Interrogations
There had still been no word from Greyback, which the Dark Lord took to be a good omen. His feral nature did not grant him the ability of diplomacy, and were he to be feeling wroth, he was never afraid to speak his mind, even to Lord Voldemort.
Of course, he’d never allow the werewolf to take liberties with him, but despite how many times he’d been subjected to punishment at his hands, Fenrir never seemed to be able to learn his place in the pecking order of life.
He may be the leader of his pack, but he was in no position to make demands of the man he served.
Still, he always found it best to be as accommodating to his ally as possible where his own needs were concerned. A well-fed pack of werewolves was of much more use than one that was weakened by starvation.
By all accounts, they’d certainly eaten their fill in Hogsmeade, and Greyback had lost little.
Not that he truly cared personally about the members of his pack. No, so long as he didn’t lose power among his own kind, that was all that mattered to him.
If only his own problems extended so far.
The loyalty of his followers was absolute. It was those he considered his enemies that were causing issues.
There had been no word from those at St Mungo’s thus far, though as a rather ashen Pius Thicknesse entered his study, he did not expect the news to be good.
“They were gone by the time we managed the enter the hospital, my lord,” the man explained. “The six men we had inside are quite badly wounded, and the entire building has been searched three times. There is no sign of any of the Weasleys. It seems that they managed to escape using the director’s office. It is an emergency evacuation point, even when the protections a fully in place.”
The Dark Lord could only shake his head.
Capturing the Weasleys would’ve been a most exceptional advantage to hold over Potter. The boy had a weakness for the family that he could’ve exploited.
“There’s more, my lord.”
“More?”
Pius swallowed deeply as he nodded.
“I think it is best that you see it for yourself. I cannot explain it.”
There was a part of him that had been prepared for failure at St Mungo’s. Although he had people within the hospital to report anything of interest, he ultimately had no control over the place.
Perhaps he should change that.
Taking Hogwarts had certainly been quite the boon to his standing, after all.
Before he could consider doing so, however, it appeared that there was something else that required his attention, and if Thicknesse’s demeanour was anything to go by, he doubted he would like it much.
(Break)
“I cannot thank you enough for what you did in there, Hermione. You saved my life. I was too caught up in what was happening with Ron to realise the danger we were in.”
Hermione offered Mr Weasley a smile.
Only a few moments after they’d arrived at the Burrow, Harry’s healer, Tullius had been with them, tending to the nurse who’d lost consciousness before shifting his attention to Ron, who he was still with in his bedroom.
She couldn’t be certain how long they’d been waiting when Fred and George had returned, much to her relief, but more so to Mr Weasley’s.
He’d immediately swept them into a tight embrace, and they’d exchanged a few words amongst themselves before sitting around the kitchen table.
Neither she, Mr Weasley, or the unusually quiet twins knew if the nurse had even pulled through, or if Ron’s condition had worsened by being taken from St Mungo’s.
From what little Fred and George had said, she knew that Harry had arrived to help them escape, and judging by the smell wafting from them, it had not been as clean as her own.
Where Harry was now or what he was up to was anyone’s guess, but Hermione felt something of a sense of relief that he’d been able to get to St Mungo’s despite having been within the Ministry of Magic.
She just hoped he’d not done anything foolish like going back there after helping Fred and George.
Not that it would surprise her if he had.
Harry was proving to be just as unpredictable as their enemies.
“How are they, Healer Tullius?” Mr Weasley asked as the older gentleman entered the kitchen.
“Both very lucky,” Tullius answered severely. “The nurse will need a few days of rest and I have already given her a strict regimen of potions she must take, but she will live.”
Mr Weasley nodded.
“She can stay as long as she needs to,” he assured the healer. “What about…?”
“It is too soon to tell if he has contracted lycanthropy. You won’t know for certain until a few days before the next full moon, but I would say he is healing well from his wounds. I have managed to stop the bleeding. Now, it is just a case of waiting for him to wake up. When he does so, you are to send for me immediately, and I will come back tomorrow to check on the nurse, just to make sure everything is well.”
Mr Weasley released a deep breath, the last twelve hours or so having taken their toll on him.
“Thank you, Healer Tullius,” he said sincerely.
The other man offered a nod in return before taking his leave through the backdoor.
“He’ll be alright, Dad,” one of the twins comforted. “No matter, what, he will be alright.”
Hermione hoped so.
Living with lycanthropy was not easy. She had seen what the disease did to Remus every month, even when he’d been taking the wolfsbane potion.
Still, Ron was alive, and there was no promise that he would spend the rest of his days plagued by it, so, until it was confirmed, she would choose to believe that somehow, by some miracle, he’d managed to escape such a fate.
“What a bloody night,” Mr Weasley huffed. “I think I’ll check on Ron and the nurse.”
He left the kitchen, and Hermione looked towards the exhausted Fred and George, who offered her a tired smile.
“You really saved our arses back there.”
“Who knew that our resident bookworm had become a woman you shouldn’t mess with.”
She rolled her eyes at the pair, who, despite everything they’d been through, had managed to hold onto something of the sense of humour they were known for.
“I was just doing my part.”
“You did more than that. You really came through for us today. We won’t forget that.”
Hermione shook her head.
“You’d have done the same for me.”
“Of course, we would.”
“Without question. You might not be a redhead or have our name, but you’re one of us, just like Harry.”
Their words warmed her.
Although she had her own family, who she hoped to see again one day, the Weasleys had always been something of a magical family she could turn to for anything her parents could not begin to understand.
“What did happen at the hospital?”
“Not much,” one of the twins answered. “Harry turned up as he does and got us out through the sewers before buggering off to do something else. He said something important had come up.”
Hermione nodded.
“I don’t suppose he said much else?”
“When does he ever? You know what he’s like. Our Harry has never been so forthcoming.”
He hadn’t.
Over the years, it had been rather frustrating trying to get any information out of Harry, but given the life he’d lived with his relatives, it was hardly surprising that he didn’t share much.
For the most part, Harry was a closed book, but Hermione had not forgotten just how much confidence he’d shown in her recently, and perhaps when he returned from whatever he was doing, he would tell her all about his venture into the Ministry of Magic.
At the very least, she knew he’d made it out of there, but that didn’t explain his sudden departure after helping the twins, which begged the question; what was he doing now?
(Break)
Although the prison wasn’t entirely empty, it was still eerily quiet here, unnervingly so, well, for those that found themselves held captive within the walls of Nurmengard.
For Harry, it was almost peaceful, a place away from everyone and everything that often occupied his mind, though he did not wish to think of this place as such.
Grindelwald had spent the last five decades of his life here, and it certainly had not done him many favours.
Still, for now, it was a necessary evil, somewhere he could bring his own prisoners without fear of them being discovered. Even if Riddle did somehow learn of Harry making use of it, there was little he could do.
The protections here were extensive, perhaps even more so than Hogwarts, and certainly those of the Ministry of Magic.
No, the Dark Lord would have a most difficult time trying to get in.
For now, however, his thoughts were far from Tom Riddle, even if the same could not be said about his foe. He would be quite furious when he discovered what had happened in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, as would Umbridge, who would never see the inside of her beloved Ministry of Magic again.
He looked upon her sleeping form and fought the urge to curse the woman the same way she had him the night he’d lost Sirius. Harry had not forgotten the treatment he’d been subjected to at her hands, and though he wished for nothing more than to return the favour, she was more useful to him alive.
For the time being.
His nostrils flared as he bound her to a post in the middle of what he assumed had been an interrogation room, and with a flick of his wand, her eyelids fluttered open.
Abject fear.
That was Umbridge’s expression when she realised the predicament she found herself in, and Harry could pinpoint the exact moment she knew that there was no escape.
“Hello, Dolores,” he greeted her. “You know, if you were smart, you would’ve disappeared after what happened with the centaurs, but you decided to stick around hoping that the likes of Yaxley and Voldemort could protect you.”
She looked at him with disdain but did not speak, and Harry grinned triumphantly.
“Now, we’re going to have a conversation, and I suggest you are as honest an as open as you can be, or it will become more unpleasant than you can imagine.”
“I will not tell you anything! Corban will not allow anything to happen to me!”
Harry shook his head.
Evidently, Umbridge was just as deluded now as she had been when she was clinging to Fudge’s coattails.
“Well, you have a bit of a problem there,” Harry chuckled. “Yaxley is dead. No one is coming for you here. You can scream and beg as much as much and as loud as you want, your only hope is to cooperate with me.”
Umbridge did so, unleashing a banshee-like screech with a few words of pleading thrown in for good measure, and Harry allowed her to do so. Nobody could hear her, and Dolores quickly realised he had spoken only the truth.
After several moments of weeping and pleading, she fell silent once more, and Harry stood only a foot or so away from her.
“Now, I have some questions for you. You can either answer them willingly or I will tear through your mind just enough to get what I want, but not so much that you won’t be aware of every passing moment when I am done. How comfortable your stay here is depends on you, Dolores. So, where is Luna Lovegood?”
The woman frowned at him before her eyes widened in realisation.
“The stupid little girl who tried to help you save your pathetic godfather,” she acknowledged. “Yes, I remember when she was brought in. She cried like a babe taken from her mother’s arms. Her father did not even try to stop us. He is just as pathetic as Sirius B-…”
She broke off and her screams echoed off the walls of the room.
When Harry ended the mild pain curse, Umbridge’s breathing was laboured, and she eyed him as though he was a monster, like she did not know him at all.
She didn’t, not really.
The boy she’d encountered during her unfortunate tenure as the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor was someone that Harry no longer recognised, and in this moment, Dolores Umbridge realised her mistake.
She was no longer dealing with a lost fifteen-year-old but a young man who’d suffered throughout his life, who’d turned a corner into manhood, a young man like no other she’d ever met.
“I will ask you one more time, Umbridge. Where is Luna Lovegood?”
“H-he t-took her!”
“Voldemort?”
She nodded fearfully.
“Where?”
Umbridge swallowed and looked towards the door as though someone might just intervene at this pivotal moment, but they wouldn’t.
No, they were quite alone and would be until Harry got everything he wanted out of the woman.
“M-Malfoy,” she whispered. “He keeps his most valuable prisoners inside Malfoy Manor. There is a dungeon there.”
Harry nodded.
Umbridge was telling the truth, or so she thought, but he was not willing to simply take her word for it. No, it would be foolish to do so without verifying it further, and that was something he would do at his early convenience.
He would not allow Luna to be kept there to suffer under the whims of the Dark Lord.
“Very well,” he murmured, pointing his wand towards Umbridge once more.
Her eyes widened.
“NO! I told you everything you wanted to know!”
Harry shook his head.
“No, you’ve told me what I want to hear so far, but there are many more secrets you have, Umbridge, and I would know them all. I expect this will be really unpleasant for you, but don’t worry, I intend on keeping my promise. I’ll make sure I don’t destroy your mind so much that you’re not aware of everything.”
“PLEASE! NO!”
Her pleading fell on deaf ears, and Harry did not feel a shred of guilt as he readied to delve into the woman’s mind.
For several years, she had worked at the Ministry of Magic, and been Fudge’s right hand, and he did not doubt there was much more to glean from having to spend time in her company.
“Legilimens!”
(Break)
He watched as the Dark Lord inspected the bodies within the Department of Magical law Enforcement, and even Severus could not help but shudder at the remnants of magic still lingering in the air.
Potter.
He’d spent enough time with him during his last stint at Hogwarts to know that this was his magic.
It was quite the macabre scene to have come upon, odd, even for a magical occurrence, and nothing less than a warning and display of the power the young man wielded.
It was as though every person in the room had simply dropped dead where they’d been standing, around forty of them, and the very most prominent being Corban Yaxley, one of the very first to join the Dark Lord during his first rise to power.
“They’re not dead.”
“Excuse me?”
“They’re not dead, Severus, well, for all intents and purposes, they are, but not in the traditional sense. Take a look for yourself.”
Severus frowned as he did so.
He could not bring himself to look into the eyes of Yaxley. It was a little too close to home for his liking, so, he inspected the limp form of another man who’d fallen nearby.
“Merlin,” he whispered. “It’s as though they’ve been given the dementor’s kiss.”
“Yes,” the Dark Lord agreed, “but this is not the work of the dementors. Somehow, Potter has found a way to relieve others of their souls.”
He seemed to be deeply troubled by the realisation, something Severus was not used to seeing, and as he continued to check on the rest of the many in the same state, the concern seemed to only grow.
Truthfully, Severus was not so surprised that Potter had achieved such a thing.
The young man’s magic was like nothing else he’d ever seen, and his relationship with it quite unique.
Listening to his magic.
That is what he’d claimed he’d been doing when he’d had something of a breakthrough in his studies, and since then, Severus had been hard-pressed to defeat him in their duels.
Instinctive magic was not unheard of. There were dozens upon dozens of documented instances of it, but the skill Potter had developed went beyond that.
He’d spoken of his magic actively identifying threats before they’d even fully emerged and had learned how to nullify them equally as effectively. Of course, Severus had not told the Dark Lord of just how adept Potter had become, but it seemed now that he man understood what it was he was facing.
The only other time he’d appeared to be so concerned was the night that he’d learned of the prophecy hanging over him. That concern was undeniable then just as it was now.
“There is no cure for this.”
“There isn’t, my lord,” Severus agreed, taking several steps backwards as the man’s wand snapped into his hand.
He unleashed a guttural roar as a gout of vile magic erupted from the tip of it, and everything it passed through was reduced to ash. By the time he was done, Severus found himself standing in an empty room with the heavily breathing man, and only a sense of foreboding courtesy of what he’d done.
It wasn’t often Lord Voldemort lost his composure, and certainly not in front of others, but there was no denying it, he was rattled by what had happened here.
Severus was too, and not for the first time, he was beginning to believe that the Dark Lord may have just bitten off more than he could chew the night he’d decided to attack the Potters.
It brought something of a smile to his lips.
Thus far, the war had not gone well for those opposing the new regime, but this, this seemed to be quite the turning point for Potter and his efforts.
“M-my l-lord…” Scabior stammered as he joined them.
“What is it?” the Dark Lord asked tiredly.
“Well, erm, it seems that Madam Umbridge is missing. Potter has been in courtroom ten, and well, there is no sign of her.”
His nostrils flared in irritation, and he frowned as he realised Scabior wasn’t finished.
“Spit it out!” he snapped.
“We f-found this,” Scabior sighed, handing over a wand. “We found it in the alley opposite the Ministry of Magic. It belongs to Runcorn. There is no sign of him either, my lord.”
The Dark Lord released a deep, laboured breath.
“Get out,” he whispered. “NOW!”
Severus did not need telling again, and evidently, Scabior had learned not to linger when the man was in such a towering rage. The two of them hurried from the room just as he lost his composure once more.
“Runcorn, he is…”
“Yaxley’s second in command,” Scabior answered. “Between them and Umbridge, Potter will know absolutely everything about what has happened and the other plans in place. Snape, he will know of every single person involved in this!”
Severus nodded his understanding.
“Then based on what I have seen here today, I would urge all of them to hide, because he will come for you, every last one of you until he gets what he wants.”
Scabior no longer seemed to be as cocksure as Severus had seen him previously, but he stood a little taller, sporting a look of defiance.
“Not if we get him first.”
He stormed down the corridor, and Severus could only shake his head.
Scabior was not even close to being as confident as he wished to come across. He was scared, as he should be, and if Potter did indeed have Runcorn and Umbridge in his custody, Severus did not pity those who found themselves caught up in the fallout.
(Break)
He withdrew from Runcorn’s mind, and the man grimaced in discomfort. Harry had treated him no kinder than he had Umbridge and had come away with much more information than he’d anticipated, though perhaps not as much as he could’ve gotten from Corban Yaxley.
Still, the man was as good as dead, and that was good enough, and it wasn’t as though he’d come away with nothing from the two prisoners he’d opted to take.
Both Umbridge and Runcorn had proven to be a wealth of information that he would be putting to use, and he’d managed to confirm exactly what the former had told him about Luna.
She was indeed being kept prisoner in the basement of Malfoy Manor.
Most troubling, however, was that it seemed to be quite the stronghold, a place Riddle would not like Harry to be, which meant the security measures in place were extensive.
How he would get in, he did not know, but he remained as determined as ever to free Luna from imprisonment.
She’d been one of very few who’d believed him about Sirius, or Stubby Boardman as she liked to refer to him.
No, he couldn’t leave her there, not when she’d so willingly come along to help him when he’d needed it most.
“Do you recognise this, Albert?” he asked, holding the wand he’d liberated from its owner just a few inches from his face. “Of course, you do. There’s only one person who carries one like it. Now, you understand that I know everything you know, and everything Umbridge does too. What do you think I’m going to do with what I have learned?”
Runcorn said nothing, grimacing once more as a wave of discomfort washed over him from the treatment he’d been subjected to.
“You have a wife, Albert, and two children, a son and a daughter at Hogwarts.”
“You leave my family out of this!”
Harry shook his head.
“I don’t see why I would,” he said with a shrug. “My family wasn’t left out of anything, and my friends are being persecuted. Why should your family be spared, Albert?”
The man glared at him balefully, and Harry chuckled.
“Maybe I am a better man than Tom Riddle, or maybe I’m just as much a monster. What do you think, Albert? Do you think I’m capable of hurting them, or even killing them if you choose not to cooperate with me?”
Once more, Runcorn said nothing.
“You know, you could see them again,” Harry mused aloud. “I don’t mean that I will set you free. You must be punished for your part in all of this, but I could arrange to have them brought to you. You could all live as a happy family here. What do you think?”
“My children are safe in Hogwarts!”
“I see why you would think that. You’re under the impression that Snape is watching over them for you, that they are out of my reach behind the protections of the castle. Well, I have some bad news for you, Albert. Hogwarts does not belong to the Dark Lord, and it doesn’t belong to Snape. For now, the castle answers to me. I am the headmaster of the school.”
Runcorn eyed him, trying to determine the truth of his words, and finally, he seemed to realise the gravity of the situation he found himself in.
He hadn’t only been taken prisoner by the last man he would want to be alone with, but everything in his life was under threat, and he seemed to be weighing up his options.
“You’ve already gotten what you want! What more do you want from me?”
Harry frowned thoughtfully as he pondered the question.
“Nothing,” he answered as he made his way towards the door, “but I don’t want you to be comfortable here, Albert. I want you to be wondering if I might just drop a dead body in front of you. You never know, it might be your wife, it could be your son, or it might just be your daughter. I haven’t decided where I will start. I’m sure I will figure it out. I’ll be seeing you, Albert.”
He left the room with the shouted threats of the man ringing in his ear.
Albert Runcorn was among the most unpleasant people Harry had met, and though he saw no reason to follow through with his threat, that didn’t mean his enemies shouldn’t believe he wouldn’t.
No, he saw no value in killing Runcorn’s family, not when the fear of him doing so would ensure the man’s stint in Nurmengard was most unpleasant.
Besides, Harry had more important things to focus on like ending the war, finding a way to get Luna out of Malfoy Manor, and all the other things that awaited him on the other side that wouldn’t simply resolve themselves in his absence.
(Break)
The first thing he became aware of was a tightness in his side that pulled uncomfortably as he tried to move. He groaned pitifully at the pain, and realised his entire body ached. Almost as bad was the strange taste in his mouth, a mixture of potions and a lingering tang of blood on his tongue.
Oddly, that did not bother him so much as the medicinal aspect, and against the protestations of his ailing limbs, he reached for a glass of water.
“Here.”
He struggled to grip the goblet that was handed to him, and even more so to push himself up on his shaky arms. However, when he managed to take a large gulp of the water, it was as though he was sipping the most delectable of nectars.
“Are you okay?”
He wasn’t sure.
He was sore, he was exhausted, and there was a fog in his brain that would not shift, but he seemed to be in one piece at the very least.
“It hurts,” Ron grumbled, trying to take another sip of water, only to find he’d drained the goblet.
“I’ll get you some more.”
He accepted another gratefully and proceeded to drain it again, his breathing coming in short, sharp bursts when he was done.
“What the bloody hell happened? I feel like I’ve been run over by a hippogriff.”
“Try a werewolf.”
He paused at the mention of the creatures, and a myriad of hazy memories came to the forefront of his mind.
He’d been in Hogsmeade with Fred and George whilst they’d attempted to abscond with some of the ministry dark robes.
The werewolves.
They had arrived, and quite the fight had broken about between the different factions present.
He remembered standing back-to-back with his brothers as they fought off the monsters, and…
“It got me,” he murmured, placing his hand on his tender side. “It didn’t bite me, but the claws…”
He remembered the feeling of his own flesh being ripped open, of how he’d collapsed to the floor with every fibre of his being burning agonisingly. Fred and George had been there, doing their utmost to help him, and then, he’d passed out.
“What happened after?” he asked.
“You were taken to St Mungo’s. They managed to put you back together, but…”
Ron frowned and hung his head.
“They don’t know if I’m a werewolf.”
“I’m sorry, Ron.”
He shook his head and managed to open his eyes for the first time.
“What’re you sorry for? You didn’t attack me.”
Hermione offered him a watery smile.
“If I’m home, how long was I out?” he asked confusedly.
Truthfully, he did not want to think about or discuss the possibility that he was a werewolf. He wasn’t ready to face that reality yet. He’d seen what it had done to Remus, and Ron wasn’t certain he could comprehend such a life.
“Well, when he heard you were there, Voldemort tried to get to you. Obviously, he did not manage it, but it was close. Between me, Harry, Fred, George, your father, and a nurse we met, we got you back here.”
Ron shook his head once more.
“Are they alright?”
“We’re all fine, Ron. We’ve all been worried about you.”
He nodded and leaned back on his pillows tiredly, unable to stay upright any longer. He could feel the differences in himself already, something bubbling under the surface that hadn’t been there before.
Maybe it was the lycanthropy he’d been infected with, or maybe it was that he was far from feeling himself and he was deeply aware of it.
He couldn’t be certain, but he was hungry, and what he wanted to eat was most unusual for him.
“I’m hungry.”
Hermione tutted and him, but at the very least, it made her smile.
“Well, you haven’t lost your appetite.”
Ron shook his head.
“No, but I want meat, Hermione, some bloody steak.”
She eyed him curiously before she nodded.
“That doesn’t mean…”
“Well, it’s new,” Ron sighed. “I’ve never liked rare steak.”
She seemed to be a little concerned but gave his hand a squeeze.
“I’ll get some food for you, and I’ll let the others know you’re awake. They’ll be relieved.”
She left the room, and when he was alone, he pushed himself back into a sitting position and opened his pyjama shirt, grimacing at the sight of the three large gashes running across the width of his torso.
He was lucky that he’d not been gutted by the werewolf, but it had left its mark on him, one he would inevitably carry for the rest of his days.
Ronald Weasley just hoped it was the only thing the creature had left him with.
(Break)
“What the three of you did was reckless,” Arthur whispered. “You could’ve been killed! How do you think that would’ve made me feel?”
“We were doing what is right,” Fred protested. “We get it, Dad, we understand what losing Mum, Ginny, and Bill has done to you. It’ made you want to protect what you have left, but for us, it has only made us want to fight more.”
He wasn’t angry with his three sons.
Arthur had come to live his life each day in fear that he would lose more of what little remained of his family. For him, it was so very difficult to not think of what it had been like when the Burrow had been full of his seven children and the wife he’d adored.
The memories of sitting around a crowded breakfast table, and even for dinner when he came home from work every evening were difficult to face knowing that three of them were no longer among them.
Percy had become a wayward son, and although Charlie wrote often, it wasn’t the same. Fred and George had their own home above the shop, so, for several months, it had only been him and Ron living within what had once been a full home.
He took a sip of his Firewhiskey, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips.
Molly would know what to do if she was here, or at the very least, bring him some comfort the way only she could.
She would likely rub his shoulders and whisper some assurances to him that all would be well, that so long as they had one another, nothing else mattered.
The problem was, Arthur no longer had her or her words of comfort, only three sons determined to put themselves in danger, and two others he was grateful were not around so much to do so.
It was a gentle knock on the door that pulled him from his thoughts, and he managed to muster a smile for the young woman who entered the shed.
Hermione had truly come through for them when they’d needed her, and for that, Arthur would always be grateful.
“He’s awake, Mr Weasley.”
Arthur stood immediately and hurried back into the house he could scarcely stand to be in, his footsteps thundering up the stairs until he reached Ron’s attic bedroom where he found his son propped up on his pillows inspecting the vicious wounds he’d sustained.
“Ron?” he croaked.
“I’m alright, Dad,” his youngest son replied, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
Arthur could only nod as he closed the distance between them, gently wrapping his arms around the young man.
He was alive.
Despite what he’d endured these past few days, he was still living and breathing, and for now, that was all that mattered to Arthur Weasley.
“Finally woke up then, you lazy git,” one of the twins called from the door.
“We’ve been covering for you at work. I hope you’ve not been malingering.”
Ron chuckled and grimaced from the discomfort of his wound.
“Wait, don’t I get sick pay?” he asked.
“Bloody sick pay? What does he think we are Fred, the Ministry of Magic?”
Ron chuckled once more, and Arthur was pleased to see that he’d not lost his sense of humour. For now, it was a sense of relief that filled them, but soon enough, it was inevitable that their thoughts would shift to what was to come where Ron was concerned.
Not that it mattered to Arthur if he was a werewolf, nor would it to the rest of the family, but there was no denying the stigma of being one, the prejudice, and how limited Ron’s options in life would be.
That concern, however, was for another day. Today, Arthur only wished to focus on the gratitude he felt that he would not soon be burying another of his children, not so soon, at least.
(Break)
It was difficult to shake what he had seen or even attribute it to a freak accident. No, what Potter had done to those men and women in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had been purposeful and intentional.
How?
How had he managed to not only make it appear that Yaxley and the others had been visited by a group of rogue dementors, and even more pressing, how had he harvested their souls?
The Dark Lord thought that perhaps the young man had somehow convinced some of the creatures loyal to him to turn on his followers, but that had not been so.
No, Potter had done this himself.
The entire department had been saturated in his magic, his cold, unforgiven, and unyielding magic.
It was indeed a troubling occurrence, and one the Dark Lord could not take for granted.
“A power the Dark Lord knows not,” he murmured.
Was this it?
Did Potter somehow possess the power to simply take someone’s soul?
Fortunately for him, his own soul would not be so easy to take, not when it was in several pieces in places Potter would never begin to look let alone understand what the Dark Lord had done.
Even so, it was a small comfort in the face of what he’d witnessed for himself, and now more than ever, he needed to seize the advantage he had and put an end to the young man.
Potter was dangerous, more so than he could’ve ever anticipated, and it was high time that he was rid of the boy.
Already, his hold over Britain was nothing short of absolute, but for the sake of all he’d done to grasp the power he possessed, he needed Potter gone, and that would now be his one focus.
Harry Potter must die, and the deed must be done as soon as possible to secure the legacy the Dark Lord had spent his entire life building.