All For You - Chapter 49
Chapter 49
He looked around at what had remained of the Slytherin legacy before he’d been born and shook his head. His once revered family had been reduced to a few bumbling, inbred fools who clung to glory from times gone by.
The Gaunts had achieved so little for themselves for several generations, choosing to ride the coattails of those that had come before them, believing that the blood that flowed through their veins made them great.
The Dark lord had proven otherwise.
He was a half-blood and much stronger and gifted than any other he’d met. Although he grudgingly admitted it, even Dumbledore’s exceptional talent could not be dismissed.
He, too, was a half-blood, as was Harry Jameson, though his parentage remained quite the mystery.
Still, the Dark Lord had not ventured here for any sense of self-fulfilment or to consider the worthiness of his bitter rivals.
No, he’d come to what may have been his childhood home had things been different for one reason only.
Removing the small box from within his pocket, he opened it to gaze upon the ring one last time.
It was one of two things he had that had originated from the Slytherin line, and it was only fitting that the ring be returned to the place he’d taken it from.
His uncle had worn it so proudly, but he’d not deserved the distinct honour of doing so.
It was the Dark Lord’s by rights, and he had taken it for himself.
Now, it housed a portion of his soul, and there was something undeniably pleasing about knowing that it would be guarded in the derelict remains of his mother’s home.
Carefully, he lifted one of the floorboards and placed the box within before replacing it and setting to work.
He would not leave the ring unprotected, but no one would have reason to come here.
The Ministry had done so when Morfin had died, and the Gaunt home was now all but forgotten about.
Still, it would serve its purpose well enough, and though the Dark Lord did not anticipate ever needing it, the ring would be here if the unthinkable occurred.
With it hidden, he felt better about proceeding with his plan.
Britain had been given enough of a reprieve from his efforts, after all.
(Break)
It was seldom they met as a group in such a way. For the most part, they communicated via official documents containing hidden messages using the hidden code they’d developed some twenty years prior, and so was the efficiency with which they conducted business.
Sometimes, however, it was necessary to come together to discuss a matter of importance, such as the one Sebastien intended to raise this evening.
His gaze swept around those gathered.
They had scarcely changed since they’d established the alliance, with the exception of Broz, who had been replaced by Adamski. The rest were the original gathering who’d met with Grindelwald to form the power within the room.
Even without the incarcerated Dark Lord, so few other entities could hope to muster so much influence, brilliance, and, if necessary, military power.
And yet, all was not well.
“We have a problem,” Sebastien murmured darkly. As you are all aware, the Paris branch of Gringotts was attacked. I admit the goblins were foolish, and I have already made my displeasure with them known, but it is not their actions that concern me so much. Please, see for yourselves,” he implored, gesturing to the pensieve he’d pre-prepared.
His associates eyed him sceptically, but they approached the bowl one by one and vanished within.
Sebastien lit a cigar while waiting and sipping on a glass of Scotch.
He’d never met a palatable person from Scotland, but they certainly knew their liquor.
He watched as the others emerged from the pensieve, each sporting a troubled look as they sat around the table once more.
“There were two of them,” Adamski said with a frown. “There were definitely two of them.”
Berg grunted as he leaned back in his chair.
“So, the Serpent?”
“The Serpent?” Espinosa, the Spanish representative of the ICW, broke in worriedly.
“The Serpent, but it only gets worse,” Sebastien sighed. “The man who was with him. His name is Harry Jameson. He is the very same man investigating what happened to the former Lord Bones and his wife and the one who has carved quite a reputation for himself in Britain. He is dangerous and perhaps more so to us than the Serpent. The vow still protects us.”
“He attacked your bank,” Fontaine pointed out.
“Because the goblins took his wife captive,” Sebastien explained.
Fontaine hummed, evidently unsatisfied by the explanation.
“What do we do?” Abernathy asked. “You’ve been a damned fool, Laurent. You sent men to kill Jameson, and what happened?”
“A mere misjudgement of his capability,” Sebastien said dismissively.
Abernathy shook his head as he slammed his fist onto the table.
“You fucked up,” he growled, “and now, we potentially have both Jameson and the Serpent to deal with. What do you know about this man? The pair of them fly as though they are Quidditch stars, and what the hell were those brooms?”
“I don’t know,” Sebastien huffed irritably, “but they will be dealt with. Mark my words, they will be dealt with, but I may need help. Between them, you saw what they did to Gringotts. Alone, they are a threat to whatever garners their attention. Together, there is no telling the damage they could do, and it doesn’t help that Grindelwald seems to be helping them.”
“Why would he do that?” Abernathy asked.
“Because he’s a bastard,” Sebastien muttered. “He enjoys the chaos.”
“Then why don’t we just kill him?” Adamski chuckled. “I’ll do it.”
“And if you do that, the vow protecting us from the Serpent will be broken,” Sebastien explained, taking a deep pull from his cigar. “He may be a bastard, but Grindelwald was no fool. A part of the vow was that if he were to be usurped, then the Serpent would be free.”
Adamski cursed in his native tongue.
“The Serpent is off limits, but Jameson is not,” Manon interjected. “You failed once, Sebastien. You will not do so again, will you?”
“No,” Sebastien assured the woman. “Jameson will die, and if the opportunity arises to eliminate the Serpent, we will take it. Berg, do you still have a certain group at your disposal?”
The large Norwegian nodded.
“I do.”
Sebastien nodded and slid a sheet of parchment towards him.
Berg read it and scowled before burning it.
“How did you come across this information?”
“I’ve been making discreet enquiries,” Sebastien answered with a grin. “His restaurant is all but untouchable, and his home is defended in ways my men have not seen before, but the farm is another matter entirely. Not even Jameson can perfectly protect such a vast amount of land.”
Berg hummed thoughtfully.
“Consider it done,” he replied gruffly.
Sebastien nodded appreciatively.
“Of course, my own men will offer their assistance, and there is another particularly keen on being a part of it. He will be at your office shortly.”
Between his and Berg’s men, Jameson would be all but helpless when they found him, and he would suffer before they granted him the mercy of death.
“So, we continue on?” Espinosa asked.
“As we always do,” Sebastien replied. “What happened in Paris will not happen again. Both Jameson and the Serpent are too much of a threat to be left unchecked. Together, they could be troublesome, but when one is gone, they are nothing alone.”
(Break)
He’d never considered the possibility of being embroiled in war again. Those who had fought on the continent, on both sides, had witnessed and lived through the horrors it brought and how little it left behind.
Even now, Reginald’s dreams were haunted by the stench of blood, urine, and excrement, and he was often startled awake by the echoes of the screams of the dying.
In the dead of night, he would find himself in a cold sweat, and his breathing laboured, but his wife would be there to remind him it was all over. In those moments, however, it was like being back in his worst moments as he helplessly cowered behind whatever cover he could find whilst being bombarded by all manner of unpleasant spells.
The only time Reg had returned to Europe since had been to see Imelda on the train when she left for Hogwarts and to bury her too soon after.
He despised war and all that came with it, but for the little girl he’d lost, he would do it all again.
He had to do it again.
His conscience would not grant him a moment of peace if he did nothing.
He wanted Riddle and his followers to suffer, for them to pay in blood for taking his daughter away from him.
Reginald paused as he eyed the bottle of whiskey he grasped and placed it back on the counter.
No.
He’d wallowed in his grief for too long now, and he needed to be sober. Imelda wouldn’t want him to lose himself, and Nancy had expressed her concern more than once that his chosen method of coping would not help.
She was right.
Nancy was always right.
“Can’t sleep?”
He offered his wife a weak smile as he shook his head.
“I don’t think I will until I know he’s dead,” he replied honestly.
Nancy nodded as she stepped towards him and embraced him tightly.
“I know,” she soothed. “Is that what you’ve been doing?”
Reg nodded unashamedly.
“She was our daughter. I cannot let what happened go, and neither can the others. I know it isn’t what you want to hear…”
Nancy cut him off with a shake of her head.
“I know you, Reg,” she murmured. “I know the kind of man you are better than any, and the moment we were told what happened, I knew what you would do. Just be careful. I won’t lose you too.”
“You won’t,” Reg assured her. “Would you like some better news?”
Nancy frowned as he handed her a sheet of parchment from within his robes.
She read it, and her eyes widened.
“Corbin is dead?”
Reg nodded.
“His son found him in his study,” he explained. “According to this, he suffered considerably,” he added with a smile.
“Reg, I’m sorry…”
“Don’t apologise for him,” Reg snorted. “Corbin always was a bastard, and I’d bet my life he got less than he deserved. He was no brother of mine. My brothers bled with me across Europe. They didn’t shy away and hide like snivelling cowards.”
He took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Anyway, his son is now the Lord of the family and has requested a meeting with me. I have no idea why. I’ve never met him.”
“You expect him to be just like Corbin.”
“I would bet my life on it,” Reg grumbled.
“Are you going to go?”
“I am. I know for a fact that Corbin supported Voldemort, and if his son is anything like him, he will too. If that’s the case, I’ll cave his fucking skull in.”
Nancy offered him a sad smile.
“He might be different.”
“He might be,” Reg conceded with a sigh, “but I can’t see it.”
“You didn’t turn out like your father.”
“No, but I might well have done if he didn’t ship me off to fight against Grindelwald,” Reg replied honestly. “I became the man I am because of it, and for that, I’m grateful.”
“So am I,” Nancy said sincerely. “I couldn’t have asked for a better man.”
Although her words warmed him, it was only momentary.
Try as he might, Reg could not shift the coldness that had settled within him since he’d learned what had happened to his daughter.
Cowards.
The cowards had attacked in the night, just as Grindelwald’s followers had done on countless occasions.
(Break)
“Professor, I must say I was surprised to receive your letter. Are you here in an official capacity?” Edgar asked.
Dumbledore shook his head.
“No, not official, but no less important, Edgar,” he replied. “May I?”
Edgar gestured for the older man to take a seat and waited for him to speak.
“As you more than any are aware, we are facing dangerous times,” Dumbledore said darkly. “With Riddle doing what he is and the Ministry struggling to combat him and his followers, I have decided to form a group of sorts to assist them.”
Edgar frowned thoughtfully.
“Vigilantes?”
“Not as such,” the other man chuckled. “I tend to leave that to Harry. I must say, he is proving himself to be quite an effective asset against the forces of darkness, but no. Our role will be more clandestine. Our group, whilst assisting the Ministry with more immediate threats when needed, will focus on gathering information and, with luck, preventing attacks before they even happen. I have already begun assembling quite a gathering, many of whom you will be familiar with. I do not need an answer now, but I am offering you a position among us. You always were a bright young man, Edgar, and you would have much to offer us.”
Edgar nodded appreciatively, and his gaze drifted towards one of the very few family photos of him, Amelia, Chris, and their parents.
He’d taken over from his father and had never been given the opportunity to see justice done, but assisting Dumbledore in whatever it was the man was doing would somewhat grant him that.
Nonetheless, he knew that making an immediate decision could be rash, and Edgar was much more measured than that.
He’d had to be since his parents had been murdered.
“I will consider it, Professor,” he assured the man.
Dumbledore smiled as he stood.
“Thank you, Edgar,” he returned sincerely before taking his leave, and Edgar leaned back in his chair as he pondered what he would do.
Given the position the family was in, most would likely agree that he shouldn’t involve himself in the conflict, that he should do his utmost to remain neutral and not draw the ire of Riddle.
Perhaps that what Edgar would’ve done, but it was not such a simple choice for him.
Amelia was already fighting in the war, so Riddle’s attention was already on those with the name Bones.
Not that Edgar expected anything less from his sister.
Amelia had always been the most righteous of the siblings and had given her all into becoming an Auror. Edgar was unbelievably proud of what she’d achieved, and the direction her life was seemingly taking.
She had a good career, and she even smiled now, something that had been missing for so long.
As much as Edgar did not want to speculate or jump to conclusions, and though he wished he’d been able to give his sister her smile back, there was only one person who could take the credit for it.
A light frown creased his brow as he removed the letter he’d received from Jameson only the previous day.
It said very little, but with the tone of it being so formal, it equally said so much.
Jameson wasn’t one for formalities, and he’d long ago forgone them when it came to their friendship, but this short missive was certainly an exception.
Edgar had been pondering why the man would request a meeting with him, and only one thing sprang to mind, though Edgar did not want to jump to conclusions, particularly if it was the wrong one.
He would simply have to wait until Harry arrived shortly to broach the subject, and then he would get to the bottom of whatever was on the man’s mind.
Still, he could not help but feel a bubble of excitement well within him at the possibility.
If what he believed was true, he could only be happy for both Harry and Amelia, even if that meant trusting another with the sister he had raised from when she’d been a young girl.
(Break)
“You are right,” Nicholas murmured. Something has changed, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. Perhaps it is that the two of you are so closely linked that it is too subtle to detect more specifically than a minor, unexplainable change. You both experienced much the same up until you were transported here?”
Harry nodded.
“We already discussed it, and everything was exactly the same until the night Sirius died. After that, our lives were different.”
Nicholas hummed thoughtfully as he eyed the blood sample.
It was very much as it had been after he’d assisted Harry in removing the abomination he’d been plagued with, but there was indeed something so subtly different.
“I think it is best if we regularly test you both,” the alchemist decided. “It could well be a temporary thing that will remedy itself in time. Do you feel out of sorts?”
Harry shook his head.
“No, nothing like that. I just feel different.”
“Interesting,” Nicholas replied thoughtfully. “What of the other Harry?”
“He doesn’t feel noticeably different.”
Nicholas nodded.
“Maybe it is that you lost most of your blood, and it was replaced by his, so it hasn’t affected him in the same way,” he mused aloud. “This is quite unprecedented. What the two of you did should’ve killed you both, but it didn’t. Maybe it is that the two of you are more connected by what happened.”
“A life debt?”
Nicholas frowned as he pondered the possibility.
“I do not believe so,” he answered. “Your magic, despite being your own, is so closely similar that I expect it would recognise what he did as saving himself. You cannot forge a life debt with yourself, Harry. It can’t even be done between spouses.”
Harry shook his head confusedly.
“Then I’m at a loss,’ he sighed.
“As am I,” Nicholas chuckled, “but try not to let it worry you. We’ll monitor you to be safe. How is Eleanor?”
“Blaming herself,” Harry huffed. “I’m annoyed at what she did, but she only wanted to help. I can’t blame her for that.”
“When it comes to the people we love, we aren’t always rational,” Nicholas pointed out. “I expect she feels very helpless. It's understandable with everything you went through before all of this.”
“I get it,” Harry assured the man. “I would’ve done the same if I was in her position, but I walked away from everything to keep her safe.”
“Exactly, Harry,” Nicholas returned. “You walked away from everything, and now, you are all but back to where you were before you did. It’s not easy for Eleanor, and she doesn’t know how to cope. She wanted to help, that’s all.”
Harry nodded.
“I know, but I almost lost her.”
Nicholas chuckled as he shook his head.
“And look at what you did to get her back,” he urged. “Between you and the other Harry, you reduced Gringotts to a pile of rubble. It’s best to chalk it up to a poor decision on her part, but one she was always going to make. You said yourself that you would’ve done the same. Where is Eleanor, anyway?”
“She’s visiting with Amelia.”
Nicholas grinned.
“They’ve struck up a friendship?”
“I suppose they both have a unique perspective on each other’s lives,” Harry thoughtfully replied. “With what happened to me and Jameson, they’ve both experienced some strange things.”
“They have indeed,” Nicholas chuckled.
(Break)
“You know, Jameson, we could’ve used you on the continent,” Arcturus chuckled amusedly. “I would bet you’d give Grindelwald a run for his money.”
Harry laughed uneasily along with the four men.
He doubted that they would be so cheery if they knew he was somewhat working with the former Dark Lord in any capacity.
Each of them had lost people close to them because of Grindelwald, and at the mere mention of the man, the mood within the room shifted to something deeply unpleasant.
All for had indeed fought against Grindelwald’s forces on the continent.
Charlus’s father, William, had been killed by Gellert himself, and though Arcturus was rather coy about his families involvement, he’d gone against the grain and fought against Grindelwald.
Reg had been all but forced into doing so, as had Gilbert, who had been a petty yet prolific criminal and had chosen the battlefield instead of the trenches.
In many ways, they were the unlikeliest of friends, but here they were more than two decades later, closer than any siblings could be.
“I suppose Riddle is my war,” Harry answered. “I will put the bastard in the ground and make him suffer for all the things he’s done whilst doing so.”
“Hear, hear!” Gilbert cheered. “Well, I suppose I should be getting home.”
“It’s almost ten,” Arcturus pointed out. “Your missus will be furious if you’re any later.”
“Shut up,” Gilbert huffed. “The old lady hasn’t got me by the balls.”
“She would if you had any,” Charlus chuckled. “Take it easy, Gil, and be ready.”
“Because of you lot, I’ve never stopped being ready,” he snorted, offering them a wave before vanishing through the fireplace.
“Merlin he was pathetic when we met him,” Arcturus said fondly.
“He saved our skins more than once,” Charlus replied.
“He did,” Arcturus acknowledged with a smile. “Shame he couldn’t save Reg’s arse.”
“Bloody hell,” Reg grumbled. “Whatever you do, Jameson, don’t let yourself have an arse cheek blown off. This lot will never let you hear the end of it.”
“Come on, Reg, as far as injuries go, it’s the only funny one we have to reminisce about.”
“True,” Reg conceded. “Let us just hope there aren’t any more,” he added as he stood. “I’ll be waiting for your message, Jameson. Remember, we are all in this together. We fight as one, as we always did.”
Harry nodded and offered the man his hand.
He couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose a daughter he’d raised to the likes of Tom Riddle.
“Come on,” Charlus urged Arcturus. “They’ll realise we’re not in the basement soon enough.”
“You hide in your basement?” Harry asked amusedly.
Charlus nodded.
“It is the one haven we have away from the kids and our wives, Harry. You may want to consider having your own hideaway.”
“I already do,” Harry assured the man. “It’s the basement.”
Charlus laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Good luck with Bones,” he offered. “I can’t see how or why he’d refuse you.”
“Let’s hope not,” Harry murmured as the two vanished through the fireplace, leaving him to cope with his apprehension.
He didn’t know why he was so nervous.
Maybe it was because what he intended to do was so final and was going against his own vow to never find himself entangled with a witch in such a way but being with Amelia had just happened and felt so right.
Eyeing the clock, which seemed to have moved much faster than normal, Harry released a deep breath and slowly made his way towards the fireplace.
“here goes nothing,” he murmured, throwing a handful of floo powder into the heart. “Bones Manor.”
(Break)
“Well, it won’t solve our problem, but it will certainly put the wind up his back,” Fontaine chuckled as he entered the office. “Are there any messages?”
“No, sir,” Cassiopeia replied.
The only time he ever addressed his assistant was to check for any messages or to demand she fetched him some coffee. It was a rather demeaning job, and one Cassie couldn’t be paid enough to do were it not for her hidden agenda.
“What problem is being solved, sir?”
Fontaine waved her off.
“Never mind!” he snapped irritably. “Do you not have enough work to get on with?”
“Of course, sir.”
Cassiopeia left the office pondering why the man was so suddenly cheerful.
He’d been rather grim the past couple of days since she’d imprisoned his assistant. Not that he knew that, of course, but his demeanour had not been positive.
He’d been drinking more than she’d usually observed, and he’d been particularly waspish.
Whatever had improved his mood could not be anything good.
He’d taken an unofficial trip to Paris only a few hours earlier, and Cassiopeia could only speculate about its nature.
She knew that Fontaine was a part of the group that Gellert had intended to bring into the fold and that the man shared a close relationship with Laurent.
It was concerning, to say the least, but with nothing to go on, it wasn’t as though what little information she had was of use.
It was a frustrating undertaking, and she released a deep breath.
This game of posing as his assistant was achieving nothing, and Cassiopeia had quickly lost her patience.
Jameson had told her to kill the man if the opportunity presented itself, and she could think of no better time than the present.
Preparing his coffee just as he demanded it, she returned to the office only a few moments later and entered.
“Coffee, sir?” she asked sweetly, placing a cup next to him on the desk. “You do have a meeting with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in one hour,” she reminded him.
Fontaine cursed in his native language as he looked towards the clock and yawned.
“Thank you, Beatrice,” he grumbled, taking a large mouthful of the drink, frowning as he did so. “Did you do something different with…”
His eyes widened briefly before his head hit the desk with a dull thud, and Cassiopeia laughed to herself.
“Oh, you are pathetic,” she mocked, using her wand to raise the man and secure him to the chair to prevent him from falling.
The potion she’d laced his coffee with left him physically paralysed but lucid and able to feel everything, something he became aware of quickly as Cassiopeia sliced him across the face with a cursed blade she’d liberated from Grimmauld Place when she’d been a teenager.
“The potion is the least of your worries,” she said gleefully. “It will wear off in a few hours, but the curse will make everything deeply unpleasant for you. The more you cooperate with me, the quicker I will remove it. The longer it stays with you, the worse the rest of your remaining days will be. Now, let us begin, shall we?”
Fontaine was positively alarmed by what was transpiring but could not do anything to prevent it, so Cassiopeia pointed her wand towards him.
“Fortunately for you, I am an expert in the Mind Arts,” she informed him. “Unfortunately, I have no reason to be careful. Legilimens!”
Fontaine proved to have admirable defences against such attacks, but seeing as Cassiopeia cared little for his wellbeing after she’d gotten what she wanted, she saw no need to indulge in a battle of wills with the man.
Instead, she chose to simply tear through his mind and rip away at the memories that interested her.
She cared little for his dalliances with his assistant or that he was as corrupt as any politician she’d encountered.
No, what interested her was what part he was playing with Laurent and the rest of the group she was assisting Jameson with destroying.
By the time she was done extracting anything useful, she found herself disappointed that he’d gone to the trouble of removing many memories pertaining to his involvement, an intelligent yet frustrating move on his part.
Nonetheless, Cassiopeia came away with more than enough to make the effort worthwhile, though not with much useful from his most recent meeting.
Fontaine knew nothing about whatever was being planned to pertain to Jameson, save for the cryptic exchange of words between Laurent and Berg, which Cassiopeia could glean little from.
They’d opted not to attempt to eliminate Jameson at his home or the restaurant he owned and even implied that Jameson was not the specific target.
So, what could they be referring to?
It was frustrating, to say the least, and Cassiopeia knew she would have to discuss the matter with Jameson.
Perhaps he would be able to shed some light on their intentions.
With a shake of her head, she eyed the dribbling mess that was Fontaine and snorted derisively.
“Well, I wish you could’ve been more help, but that’s the way things go. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you die suffering.”
With no protest nor defence possible, Fontaine did not resist as she plunged the blade into the side of his neck, wiping it on his robes before leaving and locking the office.
It wouldn’t be long before he was discovered, but by then, it would be too late. Fontaine would be dead, and Cassiopeia would be nowhere to be found.
What she needed to do was get a message to Jameson in the hopes that she was not too late.
(Break)
He licked his lips in anticipation, almost tasting the blood he would soon be feasting on. Fenrir had waited for this moment for more months than he cared to count, and now that it was finally upon him, his patience was wearing thin.
“What the hell is taking so long?” he growled.
He grimaced as he was seized by a hand much larger than his own belonging to one of the Norwegian men, and Fenrir wheezed as it closed tightly around his throat.
He was stronger than any human the werewolf had ever met, and though he could not see his face beneath the hood he wore, Fenrir was in no doubt he had the eyes of the killer.
“Shut the fuck up,” the man whispered dangerously. “Another peep out of you, and I will snap it. You’re lucky you’re even here, but if you fuck this up…”
He let the threat hang and released Fenrir, who gasped for breath.
The man was a member of an elite team connected to the Norwegian Ministry of Magic and not someone to be crossed.
He suspected they were something akin to the Unspeakables, but given who their leader was, it was likely many of the things they dealt with were as unsavoury as they were controversial.
“Just another minute,” another of the same team declared as he continued fiddling with the device he’d brought along.
It was unassuming for the most part and appeared to be little more than a metal disc. The man's handling of it, however, spoke of both its value and its danger.
“What does it to?” Fenrir asked curiously.
The man fiddling with the device shot him a glare.
“It will create a doorway through the protections,” he explained. “Well, that is if I can tweak it to work here. I’ve never seen protections like these before.”
“What happens if we trigger them?” one of the Frenchmen asked.
“Our final moments of life will be full of pain, misery, and suffering,” the Norwegian answered with a smirk. “Best shut your froggy face whilst I do this.”
The Frenchman flared his nostrils but said nothing, and Fenrir took an instinctive step back.
Anything Jameson had a hand in was bound to be dangerous and judging by the scent of fear wafting from the man toying with the device, he was not entirely confident in what he was doing.
“There we go, that should do it,” he declared after several minutes. “Say a prayer to whatever god you plead with,” he urged. “If this goes wrong, you’ll be at their feet soon enough.”
Tapping the device with his wand, Fenrir felt it begin to hum ominously, and the ground vibrated beneath his feet.
“Let’s go,” the Norwegian urged, stepping through where he’d marked the protections when they’d arrived.
The others quickly followed with Fenrir bringing up the rear, and the werewolf came to a halt, a hungry grin tugging at his lips.
In front of him were several greenhouses as far as the eye could see, and in the distance, dozens upon dozens of houses.
So, this was where his traitorous pack had come.
No matter.
In the coming moments, they would feel the sting of his retribution.
Taking off in a run towards the dwellings, Fenrir quickly passed his companions, snarling as he barrelled towards where could see the signs of life.
(Break)
It was something of a relief to have someone else to talk to, someone who understood the odd circumstances which had seen Harry brought into her life.
Eleanor had experienced the very same thing with her own husband, and to hear how she’d come to terms and coped with the strange life her Harry had experienced in the future brought Amelia comfort that everything would be okay.
Perhaps not now, or even in the near future, but one day.
She returned to Harry’s home, or their home. She wasn’t sure which, but considering she had not slept at Bones Manor for more days than she could count, she saw it more of her home than the one she used to share with her brother.
Neither she nor Harry had broached the subject of their living arrangements; it had just progressed naturally over time, and Amelia couldn’t imagine not returning every night to the peace and tranquillity it brought her.
Tonight, however, the home was quieter than usual.
There was no sign of the elves puttering around nor Harry, who could usually be found in the kitchen.
Seeing that the backdoor was open, Amelia stepped outside and spotted the man leaning against one of the paddock's fences.
“Have you taken up Astronomy?” she asked as she reached him.
He chuckled and shook his head.
“No,” he denied amusedly. “When I was a boy, I would sometimes look at the stars and wish for a better life. In many ways, I can’t say that I was granted it. I thought the wizarding world was my escape from the Dursleys, but my life only got worse. After I killed Tom, I really thought I was done with it. I had enough gold to never work again, but I was talked into taking a job as an Unspeakable.”
“Do you regret it?” Amelia asked.
Harry shook his head.
“We wouldn’t be here now if I didn’t accept it. Well, I don’t think we would be,” headed with a frown. “Fate always has a way of getting what she wants.”
“I can’t say I believed in it until I met you,” Amelia admitted. “I always thought that life was just one cruel thing after another, with a little respite and, if you’re lucky, some happiness thrown in.”
“Bloody hell, I thought I was pessimistic,” Harry snorted.
Amelia nudged him with her shoulder.
“I’m sure you understand that even more than me.”
“I do.”
“But you’re not so pessimistic now?”
“Not as much as I was.”
“What changed?”
“Meeting you.”
“Me?”
Harry nodded.
“Call me a soppy git if you like, but the one good thing I can say I’ve had that hasn’t been taken away from me is you.”
It warmed Amelia to hear it, but before she could speak, Harry’s expression suddenly darkened, and he drew his wand.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” he murmured. “Something’s wrong.”
“Here?”
He shook his head as he tried to focus on whatever it was that had disturbed him.
Amelia knew Harry well enough not to dismiss his concern, and she remained silent as he seemingly wracked his brain for whatever was bothering him.
“Bloody hell, the farm!” he gasped, vanishing before Amelia could grasp what he’d said.
The farm.
She’d never visited, but judging by Harry’s reaction, something terrible must’ve happened.
He was not so easily alarmed, and he looked positively fearful at the realisation.
“Bugger,” she groaned, knowing there was nothing she could do but wait for him to return.
(Break)
The smoke was so thick that he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him, but with a wave of his wand, it began to clear, revealing the sheer carnage that had been caused.
All of the greenhouses had been destroyed, either by fire or other means Harry could not identify, but it was not the state of the buildings that caught his attention.
Bodies.
There were countless bodies of men, women, and children spread across the length and breadth of the farm, and Harry felt the fury well within him.
Somehow, someone had gotten to them and had done so without alerting Harry until it was too late.
How they had managed it, Harry didn’t know, and being so caught up in anger and grief, it was not something he could ponder whilst the farm continued to burn around him, and the bodies of the werewolves he’d brought here were still warm.
Nonetheless, he would get to the bottom of it, and when he inevitably discovered who was responsible, there would not be a nook or cranny they could hide in that would keep them safe from the retribution that would be exacted upon them.