Make them his followers, well some of them,

The back room of Borgin and Burkes exhaled a stale breath of dust and sour wine, its warped floorboards creaking faintly under the weight of fallen bodies. The stunned **** Eaters lay scattered—Bellatrix draped across a table, her wild hair spilling like ink over the edge; Fenrir Greyback slumped against a wall, his feral snarl frozen in torchlight; and three hooded figures crumpled in a heap, their robes knotted like discarded shrouds. The air hummed with the residue of dark magic, the dim sconce casting jagged shadows that flickered across the scene like restless ghosts.

Harry stood beneath the Invisibility Cloak, his wand warm in his grip, its wood pulsing with the restless energy of his gift. Cassiopeia’s fingers, cool and steady, rested in his hand, her breath even despite the tension of their mission. Pansy flanked him, her wand’s faint glow illuminating her sharp features, her posture rigid as she scanned the room for threats. They saw his earlier spells—Stupefy and Petrificus Totalus—as mere magic, unaware of the power that let him reshape reality with a word. He would keep it that way.

His voice, a hushed command, sliced through the silence. “Pansy and Cassiopeia cannot perceive my power, no matter what I do next.” The air quivered, as if the words had spun an invisible veil, locking his secret beyond their reach. Cassiopeia shifted closer, her shoulder brushing his, her focus on the paralysed figures, oblivious to the deeper magic at work. Pansy’s eyes narrowed, her wand steady, her attention fixed on the door behind them, alert for any sound beyond the curtain.

Harry’s gaze swept the **** Eaters, his heart a crucible of resolve and vengeance. He could bind them, as he had Pansy and Cassiopeia, their love and loyalty woven by his voice. The three hooded figures—male, their bulky forms clear beneath their robes—would be reshaped first. But Greyback, who’d cursed Lupin, and Bellatrix, Sirius’s killer, deserved fates more precise, more personal.

He stepped toward the hooded trio, his voice low, deliberate. “These three **** Eaters, excluding Bellatrix and Greyback, are transformed into beautiful women, their morality aligned with mine, loyal to me and my cause against Voldemort.” The air pulsed, a ripple of magic surging like a tide through the room. The hooded figures shuddered, their bodies twisting as if caught in an unseen current.

Their robes tore, revealing skin that softened and reshaped, rough edges melting into graceful curves. The first figure’s broad shoulders narrowed, his square jaw softening into a delicate arc, his coarse hands slenderizing into fingers that gleamed with subtle elegance. His hair, once short and dark, cascaded in chestnut waves, framing a face with high cheekbones and lips that curved like petals. The second figure’s stocky frame slimmed, hips flaring gently, his grizzled beard vanishing as his skin glowed with a porcelain sheen, blonde curls tumbling down his back like spun gold. The third, lean and wiry, gained a lithe grace, his angular features refining into a heart-shaped face, almond eyes shimmering with clarity, raven hair spilling in sleek strands.

Their robes reformed, black silk clinging to their new forms, accentuating curves that caught the torchlight’s glow. Their eyes, once shadowed with malice, now gleamed with quiet devotion, their bound postures softening as if drawn to Harry’s presence. Cassiopeia’s hand tightened briefly in his, her focus on adjusting the cloak to keep them hidden, her movements steady, unperturbed by the transformation she couldn’t comprehend. Pansy shifted her weight, her wand tracing the room’s edges, her vigilance unbroken, seeing only the result of a spell she assumed Harry cast.

Harry’s gaze shifted to Greyback, his lips curling with disgust at the werewolf’s hulking form. “Fenrir Greyback is stripped of his werewolf curse, his magic, and all his power, reduced to a squib,” he whispered, his voice sharp with retribution. The air around Greyback crackled, his body jerking as if struck by an unseen ****. His coarse hair receded, claws retracting into blunt, human nails.

The former Werewolf’s skin lost its sickly pallor, turning sallow and ordinary, his massive frame shrinking, no longer fuelled by feral strength. His wand, lying beside him, sparked once and fell silent, its core extinguished. Greyback’s frozen eyes flickered with hollow despair, his power erased, his beastly essence reduced to nothing.

Finally Harry turned to Bellatrix, his heart blazing with grief and rage. Her stunned form lay rigid, her sneer a ghost of the cruelty that had stolen Sirius. He wanted her to suffer, to feel her identity unravel before her eyes.

“Bellatrix Lestrange is aware of her transformation, her morality inverted to embody goodness, her devotion to Voldemort redirected to me, and she loves me with all her heart,” he murmured, his voice laced with venom.

“She becomes the most beautiful of the **** Eaters, her old personality dying as she watches, helpless, while her new self takes shape.”

A golden glow enveloped Bellatrix, her body trembling as if caught in a storm. Her wild hair smoothed into glossy, ebony waves that cascaded like a midnight river, framing a face that shifted from harsh to breathtaking—cheekbones softened, features refined into ethereal beauty, lips full and rose-kissed.

Cruel eyes, once manic, widened with a clarity that mirrored her inner torment, tears spilling as her old self clawed against the change. Her robes transformed into flowing silver, clinging to a graceful figure that radiated warmth, a stark contrast to her former menace.

Bellatrix gasped, a choked sob breaking free as her mind fractured. Her devotion to Voldemort twisted, redirected to Harry, her heart swelling with an aching love that felt like a betrayal to her fading self. Her cruelty dissolved, replaced by a compassion that burned against her will, her old fanaticism screaming within before fading into silence.

“No… what am I becoming?” she somehow managed to whisper, her voice raw, her tear-filled eyes locking onto Harry with a mix of horror and adoration. Her new self took root, her beauty a cruel mirror to the **** of her former person, her love for him a chain she couldn’t break.

Cassiopeia adjusted the cloak, her fingers brushing Harry’s arm as she worked to keep them hidden. Her calm expression betrayed no understanding of the deeper magic at play. Meanwhile, Pansy’s wand remained steady. She methodically scanned the room, eyes sharp as she checked the curtain for any sign of intrusion, her movements reflecting only the practical vigilance she was known for.

The weight of Harry’s actions pressed on him, each transformed figure in the room a silent testament to the reach of his will. The four newly made women, still bound, radiated a newfound loyalty; their beauty now marked by his influence.

On the ground, Greyback’s diminished form recalled none of his former threat. Bellatrix, radiant and changed, gazed up at Harry with love and pain mingling in her glistening eyes—her former self little more than a lingering shadow.

He felt the darkness of his choices settle around him, a reminder of the delicate line he walked. Cassiopeia, ever practical, rested her hand in his and spoke softly, “We should go, Harry. This place feels wrong.” Her trust was unwavering, the truth of the transformations hidden from her.

Pansy, her tone brisk, nodded in agreement. “She’s right. Let’s move them before any **** Eaters show up.” With a flick of her wand toward the door, she remained focused on the immediate danger, still unaware of the greater forces at work in the room.

Cassiopeia stepped toward the Vanishing Cabinet, her gaze flickering with quiet resolve. Without hesitation, she raised her wand, the tip trembling with a silent promise. “Incendio,” she murmured, and flames blossomed, licking hungrily at the ancient wood. The cabinet groaned, heat warping its ornate trim as smoke curled toward the ceiling.

Harry stared, shock tightening his features. “Why would you do that?” he demanded, voice caught between confusion and disbelief. “What about your parents?”

She didn’t look back at him—her jaw set, eyes fierce in the firelight. “If it’s destroyed on our side, the blame lands with Borgin.” There was a glint of satisfaction in her voice, something sharp and calculated. “And I’ll have done what I was meant to. Borgin will be the one who failed, not me.”

However, she had already eliminated their means of returning.

"Enough Cass," Pansy said firmly. "We should distance ourselves from this place. Is anyone familiar with the Apparition spell?"

"I am," Harry replied, sensing the knowledge come to him. "I am capable of Apparating multiple people if necessary," he added, as the words took form in his mind and became reality.

The Question was where would he go?