In a way, Death Eaters were remarkably stubborn. Out of fear of Voldemort, they rarely gave up useful information to the Ministry of Magic unless Legilimency or Veritaserum was involved.
The ones captured this time were no different. Even bound and restrained, they all maintained the same defiant stance—silent, heads held high, as if daring their captors to do their worst. It was clear they believed Mr. Weasley wouldn't resort to torture.
And they were right. Mr. Weasley would never do such a thing.
But there were always exceptions.
"So, you were just sent to cause chaos in Diagon Alley, and you know nothing else. Is that correct?"
When Kyle returned, he walked in on a rather unsettling scene.
Mr. Weasley was crouched down, speaking to a severed head. The headless body lay just a few feet away, under the watch of a nearby shopkeeper.
"Yes! I've told you three times already—that's all we know!" The head's voice wavered, almost on the verge of tears. "Please, put me back together! It really hurts!"
"No rush," Mr. Weasley replied evenly. "As far as I know, Splinching from Apparition can last about thirty minutes, and right now…" He glanced at his watch. "We still have seven minutes left for our little chat."
"No, please… You said that was just an estimate… It really hurts…"
"We truly don't know anything else… Oh, wait—Lord Yaxley sent us…" The man's voice grew fainter. "And Lord Lestrange… They both seemed in a hurry… Before they left, they said—"
"Shut up, you traitor!" another Death Eater shouted. "The Dark Lord will kill you for this betrayal!"
His voice was full of rage—not out of loyalty, but fear. Fear of what Voldemort would do to them.
But the "head" ignored the outburst and continued weakly, "They said… they needed to return to their master as soon as possible… the Dark Lord… Only his most trusted Death Eaters… can be his servants…"
"Servants… Unbelievable." Mr. Weasley's expression darkened. He couldn't understand why these Death Eaters worshipped Voldemort in such a way.
"Please… I swear I don't know anything more…" The man's voice faded, and his face grew deathly pale.
Seeing this, Mr. Weasley finally picked up the head and reattached it to the man's body. Then, he turned to the apothecary owner standing nearby.
With clear reluctance, the shopkeeper took out a bottle of Essence of Dittany and smeared some hastily over the man's neck.
Kyle stepped forward just then.
"You're just in time," Mr. Weasley said. "I've uncovered some rather interesting information."
"I heard everything," Kyle replied. "I think You-Know-Who is injured."
"That wouldn't be surprising," Mr. Weasley mused. "After all, he was up against Dumbledore. Too bad we don't know where he's hiding. If we did, we could use this opportunity to launch a final attack on the Death Eaters."
"Maybe someone else here does." Kyle glanced around at the captured Death Eaters. "We have plenty of people left to ask."
As soon as they noticed his gaze, the Death Eaters started sneering.
"You think we'd betray the Dark Lord? Keep dreaming, boy."
"Go home and suck your mother's milk…"
"If you get down on your knees and beg, maybe I'll be in a good enough mood to tell you something."
"Haha, yeah, maybe—"
The last Death Eater's laughter cut off abruptly.
His eyes widened in horror as the man who had just spoken began to convulse violently, foam spilling from his mouth. Within seconds, his skin turned a deep purplish-blue, and he collapsed, completely still.
The scene was eerie. Silence fell over the alley, thick and heavy, as a chilling fear spread among the captured Death Eaters.
Until now, they had been cocky—convinced that the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix wouldn't dare harm them. Based on past experience, the worst that would happen was an interrogation, followed by a trip to Azkaban.
Back when Dementors still served the Ministry, Azkaban had been a true punishment. But now, with the Dementors under Voldemort's control, the prison was practically their playground.
They had no reason to be afraid.
But now… something felt very, very wrong.
"Travers! Travers!"
Someone shouted his name, but it was useless—he was already dead.
The crowd fell into a stunned silence.
Only now did they truly realize that this was no longer a game, no longer a battle where they could freely revel in torturing others without consequence. This was war. And in war, they weren't the only ones who could kill.
"Damn it... what did you do?!" A voice trembled with fear.
Kyle didn't even spare the speaker a glance, acting as though he hadn't heard a thing.
"You're finished..." another tried to shout, attempting to mask his fear with bravado. "Using the Killing Curse... even if you're an Auror, you'll be put on trial!"
Kyle still didn't look at him.
"You shouldn't have done that," Mr. Weasley said, frowning.
"It's fine."
Kyle finally waved a hand dismissively, his tone relaxed. "The Ministry is a mess right now—rules don't mean much until a new Minister takes over."
"No, I mean, you shouldn't have killed him in front of so many witnesses," Mr. Weasley sighed. "I expect Amelia Bones will be the next Minister. I know her—she's fair, but sometimes a bit rigid."
"If this many people accuse you at once, you could be in trouble. Even given the current situation, you'd likely lose your position as Senior Assistant to the Minister."
"Oh, that?" Kyle smiled. "Doesn't matter. I never really wanted to work at the Ministry anyway. If that happens, it'd actually be doing me a favor."
"But surely you don't want to be dragged into endless investigations," Mr. Weasley continued. "Even Aurors who use Unforgivable Curses are subject to at least three separate inquiries. And you're not even an Auror yet. You'd face even more—interrogations, trials, possibly even Wizengamot proceedings."
"That much trouble?" Kyle frowned, rolling his wand between his fingers. "Then I might as well kill them all. Saves them the trouble of running off to testify."
A flash of green light burst forth, engulfing the Death Eaters in front of him.
"Don't—!" Mr. Weasley reached out, trying to stop him.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
"Don't kill us!"
It seemed no one had expected Kyle to actually go through with it. Cries of terror rang out from the crowd, and a few of the more cowardly Death Eaters fainted on the spot.
But then they realized… nothing had happened.
"Relax, I was just messing with you," Kyle said, grinning as he lowered his wand. "You lot can't even tell the difference between the Killing Curse and the Wand-Lighting Charm. That's just embarrassing."
The Death Eaters in the front row flushed red, not from fear, but from the humiliation of being tricked. To them, this was a greater insult than death itself—like being paraded around as mere curiosities in a wizarding sideshow.
This was unforgivable.
Just as they opened their mouths to retaliate—
"Avada Kedavra!"
A dazzling green light streaked past their heads, smashing into the wall behind them with a deafening impact, leaving a massive crater in the stone.
"Now that," Kyle said coolly, glancing at them, "is the Killing Curse. So, what were you about to say?"
"Well done!" one of the Death Eaters blurted out, without thinking. "I've never liked Travers. Arrogant bastard—he had it coming."
"Yeah, yeah," another chimed in quickly. "Even if you hadn't done it, I would've killed him myself."
"We won't say a word to anyone. You have our silence."
"No, no, let's get one thing straight—I never used an Unforgivable Curse, nor have I killed anyone," Kyle said, shaking his head. "Take a closer look. Are you absolutely sure he was hit by the Killing Curse?"
Prompted by Kyle, everyone—including the shopkeepers and even Mr. Weasley—turned their eyes to the lifeless body.
"Wait a second... that really doesn't look like the Killing Curse," someone muttered.
"Yeah..."
"It's not, is it?"
"I've never heard of the Killing Curse turning someone purple."
"It looks more like... poisoning? Maybe Acromantula venom?"
...
Everyone started talking at once.
"I told you, this has nothing to do with me," Kyle said with a grin. He pointed to a small, sprout-like creature that had appeared beside him. "The real culprit is right here."
Instinctively, everyone turned to look. Someone immediately recognized it.
"A Bowtruckle?"
The person blinked in disbelief.
This had to be a joke. Even if Kyle wanted to lie, he should at least come up with something more convincing. A Bowtruckle, a harmless XX-class magical creature, silently killing a fully grown wizard?
Ridiculous.
But a second later, Mr. Weasley leaned in and discovered a small wound on the dead man's neck. It was an exact match for the Bowtruckle's slender, pointed fingers.
The crowd fell silent.
A Bowtruckle… capable of killing an adult wizard? That was the most absurd thing they had heard in years.
And yet, faced with the undeniable evidence, they had no choice but to believe it. There were no other marks on the body—nothing else that could explain his death.
People exchanged uneasy glances, their minds racing.
Could Bowtruckles be venomous? Had they somehow missed this in Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? Was there a new edition with previously unknown information?
Of course, the truth was much simpler. Bowtruckles weren't venomous, and Newt Scamander had been thorough in documenting their abilities.
But Kyle's suitcase contained plenty of magical creatures that were lethal.
A moment ago, his little Bowtruckle had simply pricked the man with a carefully sharpened Basilisk fang.
It was one of Kyle's contingency measures against elite Death Eaters—quick, efficient, and extremely effective.
Of course, he wasn't about to share that detail.
Hardly anyone knew he had a Basilisk, let alone that he had refined its fangs into needle-like weapons. As long as he stayed quiet, no one would ever figure out what had really happened.
Besides, keeping a little mystery about himself worked wonders for intimidating the Death Eaters.
Sure enough, after what had just transpired, the once-arrogant Death Eaters who had been cursing and jeering now sat in stunned silence. They were as docile as Mooncalves basking in sunlight.
Some of them didn't even dare to lift their heads, as if afraid that looking up might somehow get them poked next.
Being killed by a Bowtruckle… It was too bizarre. Too ridiculous.
Not wanting to dwell on the matter any further—perhaps out of fear that Kyle might pull another stunt—Mr. Weasley turned to the Death Eaters and asked, "Now, are you ready to talk?"
This time, the response was immediate.
Under Kyle's watchful eye, every single one of them suddenly became very cooperative. They eagerly spilled everything they knew, practically racing to provide information.
At times, different Death Eaters even bickered over who had spoken first, as if competing for credit.
The level of enthusiasm was almost too much.
And that left Fred and George in a bit of a predicament.
Just moments ago, they had been looking forward to getting some revenge under the guise of an interrogation. If the Death Eaters refused to cooperate, they could have persuaded them the Weasley way.
But now?
Now the Death Eaters were so unbelievably compliant that even Fred and George found it excessive.
How were they supposed to justify messing with them now?
...
Two hours later, the group left Diagon Alley and returned to 12 Grimmauld Place.
Outside, the sky was beginning to lighten.
The moment they pushed open the door, Mrs. Weasley came running toward them.
"Arthur, thank goodness!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, her voice filled with relief. "Where on earth did you take the children? Why didn't you let us know? Do you have any idea how worried we were when we realized you were gone?"
"I'm sorry, Molly, truly," Mr. Weasley said quickly, then explained everything they had discovered at St. Mungo's.
"You recognized the man from Flourish and Blotts?" Mrs. Weasley asked, frowning.
"Yes, so we decided to check out Diagon Alley," Mr. Weasley replied. "And we got there just in time to deal with a few dozen Death Eaters."
"Even so, you should have told us," Mrs. Weasley said, still clearly upset. "We could have gone with you."
"I didn't say anything because you were all exhausted, and as members of the Order of the Phoenix, it doesn't really matter which of us goes."
"You still shouldn't have taken the children with you."
"But Fred and George graduated ages ago."
"Don't play dumb, Arthur. I'm talking about Kyle."
Kyle?
Mr. Weasley instinctively thought back to what had happened in Diagon Alley, and his eye twitched slightly.
He had to admit—Kyle's most misleading trait was his age. His youth made it easy for people to underestimate him.
And underestimating someone like him could be deadly.
Before today, Mr. Weasley would have found it hard to believe that Kyle could so effortlessly kill a Death Eater. Even more unsettling was the fact that, despite so many witnesses, no one knew exactly how he had done it.
He still vividly remembered the looks of relief on the Death Eaters' faces when they were finally allowed to leave.
For his own reasons, however, he chose not to tell Mrs. Weasley any of this. He had also made sure to warn Fred and George to keep quiet before they entered the house.
"You must be starving," Mrs. Weasley said, pulling Kyle into a brief hug.
Now that she mentioned it, Kyle was feeling a bit hungry.
They hadn't eaten much at dinner, and after everything that had happened, they had been busy until dawn. It was only natural to feel famished.
"Let's have something to eat before bed," Mrs. Weasley said, leading them to the kitchen.
Half an hour later, a table full of steaming midnight snacks was ready.
Mrs. Weasley, preoccupied with worry over Percy, was in no state to cook, so Kreacher had handled most of the preparation.
Of course, the old house-elf had been far from enthusiastic about it. He had insisted that the food was meant for Kyle alone.
No one paid him any mind.
As they ate, Mr. Weasley gave a broad account of what had happened in Diagon Alley. He deliberately avoided mentioning anything about Kyle, only sharing the details that were safe to discuss. Fortunately, it didn't make much difference.
"You mean You-Know-Who is injured?" Mrs. Weasley asked in shock. "Can we trust that information? He is You-Know-Who, after all. What if it's just a trap meant to lure us in?"
"I don't know," Mr. Weasley admitted. "But judging from what they said, it seems likely. Can we contact Dumbledore?"
"No," Mrs. Weasley said, shaking her head, her worry deepening. "We've already tried, but Dumbledore's communication coin hasn't responded…"
"We could try reaching Sirius," Kyle suggested. "Professor Dumbledore is probably still at the Ministry discussing things with Madam Bones. If Sirius and Tonks are still there, they might be able to find him."
"That makes sense," Mrs. Weasley nodded. "I'll go now."