I stopped trying to hide our pursuit. I moved, keeping only a couple of wizards' distance from him, gradually closing in. The guards followed me, not understanding what I was doing, even trying to stop me with words, but I didn't care. I could no longer hear them.
Every step, every meter that separated us, stirred a murky, dark malice within me. It was a cocktail of emotions arising from the humiliation, pain, and rage that had been building up all these weeks. And there was no other outlet than to unleash it all. Now I had found that outlet in the form of this smug bastard, this Unsworth!
I was protecting my ego. One might think, what harm could come from a simple school intrigue... turned out, a lot. And it was infuriating. Could I have anticipated that someone would dare to touch the Malfoy heir? Perhaps I could have.
At that moment, the world narrowed to his figure. He glanced back, and our eyes met again. His eyes held nervousness and something else — offended pride. He was older than me, a former prefect, forced to flee from a thirteen-year-old boy. Ha!
I didn't know if he understood why I was pursuing him, or if he was even aware of everything, but his quickening pace only unnerved me more. I was like a guard dog, growling louder as its prey fled. I could feel his fear, and it stirred a thrill in me.
This spectacle added fuel to the fire: fragments of memories, still raw and painful, kept surfacing in my consciousness. Not his face, no! But his surname. Unsworth was forever linked to pain, fear, and the violation of what was most sacred to me — my memory. Forever... or at least until every last member of their family died! I'll kill them! Kill them all!
My fingers clenched into fists. The guards struggled to keep up with me, as I was agile and in that moment, didn't hesitate to weave through the crowd. It seemed the guards were prepared for anything, but not for such behavior.
Something inside screamed that it was time to stop and think with my head, not with rage, but my mind was working worse and worse. Anger was clouding my consciousness, even though I had just reasoned that I was to blame for everything, not someone else. Now, I was blaming Benedict Unsworth for all the world's problems.
He tried to lose himself in the crowd, making sharp turns, but we kept on him relentlessly. I saw him glancing back nervously. His hand kept reaching for his wand, but he restrained himself, understanding that starting a brawl on a crowded street was madness.
Not to mention, he had noticed my guards. If it weren't for the two dangerous-looking figures beside me, he probably wouldn't have tried to get away so quickly. He might have even engaged in open confrontation, despite his spinelessness — which was why I disliked him. A worm. I'd kill him even without a wand!
The rage continued to drive me towards the only Unsworth I could reach at that moment, possibly even the last Unsworth I'd be able to reach.
Despite the fog of anger, I still held myself back and merely pursued him, not even breaking into a run, but time was not on the side of clarity.
The rage wasn't all-consuming, not like in the memories, but it was there, sharply contrasting with the cold rationality I had prided myself on before all these events. Because with each passing second, that very cold rationality was slipping away, and senseless anger was filling its place.
***
Unsworth finally exited Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron. Pursued by his worst enemy and greatest fear, he, nearly knocking over a distracted patron and without slowing his pace, rushed towards the exit onto a regular London street. It was considered the height of impropriety to Apparate directly from an establishment, and even panic-stricken, Unsworth automatically adhered to this unwritten rule.
His panic was caused by Malfoy's gaze and the presence of the Malfoy family's fighters accompanying him. Unsworth doubted Arcturus Malfoy was pursuing him with such manic persistence just for a chat. And his friends had said this Malfoy had been kidnapped and released for ransom without his memory. And that he was half-dead when he reached St. Mungo's. But Unsworth had his doubts, seeing the crazed look in Malfoy's eyes when he glanced back. Clearly didn't look like someone who'd been through that. But at least today, Unsworth had shown someone that he truly wasn't involved in that incident and hadn't lied.
Mostly, the panic arose from the problems with the Floo network. And precisely when he saw this wretch who had ruined his family's plans and his chance to marry into one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. And it wasn't just any blood traitors or a degenerate family, but a sufficiently wealthy and influential one. But no matter, Benedict Unsworth was confident that at school, they would get their revenge on the little scum.
His weak lungs were failing him. Unsworth's breathing became heavy and rapid, while the two guards, maintaining a distance of a couple of meters, tried to keep up with their boss's son, their faces tense. They saw their charge losing control but hesitated to use force to stop him.
Emerging onto a deserted evening street, Unsworth, without stopping, cast a charm on himself to repel Muggles' attention. Arcturus Malfoy, without thinking, did the same. To the few passersby, they became merely blurry spots in their peripheral vision, unworthy of attention.
And then Unsworth realized, this was his chance. Against one Malfoy, he could certainly do something, but not with two guards. Adult wizards, who were clearly not amateurs at their job, wouldn't leave a wet spot of him.
That's why Unsworth finally broke into a run — he needed to find a secluded spot without Muggles. Only one thought haunted the guy... why did this Malfoy hate him so much? Maybe just because he didn't grovel before this spoiled bastard like all the others? Or because he, as a prefect, didn't let him order everyone around and, like a lapdog, turn a blind eye to his rule-breaking?
Arcturus, of course, without a second thought, dashed after him. The guards, caught off guard by such a sudden change of pace, fell behind for a moment.
The pursuer and the pursued at some point lost their roles. Unsworth sharply turned a corner into a narrow, dimly lit alley between two brick buildings. Here, in this deserted place, Unsworth wanted to Apparate, but he didn't go deep inside. The air around him trembled, but he needed to wait just a moment. A moment that would change the situation.
Every time he tried to outwit and outplay Malfoy, he fell into an abyss of despair from his own powerlessness — he always lacked cunning, intellect, strength, connections. Always. And in this moment, he realized this was his chance to outwit the one who at one point seemed to know everything in advance.
But in one respect, he had already miscalculated — when he confessed openly and showed his face. At that moment, Unsworth had fallen into despair, and then lived the worst half-hour of his life, tortured by Farmus. But memory could be shown to others... a Pensieve could be found... and today, it had been found!
Apparition takes less than a second, and despite an attempt to delay the spatial spell, it almost worked, distorting space and his body, when suddenly Arcturus burst into this narrow alley at full speed. At the same moment, Unsworth tried to grab him with his free, left hand.
But the surprise of Unsworth not continuing to run but waiting just around the corner didn't help. Like a real snake, Arcturus, demonstrating amazing reflexes and agility, easily dodged the outstretched hand. And it seemed the simple plan hadn't worked, but Malfoy's bloodthirsty eyes were like those of a predator that had lost its mind.
In that final moment, Arcturus made a rash, furious leap. His mind, clouded by anger, didn't see the nearly completed Apparition, already beginning to transport Unsworth's body. His mind, in its rage, rejected logical options — disrupting the spell with a charm or wandless magic. He could have simply interfered with the Apparition with wandless magic, and then what emerged wouldn't be Unsworth, but the result of Splinching — a severely wounded or already dead Unsworth.
Instead, Malfoy chose strength and violence, or rather, his rage chose this path. He grabbed Unsworth's head mid-leap, his fingers gripping the opponent's skull. Just one moment determined Unsworth's entire life. Just a moment, enough for Unsworth's head to explode like a ripe watermelon with a powerful firecracker inside.
And it was that same moment the guards, rushing to the scene, lacked. The nearest one almost reached them, his hand centimeters from Arcturus's shoulder to pull him away. But it was too late.
Distorted by the incomplete spell and the furious attack, the Apparition still took place. Space contracted, wrenching them from the alley. For the first time, Unsworth had managed to outplay Arcturus Malfoy.
The next second, the two guards immediately followed the residual trace of the Apparition. They would surely have lost their lives had they not protected the heir of the wealthiest family in Magical Britain. However, arriving at the trace, they found no one. The trace was tangled. If one Apparates from the point of appearance immediately to another point, it creates a tangled trail, which is much harder to track but still possible. The main thing was that they ended up at least at the next point and didn't Apparate further.
***
The rage receded as if by flipping a switch, but that was nothing compared to the physical nightmare I found myself in. Darkness swam before my eyes, my body was squeezed from all sides as if in the grip of a giant vise. I couldn't breathe — my chest was compressed by something incredibly heavy, and my eyes felt pushed back into my skull. A deafening roar filled my ears, and it seemed my eardrums were about to burst.
At that moment, clarity returned. The rage receded, giving way to the instinct for self-preservation. There was no time to think about what I had done — my entire being focused on one task: survive.
Survive under the onslaught of the ruthless, distorted magic of space, threatening to tear me apart in this chaotic, incomplete jump. Paired Apparition for a schoolboy who had only just mastered this art was dangerous for all participants, especially for the one being dragged against his will.
By some miracle, I intuitively understood what to do. My mind feverishly searched through fragments of memory for a way out — it seemed I had recalled another part of what was lost, but there was no time for that. I enveloped myself in the thinnest cocoon of my own magic of a spatial nature, trying to stabilize the state, stop the insane spinning, and smooth out the body-rending overloads. This was an epiphany born of fear and a fierce will to live. It felt like an eternity — but in reality, less than a second.
I convulsively gulped the icy night air, barely having time to comprehend what had happened before the world began to swim again. Everything spun, becoming blotchy. I was squeezed and released, stretched and twisted. A second consecutive Apparition, initiated by Unsworth, who was clinging to me, turned out to be even more botched and brutal. Space contracted again, twisting my insides and trying to tear apart my fragile, unprotected defense.
We were thrown from the vortex with force, hurled in different directions. I hit the ground, rolled, and lay still, gasping for air. Pain shot through my right shoulder and part of my chest — apparently, Splinching. Incomplete, fortunately, but the magic of the imperfectly executed paired Apparition from Unsworth's side had still affected me, distorting my flesh. The pain was familiar, vaguely reminiscent of the sensations during the fall in that cave, during the Portkey transport. A wet warmth of flowing blood spread across my body.
The blood was flowing so generously that I didn't even know how long I'd last.
And again, the Unsworths... I hate them! No wonder I wanted to kill this bastard. A little more — and I would have died a very stupid death! And again, my stupidity... and this anger...
I lay on the damp ground, which a light drizzle was soon to turn into a real downpour. All around stretched flat terrain covered with withered grass. In the distance, a forest loomed darkly. The sky was covered by a solid blanket of clouds, hiding the moon and stars. The evening twilight thickened with each minute — in half an hour, complete, impenetrable darkness would reign here.
Suddenly, a blinding sphere of cold white light flared up a few meters away. Unsworth, standing on his feet — battered but intact — had created a light source to find his pursuer. His gaze fell on me, and a smirk flickered across his face, changing to uncertainty when he saw my wounds.
"And why were you chasing me!? Why did you keep setting me up at school? Tell me, or I'll kill you right here!"
I didn't answer. Memory is a strange thing. A kaleidoscope of associative memories, more firmly anchored in my consciousness, began to provoke me again.
The pain in my shoulder burned, but strangely, it began to recede, giving way to something old and familiar — rage. It was all connected to this man and his surname. And again, this damn anger...
Unsworth raised his wand, preparing to utter a spell. I didn't care about the pain, but I cared about my life. Instinctively, I instantly rolled to the side. The beam of a clearly non-harmless spell left a crater in the ground, whistling centimeters from my head and briefly illuminating the grass with a dangerous glow.
I'll destroy him... just KILL him!
My main wand was still in the shoulder holster on my left shoulder — reaching it with my uninjured right hand... not even funny. But on my belt, in a special sheath, was my spare. My left hand obeyed perfectly. With a sharp movement, the wand was in my hand. Another roll and I managed to get up.
My breathing was heavy, and my face was twisted not only with pain but with hatred consuming my consciousness. Simple human anger, already out of control, was becoming all-encompassing, threatening to eclipse everything else.
At that moment, I couldn't help it; I surrendered to the emotions giving me strength. Holding the wand in my left hand felt unfamiliar, but I hadn't trained for nothing.
Now I saw only the target. Unsworth, recovering from the surprise, raised his wand again. A spell formula was already escaping his lips, but I was faster.
Instead of complex tactics and spell combinations, I began to close the distance. It wasn't elegant, but it was effective. I moved around him like the hand of a clock, constantly changing direction. Each step was accompanied by responsive spells, and he merely defended himself, occasionally firing something powerful.
The twilight and the intensifying rain only made my defense easier.
I didn't give him a chance to recover. I didn't even aim much — just hurled spell after spell, burning the grass at his feet, exploding the ground in front of him, forcing him to dart around in panic.
"Confringo!" — a blinding flash of the Exploding Charm left a smoking hole in the ground.
Not having such destructive spells in my arsenal, I limited myself to basic but simple charms that flew with such speed, from such different angles, that Unsworth had no choice but to hide under a dome of a protective spell.
He tried to parry, but his shields cracked under the pressure of my unbridled force. Each of his desperate steps, each new spell, awakened a new wave of rage within me. Rage demanding blood and death!
But he managed to surprise me: his shield shattered in an explosive wave, reaching me only as an unpleasant gust of wind, even forcing me to close my eyes for a moment.
The next second, my hastily erected shield was destroyed by an explosive spell. Fortunately, I was only scorched by the heat, leaving a couple of burns.
And then my gaze fell on the stones. Dozens of pebbles scattered on the ordinary ground. All this time, anger had been hindering my thinking, and I hadn't used even a fraction of what I knew, limiting myself to simplicity.
I sharply lowered my wand, aiming not at Unsworth, but at the ground around him. I decided not to drag it out and show my trump card. My will and magic enveloped the stones. I simply tore them from the ground within the nearest meters and unleashed this stone shower upon Unsworth.
He cried out, trying to create a dome, but it was too late. The first stone, the size of a fist, breached the unfinished shield and hit him in the shoulder with a dull thud. The second struck his thigh. The third — his chest. He collapsed to his knees, covering his head with his hands as a hail of cobblestones mercilessly drummed against his back, arms, and legs. Dull thuds, the crunch of bones, and screams continued until I approached him.
When I reached his hunched figure. He lay there, embracing the ground, his entire body covered in bruises, abrasions, and deep wounds. He was trying to say something, to mumble a plea or a curse. It didn't matter.
I didn't listen to him. My wand rose for the finishing touch. At that moment, his body jerked and he managed to roll onto his back. I was ready to kill him at any moment, but as he turned, he was hit by Petrificus Totalus. Instantly frozen, his eyes, full of terror, stared at me, and I saw in them the reflection of my own face, distorted by fury. And it was terrible... or was it? I wasn't thinking.
I leaned over him, my wand aimed directly between his eyes. The rage demanded a finale. Blood. Death!
"Young master, are you alright?"
A familiar voice sounded from behind. I turned, annoyed and angry even at such an interruption. It was my guards, who had finally found us. They stood a few steps away, wands at the ready, prepared to repel an enemy attack, but the enemy was already lying at my feet.
"Sir, I think that's enough," one said firmly. "He's no longer a threat. Don't give in to your emotions. It's better we take him to your father."
I looked at him, then at Unsworth, frozen in silent horror. Blood pounded in my temples. Should rage punish my enemies?
Had I really sunk so low as to lose my clear, cold mind? Oh no, I didn't want to be a prisoner of this unnatural, yet natural, fury.
All the time since the kidnapping, malice had been seething within me. Even little things I wouldn't have noticed before... now caused waves of irritation. And in situations where I might have gotten angry before, a real storm now raged — the same one that had broken free in the memory fragments where I tortured his uncle.
For a moment, I closed my eyes, plunging into the depths of my own consciousness, trying to tame the raging flame inside. The anger slowly receded, like the tide.
My consciousness finally, for the first time in a long while, cleared. And now, I had to finish this.
I opened my eyes and looked at Unsworth. He lay at my feet, his body mutilated by the hail of stones, his breathing ragged and wheezing. In his eyes was frozen a mixture of fear, pain, and a silent question.
"You wanted to know why?" My voice sounded unusually quiet and cold, like an ice shard falling to the ground. "Why I ruined everything for you and why I chased you today? I chased you to kill you! You were the starting point of my kidnapping. All that pain, humiliation, and stolen memories... It's all the work of your family. You dared to consider yourselves our equals. For that audacity, I pronounced a sentence on your entire house."
I raised my wand.
"Father will carry out the sentence for your family. I'll carry it out for you. Sectumsempra!"
The battle variation of the cutting curse sliced through not just the damp night air. The curse beheaded Benedict Unsworth.
His face remained frozen in an expression of bewilderment and horror. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. I carefully examined every detail of the scene until his head separated from his shoulders and with a soft, wet sound, rolled across the wet grass, leaving a dark, winding trail behind. In time with the final heartbeats, scarlet fountains gushed, staining the ground and withered grass the color of fresh blood. And all this was slowly washed away by the rain, which had now become quite intense.
Looking at the result of my work... inside, there was only silence. Not triumph, not disgust — just a cold understanding of the necessity of it all. The Unsworths would be finished today, and I had lost a bit too much blood... my wounds were still weeping. The main thing was not to pass out again; I hate waking up in the hospital.