "You've learnt to duel, right?"

"Yes, but no thanks. I might be able to throw a punch, but compared to some of the Durmstrang lads, I'm a twig," Ingress lightly scoffed, "The seventh-years will have the advantage, too."

Draco huffed, clearly annoyed that he wouldn't even consider it. Ingress tuned him out as Dumbledore finally rose to his feet.

A hush settled over the hall immediately.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and, most importantly, our esteemed guests from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and the Durmstrang Institute."

A polite smattering of applause followed, though it was noticeably louder from the Hogwarts students than from the visitors. The Beauxbatons students clapped delicately, while the Durmstrang students barely reacted at all.

"As you are all aware, we are gathered here tonight in great anticipation of the Triwizard Tournament," Dumbledore continued, his blue eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles, "This is an event of great honour and tradition, a contest that will test not only magical skill, but also courage, intelligence, and resourcefulness."

Ingress took another sip of his pumpkin juice, listening carefully. Curious, he had read up on the Tournament, and what he had learned hadn't exactly reassured him. Historically, the Triwizard Tournament had a very high casualty rate. The fact that it had been reinstated after over a century of being banned did not fill him with confidence.

"The heads of our visiting schools, Madame Maxime and Professor Karkaroff, along with myself and other impartial judges, will oversee the tournament," Dumbledore continued, "The champions will be chosen by none other than the Goblet of Fire."

At these words, two large wooden doors creaked open at the side of the hall, and everyone turned as if a great, ancient-looking goblet was carried inside. Its surface was cracked and blackened with age, but its flames burned brightly, flickering between blue and white. The Goblet was placed at the very front of the hall, resting atop a stone pedestal.

A ripple of awe spread through the students. Even Ingress had to admit that the Goblet had an impressive presence, radiating something old, something powerful.

"Anyone who wishes to submit their name for the Tournament," Dumbledore continued, "Must do so before tomorrow evening, at which point the Goblet will make its selection. However, be warned—" His gaze swept the room, pausing just slightly on the Gryffindor table, where Fred and George Weasley were already whispering to each other, "There is an Age Restriction. No student under the age of seventeen will be able to cross the Age Line I have drawn around the Goblet."

At this, a few groans and protests rose from the younger students, but Dumbledore merely smiled. 

"These precautions are in place to ensure everyone's safety. The Tournament is no small thing. It is a test of skill, of heart, of mind, and- yes -of endurance. Those chosen will face challenges beyond ordinary schoolwork."

His words were followed by a heavy pause. Ingress noticed some students straightening in their seats as if relishing the idea of proving themselves. Others looked slightly less enthusiastic now that reality had set in.

Dumbledore's expression grew more serious. 

"But now," he said, with a twinkle returning to his eyes, "Let us eat."

At once, golden platters filled with food filled the air, and the scent of roast meats, warm bread, and spiced pumpkin filled the air. The feast was even grander than the usual Hogwarts fare, clearly meant to impress the guests. Platters of foreign dishes appeared alongside the usual English roasts and pies, delicate French pastries, deep-red sausages from Durmstrang, steaming stews, and golden, flaky bread.

The Beauxbatons students still looked unimpressed, though a few nibbled at the dishes cautiously. The Durmstrang students dug in with gusto, some of them eyeing the Hogwarts students as if measuring them up for competition.

Draco was still talking about the Tournament.

"Father says the Ministry's only allowing three champions; he never said anything about the age limit, though," Draco sighed as he cut into his dinner. 

Ingress said nothing, but his gaze flicked back to Karkaroff at the staff table. The man was smiling, but it was a thin, unpleasant smile. Beside him, Snape looked equally disapproving of the spectacle, arms folded across his chest. The night stretched on, filled with talk of the Tournament. The more Ingress listened, the more he realized something felt off about this whole thing. The Goblet burned too brightly. The excitement felt almost forced.

The excitement around Hogwarts only grew the following day. Everywhere Ingress went, the Triwizard Tournament was all anyone could talk about. In classes, hallways, and common rooms, students speculated wildly about the tasks, the champions, and which school would come out on top. The older students, especially the sixth and seventh years, carried themselves with a new sense of importance, clearly convinced that they had the best shot at being chosen.

Ingress, however, couldn't have cared less.

He wasn't allowed to enter, so what was the point? He had no ambitions of personal glory, no desire to show off. If anything, he had more pressing things to worry about, like the extra-credit work Snape had assigned him, the increasingly complicated discussions about spell composition he'd been having with McGonagall, and the absolute headache that was keeping up with Charms homework.

By the time Saturday morning rolled around, the students were practically vibrating with anticipation.

"Did you hear?" Theodore Nott said at breakfast, leaning over his plate, "Krum entered."

"What?" Draco nearly choked on his toast. 

"Durmstrang's Krum?" Pansy repeated in disbelief.

"Obviously," Theo smirked, "Who else? I overheard the Ravenclaws talking about it. Apparently, he put his name in last night."

"That's who we have to beat?" Draco looked momentarily uncertain before scoffing, "Well, it's not like being good at Quidditch means he'll be good at everything. I bet he's terrible at non-verbal spellwork."

"You're just mad you can't enter," Blaise snorted. 

Draco scowled.

Ingress barely listened to the conversation, idly spearing a piece of sausage with his fork. He was aware of Harry Potter sitting not too far away at the Gryffindor table, picking at his food with a distracted look on his face. Everyone around him was talking about the Goblet, but Potter didn't seem particularly excited either. He was invested in the event, but something in his expression made Ingress wonder if he was dreading it more than looking forward to it.

Ingress could relate.

He finished breakfast quickly and excused himself before the discussion could unfold.

The Great Hall was packed by the time the evening rolled around. Every student in the school had gathered, buzzing with an eagerness that bordered on unbearable. The Goblet of Fire stood exactly where it had been the night before, its flames licking at the air as though tasting the excitement.

Ingress slid into his usual seat beside Draco, arms crossed as he took in the scene. The Weasley twins were nearby, looking smug despite their failed attempt at crossing Dumbledore's Age Line earlier that morning. Their beards had only just vanished after hours of magical intervention.

Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione at the Gryffindor table, looking vaguely uneasy. Ingress noted again that Potter wasn't as caught up in the excitement as the rest.

"Who do you reckon will get in?" Pansy asked, tilting her head.

"Don't care," Ingress shrugged. 

Draco scoffed, "How can you not care? It's only the biggest event Hogwarts has had in ages."

"Yeah, but it doesn't matter to me," Ingress pointed out, "I'm not putting my name in. You're not putting your name in. We'll all just be watching someone else go through whatever insane tasks they've set up."

"...I suppose," Draco opened his mouth to argue but faltered. 

The Hall slowly quieted as Dumbledore rose from his seat.

"The moment has come," he said, his voice echoing through the chamber. The Goblet of Fire is ready to select its champions. Once they are chosen, they will be escorted to a private chamber to receive further instructions."

The excitement in the room hit a peak as the flames in the Goblet turned a deep, fiery red. Sparks shot up into the air, and then—

A single slip of parchment flew out of the fire.

Dumbledore caught it neatly.

"The champion for Durmstrang," he announced, "is Viktor Krum."

The Durmstrang students' cheers erupted, and their tables erupted in applause. Krum stood, nodding once before striding up to the front, his usual stoic expression never shifting.

Ingress leaned on his hand, watching with vague interest. No surprise there.

The Goblet flared again.

"The champion for Beauxbatons," Dumbledore read, "is Fleur Delacour."

The Beauxbatons students broke into applause, though it was far more refined than Durmstrang's. A stunning girl with silvery-blonde hair rose gracefully, her expression proud as she walked to the front.

"Not bad," Blaise mused.

Ingress hummed noncommittally, waiting for the inevitable—

Once more, the Goblet came to life, and a third slip of parchment was expelled.

"The Hogwarts champion," Dumbledore announced, "is Cedric Diggory."

Hufflepuff erupted. Their cheers were deafening, and Cedric, sitting a few seats down at the Hufflepuff table, looked momentarily stunned before rising to his feet. His housemates clapped him on the back, calling his name as he made his way to the front.

Ingress allowed a smirk. Diggory was a solid choice. A good duelist, if the family name was anything to show, he looked competent and didn't seem too full of himself.

"See?" he said to Draco, "Could've been worse."

Draco merely pouted, arms crossed. Ingress was just about to turn his attention back to his plate when—

The Goblet of Fire roared again.

A gasp rippled through the Great Hall as the flames burned brighter than before, crackling with a near-unnatural intensity. The air buzzed, thick with something wrong.

Another slip of parchment shot out. Dumbledore caught it.

He frowned. His lips parted—and then, very clearly, he read out the name:

"Harry Potter."

The Hall went silent.

Ingress slowly turned his head toward Potter.

Harry, for his part, looked as if he'd been struck by a Bludger. His face was blank with shock, his fork slipping from his fingers. The silence stretched, thick and suffocating.

Then, all at once, the Great Hall exploded into noise. Shouting. Confusion. Disbelief.

Ingress barely had time to process it when—the Goblet flared again.

A pulse of something foreign, something wrong, rolled through the room like a shockwave, making the hairs on his arms stand on end.

Another slip of parchment burst from the fire. The room held its breath.

Dumbledore reached out, caught it between his fingers, and read—

"Ingress Lestrange."

The world went muffled. For a terrifying, weightless moment, Ingress couldn't breathe. His name. His name had just come out of the Goblet of Fire.

That wasn't possible.

His pulse roared in his ears as a hundred heads snapped toward him. He barely registered Draco stiffening beside him or Pansy making a sharp, disbelieving noise.

At the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter looked pale as death. Their eyes met across the hall, both of them frozen in the same terrifying realization.

Something was very, very wrong.

For the first time since the tournament had been announced, Ingress was terrified.

Chapter Text

The stunned silence that followed the announcement of Ingress's name was almost as bad as the uproar after Harry's.

For a moment, the Great Hall felt as if it were holding its breath. Then, just as before, it erupted into a storm of noise, shouting, whispers, and gasps of confusion. Ingress sat frozen, staring at Dumbledore detachedly as if this were all happening to someone else.

He hadn't put his name in.

He hadn't put his name in.

But there it was, fluttering in Dumbledore's hand. His name, written in ink he did not recognise, called out for all to hear. Beside him, Draco had gone rigid. Pansy was gaping at him, Theo looked more intrigued than alarmed, and Blaise dared to smirk like he was entirely too entertained by this.

"Ingress," Draco hissed, "Say something."

Ingress blinked. His mouth opened slightly, but his brain supplied nothing useful.

"Mr Potter... Mr Lestrange," Dumbledore said, his voice measured but laced with an unspoken urgency, "If you would please join us."

Harry moved first. He pushed himself up from the Gryffindor table like a man walking to his execution, his face pale. The Hall was still filled with shocked whispers as he made his way toward the door leading to the antechamber.

Ingress stayed seated.

Dumbledore's eyes found him again, expectant.

It took every ounce of willpower for Ingress to move. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him and hear the murmurs: two extra names; how? How is that possible? Was this some kind of joke? He felt like his skull had been cracked open, and something was screaming inside of it. His legs felt disconnected from the rest of his body as he followed Potter out of the Hall.

As soon as they entered the chamber where the other three champions stood, Fleur Delacour scoffed loudly, arms crossed.

"This is ridiculous," her accent skewing the words.

Krum frowned deeply. Looking just as bewildered as everyone else, Cedric turned to Harry first.

"Did you put your name in?"

"No," Harry said immediately, still looking like he might be sick.

Fleur exhaled sharply, giving Harry a look that clearly said she didn't believe him, before turning to Ingress, "And you?"

Ingress slowly turned his head to look at her, his expression blank.

He was too preoccupied with not putting his fist through the nearest wall to dignify that with an answer. The door opened behind them before anyone could say anything else, and the headmasters entered.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape were first, all three radiating very different levels of concern. Karkaroff and Madame Maxime followed, the former looking furious. Behind them were Mr Crouch, who looked paler than usual, and Ludo Bagman, who, despite everything, still looked annoyingly cheerful.

"What is zee meaning of zis?!" Madame Maxime demanded, her voice practically shaking the room, "Two extra champions?! Hogwarts gets three?! Zis is not fair!"

"We did not ask for three," McGonagall said sharply, "And I assure you, we are just as surprised as you."

Karkaroff's expression was venomous, "Surprised, are you? How very convenient. I demand an explanation-" 

"And I demand answers," Ingress cut in with a snarl. 

The room fell into momentary silence.

Ingress's tone was sharp, cutting through the chaos like a knife. His fists were clenched at his sides, and his entire body vibrated with tension. It was bad enough with the anger pulsing in the room, but Harry's fear only elevated his own, which made him angrier. 

"How," he said slowly, dangerously, "Is this legally binding if I did not put my name in?"

"That's what we're trying to determine," Dumbledore said evenly.

"No," Ingress turned, eyes locking onto Crouch, "The law of these types of magical contracts states that the competitors must enter willingly. That the Goblet selects from those who chose to compete," He gestured sharply at Harry, "Neither of us chose."

"Be that as it may, the Goblet is a binding magical contract. If your name was chosen, you must compete," Crouch looked weary.

Ingress felt something ugly curl in his chest. 

"So let me get this straight," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "I, a fourteen-year-old, am being forced into a magically binding contract. You're treating me like an adult wizard for this."

"That is the nature of the contract," Crouch replied.

Ingress tilted his head, a slow, wicked smile appearing on his face.

"Well, then," he said smoothly, "If I'm an adult wizard, I want to take my Apparition test."

That seemed to startle everyone.

"What?" McGonagall blinked.

"You're forcing me to participate as an adult; I should get all the legal privileges of an adult, shouldn't I?" Ingress said, "I want my Apparition license."

Crouch visibly hesitated, "That-"

"And," Ingress cut him off again, eyes narrowing, "Since I'm clearly being recognized as an adult wizard, I want my legal inheritance. I am the Lestrange heir. I demand my unrestricted heir access and all privileges that come with my standing."

A heavy silence filled the room.

Harry turned to look at him, and there was something like hope in his eyes for the first time since his name was drawn.

Harry inhaled sharply, "I'm the Potter heir."

"Exactly," Ingress said, catching on quickly if not a bit confusedly, "Neither of us has guardians legally signing off on this, so why are we being allowed to participate? Either we're minors, or we're adults, so which is it?"

"You are complicating matters," Moody growled from his corner.

Ingress' eyes snapped to him, and for a brief moment, something dark twisted in his magic as he read the emotions in the room.

"Complicating?" His voice was dangerously low, "You're throwing children into a contract neither of us entered, and you're upset that I'm complicating things? No, no, I'll tell you what's complicated-"

"Ingress-"

"-What's complicated is that I don't remember putting my name in, but somehow it's there," He took a slow step forward, his tone turning sharp, "So who put it in? Because someone did."

"We will be investigating that," Dumbledore assured him.

"Will you?" Ingress' voice was sharp enough to cut glass, "Because as it stands, you're all very comfortable just forcing us to compete instead of actually addressing that part."

"I suggest you hold your tongue, boy," Moody said, that damn magical eye of his whirring in his skull.

Ingress turned on him so fast that even Moody stilled.

"Oh, bite me, Moody," he snapped, his voice just shy of a yell, "The last thing I need is a washed-up, paranoid Auror telling me to shut up about the fact that someone just successfully manipulated the Goblet of Fire!"

Snape made a strangled noise in his throat. Moody looked ready to hex him. Dumbledore sighed heavily. 

"Enough."

Ingress turned back, still radiating rage.

"We will investigate," Dumbledore said again, this time with more force, "For now, however... Mr Potter, Mr Lestrange, you are in this Tournament."

Harry's face crumpled in a mixture of frustration and resignation. Ingress breathed heavily through his nose.

"Well," he muttered, voice dripping with venom, "I hope someone has a damn good explanation by the time I nearly die in the first task."

McGonagall rubbed her temples. The silence in the room was thick with tension. Three Hogwarts champions.

Ingress could see the problem plain as day: Hogwarts had too many names in the Goblet, and now the other schools were fuming. Madame Maxime already looked like she was one breath away from snapping her chair in half, and Karkaroff, well, he looked ready to try and hex someone in broad daylight.

"This is preposterous!" Karkaroff snarled, rounding on Dumbledore, "Your school was not meant to have three champions! Two of them should be disqualified!"

"And yet," Dumbledore said evenly, "The Goblet of Fire has chosen them, and the contract must be honoured."

"That is convenient," Madame Maxime spat, her accent flaring her words, "You appear to have two extra names from your school, and you expect us to believe this is fair?"

"Well, technically," Ludo Bagman cut in, raising a hand, "Ingress isn't actually from Hogwarts."

That drew everyone's attention.

"He transferred in at the beginning of term," McGonagall clarified stiffly, casting a glance at Ingress, who was still standing rigid, "From Thundelarra's Institute of Magic."

Karkaroff and Madame Maxime exchanged looks of exasperation.

"The Australian school?" Madame Maxime folded her arms.

Ingress clenched his jaw. He could feel their eyes on him as if he were some sort of oddity they had no patience for. His fingers twitched. Everyone was feeling different emotions. The other schools were all rightly angry, his teachers were concerned, and Ludo Bagman was smiling with bright, happy colours in his eyes. As if completely unaware of the sheer strain in the air, Ludo clapped his hands together. 

"Well! That does change things a bit, doesn't it? If we absolutely must follow the contract, we could always contact Thundelarra and see if they'll allow Mr Lestrange to compete under their name, eh?"

The words hit the room like a thrown brick. Ingress deadpanned.

"So let me get this straight," he said, voice soaked in sarcasm, "Someone illegally put my name in a death tournament, and your solution is to just send an owl to Australia?"

Bagman at least had the decency to look sheepish, "Well, er, it's-"

"No, no, I get it," Ingress continued, voice getting louder, "I'm being forced to compete, but don't worry! You'll just ask my old school, on the other side of the world, if they're okay with it." 

He laughed bitterly, "Yeah, I'm sure they'll be thrilled."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"The rules must be upheld," Crouch said, looking very put out, "If this is the only way to avoid further conflict, then it must be considered."

Ingress' temper nearly snapped in two. He exhaled hard through his nose, eyes narrowing. 

"No."

Crouch blinked, "No?"

"No." 

Ingress stepped forward, hands balled into fists, "You don't get to negotiate my way out of this. Either I'm in this because someone cheated, or I'm not. Figure it out."

"That is what we are doing, Mr Lestrange-"

"No, what you're doing is covering your own arses," Ingress snapped, "You're more concerned with keeping the tournament going than figuring out who tampered with it, because I guarantee you, someone did."

The room remained still. Dumbledore's expression remained unreadable, even to Ingress at this moment, but his eyes were quiet and sharp.

Moody let out a gravelly chuckle. 

"Kid's got a point."

Ingress turned slowly to glare at him. Moody's magical eye whirred in its socket as he considered Ingress. 

"Someone had to have put both your names in, and whoever did it, they're damn good at magic," He gave a twisted smile, "You should be more worried about who's got their eye on you, boy."

Ingress' fingers twitched.

"Or," Moody continued, "You can waste time yelling instead of thinking."

That did it.

Ingress lunged and was physically restrained by McGonagall and Snape at the same time.

"That is enough," McGonagall snapped.

Snape muttered something dark under his breath, but his grip on Ingress' arm was iron-tight.

"Unless you want detention for the rest of your natural life, control yourself."

Ingress wrenched his arm free with a snarl but stayed put. Dumbledore finally spoke. 

"For now, we must inform Thundelarra's Institute of this development," his blue eyes flicked to Ingress, "And we will investigate how this came to be."

Ingress clenched his jaw. He wanted to keep fighting this, to keep pushing, but looking at the way everyone was already moving forward, acting as though this was already settled, he knew there was no way out of this. With a slow, sharp inhale, he straightened his posture and tilted his chin up slightly.

"Fine," he said, voice like steel, "Send the owl, but don't expect me to pretend this isn't complete bullshit."

Dumbledore only nodded as if he had expected nothing less. Harry, standing off to the side, exhaled quietly. 

"This is insane."

"Sounds like a normal school year from what I've heard, Potter," Ingress gave a humourless smirk. 

McGonagall closed her eyes for a brief second as if praying for patience.

Karkaroff looked seconds away from hexing someone, and Madame Maxime was muttering furiously to herself in French. Ludo clapped his hands together again. 

"Right! Well, now that that's sorted-"

"It is not sorted," Karkaroff snarled.

"The First Task will take place on the twenty-fourth of November," Crouch said, his voice flat and unwavering, "Until then, you will have to determine for yourselves what it entails and prepare accordingly."

Standing stiff beside Harry, Ingress barely registered the words over the sheer frustration boiling under his skin.

"The champions are forbidden from receiving any assistance," Crouch continued, scanning each of them as though daring them to argue, "You will also receive details regarding the Second Task only after you have completed the first. Additionally, all champions will be exempt from end-of-year exams due to their participation."

Ingress let out a short, humourless laugh at that. Oh, wow. No exams. What a bloody treat.

The conversation soon dissolved as the champions were dismissed, the other headmasters storming off, each fuming over the selection's biased results. Karkaroff was still grumbling under his breath, throwing Ingress and Harry glares that could set fire to a cauldron, while Madame Maxime looked absolutely disgusted with the entire ordeal.

Cedric lingered behind as the two younger boys trudged out of the chamber.

"Listen," Cedric said, turning to Harry and Ingress as they stepped into the dim corridor, "I don't know how you two did it, but-"

"I didn't," Harry cut in quickly, frustration and exhaustion thick in his voice, "I swear, Cedric. I didn't put my name in, and I didn't ask anyone to do it for me."

Cedric's expression hardened slightly, "Right. Look, you've got to see how this looks-"

"Oh, don't start with me, Diggory," Ingress bit out, his patience shredding by the second, "I've had enough of people acting like I've been plotting something evil in this country and I've been here all of a few weeks."

"I didn't mean it like that. Just, this is a mess. No one's happy about it," Cedric sighed, rubbing his temples. 

Ingress deadpanned, "Wow. No kidding."

Harry glanced at him. Cedric glanced between them, hesitating. It was clear he wasn't entirely sure what to say, probably not used to this level of absurdity, but after another pause, he nodded stiffly before heading back to the Hufflepuff dormitory. Ingress could only watch the story grey of the boy's eyes before he turned to round a corner and vanish. 

Harry exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. 

"This is going to be hell."

"Glad you've caught up," Ingress muttered, storming off toward the dungeons before Harry could respond.

By the time Ingress reached the Slytherin common room, the last thing he expected was to be greeted by a full-blown celebration.

Someone had conjured green and silver banners, and Lestrange emblazoned across them in shifting gold. Others had brought in drinks (likely pilfered) and food from the kitchens, and several students had already declared him the only true Hogwarts champion. Ingress barely made it three steps inside before he turned on his heel and stormed right back out.

He could hear Pansy complaining behind him.

"Where's he going? We're celebrating him!"

"Not now, Pansy," Draco muttered.

He didn't stop. He didn't slow down. He was seething, and the first person unlucky enough to cross his path was about to get it. Unfortunately for him, the first person to intentionally stop him was Severus Snape.

The Potions Master caught him outside the common room, one sharp glance at his furious face before immediately grabbing him by the shoulder and steering him toward his office.

"Inside," Snape said shortly, closing the door behind them before rounding on him with his signature unimpressed glare, "Sit."

"I'd rather punch a wall," Ingress shot back.

"Then you will have a broken hand and multiple detentions."

Ingress glowered at him.

Snape's office was cold and dim, illuminated only by the glow of potion vials stacked in his cabinets. It smelled like a mix of herbs, charred wood, and something vaguely metallic. Snape stepped closer, lowering his voice. 

"If you are quite finished behaving like a fool-"

"Oh, my bad," Ingress sneered, arms folding tightly over his chest, "I must have missed the part where this wasn't a big deal."

Snape's glare intensified, "Watch your tone."

Ingress clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. A long silence stretched between them. Finally, Snape exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

"What do you want, Lestrange? A full investigation? You know that will take time."

"What I want," Ingress hissed, "Is to not be stuck in a bloody death tournament!"

Snape regarded him for a long moment. Then, stepping around his desk, he reached into one of his drawers and pulled out a vial.

"Drink."

Ingress eyed it, "If that's a Sleeping Draught, you can go to hell."

Snape exhaled through his nose, "Calming."

Ingress stared at it. He could feel his own heartbeat in his skull. He wanted to reject it outright, but the truth was he was barely keeping himself together. He'd probably slip into a panic attack if he left himself to his devices much longer.

His hands shook as he snatched the vial from Snape's grip. He knocked it back in one go. The effects weren't immediate, but soon enough, the tension in his chest loosened ever so slightly.

Snape crossed his arms, watching him closely, "Better?"

Ingress let out a long breath, "I hate this."

"Yes, I gathered that."

Another pause.

Finally, Snape stepped back and said, "You will go to your dormitory and ignore the mindless celebrations. You will not throw a fit in front of half the school and certainly not give Professor Moody a reason to watch you any closer than he already is."

Ingress' jaw ticked, "He's hiding something."

Snape stilled, "Moody?"

"You don't feel it?" Ingress met his gaze.

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly.

"I know something's wrong with him," Ingress muttered, "I can feel it. His magic is off."

Snape's expression didn't shift. Not immediately, but after a moment, he merely said, "Go to bed."

Ingress hesitated, but after another long stare-down, he turned and stormed out. The celebrations were still going strong in the common room. He ignored them.

Chapter Text

Ingress Lestrange was not in the mood for letters. Especially not ones signed by Lucius Malfoy on obscenely expensive parchment.

He sat on the edge of his bed, scowling at the letter clenched in his fingers. The Malfoy family crest was burned into the wax seal to remind him who it was from, as if Lucius had ever been subtle about anything in his life. That wasn't fair; Ingress was just as angry as he'd been in his short life and ready to take it out on anybody. Even Moody hadn't tested fate in class, but that could have been because he'd thrown his chair at him the day after the announcement and threatened him he'd make his life hell. 

Draco shoved the letter into his hand during breakfast with an all-too-smug, "Father sends his regards, " Ingress barely resisted the urge to shove his porridge in Draco's face.

The letter itself was exactly what he expected.

Ingress,

Your unexpected entry into the Triwizard Tournament has caused quite a stir. Regardless of how it happened, you must recognise the opportunity you have been given.

The Lestrange name has been shrouded in controversy for far too long. This is your chance to bring it back into the light.

He might actually have found those words comforting somewhere in the back of his brain that pounded with every breath.

Ensure you conduct yourself with dignity. You are representing your House, your lineage, and your blood. 

You will do well,

Lucius Malfoy

Ingress exhaled sharply, fingers curling too tightly around the parchment.

Oh, shove it, Lucius.

He crumpled the letter and threw it in his trunk, happy not to see it again for a while. He had too much anger, and it was damn near all he could express these days. Sure, the Calming Draughts helped, but Snape was getting very used to seeing him in his office right before curfew. Ingress knew he'd be cut off soon lest he become too dependent on the bloody thing. Snape did have the good ability to tell him to pull his head out of his ass, even as some conversations toed towards the line of Ingress, knowing dark was afoot - he'd fucking seen Pettergrew before the school year... He knew this stupid tournament just had terrible timing.   

The next day, Ingress found himself being herded into a small, elegant chamber in the castle alongside the other champions. The Weighing of the Wands was meant to ensure all their wands were functioning properly before the tournament, something he already knew his was, but he had little choice in attending.

Harry stood awkwardly beside him, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. Cedric remained neutral, as usual. Fleur was clearly still irritated by the entire situation; her arms were crossed, and she barely spared him or Harry a glance. Krum, well, Ingress, wasn't sure he'd ever seen Krum look not particularly annoyed.  

Unfortunately, the person greeting them upon arrival was Rita Skeeter.

"Oh, this will be fun," Ingress muttered under his breath as the blonde woman practically pounced on them, Draco having warned him of her.

"Champions! Lovely!" Rita trilled, eyes sharp and calculating as she swept toward them, "I'd love just a few words—"

"No," Ingress deadpanned.

Rita beamed at him as though he had just agreed to an exclusive interview.

"Ah, our fifth champion!" she purred, the Quick-Quotes Quill already scratching furiously across her parchment, "Quite the mystery, aren't you? Transferred to Hogwarts just in time to enter the competition, pure coincidence?"

"I didn't put my name in, Skeeter," Ingress snapped, arms crossing, "And if you think—"

"Oh, of course!" she cut in smoothly, patting his shoulder in an infuriatingly familiar way, "You Lestranges are always so fascinating. Such a storied history and so much to prove. Why, with a father like yours-"

"Say one more thing about my name, and I'll make the headlines," Ingress bared his teeth. 

Rita just grinned.

Dumbledore stepped in before he could actually bite someone, firmly instructing her to stop interrogating the students and allow Ollivander to proceed with the wand weighing. Ingress was still fuming when the old wandmaker turned his attention to him.

"Ah," Ollivander murmured, studying Ingress with sharp, pale eyes, "An Australian wand, I presume?"

Ingress begrudgingly handed it over.

Ollivander turned it over in his hands, murmuring, "Fascinating craftsmanship. You won't find wands like this in Britain. What is the core?"

"Phoenix feather," Ingress replied, rolling his shoulders, "Eucalyptus wood. Twelve and a half inches."

"Phoenix feather cores were the hardest to tame and to personalise, and their allegiance was usually hard won. The interaction with Eucalyptus is curious," Ollivander hummed, a flicker of intrigue crossing his face, "Harry, your wand is of the same core, yes?" 

"Yes, Sir," Harry quietly agreed.

"Small world," Ingress smirked, some of his irritation bleeding into amusement.

Ollivander ran several tests before returning the wand with a small nod. 

"A fine wand. Powerful. Perhaps not the easiest to control, but I imagine it suits you well."

"It gets the job done," Ingress said, twirling it between his fingers before slipping it back into its holster.

The weighing concluded without much more fuss, aside from Rita continuing to hassle Harry in an attempt to drag him off for a private interview. Ingress was very tempted to hex her.

Once they were dismissed, Ingress wasted no time storming out of the chamber, ignoring Fleur's muttered complaints and Krum's unreadable glances. The atmosphere in the castle was tense. Slytherin was overjoyed. They finally had a Hogwarts champion they could brag about, one who wasn't a "cheating Gryffindor" or a Hufflepuff.

Ingress could barely take two steps without hearing someone proclaim that he was the real Hogwarts champion, the one they were rooting for, and the one who was going to wipe the floor with the other competitors. Ravenclaw, on the other hand, was furious that they had no champion.

Hufflepuff had one.

Gryffindor had one.

Slytherin had one.

And a transfer student had stolen their chance.

Ingress received several pointed glares from Ravenclaws as he passed, and he knew they were fuming about how they were being "cheated out" of glory. Didn't have the balls to do more than wear off-bands of the "Potter Stinks" badges floating around that called him petty names, too.

Hufflepuff remained neutral, if not grumpy, but Cedric's supporters were irritated that his moment of triumph had been overshadowed by two extra champions. Ingress thought that was fair enough and said as much to Cedric when he tried to laugh it off in passing one day.

Gryffindor... Well. Gryffindor had Harry, and their reaction was a mix of unwavering support and whispered doubt.

Harry noticed.

He also noticed that while he looked absolutely miserable about the tournament, Ingress didn't seem to care one way or another. Harry had expected more anger, frustration, or more complaints about unfairness, but Ingress was simply going through the motions, shrugging off his supporters and pointedly not acknowledging that he was about to compete in a life-threatening tournament. He was angry, yes, but mostly aimed at the adults and the situation itself. At least he looked like he was trying to shrug it off and not worry about the first task. 

Harry had decided to ask more about being the Potter heir, and Ingress looked like he wanted to slap him. 

"I may not know as much as Draco, having been out of the country, but I know my family is one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Potter, you have less sway despite your father being a Pure-blooded wizard. However, Potter was a notable political surname in British wizarding politics. You should have some access to a family vault and likely a lot of paperwork awaiting you when you come of age," Ingress curtly replied, looking out over the lake from the hall he'd been stopped in. 

"You suggested we be treated as adults; how do you know all of that about the law and contracts?" Harry looked at him with simmering yellows and light blues in his green eyes. 

"Granger should be a keen sport for wizarding law, even if you're not," Ingress said, raising a brow, "It's just that, in my family position, I studied wizarding law, I had to learn the Auss-Australian one, too, when we moved."  

"Because we entered the tournament, should we be considered adults, as this is an adult contract that can not be withdrawn?" Harry tried to figure it out.

"In part, I have a magical guardian to my knowledge, Potter, you do not. You, more so than I, had claims in the argument, but no one likes listening. Fuck them; maybe I'll do something like learn to apparate just to mess with them all," Ingress grumbled. 

Harry pleaded with Ingress to meet again and discuss it in depth, but Ingress gave a non-committal answer. 

The Daily Prophet arrived the next morning, and it was all anyone could talk about. Rita Skeeter's scathing article was splashed across the front page, complete with an exaggerated sketch of Harry looking tragically overwhelmed and Ingress looking like he was about two seconds away from punching the artist.

TRIWIZARD TURMOIL!

Hogwarts in Scandal as Two Extra Champions are Chosen!

By Rita Skeeter

There were too many things wrong with the article.

Skeeter had twisted Harry's words, making him sound like some poor, lost boy who had accidentally stumbled into the tournament and was being forced to enjoy the fame it brought him. She played up Cedric's shock, Fleur's indignation, and Krum's stoicism in a way that made it clear she had an agenda.

And Ingress?

Oh, she'd had fun with him.

Ingress Lestrange, a fiery young man of questionable origins, has brought even more controversy to the tournament. His shocking outburst at the selection ceremony, his "undeniable temper" when his inclusion was revealed, and his reckless disregard for the competition's tradition raise the question: Should he even be here?

She really went to town on his attitude, portraying him as a volatile wildcard, barely restrained and dangerous in his unpredictability.

She even wrote, "Sources suggest that Lestrange's turbulent past at Thundelarra Institute may shed some light on his unstable temperament."

Ingress sat at the Slytherin table, eyes slowly narrowing as he read.

"Wow," drawled Draco, reading over his shoulder, "She really doesn't like you."

"I'll put her in the ground," Ingress muttered, his hands crumpling the paper.

Slytherin did not care. The entire House still considered it a victory that they had a champion to boast about. If anything, they seemed to think the article just made him cooler. Ingress, however, was slowly coming to a realisation.

His organic, blunt, sarcastic attitude?

Yeah.

It wasn't exactly the best clutch in situations like this.

That same evening, Dumbledore gathered the judges and school heads in his office to announce Thundelarra Institute's official stance on the matter. Ingress had already had one meeting with them, which had gone about as well as he'd expected.

The Deputy Headmaster of Thundelarra, a man Ingress loathed, had shown up specifically to say no and not just no; he had made it very clear that Thundelarra was not supporting him, nor did they consider him a representative of their institution.

The reason? Oh, because, as Dumbledore already knew, Ingress had been expelled. The tension in the room had been stifling. Karkaroff had looked positively delighted. Maxime had barely concealed her distaste. Crouch had said nothing, but the twitch in his moustache had spoken volumes and Bagman? Bagman just grinned like it was all a bloody joke. All the emotions only served to agitate Ingress more; they couldn't lie their way out of the genuine emotions to him, of all people, they just didn't know he could read every flicker of annoyance, distaste, every glimpse of judgment. 

Dumbledore had, predictably, taken it in stride.

"Regardless," he had said, calm as ever, "Ingress remains a Hogwarts student as of this moment. If Thundelarra does not wish to claim him, then he will compete under this school's banner."

That was that. While everyone else was scheming, whispering, or pretending not to be stressed about the first task, Harry approached Ingress out of nowhere one afternoon and, very casually, invited him somewhere. At midnight. On a Saturday. With the stipulation that Ingress needed to remain invisible.

Ingress blinked at him.

"...Mate, are you trying to get me arrested?" His accent slipped through. 

"Do you want to come or not?" Harry just shrugged. 

"You're actually serious?" Ingress squinted. 

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't," Harry gave him a look. 

Ingress stared.

Harry Potter, golden boy, Gryffindor darling, the lad who got into trouble by accident, was asking him, Ingress Lestrange, to sneak off somewhere in the dead of night, under the cover of invisibility. He had so many questions. He could feel his sanity slowly leaving his body.

"...Fine," he finally said, "But this better not be a cult thing."

"It's not a cult thing," Harry just sighed, "I hope." 

Ingress wasn't convinced. But hell, he was going anyway.

At midnight on Saturday, Ingress cast a Disillusionment Charm over himself because Harry didn't trust him enough to let him know how he was going. Whatever he was using was working better than some (very well cast) charm that Ingress couldn't figure out when the voice of Harry spooked him.

Ingress had no idea what they were walking into. Nothing good, obviously. But he'd figured it would be some mildly dangerous nonsense, like an enchanted article of clothing or a slightly rabid manticore.

He had not expected this. They were hiding behind a massive rock, watching dragons.

Actual, living, fire-breathing dragons.

Ingress felt his soul trying to leave his body. They were massive, leathery-winged beasts, each chained in place, snarling and snapping as they fought against their handlers. There wasn't just one; there were five of them.

Five bloody dragons.

Harry was stock-still beside him, staring.

Ingress was shaking so hard that he thought the Disillusionment Charm might just break out of pure spite. He'd gathered that Hagrid, who was aware of Harry's presence, had tipped the boy off, and Harry had offered the information to Ingress in... good faith. Ingress would have to ask him later or threaten it out of him. 

Hagrid, completely unbothered, was chatting away with Madame Maxime like he'd taken her on a date, and another dragon handler was listing off the breeds.

A Hungarian Horntail, black and menacing, glaring at everything in sight. A Common Welsh Green, relatively smaller but equally lethal.A Swedish Short-Snout, glimmering blue in the firelight. A Chinese Fireball huffing plumes of smoke through its nostrils. A Ridgeback Tiger hides a mixture of scaled black and fiery orange stripes, and its fangs are longer than a grown man's arm.

Ingress wanted to scream until his lungs collapsed.

They actually want him dead. That was the only explanation. This was not a tournament. This was an elaborate plan to stress him to death before the dragons even had a chance to eat him, but Harry still hadn't spoken. He had this blank, glassy-eyed stare like he was trying to process his impending doom. Ingress, however, had thoughts. Loud, aggressive thoughts.

This wasn't just an unfair tournament; it was an unhinged tournament.

Who in their right mind thought seventeen-year-olds should fight dragons? He and Harry were only fourteen; they weren't even supposed to be a part of this! Surely, there were laws against this.

Even in wizarding Britain.

Harry eventually dragged him back toward the castle, probably before Ingress could decide to walk straight into the Forbidden Forest and live out the rest of his life as a nomad.

They said nothing as they walked.

At one point, Harry glanced at him, expecting some kind of reaction. Ingress just deadpanned back at him.

"Oh, I dunno, Harry," he muttered, "I think it's a lovely first task. Very... interactive. It's not horrifying at all. On a real note, thank you for showing me. Why did you?"

Harry just grimaced before slowly working the words out of his lips like they hurt to say.

"You seem about as prepared as I do in terms of wanting to participate," Harry cleared his throat quietly, "And as a sort of thanks for letting me know more about my family."

"Harry," Ingress dully looked at him, "Did nobody tell you what the Potter lineage was? Pro-muggle, but your great-grandfather had a place in the Wizengamot. You know, wizard cabinet? What do they teach you here in the younger years?" 

"I, um, had no idea. You seem to be invested in politics?" 

"Hardly," Ingress shrugged, "Too temperamental for it, but my family is pure-blood royalty even if my father is in Azkaban and a twat. My guardian made sure I knew all about my heritage and how to conduct myself properly." 

"So you can prance around like the other Slytherin pure-bloods?" Harry frowned, "Why don't you?"

"I might have, had Moody not immediately set me off and then, well, the hell's the point when I've been duped into a life-threatening game?"

"Right," Harry acknowledged, "That."

Ingress laughed; it was barely more than a snort, and he called Harry a fool softly before leaving. He'd ignored the colour in Harry's eyes because what he saw in there scared him - he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen some gross pinky-red-yellow colour bloom when he laughed. 

They didn't know it, but neither of them slept that night.

Chapter Text

Snape's office was dimly lit, the low flicker of candlelight casting shadows across the walls. The faint scent of dried herbs and parchment lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of potion ingredients. Ingress sat across from Snape, his parchment laid neatly in front of him, fingers still resting against its edges. He was tense but controlled, exhausted but unwilling to let it show.

He had spent the past two days dissecting Snape's assignment, picking it apart with an obsessive sort of determination. Dragons were waiting for him. He needed some victory, proof that he was still in control of something before he had to face whatever else this tournament had in store.

"I finished your assignment."

"How miraculous," Snape didn't even glance up from his marking.

"I mean, I cracked it," Ingress said evenly, tapping a finger against the desk, "The Wit-Sharpening Potion."

Now Snape did look up, sharp eyes flicking over to him with measured interest.

Ingress leaned back slightly. 

"You wanted an analysis and justified corrections, right? Well, the powdered scarab binds too early with the pomegranate juice if you follow the textbook's instructions. That weakens the cognitive enhancement effects. It should be added after the armadillo bile, not before."

Snape's gaze darkened slightly. He said nothing, but Ingress could tell he was listening.

"The ginger root should be shredded, not minced," Ingress continued, "Mincing releases too much juice too quickly, which dulls the effect over time," He paused, "And the stirring; clockwise first, then counterclockwise, not the other way around otherwise, the potion disperses unevenly and loses half its potency."

For a long moment, Snape studied him. Ingress met his gaze evenly. Finally, Snape exhaled through his nose, tilting his head slightly. 

"Competent."

Ingress's lips twitched slightly. He would take that. Encouraged, he allowed himself a small exhale, feeling the first hints of relief in days.

Then, because it was still nagging at him, he asked, "Do you know where I can find decent books on dragons?"

Snape, who had just lifted his quill, stopped mid-motion.

"...Dragons."

"Yes, dragons," Ingress said, voice steady, "Considering I'm expected to fight one in less than a week, I'd like to be somewhat prepared."

There was a pause. Then, with an almost imperceptible shift in posture, Snape set his quill down and folded his hands over the desk. 

"The library has no shortage of materials on magical creatures."

"I need specifics," Ingress pressed, "Not some first-year Introduction to Magical Beasts. I need behaviour patterns. Weaknesses. Fighting strategies."

Snape regarded him for a long moment. Then, in a measured tone, he said, "Scamander's Fantastic Beasts is a standard reference. However, The Dragonkeeper's Manual may be of more use. It outlines behavioural tendencies and handling practices. Fires of the Ancient World also contains historical accounts of dragons in combat."

Ingress nodded. That was something. He shifted slightly in his chair, exhaling through his nose and carefully considering the next step. He wasn't finished yet. Since Snape was answering his questions and willing to have a conversation, there was something else worth addressing.

"While we're on the topic of odd creatures," Ingress began, voice deliberate, "What's Karkaroff's deal?"

Snape's expression didn't change, but the silence that followed was too controlled. Ingress observed him carefully, filing the reaction away. 

"He keeps watching you," he noted, "Like he's expecting something. Waiting for something."

Snape's fingers tapped once against the desk, "And?"

"He's a Death Eater, isn't he?" Ingress tilted his head.

Snape didn't move. He didn't deny it, either. That told Ingress everything he needed to know. A slow frown pulled at his features. 

"Huh," He let the weight of the statement settle before adding, almost casually, "So were you."

For the first time, Snape's posture shifted just slightly. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

Ingress's gaze remained sharp and unwavering. Snape was very good at keeping his expression blank, but Ingress had spent years around people who carried secrets like knives. He recognised the tension in the air, the carefully measured breath, and the way Snape's gaze sharpened as if assessing the weight of the conversation.

Then, finally, Snape leaned forward, his voice low and precise. 

"Is there a particular reason you've taken an interest in history, Lestrange?"

Ingress considered his response. He could push and demand an answer, but instead, he leaned back, arms folding over his chest. 

"No particular reason," he said, voice carefully neutral.

A lie, of course. He knew exactly what was coming. Voldemort wasn't dead. Not truly. And if Karkaroff was uneasy, if Snape was still watching his words, then it meant that others, those who had once worn the Dark Mark, knew something was shifting.

Something was coming, and if they weren't acknowledging it outright, it was only because they weren't ready to admit it yet. Snape exhaled slowly. 

"If that is all, I believe you have what you need."

Ingress hesitated, then nodded once, "Yeah. That's all. Thank you."

Snape gestured toward the door, sharp and dismissive.

Ingress stood, deliberately left his parchment, and left without another word.

But as he stepped into the corridor, mind turning over every detail, he couldn't help but feel that something had just been confirmed, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for what it meant.

By the time the week hit in full force, Hogwarts had fallen into a restless anticipation. The first task loomed closer, and with it, the feverish energy of the student body grew. Conversations in the corridors turned to speculation, theories ranging from dangerous creatures to ancient magical trials.

The champions, however, were silent. Harry had seen the dragons. Ingress had seen the dragons, and neither of them had found a single bloody book that gave them any actual strategy for facing one.

It wasn't for lack of effort.

Ingress had been poring over texts, ancient accounts, theories on magical beasts, and even spells designed to subdue large creatures, but nothing provided a direct method for surviving a fight with a fire-breathing apex predator.

So, he changed his approach. If he couldn't find a book that told him how to fight one, maybe he could find something that told him how to avoid fighting one. That led to a new obsession. Dragons, at their core, were intelligent. They could be trained. Talked to. The question wasn't just how do I fight one. It was can I make it listen?

He buried himself in reading, showing up to classes already familiar with the day's lesson material so he could spend the entire period in the corner with his nose in another book. Professor McGonagall had stopped trying to call on him, and even Snape had been forced to admit that Ingress's potion work had improved despite his blatant lack of attention.

It was wearing on him. The constant research, the sleepless nights, the growing pressure and yet, Draco Malfoy, of all people, unexpectedly made things easier.

A parcel arrived at breakfast one morning, four days away from the task. His owl, Amber, carried it in, dropping it neatly into Ingress's lap beside his barely touched plate. The seal was unmistakable: Malfoy's crest.

Ingress's fingers hovered over the wax, brow furrowing. Draco, across the Slytherin table, looked pointedly at him before returning to his conversation with Pansy Parkinson. Cautiously, Ingress broke the seal. Inside was a set of documents, thick parchment bound with a silver clasp. As he thumbed through the pages, his stomach twisted.

Combat strategies. Historical tactics. Detailed breakdowns of every documented successful human-dragon interaction.

It was everything he had been looking for. Tucked between the pages was a small note:

"Father thought these might be of use. I'm sure you'll make Slytherin proud."

There was no signature, not that there needed to be. Ingress exhaled slowly, closing the bundle and setting it aside.

Lucius Malfoy sending him something at Draco's request wasn't unexpected, but it still made his skin crawl. The Malfoys had always thrived on being in control, weaving themselves into powerful people's stories. Still... He wasn't going to turn down resources. He pushed the slight unease aside and focused; they hadn't done wrong to him yet, and he liked the holiday he spent with the family. 

By the following evening, he had heard Harry doing something incredibly Gryffindor. He had told Cedric about the dragons, and the moment Ingress heard, he stared at Harry from across the library, disbelieving. The idiot had just given away the one piece of knowledge that set them apart. 

It wasn't that Ingress was against fairness. He understood the logic, hell, he even understood the morality behind it, but it still made his teeth grind. He barely had time to process the information before Harry caught his eye and made his way over.

"I'm assuming you heard," Harry said, setting his book down.

"Oh, I heard," Ingress drawled, "You're a saint, Potter."

Harry gave him an unimpressed look, "It was the right thing to do."

Ingress exhaled slowly, resting his chin on his palm, "Did he at least look grateful?"

Harry hesitated. Ingress narrowed his eyes.

"He... sort of just nodded," Harry admitted.

"Brilliant," Ingress muttered, "Very rewarding."

Harry ignored him, instead frowning at the open book in front of him.

"No luck?" Ingress asked.

"None," Harry muttered, "I can't find anything that actually tells me how to fight a dragon. I found one reference to some kind of dragon-subduing spell, but it was vague."

Ingress hummed, flipping through his own pages. 

"Same problem. A lot of theory, little application," He tapped a finger against the parchment, "I don't think they expect people to fight dragons."

Harry blinked at him. 

"What?"

"I mean, who the hell fights dragons?" Ingress said, "It's not exactly encouraged." 

He glanced back at the text.

 "They can be talked to. Some even take to certain commands if you approach them right."

Harry looked at him like he had grown another head.

"You're going to talk to the dragon."

"I mean... better than letting it incinerate me," Ingress leaned back in his chair, "Consider it a protest." 

Harry just shook his head, muttering something about insanity.

The school, meanwhile, was growing louder. Excitement for the first task was reaching a fever pitch. In the common rooms, students whispered, made bets and made predictions in hushed tones. Ravenclaws, still bitter about their lack of a champion, prayed for the downfall of every non-Cedric contestant.

Slytherin, on the other hand, was thriving. Ingress's name had solidified their status. Hogwarts' first Slytherin Champion in decades, but at the centre of it all, Ingress was exhausted. Days blurred together. Lessons felt distant. His body was running on autopilot and dragons. Always, at the back of his mind: dragons. It was happening too soon.

And no matter how much research he did, no matter how many hours he spent preparing, he knew, in the pit of his stomach, that he still had no idea if he was ready. Tuesday morning arrived too quickly. The castle had been buzzing since dawn, students whispering in corridors, speculation running rampant. No one officially knew what the First Task entailed, but rumours had already taken root.

Harry and Ingress knew the truth. Fucking dragons. Ingress had spent the last two days in an almost zen-like state of resignation. If they expected him to face a dragon, he supposed he'd just stare at the bloody thing until it got bored or decided to eat him.

"I've made peace with it," he had muttered to Draco that morning, stirring his tea with a lazy detachment, "If it kills me, I won't have to deal with Skeeter's next article."

Draco had looked appalled.

"Ingress, if you walk in there planning to stare at it, it will kill you."

"Well, you're welcome to take my place."

Draco made an affronted noise, "You're the one who got dragged into this. Try not to embarrass Slytherin."

That had been the extent of their conversation before breakfast ended, and the weight of the day settled in. At half past eleven, Ingress made his way to the chamber off the Great Hall, where the other champions were already gathering.

Cedric looked pale but composed, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the stone wall. Fleur was quiet, her fingers pressed together, her eyes sharp and watchful. Krum looked barely fazed, ever the professional, just mildly annoyed about the ordeal.

Then there was Harry. Ingress gave him a once-over.

"Still alive?"

Harry shot him a glare, "For now."

Ingress hummed, rocking back on his heels, "Might change in an hour."

Before Harry could respond, Ludo Bagman entered, beaming, voice far too cheerful for the situation.

"Well, here we all are!" he said, rubbing his hands together, "Champions! Today's the day! Feeling excited?"

No one answered.

Bagman cleared his throat.

"Right, well. Let's get down to business, "You all know what you're facing—"

"We do?" Cedric muttered under his breath.

Bagman pressed on, unfazed.

"—and the task is simple. Each of you will face a dragon, chosen at random. Your objective is to retrieve a golden egg placed among their hoard."

Ingress slowly blinked at him. That was it? That was the entire plan? Approach a dragon and take its egg? No weapons, no assistance, no actual chance of survival? Brilliant.

Bagman continued, "Each of you will select a small model of the dragon you will face, which will also have your number in the lineup."

Ingress fought the urge to laugh.

They were assigning dragons like door prizes.

Bagman then led them out into the tent that had been set up near the arena, where a delegation from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was gathered, along with Charlie Weasley (Harry had whispered the name to him). 

Charlie, who had been present at the dragon reveal days prior, looked a mix of amused and apologetic when his eyes landed on Harry and Ingress.

Ingress arched a brow at him, "What?"

"Just wondering if you still plan to stare at it until it leaves," Charlie shrugged, "Dragons are a bit temperamental." 

"Depends. Will it leave?"

Charlie grinned, "No."

Ingress exhaled sharply, looking back toward Bagman as he stepped forward with a small, velvet bag.

"Right! Now, one at a time, you'll select your dragon," Bagman announced.

Fleur was up first. She reached into the bag, her fingers closing around one of the models, and withdrew it, a Welsh Green, number two.

Cedric followed. A Swedish Short-Snout. Number one.

Krum took his turn next. A Chinese Fireball. Number three.

Then, it was Ingress. He reached into the bag, fingers brushing against smooth, carved wood. The model wriggled under his fingertips as if it were alive. He withdrew it, turning it over in his palm.

A Ridgeback Tiger. Number four. He frowned.

That was new.

The one he managed to read the least about. Fantastic.

Finally, Harry stepped forward. A Hungarian Horntail. Number five.

Ingress gave him a sympathetic grimace. Harry just looked ill.

Bagman beamed, clapping his hands together, "And there we have it! The order is set! The First Task begins shortly, so prepare yourselves."

Ingress sighed, rolling his shoulders back.

Here we go. Time to face bloody dragons. 

Chapter Text

Ingress had barely been able to process his luck or lack thereof, before his name was called. The other three had gone, but they weren't allowed to watch. 

"Ingress Lestrange!"

He took a slow breath, rolled his shoulders, and stepped into the arena. The uniform they'd given him wasn't the most fashionable, but it was in Slytherin greens. 

The cheers from the crowd barely registered as his gaze locked onto the massive beast that awaited him. The Ridgeback Tiger. It was coiled atop one of the rock formations, limbs stretched lazily, wings tucked tight against its scaled body. The markings along its hide were striped black over a golden base, resembling a tiger's pelt, but the creature moved like a sleek and sinuous panther. Its eyes, slit-pupiled and gleaming with curiosity, tracked his every step. Its naturally yellow eyes gleamed in hues of orange and blue; it wasn't on the offence just yet. 

Ingress's fingers twitched at his sides. He had nothing. No plan, no brilliant strategy, no special spell that would miraculously save him from becoming dragon food. All he had was his magic, instincts and the real feeling that this was a trap.

The Ridgeback's tail flicked once. He froze. That was a cat movement. The thought struck him hard; it wasn't just watching him like prey but assessing him.

The dragon tilted its head. He hesitated, then, before he could stop himself, he tilted his head right back. The Ridgeback blinked, then, a quiet huff. It was not fire, just air, and then it tilted its head again. Something cold slipped down Ingress' spine.

Oh, you've got to be joking.

He knew that movement was a cat's movement; that was how cats communicated.

And, well...

Ingress was a cat. A literal, registered Animagus. He'd just gone off the assumption he wasn't going to be using said assets in Britain. He'd done it a year ago in Australia, getting it all properly documented, but there had never been a moment where his particular ability had seemed useful.

Until now.

This was a guess, a stupid, dangerous, possibly-moronic guess, but if this dragon had even the slightest connection to feline behaviour... He inhaled deeply, then shifted. The transformation was smooth, natural, and second nature. One blink, one shift of magic and suddenly, he was standing on four paws, a small ball of black.

Someone was talking, following what he was doing and reassuring the crowd that he was registered. 

The crowd gasped. The Ridgeback stilled, its slit-pupiled eyes widened. Ingress, now a sleek black cat with sharp icy blue eyes, flicked his tail once, and the Ridgeback responded. Its tail twitched, and its body remained low and poised, but something about its posture changed.

Then, slowly, curiously, it let out a sound, a deep, reverberating chuff.

A greeting. A dragon's version of a hello.

Oh, hell.

It worked. It actually worked.

It wasn't speech, not exactly. Animagi couldn't talk to animals, not like Parselmouths could with snakes, but something about shifting forms helped a wizard understand the core meaning of the sounds. It was instinctual, primal, a shared language of body and intent.

And this Ridgeback? It recognised him, and Ingress let out a small, experimental mrow.

The Ridgeback exhaled again. Then, in a movement so painfully cat-like that it was almost funny, it stretched. Limbs extended, spine arched, wings flaring ever so slightly before tucking back in. Then, it plopped back down, resting its head on its front limbs.

Not a threat. Not aggressive. Just... curious.

Holy shit.

The realisation almost made him laugh. Instead, he gave a slow blink, a sign of trust, a feline signal of non-aggression. 

The Ridgeback... blinked back. Ingress chirped in cat-like happiness in response. 

Oh. 

Oh, this was madness.

He looked on slowly, debating his next movements, and the Ridgeback merely watched. The crowd had gone utterly silent. It was waiting. Ingress took a step forward.

Then another.

He was within range now. Close enough that the dragon could kill him in an instant, but it didn't. It just huffed, tilting its head again. He purposely changed back into his human form, dark hair scattering around him in the wind. 

"Easy, girl," Ingress muttered, voice even, calm.

He reached for the egg. The Ridgeback watched as he picked it up.

The horn sounded. The crowd erupted.

And the dragon, as though utterly bored with the whole affair, let out one last deep, reverberating chuff before curling up like a massive, oversized housecat.

Task complete.

The cheers were deafening. The Ridgeback, unbothered by the noise, let out one last great exhale, the warm gust of air ruffling Ingress' robes. He still held the golden egg in his arms, standing in slight disbelief that he had actually pulled this off as he reached far enough away for it to be considered safe.

The dragon, however, seemed far less concerned.

Because in the next moment, without warning, without hesitation, it reached out with one massive, clawed forelimb and scooped him up.

"What—?!" Ingress yelped.

The crowd screamed.

The dragon curled him in close, tucking him against its broad chest like an overgrown kitten. Its wings were half-folded around him, shielding him from the world.

The arena froze.

"Uh," Ludo Bagman's voice crackled through the magically amplified speakers, "Does that count as a—?"

"This is unacceptable!" Madam Maxime bellowed.

"Merlin's beard!" McGonagall's voice cut through the crowd, "Get him out of there!"

Even Dumbledore had raised a hand to his beard, eyes twinkling in absolute amusement. Ingress, absolutely trapped in the warm, scaly embrace of a five-ton murder machine, blinked slowly. Then, because he was a menace, he let himself go limp.

"What a tragedy!" he called out, his voice dry as the Sahara, "I have been captured. It is too late for me. Go on without me."

There was silence. Then, Draco laughed a bright and loud sound from the stand before others followed. The Ridgeback gave a low, satisfied rumble, clearly not understanding, or perhaps not caring, that this was causing a small-scale diplomatic crisis. From the edges of the arena, dragon handlers were scrambling, preparing every calming spell known to wizardkind.

"Lestrange," came McGonagall's voice, tight with stress, "Stop antagonising the officials!"

"I'm not antagonising anyone," he said, feeling entirely comfortable, "I'm just making observations."

The Ridgeback nuzzled the top of his head, exhaling through its nose. Ingress sighed deeply until it decided to blow a low flame at the handlers. The warmth of the flame was too close posed at the dragon's chest. 

"I have a new plan," he announced, "I live here now."

"You do not," Snape snapped, appearing at the very edge of the chaos, looking about three seconds away from hexing him out of the dragon's grip.

With obvious reluctance, the handlers finally coaxed the Ridgeback into loosening its hold. Ingress was carefully extracted via multiple levitation charms, looking entirely unimpressed as they set him back on the ground. He brushed soot off his robes.

"Alright," he muttered, mostly to himself, "Well, that happened."

And then, because it was Ingress Lestrange, and he was an absolute nightmare of a person, he turned to the dragon, gave one last slow blink, and said:

"Cheers for the hug."

And the Ridgeback, this massive, fire-breathing beast, chuffed.

His display had been nothing short of absurd. The dragon had practically adopted him before he'd casually strolled off with the egg, making it look more like a bizarre bonding exercise than an actual challenge.

And now, his scores.

Madam Maxime looked like she wanted to throw him off the Astronomy Tower, but with a begrudging look, she lifted her wand. Eight.

Ludo Bagman beamed, "Brilliant, lad! Never seen anything like it!"

Ten.

Dumbledore twinkled at him with obvious amusement. Ten. Barty Crouch Sr. hesitated for only a moment before giving a seven. Karkaroff, however, looked personally offended. His expression twisted into a sneer before he held up a four. Ingress didn't even react.

"Fair enough," he muttered.

The crowd exploded with cheers and protests, but he was already wandering off, vaguely listening as someone announced the next champion: Harry Potter. Ingress paused. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Hungarian Horntail being placed for Harry. 

"Ah," Ingress exhaled, "Yeah. That's a nasty one."

And yet, he wasn't worried. Harry had some plans to use the Accio charm. It wasn't particularly elegant, but it was effective.

So, Ingress watched from the sidelines with the other three champions, who pointedly did not look at him, twirling his wand idly as Harry summoned his Firebolt, then darted around the Horntail with ridiculous speed.

The crowd was holding its breath. Harry was nearly flung off course twice, but in a daring final move, he dove straight past the dragon's head, grabbed the egg, and pulled up just before hitting the ground.

The deafening roar of approval followed. Harry, looking both shaken and relieved, made his way toward the judges as his scores were given.

Eight, nine, ten, nine, four. Ingress made a low noise.

"Hmm," He smirked slightly, "Consistency. You've got to admire it."

Harry, panting, barely glanced at him.

"I hate dragons."

"Welcome to the club," Ingress snorted.

The first task was officially over. The champions were led away from the roaring crowd and back toward the tent, where Charlie Weasley caught up to them.

"That was incredible, Harry!" Charlie clapped him on the back before giving Ingress a strange look, "And you, uh. You survived. In the weirdest way possible."

"I thrive on uniqueness," Ingress said flatly.

Charlie blinked at him before continuing, "Listen, Harry, you and Krum are tied for first place right now."

"Wait, what?" Harry gaped.

Charlie nodded, "With forty points each. That means Ingress is in second with thirty-nine."

Ingress blinked.

"I—wait. What?"

Charlie laughed, "Mate, the dragon hugged you."

"I know. Best moment of my life."

At that, Ludo Bagman strolled into the tent, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Excellent work, all of you!" he beamed, "Now! If I could have a quick word..."

The champions gathered as Bagman continued, "The Second Task will take place on February 24th at 9:30 a.m. You've got a fair bit of time to prepare, but the key is inside your Golden Eggs."

Harry frowned, "The... eggs?"

"Exactly!" Bagman grinned, "Crack those open when you're ready."

Ingress stared at his own egg. Then, at Bagman. Then, at Harry. Then, at his egg again, he suddenly felt very, very tired.

Slytherin held another party; he'd faced about ten people asking him about being an animagus, two of which had been an awkward interaction between McGonagall (another cat animagus!) and Snape, who looked closer to retirement than earlier that day. He was allowed to use his form since he was registered, but only at school, and to still abide by school rules - they knew what he looked like. 

After greeting his housemates, he'd settled down to the empty five-bedroom he had to himself still and let Umbra coil her way around his neck before finally looking at his desk. The Golden Egg. It sat there, gleaming mockingly under the candlelight as if it held some sacred knowledge he was supposed to just figure out. No instructions. No hints. Just open it.

Fine.

He turned it over in his hands, feeling along the intricate designs before carefully cracking it open. A horrific, screeching wail ripped through the air. Ingress flinched so violently that he nearly fell out of his chair, Umbra coiled tighter around his neck - dangerously so. 

"Bloody- What the hell?!" He slammed it shut, heart pounding.

The noise cut off instantly. For a long moment, he just stared at the egg, scowling.

Then, very deliberately, he muttered, "Right. So it's cursed."

Over the next few days, Ingress tried everything to make sense of it.

He opened it at different times of the day. He opened it in different locations. He even tried to talk to it (which got him very strange looks from passing students in the common room).

Nothing worked at one po; he enlisted Draco's help, which consisted mostly of him sitting across from him, arms crossed, and saying, "Have you tried not being stupid?"

Unhelpful.

By the weekend, Ingress was out of patience. His most recent adventure was taking the egg out ten minutes before curfew and opening it outside under the soft downpour that had started about twenty minutes ago. He was alone as the egg screamed; tiny whispers of something hummed under the noise as the rain fell. 

"Hello again," a girl said, making him close the egg in surprise. 

"You're... Luna? From the train?" Ingress greeted the blonde girl.

"Sounds a bit like mermish," Luna mused as she noddded, "My father did an article on them in the Quibler." 

"Merfolk? Ah, fuck, of course," Ingress smiled at her as he paced, "The rain! I need to put it underwater. Are you doing anything right now?"

"Curfew is about to start; other than that, no," she smiled.

"Care to make sure I don't drown? I'll be quick. I just need a quick run to the lake." 

"You can do it tomorrow, can't you?"

"Physically, yes! Mentally, no," Ingress honestly spoke as he started towards the lake, "I will be doing it tonight." 

Luna followed as he jogged towards the lake, muffling snickers at how insane it was to plan to jump into the Black Lake after curfew. 

Chapter Text

The lake loomed before them, a vast stretch of inky blackness rippling under the steady drizzle. Ingress barely slowed as he reached the shore, kicking off his shoes and rolling up his trousers as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

"You really should reconsider," Luna said, her voice almost dreamy despite the absurdity of their situation, "The Black Lake is cold this time of year. It might even kill you."

"Oh, well, that's nice to know," Ingress shot her a sharp grin.

And before she could say anything else, he waded in. The shock was instant. The lake was colder than death. It clawed at his skin, stealing the breath from his lungs as he pressed forward. The mud sucked at his feet, making each step harder, and within seconds, his teeth were chattering so violently that he could barely think.

"This is a mistake," he muttered through clenched teeth, "This is an awful idea."

Still, he didn't stop. Ingress pulled the Golden Egg from under his arm, took one deep breath, and plunged it beneath the surface. Then, very reluctantly, he ducked under after it. As soon as his ears dipped below the surface, the wailing changed.

It was no longer a piercing, grating shriek; it became a song—a haunting, eerie melody wrapped in words that sent a shiver down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

'Come seek us where our voices sound,

We cannot sing above the ground,

And while you're searching, ponder this:

We've taken what you'll sorely miss,

An hour-long you'll have to look,

And to recover what we took.

But past an hour - the prospect's black.

Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.'

Ingress' eyes widened as he shot back up for air. He gasped, blinking water out of his lashes, soaking in what he had just heard. Luna crouched on the bank, tilting her head. 

"Did it work?"

"In a manner of speaking," he wheezed, slinging the egg back onto the shore before dragging himself out after it, "That was the most cryptic nonsense I've ever—" 

He froze mid-sentence. Luna was holding out a towel, and he blinked. 

"Where- Where did you—"

"I thought you'd need it," She beamed.

Ingress huffed a laugh, taking it and rubbing the water out of his hair. 

"You're either brilliant or dangerously prepared for this sort of thing."

"Did the egg tell you what to do?" She just smiled.

"Sort of," Ingress admitted, voice still shivering, "Something about merfolk taking what we'll sorely miss. I'd bet anything that means we have to go into the lake to get it back."

"That does sound like a proper riddle," Luna nodded sagely, "You're lucky it wasn't something darker."

"Yeah," Ingress muttered dryly, grabbing his shoes and trudging up the shore, "That would've made this much worse."

He managed to sneak both of them into the castle unnoticed. No one stopped him from walking Luna to the Ravenclaw dorms, and he made his merry way back to his dorm for a warm shower to take the chill out of his bones. 

The following day, the dungeon was thick with the heavy scent of brewed potions, and the fourth-year Slytherins were exhausted. Snape had made them practice a particularly delicate Draught of Tranquillity, which was ironic given that half the class looked ready to throttle someone.

Ingress wiped the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders as Snape swept past, his robes billowing ominously.

"Leave your cauldrons to cool," Snape instructed, voice clipped, "I have an announcement."

A collective groan rose from the Slytherin students.

"Brilliant," Theodore muttered under his breath.

Snape ignored him. He stood at the front of the room, his gaze sweeping over them like a bird of prey.

"As many of you are aware, the Triwizard Tournament comes with its traditions," he said, "One of which will take place on Christmas night. The Yule Ball."

The groaning intensified.

"It is required," Snape continued, speaking over them, "that all champions attend with a partner."

Ingress slouched back in his seat, knowing full well where this was going.

"Because many of you will be expected to attend regardless as fourth years, I have been instructed to ensure that you are... adequately prepared," Snape's expression tightened as if the words physically pained him.

It took a second for the meaning to sink in.

"Wait," Blaise Zabini said, raising an eyebrow, "You mean—?"

"We're learning to dance," Draco Malfoy finished flatly.

The room descended into chaos.

"Now?" someone groaned.

"Can't we just—?"

"This is a classroom, not a ballroom!"

Ingress grinned.

"Oh, this is going to be fun."

Dancing, or something like it, started and followed was perhaps the most awkward fifteen minutes of Ingress' life. Not because Snape was trying to make them dance, but because the Slytherins were annoyingly good at that. The purebloods, raised on etiquette and formal events, moved gracefully. Even Goyle, who could barely hold his wand properly half the time, was surprisingly competent.

No, this was hilarious because Snape was demonstrating, or rather, not demonstrating.

"It is a simple process," Snape intoned, "One partner leads, the other follows. The rhythm is consistent—one, two, three, one, two, three—"

"Sir," Daphne Greengrass interrupted, "do you know how to dance?"

Snape's eye twitched.

"I am instructing, not performing," he snapped.

"Oh, well, that's a shame," Ingress muttered loudly, smirking, "I was really looking forward to watching our esteemed professor waltz around the room."

Snape's gaze snapped to him, dark eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Mr Lestrange," he said, voice silkier than usual, "Since you seem so eager to participate, you may demonstrate the correct form."

Ingress pushed off his chair with a dramatic sigh, giving an exaggerated bow.

"Gladly, Professor."

If Ingress had one advantage, it was performance. He could dance somewhat decently, but that wasn't fun. Instead, he made a grand show of it, waltzing in exaggerated steps that made Pansy Parkinson giggle and even had Draco rolling his eyes.

"Lestrange, stop showing off," Theodore grumbled. 

"But it's so much more fun this way," Ingress grinned, spinning himself for effect.

"Sit down," Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

Ingress did so with a flourish, folding his arms behind his head as the lesson dragged on. By the time class finally ended, Ingress was rubbing his jaw in thought. The Yule Ball was annoying. Having to ask someone to dance was even more annoying.

But there was one thought in the back of his mind: Harry Potter looked at him, not just looked at him, but saw him, his eyes flickering pink under the torchlight on several occasions they had met. Harry would have to go, too. If no one else asked him by the end of the week, maybe Ingress would.

Not that he'd tell anyone that.

There was a little bit of school gossip about who had and hadn't gotten dates and what the drama was. Ingress relied on Pansy and Draco to keep him up to date with the gossip and what was going on. 

Hunting down Harry Potter was easier said than done.

Ingress spent the better part of the day lurking, waiting for the right moment. Cornering him in the Great Hall would be too public, and the corridors were always bustling with students. The Gryffindor Tower was out of the question unless he wanted to brave the Fat Lady's judgmental stare.

Patience, however, had its rewards. As the late afternoon light faded into the evening, he finally spotted Potter walking alone from dinner. Perfect.

He strode forward, falling into step beside him with practised ease. 

"Oi, Potter. A word?"

Harry blinked as if only just noticing him, "Er—what?"

"Privately," Ingress tipped his head toward a quieter hallway.

There was a moment's hesitation before Harry nodded, letting himself be steered away from the crowd. Once clear, Ingress leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching Harry with an unreadable expression.

"Right," he began, "The Yule Ball."

Harry groaned immediately, "If you're here to make fun of me for not having a date—"

"I wasn't, but I do take pleasure in that knowledge," Ingress smirked.

Harry glared.

"Relax, Potter," Ingress continued, his voice light with amusement, "I was actually going to make your life easier. Since you haven't asked anyone, and since I can't be arsed to do the same, why don't we go together?"

Silence. Harry stared, brows furrowing, lips slightly parted as if his brain had short-circuited mid-thought.

"You mean—like—" He squinted, "Us?"

Ingress spread his hands, "Unless you have plans?"

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again. He frowned at the floor, clearly mulling over the idea. Ingress waited, watching the flicker of emotions play across his face.

Then, after a beat, Harry looked up and smiled.

It wasn't mocking, nervous, or shy. Just genuine.

"I'll think about it," he said simply.

And with that, Harry turned and walked away, leaving Ingress Lestrange, who never lacked for words, completely, utterly lost for them.

Professor McGonagall was not amused when she caught wind of it. She and Professor Snape had cornered Harry and Ingress after Transfiguration, and while McGonagall's expression was merely resigned, Snape looked as though someone had just force-fed him an entire lemon.

"I understand," McGonagall began carefully, "That you two have agreed to attend the Yule Ball together."

Harry and Ingress exchanged a glance.

"...Yes?" Harry said slowly.

"As Champions, you are required to open the ball with the first dance," McGonagall pressed her lips together as though trying to solve a particularly frustrating equation. 

Ingress grinned. He had been waiting for this.

"Yes, Professor, I am aware. I've graciously decided that Potter will lead."

Snape's expression didn't change. McGonagall, however, looked scandalised.

"But—you—you are both—" She gestured between them as if that clarified anything.

"Yes, Professor, we are both men. Very good," Ingress smirked, "I'd say Potter's a perfectly decent height to take the lead."

"Wait, why do I have to lead?" Harry shot him a look.

"You're the Gryffindor. It's your turn to be brave."

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose, "Lestrange, spare us."

McGonagall exhaled slowly, clearly gathering her patience. 

"Very well. You will perform the opening dance together," She hesitated before adding, "I suggest you practice."

Ingress saluted mockingly, "Yes, ma'am."

Snape shot him a withering glare as they were dismissed. Harry waited until they were out of earshot before muttering, "You're enjoying this too much."

Ingress beamed, "Absolutely."

The next morning, reality hit like a brick to the face.

Christmas was approaching, which meant the ball and the second task. Ingress, of course, wasn't sure what to make of any of it. While he was thinking of Christmas, an eagle owl descended onto the breakfast table, a thick, wax-sealed letter dropping onto his plate. Ingress stared at it with an air of long-suffering exhaustion before sighing and breaking the seal.

Lillian Rosier's familiar, elegantly written scrawl greeted him:

Ingress,

Once again, you seem intent on disgracing yourself in the eyes of respectable company. First, your absurd involvement in this tournament. Now, this nonsense with Harry Potter? Do you know how many eyes are on you? Or do you no longer care?

You are making a spectacle of yourself, and while I am well aware that you revel in such things, I will remind you that your surname carries weight. If you insist on humiliating what remains of your family's reputation, at least do so with some discretion. Do not make a fool of yourself further.

Do not embarrass me.

Lillian Rosier

Ingress snorted, folding the letter neatly before tucking it into his pocket, "Oh, she is livid."

Sitting across from him, Draco smirked over his cup of tea, "I imagine she's not the only one. I overheard other Slytherins talking about it in hushed tones last night."

"Let me guess, words like 'scandal' and 'poor taste' were thrown around?"

"Naturally."

"I must know, are you actually going to dance with him?" Pansy leaned in, eyes alight with amusement.

"Oh, absolutely," Ingress grinned.

"Then do make it memorable, Lestrange. If you're going to scandalise half the aristocracy, you might as well commit," Draco's smirk widened.

Ingress lifted his goblet in a mock salute. 

"Oh, Draco. You know me. I always do."

Chapter Text

The Slytherin fourth-year dormitory was warmer than usual that morning, filled with the low murmur of voices and the rustle of torn wrapping paper. A fire crackled in the hearth, throwing flickering light across the green-and-silver décor. It smelled of cinnamon and fresh parchment, the scent of new books and sweets mixing with the ever-present dampness of the dungeons.

Ingress sat cross-legged on Draco's rug, a cup of something warm resting by his knee, while Draco, Pansy, Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle all lounged about with opened presents scattered around them.

He wasn't one of them, exactly. They were not part of their inner circle, or how they were with each other. But he was close enough that they'd all gotten him something, and he, in turn, had gotten them each something as well, nothing extravagant but thoughtful.

Draco was currently showing off a sleek, new dragon-hide wand holster, a gift from his parents.

"It's designed for duelling," he said, fastening it to his wrist with an air of importance, "Father said it's enchanted to"

"In case you're suddenly attacked in the halls?" Ingress teased, watching as Draco flexed his wrist, "Yes, because Hogwarts is a dangerous place."

Draco shot him a half-hearted glare, but it was Pansy who spoke up, smirking, "Says the boy who's spent half the year nearly dying. Shall we bring up the dragon-cuddling incident, or have we all collectively agreed to pretend that never happened?"

Ingress grinned, far too pleased, "Oh no, let's talk about it. I think I'm owed an apology for being so rudely removed from my warm, scaly nest."

Blaise snorted, shaking his head as he handed Ingress a small, wrapped package, "Before you start, here. It's not much, but..."

Ingress unwrapped it, revealing a finely made leather journal, deep green with silver embossing.

"Figured you'd use it," Blaise said with a lazy shrug.

Ingress ran his fingers over the cover, appreciating the quality, "I will, thanks."

Pansy's gift was a set of enchanted quills, self-inking, self-correcting, with a mild hex that would zap anyone who tried to cheat off him.

"Test it on Draco," she suggested.

"Excuse me?" Draco scoffed.

"We both know you copy his Arithmancy notes," Pansy said, smirking.

Draco huffed in offence, but Ingress was too busy opening the next package to bother gloating. It was wrapped in elegant silver paper, not from any of the students. He unfolded the letter tucked beneath it and immediately recognised Narcissa Malfoy's neat handwriting.

Ingress,

A small something for the season. I trust you are keeping Draco out of trouble. Lucius extends his regards.

— Narcissa Malfoy

The box inside contained a pair of supple black gloves lined with fine, warming enchantments and stitched with elegant silver embroidery along the cuffs.

"From my mother?" Draco guessed, seeing the handwriting over his shoulder.

"Yeah," Ingress said, turning them over in his hands before sliding one on. It was a perfect fit, "They're nice."

Draco tilted his chin, smug, "Mother has good taste."

Lucius had sent a small book on European magical law separately, with no note attached.

Blaise raised an eyebrow at it, "A bit ominous, isn't it?"

Turning the pages, Ingress hummed, "Depends on what he thinks I should do with it."

No one asked if Lillian Rosier had sent anything.

Because she hadn't, and they all knew it.

Still, no one said anything about it, not directly. There was a slight shift in the air, a subtle understanding between them before Pansy picked up her mug and said, "Well, are we going to sit around all morning, or are we going to terrorise the younger years with our superior gifts?"

Draco grinned, "I like the way you think, Pansy."

And just like that, the moment passed, swept away in the laziness of the holiday morning. They went down for breakfast when Ingress decided he'd cause more trouble than he was worth.

Christmas morning was a slow, easy kind of chaos. People milled about in jumpers and scarves, showing off new presents, sneaking in extra sweets from their care packages. Harry was just stepping out of the Great Hall, balancing a small pile of gifts, when Ingress spotted him.

"Oi, Potter," he called, sidling up, "Got a second?"

Harry blinked, shifting the presents in his arms, "Er, sure. What's up?"

Ingress took a step closer and, without much ceremony, pressed a small wrapped box into Harry's free hand.

"Merry Christmas," he said simply.

Harry looked down at it, then back up at him, a little surprised, "You got me something?"

"Don't make a big deal of it," Ingress muttered, rocking back on his heels, "It's just a little thing. You can open it later."

Of course, Harry ignored that and immediately started unwrapping it. The paper crinkled away, revealing a simple silver pendant on a thin chain.

It wasn't elaborate, not some grand statement, but the metal caught the light in a soft, almost iridescent way, like it was reflecting something unseen.

Harry held it up between his fingers. "It's nice," he said, a bit awkwardly but not ungratefully. "You didn't have to—"

"Obviously," Ingress cut in. "I wanted to."

Harry hesitated, then carefully fastened the chain around his neck, tucking the pendant beneath his jumper. "Thanks," he said, quieter this time.

Ingress just smirked. "Now you owe me a present."

Harry huffed a laugh. "I'll think of something."

Neither mentioned how Ingress's eyes flickered to where the pendant now rested against Harry's chest. How he lingered a second longer before stepping away.

Harry wouldn't know about the charm.

But Ingress did. And that was enough.

"You're going to let me do this properly," Pansy declared, arms crossed, eyes sharp as she stood in front of Ingress. "No arguing, no complaining, and absolutely no half-arsing it."

Ingress sighed dramatically, but amusement flickered in his eyes. "Pans, I feel like a lamb being led to slaughter."

"You'll look like a bloody queen. Now, take off your clothes."

She shoved a box of beauty supplies onto her vanity before turning to rummage through a wardrobe overflowing with carefully hoarded silk, lace, and velvet. The dormitory was warm, the fire flickering low against the emerald-green hangings, the air thick with vanilla-scented hair potions and whatever elegant perfume Pansy had spritzed earlier.

Ingress, mostly resigned, stripped off his shirt and trousers, standing in his undershorts with an air of long-suffering patience. "I assume this means I'm also being subjected to"

"Yes," Pansy interrupted, already brandishing a small glass vial. "Hair removal potion. Legs, arms, chest, unless you prefer being fuzzy."

"I am not fuzzy," Ingress muttered, even as he snatched the vial and sat on the cushioned bench by the fireplace.

Pansy raised an eyebrow.

"...Fine," he grumbled, uncorking the potion and rubbing a few drops onto his shins and arms. The liquid spread like mist, painlessly dissolving hair and leaving smooth, warm skin behind.

"Good," Pansy said in satisfaction. "Now, let's get you into this dress."

She pulled out a masterpiece of dark elegance, a deep green gown with a corseted bodice embroidered with delicate silver thread in swirling, ethereal patterns that shimmered like moonlight on water. The skirt was layered chiffon, flowing like water over rocks, long enough to graze the floor but light enough to swirl with every step.

Ingress took one look at it and smirked. "Dramatic. I like it."

"Obviously," Pansy said, "Now, arms up."

Getting into the corset was... a process. Pansy yanked the laces tight while Ingress gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply as she worked.

"Breathe in. Hold it. Good."

"If I pass out, I hope you feel guilty."

"Oh, I won't," she said sweetly, giving one last tug before tying it off in a neat bow.

The skirt settled beautifully as he moved, the fabric catching the firelight, shifting between emerald and near-black, dark and bewitching. He took a few experimental steps, testing how it flowed, weightless yet commanding.

"Now, practice," Pansy said, tossing him his wand. "You're transfiguring it into dress robes for the opening dance, and I refuse to let you botch it in front of the entire school."

Ingress twirled his wand lazily between his fingers before flicking it. The gown melted seamlessly into sleek, tailored robes, the embroidery fading into structured detailing along the lapels and sleeves. Fitted, dramatic, yet undeniably masculine.

Pansy inspected it critically, "Again. The seams weren't clean enough."

"Your standards are ridiculous," he muttered, undoing the spell.

"Again, Ingress."

It took three more tries before she was satisfied.

"Now do it all again, but in these."

She presented him with stilettos.

Ingress didn't comment as he buckled them around his feet, daintier and taller than he needed to be. A lanky fourteen-year-old, he still did his best.

"It's an art form," Ingress huffed, arms out for balance, "And I am a fast learner."

Pansy snorted, walking over. 

"It's more like a disaster waiting to happen. Hold still," She grabbed his waist and adjusted his stance, "You have to shift your weight differently, idiot. It's not like normal shoes."

"I am aware," Ingress said through gritted teeth, "I just wasn't aware my feet would actively try to kill me."

"You'll survive," Pansy said with a smirk, "Now, try again without looking like a newborn foal."

To his surprise, he enjoyed it once he got the hang of it. By the time they were done, he was striding across the room with an ease that made Pansy clap approvingly.

"Not bad, darling. You might actually survive the Ball."

"Merlin, help us all," Ingress smirked.

"Good. Now sit, makeup time."

She pulled him down onto the stool, cracking her knuckles ominously before rummaging through a small silver box.

"You enjoy this far too much," he accused, watching her pull out a deep green eyeliner pencil and a set of brushes.

"I enjoy making people look less tragic," she corrected, "Close your eyes."

He obeyed, feeling the gentle drag of the pencil and the soft sweep of a brush as she blended out the colour. It was dark but refined, just enough to make his eyes sharper and more piercing. There was a touch of silver shimmer, subtle but effective.

"You know, you could have just let me be ugly," he mused.

"You're not ugly, darling. You're just unpolished."

She moved onto his lips, dabbing on a faint gloss, barely noticeable, but enough to catch the light. Then, his hair.

"Oh, you're going to hate this part," she said gleefully, dragging her fingers through his long, dark strands.

He winced as she sectioned it off, working a few carefully placed braids into the sides before twisting the top layer into an elegant half-up style and securing it with a silver hairpin shaped like a crescent moon. The rest of his hair cascaded in loose waves down his back, just dramatic enough to match his entire aesthetic.

Finally, she pulled him to his feet and turned him toward the mirror.

Ingress stared.

The boy in the reflection was spellbinding.

Still him, but refined, touched by elegance. Soft and sharp all at once.

Pansy smirked, crossing her arms, "Well? Do you love it, or do you love it?"

Ingress grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief and satisfaction.

"Oh, I love it."