All For You - Chapter 60

Chapter 60

Jameson laughed uproariously, and Harry glared at his counterpart.

“Six hours? You were stuck there for six hours?”

“It’s not bloody funny,” Harry huffed. “I had to knock him out four more times, and every time I did, the alarm would sound. By the time I managed to get him out of there, Rookwood was half dead and had such a bad concussion that he could barely string a sentence together.”

“How did you get out?”

“They eventuality decided that the Rookwood must’ve done something to trigger the alarm and I managed to slip away whilst they were searching the other areas of the department. Anyway, that is neither here nor there, we have another problem.”

“Of course, we have,” Jameson grumbled. “What is it?”

“Malfoy.”

“Malfoy?”

Harry nodded.

“Rookwood gave him a device suspiciously similar to the one used to bring down the protections around your farm. I didn’t get a good enough look to see if it was identical, but it was too similar for us to ignore it.”

“Bloody hell,” Jameson cursed irritably. “That’s all we need.”

“Well, at least we know where it is, for now,” Harry pointed out. “I will get it.”

“And what did Rookwood have to say?”

Harry felt his expression darken.

“He didn’t know who the intended target is, but his instructions were to create something that will get the Dark Lord through even the most powerful of protections. I was thinking maybe Hogwarts.”

Jameson shook his head.

“No, he doesn’t have the numbers for anything like that and he wouldn’t risk it unless the school was without Dumbledore. He must be looking to make a statement. I’m guessing a high-profile family.”

“Or you.”

“No, not even Tom will be able to find my new home. No one outside of me and Amelia know of its location, and one of those devices won’t work again.”

“Then who?”

“I don’t know,” Jameson sighed. “My knowledge of what happened during this war is quite limited. I was always too focused on staying alive to learn the details of the past. I didn’t expect to be bloody living in it.”

“Me either,” Harry returned. “I think it would be best to let Dumbledore know. We have to assume that Riddle could be targeting just about anyone.”

“I think you’re right,” Jameson conceded. “I will speak with him.”

“Good,” Harry declared. “What of your own little venture?”

“Well, Dolohov is currently touring the duelling circuit on the continent,” Jameson informed him.

“So, you’re going to wait until he returns?”

Jameson offered him a mischievous grin and Harry immediately knew what trail of thought he was following.

“You’re going to kill him in a sanctioned duel.”

“I have considered it. I always wondered how I would fare as a duellist.”

Although the plan was rather reckless and presented so many potentially unwanted outcomes, Harry couldn’t deny that he was a little envious of what Jameson had come up with.

“Well, we’d best make sure you have a way out of there if things go tits-up.”

“I knew you’d see it my way!”

“Only because we are undoubtedly as stupid as one another,” Harry grumbled amusedly. “So, where do we begin?”

“Well, there is a competition in Bruges in a week’s time. It works as an open challenge platform, so, I can just challenge Rookwood.”

“What if he doesn’t accept?”

“He will,” Jameson assured him. “His ego is almost as inflated as Tom’s.”

Harry nodded.

“It could work,” he agreed. “So, what delightful plan have you concocted this time?”

(Break)

“Do you have it?”

Lucius offered him something of a smug smirk that the Dark Lord chose to ignore as the man removed the curious device from within his robes and offered it to him.

The magic within was like nothing he’d ever encountered, and Lord Voldemort took a moment to appreciate the genius behind such a thing.

Augustus Rookwood truly was an exceptional wizard, as mysterious as any other he’d met, but undeniably brilliant.

With a slight frown, he removed the attached note and placed the device on the desk to read it.

DO not underestimate how dangerous this is. I do not think you a fool, but one wrong step in using it will undoubtedly prove to be fatal to the user.

Tread carefully and follow the instructions on the reverse to the very letter.

I wish you well.

There was indeed a series of complex instructions handwritten on the back of the note, and the Dark Lord nodded to himself.

Although they were not overly complicated for someone competent, the device could prove to be utterly disastrous in the wrong hands

Fortunately, Lord Voldemort had no intention of allowing any other than himself to handle it, so he expected nothing untoward happening in its use…

It was with an air of impatience that he waited for those who had remained loyal to him to arrive. He’d summoned them several minutes prior, and though he understood it was not always convenient to arrive immediately, he expected them to do so in a timely manner.

It was a few moments later that the first of them entered the room, and much to his surprise, it was Rodolphus Lestrange.

The Dark Lord quirked an eyebrow at the man who appeared to be pale and drawn, but finally sober.

“My Lord, I apologise for not answering the call until now,” Rodolphus offered. “With the deaths of my father and brother, I lost myself for a while, but I am here now and willing to serve you once more.”

Voldemort nodded.

“All is forgiven, Rodolphus, but see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“Of course, my lord,” the man replied before taking a seat.

Were it not for his need of such men, the Dark Lord would’ve been unable to fight the urge to punish Rodolphus for abandoning him, but he was able to let the transgression slide, for now at least.

Lucius was next to arrive and the others soon followed, later than was acceptable, but there were more important things to discuss.

The future could well depend on what was to come, and the Dark Lord could not allow any further failures. The successes thus far had been minimal, and a statement needed to be made.

“Thank you all for joining me,” he greeted them with a little more of an edge to his voice than he’d intended. “I have asked you here today to discuss what happened in the last meeting of the Wizengamot.”

His followers murmured unhappily amongst themselves.

What had occurred had quickly become public knowledge, and Charlus Potter had nothing. But praise showered upon him for his speech.

It was an oddity in itself.

The man was not known for taking the reins in anything pertaining to the political field, and yet, he’d done so with grit and gusto in a moment of boldness that had all but sealed his fate, and that of his loved ones.

“Have you decided on a course of action?” Avery asked curiously.

“I have,” Voldemort confirmed. “Potter must be punished for what he has done, and an example must be set for any other who would follow his example. All must learn that no transgression will go unpunished, and that if you hinder our progress, you too will be punished.”

The gathered men and women murmured their agreement.

“Now… Yes, what is it Yaxley?”

The young man had only recently succeeded his deceased father, but he was rather keen to prove himself.

“My Lord, Charlus Potter…”

He broke off and the others watched him carefully.

“Charlus Potter,” the Dark Lord prompted.

Yaxley released a deep breath as he shook his head.

“My father always cautioned me about him. He is a war veteran and carved quite the reputation for himself on the continent. My father says that he even fought Grindelwald himself.”

Some of those gathered laughed at the very thought, but there were those that did not.

Evidently, Charlus Potter did have quite the reputation, though there seemed to be some doubt, particularly amongst the younger of his followers.

“Did he defeat Grindelwald?”

“No, my lord,” Yaxley answered confusedly.

“No, he did not, but Dumbledore did, and the fool is no match for me. What makes you think that Charlus Potter is?”

Yaxley’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“My Lord, I do not think anything of the sort, I just…”

“Shut up, Yaxley,” Avery interposed irritably.

Yaxley merely nodded in response and said nothing else on the matter.

“Does anyone else have any objections?” the Dark Lord pressed.

None spoke and he nodded approvingly.

“Now, where can I find the Potter home?”

The were those that remained uneasy about his intentions, but Lord Voldemort could not hesitate in the decisions he made. As much as he preferred the cunning and guile his ancestor was famed for, sometimes in war, a little boldness was need.

Drastic times called for drastic measures, and given the state of his campaign, now was the time to give himself and his men something to capitalise on.

Charlus Potter would soon be dead, and others would follow until the rest could see that continued resistance was futile.

Great Britain would be pressed beneath the Dark Lord’s heel and his resurgence would begin imminently.

(Break)

Harry dragged a hand through his hair in frustration as he pondered his latest conundrum pertaining to the messages between Abernathy, Laurent, and the others.

As tiresome and laborious as they were to decode, he quickly discovered another problem he’d not anticipated.

All of the messages were incomplete.

Some were simply dates and others were names of people, businesses, countries, or cities. On a few occasion, Harry had discovered coordinates and nothing else.

This meant that each message had been split amongst the members of the group, leaving Harry with no indication of what each was referring to. He needed the rest to piece them together, which would be quite the task itself.

Still, it was just one of many problems he faced and unrelated to the one he intended to confront now.

“Come in, Harry,” Dumbledore called.

He entered, and Harry began second-guessing how much he was willing to reveal to the Headmaster, though he suspected Albus would be reluctant to do so without the relevant information to hand.

“Ah, what can I do for you? You’re not going to tender your resignation, are you?”

“Not unless you wish for me to,” Harry chuckled.

Albus shook his head and gestured for Harry to take a seat.

“No, I can think of no reason why I should not retain your services,” he said dismissively. “What is troubling you?”

“Among many things, Riddle.”

Dumbledore’s demeanour shifted at the mention of his former student.

“I see,” he sighed. “How may I be of assistance?”

“Well, we may have a problem,” Harry informed him. “Whilst doing some reconnaissance work, Augustus Rookwood was seen giving something to Lucius Malfoy, something eerily similar to the device used to breach the protections of my farm.”

“That cannot be good.”

“It isn’t, and such a device, as rare and dangerous as it is, would only be used to target someone Riddle would see as valuable enough to sacrifice it. I wanted to warn you of his possession of it.”

“I will inform those who need to know as a matter of urgency,” Dumbledore assured him. “Now, would you humour me for a moment?”

“Humour you?”

“I use the term loosely, Harry. What I wish to discuss lacks the nature in which the request was made.”

“Ask away.”

Albus nodded as a light frown creased his brow.

“I find myself curious of the level of your involvement in the disappearance of a certain Minister of Magic.”

“Abernathy.”

“Indeed.”

“He’s dead.”

Albus was taken aback by the ready admission.

“I appreciate your candidness, Harry, but why?”

“Because he was too dangerous to allow to live.”

“Very well, and what of Monsieur Laurent?”

“He’s alive and in hiding, but he will be found. He must be found.”

“I see,” Albus murmured. “Does this pertain to a certain man I once introduced you to?”

“Yes and no,” Harry answered. “I did not expect to uncover what I have, but it had gone far beyond the point of turning back. I can assure you, the world will be better off when all is said and done.”

Albus nodded.

“I trust you, Harry,” he sighed tiredly. “I find myself torn on whether I wish to know all of the pertinent details or remain blissfully ignorant.”

“Ignorance is bliss in this matter, Albus.”

“Then I shall not pry any further. Leave it with me, Harry. I shall ponder what we can expect from Tom and such a device.”

Harry nodded appreciatively as he stood to leave.

“You didn’t really expect me to quit, did you?”

Albus chuckled in response.

“With everything on your plate, Harry, I simply cannot fathom how you get it all done.”

“Because I have to,” Harry answered with a shrug, “but I am looking forward to a period of peace.”

“Ah, peace,” Albus said thoughtfully. “It is the hope for all weary warriors.”

“It is,” Harry agreed, trying to remember just what peace felt like.

(Break)

It hadn’t been easy, and he wasn’t even convinced that he was correct until this moment, but seeing what he did brought a slight smirk to his lips. It wasn’t often he doubted himself but locating someone who’d had all but unlimited resources at his disposal had indeed proven to be quite the challenge.

Nonetheless, now he was certain, and as he checked his watch, he nodded satisfactorily.

He’d found them even quicker than he’d anticipated, but the rest would be up to the Serpent and Jameson.

So not to alert them of any other magical in the area, Weber paid for his passage to the adjoining island before activating his portkey, never having doubted his success, but equally pleased his skills had not left him over the years.

(Break)

He’d always found reading through stacks of parchment to be a rather dull affair, and if Arcturus had been given a choice in life, he certainly wouldn’t be seated behind a desk in a study that once belonged to his father.

Before Grindelwald had impacted the lives of the Black family, he’d fancied himself as something of a voyager, someone who would see the world and enjoy what the rest of it had to offer.

His expression darkened.

He had indeed seen the world, just not in a way he’d expected or wanted to.

The war had been an unpleasant ordeal at best, and often, the horrors he’d witnessed and experienced felt as though they had not been his own.

He vividly remembered the screaming and pleading of men, the smell of death, and pools of blood so deep that they could be splashed like a puddle of rain.

It had taken months after the fighting had ceased for Arcturus’s body to feel clean, but the stain on his mind had forever remained.

He shook his head, choosing not to dwell on those difficult years.

“What’s troubling you?”

Arcturus offered his wife a smile as he shook his head.

“Nothing pressing,” he assured Melania. “Is that another letter for me?”

“It is addressed to us both.”

“Then perhaps you should do the honours,” Arcturus chuckled.

He watched as she opened the missive, and a smile pulled at her lips as she read.

“It is an invitation to a wedding.”

Arcturus tutted.

“Which one of the damned fools is getting married now?” he asked. “Send them a bloody gift card and be done with it.”

He’d come to despise weddings.

Over the years, they’d been invited to just about every pureblood wedding in the country, and Arcturus had grown tired of it. For the most part, he’d never even met the bride or groom and they’d only extended an invitation in a bid to curry favour with him.

He hated weddings as much as he hated people trying to lick his boots for a crumb of his goodwill, which had all but run dry.

“I think you may want to go to this one,” Melania said amusedly as she handed him the note.

Arcturus’s eyes widened in surprise as he read who it pertained to.

“Jameson,” he acknowledged. “Well, he’s certainly keeping the whole thing under wraps. All guests will be personally collected and transported to the venue.”

“Can you blame him?”

Arcturus shook his head.

“No, I suspect there would be a few hoping to cause trouble.”

Melania nodded her agreement.

“So, should I just reply with a gift card.”

“No, I suppose we should go to this one,” Arcturus said thoughtfully. “It’s not as though he has any reason to spend his wedding day kissing my arse.”

“Would you like me to write that in the reply?”

The Lord Black quirked an eyebrow at his wife.

She possessed an unmatched dry wit which never failed to make him smile.

“Jameson would probably find it damned hilarious if you did, but no. Tell him it will be our pleasure to attend.”

“Our pleasure?” Melania asked amusedly. “And there was me thinking you despised everyone outside of your little circle of cronies.”

Arcturus shook his head as the woman laughed at him.

“Speaking of which, I will be out this evening.”

“Hiding in Charlus’s basement?”

“We do not hide!”

Melania giggled before placing a kiss on his cheek.

“Arcturus Black, we have been married for close to three decades. I know everything about you, even that you have spent many hours hiding in that basement to avoid spending time with people. I think it is rather sweet that you have a little clubhouse with your friends.”

“It’s not a clubhouse!” Arcturus protested as Melania left the study, offering him a final grin. “It’s not a clubhouse,” he reiterated, muttering irritably under his breath.

(Break)

“Dad, Mum wants to know what you are doing in here?”

“Planning my eventual takeover of the world.”

“Shall I tell her that or something a little more benign?”

Harry snorted amusedly to himself.

His daughter Sarah may have taken just about all of her looks from her mother, but she was just like him; sarcastic, mischievous, and quick with a joke.

She’d caused Harry no end of headaches during her time at Durmstrang, but her heart was always in the right place. Sarah had been a sweet girl and had grown into a fine woman.

She was currently training as a lawyer, a profession which suited her, and would likely be useful for Harry if his current escapades were anything to go by.

“Tell her I’ll be up in a moment,” he replied, meeting the eyes of the woman that matched his own.

It was the only feature they shared, and Sarah was the only one of the three children who’d inherited them.

“Fine, but don’t make me come back down here.”

She left and Harry finished organising the paperwork he’d been sorting through. It was menial labour at best, but such tasks brought him a sense of peace.

When he was done, he made his way to the kitchen where Eleanor was waiting for him.

“Sarah has gone back to work.”

“And the others?”

“Where do you think they are?”

Harry peered out of the window and chuckled.

As ever, his two youngest, though no longer children, were atop their brooms racing laps around the perimeter of the property.

Both Joseph and Michelle resembled him and had taken on the love of Quidditch Harry once had. He’d not played the game since he’d finished at Durmstrang, not outside of a pick-up match with his children when they could convince him to do so.

“And what are you doing?” Harry asked Eleanor.

“Making sure the household runs as smoothly as ever,” she replied with a playful sigh. “A note arrived for you.”

Harry frowned as he retrieved it.

He didn’t recognise the handwriting, but the initials at the foot of the missive were not ones he would forget.

He wishes to speak to you both at your earliest convenience.

CB

Harry cursed under his breath and shook his head.

“I’ll be back soon.”

“Of course you will,” Eleanor said amusedly.

Harry placed a kiss on her cheek before apparating away and appearing a short walk from the imposing tower playing host to the man who built it.

What Grindelwald wanted, he didn’t know, but Jameson would not be coming.

He was otherwise engaged in something involving their other venture.

Harry hated Nurmengard.

There was such an air of despair about the place that couldn’t be attributed to anything other than its very nature. Azkaban had the dementors to make it so miserable, but Nurmengard was just built on the idea of inflicting such misery.

Grindelwald had done a fine job on his prison, and Harry could think of no place more fitting for him to see out the rest of his days.

“Mr Evans,” the former Dark Lord greeted him. “Thank you for coming quickly. Will Mr Jameson be joining us?”

Harry shook his head.

“He is busy doing something on the continent. I expect you will hear of his exploits soon enough.”

“Indeed,” Grindelwald said with a smirk. “May I introduce you to an associate of mine. Mr Weber, if you will.”

The man’s sudden appearance caught harry by surprise, and he took a step backwards to get a better look at the stranger.

It was rather odd just how average he appeared.

He was neither tall nor short, and there was nothing else distinctive about him save for his piercing, intelligent eyes.

“Mr Weber here has some news for you,” Grindelwald explained.

Before Harry could enquire as to who this Mr Weber was, the man himself cleared his throat and pressed a piece of parchment into his hand.

“This is where you will find Sebastien Laurent,” he murmured. “He is there with a certain Manon Dubois. I would urge you to leave it a week or so before collecting them. They ae on edge and the slightest act of suspicion will cause them to flee.”

“You found them? How?”

“It is what I do, Mr Evans. Unfortunately for me, you are the only one who has bested me. We will speak again after Laurent has been captured, along with your companion, of course.”

With that, Mr Weber left, and Harry found the silence of his footsteps to be rather disconcerting.

“Who the bloody hell was that?”

“Mr Weber is just about a dangerous a man as you will ever meet, Mr Evans. Not so much with a wand, but his ability to discover anything you may wish to know about anyone is unparallelled. He will prove to be quite the asset for you and Mr Jameson moving forward. Fortunately, he has decided to assist you, and I have no doubt that the information provided will lead you to Monsieur Laurent.”

Harry could only shake his head at how surreal this all was, and as he turned to Grindelwald, the man chuckled.

“I was just as taken aback when I first met Mr Weber, but he is a most excellent resource.”

“He was your spymaster!” Harry said in realisation. “There were rumours of one, but nothing was substantiated.”

“And that is a testament to Mr Weber’s exceptional talent,” Grindelwald replied. “He was once my spymaster, but he is now yours, for as long as he sees fit to be so.”

“Is he trustworthy?”

“That is something you must decide for yourself, Mr Evans. Follow his instructions and see it with your own eyes. I have no doubt you will find Laurent exactly where Weber says he is.”

Harry nodded as he pocketed the parchment.

“We will check it out,” he assured the other man. “but since we have some time before we can pursue it, there is another matter I must attend to.”

“Then I wish you well, Mr Evans.”

Harry took his leave of Grindelwald, still surprised by what had happened, but he quickly shifted his focus to the task at hand.

Lucius Malfoy was as slippery as they came, and he would need his wits about him if he was to outsmart the man who’d once tried to kill him.

“Bastard,” Harry muttered, his hand twitching towards his wand and a smile cresting his lips at the mere thought of having Malfoy at his mercy.

(Break)

Antonin clapped politely as the newcomer dispatched of another opponent in a closely contested duel. His form was far from perfect, and his spell choices were not always the best, but somehow, he managed to best three seasoned competitors.

This was what he lived for.

Ever since he’d been a boy, his father had taken him around the world to see the very best duellist on every continent, and even before he’d gotten his first wand, Antonin had been studying the art.

He would find a suitable stick in the garden and practice casting spells whilst twirling around on the balls of his feet.

By the time he was a second year at Hogwarts, not even the seventh years were able to match him in a duel.

He garnered quite the reputation for himself, which translated onto the junior duelling circuit.

Every summer he would compete, and seldom lost a match.

The only setback he’d had was when he was in his sixth year and his father had died, though he shouldn’t have. The illness he’d developed had been easily treatable, if identified early enough.

It hadn’t been because the Healers simply hadn’t been bothered to check.

As his father grew weaker, the less the Healers cared, and he’d died suffering with nothing remaining of his dignity.

Antonin had become rather bitter, and he’d left Britain as soon as he’d finished school.

He had enough gold that he never needed to work, but he of course turned his hand to what he was best at.

By the time he was only nineteen, he’d secured several sponsorships, and at twenty, he’d won his world championship.

It was his greatest accomplishment, and yet, he’d only ever wanted to share it with the man who’d introduced him to his passion.

Antonin offered the man a nod of acknowledgement as he passed him.

He was good, but far from perfect.

Antonin would not profess to be so, but duelling was second nature to him, as familiar as breathing, and those gathered in the small Belgian stadium knew it too.

That was why none would challenge him.

They had seen what he was capable of, knew that he was as ruthless as he was relentless when it came to combat.

To most, duelling was merely a sport, but to Antonin, it was his life, and whenever he faced off with another, he treated the experience as though his very life was on the line.

There was no room for error, nor hesitation.

Duelling was a vicious pastime, and those who stepped into the arena understood that they may not be walking out of it of their own accord.

Few had when facing Antonin, and his reputation for being particularly bloodthirsty was something he was deeply proud of.

“A man who still breathes is a man who poses a threat.”

That was what his father had taught him, and Antonin had never forgotten it.

He applauded once more as the next duel ended, and he waited to see who would come next in the proceedings.

Antonin frowned as the man he’d been watching throughout the day stepped onto the field for what would be his fifth duel of the day, and the crowd cheered their approval of his eagerness.

“Who is it you wish to challenge, Mr White?” the announcer asked interestedly.

Antonin quirked an eyebrow as the man’s gaze met his own and a slight grin played at his lips.

Surely he would not be so foolish, but then again, those who experienced success often bit off more than they could chew, so, as his own name was spoken, Antonin stood and drew his wand, not hesitating to comply with the request.

It wasn’t as though he would ever turn a challenger away, but Mr White would wish he hadn’t spoken out of turn.

“Do you accept, Mr Dolohov?”

Antonin chuckled amusedly as he nodded.

“When have I ever declined a challenge?” he retorted, much to the delight of the crowd.

“Then take up your position,” the announcer instructed.

Antonin did so and he frowned at how calm his opponent appeared to be.

By now, most who dared call him out were either overwhelmed with adrenaline and unable to hide the nervousness they felt. Mr White, however, did not flinch, and as the command to begin was given, he did not hesitate.

Antonin was quickly taken aback by the speed and the ferocity of the first offering sent his way, and he narrowed his eyes.

Either Antonin had fallen out of practice, or Mr White was considerably more powerful than he’d led those gathered to believe.

The seasoned duellist smiled in anticipation.

If it was indeed the latter of his thoughts then perhaps the impending fight would prove to be most interesting after all.

(Break)

Being a Malfoy had afforded him a privileged life, and when it came to his dining habits, Lucius had always ensured he experienced the very best cuisine he could find.

Seven years at Hogwarts had meant that he’d missed out on regularly indulging in such lavish food, but since he had left the castle, he’d been to almost every fine eatery magical Britain had to offer.

Still, there was one he’d only visited twice at his father’s insistence, though he’d not done recently, and that was the very restaurant he found himself passing.

Jameson.

How the Dark Lord allowed the man’s business to remain operational, Lucius didn’t know, but it would take no gold from his coffers.

“Excuse me, Mr Malfoy, could I ask you a couple of questions for a piece I’m writing for The Prophet? I will only take a moment of your time.”

Lucius eyed the journalist, and his gaze shifted to the identity badge he wore around his neck before nodding.

He wasn’t going to turn away some free exposure, and his father had always told him it was important to stay relevant in the eye of the public.

“Of course, what would you like to know?”

The man smiled keenly as he licked the tip of his quill.

“What would your father think if he knew you counted yourself amongst Tom Riddle’s followers?”

Lucius frowned, unsure if he’d heard the question correctly, but before he realised what he’d been asked, he felt something heavy collide with him and he knew no more.

(Break)

For what felt to be countless hours, he had been toiling away, working and manipulating the device so that it would seize control of the wards around the Potter property.

The magic here was old, dangerous, and the Dark Lord did not wish to find himself on the wrong side of it.

Still, the device seemed to be working as intended, and Augustus would find himself in his good graces should it prove to be a resounding success.

Soon enough, he would be able to enter the home as though it was his own, and Charlus Potter, his wife, and their offspring would be no more.

They would serve to be the perfect example of what happened to those who dared oppose him, and in the coming moments, that harsh lesson would become a reality for the fools who continued to resist.

(Break)

He watched with his chin rested atop his fists as Lucius began to stir, and Harry revelled in the look of terror as it replaced the brief moment of confusion he’d sported upon waking.

“W-where am I?” Lucius demanded to know. “My father…”

He groaned as Harry slapped him across the face.

“Your father isn’t here, Malfoy,” he pointed out. “Now, you are going to give me what I want, or life is quickly going to become most unpleasant for you.”

Lucius levelled a glare at him.

“Let me go or your life will not be worth living!” he threatened.

Harry smirked at the empty words.

“Let us not play foolish games,” he sighed. “Now, what is Riddle going to do with the device?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about.”

Harry shook his head, and Lucius screamed in agony as a hammer was smashed into his one of his knees.

He could use Legilimency and probably would not encounter enough resistance to prevent him from getting what he wanted, but there was little joy to be had in that.

Lucius was scum, and Harry had envisioned this moment dozens of times throughout his life.

He remembered the man attempting to curse him when he’d been just a boy, his involvement during the aftermath of the Quidditch World Cup, how he’d laughed when Riddle had tortured him in the graveyard, and everything that had happened in the Department of Mysteries the night he’d learned of the prophecy.

Lucius deserved to suffer.

“Do not fuck me around, Malfoy!” Harry spat. “What is he using the device for? Do not lie to me again!”

Lucius whimpered as he stared at his mangled leg through watery eyes.

“The Potters!” he cried. “He’s going to use it to attack the Potters!”

Harry felt his blood run cold and he sent off a hasty message before storming towards the door of his basement in Godric’s Hollow.

“You’re too late. He’ll already be in,” Lucius laughed, falling silent as Harry hit him with a stunning spell.

He would deal with the blond later.

For now, he was needed elsewhere.

(Break)

Dolohov was everything Harry expected, and a little more.

The man was indeed a fine duellist with impeccable form, an enviable knowledge of various types of magic, and more importantly, he was adaptable.

Although Harry had strictly stuck to duelling techniques thus far, Dolohov had not failed to match him spell for spell or defend himself from everything thrown at him.

Now, however, it was time to see just how good Dolohov was when faced with the unknown.

Taking a step to his right, Harry unleashed a gout of fire before switching quickly and casting a blasting curse directly at the floor a few feet in front of Antonin.

As expected, the fire was doused quickly, and Dolohov defended himself from the debris hurled at him, but he had to avoid the trio of curse that followed, all of which took him by surprise.

He frowned deeply at Harry before nodding his understanding of the situation, and as anticipated, he immediately went on the offensive.

The spells he returned were equally violent in nature, and there was no longer any doubt between them just how this encounter would end.

Dolohov spat on the floor before bringing his wand to bear once more, though his efforts proved to be for nothing as Harry intercepted his next offering, deftly sweeping the plethora of spells aside.

Dolohov quickly realised the futility of such an attack.

If he persisted in the approach, he would only serve to tire himself, so he switched to becoming more creative with his choice of magic by mixing in Transfiguration in with the darker spells he preferred to wield.

Harry, however, had been studying the man diligently.

Unfortunately for Dolohov, every one of his professional duels had been widely covered, and although he’d participated in many and obtained just about every accolade possible, he seldom found himself in such a fight.

Harry was an expert in fighting, and the more Dolohov showed of himself, the more he fell into making what should be a beautiful display of magic into something quite ugly.

A smile crested his lips as Dolohov began casting again, and when the moment presented itself, he struck without hesitation.

With only a few hisses passing his lips, he knew that the fight would soon conclude.

Dolohov balked at the sudden display, and though he managed to fend off the spells better than Harry had expected; the magic he was facing only thrived on being rebuffed.

Soon enough, Antonin Dolohov was overwhelmed by a magic he knew nothing of, and he succumbed to the barrage, floored by a fiery serpent which tore through his stomach and exited through his back.

The cheering crowd were stunned into silence at the defeat of the man, Harry’s footsteps almost echoed around the small arena.

As he approached, he saw that Dolohov was still breathing, though it was laboured.

The man laughed, but he winced as he did so and Harry took a knee next to him.

“You got me.”

“I did.”

Dolohov eyed him curiously and nodded.

“Who are you?”

“Well, that is a complicated question, but I expect you will know me best by the name Jameson.”

“Jameson,” Dolohov deduced with a sigh. “I should’ve known. Well, at least I have the honour of dying at the hands of a worthy opponent and it isn’t just a fluke. Will you grant me a final request, from one warrior to another?”

Harry nodded.

Despite his allegiance to Voldemort, Dolohov was a worthy fighter and had pushed him closer to the limit than most could ever hope to.

“Take me home and see me buried under British soil. Will you do that for me?”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Next to my father at our home in Muswell Hill. I don’t expect you will have any difficulty finding it. The plot is already prepared. It has been since I was seventeen.”

Harry nodded.

“I will do that for you.”

Dolohov smiled as he looked towards the sky.

“Then I will pass in peace and wish you good fortune in your fight ahead.”

He said nothing else, and only a moment later, his eyes closed.

As per the man’s request, Harry took a moment to prepare him for transport, but before he could address the waiting official, he was taken aback by the sudden arrival of an ethereal snake.

‘The Potters! He’s using the device to attack the Potters.’

Harry sobered immediately as the gravity of the revelation sunk in.

“Shit!” he cursed, immediately activating his portkey to intercept Riddle and his followers.