AUTHOR'S NOTES: Something, something, something DARK SIDE! Something, something, something COMPLETE!
Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not intend to make any money off of this. Harry Potter is the intellectual property of J. K. Rowling , and I take no credit of it whatsoever.
I was also inspired by Demon Eyes Laharl's: THE RED KNIGHT! and also from Random-Fruitcake04's: CHOICES! I hope you check them out as well because they are genuinely very good stories.
There's also a couple more Ron fics out that are on point! They're called 'There and Back Again' by Chuchi Otaku, and 'Cooking Like a Bachelor' by Avatar Vader. Please, go check 'em out! You won't regret it, spread the Ron love, people!
P.S: Starway Man is a chad! (I'm never removing this)
Fate
Chapter 148 – The Shadow over Britain
Ginny Weasley's POV
Wednesday 31st March, 1994 (The Burrow – Evening)
"Checkmate," Percy smirked, cornering Ginny's king with his bishop and queen. Ugh! Again?! Chess is boring! I don't know how Ron can stand it!
"This game is not very fun…" Ginny pouted, flicking her king over. "And why are we playing Muggle Chess? I want the Magical pieces!" They give hints and are funny, whereas Muggle Chess is just plain boring.
"Ron has those stuffed away in his room," Percy shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Mum told us to not go up there, remember? I'm not disobeying her. You're welcome to do it, if you're in the mood for a scolding, but I really don't recommend that course of action." Prat…
"Kiss-arse," Ginny muttered, shooting a quick glance at the others lounging about in the living room. "The twins wouldn't be scared."
"Then, go ask them," Percy frowned, always quick to get upset whenever the twins were brought up.
"Fine, I will," Ginny huffed, before standing up and marching over to the twins, who were playing Gobstones with Luna, Charlie, and Kirsten. "Fred, can you go up to Ron's room and get his Magical Chess pieces? Please?"
Fred looked up at her, twiddling with his 'lucky' gobstone. "Why are you asking me, little sis? You know where his room is, don't you?" Because I don't want a lecture about respecting Ron's privacy.
"It's a scheme, brother mine," George smirked at her. "Our little sister wants you to take the fall in her place."
"No, I just want to play Wizard's Chess," Ginny denied, crossing her arms. "Big brothers are supposed to be nice to their little sisters. I'm trying to give you a chance to do better, that's all."
"How thoughtful of you," Fred sniggered alongside George, before shaking his head. "Sorry, Gin-Gin, but we can't risk upsetting mum, especially with what we're concocting in our room-"
"Shhh," George loudly shushed his twin, smacking his arm. "What we're doing isn't even legal, you git! Stop talking!" What?! What are you two up to, now?!
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," came Percy's disappointed voice, while Kirsten and Charlie laughed at the twins' antics.
"So, you won't get them for me?" Ginny groaned, and then, she looked to Charlie. "Charlie… Can you-?"
"Save it," Charlie put his hands up in mock surrender. "I don't need her on my case, either. She's been pestering me non-stop about dead-end jobs, and the last thing I need is to give her more reasons to go off on me." Ugh!
"Fine, I'll go, then," Ginny decided, shooting Luna a quick glance. "…Alone…" C'mon, take the bait! If you're with me, I'm less likely to be told off!
"You shouldn't do that, Ginny," Luna hummed, looking up with a ditzy smile. "Why don't you play Gobstones with us, instead? You can even use my set! Every one of them is Charmed to keep the Nargles away!" Not the Nargles, again, Luna…
"I don't really like Gobstones, though," Ginny sighed out. "And I want to practise playing chess." I want to spend more time with Ron, and chess is the only game he plays. He doesn't even fly, anymore… Bloody hell, why did it have to be chess of all things? Why couldn't he have picked a more entertaining game?
"Speaking of practising chess…" Kirsten started, looking towards the Weasley Clock. "Do any of you know when Ron is coming back from the States? The Chess Tournaments end today, don't they?"
"They do, but he was disqualified early on, remember?" Charlie pointed out. "Technically, he should be home already, but he's out there doing Merlin knows what…"
"He mentioned that he had people to help before he ran off with the Headmaster's Phoenix," Percy said, making his way over to the group. "Who do you think he meant, Charlie?"
"Probably Werewolves, but your guess is as good as mine," Charlie replied. "He's not the sort to share his plans with anyone. Not even mum and dad."
"How come they let him get away with that?" Fred asked, looking slightly vexed all of a sudden. "I mean, if George and I even step an inch out of line, they pounce without fail, but when it comes to Ronnikins…" he trailed off.
"They probably don't want to fight with him when he's so sick," George answered, summoning an awkward silence with his response. He was so pale the last time we saw him… I hope he's okay, wherever he is. As soon as he comes home, I'm going to give him the biggest hug of his life!
"Um… Guys…" Kirsten suddenly broke the silence, pointing towards the Weasley Clock. "What's wrong with Ron's hand?"
They all looked at once, and were immediately taken aback to see Ron's hand suddenly trembling. Although it remained stuck on 'Mortal Peril', it looked as though it was trying very hard to move in the direction of 'Home', only for its efforts to be thwarted by some unseen force. Wait… Does that mean-?
The fireplace suddenly roared with green flames, and much to Ginny's relief and delight, her ever-growing brother stepped out of the fire, his face just as pale as she remembered and his black suit giving the word 'stylish' a run for its money.
"Ron!" Ginny jumped in her spot, before charging him and attaching herself around his torse. "You're finally home!" I can't believe it!
"Merlin, we were just talking about you!" George laughed as they all huddled around him, patting his back and ruffling his combed hair. "You've got great timing, mate!"
"It's damn good to see you back, little brother," Charlie smiled brightly, gently pulling George away from Ron. "Don't do that, he doesn't like it. Trust me."
"And he doesn't mind the chimpanzee hanging off of him?" George chuckled, smirking when Ginny stuck her tongue out at him. I can hug him as much as I like! He doesn't mind one bit!
"How was your trip, Ron?" Percy asked, looking towards the fireplace. "And where's your trunk?"
"Behind me," Ron finally spoke, he hadn't returned Ginny's hug. "If I knew I was going to be jumped right out of the fireplace, I'd have sent it through first. Ginny… Do you mind?"
"Clear the way, Gin," Percy clicked his tongue, tugging at her jumper. "You're blocking his way in-"
"I don't care," Ginny squeezed tightly, not planning to let go of Ron any time soon. "I've been waiting to hug him for over a week! His trunk can wait!"
Ron let out a tired sigh, before patting her head tenderly. "Ginny, I'm really tired… Please, stop…"
Ginny looked up at that, staring at his baggy, lifeless eyes and his sombre expression, and she felt her hold on him weaken drastically. "What's wrong, Ron? …What happened?"
"Just more of the same…" he muttered, pushing her away from him and heading for the kitchen. "I'm going to bed… Don't disturb me…" More of the same? What's that supposed to mean?
The fireplace roared again, and four separate trunks followed after Ron, floating past his bewildered siblings. None of them questioned why Ron had brought so many trunks home with him, instead, they followed after him, save for Luna, who returned to her game of Gobstones alone.
"Are you hungry?" Charlie asked as they all followed Ron up the stairs. "There's still some pies left over from lunch, and I can warm them up for you."
"You should eat something, Ron," Kirsten added from the back of the group. "Going to bed on an empty stomach isn't good for a boy your age."
"I'll live…" Ron exhaled, massaging the back of his neck. "Stop following me, please. Your footsteps are giving me a headache."
"Ron, what's the matter?" Percy asked, his brow crinkled. "You sound terribly upset…"
"I'm just tired…" Ron blatantly lied, not breaking his lethargic stride.
"Mum and dad will be home soon," Ginny tried, hoping that that was enough to make him join them. "They went out shopping with Bill. They'll be home any minute, now. Don't you want to see them?"
"Not particularly," Ron answered curtly, stopping at the second set of stairs. "Let them know I'm home, won't you? Oh, and tell them to not disturb me as well. I need some peace and quiet tonight." Ron then looked to the twins, eyeing them tiredly. "Peace and quiet, you two… Can you give me that?"
"How unfair," Fred feigned hurt, trying to be funny, whereas George kept a more serious demeanour. "Georgie, tell him-"
"We'll keep it down," George promised, stepping forward. "Did you end up getting those potions we sent you? We gave them to Dumbledore, and he promised he'd deliver them."
"I did," Ron gave a nod, forcing on a fleeting smile. "Thank you for those. They help a lot. Goodnight."
With that, he began dragging himself up the stairs, his trunks promptly following after. They watched him disappear in silence, before exchanging worried looks. None of them said a word for nearly a minute, because they really didn't need to; it was clear as day that Ron's trip to the States hadn't gone according to his plans. And then, one by one, Ginny's siblings turned in the opposite direction and began heading downstairs, with only Kirsten staying behind with her. What happened to him in America? Merlin, I've never seen him look so miserable before… That was horrible!
"C'mon, Ginny, your brother needs his rest," Kirsten broke the silence, but Ginny remained rooted to her spot, staring at where Ron had been just a few moments ago. "Ginny?"
"Um… You go on ahead, Kirsten, I'm just…" Ginny trailed off, squeezing the hidden scars on her forearm.
"Just what?"
"I want to ask him something," Ginny managed, ignoring the growing pit in her stomach. "I'll be right down."
She quickly moved towards the stairs, heading up before Kirsten could talk some sense into her. She knew Ron wanted to be left alone, he'd made that more than clear, but seeing him in such a state and not doing anything about it felt wrong. And so, Ginny made her way up to the fifth floor, stopping only when she reached Ron's door. C'mon, just knock on it… What's the worst that'll happen?
Ginny suddenly remembered Ron beating Harry bloody before the entire school, and she swallowed thickly. No way… I'm being stupid. He'd never do anything like that to me. I think…
Drawing in a sharp breath to smother her irrational fear, Ginny knocked on the door. "Ron? It's me. Can you open the door, please?"
After a few seconds of eerie quiet, she heard his footsteps from the other side, and Ginny straightened her posture just as the door slowly creaked open, revealing Ron's haggard face. "…What is it, Gin? If you want to talk, can we do this another time? I… I'm not really in the mood…"
"Are you okay?" Ginny asked, mentally berating herself for asking him such a silly question. "I mean… You look really sad…" Ron stared through her, not saying anything in response. "Ron, what happened in America? Did-… Did you and Dumbledore manage to help those people, in the end?"
Ron averted his gaze. "…Not all of them…"
Before she could even think of what to say next, her brother closed the door in her face, leaving her with even more questions than she previously had. Should I try again? He might get mad if I do, though… Ginny raised her knuckles to the door, but she found herself unable to go through with it. She didn't want to risk upsetting him any further than he already was, and despite not wanting to admit it, she wasn't so sure she could bear to see him as he was now. So, Ginny stood in the dim corridor for well over a minute, frozen in time, before finally deciding to give Ron his 'peace and quiet', heading back downstairs both dejected and deeply bothered. I'll try again tomorrow, I guess… But I have a feeling it's not going to go any different… Merlin, whatever happened over there, it must've been horrible…
Ronald Weasley's POV
Thursday 1st April, 1994 (The Burrow – Dead of Night)
Ron lay awake in his bed, staring dumbly at the ceiling. Sleep had evaded him for most of the night, and whenever he had managed to doze off, he had found himself jerking awake within the hour. Without any Calming Draught in his system, he was utterly restless and was unable to stop his mind from conjuring up dark thoughts, dark thoughts that hounded him even in his dreams. Octavia's untimely death was on the forefront of his mind, of course, but occasionally, he even thought of his perfect day with Cedrella, a girl that had never existed at all, wishing that he had stayed with her in the end, locked away in a perfect dream far removed from his imperfect reality. I'm never going to enjoy a life like that, am I? Have my own family and my own house? Be happy? No matter how much I try to fool myself into thinking otherwise, it's just not going to happen… The truth is that I'm going to die, either at my own hands, or, some fucking Death-Eater's… And even if I don't, even if I survive everything, there's still the issue of me being a Horcrux…
Ron sat up, massaging his tired eyes with his palms. It had been stupid of him to think that he could finally be himself in the security of his childhood home, in the seclusion of his tiny bedroom. These familial comforts were not strong enough to bring him the peace he sought, not when his mind was at war with itself. I need to buy some Sleeping Draughts… Not sleeping properly is going to bite me in the arse sooner rather than later, I just know it. Slug and Jiggers Apothecary in Diagon Alley sells them. I'll pay a visit tomorrow, which will also give me a chance to see how things are going within the camps. Until then, though, the only thing I can do is have another Calming Draught and try to go back to bed.
Moving off of his bed, Ron made his way over to his trunk, unlocking it and retrieving a vial filled with the blue potion he was becoming increasingly dependent on. In the back of his mind, a voice was telling him to resist, Daphne's voice, but Ron chose to ignore it, drinking down the cool liquid until the vial was empty. There… Now, I might actually get some damn sleep…
Within the next minute, Ron felt his mind being washed clean of any doubts and regrets, his dark thoughts losing their power over him. Even when he forced himself to think of Octavia, tried his very hardest to imagine her cold corpse rotting in the ground, he simply couldn't bring himself to care. Her death wasn't my fault, it was her own, so what's the point in punishing myself for her sake? She should have put her faith in me, not those fucking snakes. She got exactly what she paid for, and I should just be glad that her stupidity didn't drag me into a grave just like hers.
The Champion rose up to his feet, waving his scarred hand and resealing his trunk. He had too much work to do to be wasting his time on the dead, regardless of how he had felt about them when they were alive. Those who spent their time looking back were prone to falling on their faces, and he was not going to make that mistake. He was going to keep looking forward, because that was the only way he was going to reach his goals.
Finally gaining the peace he so desperately desired; the Champion lay back down in his bed, closing his eyes and, at long last, falling into a deep, much-needed slumber.
Thursday 1st April, 1994 (The Burrow – Midday)
The Champion finished wrapping the fresh bandages around his permanently injured forearm, the Numbing Balm quickly working to subdue his pain. With that out of the way, he put on his Goblin-Steel bracers, being extra careful when tightening the straps as to not agitate his wounds needlessly. He then rolled down his sleeves and put on his grey coat, before fixing up his black tie whilst forcing himself to smile at his tidy reflection. The smile wasn't half as convincing as he had hoped, so he decided to keep working on it after every into his pocket, he produced two small vials filled with the twins' Nutrition Potion and the Calming Draught, drinking them down respectively.
"Ugh… Gross…" he grimaced at the aftertaste, quickly using his wand to cast a Fresh-Breath Charm inside his mouth. Oh, that's so much better.
Once the bitter taste had been fully replaced with a minty one, he put on his glove and made his way out of the bathroom, eager to make the most out of what remained of the day. He had slept in, thanks to the Calming Draught, and felt revitalized as a result. It was a pleasant change from how tired he had been feeling lately, his lack of sleep had taken a heavy toll on his energy levels, and the Champion was now further convinced that Sleeping Draughts would benefit him more than they would hinder him. Still, I ought to be careful with them. Have one every other night as opposed to having one every night. The last thing I need is to turn into a full-blown insomniac.
Entering the kitchen, he immediately spotted Artyom sitting at the dining table, his eyes already fixed on the Champion. Felt me coming down, did you? Good. Just because we're safe behind the Fidelius Charm is no reason to let our guards down.
"Ron, you're finally awake," his mother let out a sigh of relief from the sink, a motherly smile stretching across her lips. "I'm so glad you're home! How was your sleep, love? Good, I hope. You never sleep in, anymore." I've a bone to pick with you, mother dearest, but it can wait until after you've served me something to eat.
"I needed it," the Champion answered, his tone lifeless. "Can I have some breakfast, please?"
"Of course," his mother gestured him to take a seat, studying him carefully. "Are you feeling all right? You sound… off…"
"I am on the Calming Draught," the Champion replied as he sat across from his bodyguard, seeing no reason to lie. "It's helping me retain my sanity."
Artyom frowned deeply at this, whereas Molly adorned a sorry expression. "Yes, your brothers mentioned that you were upset last night-…"
"Is that Ron?" Fred walked in from the living room, grinning out of sheer relief when he spotted the Champion. "Thank Merlin, you're up! We were getting worried about you! Oi, you lot! He's awake!" Here comes the bloody noise… And all I wanted was breakfast so I could get on with my day. How foolish of me to want something so simple, eh?
One-by-one, his siblings, save for Bill, flooded into the kitchen. The twins patted his shoulders and ruffled his recently-styled hair, Percy studied him from afar, Charlie looked both sympathetic and curious, and Ginny rushed herself onto the chair to his right, staring at him as if he were a prized painting. The Champion ignored them all, despite feeling cornered by their incessant chatter and overbearing presence.
"What was in those trunks you brought home with you?" George suddenly asked, silencing the table. "You left with one trunk, right? What's in the other three?" Death warrants.
"Not trying to ruin the surprise here, but it is our birthday, today," Fred smirked, teasing him. It is? "Don't tell us you forgot, Ronnikins?! How cruel! Can you believe this, George? Our own little brother-"
"Give your brother a break, Fred," Molly scolded from the stove, heating up some sausages. "You don't have to take the mickey out of him at every opportunity!"
"What? I'd never entertain such an idea, let alone act on it," Fred shot her a cheeky grin, earning himself a dark look from both Molly and Percy. "I was just sharing my feelings-"
"I did forget," the Champion admitted, his eerie tone surprising the lot of them. "It's been a long couple of weeks, and I had a lot on my mind. I'm sorry. Happy Birthday." Now, please, shut up and let me eat in silence.
"What's wrong with your voice?" Ginny asked. "You sound weird, Ron."
"I'm on the Calming Draught," the Champion repeated, earning himself another frown from Artyom. "Can I eat in peace, please? I'm not in the mood for chit-chat. And no, those trunks aren't full of presents. They are private, and you will all stay well away from them."
"They're not full of dangerous objects, are they?" Molly asked, whereas the twins exchanged smirks. I know that look… Fucking hell…
"No, mum, just some important papers," the Champion assured Molly, before focusing on the twins with his empty eyes. "I'm warning you both… Don't test me. You break my privacy, and I will break your bones."
"Ron!" Molly huffed, waving her wand about in anger, whereas the twins quickly lost their smirks. "None of that, please! You don't talk to your older brothers like that! Honestly, you boys… You'll be the death of me!"
The Champion said nothing in response, simply staring at the twins in a manner that visibly disturbed everyone at the table but Artyom. If you two think I'm joking, then just try it. I'll break you with one hand, and put you back together with the other-…
"Stay away from his trunks, you two," Charlie suddenly spoke up, keeping his eyes on the Champion. "Ron, don't make threats like that, all right? They're prats, but they're your older brothers and it's their birthday. Show some respect."
The Champion ignored Charlie, focusing back onto Artyom, who subtly shook his head. Not worth it, I know. I was just making my feelings on this matter clear. Better a cruel threat than a savage beating, wouldn't you say?
"What happened in the States, Ron?" Percy asked, leaning forward with a furrowed brow. "You can tell us anything, you know that, right? We won't tell a soul. Whatever it is, we can help you." You can't help the dead, Percy. Not even I have that power.
The Champion looked to Percy, free from any pesky guilt and needless regret. "Fine… I was trying my very hardest to help someone, a girl my age, but she foolishly put her faith in someone else, someone who had their own selfish designs. She's dead, now, and what she was so desperate to save ended up dying with her."
A heavy silence fell onto the room, with even Molly staring at him in disbelief. Ah, blessed silence. Hopefully, that's enough to keep them quiet until I'm gone-…
"That's dreadful, Ron…" Ginny muttered, placing a 'comforting' hand on his arm. Fuck. "Merlin… I'm really sorry… Was-… Was she murdered?" Yes, and those who murdered her were met with swift justice. I hope they're rotting in Hell right now. I'll make sure to remember them when I eventually make it down there.
"There's an important lesson here, Ginny," the Champion said coldly, shoving Octavia's smiling face out of his mind. "Weak, simple-minded people don't last long in this world. It has a way of eating them up, and shitting out whatever's left in a shallow grave. Be anything you want to be, but never be weak and stupid. Work hard to have the strength to stand on your own two feet, because trusting others means being at their mercy, and believe me, people are rarely merciful."
Silence once again took hold of the room, and the Champion sensed something akin to pity behind Artyom's eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it had come. His siblings exchanged worried glances, as if signalling each other to ask more questions, but none of them took the initiative. Eventually, his mother made her way over to the table, placing a steaming plate of scrambled eggs and sausages in front of him, before pulling his head into her bosom and kissing his temple.
For the briefest of moments, the Champion felt the urge to lean into her embrace, to expel the pain lying dormant within his chest, but he resisted. Tears don't fix anything, actions do. Let others mourn over everything wrong in this world, while I work to right those wrongs.
"I'm sorry you went through something so horrible on your lonesome, Ronnie," Molly sniffled, kissing his temple again. "It must've been so terrible… Why don't you tell us more about this girl you wanted to help? Who was she?" No. There is no point in it. She's gone, and bringing up her memory doesn't serve me in any way.
The Champion said nothing, waiting patiently for his mother to stop holding his head hostage. The moment she let go, he began eating his breakfast, whilst using his Occlumency to close himself off from the outside world. He emptied his mind of all thoughts and feelings, going into a hibernation of sorts as he mindlessly chewed and swallowed his food, not even enjoying the taste. He heard his siblings' muffled voices directed at him, his mother even shook him lightly by the shoulder, but he ignored them all.
Several minutes passed before his plate was empty, and the moment it was, he rose out of his chair and gestured Artyom to follow him. "Come on. We have work to do."
"You're leaving?" Molly asked fretfully. "Ron, I don't think that's such a good idea… You're clearly not well-"
"You and I will talk when I return," the Champion stopped her, heading for the living room. "Stay out of my room, all of you. There won't be a second warning."
Thirty Minutes Later
The Champion stood in a dark corner of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, eyeing a bundle of Sleeping Draughts, which was conveniently on sale, but hesitating in buying it because he knew of the terrible side-effects. And yet, I need their help, because I can't bring myself to fall asleep. I need sleep. If not for my sake, then for everyone else's.
The bell hanging from the shop's door suddenly chimed, and the Champion turned to see Artyom enter. He gave the Champion a subtle nod as he walked over, patting his inner coat pocket lightly. Good.
"How was my vault?" the Champion asked, turning his attention back to the bundle. "Has Gornuk been keeping his promise to me?"
"Three chests of weapons and armours still remain, and two chests of gems and jewellery," Artyom answered. "Rest was gold." He's been very busy, then.
"That Goblin is more reliable than most people I've met," the Champion smiled a little, deciding to send Gornuk a gift of sapphires for his diligent service. "When you have time, send him a couple of sapphires, won't you? The biggest ones you can find. And a letter too, thanking him for his work."
Artyom gave a simple nod, before following the Champion's gaze to the bundle. "That is not good idea."
"I know," the Champion agreed. "But not sleeping is just as problematic, isn't it? I need my strength and focus, don't I? You know what burdens I carry, so you should be able to understand how important it is for me to stay at the top of my game."
"I do understand," Artyom said, his voice softer than usual. "But this is not solution. This is weakness." The Champion looked to Artyom, not pleased with being associated with that particular word. "These potions are dangerous, and in time, they will hurt you. Calming Draught is also bad. Men need emotions to make right calls. If they feel nothing, they hurt those who do. I know this. I have been where you are now. Don't make my mistakes. World needs you more than it ever needed me. If you go down this road, many will die as result, because you can't protect what you don't care about." Damn…
"So, I'm just supposed to suffer?" the Champion asked, not liking that idea very much. "I'm supposed to lie awake all night? Going mad with stress? Wondering when everything will fall apart?"
"Yes," Artyom replied bluntly. "You must suffer, because it is smarter than hiding from pain. Pain will always find you; it can't be escaped. It is better to face it before it corners you." Artyom then placed a hand on his shoulder, which was an uncharacteristically emotional gesture from one such as him. "You told your sister not to be weak and stupid. This is weak and stupid. Follow your own advice. Brave the pain, or, it will eat you and shit you out. And if that pain is too much for you, then pass some to me. I will help carry burden."
Despite the Calming Draught's effects, the Champion couldn't help but feel touched by those last few words. "Fuck…"
"I know," Artyom said, gently pulling the Champion away from the Sleeping Draughts and towards the door. "You are stronger than this. I know. I have seen your strength with my own eyes. You will be all right without potions." We'll see, I guess.
Not saying a word, the Champion allowed Artyom to escort him out of the Apothecary and into the bustling street. Diagon Alley, in his absence, had become a lot more organized, with the camps having been moved closer to the remains of Knockturn Alley in order to allow the rest of the populace some space to move about and set up their stalls once again. This change, although beneficial to many, had made the disparity between Diagon Alley's prosperity and the camps' hardships far more apparent, and this very disparity, if left unchecked, was bound to raise the anger of those who'd been abandoned by the Ministry to fend for themselves. I need to keep the camps in order until Bones takes up that offer from the Americans. Unhappy people tend to make stupid decisions, I would know, and there's plenty of bastards out there who'll try to take advantage of the rising tensions.
"Are we going to Marco?" Artyom asked, breaking the Champion out of his thoughts. "Or, do you want to see camps?"
"Camps," the Champion replied, leading the way to the outskirts of Knockturn Alley.
Much like Diagon Alley itself, the camps were better organized, now. Large, multi-coloured tents stood tall in the back, closer to Knockturn Alley's remains, supporting many families within them. At the front, along the cobbled roads, there were dozens upon dozens of crude, makeshift stores, with shady merchants peddling their questionable wares to any who walked by. It's as if Knockturn Alley is trying to bring itself back to life. Not surprising, now that I think about it. Whether we like it or not, there will always be people who thrive only in the shadows, and they're not going anywhere.
The Champion moved through the thin streets, ignoring the foul stench that permeated the air, his eyes scanning the crowds of people for any familiar faces. Eventually, as he neared the large tents at the back, he spotted Sirius having a heated conversation with a pot-bellied man dressed in the Healer attire of St. Mungo's. Well, well… What's going on here? Why is Sirius here? And why is he having an argument with a Healer?
"There are Aurors here," Artyom whispered in his ear, and the Champion turned to see Madam Roberts and an unfamiliar Auror walking the streets. Hit-Wizards? Here? Shouldn't they be out there looking for Azkaban's worst?
"Something strange is afoot," the Champion voiced his instincts, looking to Artyom. "Be ready. Hit-Wizards don't just walk the streets like your average Auror. They're searching for something, or, someone."
Artyom gave a nod, and they both began making their way towards Sirius, who looked in their direction as if he had sniffed them out. The anger on Sirius' face dissipated almost immediately at the sight of the Champion, and he quickly waved the Healer off before rushing over and pulling the Champion into a tight embrace. Ugh… I should walk around with a 'Don't touch' sign around my neck.
"Pup! You're back!" Sirius exclaimed as he pulled back, letting out a loud laugh as he looked the Champion over. "Dashing as always! Those American lasses must've loved you!" Octavia was certainly 'pleased with my form'…
"I'm sure they did," the Champion put on a smile that never reached his eyes. "It's good to see you, again. Good, and very surprising… What are you doing here, Sirius?"
"Just helping sort this place out," Sirius shrugged, his expression turning somewhat smug. "Someone's got to, you know? The others are happy to send supplies and whatnot, but they stopped showing up in person a while back. Well, not Oscar and Enid, they're around here somewhere." The Fawleys are here too? "What are you doing here? When did you get back?"
"I returned last night," the Champion answered, looking towards the large tents. "I take it that that's your doing?"
"It's not much, I know-"
"Don't say that," the Champion's smile turned genuine, but only for a heartbeat. "I think this is a fine start. You've outdone yourself, Sirius." I'm proud of you.
"Oscar and Enid helped a lot," Sirius admitted, losing his smugness. "Truth be told, pup, I'm not so good with people. Keep getting riled up because everyone here is so damn suspicious… Still, I can't blame them. They've been through hell, and I'm just some rich bloke giving them orders. And then, there's the fucking Aurors…" Aurors?
"What about them?" the Champion asked. "Are they interfering with your work?"
"What we're doing here isn't exactly good for the Ministry's image, kid," Sirius explained, frowning a bit to himself. "Bones is barely keeping that place together as is, so she's got neither time nor resources for this place. People are getting pissed with her administration, but they're very happy with us. Undermining powerful people tends to piss them off, in my experience."
"That's hardly our fault," the Champion said coldly. "Ignore those Aurors, eh? You're not breaking any laws, and they can't stop you from spending your gold as you see fit."
"I know that," Sirius nodded, reaching forward and fixing the Champion's tie for him. "Still, shit's getting out of hand, now… Especially with those missing kids…" Missing kids?
"What kids?" the Champion asked. "The Hit-Wizards… Is that why they're roaming these streets?"
"You saw 'em?" Sirius asked, and then, he let out a long sigh. "Some sick bastard has been stealing kids… Snatching them up right from under their parents' noses. Three kids have gone missing over the last two weeks, and several people have been attacked with powerful Compulsion Charms. Just two days ago, a witch took off all her clothes in the middle of the street, and then, she blew her own head off right in front of her husband…" What?! "There's a killer hiding in these camps, Ron. Some cunt from Azkaban." He mentioned powerful Compulsion Charms, right?
The Champion thought back to Mrs. Benedict, a witch who'd been Charmed into eating rats right in front of her family, and his gloved hand tightened into a fist. It's that same cunt… It has to be. Whoever they are, they clearly enjoy traumatising as many people around their victims as possible-…
"I know that look," Sirius interrupted his thoughts. "What do you know, pup?"
"Before I left for the States, there was another incident," the Champion replied, looking around them warily. "A woman was Charmed into eating rats right in front of her daughter and husband-"
"Yeah, Tonks mentioned that a few days ago," Sirius shook his head, looking disgusted to his core. "Fuck being an Auror, kid… They see some truly horrible shit…"
"Do you know if the Ministry has any leads?" the Champion asked, eager to find whoever was behind these attacks in order to sate his own bloodlust.
"Not according to Tonks," Sirius answered. "She talks a lot when she's drunk… She wanted the case, but her superior, Jane Roberts, took it from her. Something about Tonks not being 'suitable' for this one."
"She's still drinking a lot, then," the Champion noted, but not really caring. "You should say something to her. She might listen to you."
"I've tried," Sirius raised his hands, a resigned expression on his face. "Her mother's tried, her father's tried, even Mad-Eye Moody's tried… Tonks is a stubborn one, and I think what happened in Knockturn Alley really got to her. Fucked her up. It's a real tragedy…" The world's the tragedy, not her. She's just hurt by what she's seen, by what she now knows. There are monsters prowling the streets, and you never know when you're standing in front of one. Take me, for example. If you knew the sort of shit I get up to, you'd probably turn to drink yourself.
"Is it safe for you and the Fawleys to be here?" the Champion asked.
"No, probably not…" Sirius replied. "But I'm not letting some evil cunt stop me from what I need to do. And, trust me, it's not so easy to sneak up on me."
"Just be careful, Sirius," the Champion said, patting his arm and gesturing him to follow. "Who was that Healer you were arguing with?"
"Oh, that fucker…" Sirius glowered, the three of them heading down the street. "That was Healer Germain, the latest pain in my arse. Longbottom managed to convince St. Mungo's to lend us a Healer, but he's a handful. Acts like he owns the place, and isn't afraid to make insane demands of me. He wants bodyguards protecting his tent, the prick… And, get this, I caught him charging the poor sods he was Healing… He feels he is owed recompense for working in this 'Cloaque', despite St. Mungo's already putting gold in his pocket… Fucking greasy, French twat…"
"Another Frenchman…" the Champion frowned; he had grown a certain disdain for that entire country and all its people. "Give him what he wants, Sirius, but make sure his bodyguards keep their eyes on him for you. I'm willing to pay if you've sunk too much gold already-"
"No, no… I had the same idea, pup," Sirius stopped him, waving a dismissive hand. "As long as he keeps his fat fingers out of other people's pockets, I don't mind spending a bit of money. I've got more than enough to spare, and it's good that I'm spending their money on some good." Their? His parents? "I bet they're turning in their graves right now, the foul gits…" And I thought I had issues with my parents.
"As you wish," the Champion said, spotting Oscar Fawley speaking to a merchant not far from them. "Ah, there's Lord Fawley. Right over there."
"Come on, then," Sirius led the way. "He'll be glad to see you. I think… Not sure… You did manhandle his eldest lad that one time… But you have since made up for it with the Sanctuary's success…"
"I could've done worse," the Champion said simply, earning himself a wary look from Sirius. "What? It's the truth. It's not a good idea to get in my way."
"No, I suppose, it isn't a good idea at all…" Sirius muttered, looking back ahead with a thoughtful expression. "…You scared the life out of Mary that day, by the way…" Good. Let her remember that fear the next time her husband tries anything cruel. I'll march on Greengrass Manor with an army of Aurors and mercenaries just to root him out.
"…I want those carpets delivered to my house, my good man," Lord Fawley was saying, handing over some coins to the merchant. "And I want them cleaned beforehand. Free of any extra charge."
"Oscar, you old dog!" Sirius called out, and Lord Fawley turned his head in their direction.
"Ronald?" Lord Fawley looked quite surprised to see him.
"Lord Fawley."
"I was sorry to hear about your disqualification from the Chess Tournaments," Lord Fawley said, heading over to them as he pocketed his coin pouch. "Shame about your record, too."
"It is what it is," the Champion shrugged. "How is the Werewolf Sanctuary? Anything I should know about?"
"Straight to business, huh?" Lord Fawley chuckled. "Well, everything is in good order. In fact, we've had several more Werewolves show up over the last week, many of them not even British citizens! Word is spreading like wild-fire! I've even heard rumours that the Australian Ministry is quite interested in creating its own Werewolf Sanctuary, now!" Really?
"That's good to hear," the Champion nodded to himself, wondering how long it would take other countries to get their shit together as well. "I don't know much about Australia, or, its politics, but I'm glad they're learning from our success. We can only hope that others do the same." Or, I'll have to teach them. Violently.
"It might take some time, but they'll see when our number of Werewolf attacks and infections fall dramatically," Lord Fawley looked quite pleased with himself. "To think that a chance meeting with you at a gala would lead to such new heights!" Just don't enjoy those heights too much, my Lord. Remember why we're doing this, and for whom.
"There's more where that came from," the Champion tapped his temple, 'smiling'. "Just stick with me, and I'll carve our names into history."
"I do like the sound of that," Lord Fawley laughed, a twinkle in his eyes.
"Let's just help this sorry lot, first, and then we can talk about history," Sirius cut in. "I've caught him up on what's been going on here, Oscar. The missing children, everything."
"Oh, yes…" Lord Fawley lost his mirth. "Terrible business… I fear that, with the Aurors so occupied already, we won't catch this fiend any time soon, and if any more children go missing, it'll start a riot. These people are on a knife's edge, Ronald, and they can only take so much before they drive that very knife into the Ministry's heart." Then, Bones has even less time on her hands to make a decision. She either gives in to us, or, the Americans. Regardless of what she does, my job for now should be to keep the peace.
"I'll see what I can do," the Champion said reassuringly. "You lot just keep up the good work you've been doing. It's keeping the peace, and you're saving many lives as a result. It was good to see you again, Lord Fawley. Please, send my best regards to your Lady wife."
"Actually, before you leave…" Lord Fawley spoke up just as the Champion turned to leave. "I want to discuss something with you, and it's good that Sirius is here as well."
"What is it?" the Champion asked, exchanging a glance with Sirius.
"Remus Lupin…" Lord Fawley started, looking between the other two wizards. "Could you two convince him to leave his post at Hogwarts and work at the Sanctuary, instead?" What? Remus loves teaching, and we're not exactly short on staff. "I would ask him myself, but I believe that he's more likely to listen to you two, given your friendship."
"What's brought this on?" Sirius asked, taken aback. "I mean, he's already down there every day, isn't he?"
"Yes, but his break from Hogwarts will end quite soon," Lord Fawley explained. "Sirius, they listen to him. They heed his counsel, and many of them are even looking to him as a leader. He is the man who convinced them to give the Sanctuary a chance, and even though we built it, most see Remus as the man who saved them."
"So, it would make our life easier if he was the face of this Sanctuary," the Champion caught on, looking to Sirius. "It's not a bad idea… I mean, we can try our best to understand their struggles, but compared to someone who's actually been through said struggles, we'll always come up short. He's one of them, and if he's at the helm, more Werewolves would be inclined to put their faith in the Sanctuary."
"I'm not opposed to the idea, but…" Sirius trailed off, thinking for a few moments. "Oscar, Ron… Remus has lived a hard life, all right? A painful life. From the day I met him, he's been the sort who values his privacy above all else. At Hogwarts, he has that, and he might not say it, but I know he loves it. He's got a good thing going, and I'm not sure I want to take that away from him. Putting him in charge of so many people, making him a public figure… That's just not him."
"Perhaps not, but think of the good that will come from this," Lord Fawley urged. "He is good with the other Werewolves; I've seen it with my own eyes. He may love his privacy, but he also loves helping those like him. Why else did he convince so many to join the Sanctuary? Why else did he run about the country in the hopes of finding as many of his people as he possibly could? A man with that sort of conviction is wasted at Hogwarts… At the Sanctuary, he could continue teaching, even, if that's where his heart truly lies! The young ones will attend Hogwarts someday, won't they? Many of them have no education whatsoever, and he could remedy that."
"I'll talk to him," the Champion said, thinking of the greater good Remus could serve.
"Kid…" Sirius sighed out.
"His personal happiness is not my concern," the Champion turned to leave, not seeing the surprised looks on the other wizards' faces. "I care about results, and I like this idea, because it will yield even greater results for the Sanctuary down the line. I'll talk to him. He can make whatever decision suits him, but he ought to know that such an offer is on the table. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other business that needs attending."
"What business?" Sirius asked, sounding awfully nosy.
"The private sort," the Champion answered vaguely, looking to Artyom as he offered the large man his arm. "Let's go, and please, try to make the experience bearable."
Artyom took the Champion's arm and Apparated them to the clearing around Marco's cabin, and as soon as the redhead's feet touched the ground, he felt a wave of nausea wash over him. His eardrums felt as though they had exploded, and as he fell forward onto all fours, he felt something warm trickle out of his nose. Fuck me dead… Artyom, you useless cunt…
"Are you okay?" Artyom kneeled beside him, his large hand on the Champion's back. "Speak to me!"
"Oh, I'm fucking peachy, I am," the Champion managed, before suddenly gagging. "I'm going to vomit… Fuck… Here it comes…"
He heaved again, and felt his breakfast climb up into the back of his throat. No, no, no-… With another strong heave, the Champion vomited all over the green grass, covering it with his sick. Fuck…
"Oi!" came Marco's voice from the distance, followed by rushed footsteps. "What the fuck are you doing to me lawn?!"
"Shut up and help me," Artyom growled in response, while the Champion's vision began to darken. I think, I… might be fucked… from this one…
"What's wrong with him?! He's not contagious, is he?!" Marco demanded, which was the last thing he heard before darkness fell over the world.
?
The Champion stirred from his sleep, a dull ache in the back of his skull, and as his eyes slowly adjusted, he saw Marco and Artyom sitting across from him, both of them staring intently at him. Merlin's veiny cock, what happened? Oh, Gods, I feel like shit that got eaten and shat out again…
"Ugh…" the Champion groaned, massaging his eyes. "What a hideous sight to wake up to…" Hehe… Got him, again…
Artyom frowned deeply, while Marco let out a chuckle and patted the Russian on the back. "See? Told you he'd be fine. You should've seen him, lad! He was-"
Artyom looked to Marco, stopping the short man with one icy look. The Champion took the time to look around at his surroundings, he was in Marco's living room, perked up on a comfy chair. It's getting worse, downright painful, to travel via Apparition, now. Shit… How the fuck am I supposed to get back home?
"How do you feel?" Artyom suddenly asked, leaning forward. "Any sickness? Any pain?"
"No sickness, but a bit of pain…" the Champion replied, shaking his head clear. "Sorry about the rough entry, Marco… Didn't mean to disturb your day like this."
"It's fine, lad," Marco waved a dismissive hand. "Still, I have to ask… What's brought you to me? Don't tell me you lost that wand I made for you, already… That was a masterpiece!"
"No, I still have it," the Champion reassured him, patting his coat pocket. "I actually need another one, that's why I came."
"Another one?" Marco blinked. "Why? You trying to become some walking armoury, are you?" I'm already a walking armoury, mate.
"No, not quite…" the Champion grunted as he stood up, his legs swaying."Merlin… Ugh…" My head… Feels like I got punched by a Troll.
"You should sit back down," Marco suggested, and Artyom nodded his agreement. "You want some tea? Some water?"
"What I need is a Healer's wand," the Champion replied, forcing himself to steady his feet. "Well, I need a wand that excels at Healing Spells, is what I'm trying to say… Can you do that? Do you have any experience with making such wands?"
Marco looked even more taken aback, and then, he gave a slow nod. "Trick is to think of who you'd Heal with such a wand, if given the chance… Yeah, I've made a handful before, mostly for shady Healers who've lost their status due to malpractice. Some of them come to me looking for redemption, and I do the best I can for those sorry bastards. Sorry, I know it's none of my business, but why do you need one? I don't reckon a wand is going to fix you, lad. I've read the bloody papers." Stop talking so much, please. You're making my headache worse. It was a yes, or, no question.
"I need it to help others," the Champion answered, drawing in a sharp breath. "Sorry, I'm… I don't feel right…" His head began spinning, and he quickly found his arse planted on the comfy chair, again. "Who taught you how to Apparate, Artyom? A donkey? You're about as subtle as one…"
"I Apparate fine," Artyom said dully. "You are sick, and you need rest, but you refuse it like some fool. Do not blame me."
The Champion grit his teeth, rubbing his temples as he spoke. "Just show him the Basilisk Fang, will you?"
"Basilisk Fang?" Marco's puffy eyes widened, while Artyom reached into his inner pocket and pulled out a thick, leather rag.
"It's in there," the Champion said, gesturing Artyom to hand it over. "I need a wand made of Snakewood, with its core being that… And it has to be intended for Healing the sick and dying. Can you manage it?"
Marco unwrapped the leather rag, an excited glint behind his eyes, now. "Well, look at that… An actual Basilisk Fang… Do you have any idea how rare this beauty is? How hard it is to get your hands on one this big? Where… Where did you find this, lad? I've got to know!"
"I've had it in my collection for a while," the Champion didn't really answer the question. "So? Can you do it? Make a Snakewood wand with that as the core?"
"I can, but…" he stopped, quickly wrapping the fang back up. "It would be wasted on a Healing wand, if I'm being honest. I could make you a weapon capable of bringing down the Ministry itself with this! You could challenge wizards far above your skill, and utterly destroy them! Basilisks are beyond powerful, and their Magic is more potent than you can process, lad! And this fang right here… Merlin's Beard, I can smell the power residing within it! You can't waste this on a Healing wand, regardless of how powerful it could turn out to be! You just can't!" A weapon more powerful than any in my current arsenal… That is very tempting… But, I can't. I promised Octavia I'd save the Sacred Tree, and although I failed to do that, my current plan, if it works, could make up my failure. And imagine all the good that could come from another Sacred Tree, one not tainted by the Dark Lord's foul Magic. Just imagine how many people like Tracey could be saved because of it.
"It is an evil thing, that fang," the Champion started, resisting his darker desires. "The Basilisk it belonged to was a weapon itself, one that was created to murder Muggle-Born children." Marco blanched at that. "But if you give me what I want, if you have any good left in your soul, that fang could one day save thousands of lives. We can both do a good thing today, Marco, you and me. We can take something born of evil, and turn it into a tool for good. Aren't there enough weapons in this world as is? Does it really need another one? Does it need one as dangerous as the one you just described?"
Marco said nothing in response, but the doubt behind his eyes gave away his feelings on the matter.
"Then, it's settled," the Champion said, rising out of the chair. "Remember, the wood has to be Snakewood. Nothing else."
"Why Snakewood?" Marco asked out of curiosity. I can't tell him I'm trying to recreate Isolt's footsteps.
"I read about a wizard who possessed a powerful Healing wand, and his wand was made of Snakewood," the Champion replied. "And, he also happened to use a Basilisk Fang as the core." His wand had to be made of Snakewood, because why else would it spawn a Snakewood tree where it was buried?
"I've never heard of such a wizard before… Who was he?"
"An old fool who lost his way in life, but found redemption in the end," the Champion responded, before looking to Artyom. "Let's go. We're done here."
The Champion made his way out of the cabin and into the clearing, with Artyom following swiftly behind. "We are not Apparating. It is too dangerous."
"Then, how are we getting home, eh?" the Champion asked. I want to practice against the P-12, and then, go see Tracey in the evening. I'm not sitting here with my thumb up my arse for no reason.
"Call Phoenix," Artyom all but ordered. "It listens to you." He. He listens to me.
"Fawkes has better things to do than be ordered about by the likes of me," the Champion sighed out.
"Call Phoenix, or, walk home," Artyom said adamantly, and the Champion groaned loudly.
"You're becoming a real pain in my arse, Artyom," the Champion said, shooting the larger wizard a withering look. "…Fine… Stand back, then." Artyom took a step back, his dark eyes fixed on the Champion. "Fawkes! If you can hear me, I really need a lift! Come find me, please-!"
There was a blinding flash of orange from behind the Champion, and when he turned to look, he saw Fawkes flying straight for him. Well, look at that… He listened to my call, again. I don't know what I've done to deserve his respect and help, I really don't. The Champion raised his left arm, and Fawkes perched himself atop it, shrieking loudly and flexing his large wings.
"It's always good to see you, mate," the Champion couldn't help but smile a little. "Do you want to show Artyom how to Apparate, hm? Give him some pointers?" Artyom frowned at him once again, but said nothing. "Come on, then, you sour-faced bastard. Let's not waste too much of Fawkes' time, eh?"
Hermione Granger's POV
Thursday 1st April, 1994 (Longbottom Manor – Late Afternoon)
"Neville, are you in there?" Hermione knocked on the door, smiling from ear-to-ear.
It had only been a week and a half since she'd seen Neville and Harry, but she'd missed them both terribly. She loved spending time with her parents, of course, but it was with her friends that she felt the most comfortable. With them, she could talk about Magic and all its wonders for as long as her heart desired, whereas her parents weren't as comfortable discussing matters that they didn't understand. They can be very rigid, sometimes, now that I think about it-…
The door suddenly swung open, revealing a cheery Neville on the other side. "Hermione! What are you doing here?!"
The excitement in his voice widened her smile, if that was even possible, and she quickly rushed forward and hugged the growing boy. "I thought I'd surprise you! It's been so long!"
Neville let out a laugh, hugging her back. "It's only been a week, Hermione, but I'm glad you came!"
"Do I get one of those?" Harry asked from the bed, surprising Hermione.
"Oh, yeah, Harry's here too," Neville pulled back, moving out of her way. "Come inside!"
"Thanks," Hermione wasted no time in entering the bedroom, making for the bed and planting herself across from Harry. "What are you doing here? Oh, it's so good to see you, again!"
"You too," Harry smiled from behind his Quidditch magazine, fixing up his glasses with his spare hand. "It looks like you've had a fun Easter Break, Hermione. You look… less tired…" I am less tired, as a matter of fact!
"Oh, so much fun!" Hermione nodded, beaming. "I got all my homework, and leftover classwork, sorted out, finished reading all my textbooks, and thanks to the pass Ron got us, I even practised a lot of Spells we're going to be tested on in our exams! It was just perfect!"
Harry and Neville exchanged looks, and then, they burst into childish giggles. What…?
"Never change, Hermione," Neville commented, taking a seat at his study table. Okay… Not sure what that's supposed to mean.
"What about you two?" Hermione asked, ignoring what she couldn't understand. "Did you get our assigned homework finished, at least? What have you guys been up to?"
"Oh, we definitely finished our homework," Harry lied, exchanging smirks with Neville. "That was priority number one for us, obviously."
"Uh-huh," Hermione rolled her eyes, before smiling again. "Don't worry, I'll help you two out, again."
"Really?" Neville looked far too relieved. "Thanks, Hermione, you're the best!"
"You really are!" Harry chimed in, also looking far too relieved.
"I know, I know," Hermione couldn't even bring herself to act annoyed with them right now. "So, aside from not doing your homework, what have you two been up to?"
"Not much," Harry shrugged, putting his magazine away and sitting up properly. "I've visited Neville a couple of times, went to the Burrow to see the twins, spent a lot of time with Sirius, and… Yeah, that's about it. I'm just waiting for Hogwarts to open up, again. I miss the castle, and I miss seeing Hagrid." I miss Hagrid too, actually. And I miss his classes even more!
"And you?" Hermione asked Neville, secretly hoping that he'd spent his break away from Pansy Parkinson.
"I've been gardening," Neville started, thinking back. "The greenhouses were in a poor state when I got back, if I'm being honest, but I got them sorted out. And… Actually, that's all I've been doing… Time really flies when you're having fun, huh?" So… No meeting up with Parkinson? "Oh, and I've been trading letters with Pansy every day." Of course…
"Oh? How is she?" Hermione asked, masking any ill feelings she had towards the raven-haired witch. I know she's having a rough go of it lately, but I still think she's bad for Neville. They just don't fit together, in my opinion.
"She's doing great," Neville smiled like an idiot, his eyes darting towards the stack of letters on his desk. "She's been visiting Tracey every day, who, by the way, is recovering very quickly. 'Too quickly', actually, according to Pansy. The Healers are all baffled, and so are her friends, but no one wants to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth. Pansy says that Tracey might be coming back to Hogwarts sooner rather than later! Isn't that great?"
"It is," Hermione couldn't really disagree, as she was quite touched by the other girl's bravery.
"How did you get here, Hermione?" Harry suddenly asked. "Your parents don't have a floo, do they?"
"Oh, I came from The Leaky Cauldron," Hermione replied, and Harry nodded in understanding. "It was terribly busy, even though it's the afternoon. I don't understand why people would want to drink in the middle of the day. What about their work?"
"I think, they're drinking because of their work," Harry remarked, and Neville sniggered. "Did you happen to go into Diagon Alley?" Does he mean those camps I've been reading about in the Quibbler?
"No, but I really wanted to," Hermione shook her head. "Mostly to see the camps for myself, but seeing as I was alone, I decided it might be too dangerous."
"Oh, it's definitely dangerous," Neville said, and Hermione looked to him. "Go on, Harry. Tell her what Tonks told you and Sirius."
"There's some loon out there kidnapping children," Harry leaned forward, his brilliant eyes awash with curiosity. Kidnapping children?! "And Tonks says that the Aurors are too busy to search for whoever the culprit is. Says they're spread too thin, and if any more children go missing, it could result in a riot."
"That's dreadful," Hermione muttered, glad that she hadn't gone to Diagon Alley. "I hope the Aurors find whoever it is… Those poor people have been through enough already, and they don't need some lunatic running about too."
"Sirius is there right now," Harry told her, the pride in his voice unmissable. "He's been helping them, you know? Because of him, a lot of them are fed and sheltered. He's been down there every day this week!" That's so good of him!
"Sirius really is the best," Hermione managed to smile a little, thinking of the free-spirited wizard. "I'm glad people like him are out there doing the right thing."
"Neville's Gran is a part of it too," Harry added.
"Really?" Hermione asked, a little surprised by that.
"It's actually the alliance Ron brought together a while back," Neville explained, sounding just as proud as Harry. "Gran, Sirius, the Fawley Family, Lady Muriel Prewett, the Greengrass Family… They've all put heaps of gold into those camps, and because of them, there's some semblance of peace. Gran says that even the Macmillans have contributed some gold, now. Isn't that amazing?"
"The Purebloods are helping keep the peace?" Hermione couldn't hide her shock.
"The good Purebloods," Harry corrected her, while Neville let out a long sigh. "The rest are probably enjoying how bad things have gotten, I bet. Actually, this reminds me… Have you heard from Ron, by any chance?" Me? Why would I hear from him?
"Um… No," Hermione replied, before looking to Neville. "What about you two?"
"We were hoping you had," Neville said in response. "His family, especially Ginny, are really worried about him."
"Wait… Isn't he home?" Hermione asked, thinking of the article she had read at the beginning of the break. "He was disqualified from the Chess Tournaments, wasn't he? I read that he had another seizure, and missed the first day of the games as a result. Don't tell me that the Daily Prophet was lying about that too…" Why do I even bother reading their nonsense, anyway? I ought to stick to the Quibbler from now on.
"No, they weren't lying, but…" Neville trailed off.
"He's still in the United States," Harry finished for his best mate. "Not even Sirius knows what Ron's up to, so I was hoping you two had exchanged letters."
Hermione felt her face burn a little. "Why would he exchange letters with me? And not you two?" What are you implying?
"Oh, yeah, he definitely wants to send me letters," Harry said with a deadpan expression. "I totally didn't cross any lines with him." Oh…
"They say sarcasm is the highest form of intelligence, but in your case, I'm willing to believe otherwise," Hermione retorted quickly, and then she looked to Neville. "You get along with Ron the best out of us three… Why didn't you send him a letter?"
Neville's eyes once again darted towards the letters from Parkinson, and Hermione had her answer. Ugh… I bet she's just as crass in her letters as she is in person. What do boys see in girls like that? Honestly… It's pathetic!
"We're going to the Burrow in a bit, it's the twins' birthday today," Harry quickly spoke up, sounding a little awkward as he had noticed Hermione's unspoken disapproval. "I was hoping that you'd had word from Ron, it would've helped his siblings feel better. Neville and I went over after we read about him having another seizure, and they weren't dealing with it all that well. Ginny was in a right state… And, after Neville left, Ron himself showed up for a bit-"
"He did?" Hermione asked, wondering how he was travelling so quickly between countries. Portkey, most likely, but I read that those take a while to organize. I guess, that's not the case for someone like Ron.
"Yeah, but he was acting weird… Different…" Harry started. "For one, he had Fawkes with him." The Headmaster's Phoenix? "And he looked as though he didn't want to be around his family, like he wanted to leave as abruptly as he had shown up. He said that Snape and Dumbledore were looking after him, which I also thought was a bit weird… I mean, surely, Ron can afford the help of Healers, right? Why did it have to be those two specifically-?"
"Harry, you're doing it again," Neville interjected. "Making connections that aren't really there. Snape is his Head of House, and he probably knows more about Ron's conditions than some random Healer from the States. And as for Dumbledore… Well, he's just caring man, and he was probably worried for Ron."
"I know I took things too far before, but I'm telling you, there's something going on between those three," Harry frowned a little, while Hermione and Neville exchanged knowing looks. "What? I'm not saying it's anything bad, just that they're up to something. Ron has a habit of getting himself into trouble, and maybe, Snape and Dumbledore are in on it with him-"
"Harry, that's a bit ridiculous," Hermione blurted out, unable to help herself. "Yes, Ron does indeed get himself into trouble often, but to suggest that Snape and the Headmaster are a part of it? That's going a bit far…"
Harry let out a disappointed sigh, shaking his head. "Whatever… I reckon, I'm onto something here, and you two don't have to believe me for it to be true. Sirius told me that both Snape and Dumbledore are still in the States, and I'm certain that they've been with Ron this entire time. That's weird, because from what I saw when Ron showed up at the Burrow, he no longer needed their help." Wait, they're still with him? That is a bit weird…
"It's none of our business, Harry," Neville said, sounding uncharacteristically firm about it. "If they're with him, then they're with him. What does it have to do with us? I mean, the way Gran talks about Ron, it's as if she's certain that he's going to change the world, so maybe that's why Dumbledore's so interested in him? We shouldn't stick our noses in their business, that's how we got into so much trouble to begin with. Hermione, you agree with me, right?" I suppose, I do, even if Harry raises a good point.
"I have to agree with Neville, Harry, I don't want to get into trouble, again," Hermione made her decision. "Please, tell me that you're not planning to snoop around like before."
Harry hesitated, and then, he shook his head once again. "No, I'm not… But I'm not going to ignore what I'm seeing, either. I'm just curious about what's going on between those three, nothing more."
"Okay…" Neville looked more relaxed, now. "Let's just keep it that way, all right? I'm pretty sure Gran will have my hide if I anger her any further." Any further?
"Your Gran is upset with you?" Hermione asked, and Neville gave a sorry nod. "Why? What's her problem this time?"
"Oh, he hasn't done anything yet, though I'm sure he wants to," Harry grinned, sniggering to himself while Neville let out a groan. What's that supposed to mean? Can't boys just talk normally?
"Harry, can you not?" Neville complained, which only amused Harry even more. "Gran's not happy about me dating a Parkinson… She can be really close-minded, sometimes…" Oh? "Downright bigoted, if I'm being honest."
"Maybe, she's not wrong this time around," Hermione all but whispered, trying not to sound too upfront about her own feelings on the matter.
"Ugh! Not you as well, Hermione!"
Tracey Davis' POV
Thursday 1st April, 1994 (St. Mungo's – Evening)
"Do you want me to replace those bandages, Trace?" Daphne offered, and Tracey shook her head weakly. "Really? Are you sure? Healer Dagny said that you ought to change them in the evenings. Otherwise, you'll be in pain, again." It can't be any worse than how I feel right now.
"I'm fine…" Tracey rasped, unable to muster any real emotion into her broken voice.
Her friends exchanged worried looks, but none of them said anything about her dampened spirits. So much happened after I was attacked, so many terrible things, and not one of them shared a word with me. Not even Daphne.
This morning, before her friends had arrived as usual, Tracey had finally convinced one of the Nurses to bring her a few copies of the Daily Prophet, and what she had found on the pages had left her truly speechless. Ron's trial and humiliation at the hands of the bloody Minister himself… All those deaths in Knockturn Alley… All those dead Purebloods at that horrendous party, including Pansy's dad… Ron's attempt at suicide… At fucking suicide! How can any of them act like none of these things happened? How can they keep making up excusing for Millie's absence, despite what Ron already told me?
"You're not getting tired of us, are you, Trace?" Theo asked, teasing. I'm getting tired of you lot hiding things from me.
"Have you heard… from Millie?" Tracey asked Daphne, staring into her best friend's eyes. "Anything at all?"
"No… She's still abroad with her parents, I think," Daphne smiled, but Tracey just kept staring at her with a straight face. You liar… How can you lie to me so easily, Daph? I'd never do that to you. "What? Why are you looking at me like that? Tracey, what's wrong? You've been acting… odd… ever since we got here."
Deciding that she could no longer wait for her friends to do the right thing, Tracey reached under her pillows and dragged out various copies of the Daily Prophet, before tossing them across the bed. The pages scattered near her feet, and her friends stared at them with ever-widening eyes.
"I reckon, I'm going to head back to my Aunt's-" Draco rose out of his chair, but as soon as she glared at him, he sat right back down. "Here we go, then…"
Daphne and the others, save for Draco, searched through the papers, until Daphne came upon the one detailing Ron's trial. She froze in place as she stared at the article, and then, she looked to Tracey with the sorriest expression the brunette had ever seen.
"…You weren't meant to see this…" Daphne managed; her voice shaking. "Tracey-"
"You're all… liars…" Tracey wheezed, feeling her eyes sting. "Liars."
Daphne and Theo flinched, while Blaise, Draco, and Pansy hid their gaze. Friends don't lie to each other! I deserve to know what's going on in your lives, especially when it's shit like this! Ron tried to killing himself, for God's sake!
"We… didn't technically lie-" Theo started.
"You acted like… everything… was just fine…" Tracey cut in, clutching at her aching throat. "Don't try to weasel out… of this, Theodore…" Stop being a coward for once in your life!
She quickly bit back her anger and disappointment with them, not wanting to shout and hurt herself further. Or, hurt them with needless cruelty. Yes, she was angry, she was bloody livid, but she couldn't even begin to imagine how hard things had been for them. In a way, her coma had been a mercy, because she hadn't seen the world lose its mind thanks to it.
"Who gave you these?" Blaise finally broke the silence, his tone distant.
"Does it matter?" Tracey asked in response, childishly kicking the papers still near her feet.
"Tracey, we didn't want to hurt you," Pansy said apologetically. "We were going to tell you everything, but after…" she trailed off.
"After what?"
"After you recovered a bit more," Daphne finished for Pansy. "We all agreed, including your parents, that learning about this nonsense wouldn't be good for you. We were just trying to protect you, Trace, I promise." Well, you have a funny way of showing it!
"Ron didn't agree," Tracey frowned at them, ignoring the growing pain in her neck. "He… told me about… Millie…"
"What?!" they all looked shocked, while Draco seemed to cringe internally.
"That's right…" Tracey rasped, narrowing her eyes on Daphne in particular. "He told me… about her psycho parents… And he told me that you two… broke up…" You can stop pretending now, liar. "I've known this entire… time…"
"He shouldn't have done that…" Daphne sighed out, averting her gaze as well. "…He really shouldn't have…"
"When did he tell you?" Theo asked, frowning deeply. "Don't tell me it was when you two were alone together… You had just woken up, Tracey, he had no right to do that!"
"And you had the right… to lie?" Tracey asked, frowning back. "At least, he was honest… with me… Ron was honest, and you lot… weren't… Think about that…"
"He's closer to being unhinged than honest these days," Theo told her plainly, which earned him several disapproving looks. "What? You all think the same, I'm just willing to say it."
"When he's not around, sure," Draco spoke up, and Theo shot him a dark look. "Say that to his face, Nott, if you're so brave."
"No one is talking to you, Malfoy," Theo said dismissively. "None of us even know why you keep showing up here-"
"He's here… because I want him to be here," Tracey cut in, feeling rather turned off of Theo at the moment. "And right now, you're the one… acting like a prat, not him…"
"A prat? Why? Because I don't like Ron putting unnecessary stress on you?" Theo demanded, but before she could answer, there was a loud knock at the door. That must be mum… Whatever, she picked a good time to show up, because I'm not in the mood to explain why hiding things from your friends-…
The door swung open, and much to everyone's surprise, Ron sauntered in with a calm smile on his face. "Hello, everyone. I'm back from the States." Ron… He's really here!
"Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear," Draco muttered under his breath, smirking at Theo. "Still feeling brave, Nott?"
They all watched silently as Ron made his way over to the bed, his skin pale and his hair slightly wet, giving it a gelled appearance. As always, he was dressed in a fancy suit, his ever-increasing height and broad shoulders giving him the image of a young man rather than a teenage boy. He stopped by Tracey's side, leaning down and kissing her cheek, before turning his attention to the copies of the Daily Prophet scattered about. He stared at them for a few seconds, and then, he let out a cold chuckle.
"You could've, at the very least, read the Quibbler, Trace," Ron joked, much to everyone's discomfort. "The betrayals just never stop, do they?"
"She knows, Ron…" Daphne huffed in indignation, frowning at him.
"Knows what?" Ron asked in response, looking to Tracey. "What do you know, Tracey? Hm?"
Whether it was his icy tone, or, the cold blizzard behind his unblinking eyes, Tracey found herself shrinking in her spot, unsure of what to say. He kept staring at her, before suddenly planting himself at the edge of her bed, wrapping his long arm around her skinny shoulders.
"I was under a lot of stress, and I did something incredibly stupid," Ron whispered to her, giving her shoulders a squeeze. "But I promise you, I'm not going to try anything like that ever again. No… No, I plan to stick around for a good while, Trace. I'm not letting the world off that easy." W-what's that supposed to mean?
Tracey studied his expression, his remorseless, calculated smile and the danger lurking behind his eyes, and she felt herself grow cold all over. He's on that bloody potion, isn't he?!
"Ron, you're not on the Calming Draught, are you?" Daphne gave voice to what they were all thinking, her haughty attitude replaced by wariness.
"Guilty as charged," Ron answered coolly.
"Fuck…" Draco muttered to himself, growing visibly tense.
"So, what were you lot fighting about, eh?" Ron asked, looking to Theo. "What's going on here?"
"Ron, we were just-" Blaise started.
"I'm not asking you," Ron cut him off, his eyes not leaving Theo. "I'm asking him." He-… He didn't overhear us, did he? Oh, Theo… Just make up some lie, quickly!
Theo shifted in his spot, clearly struggling under the pressure of Ron's gaze. "We… We were just telling Tracey that we… um… That we didn't want her to worry…"
"Worry about what?" Ron asked, 'smiling'.
"About all of this…" Theo managed, gesturing towards the papers.
"Such considerate friends," Ron said, losing all his mirth in a heartbeat. "How's your plan working out for you, huh? Does she look without worry to you?" He then turned his attention back to Tracey, his arm still around her. "Let me guess… One of the Nurses gave you those, right?"
"Y-yeah…" Tracey swallowed thickly. "But I asked for it, Ron… She just wanted… to help me… catch-up." Please, don't yell at her because of me!
"Resourceful," Ron's 'smile' turned genuine for a moment, as if he approved of her actions. "Well, I, unlike our friends, am glad that you're not content to stick your head in the sand. It's important to know what's going on around you, especially nowadays. Which reminds me…" Ron looked back to the others. "You will all stay away from Diagon Alley until further notice. There's a killer on the loose, and whoever it is, they're targeting children specifically. Three are already missing, so don't make me repeat myself." What?! There's someone stealing children, now?!
"Weren't you planning to go out there tomorrow?" Blaise asked Pansy, who quickly shook her head. "For a shopping spree? You told me you were."
"Well, I'm not going now!" Pansy looked downright disturbed. "Why isn't this in the news?!"
"Because the Ministry is crumbling, and a killer that's hunting children with impunity is only going to add to their problems," Ron shrugged. "Don't worry, though, the Quibbler will issue a warning, regardless of the Ministry's wishes. Now, Trace… I want you to read up on everything, all right? A lot has happened in your absence, and you need to know it all for your own protection. I'll have all the issues of the Quibbler released so far sent here as well, just so you don't miss anything." Really? That would be great, actually.
"Thanks, Ron," Tracey rasped, feeling a little more at ease. "Um… Have you heard from-?" she stopped, a strong pang of pain shooting up her neck. "Ow… Ow… That one… really hurt…"
Ron pulled back, looking distressed for a moment, before adorning an understanding expression. "Those bandages need changing, don't they? Draco, go call a Nurse-"
"I can do it," Daphne said quickly, moving to the side-table. "I've been changing her bandages myself; I had the Nurses teach me."
"She did…" Tracey said, still touched by the kind gesture despite her current disappointment. I should learn to do them up myself, though. I can't just become a burden on her when I return to Hogwarts. That wouldn't be fair.
"Well, until Daphne sorts you out," Ron all but whispered, lifting his left hand and focusing on his palm. Um… What's he doing?
Tracey exchanged looks with the others, but the moment Ron's hand started glowing golden, all their eyes were fixed on it. What the fuck?! That's new!
"What is that?" Blaise asked, leaning forward to get a better look. "Merlin's Beard…"
"May I?" Ron asked her, bringing his golden hand near her throat.
Tracey hesitated for a moment, before lifting her chin and giving him better access. He wouldn't hurt me, I know that, not even when he's on that vile potion. Ron wrapped his fingers around her throat lightly, pressing his palm against her damaged larynx. She immediately felt pins and needles all over her neck, which made her giggle because she was rather ticklish, but after a few seconds, those pins and needles had replaced the chronic pain entirely. Woah… It doesn't hurt, anymore. It feels really nice, actually.
Tracey hummed without realizing, closing her eyes and hugging Ron's hand with her chin. I could get used to this.
"Better?" Ron asked.
"Much better," she replied, her voice coming out smoother and stronger.
"Bloody hell, you can just Heal people by touching them, now?" Draco asked, sounding both astounded and jealous.
"Daphne, hurry it along," Ron ignored the question, looking to the gawking blonde. "This Spell takes a lot of focus, and I'm not quite there yet."
"Right," Daphne got started on preparing a new bandage, occasionally looking back to Ron's golden hand.
"Where did you learn this, Ron?" Tracey asked, smiling lazily at him.
"America," Ron replied coolly. "It's an ancient Chinese Spell, I found it in a tome."
"You and your tomes," Tracey giggled, enjoying both the lack of pain and how normal her voice sounded. "So, you found a Chinese Spell in America? That's kind of funny."
"Tracey, you sound…" Pansy started, but trailed off. I know, right… Ron's just something else.
"It won't heal the damage, I reckon, but it should provide some comfort," Ron stated, narrowing his eyes a little. "Daphne, how's that bandage coming along?"
"Almost done," Daphne replied, and after a few moments, she walked over to Tracey's other side with the bandage in her hands. "Ron, could you remove your hand, please?" Ron pulled his hand back, much to Tracey's disappointment, and then he gestured Daphne to hand over the bandage. "What? Ron, you don't know how to do it, and I'd rather not waste-"
"I know how to do it," Ron told her plainly. "I'm better than you at this as well, I promise. Hand it over. Now."
Daphne frowned because of his unfriendly words, before handing the bandage over. "Let's see, then."
Ron wasted no time in removing the old bandage, before expertly wrapping the new bandage around Tracey's neck, making sure that it was tight enough to be snug but not tight enough to be uncomfortable. Daphne's frown quickly vanished, replaced by confusion and a hint of envy. Damn, I don't want to admit it, but he is better than Daphne at this.
"There," Ron said, giving Tracey a comforting smile as he finished. "It's not too tight, is it?"
"No, Ron, it's… perfect," Tracey rasped, moving her head about. "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Ron's smile widened, his eyes inspecting his good work.
"How do you know how to do that?" Daphne asked, while the others eyed Ron suspiciously.
"Experience," Ron replied simply.
"From where?" Theo asked, his brow furrowed.
Ron said nothing, instead choosing to focus only on Tracey. "How's your recovery going? Tell me everything."
"Before I do that…" Tracey started, lightly massaging her bandaged neck. "I was going to ask you… if you'd heard anything from… Millie. She still hasn't… visited me, Ron. I'm getting worried… for her."
"Like I said before, her parents are probably keeping her under lock and key," Ron sounded as though he couldn't have cared less. "If I were them, I'd even go as far as to pull her out of Hogwarts-"
"What? They can't do that!" Pansy blurted out in a panic.
"That's a bit extreme, isn't it?" Daphne added.
"Theo," Ron shot a look back. "Is it extreme?"
"No, not for them…" Theo sighed out, exchanging a nod with Blaise. "Think about their crimes for a second, ladies… They sold people into slavery, and before that, they were running about with the Dark Lord himself. Doing extreme things seems to be their modus operandi. Why should this be any different?"
"Because this is about their daughter," Pansy tried. "Millie loves Hogwarts! All her friends are there!"
"Yes, this is about their daughter,and the last thing they'd want is for Millie to find more skeletons in their closet," Blaise said thoughtfully. "We know her, and so, we know that she doesn't support such beliefs and practices, but guess what? They know her too, and I doubt they're planning to change everything about themselves and turn Blood-Traitor, even for their daughter. They also know that Ron's never going to relent, and the longer Millie stays around him, the more likely she is to be turned against them."
"And if they do end doing as Ron says, I imagine they'll send her to Durmstrang," Theo took over. "Many Pure-Bloods from across the Wizarding World do the same, especially the sort to harbour hatred towards Werewolves and the like."
"My father wanted me to attend Durmstrang too," Draco piped in. "Mother convinced him otherwise, but he wasn't happy about it. He said that I'd learn 'the way of the world' at Durmstrang, while at Hogwarts I'd be taught nothing but Dumbledore's delusions." Well, this is just brilliant, isn't it? What horrible people…
"What are we going to do about this, then?" Daphne asked, looking to Ron. "We can't let them separate us, right?"
"I don't know about you lot, but I'm not going to do a damn thing," Ron simply shrugged, his smile still in place. "Let her reap what she's sown, I say." What…? What the fuck, Ron? How can you say something like that? What's wrong with you? "Oh, don't give me those looks… They're not going to work this time around. Let her get slapped around in the real world for a bit, it'll do her good, and the best part is, it'll also teach the rest of you some much-needed lessons about how fucked the world really is."
"Ron…" Daphne muttered in disbelief, even Draco seemed shaken by his heart of stone.
"She made her choice," Ron looked to Daphne, his smile turning into an icy smirk. "Still think I was wrong, hm? This is what happens when you think you know better than me. How long do you lot expect me to keep cleaning up your fucking messes, eh? I showed her what her parents were underneath their masks, and just because she got upset about it, you threw several fits and blamed me for being 'insensitive', instead of being on my side and talking some sense into her. All that fighting and telling me how wrong I was, and now, here you are once again… Looking to me for answers, when the only reasonable answer was there all along. She should've turned her back on them when she had the chance, but now, it's too late. Now, she's gone and confronted them, and they're not the sort of people who like being questioned."
"She's one of us, mate," Blaise spoke up. "You can't be serious about what you're saying-"
"Oh, but I am serious," Ron promised them, losing the smirk in exchange for a darker expression. "She's going to learn what happens to people who don't listen to me, and until she specifically asks me for aid and confirms that she's going to leave her cunt parents behind, I'm not going to lift a bloody finger. I won't stop any of you from trying your hardest for her, of course, but only because I know you don't stand a chance against Robert Bulstrode and his whale of a wife. You're not in their league, so I doubt they'll even listen to you, let alone allow you to change their minds. No, the only way Millicent remains with us is if she decides to leave them. She can't have her cake and eat it too. That's just not how the world works. She needs to make a choice, and once she does, I'll act accordingly."
"…And if she chooses her parents?" Draco asked slowly, and they all swallowed thickly.
"Then, may the Gods help her, because I certainly won't," Ron vowed, not caring for how hurt any of them looked, not even Daphne. "Anyway… I suppose, I should be on my way, then." Ron stood up, fixing his suit in place. "I know how this goes, after all. You're all happy to be my friends as long as I'm doing whatever you need me to do, but the moment I put my foot down, then I'm a deranged tyrant." He looked to Tracey, his unfeeling gaze making her shrink. "I'll be sure to send you those issues of the Quibbler, Trace. Make sure you read each one."
With that, he promptly left the room, leaving them all to worry about Millie's future on their own. He's… changed… Fucking hell, what exactly happened between them while I was gone?! What happened to him to make him so cruel?!
"What… the fuck… was that?" Tracey managed, looking to Daphne, who was just staring at the door in pure horror.
"That was Ron's newfound 'honesty'…" Theo answered for Daphne, shaking his head to himself. "He doesn't give a shit, anymore, that's all… He's completely lost it."
"Start talking…" Tracey looked to him, and he let out a tired groan. "Now, Theo. I want to know… everything." Ron, what's happened to you?
The Champion's POV
Thursday 1st April, 1994 (St. Mungo's – Late Evening)
"We're done here, Artyom," the Champion said as he closed the door behind himself, not caring that he left his 'friends' on a sour note.
"Already?" Artyom raised an eyebrow.
"I wanted to see her, and I've seen her," the Champion responded, heading down the clean hallway. "Tell me, Artyom, if you gave someone the chance to do the right thing, gave them all the facts, and they still chose to do the wrong thing, would you keep trying to help them?"
"No."
"Yeah, I thought as much," the Champion whispered to himself, thinking of Millicent. She wanted her parents, right? Let her have them, then. I know I said I'd help her, but fuck it. Let her learn how unfair and fucked up this world is on her own. Let her see what people like her parents are capable of. She'll come begging for help the first chance she gets, and only then, I'll help her. When I know she's turned her back on her wretched parents for good, that's when she'll be worthy of my help. Stupid people don't deserve anything good given to them, because they just waste it. If she ends up as Octavia did, then that'll be on her. Not me.
He had no doubt that the others would do everything in their power to bail Millicent out of her terrible decision, but he also knew that they wouldn't get far. They didn't have the strength required to stand in the face of a pair as ruthless as Robert and Anne Bulstrode. They don't even have the bollocks to stand up to Slytherin seventh years… All they know how to do is make noise and act self-important, because their parents are rich and own extravagant houses… Pathetic. They don't know what real power is, and that's why they'll fail. In the end, it'll still be me carrying them to safety on my back, because I myself am too weak to just cut them loose.
As Artyom prepared the floo, the Champion fiddled with the empty vial of the Calming Draught in his pocket. The effects would start wearing off soon, and seeing as he'd already had two today, he knew that he was in for a rough night. I'll try and memorise those files on the German Families, and maybe even practise my Occlumency for a bit. I have to keep myself distracted, otherwise I'll fall apart again.
"It's ready," Artyom pulled the Champion out of his thoughts. Right… Let's go home to another bunch of whining twats. "I will return to farm."
"Fair enough," the Champion whispered, waving a dismissive hand at the larger wizard. "Try to get some rest, yeah?"
"You as well."
The Champion stepped through the fire by himself, walking into a loud living room bustling with activity. Ugh… Noise…
"Ron, you're back rather soon," his mother greeted him, holding a cake in her hands. "How was Tracey, love? We were going to wait for you, but seeing as you're here early, let's cut this cake!"
The Champion didn't respond, instead, he took the time to scan the room. The twins were sitting in the middle of the room, wearing silly birthday hats, with the rest of their siblings scattered around them, including Bill. The Lovegoods were also here, sitting with Remus, Sirius, and the Golden Trio near the window. Everyone had big, stupid smiles across their faces, which irritated the Champion more than he cared to admit. I'd rather not sit in the same room as Harry, now that I think about it. How am I supposed to look that sorry bastard in his eyes? Fuck this…
"Happy birthday, you two," the Champion said to the twins, before heading for the kitchen. "I'm tired, don't disturb me."
"Ron, wait!" his mother called, surprised. "You have to be here when they cut the cake!"
"Ron!" his father stepped out of the kitchen, blocking his path. "It's good to see you back, son!"
Again, the Champion said nothing, studying the man's rosy cheeks and the pint of beer in his hand. Getting fatter by the day, I see.
"It's good to see you too," the Champion lied, stepping aside. "I'm going to bed, so I'll see you the morning."
"Nonsense, you have to join your family!" Arthur chuckled, giving him a quizzical look. "It's the twins' birthday, son! Come on, you can sit with me!" Nothing would ruin my night more, you bald twat-…
"Ron," Pandora called out gently, patting the empty spot next to her. "I saved you a seat. Sit with me for the cake, and then, you can go to bed. Please? I've not seen you since you left."
The Champion bit back his rising temper, allowing the remains of the Calming Draught to soothe him. "…Fine…"
Quietly, he marched over to Pandora's side, sitting down beside her and ignoring all the eyes on him. Stop staring at me and just get on with it already! I've things to do, people to put on my hit-list! This is a waste of my time-…
"Ron, can you hold Lysander for a bit?" Pandora suddenly asked, and the Champion gave her a knowing look. "My arms are tired, that's all. It'll only be for a few minutes." Are your husband's arms also tired?
"Sure…" Ron agreed, carefully taking the sleeping baby into his arms.
Lysander was wearing the green blanket the Champion had Charmed not long ago, his tiny, adorable face was the only part that wasn't covered. The Champion stared at his peaceful face, tuning out the rest of the world as he did so. Everyone in the room began singing for the twins, but the Champion remained silent, feeling entirely out of place. How can you sleep through this much noise, eh? I wish I could do the same… It must be nice.
"He's cute," Cedrella giggled, and the Champion looked ahead to see her staring down at Lysander with a goofy grin on her face. He is, isn't he?
The Champion gazed at his hallucination tiredly, a weak smile appearing on his lips. He knew she wasn't real, she had never been real, but he missed her terribly. He missed the feeling she had given him, the feeling of being free and content, even for just one day. The potion is wearing off, isn't it? That's why this is happening to me…
Time passed quickly as he watched Cedrella fawn over the sleeping baby in his arms, and before he knew it, he was being offered a plate of cake by Pandora. "Love, are you all right?"
"No…" the Champion all but whispered, while Pandora tried to find whatever he was staring at. "I'm very tired…"
"Tired of what?" Pandora asked, resting her free hand on his back and rubbing circles on it. "Tell me. I want to listen." Yes, let's talk about the daughter I never had, or, the perfect life I lived for a day because of some Magical snakes. Or, we can talk about the naïve girl who was murdered by the same cunts she trusted most in this world. Or, how about the insane war the Americans are planning? Or, how about the fact that Harry and I are destined to die just so you pricks can live happily ever after? Sod off… Just leave me the fuck alone, for Merlin's sake… Haven't you taken enough from me? Do you really need to eat up what little time I have left as well?
"Here," the Champion offered Lysander back to her, much to her surprise. "Take him."
Pandora took Lysander into her arms, her worried eyes fixed on the Champion, even as he got up and left the room. I need more Calming Draught… I'll have half a vial, just so I can bloody focus…
Draco Malfoy's POV
Friday 2nd April, 1994 (Tonks Residence – Late Morning)
Draco walked into the kitchen absentmindedly, his thoughts fixed upon Weasley. He was worried about the redhead, more worried than ever, because it wasn't like Weasley to abandon his friends out of spite. And yet, yesterday, that's exactly what Weasley had done; he had thrown Bulstrode out into the cold just to teach her a lesson against defying his wishes. What if he does the same to me down the line? What if he decides that none of us are worth the trouble-?
"Good morning, Draco," his aunt greeted pleasantly, but Draco barely heard her over his thoughts.
"Boy, where are your manners?" Snape's icy voice swiftly followed, stopping Draco mid-step. Godfather?
Draco woke up from his daze, looking about the dining table and spotting both his aunt and Godfather sitting in front of him. Andromeda looked a lot less jolly this morning, whereas Snape was sneering as always.
"Godfather, what are you doing here?" Draco asked, slightly taken aback. Have you finally remembered that I exist?
"I am here to take you to Spinner's End," Snape answered curtly, and Andromeda looked even less jolly because of it. "Starting from today, you will live with me." Really?
"But you can always visit us," Andromeda quickly added, while Snape ignored her outburst.
"Why now?" Draco asked Snape, mostly out of curiosity.
"I know I have been busy, but you were entrusted to my care should your parents ever become unfit to look after you," Snape replied, as if he had practiced this very response a dozen times over. "I am finally in a position to take my duty seriously, and as such, you will come with me."
"So, it's not because you want me to stay with you…" Draco should've figured, no one really wanted him around, anyway. "…It's just your duty."
"That is not what I said," Snape frowned deeply.
"You might as well have," Andromeda muttered under her breath, and Snape turned his frown in her direction. "Tell the poor boy that you want to look after him, you fool… That you care for him as if he were your own." …What…? Does she know who she's talking to?
Snape just kept frowning at Andromeda, but much to her credit, she didn't back down. "Draco, I wish to look after you… Please, go pack up your things…" It worked?!
"Can I have breakfast, first?" Draco asked, and Snape drew in a sharp breath. I'm sorry! That was a stupid thing to ask-!
"I have hired an Elf for us, and he has no doubt prepared breakfast already," Snape promised, looking back to him. "I've also taken the liberty of setting up my old room for you. It's nothing special, but it is warm and will have everything you need-"
"Good morning, everyone," a violet-haired man suddenly walked into the room, wearing Tonks' ill-fitting pyjamas. Oh, Gods! Not again!
Draco quickly looked away, not eager to see the outline of Tonks' 'manhood', again. She changed in her sleep! Again! Disgusting!
"What is this…?" even Snape was lost for words.
"Nymphadora!" Andromeda laughed, pointing towards her daughter's manly features. "You must have morphed in your sleep, again, love. Wash your face in front of a mirror before you walk around the house, at least. You know you have to be careful with your gifts."
"Oh…" Tonks looked down at her muscular body, and then she laughed without a care. "Whoops! Sorry if you saw something you wish you hadn't, boys!" She then began to morph into her usual form again, losing her tall height and built shoulders for a smaller, more feminine body. "There! All fixed up! What's for breakfast, mum?"
"Draco…" Snape started, looking to his horrified Godson. "Go get your things right now."
"Oh, grow up, Snape," Andromeda rolled her eyes.
"Right now, boy!" Gladly, sir!
Corban Yaxley's POV
Friday 2nd April, 1994 (Yaxley Manor – Night)
"You don't partake, I assume?" Corban looked back to Gaspard, holding a crystal bottle filled with Ogden's Finest.
"Find me a drunkard, and I will partake," Gaspard answered, sending a cold shiver up Corban's spine. Damn monster…
"Sadly, I'm fresh out of those," Corban said distantly, pouring himself a full glass.
"Are we celebrating?" Gaspard smirked, eyeing the full glass as Corban sat across from him. "If so, may I know the occasion?"
"No, we are not celebrating," Corban sneered, taking a long sip. "Quite the opposite, actually."
"I take it that your dinner with the Selwyn girl didn't go as planned," Gaspard's smirk grew, as if he were enjoying watching Corban's plans fail. "Did Dumbledore get to her, first?"
"It appears so," Corban muttered, how he hated that old fool. "She has no doubt joined Ronald's little alliance as well-"
"Little? Have you been drinking yourself stupid?" Gaspard asked, his amusement rubbing Corban the wrong way. "If it were up to those dirty ingrates on the streets, that boy would be the next Minister for Magic. He's beaten you, Corban, and your Master will not be pleased about losing the support of another Pure-Blood Family, especially not one as old as the Selwyns." He's right… I hate this creature, but he's right…
Corban took another long sip, thinking of his next move. Where is Arcturus? He was meant to approach Ronald on our behalf, but once again, he's vanished into thin air. Damn them all, I can't rely on anyone but myself. At the rate we're going, Ronald will turn Magical Britain into his own circus before long, with Blood-Traitors and Mud-Blood sympathisers around every corner. Damn it all, how did we Pure end up so low? To be backed into a corner by a fucking child?
"Have you learned anything about these 'Butchers of Birmingham'? Corban asked, massaging his forehead. "Anything at all?"
"No, but I have my suspicions," Gaspard replied, the laughter behind his eyes hidden by his dark shades.
"What suspicions?" Corban demanded. "Vampire, if you have anything important to share, now would be the time."
"Emilia Travers was there, as she is well-known to enjoy beheading her enemies," Gaspard said, and Corban scoffed. "And so was Ronald Weasley."
"A fourteen-year-old took part in that massacre, did he?" Corban asked, frowning. "Emilia Travers, I might believe, if you didn't have a grudge against her, but Ronald?"
"He killed that Victor lad, didn't he?"
"We found no proof of that," Corban reminded him. "I brought up Victor to him, and he didn't even bat an eyelash."
"Because he's clever," Gaspard shrugged. "Because he knows that people underestimate him because of his young age, and you've fallen right into his trap. Think, Corban… Who has benefited the most from that massacre? Who is the one controlling all the facts? Whose alliance has become the most powerful force in Magical Britain in one fell swoop? It's not Bones, I can tell you that much. I know it isn't you, because you're turning into a drunk like Malfoy. So, who does that leave? Which player has become a hero in the public's eye? Which player holds all the cards, now?"
"His hatred of his fellow Pure-Bloods is known to me…" Corban sighed out, still struggling to figure out how a child could carry out such heinous brutality. "But he is a child, Gaspard… What child could do such a thing?"
"I killed my first man when I was eleven," Gaspard answered, and Corban cocked an eyebrow. "And by fourteen, I had killed dozens. I don't care whether you believe me or not, just remember that I did my part by warning you early. His shadow is threatening to devour all of Magical Britain, and soon, there will be no place left to hide for men like you. He will tear down this pretty house of yours, and then, he will drag you and your wife screaming to the fire."
"And what of you, Vampire?" Corban felt his blood boil at the thought of his wife being threatened. "Where will you be when this shadow comes for us?"
"I will be enjoying the show," Gaspard chuckled dangerously. "And praying that the shadow finds me as well." What a lunatic…
Corban shook his head to himself, taking another sip. "How fares Dolohov?"
"He is recovering," Gaspard replied, leaning back in the chair. "He does not speak, however. He simply watches me come and go, even when I'm administering his potions. He's not like you and your schemer friends, and I can't help but respect him for it. He is a man who serves a higher purpose, like myself." You're both insane, you mean. You only care for carnage and bloodshed, even when it's your own who are up at the chopping block. "Any word from Voldemort? I want to give Antonin some good news, tonight." Don't speak his name, filth, you are not worthy.
"No… No word…" Corban answered, feeling rejected and alone. "His loyal followers have lost their power, and their lives, and yet, there is only silence."
"Shame," Gaspard said, looking to the door. "Robert will be most displeased." Robert?
There was a knock on the study door, and Corban shot Gaspard a wary look. Unnatural… That's what he is. With a wave of his hand, Corban unlocked the door, and when it swung open, the large form of Robert marched in.
"Corban, is now a good-?" Robert stopped at the sight of Gaspard, who grinned at him. "You… What are you doing here?"
"Didn't I tell you already, fat man?" Gaspard asked in response, his fangs gleaming from the candlelight. "I go where I please, and tonight, it pleased me to have Corban's company."
"What brings you to me, Robert?" Corban asked, taking another sip. "It's quite late, and I'm not in the mood to entertain tonight."
"That's quite all right, I don't plan to stay long," Robert said, shooting Gaspard a look of utter disgust. "I just wanted to know if you heard anything from Karkaroff? About my daughter's application?"
"I have, indeed," Corban replied, conjuring a letter from the Headmaster of Durmstrang. "He is still the worm he used to be, eager to do as he is told if it saves his hide. Here, it's yours." Corban offered Robert the letter, and he promptly took it. "He will allow Millicent to join his school as a 'special exemption', and she begins this coming Monday. There will be tests, of course, just to make sure that she doesn't need to redo her third year of education, but I'm sure she will pass them with ease."
"Thank you, my friend," Robert looked rather relieved. "I know you hold a grudge against that man for his cowardice, as do I, but I knew he would not deny you."
"Think nothing of it," Corban waved a dismissive hand, finishing up his glass. "Do you want a drink?"
"Not with this thing in the room," Robert replied, and Gaspard let out a cold laugh. "What became of the men I gave you, Vampire? Where are they?"
"Oh, I gave them to Antonin," Gaspard replied, and both Corban and Robert paled. Then, they've suffered a fate worse than death…
"You… You had no right!" Robert bellowed, looking to Corban for justice. "He had no right to do this! Those men were under my command-!"
"And you are under mine," Gaspard reminded him. "Your own Lord and Master said so himself. Are you going to defy him, fat man? Do you even have the strength to condemn his decision? Go on, I'm listening." Don't do it. Not in my home-…
"He was wrong!" Robert snapped, and Corban drew in a sharp breath. You damn fool! "It should've been Corban, or, myself-!"
"Robert, enough," Corban stood up, pointing to the door. "Leave my house, immediately. I have a wife, a son, and a daughter, damn you! Leave!"
"No, don't," Gaspard grinned, looking Robert over. "You… surprise me, Robert Bulstrode. That's good… That's very good. Your men are only guarding Antonin, he has not touched them in any way." Robert blinked, while Corban frowned deeply. "There's hope for you yet, soldier, because unlike Corban here, you are a fighter. There's a strength in you that's been dormant for too long, and I plan to wake it up. We'll need it when the shadow comes."
"Shadow?" Robert sneered, looking to Corban. "What is this thing talking about?"
"It's coming very soon," Gaspard rose up, giving Corban a meaningful look. "You keep your eyes open, Corban, for your family's sake, if not your own."
With that, the tall vampire sauntered out of the room, leaving only Robert and Corban behind. Ronald Weasley… Maybe it's time to see if that snake truly has venom in his bite? But how? How do I get him to show me his capacity for murder?
"Robert, I need you to do something for me…" Corban started, shutting the door with a wave of his hand. "Something we can never discuss with anyone, not even the Dark Lord."
"…What?" Robert asked warily. "I owe you, so I'm willing to listen, at the very least."
"I need you to hire an assassin," Corban started, sitting back down. "Someone discreet and deadly… I want to test a theory."
"An assassin?" Robert looked quite taken aback. "…I mean, I know of one… And he's yet to fail me, but what do we need an assassin for?"
"Is he important to you?" Corban asked in response. "Because he might not be coming back." Let's see if Gaspard is right. I need to know if I've underestimated Ronald because of his youth.
Rodolphus Lestrange's POV
Saturday 3rd April, 1994 (St. Petersburg – Late Night)
"Bella, get back here," Rodolphus hissed from under his hood, getting fed up with his wife.
"No!" Bella giggled from up ahead, dancing her way up to a Muggle homeless man slumped over with a bottle in a dark alley. "Ooh! Look, my love, a Muggle! I finally found one all by himself!"
"Bella, no!" Rodolphus ran up behind her. "We are on a mission… You can entertain yourself once we're done." My Lord, why did you send her with me? Why not Rabastan?
"Look at him…" Bella all but whispered, losing her mirth as she eyed the sleeping Muggle. "Look at the filth on him… This… disgusting fucking pig!"
"Bella," Rodolphus whispered lovingly, taking her by the hand. "We can't go to Lady Dolohov slick with blood. It would be an insult."
"It would be an insult to spare this thing too," Bella looked back, her dark eyes glazed. Merlin… "Are you going to insult your own wife, Rodolphus? For Lady Dolohov?"
"No, my love, but-"
"No buts," she hissed, ripping her hand free and pointing down at the sleeping man. "Kill him! If you love me, you'll kill him with your bare hands!" She-… Merlin, what did I ever do to end up with this monster?
"I do love you-"
"Then, prove it!" Bella stomped her foot, before suddenly pulling out her wand and aiming it at his head. Fuck! "Prove it, or, I'll kill you as well… Go on, Rodolphus. Make a choice. Me, or, that whore Dolohov you're so eager to please!"
Seeing that there was no choice at all, Rodolphus gave her a nod. He then moved into position, looming over the sleeping Muggle. I can't draw blood, so I'll strangle him. Damn Bellatrix and her 'needs'… The man was entirely defenceless, not that such a thing mattered to Rodolphus, and even when he put his hands around the Muggle's throat, he did not stir. Drawing in a deep breath, Rodolphus squeezed hard, and much to his shock, the man's neck snapped like a twig instantly, leaving the rest of his body to spasm wildly. What the fuck?!
He pulled his hands back, his eyes as wide as dinner plates, and when he looked to Bella, he saw her staring at the dead Muggle with equal shock. That was… so easy… He stood up slowly, staring at his hands as a stupid idea entered his mind. Why not? Might as well try it… Pulling his fist back, Rodolphus punched the brick wall as hard as he could. There was a loud thud, and although some pain shot through his knuckles, the damage he had done left him utterly lost for words. The old bricks had given way, leaving behind a sizable dent in the wall. Gods… This strength… This power-…
Bella suddenly took a hold of his dusty fist, eyeing it with genuine worry. "My love, your hand… It's… perfectly fine… How?"
Rodolphus stood motionless, thinking of the Dark Lord's potions. "Our Master's gift… He has made us… more… than we were before."
Something flashed behind Bella's dark eyes, and before he could stop her, she too punched the wall as hard as she could. Again, there was a loud thud, and a sizeable dent was left behind in the wake of her fist. This is unbelievable… Does his genius know no bounds? Of course, not… How foolish of me to doubt him for even a second. He has no equal, truly.
"And here I was, wasting my Magic on Lucius," Bella laughed, eyeing her dust-covered fist with renewed blood-lust. "Oh, I can't wait to see him, again! Do you know what this means, Rodolphus?! Do you?!"
"It means that we have to be careful," Rodolphus replied, eyeing the two dents. "Especially you, Bella… There aren't many of us Pure left-"
"Boring!" Bella groaned, before snoring in a rather boorish manner. "It means that I can get my sister back from those Order brats on my lonesome! Isn't the Dark Lord simply wonderful?! To give us such a gift?!"
"He is," Rodolphus smiled a little, he knew that he was going to enjoy this newfound power.
Bella suddenly took him by the hand, pulling him towards the other end of the street, into the shadows. "You know… We haven't been together since before we were locked away…" What? Where's this coming from?
"Now is not the time for this-" Rodolphus started, more eager to make contact with Antonin's younger sister.
"I want you," Bella whispered seductively, leaning back against the wall and pulling up her dark robes. "And you'd better not hold back on me… I want you to fuck me, Rodolphus. I want you to hurt me." Rodolphus felt his libido stir at the thought, and although he couldn't see his wife's features because of the dark, he remembered them quite fondly. "Don't make me wait… Come to me…"
He moved before he could stop himself, pushing her against the wall and freeing himself from his trousers. Bellatrix laughed maniacally as he kissed her neck, feeling himself grow hard under her tight grip. When he finally thrust himself into her, he lost all semblance of control, ignoring her cries and laughter as he pushed her skull into the wall. Lady Dolohov can wait, I've another mad bitch that needs tending to, first!
The Champion's POV
Sunday 4th April, 1994 (The Burrow - Afternoon)
The Champion dodged to the left, easily side-stepping the P-12's stunner, before waving his Cypress wand and sending forth a wave of flames. As expected, the P-12 raised a barrier to stop the roaring fire heading its way, as it had no time to dodge effectively. Now! Stringing together a combination of stunners, Knockback Jinxes, and Disarming Charms, the Champion began to close the distance, until he was just a few feet away from his prey. Cutis Terra! It's over!
The P-12 predictably took advantage of the small respite and pushed the barrier towards the Champion, who charged it as if he were a battering ram, easily tearing through it as if it were made of old parchment. The P-12 attempted to jump back at that, hoping to put some distance between itself and its opponent, firing a stunner at the Champion's head in the process, but that strategy failed as well, because the Champion managed to duck the Spell just in time and grab the P-12 by its wooden throat, yanking it off of the ground. Dead!
Tossing his own wand away, the Champion quickly grabbed the P-12's wand arm by the wrist, twisting it until he heard the wood crack. The P-12 began to wriggle about wildly, even kicking the Champion in his face, but it made no difference. Using his monstrous strength, the Champion ripped its arm clean out of its socket, before viciously slamming its body into the dirt. As the P-12 tried to crawl away, creaking at the joints, the Champion slammed its own dismembered arm into its skull. The clash of wood against wood echoed all around them as the Champion continued to relentlessly beat the P-12, even when its skull was in pieces, its legs spasming grotesquely. Fuck you, you fucking cunt! FUCK YOU!
"You have won," came Artyom's voice from behind him, and the Champion slowly straightened up, growling like a wild beast as he tossed the mangled arm away. "You need men to challenge you, now. Not dummy."
"Do you have the men?" the Champion asked, turning around and spotting his mother watching him from the kitchen window.
She quickly went back to washing the dishes, pretending as if she hadn't shit herself at the sight of his ferocity. The Champion shook his head to himself, deciding to ignore her for now. I haven't found a chance to talk to her about her cousin, and honestly, should I even bother? I doubt she's sorry, and even if she is, she's not going to do a damn thing about it. She's the sort who bans people from talking about her regrets, she's not the sort to right them.
"Well?" the Champion looked to Artyom, his eyes flashing red. "I asked you a question."
"Twenty-five that you were still owed," Artyom confirmed. "Death's Hand sends its best regards." Of course, they do. I just paid them a small fortune.
"Where are they, then?" the Champion asked. "My new soldiers?"
"On their way," Artyom replied, much to the Champion's delight. "As planned, they will never step foot in Sanctuary. They will disguise themselves in camps and Diagon Alley. They will find this child-stealer, and bury that scum alive."
"And they also have the names you were to give them?" the Champion asked.
"Bulstrode, Nott, Rosier, Rowle, Yaxley, Zabini…" Artyom gave a nod. "They will be watched, and, if opportunity presents itself, killed."
"And Greengrass?" the Champion asked, frowning that a name had been left out.
"Both will be watched, but not killed," Artyom gave a strong nod. Good. "And before you ask, these men don't know who truly hired them. They are following gold, nothing else. I was careful."
"Keep their pockets full, and tell them to show no mercy," the Champion turned back to the P-12, waving his hand and repairing the dummy. "Whoever amongst them kills a Death-Eater, or, a Death-Eater sympathiser will be generously rewarded. Make sure they know that."
"They already do," Artyom promised.
"Then, we're done for the day," the Champion waved a dismissive hand. "Go back to the farm, if you wish."
"Your siblings are playing Quidditch behind house," Artyom suddenly said, and the Champion looked back with a frown. Yes, I can hear their screaming.
"So?"
"Your father asked me to convince you to join them," Artyom said dully, and the Champion rolled his eyes. "Your father clearly does not understand you."
"No, he doesn't," the Champion focused on the P-12, again. "Next time he asks you to do him any favours, ask him for gold. That'll shut him up. Now, leave me. I have training to get back to." First, I'll take control of my own country, and then, I'll hit France fast and hard. After that, Germany and Austria. I'll create this divide the Americans want, and once they've weakened themselves against our common enemy, I'll wipe out both sides and take complete control. And then, in the end, I'll even challenge Fate and win my freedom! Our dream will become a reality, no matter how many lives We must take!
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Oh, my Lawd! God of War Ragnarok is coming soon! YAY!