Everything faded to grey and Harry thought that something had gone
amiss as he accepted the final Hallow from Dumbledore. At first, he
felt nothing, but then the familiar cold magic he had grown
accustomed to from the wand and cloak washed over him.
Only this time, it was much stronger than he had experienced before.
Even if he wished to, he knew he couldn't move, and as the coldness
seeped into his very soul, he felt it, an even colder presence.
It probed at him from within, prodding at his magic, his mind, and
even his body.
In this moment, nothing was sacred as whatever it was that come to
him read every part of his being as though he was a carelessly left
open book.
' Peverell,' a raspy voice whispered.
Harry had known fear throughout his life.
Mingled with his desire for retribution against Voldemort, he could
not deny the presence of fear he felt when he relived the memory of
his mother's demise, nor when he had been forced to bear witness
to the atrocities the man had committed.
Now, however, Tom Riddle felt like nothing more than a gentle
summer breeze compared to the winter storm of the being that
plagued him now.
Much to Harry's relief, the presence left his body and he shuddered
as the shadows emerged from within the wand he clutched.
Only a moment later, a thestral and a large, faceless, cloaked figure
stood before him, both still judging him from afar.
' Peverell,' the voice whispered again. 'I see that you have brought
all three of my gifts together. I suspected one day it would happen.
Fate and I have something of an understanding. She has a need of
you, and it seems that I am to be a pawn in her ploy.'
Harry didn't know what to say, so he remained silent.
' Yes, she has chosen well,' the cloaked figure mused aloud. 'When
your ancestors summoned me, it was my intention to simply relieve
them of their souls for the deed, but something stilled me. As I speak
with you now, another spoke with me then, and urged me to grant
their request. Curious, I complied. Only one of the Peverells proved
to be wise enough to live a full life after meeting with me. The others
perished so soon after, and yet, my relics continued on, passing from
hand to hand throughout the years. Yours, however, remained with
the blood it was granted to.'
' The cloak,' Harry whispered.
The figure nodded.
' Their souls for my gifts,' it declared. 'That was my price, and two of
them were claimed quickly. The wise and cunning brother proved
such wisdom and guile with his choice of bestowment. The strong
and determined perished of his own hubris, and the adaptable and
loyal chose to join me of his own volition when his did not work as he
wished.'
Harry nodded his understanding.
He was familiar with the tale of the Peverell brothers.
' Now, what are you, Harry Potter?' the figure asked, and waited for a
response.
Harry swallowed deeply as he pondered an answer.
' I am none of them, but all at the same time.'
The words spilled from his lips as they crossed his mind, and he
hoped he hadn't spoken foolishly out of turn.
He could almost feel the figure's smile.
' Wise words cunningly spoken but with humility,' it replied amusedly.
'Yes, the trials and tribulations you have faced has shaped you into
what you are, but does it make you worthy to wield my gifts as one?
You must possess the best of all three brothers, and so much more.
Do you believe you are indeed worthy?'
' Is that not for you to decide?'
' In time,' the figure answered cryptically. 'Should you prove yourself
better than those I first gifted the Hallows to, then they are yours by
right.'
' How do I prove myself?' Harry asked.
' By being all that you can,' the figure answered simply. 'You now
wield a great power, and it is what you do with it that will determine
your worth to keep it. For now, your life is very much in the balance
of Fate and your chosen actions. Should you succeed in fulfilling her
desires, then your worthiness will be determined. Your life may be a
long one indeed, or it could be ended at any given moment until
Fate's needs have been met. For now, the Hallows are yours. Earn
their loyalty, and if your time here is to end, I shall greet you the
same way the wise brother greeted me when he had grown tired of
hiding from me.'
With that, the figure and the thestral offered Harry a bow before they
returned to the elder wand.
The coldness had remained with him, though it was not
uncomfortable.
If anything, it felt as though it belonged, and he quickly grew used to
the weight of the magic he carried.
He had yet to take time to test the Hallows since he'd united them,
but it was at the very top of his list of priorities, amongst other things
he needed to attend to.
"Tonight," he decided aloud.
A part of him was cautious when it came to the objects, but he knew
he was perhaps being too careful.
If the figure wanted him dead, Harry had no doubt it would have
simply taken his soul when he had brought the Hallows together.
No, something told him the figure was intrigued and somewhat
rooting for his success.
He didn't know why, and that was a question he would not ponder.
He already had enough to consider and adding that to the mix would
only induce a headache.
Harry was pulled from his thoughts as a knock sounded at the door
to his room.
For several days now, he had pondered the vision, and felt that he
was no closer to understanding the conversation he'd shared with
the ominous figure.
"Death," he murmured. "Come in."
It was Lucinda that peered around the door.
"Your Aunt wanted me to tell you that she will be arranging the
backlogs of trials soon," she informed him. "I think she said she
would be doing the Umbridge woman first, and then Pettigrew."
Harry nodded his understanding as he frowned.
"Have I done something to upset you?" he asked as the vampire
began to withdraw.
Lucinda shook her head, but Harry was not convinced and he
offered her a pointed look.
She huffed lightly.
"No," she answered. "It's just that it feels like we haven't spent any
time together recently, and…"
Lucinda broke off with a shrug.
"And?" Harry pressed.
"Well, I don't know," Lucinda sighed. "It's been like that since I
started guarding Cassiopeia, and now you've invited the other girl
here…"
"Pansy?" Harry snorted.
Lucinda scowled at him.
"Are you jealous?"
"Should I be?"
A smirk tugged at Harry's lips.
With everything that had been happening, he'd all but forgotten how
possessive vampires could be.
"Pansy was my first friend, long before I met any of you," he
reminded Lucinda. "No one has anything to be Jealous of."
Lucinda nodded uncertainly, and Harry chuckled as he made his way
towards her.
Pulling her into the room, he wrapped his arms around her and she
shuddered.
"Your magic feels different again," she murmured.
"I know," he acknowledged. "It's a long story. We can talk about it
later."
"Ah, so you're going to make some time for me?" Lucinda returned.
"I might."
"There is no might about it," she replied simply. "It turns out that I
don't do well being neglected."
"Neglected?"
Lucinda nodded.
"You'd better fix that, Potter."
Harry laughed heartily.
"Yes, Princess," he assured her. "Still jealous?"
"I'm not jealous!"
"Liar!"
Lucinda scowled at him again.
"Maybe I see her as a threat," she admitted.
Harry shook his head.
"Pansy is my friend, nothing more, just like Ana and Eleanor."
Lucinda hummed.
She had been this way since Harry had finally received a response
from Pansy a few days prior.
Having hurriedly left the Wizengamot meeting after casting the
deciding vote for Cassie, Julius has collected Pansy from Hogwarts,
and the entire family had gone into hiding before Harry had been
able to reach out to them.
Not that he blamed them.
Voldemort would undoubtedly be baying for his blood.
Still, he had not given up hope on making contact, and Pansy had
finally replied to one of his patronus messages via a letter.
Julius had even agreed to allow her a visit for a few days, under the
condition that she remained in Grimmauld Place for the duration.
It was a caveat Harry was willing to adhere to so that he could see
his friend once more, but he had not expected the reaction he'd seen
from Lucinda and he couldn't help but wonder if the two would get
along.
If truth be told, he was a little concerned, but he was hopeful, that at
worst, they would at least be respectful to one another for his sake.
"I should get back to Cassiopeia," Lucinda murmured against his
chest, "but I will be holding you to your word. You will make some
time for me."
The was no compromising with a stubborn vampire, though it wasn't
like Harry wished to.
He'd missed his time with Lucinda, and he realised that he had
perhaps not made much of it for any of his friends over the past
week.
He'd been so absorbed in the Hallows that each day had merely bled
into the next.
"I will," he reiterated, moving to place a gentle kiss on her lips.
Lucinda turned her cheek towards him instead.
"I'm not so easy, Potter," she said airily, smirking at him before
leaving the room.
Harry frowned at the vampire, but returned the gesture, nonetheless.
"Game on," he murmured amusedly.
Narcissa swallowed deeply as she read the headline of The Daily
Prophet, her gaze shifting across the breakfast table to her son and
husband in turn. Draco had returned from school unexpectedly the
night of the Hogsmeade attack, and Narcissa believed he had done
so for that very reason.
She wanted to believe that he had nothing to do with what he was
being accused of, but in her heart of hearts, she had no doubt that
he was responsible.
Malfoy Heir Wanted in Connection With Disappearance of
Hogwarts Professor!
By Rita Skeeter
Scanning the article, she braced herself for the backlash as she
cleared her throat.
"Draco?" she called.
Her son looked up from his plate of eggs and bacon irritably, and
Narcissa saw in him the same thing she saw in Lucius; the glint of
cruelty that forever reminded her of the atrocities her husband had
committed during the last war, and likely this one too.
"Who is Professor Trelawney?"
Draco's eyes widened just enough that Narcissa could determine his
guilt in the matter without further probing.
"Why?" he asked simply, looking towards a frowning Lucius.
"Well, it says here that you are wanted for her disappearance,"
Narcissa revealed, placing the newspaper on the table.
Draco choked on the piece of toast he had been chewing and he
once more looked towards Lucius, though this time, it was with an
expression of concern.
"I didn't do it!" he denied forcefully.
Narcissa did not believe him.
She knew her son well enough to know when he was lying, despite
Bella's best efforts to teach him occlumency.
Narcissa merely hummed in response.
Perhaps she should have been grateful for the arrival of the elf that
distracted Lucius from the inevitable vitriol he was going to spew, but
part of her wanted to hear the excuse concocted by her husband.
However, he was immediately distracted by the contents of the note
he was given.
"Damn!" he cursed, slamming his fist atop the table. "Damn!"
"What is it, Father?" Draco asked.
Lucius had paled and dragged his hand through his hair before
standing.
"Your blasted Aunt has decided to begin holding trials," he snapped
at Narcissa. "Umbridge is first, and then Pettigrew! Why could the
fool not avoid being captured."
Narcissa immediately understood the implications.
Her Aunt Cassie would not hesitate in feeding the man Veritaserum
and milking him for every bit of information she could. That meant
that Lucius, and just about every political ally he had, would soon
find themselves on the wrong side of the law, and thus, just as
wanted as her son.
With both male Malfoys in such a position, there would be none to
effectively run the family affairs.
Worse yet, with the recent law Cassie had enacted, she would come
for the family fortune.
This was not good for any of them.
"I must speak with him on this matter," Lucius murmured as he swept
from the room.
"What is going to happen, Mother?" Draco questioned worriedly.
Narcissa released a deep sigh.
"I don't know," she answered honestly.
Ana opened her door to be greeted by the sight of Harry.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she assured, gesturing for him to enter. "I'm just having
one of those days."
"One of those days?"
"I'm just missing home," Ana said with a shrug. "You know, I always
used to wonder what the world outside the forest was like…"
"It's not what you imagined?"
Ana shook her head as a smirk crested her lips.
"No. I can't say I like it much."
Harry chuckled as he wrapped an arm around her.
"You can leave anytime you wish."
"I know, but this is where I am meant to be," Ana replied. "I have to
make sure you don't get yourself killed, but I know now where I will
be when this is all over. Living amongst humans is something I
thought a lot about, but it isn't for me. The trees are my home, and I
know that now."
Harry offered her a bright smile.
"Well, so long as you visit me from time to time, I have no problem
with that."
"You'll be able to come to me too," Ana pointed out. "Illarion liked
you, so he would have no problem with it."
"I would like that," Harry said sincerely.
The two fell silent for a moment before Ana laughed to herself.
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"Nothing," the half-elf said dismissively. "I just thought that maybe
one day you and me… well, you know. Don't act so surprised," she
added at Harry's expression of shock. "Haven't you thought…?"
Harry frowned before he nodded.
"I have," he admitted sheepishly. "You're beautiful, smart, and
interesting. It just never became a thing between us."
"Because we are too different," Ana returned with a smile. "I belong
with the elves, and you here, making the horrible world I've seen a
better place. You couldn't live in the forest, and I could never live
here."
"I could live in the forest," Harry protested.
Ana shook her head.
"No, you couldn't," Ana corrected. "It is nothing like it is here. You
would grow bored, and when you are bored, you do silly things like
fight basilisks."
Harry grimaced at the mention of the snake.
"You do have a point," he conceded.
Ana grinned smugly.
"I know you too well, Harry Potter, and even though I will sometimes
wonder what could have been, I am happy that you were the first
human friend I made. If it had been anyone else, they would have
disillusioned me to this world long before I saw it for myself."
It was merely the truth she spoke.
Perhaps she would always carry a candle for Harry in some form,
but their friendship and both of them being happy meant far too
much to her than to even consider anything that could destroy what
they have.
Harry was her first human friend, and maybe she would never look at
him in only a platonic way, but for Ana that was fine.
She valued his friendship more than she would only a fleeting
moment with him.
"What is it you wanted anyway?" she asked curiously.
"Well, I did come to ask for your help with something soon. I need an
extra pair of eyes whilst I do something potentially dangerous. I did
not expect to get my heart broken along the way."
Ana swatted his shoulder playfully.
"Stop being dramatic."
"Ouch!" Harry groaned.
Ana rolled her eyes at him.
"That didn't hurt."
"I meant my heart."
Ana huffed, raising a brow at his petulant expression.
For all the growing up he'd had to do, he was still the same
mischievous boy she had met the first day she had boarded the
Durmstrang ship.
"Fine, what can I do for you?" she sighed.
He positively beamed at her, and Ana shook her head.
That smile always meant trouble for someone.
"So, the old fool will leave?"
"It seems so, My Lord," Severus replied with a bow.
Voldemort nodded.
"It is a shame, but I have already proven my superiority over him," he
mused aloud. "No, it is Potter that is the problem. I have watched the
memory of our confrontation several times now, Severus. The boy is
much better than one of his age has any right to be, but I could not
help but notice his injury. Was the wound caused by Greyback?"
"That is what I have learned," Severus answered.
"Then it is likely he has been infected with Lycanthropy," Voldemort
murmured to himself. "It will leave him severely weakened as the full
moon approaches."
Severus's expression gave nothing away, and the Dark Lord shifted
his attention to the door when it opened without the visitor
announcing themselves.
"We have a problem, My Lord," Lucius informed him, offering a letter
he had evidently just received.
Voldemort frowned.
"Wormtail is a damned fool!" he declared irritably.
"And if he is interrogated publicly, he will tell them everything he
knows."
That would not do.
In recent years especially, the man had been made privy to too much
damaging information.
Pondering the issue for several moments, the Dark Lord nodded to
himself.
"He must not be allowed to take the stand."
"My Lord, we do not know where he is being kept," Lucius explained.
"It is unlikely he will be seen until he is brought to trial."
Voldemort's snake-like nostrils flared.
"Severus?" he queried.
The Potions Master shook his head.
"I do not know where he is being kept by Potter."
The Dark Lord scrutinised the man carefully, but as ever, Severus
gave nothing away.
He was a master occlumens, something he both admired and
despised him for.
There was never any certainty of how truthful he was being.
"Very well, but something must be done," Voldemort declared. "No
matter what, he must not be allowed to take the stand."
"What would you have me do, My Lord?" Lucius asked cautiously.
"Kill him the moment you lay eyes on him," Voldemort commanded.
"If he speaks, he will give your position away, regardless. I would see
him dead without spilling our secrets."
Lucius had paled, and the Dark Lord could almost see his mind
working vigorously so that he would not need to reveal himself as a
Death Easter in the process.
As difficult as Severus was to read, Lucius's loyalty was fickle at
best, changing for whatever purpose suited him.
That would no longer be so.
If he wavered now, he would not live to enjoy the fruits of their
efforts.
Of that, Lord Voldemort was certain.
"O-of course, My Lord," the man replied obediently before all but
fleeing from the room.
The Dark Lord watched him go through narrowed eyes.
Lucius found himself in an unwinnable position but complying would
be in his best interest.
He would see that for himself soon enough, or he would die for his
failure.
Once too many times the Dark Lord had granted Malfoy forgiveness.
Now, there was none left to give.
"What would you have me do, My Lord?" Severus broke into this
thoughts.
"Continue as you are. If I have further need of you, I will send a
summons."
With a bow, Severus left the room, and Voldemort walked towards
where Nagini was curled up by the fire.
Stroking her scales on the top of her head, his jaw clenched at how
badly things had gone recently.
His fortune needed to change, and soon.
"Power he knows not," he muttered to himself, eliciting a comforting
hiss from his companion.
"Dolores Jane Umbridge, you stand accused of creating an unlawful
militia, using said militia to carry out unlawful arrests and
imprisonment, and misappropriation of Ministry funds and resources.
How do you plead?" Cassiopeia questioned.
The weeks in Azkaban had not been kind to Umbridge.
She no longer appeared so smug, her now stringy hair was flecked
with grey, and she had lost a considerable amount of weight.
As far as Harry was concerned, she deserved every second of
misery she'd endured.
"I want to speak with Cornelius!" the woman croaked.
"Fudge is dead," Cassiopeia informed her bluntly.
"You killed him!" Umbridge hissed. "I knew this would happen. The
moment Potter arrived…"
"SILENCE!" Cassiopeia snapped. "Fudge was murdered on the Dark
Lord's orders. Now, how do you plead to the charges against you?"
Umbridge's lower lip trembled but she somehow found it within
herself to stand somewhat proudly.
"Not guilty!" she declared. "I only did what was asked of me."
"Very well," Cassiopeia sighed. "I have already provided you all with
copies of the evidence; the arrest orders, the sentences Madam
Umbridge illegally signed off, and various other documents. Do any
among you believe she has a case for dismissal?" she asked the
members of the Wizengamot.
None spoke in Umbridge's defence.
Harry had glanced over the evidence himself, and though he was
certainly no expert in lawful matters, Amelia Bones had done an
exceptional job in proving Umbridge's guilt.
The woman did not have a leg to stand on, and her fate now
depended on how harsh Cassiopeia would sentence her.
"All those in finding Dolores Umbridge not guilty?" she prompted.
Not a single wand was shown, not even by the rather subdued
Lucius Malfoy who Umbridge look towards for support.
"Those that find her guilty?" Cassie prompted again.
Only a few people abstained, and Umbridge wailed pathetically at
the verdict.
It took a calming drought and a silencing charm to still her enough so
that she could receive her sentence, and Cassiopeia read through
the notes once more before clearing her throat.
"In light of the charges, and despite believing you were simply
carrying out orders, a woman of your experience would have known
better. There is no doubt in my mind that you were fully aware of the
illegality of what you did, and still, you took it upon yourself to
imprison citizens of magical Britain that you had no right in deciding
their fate. You are fortunate that they were released before
permanent damage was caused."
Umbridge merely nodded in response.
"Nonetheless, what you did is despicable, and not how the Ministry
of Magic should conduct itself, and for that reason, I am given no
choice but to sentence you to fifteen years in Azkaban. Aurors, take
her away!"
Umbridge screamed in silence as she was dragged out of the
courtroom, and Cassiopeia filled out the necessary forms before
handing them to Amelia Bones.
Umbridge had only been imprisoned for weeks and was half-dead
already.
Harry was not confident she would last a year before perishing within
the walls of Azkaban.
With the paperwork complete, Cassie rubbed her eyes tiredly.
"We will reconvene tomorrow," she announced.
At her declaration, Dumbledore tapped his podium with his gavel,
dismissing the room which emptied quickly.
A part of Harry was frustrated that he would have to wait for
Pettigrew to get what he deserved, but it was late in the day now,
and he would rather that they had a full one so that he could enjoy
watching Wormtail squirm for the duration.
He would have to wait another night, however, in the meantime, he
had one other thing he could attend to.
"Are you sure you feel well enough for this?" Eleanor asked. "We
don't even know what Harry wants us to do yet."
Cain nodded.
"I'm fine," he assured the her.
She had barely left his side since he had returned from the continent
and had been fussing over him at just about every moment of the
day.
It was not unusual for Cain to wake up in the morning and find her
sleeping next to him. He found it rather strange but not unwelcoming.
"I'm just worried," Eleanor sighed. "You've only been on your feet for
a couple of days now. I don't want you to get hurt again."
"This is a war we are involved in," Cain reminded her. "I could get
hurt or killed any day."
"Don't say that," Eleanor whispered. "I thought you were going to die
when I saw the state of you after Harry brought you back."
"But I didn't," Cain pointed out.
"But you could have."
Cain shook his head amusedly.
He wouldn't win a battle of wills with the blonde. As playful and
carefree as she was for the most part, her stubbornness was on par
with both Harry and Lucinda.
Cain wasn't sure what was happening between the two of them. He
didn't even understand why Summerbee had suddenly become so
attached him.
He remembered mocking Harry for being so clueless about girls, but
it turned out that he was no more knowledgeable on the subject.
"I can't stay in bed forever," he snorted. "I'm fine. My leg is healed."
To reiterate his point, he jumped up and down on the spot.
Still, Eleanor was not convinced, but a grin tugged at her lips.
"So, you won't need me to look after you anymore," she said airily.
"Wait, I didn't say that!"
"No, if you're feeling better now, why should I sacrifice my
comfortable bed to be watching over you?"
Cain frowned at the question.
She made a good point, but he could not shake the disappointment
at the thought of her not being there when he woke up.
"Maybe I like you watching over me," he replied shyly.
Eleanor raised an eyebrow at him.
"Is that so?"
Cain nodded.
He had grown used to her company, and in truth, he didn't want her
to stop spending time with him.
He swallowed deeply as he shook his head of the thought.
"No, you're right," he murmured. "If I'm feeling better, there's no need
for you to look out for me."
Eleanor was visibly confused by his words.
"I'm sorry, did I miss something?"
She seemed upset, and Cain immediately felt guilty.
He may not be so experienced with the opposite sex, but he could
see what this was.
"I'm a werewolf," he said simply.
"And I am a disgraced pureblood," Eleanor returned.
"I'm a dangerous creature! I almost killed Harry, Jonas, and Bruno."
"My name is mud in just about every country in Europe," Eleanor
fired back. "Are we trying to one-up each other, or is there a point to
this?"
Cain released a deep breath.
"Is there?" he asked.
"There could be," Eleanor said gently. "I know what you are, and I've
seen how much you struggle with it. Is it so bad that I want to be
there for you? Do you think so little of yourself that you think you
don't deserve someone caring about you?"
Cain could only shrug in response.
He had grown up being told to mistrust any outside of the pack, that
he would be universally hated for what he was, and yet, his beliefs
had been disproved by Eleanor, Harry, and the rest of his friends.
Even Lucinda, who should be his mortal enemy, had come to check
on him several times over the past week.
"Being a werewolf is a big part of who you are," Eleanor spoke,
pulling him from his thoughts, "but you are the sweetest, kindest, and
bravest person I have ever met. You can be just as stupid as Harry,
but everything you do comes from a good place. If you think that you
do not deserve someone to care for you, then I don't know what to
say. You're a werewolf, but that's not everything you are."
Cain took a moment to let her words sink in before he chuckled to
himself.
"How is it that you have a way of making everything seem so
simple?"
"Because it is," Eleanor replied with a shrug. "You just have a way of
making everything seem complicated."
She offered him an impish smile and Cain could only shake his
head.
"Why do I see a tonne of headaches coming my way," he murmured.
"Because that is what you will get if you keep being, as Harry would
say, a stupid prat. Come on, we have to meet the rest of them in the
basement," Eleanor urged, leading him from the room by his hand.
She didn't release her hold on him, and Cain did not attempt to free
himself.
He quite liked having someone to care about him like this.
It was strange, but certainly not unwanted.
"Does that mean I'm forgiven?" Harry asked as he and Lucinda
broke away from their kiss.
"For now," she replied, "but can you not get injured this time?" she
added irritably.
Harry shrugged.
"Shit happens," he said with a grin.
Lucinda rolled her eyes at him before pulling Harry into her arms.
"Just be careful, you idiot. You have no idea what's in there."
Harry conceded the point with a nod.
"I will be," he promised, lighting the tip of his wand and pointing it to
the building that Cain was perched upon.
He received a signal in response and snorted.
' Why do I have to be on the roof? I don't like heights!'
Harry hadn't known that had been Cain's fear, but he'd sent him up
there anyway.
Eleanor, Jonas, and Ana were the least known to any potential Death
Eaters or Greyback's former pack that may have still made the
journey here, so it made sense to keep the werewolf out of sight.
Lucinda had become rather well known over the past week; her
picture having appeared in The Daily Prophet as Cassie's shadow.
She would be remaining in the alleyway they were currently in to
give Harry his signal.
"Alright, time to go," Harry declared, disappearing within his cloak
before crossing the width of Knockturn Alley.
Releasing a steadying breath, he waited until the door to the
establishment was opened and slipped inside.
There was nothing to give away what kind of business this was, but
he raised an eyebrow as the cloaked figure he'd followed in spoke in
a mumbled tone.
"I'm here to see Olivia," he growled.
"Of course, Sir," the scantily clad lady behind the counter replied with
a toothy smile. "She is waiting for you in room seventeen."
So, it was that kind of place.
Harry shook his head.
Evidently, Lord Nott was unsatisfied enough with his marriage to risk
coming here on a weekly basis.
Still, if there was a minimum of seventeen rooms here, it made his
task much more difficult.
What room would the man be shown to?
No, he could not risk anything going amiss now, and with that in
mind, he dropped his cloak and cast a silencing charm on the
woman before the scream left her lips.
"Do you know who I am?" he asked.
The trembling woman nodded.
"I'm not here to hurt you," he assured her, "but you have a client that
comes in every Thursday evening."
The woman's expression became fearful and she shook her head
frantically.
"I have seen him come and go several times," Harry sighed. "You
know who I mean, don't you?"
She swallowed deeply, her gaze flitting towards the door before she
nodded.
"You don't like him very much, do you?"
He received a reluctant shake of her head in response.
"Has he hurt you?"
Another shake of the head.
"Has he hurt someone else?"
The woman swallowed deeply before nodding and Harry released a
deep breath.
"I have come to get rid of him," he explained. "If you help me, you
will never have to see him again."
The woman began speaking, though no words left her lips and Harry
held up a hand.
"If I allow you to speak, will you scream?"
She shook her head, and Harry ended the spell, ready to cast it
immediately if she did not keep her promise.
"I cannot help you," she whispered, her accent thick, foreign, and
one unfamiliar to Harry. "He will kill me."
"He will never know," Harry assured her.
The woman fell silent for several moments.
"Could you help me go home?" she pleaded. "Me and Anya."
"Who is Anya?"
"She is my friend," the woman answered. "She is the one he comes
to see."
"He hurts her," Harry deduced.
"Yes," the woman choked. "Come, I will show you."
Cautiously, Harry followed the hostess through the door behind the
counter where he was greeted by the sight of a much longer corridor
than should be possible.
There were dozens of doors, and he was glad he'd decided to follow
his instincts and engage the woman.
It was to room fifty-seven that she led him and paused for a moment
before knocking on the door.
"Anya?" she whispered before pushing it open.
Harry had never seen such a broken person as he entered the room.
Anya was perched on the end of the bed, dressed in only her
underwear, and her dull, almost lifeless eyes staring at the blank wall
opposite.
Harry immediately felt his anger grow as he took note of the many
scars that littered her body, so many that it made his own seem little
more than cat scratches in comparison.
Anya's eyes did not shift as she began to sob and mumble in a
foreign tongue.
The hostess immediately went to her and began whispering
comfortingly.
Harry did not recognise the language they spoke, but his name was
unmistakeable, and at the mention of it, Anya looked up at him in
surprise.
"Harry Potter?" she asked almost hopefully.
Harry nodded and Anya began to sob once more.
"Even in here, people talk about you," the hostess explained. "You
fight against him when no one else will."
"Someone has to," Harry sighed. "Will you let me help you both?"
The hostess whispered to Anya who nodded somewhat excitedly;
the prospect of freedom from this place proving to be overwhelming
as she began crying once more.
"We would like to go home, Harry Potter," the hostess reiterated.
"Where is home?"
"We are from Slovakia," the hostess explained. "We were taken from
there by the other English man."
"Other English man?" Harry probed.
"Mr Macnair."
Harry's eyes narrowed at the mention of the man, and he moved
Macnair up his list of priorities to handle several places closer to the
top.
"Well, Mr Macnair will be dealt with also," he replied, "but Mr Nott is
first. Is there somewhere safe you can hide Anya?"
The hostess nodded.
"There is a spare room."
"Good, take her there, and when Nott is dealt with, I will get you out
of here," he promised. "How many other girls are here?"
"Fifty-nine."
"Bloody hell," Harry grumbled. "I will do what I can," he added,
already making a note to inform Cassie of this place. The Aurors
would be here by the morning. "Okay, go."
The two women rushed from the room, and Harry set to work, first by
sending a signal to Lucinda to let her know he was in place.
Casting several charms and other spells to ensure Nott would be
unable to escape, he covered himself with his cloak once more,
basking in the coldness of the magic whilst he waited.
It was close to an hour later that his wand vibrated in his hand,
letting him know that Nott would be arriving soon, and Harry braced
himself for several moments until the door opened.
"You can't hide from me, girl," Nott chuckled as he began
undressing, drawing a large knife from within his discarded robes.
"Come out and play. I promise not to hurt you too much."
Harry's jaw clenched as the man peered under the bed.
"Stop fucking around!" Nott demanded angrily as he stood, frowning
as the lock to the door clicked.
Before he could comprehend what was happening, Harry cast a
severing charm that removed the hand carrying his wand, and both
clattered to the floor.
Nott screamed, though no one would hear it through the silencing
charm.
Removing his cloak, the man's eyes widened at sight of Harry who
rammed his fists into Nott's jaw.
He landed next to his hand with a dull thud, and Harry was on him
before he could regain his senses.
He had not planned on pummelling the Death Eater, but he did it,
nonetheless, until his hands were swollen, bleeding, and covered in
Nott's own blood.
"No, we can't let you die so easily," he murmured, noticing the man's
stump was leaking profusely.
With a murmured spell, the aroma of burnt flesh filled the room, and
the unconscious Nott awoke with another scream.
"Now, since you like to get your kicks from hurting women, let's give
you a taste of your own medicine, shall we?" Harry asked as he
retrieved the knife Nott had brought with him.
"What is the power I know not?" the Dark Lord hissed furiously.
It was the one thing that now consumed him, and yet, he was no
closer to an answer than when he'd first heard the prophecy.
"What is it?" Voldemort snapped as someone knocked frantically on
the door.
"My Lord," Rabastan greeted him breathlessly. "I really think you
should see this."
With a frown, the Dark Lord followed the man through the corridors
of Malfoy Manor into the room his Death Eaters would arrive in to
attend their meetings.
In front of the fireplace was a corpse, one that had been subjected to
some rather unpleasant treatment in the final moments of their life.
"As much as I admire your skill, Rabastan, I would rather you did not
disturb me to show your work."
"This isn't my work, My Lord," Rabastan returned. "Look closer."
Voldemort frowned as he did so, his eyes narrowing as he spotted
the Dark Mark burnt into the flesh of the left forearm.
"Who is it?" he asked.
Rabastan swallowed deeply as he picked up the severed hand.
"It's Nott, My Lord," he revealed, pointing to the family ring the man
always sported. "There's a note."
Voldemort accepted the bloodied parchment, his anger growing as
he read the short missive.
One down, and another will follow soon enough…
The Dark Lord's nostrils flared as he surveyed Nott's injuries.
He already knew that facing Potter was nothing like Dumbledore or
his foolish Order, but for the young man to murder another in such a
way was admittedly alarming.
If there had been any doubt to how far his foe was willing to go in the
pursuit of victory, there no longer was.
Harry Potter had proven his ruthlessness, and there was a part of
the Dark Lord that admired him, yet, he could not ignore the twinge
of concern he felt.
"Another will follow soon," he muttered to himself. "Rabastan, tell the
others to be on alert. It would not do for them to be caught unaware."
The man nodded.
"What about Nott, My Lord?"
"What about him?" Voldemort replied, reducing the man's remains to
little more than a pile of ashes. "Nott is dead," he added simply
before sweeping from the room.
On the surface, he was calm, but within, his fury burned almost
painfully.
Potter would pay for his transgressions soon enough.
Still, he could not ignore the undercurrent of concern that had set in
at the sight of Nott's mutilated corpse.