All For You - Chapter 59
Chapter 59
“Jameson, I’m dying,” Abernathy gasped.
“You don’t get to die until I give you permission to. Besides, you’re not dying. Your body is adjusting to not having any magic. Now, how much you suffer depends on how helpful you are to me. Your death can be quick and painless, or I can keep you alive for days, weeks, months, or even years if I choose to. The longer you live, the more painful your existence will be. So, Mr Abernathy, are you feeling cooperative?”
The man glared at his hatefully, and Harry returned it in kind.
They despised one another, but there was an undeniable victor here.
“My family,” Abernathy wheezed. “What will happen to them?”
“They will learn everything about you, but there is no need for them to suffer beyond shame.”
Abernathy chuckled humourlessly.
“So, this is it?”
“This is it,” Harry confirmed. “Tell me what I need to know, and I will even ensure your wife is safe from any fallout. I will take her away from America to a place no one knows who she is.”
Abernathy eyed him questioningly for a moment before shaking his head.
“You really would, wouldn’t you?”
Harry nodded.
“Honourable fool.”
“If I weren’t, the world would be an even scarier place,” Harry replied. “Imagine what I could do if I I didn’t hold on to my morals. I would make you and your organisation look like a Boy Scout meeting. Now, let us begin. Legilimens!”
Without any magic to protect his mind from the onslaught, every kernel of information Harry could find was taken from Abernathy, and the man had suffered untold pain.
By the time Harry withdrew from his mind, the American was left as little more than a drooling mess, and Harry had simply put him out of his misery.
He’d served his purpose, and though Harry had gotten all he needed from him, it wouldn’t be so simple to put the information to use.
Deciphering the plethora of coded notes he’d obtained would take considerable time, but he was determined to ensure he did not miss a thing.
He’d worked so long and so tirelessly to reach this point, and finally, it appeared as though there was indeed a light at the end of a very dark tunnel.
It turned out that the code used by the men was quite an ingenious combination of alchemic, arithmancy, and even muggle science symbols that very few wizards would be familiar with. Having learned this, Harry obtained a copy of the periodic table and penned a letter to Nicholas Flamel for his assistance in dealing with the alchemy elements.
Having never studied Arithmancy, he’d purchased a few books that would help him, but it would still take time to decode all of the messages.
It would be an ongoing project until he found the truth about what the group had done for more than two decades.
“Harry, are you down there?”
“I’m coming up,” he replied.
Amelia had worked a night shift and had evidently returned for breakfast before she would go to bed.
“I think you need to get outside more,” she said with a frown. “You’re looking a little pale.”
“You’re probably right,” Harry chuckled. “I will go for a fly today.”
“It’s snowing.”
Harry frowned as he peered out of the window, though it quickly turned into a smile. He enjoyed the snow, and though his relationship with Ron and most of the other Weasleys had deteriorated after the war, one of his fondest memories was playing in the snow at the Burrow.
“A bit of snow never hurt anyone,” he replied with a smirk.
Amelia shook her head amusedly.
“You’re just a child at heart, aren’t you,” she said fondly.
Harry nodded.
“I like the snow.”
“I remember,” Amelia returned with a glare.
“Maybe I’ll invite Edgar round.”
“I’ll bury the pair of you in it if you even think of doing anything to me whilst I’m sleeping.”
“Would I do that?”
“Yes,” Amelia answered without hesitation. “Anyway, there is something I wanted to speak with you about.”
“And what would that be?”
“Our wedding. I’d like to get married in March.”
“Why March?”
“My mother’s birthday.”
Harry could see that it was important to her, and in truth, it should be more important to him, too.
“My father’s birthday was in March.”
“Oh, then maybe…”
“March will be perfect,” Harry broke in as he took her hands in his own. “I suppose we really should start planning, shouldn’t we?”
Amelia nodded and offered him an excited smile.
Harry’s eyes widened as she removed a thick binder from within her bag and placed it on the kitchen table.
“I’m already way ahead of you, Jameson,” she pointed out. “It’s just some ideas that I’ve been putting together. Have a look and see what you think. I’m going to shower and get some rest.”
“What about a venue?” Harry asked.
“Do you have somewhere in mind?”
Harry shook his head.
He’d considered the church in Godric’s Hollow, but he didn’t want the omen of what had happened to his parents hanging over him, and having the ceremony at his own home or even Bones Manor was out of the question, given what was happening in Britain.
No, there wasn’t anywhere he seemed to prefer or that would work, but there was one place it could happen at virtually no risk to them.
“What about the farm? Its private and we can arrange portkeys for the guests. It’s been cleared up and I can do any other work that’s needed.”
Amelia nodded thoughtfully.
“I like it,” she declared. “Maybe we can turn what happened there into a happy memory. Have you thought about what you’re going to do with the land?”
“I have a few ideas,” Harry said cryptically.
Amelia hummed and eyed him for a moment.
“We can discuss that later,” she sighed fondly.
She kissed him on the cheek and left the room, leaving Harry to stare at the thick book she’d handed him.
“I’m going to need coffee,” he snorted amusedly.
(Break)
“Did he die suffering?”
“Well, it wasn’t pleasant for him. Without magic, his mind broke easily, but I got everything I needed from him.”
Harry nodded satisfactorily.
“Good. The git deserved nothing less for everything he’s done. I expect the others will go to ground when they learn of it.”
“Probably, but they won’t be getting away with anything. I have notes from all of them. I just need to decipher the code.”
“So, it’s finally the beginning of the end.”
“I hope so,” Jameson sighed tiredly. “I want this over with so I can live my life.”
“I get it,” Harry offered sympathetically. “I’ve lived mine, and I want it back.”
“What will you do with the peace?”
Harry shrugged.
“Probably continue with my business ventures. Are you going to continue teaching?”
“For a while. Maybe Bellatrix will replace me.”
Harry felt himself grimace at the mere thought of the girl.
His only memory of her was when he’d witnessed her murdering Sirius.
“What will you do after?”
“I think I might open an animal sanctuary for creatures who need a home.”
“Can I help?”
Jameson chuckled as he nodded.
“Of course.”
Harry returned the gesture.
He’d always enjoyed his time with creatures, but over the years, he’d only had his one companion. He’d lost Hedwig the night he’d arrived in the past and hadn’t been able to replace her.
“I’ll look forward to that, but we’ve got this lot to deal with first.”
“And Riddle.”
Harry felt his expression darken.
“Bastard,” he grumbled. “I’ll throttle him with his own colon!”
“As much as I would like to see that, he won’t show his face for a while, not unless he is forced.”
“Well, you know him better than me. What will force him out into the open?”
“Either an opportunity or if he feels that he has no choice. I think we have gotten him closer to the latter.”
“So, we take out a few more of his followers.”
Jameson nodded thoughtfully.
“Rookwood,” he decided. “It’s doing us no good having him in the Department of Mysteries. I think he would be one to be rid of, and maybe Dolohov.”
“Which one do you want?”
“Coin flip?” Jameson suggested as he removed a galleon from within his robes. “Call it.”
“Heads,” Harry declared.
“You win. Who do you want?”
“I think I’ll take Rookwood. I’ll slit his throat and throw his corpse through the veil.”
“That works for me, but can you keep the head? I’d rather see it sent to Tom.”
“You’ve got yourself a deal!”
“Harry, why are you smiling like that?” Eleanor asked, cutting into his thoughts.
“I wasn’t smiling like anything.”
Eleanor quirked an eyebrow at him.
“We have been married for more than twenty years. I thought we were beyond petty lying.”
Harry smirked at his wife, and she offered him a pointed look.
“Does this have anything to do with the disappearance of the American Minister?”
“Maybe.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Come on, let’s hear the latest.”
Harry explained what had happened at the French Ministry of Magic, and when he was done, Eleanor placed a kiss on his cheek.
“I’m pleased that the vow is no longer in effect, but be careful. I married you knowing it was a possibility that I would become a young widow, but I’d rather not.”
“I am always careful.”
Eleanor hummed in response.
“You have always been a reckless prat, but that is one of the reasons I love you as much as I do. I suppose the other Harry was involved.”
“He was.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Why am I not surprised? The two of you make quite the team.”
“Like Holmes and Watson.”
Eleanor snorted amusedly.
“Holmes and Watson didn’t cause as much trouble as the two of you.”
“I bet they would’ve if they had magic.”
“Well, they didn’t, but you and Jameson do, and it is a thought that should keep most awake at night wondering what the hell you’re going to do next. Fortunately for the rest of the world, it is Amelia and I who have shouldered that burden. Now, I’m going out, and yes, I will bring you back some ice cream.”
“You know me so well.”
Eleanor offered him a look of exasperation as she left the kitchen, and Harry began pondering the logistics of his next venture. He’d not set foot in the Department of Mysteries since the night he’d been brought back here, and the thought of doing so was not something that rested easy with him.
Still, he’d chosen Rookwood for the very same reasons he would’ve avoided the decision.
He had no doubt that returning to the British Ministry would evoke the same emotions he’d forced down for the better part of three decades now: hate, anger, and bitterness.
It hadn’t been easy, but he’d managed to all but forget about what had happened that night, for the most part.
Occasionally, he would relive the moment, but as the years went by, it lingered less.
Now, however, Harry was ready to confront it and rid himself of one of Riddle’s staunchest followers in the process.
(Break)
It was not often that Charlus found something particularly bothersome when it came to being a member of the Wizengamot. For the most part, he would sit back and listen to any agenda put forward and weigh up the pros and cons of implementing it. From there, he would be able to make an informed decision on whether or not he agreed with it.
The latest memo he’d received, however, had irked him considerably, and he refused to remain silent on the matter at hand.
As he took his seat amongst his peers, his gaze swept across the room and came to rest on Arcturus, who wore his own frown.
Whether or not it was for the same reason remained to be seen.
The two men didn’t discuss politics outside of the chambers. Charlus liked his brother-in-law, but when it came to politics, they did not necessarily agree.
It had never gotten in the way of their friendship, but it had become something of a silent agreement between them that whatever happened in the Wizengamot chambers would stay there.
Charlus was pulled from his thoughts by Dumbledore tapping his gavel, and the Chief Warlock cleared his throat before addressing the room.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I thank you for convening today. I understand that Mr Crouch would like to speak, so I will hand the floor…”
The man paused as Charlus raised his wand, and with a bemused expression, Dumbledore nodded towards him.
“Lord Potter, you have something you wish to say?”
“I do,” Charlus confirmed as he stood, not missing the knowing smirk Arcturus gave him. “I believe we are all aware what it is Mr Crouch wishes to discuss today, but before he speaks, I would prefer to save his breath. I, like all of you, received the memo stating the law Crouch wishes to push through today, and I find it to be most distasteful and rather insulting.”
The other Lords and Ladies murmured amongst themselves at the statement, some nodding their agreement and others choosing to remain silent.
“Mr Crouch is the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and I respect his authority and what he is doing to combat Tom Riddle and his followers. What I cannot agree with is his intent to make it a prosecutable offence for anyone not a part of the Aurors to take up arms against Riddle. I would remind Mr Crouch that this is war, and there are those of us who do not wish to sit idly by whilst the men and women we rely on for our protection are killed indiscriminately when there are those among us who wish to fight alongside them.”
Those who agreed with him made the sentiment quite clear, and Crouch scowled at them.
“I would remind Mr Crouch that I was eighteen years old when I travelled across the continent to fight Grindelwald. There are others in this very room who did the same, and even more of us who lost family members to that monster. It is not in us to do nothing, and you do not have the right to deny us the ability to defend our own home when we were damned well good enough to defend others when we were needed. Your persecution of men like Harry Jameson is reprehensible, and we already find ourselves in his debt for what he has done in the fight against Riddle. For the love of Merlin man, he is trusted to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts to the children of Hogwarts. If anyone should have any place fighting Dark Lords, it’s him.”
It was not often that Charlus and Dumbledore agreed on much, but he was pleased to see that even the headmaster nodded his approval.
“And as for the Serpent, you may not agree with his methods, Crouch, but he is one of the very few people who is willing to fight Riddle personally. How many Aurors has he killed? Five, six, or maybe more? This proposed legislation is ridiculous and will only lead to the death of more good men and women. Those who wish to fight should not be denied, and they certainly shouldn’t be vilified for doing what is necessary. I have seen, fought, and lived through war, and it is men like these who will be the reason that we win. If you vote to implement this legislation, I can only see you as a traitor to our country and the blood of those who die because of it will be on your hands,” Charlus warned before taking his seat.
There were those within the room who openly applauded, and there were others like Crouch, whose jaw had clenched so tight that Charlus thought he might just break his own teeth.
“Thank you, Lord Potter,” Dumbledore offered. “Mr Crouch, do you wish to offer your response?”
The man stood and fixed Charlus with a steely gaze as he shuffled through his stack of parchment.
“Don’t bloody bother, Crouch,” Arcturus spoke up irritably. “We’ve read the legislation, and I can tell you now that it will not see the light of day. We allowed you and the Minister to make a few executive decisions, but only because we agreed with them. Lord Potter has said all that needs to be. Put the damned thing to the vote, and let’s be done with it.”
Charlus didn’t even try to hide his smirk.
Although there were undoubtedly those within the room who would love nothing more than to pass the bill, which would only support Riddle, they would not dare vote in favour of it.
The Dark Lord was not in a powerful enough position to protect them, and none would put their necks on the line so brazenly.
“Very well,” Crouch said gruffly, undeniably irked by the intervention he’d evidently not been prepared for.
“Whilst you’re at it, you should also rescind the warrant you have for the Serpent’s arrest,” Arcturus urged. “We heard of him during our time on the continent, and trying to bring him in will only result in more death. We should be bloody grateful that he’s chosen to be on our side.”
Charlus nodded his agreement, but Crouch’s was one of defeat.
Instead of arguing the point, he swept from the room, unhappy that whatever plan he’d concocted had been halted in its tracks..
“Bloody fool.”
“You’re not wrong, Lord Bones,” Charlus agreed with a sigh. “I get he wants to do what is right, but he will only hinder the war effort.”
“And it’s not like Harry will listen to him,” the younger man chuckled. “Even Amelia struggles to get him to do as he’s told.”
Charlus snorted amusedly.
“He’s quite the handful.”
Edgar nodded.
“He is, and it’s nice to see that my sister has met her equal. They’re both stubborn, but they’re good for each other.”
“I agree,” Charlus replied with a smile. “They’re well suited, and they adore one another.”
“It’s bloody sickening,” Edgar huffed good-naturedly. “Still, I’m pleased they’ve finally decided to get married.”
“They have?”
“They’ve not made a public announcement, but Amelia says they’ve set a date. I’ve seen the guestlist, so I would expect yours to arrive soon if Jameson has gotten his arse in gear and sent them.”
“I look forward to it,” Charlus said fondly.
He liked Jameson, and he knew that Dorea would enjoy the occasion.
It had been some time since they’d attended a wedding.
(Break)
“Where is your favourite place to holiday, Minister?”
“An easy question. The East Indies Islands have captured my heart. My father took me when I was a boy, and I fell in love with everything there. I’ve not returned since, but one day, when my services are no longer required by the people of France, I would like to return.”
It was little more than an offhand comment made by Laurent when he first took office more than thirty years earlier, but such things could prove to be significant, and interviews with the media could be very telling.
Especially when one was new to them or feeling particularly forthcoming whilst experiencing the joy of a successful election.
Nonetheless, the East Indies Islands were numerous, and as Laurent had not been specific on which one he had visited, it would take some time to locate the wayward man, but Herr Weber had his ways.
No, Sebastien Laurent wouldn’t elude him.
Only one man had that honour, and it was the very same that Weber found himself working with, even if the Serpent didn’t know it.
He’d been awfully tempted to deny Gellert’s request for assistance but witnessing just how shrewd the man had proven to be in dealing with Abernathy, it would be an insult to the craft he’d spent decades mastering not to.
Yes, he would help the Serpent and Harry Jameson in their venture, and they would need it now more than ever.
Abernathy’s disappearance had been made known, and the others in the group were already making plans to follow Laurent’s example.
Not that it would do any good.
There was no place on Earth where they could hide that Herr Weber wouldn’t be able to find them.
Soon enough, they would all reap what they had sown, and though he preferred a world of chaos, Abernathy and his ilk were better off being indisposed.
(Break)
“The search for the missing Minister Abernathy is still ongoing, and the MACUSA urges any to come forward with any information they may have…”
It hadn’t taken long for the news to break that Abernathy had vanished, but Cassiopeia knew that it was unlikely any who knew what had happened to the man would speak.
It would implement them and Abernathy in the nefarious deeds he was involved in.
By now, the man was likely dead.
It wasn’t as though Jameson and Evans would be deterred by Abernathy’s status and position.
If anything, the two of them would get quite the kick out of being behind his disappearance.
Nonetheless, it would likely hinder their progress in capturing the other representatives of the ICW. Those who were associated with Espinosa, Sousa, and Abernathy would undoubtedly be considering following in Laurent’s footsteps and attempting to hide.
It would do no good.
If Jameson and Evans couldn’t find them, Cassiopeia had no doubt that Weber would.
Their days were numbered, but until all was said and done, she would take nothing for granted.
Even without Abernathy and Laurent, the combined efforts and power of those who remained could pose quite a threat.
“You seem rather thoughtful, my dear.”
Cassiopeia nodded.
“What happens when it’s over?” she asked.
Gellert chuckled amusedly as he shook his head.
“Others will come to fill the gap,” he sighed. “Where there is an opportunity, there is someone quite willing to make a grab for power for all the wrong reasons. It was one of the things I tried to prevent, though ironically by being one of those people.”
“But the world would’ve been better under your leadership.”
“Perhaps,” Gellert replied thoughtfully, “or perhaps it would’ve been worse. Where there are those who wish to seize power, there are those who will do whatever is necessary to stop them.”
“Like Jameson and Evans.”
“Like Jameson and Evans,” Gellert agreed. “The difference is that they are not merely do-gooders trying to take power for themselves. No, they are men of principle, and I find that my admiration has grown for both. Their stories are extraordinary, and had they not held on to the morals they keep close to their hearts, the world could well be a very different place.”
“You mean if they had a hunger for power.”
“Indeed,” Gellert said darkly. “They are both men, much like me, who possess exceptional talent and the ability to shape the world around them. They choose not to and instead wish to preserve one where all can thrive. They do not care for wealth, status, or anything of the sort. They wish only for fairness and peace. To those of us who have coveted power, it may seem a waste of such talent, but they are very much the best of men.”
Cassiopeia nodded as a grin tugged at her lips.
“What about Dumbledore?”
Gellert released a deep breath.
“Albus is different. He was once like me but fancies himself more like Jameson and Evans. He has denied the post of Minister of Magic because he knows that he cannot trust himself in a position of power. I would bet that even now, he struggles as Headmaster with the limited power it grants him. There is a muggle saying, my dear. A leopard never changes its spots, and I think that sums up Albus perfectly.”
“So, you think…?”
Gellert waved her off.
“Albus knows it as well as I do. That is why he hides in his castle. As Headmaster, he has the perfect excuse not to accept any position that would tempt the ambition he hides, but I know him better than any. He once believed in my vision, perhaps more so than me.”
Cassiopeia snorted amusedly.
“Well, there goes that image of perfection he tries to exude.”
“No, my dear, Albus would never pretend to be perfect, but he would never confront what he once was. He chooses to ignore it. That is the difference between people like him, me, Evans, and Jameson. I wanted power for what I believe to be the right reasons, as did Albus. Evans and Jameson want no such thing, but they could take it if they chose to. For their own reasons, they do not.”
“They are strange men.”
“Indeed,” Gellert agreed, “but I will not deny that the world is better off with men like that. You see, they are almost a perfect blend of me and Albus. They have the potential for power, are morally incorruptible, but are ruthless when they feel they need to be.”
“Careful, Gellert, you sound as though you like them.”
“I respect them,” Gellert corrected. “We will never agree on a shared vision for the world, but I respect them both as men. They have overcome adversity, and yet, they have managed to remain good people.”
Cassiopeia shook her head.
“What next?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Gellert sighed. “I think for now, it is best if you take a step back. With what is happening, the others will be on high alert. They will be expecting almost anything to happen, and it will be all but impossible to get close enough to them.”
“Do you think Weber can?”
Gellert nodded.
“I learned long ago not to doubt him, but it doesn’t matter what I think. Evans and Jameson should meet him. When Weber returns to make his report, I would have you ensure they are here.”
“Will that not get ugly?”
“I do not think so. If the two of them can bring themselves to work with us, I’m sure they will not protest at having a man of Weber’s talent on their side.”
“Then I will arrange it.”
“Good,” Gellert declared. “Go on, go and take some rest. You’ve more than earned it, and thank you, Cassie, for acting in my stead.”
“Always,” the woman replied fondly.
(Break)
The Dark Lord drummed his fingers atop the arm of his chair impatiently. Listening as Avery explained what had transpired during the gathering of the Wizengamot.
He’d not expected the intended legislation to solve all of his problems, but it certainly would not have hurt his efforts if Jameson and the Serpent had been legally forbidden from involving themselves in his affairs.
“Potter,” he muttered irritably. “You would think, Avery, that the purebloods would understand what it is we are trying to achieve. It is our family legacies that I am trying to secure, and they will be continued for future generations. Are they so foolish?”
“Perhaps our legacies no longer mean much to some of our own kind,” Avery said tiredly. “Not even Black has chosen to side with us, and I would’ve bet my wealth on his support. If his father was Lord of the family, I have no doubt he would have.”
“But he isn’t,” the Dark Lord pointed out. “No, we are left to contend with the idiot offspring. I expect Sirius Black is turning in his grave at what his heir has done.”
“Indeed,” Avery agreed. “The question is, what do we do next?”
The Dark Lord frowned thoughtfully.
Already, he’d been abandoned by a considerable number of his forces, many of whom had gone into hiding, but it was not as though they could avoid him.
The pitiful protections could not keep him from them for more than a few moments, and he certainly intended to make an example of a few of the disloyal men who had refused to answer his summons.
For now, however, he needed to strike back against the Ministry, and given that both Jameson and the Serpent were as elusive as any he’d come across, Lord Voldemort would have to settle for another, though no less important than either of them.
Since Potter had been the catalyst for the legislation's blocking, it was only fitting that the Dark Lord expressed his ire at him.
“Tell me, Avery, what do you know of the Potters?” he asked, an anticipatory smirk tugging at his lips.
(Break)
It was a rather odd feeling to find himself in the place where his life had taken such a sudden and drastic turn. Had he not been so naïve and come here to rescue Sirius, Harry’s life would undoubtedly be different, well perhaps for the most part.
Jameson was proof that just because a certain path wasn’t taken, it didn’t mean you wouldn’t find yourself on it eventually.
He’d been just shy of his sixteen birthday when he’d foolishly used the time-turner he’d found in the pocket of his robes, too young to find himself the target of a lunatic with delusions of grandeur, and yet, here he was now, a man grown with children of his own.
Despite everything he’d experienced, he was still alive.
Nonetheless, being back within the Department of Mysteries was not something he’d expected, and though he’d volunteered to come here, Harry had not expected it to affect him so much.
It wasn’t that he longed for another life or even the chance to change what he’d done. If anything, the very thought of not having Eleanor in his life was rather terrifying.
Still, he couldn’t help but question how different things would have been for him had he not used the time-turner.
Harry shook his head of those thoughts.
It would do no good to dwell on them, especially when he had quite the task ahead of him.
For the better part of two days, he’d been coming here beneath the cloak, watching and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
Killing Rookwood was not what would be troubling.
The Unspeakables worked odd hours, and it was impossible to predict when a particular one would be within the department.
Harry had identified Rookwood on the first day here.
Jameson had been helpful in providing everything he could tell him about the man, and it hadn’t taken long to spot the gait of his walk.
It was a small detail, but no man walked exactly the same way, and Rookwood ambled along with a slightly wider stance than most as though he was a prowling cat stalking its prey.
Fortunately, the team here was small enough that Harry did not doubt he had gotten the right man, and as he continued to wait in the room Rookwood worked in, he took a moment to appreciate the various devices dotted around.
He had no idea what any of them did, but the craftmanship was exceptional, and the runic work was as flawless as anything he’d expect from someone working here.
The Department of Mysteries truly employed only the best, and though Harry did not like Augustus Rookwood, he would not deny his brilliance.
It was when he was inspecting what seemed to be a sphere made of dark smoke that he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Carefully navigating his way to one of the corners of the room, he continued to look on curiously.
Rookwood did indeed enter, and he immediately set to work on one of the devices, though not one that had been within the room.
He’d pulled it from within his robes, and Harry recognised it as being similar to the item used to negate the protections around Jameson’s farm. What Rookwood was doing with such a thing, he didn’t know, but it couldn’t be good, and it wouldn’t matter in the coming moments.
The man tinkered with it for a while, adding and taking away different components Harry didn’t recognise on the table.
When he was satisfied he was done, Rookwood hurried from the room before he could intercept the man.
Carefully, he followed at a distance all the way to the corridor leading out of the department, where, with a wave of his wand, his grey robes vanished.
Augustus made his way to a staircase hidden in an alcove, and when he emerged, it was out of one of the fireplaces in the atrium.
Harry paused as he approached another man that Harry was more than familiar with, and though he was considerably younger than he remembered him, there was no mistaking who he was looking upon.
Lucius Malfoy.
Rookwood covertly slipped the device into Malfoy’s pocket before doubling around on himself and vanishing back into the fireplace, which extinguished as he did so.
“Bollocks!” Harry muttered irritably, deciding whether he should pursue Malfoy or finish what he came here to do.
Deciding for the latter, he hastily made his way back into the Department of Mysteries and began searching for Rookwood, making a note to seek Jameson out as soon as he was done here.
Lucius Malfoy's possession of such a device was considerably worse than Rookwood having it.
With the blond, Harry was left in no doubt what it would be used for, and it made it for unsettling thoughts.
Pushing them aside for the moment, he shifted his focus back to his target, who, much to his relief, had returned to his workroom.
Rookwood, however, didn’t remain there long, and much to Harry’s frustration, the man disappeared once more into one of the doors in the revolving room.
Although he followed, when he emerged on the other side, the man was nowhere to be seen, much to his chagrin.
He mouthed a curse word that Eleanor would chide him for if he uttered it in front of their children, but the room he found himself in gave him pause.
Although it had been decades since he’d been here, he would never forget this place.
As before, the veil seemed to whisper to him, and the familiar coldness from it was more than he needed to relive what he’d seen here that night.
Stepping away from the eerie construct, he made his way towards the nearest door and entered the adjoining room, swallowing deeply at the sight of the hundreds upon hundreds of rows of little glass orbs.
The Hall of Prophecies.
Harry could only shake his head as he frowned.
The words of Sybil Trelawney had yet to be spoken, but he could not ignore the niggling feeling that, once more, he had been brought here for a reason.
Row 97.
His foolishness had always haunted him, and as he made his way across the breadth of the hall, Harry reminded himself of just how far he’d come in life since he’d been here last.
“Not here,” he whispered, breathing a sigh of relief at the absence of the little orb that had his name attached to it. “Not here.”
Not that it changed anything.
Either he or Jameson would kill Riddle, and no prophecy, fate, or divine intervention would prevent that eventuality.
Taking his leave of the hall, this time not being pursued by Death Eaters, he managed to navigate his way through the rotating room, where he caught sight of Augustus Rookwood entering his workspace.
Harry quickly followed the man, though when he finally had him at his mercy, he paused.
Had he not witnessed Rookwood handing Malfoy the device, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him, and there was no promise that Lucius knew anything of worth.
Rookwood would need to have been given specifics to create the device to suit its purpose, and killing him now could well cost someone their life.
The device in question was not used to attack just anyone. It would be used to target someone of note, and given the upheaval Britain had experienced in recent months, more of the same would not do.
Replacing his wand up his sleeve, Harry removed another object and swiftly clubbed the unsuspecting Rookwood just behind the ear, rendering him immediately unconscious.
“Well, that’s not good,” he sighed as a screeching alarm sounded throughout the department.
Thinking quickly, he dragged Rookwood into the corner of the room, hastily cleaning the trail of blood in his wake before squeezing them both under the cloak just in the nick of time.
The door to the workroom burst open, and half a dozen cloaked figures entered. Harry held his breath whilst gripping his wand in anticipation.
“Where’s Rookwood?” a gruff voice demanded.
“He should be here.”
“I saw him leave earlier,” another spoke. “He went through the exit into the Ministry.”
“Did anyone see him return?”
“I didn’t.”
“Nor me.”
The first man growled irritably.
“The alarms don’t just go off. For now, the department is in lockdown. I want every inch of this place searched, and someone find Rookwood!”
The other five figures left the room, but the first man remained, muttering under his breath as he carried out a search.
Harry dared not breathe.
Being found here, especially with an unconscious Unspeakable, would not be good.
He had no control over the protections here, and he couldn’t imagine the cloaked workers would be particularly welcoming.
All he could do was wait for his opportunity to escape, but the longer he did so, the more likely it was he would be caught.
He mouthed the very same curse word Eleanor hated him using around the children, though this time, she suspected she wouldn’t be so angry with him.