Under the dim light of the basement, Wes Elwin pushed Bellatrix toward Moody. "She's yours," he said.
Moody caught Bellatrix. "I'll make her tell us everything," he replied.
The words sounded chilling; Moody tapped his wand thoughtfully, already working out how to make Bellatrix speak.
"I meant just give her Veritaserum," Wes said. He hadn't expected Moody to have a taste for torture.
Moody's face registered momentary disappointment, but he quickly composed himself and produced a small vial of Veritaserum from his robes.
He forced the potion down Bellatrix's throat. As the draught took effect, Bellatrix spilled the location of the Hufflepuff cup and Voldemort's hideout.
"London, of all places!" Moody frowned. "Not very far from here. No wonder we haven't been able to find them."
Arthur immediately unfolded the map and tapped the target with his finger. "Their hideout is an abandoned church; there are almost no residents around."
That meant the operation could be carried out more covertly, with fewer unnecessary risks.
Sirius could no longer contain his eagerness. Clenching his fists, he said, "What are we waiting for? Let's give those Death Eaters a lesson they'll never forget!"
"Then we go at once," Dumbledore ordered decisively.
Every member of the Order felt the urgency. They gathered quickly and prepared to move to the abandoned church.
Of course they wouldn't just storm out the front door—no one could guarantee there weren't Death Eater lookouts waiting. It was safer to Portkey to another secure location and then use disguises.
When they reappeared, they were in a quiet suburb. Not far off, an old church stood silent, its cross on the roof lonely against the setting sun.
An elderly white-haired grandmother sat on a bench before the church. To avoid attracting local Muggles' attention, Wes went alone to the bench. The old woman greeted him as if she knew him and began to chat.
"People who believe in the Lord are getting rarer. Nobody comes for services anymore; the place just fell into disuse," she said. She'd lived here a long time and knew the neighborhood well.
"Later, a rich man bought the church, planning to turn it into a residence," she added with a sigh. As a devout believer she lamented that the church—once God's house on earth—seemed to have changed hands to money and practical concerns.
"Ah, everything's about money nowadays. Where there's money, everything follows!"
Having gathered the information he needed, Wes excused himself politely. Dumbledore and the other Order members weren't much at small talk with Muggles; after Wes brought the news back, the Order adjusted their plan accordingly.
"They don't seem to know Bellatrix's been compromised," someone observed. "Maybe we should wait until nightfall and act when they're all assembled."
Moody cleverly disguised himself as an old man reading a book—but the book was upside down. Oddly enough, that detail only made his act seem more convincing.
In the end, they chose to follow Moody's advice: surround the church first and make sure no one could escape. After a brief discussion, they decided to wait until all the enemies had gathered before making their move.
A daylight assault would be too conspicuous and risk drawing unwanted attention.
As dusk fell, the area around the abandoned church grew silent, broken only by the occasional wind or the distant bark of a dog.
The Order members each took up their positions, wands gripped tightly, breaths held.
One by one, Death Eaters returned—including Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf pack leader, infamous for his savagery and bloodlust.
"They're even recruiting creatures now? Didn't Voldemort always look down on werewolves, vampires, and the like?" Moody muttered.
"Just shows how short on manpower he's become," someone replied.
This revelation of Voldemort's desperation lifted the Order's morale.
Night descended fully, and the world seemed to hold its breath.
The Weasley couple, Nymphadora Tonks, and Hestia Jones stood at the four corners of the church. Together they raised their wands and chanted.
A veil spread around the church—an enchantment not meant for defense but for concealment, muffling every sound and sight within so that nothing leaked out to the outside world.
It lacked defensive strength, but its concealment was flawless, leaving no magical ripples behind to give it away.
With the veil complete, the church was cut off from the outside.
Wes Elwin, cloaked in an Invisibility Cloak, slipped past the traps at the entrance. He dispatched the Death Eater guarding the door and slipped inside.
The cloak, borrowed from Sirius through Harry, was one of the Deathly Hallows—utterly invisible to others.
Wes had volunteered to scout. Silencing his footsteps with a spell and erasing his scent with another, he moved like a phantom through the church, leaving no trace.
According to intelligence, the church had three floors.
Barty Crouch Jr. and Nagini occupied the top floor, the snake never leaving his side.
The second floor was home to the Death Eaters' core members. The first was where the guards were stationed.
If Barty sensed anything amiss and fled with Nagini, all would be lost. So Wes decided to clear the first floor first. The guards were nothing more than fodder. Before they even realized what was happening, silent Stunning Spells had already dropped them one by one.
To keep the upper floors from noticing, Wes stuffed the unconscious bodies into his enchanted suitcase. With the first floor secured, he crept up the stairs toward the second.
The atmosphere there was different—tighter, more dangerous. The Death Eaters here were the elites: sharper, more vigilant, and deadlier.
Yet Wes, wrapped in the cloak, stood among them as if he were no more than the air itself. Not a soul noticed his presence.
But Fenrir Greyback twitched his nose, sniffing. Something was off. His behavior drew the eyes of the others.
"What's your mutt nose picking up, Fenrir?" Avery sneered. He'd always despised werewolves, seeing them as little more than slaves. Now, forced to stand on equal footing with them, his resentment simmered.
°°°
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