Disclaimer: The rights to the Harry Potter series go to J.K. Rowling. All original ideas present in this belong to me.

Chapter Fifty | Pulmonology

"How in the fuck are we supposed to fight someone like that?" Amelia gasped, reeling from the pensieve memory. "Two people like that!"

She felt tempted to push the basin over, letting it crack against the floor, but the Unspeakables would tar and feather her for that, and she had no interest in slighting them.

Shacklebolt was…

Well, Shacklebolt was dead, cut down amongst the rest of the Aurors in her foolhardy attempt to capture Helene and Fleur.

Now she was as close to dead as one could be, resurrected as she was.

Her head span just thinking about it, the sheer, terrifying power it would take to wrest a soul from beneath and place it back into her cooling body.

Amelia could only pray that Helene was telling the truth.

Voldemort, Gods… she could scarcely imagine it let alone put thought to the idea that it could all be real.

She had pushed the Auror force to the extremes in preparation of what was to come. War was on the horizon, set upon a horse of red, banner raised and a sneer across his face.

Recruitment had shot up since the attack on the Ministry, eager faces lined up so far outside the doors of the department that she had to tell her secretarial staff to just give them numbers and have them come back the next day.

Britain was mobilizing to a degree that hadn't been seen since the last war, and even then the sheer amount of people eager to fight against what they perceived to be two, almighty villains was only rivalled by the recruitment drives of the 40's.

It terrified her that the three of them, the one true nightmare, could cut them down without a second thought.

How could one fight against something so overwhelming? Half the populace could hardly cast a shield charm let alone an exploding hex powerful enough to shatter someone's skull. Half the populace still remembered the last war, bodies laid out in Diagon Alley and locks strapped to their coffins to prevent any flighty corpses from trying to attack their gravekeeper.

They thought they had seen true Necromancy, but what Voldemort called his own… it was nothing compared to the ability to well and truly raise the dead.

Not to mention Fleur, the way she could seemingly create something from nothing.

They'd had to spend a week scraping seeds out of the floor after the two had left, otherwise the Ministry may very well have come down around them - so laced with roots as it was.

Amelia had never heard of such a thing.

But all signs kept pointing back to a resounding 'yes,' these two women were telling the truth. She had gone so far as to sort out a goddamn equation to sort out whether there was significant proof of that.

So Helene had raised her from the dead mere moments after striking her down, heart thundering and chilled breaths caught in her throat like a disease.

She remembered dying, the slow dimming of the lights, as it were. How her arms seemed to fail her, every muscle in her body screaming out to simply move god dammit, do something!

But she couldn't. She couldn't fight that creeping, slow wind, brushing up against her as if a lover.

"Come with me," it seemed to say, gentle.

That was when her heart had stopped.

And then she was back, gasping and choking and wondering if it was all a dream.

So Amelia began to amass an army, as she was told.

She promised herself that it was because she wanted this, and not because of some unknown compulsion that seemed to have wrapped itself around her throat like a coiled snake, whispering words in her ear to remind her of her duty.

Was this how they all felt?

Every corpse, every creature that Helene stole from the crypt, did they retain their mind? Was there a soul inside those sweetly rotting skeletons in Little Hangleton crying out in fear and fury at the corruption of their very existence?

Her heart and mind ached just thinking about it, so she stopped.

Amelia walked from her office, jabbing a finger towards her new second in command, an older man by the name of Davies.

"You. Get together a search party."

He startled, looking up from his paperwork. "For what, ma'am?"

"Take a few men to Lucius Malfoy's home, with everything going on I'd like to get his knowledge on Dark Wizards."

"Ma'am, wasn't he pardoned?"

Amelia snorted. "He spent damn near a decade in the presence of Voldemort. Imperius or not, he knows how their kind works. Go to his home, break down the door if you must. I need him here, and I need him now."

Helene never told her she couldn't meddle.

-::-

I fiddle with the glass of firewhiskey as Severus stares me down, face imperious.

"You need to be prepared."

"Damnit Severus, you just said he's gotten half the fucking creatures on his side already." I push the drink away. "Werewolves, Giants? The only reason he doesn't have the Dementors is because they only answer to me."

"Quite impressive, that," he snarked. "I thought I should forewarn you considering your latest escapade. He is moving very quickly. Attacking the Ministry made him realize that you're a very real threat."

Fleur laughed. "Us nearly killing him wasn't enough?"

"He's very studiously chosen to ignore that."

"Bloody egomaniac."

"Oh, I forgot to mention, he will be gone from the Manor for a short while. I heard that you were quite interested in Lucius and Fudge, correct?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, Voldemort will be gone from the Manor for the weekend. He's gone to speak with the Gurg personally to make sure of their allegiance."

Fleur grins wickedly. "We've got him."

Severus sat up to gather his things, tipping his head in our direction. "I thought you would take that news well. Do take care though, it seems he's caught on to your… particular method of travel. The wards have been steadily improved in the last few weeks, most likely Rookwoods work."

"Thank you, Severus."

"No." He shook his head. "Thank you, for the day you eventually crush that petulant fool's head beneath your boot. I look forward to it."

As he leaves, Fleur taps her fingers rhythmically against the tabletop. "Very convenient, isn't it?"

"It is. Do you think he's really gone?"

"I don't know." She shrugged, face scrunched together. "I wouldn't ignore the possibility that he could return in a moment."

"So we'd have to be quick and brutal."

"Extremely."

"Their wards… they're probably a blanket over the entire Manor. Nothing gets in, nothing gets out."

Fleur nodded. "Except Voldemort, of course."

"So…" I reached over and grabbed my glass, finishing it one smooth gulp. It was smoky, almost bitterly strong as it burnt my throat. "We have to expect him to show, we can't just walk in there thinking that we'll get away scott free."

"We'll just blow the walls down then."

"Would that even work?"

"It'd certainly disrupt the wards, but I don't know if it would break the walls down unless we really put some effort into it."

"Worst case scenario then, we tear the whole building to pieces."

Another wild grin spreads over Fleur's face. "Couldn't we just do that anyways? Send him a message."

"Good idea." I can feel the same expression pulling at my lips. "Diagon Alley, right?"

"I think a crucifix would work."

"I love the way you think."

-::-

The wards surrounding the Manor are delightful.

I find myself poking at them out of raw curiosity, amazed at how remarkably creative whoever put them together was.

They're intricate, laced amongst one another like a fine thread, strands of murderous silk forming a curtain of magic that would turn your blood into a highly caustic acid just as quickly as it would force upon you a terribly aggressive compulsion to devour your own tongue.

It's practically high art.

"This is… quite something," Fleur remarks, brow raised. "I wonder how old they are?"

"Very, I think. It feels as if we're about to destroy an historical artifact."

"We're already terrorists by all definitions of the term."

She laughs. "Warmongers, more like."

"Won't be any better after today," I grouse, nose wrinkled as I tug at the wards. "But, this should get the country fully mobilized for Voldemort."

"Assassinating the Minister?"

"What else could get an entire country up in arms?"

Fleur hummed her agreement as she joined me, trying to scope out any opening in the wards to circumvent.

"Doesn't seem to be anything," she mutters, arm slowly tracking up and down. "Throw a few corpses at it until it pops?"

"Seems like a good idea."

I throw out my magic, expecting to find at least a few corpses strewn about the grounds considering who the Malfoys are, but I rear back in shock at the sheer amount of death this land has seen.

Right beneath us there seems to be dozens upon dozens of long rotted corpses, and I can sense a few out further, buried beneath the Manor proper.

"Lucius, o' Lucius. Your family really does get up to no good, don't they?"

"What? Are there a lot?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. Has to be damn near a hundred people buried here, probably from over the last few centuries. Battles have been fought here, what with how the houses used to be at each other's throats… it's actually very impressive."

"Damned Malfoys…"

"It works out to our advantage. We have cannon fodder now."

I dredge up the bones from beneath the earth, soil churning and stones shifting as they're unceremoniously tugged from their graves and deposited upon now ruined turf.

Piles of cracked and shattered bone lay in a ramshackle heap, having been dumped into a mass grave what may have been a few hundred years ago, judging by the layers upon layers of sediment they're mixed up in.

Death's stone sings from my pocket as I pour unholy life into the tattered shells, a dull rattle announcing the pseudo-revival of these long dead wizards.

"Throw yourselves at the ward-line until it breaks," I command, the skeletons answering dutifully.

They claw and tear at the invisible barrier as though it were a beast, sparks of light glancing off dangerously pointed bone.

We stand there watching as the ward-line shimmers and pulses, every so often causing a skeleton to erupt in flames and collapse to the ground in a heap of ash.

Wards don't often take into account the undead, I now learn.

Inferi, yes - to a degree. They're susceptible to fire or being obliterated, but there's a very clear difference between setting something alight and crushing it into a million fine pieces.

So, I seem to have an advantage here when it comes to brute force. Throw enough bodies at something until it comes down on its own.

I can hear voices in the distance, muted shouts and what is clearly panic.

Fleur smiles at me, noticing my expression. "They know we're here?"

"I imagine so. There's quite a bit of screaming."

I point my finger at one of the skeletons and push my magic into it, the bones glowing a deep red.

It explodes.

A rapturous flash ribbons through the sky, following an immaterial dome across the top of Malfoy Manor before meeting at the top, blinking out of existence.

Fleur steps forward. "Let's go say hello."

We sprint, the skeletons shambling pell mell ahead of us, bones rattling and jaws clicking against their spines as they careen towards the manor.

Large hedgerows flank our path, and in the distance I can hear the shrieking of birds. The Manor itself is massive, an estate, more than it could be considered one building.

There are hanging pathways that bridge the main building between two others, scattered in vines and made of fine, aged brickwork.

As we get closer to the Manor, I can see a line of Death Eaters standing at attention upon the steps. They shuffle in a minor panic as we come into sight, wands raised and lights already burning at the tip.

A salvo of curses flies towards us, blasting off the skeletons and peppering us in bone and dirt.

It doesn't matter, as the skeletons reach them first, climbing over one another and sinking claws and teeth into the few dozen men that have come to meet us.

I grin at their screams as I raise up on spider-like limbs of shadow, slamming one of them into a man and impaling him through the chest. He shrieks in pain as I draw him up, flinging him towards the Manor and sending him crashing through a stained glass window.

Fleur slams her hands against the earth, thick roots blasting through the steps and wrapping around a few Death Eaters, squeezing them so tight their tongues loll out of their mouths, swollen with blood.

She ducks as a curse sails over her head, striking a man currently fending off a corpse in the back. His torso explodes, pulped chunks of flesh flying every which way.

I grab another man by the throat, crushing it in my hands before lifting his slumped body up into the path of a dangerous looking hex, bright purple and flecked with lightning.

His head begins to melt once the curse hits, a mix of blood and liquified Death Eater running over my fingers.

I let the body slip from my grasp, crushing the woman who threw the hex within a fist of stone, deep red bursting from between the fingers and splashing across the stairs.

There is shouting from further in the building as we push past the few sacrificial Death Eaters, leaving them to the skeletons. What else could they be when Lucius and Fudge still hide within the Manor?

I can taste their magic, smell it in the air like a starved hound.

Lucius most of all.

That cold, creeping power covers every surface, every crack and crevice to be found within the foyer. Voldemorts is laced within it, deep and insidious - a quiet kind of malice.

"Which way?"

"Here," I announce, looking westward. "I think they're trying to escape."

She snorts, bolting through winding corridors of rosewood.

I would take the time to admire our surroundings if we weren't desperately afraid of having Voldemort drop in at any second.

Miniature creatures of rippling flesh moan and gesture from the shadows of the room, beckoning and pointing towards where I can feel Lucius' magic most of all.

It must be his quarters.

A long staircase leads us up towards one of the hanging pathways. Fleur throws out her hand as a Death Eater jumps out from one of the many rooms flanking us, forcing fire into his lungs and leaving him there to drown.

"Quickly," she mutters, feet pounding against the wood.

I nearly slip as we turn a corner, face to face with two Death Eaters in front of a set of heavy wooden doors that reach nearly to the ceiling.

"Fuck."

"Move!" I order, pushing them out of the way with a massive gust of air. "We don't have time for this!"

They slam into the wall, letting out shocked gasps. One staggers, pulling himself up. I slice his throat open before he can get back to his feet, leaving the man collapsed and choking on his own blood.

Fleur shoots a stream of light into the others chest, forming a neat hole where his heart used to be and passing through the wall into the other room.

I hear someone shriek.

"In there."

She summons up a massive globe of water, slamming it into the doors. They're blasted off their hinges, flying into the room at a breakneck pace and burying themselves in the far wall of what looks to be a study.

Fudge stands within it, alone, surrounded by what look to be the tattered robes of Aurors - judging by the red.

Curious.

His hands are clenched around his bowler cap, scrunching it together. Sweat drips down his face in thin streams, hair sticking up here and there and his skin a pale white.

"You- you can't… I'm the Minister!" he cries as we march into the room.

I push him, the portly man toppling over and falling onto his back, hands pressed firmly against the floorboards. "Really, Fudge? You chose to move in with Voldemort?"

"V- Voldemort?" he stammers, licking his lips. "He doesn't- you know, Lucius would never- "

"Don't play dumb." Fleur stamps her foot against his gut, a pained groan pushed out of his belly. "You're in league with the madman."

"Never!" Fudge manages through pained gasps, eyes glued to the ceiling. "I would never- "

She grinds her heel, wand pointed at his face. "No lies, Fudge. We know he's back. We know he's staying here. Why do you think so many of your friends died in that graveyard?"

"Mercy! Please, have mercy!"

I kick him in the head, smiling as a tooth flies out of his mouth and rolls across the floor. "How much did he pay you?" I ask, kneeling and looking into his eyes. "What did he promise?"

His cheeks puff out, stammering like he's in the midst of an epileptic fit. "Y- you. He promised you."

"...and what did he say about me?" I reach out, running my thumb over his forehead. "That I want to own this country? That he's come to save Britain?" I click my tongue. "He's not very pretty now, isn't he? All hunch-backed and drooling? Did you get a good look at him? How his bones split the skin and you can see the white of his twisted, broken spine?"

I pull away, spitting in his face. "We did that to him. Us. You think you could get away from all you've done by selling yourself to the devil? Selling this country to him? To that thing?"

Fleur looks around, studying the room. "Lucius abandoned you, didn't he?"

Fudge shakes his head, all his usual bluster gone. "No- no, he couldn't have."

"He did." She rolls her wand between her fingers, the tips white from strain. From holding herself back. "He left you to us, knowing what we're going to do to you."

"He would never- "

"But, he did."

He starts to cry. Tears stream down his face like an overgrown infant, laying trails through the sawdust of the broken doors that has formed a thin layer upon his skin. "Please."

"No."

Fleur pulls her foot away, Fudge momentarily gasping in shock before she crushes his ankle, boot grinding against bone and bruising flesh.

He screams, howls in pain, spit rolling down his chin and eyes bloodshot.

I stoop down, hoisting him over my shoulder. Sixteen stone isn't too much of an issue, not after what I've done to myself.

Flashes of a blood soaked Room of Requirement flit through my mind before I push them away.

I was too trusting then. Too eager to hear the words of the being that had raised me, to follow the path it had paved.

Anything to win.

"We should- "

The earth shakes, the floor shrieking in protest as the very foundation of the building shifts.

"...go."

Fleur leads, blowing out a section of wall and leaping through the splintered hole, ferrying herself down upon a sheet of ice.

I follow behind, very nearly slipping as we rush from the building, both Death Eaters and the creatures of the void crying out behind us.

He's angry.

Voldemort is a storm unbound, thick black smoke whirling about him as he flies towards us, quite literally - gliding over the earth in a tumultuous cloud of scattered shadow.

Spell upon spell is flung from his wand, leaving craters in the earth as we sprint head over heel towards safety.

All we have to do is break through the remnants of the wardline.

It's not gone, no, nothing so simple as a dozen corpses thrown at its walls could truly destroy such a thing. It only needed time to recover, to remember itself and reform.

Voldemort doesn't speak a word as he pulls in a tight loop around us, setting down directly in our way.

He looks worse.

The leathery flesh that he calls skin is speckled with disease, pustules of yellow and green leaking glimmering filth. His eyes are swollen, protruding from the sockets and wet with unshed tears.

Vibrant Felfyre bursts from my wand with a crackling roar, the air around it shimmering and dew upon the grass even forty steps away superheating - leaving thick trails of steam rising towards the clouds.

He snarls, leaping over the torrential flame and shooting a line of blackened light across the ground, carving a rotting path through the dirt and clipping my shoulder.

I can feel as a chunk of my skin is cut off. Clean, like the knife of a butcher. It sags, and I can see bone peeking out from bloodied flesh, flat as can be, marrow ebbing from the joint.

Fudge screams from atop my other shoulder, held in place by the tight grip of my immaterial limb.

"Shut up," I mutter, forcing my magic into the wound and hissing as the flesh grows back, bone cracking as it shifts into place.

Fleur is busy taking control of the surrounding garden as I reach deep into the earth, pulling up the few bodies I sensed below the Manor.

The Malfoys must have had quite the parties back in the day, seeing as one of them is that of a giant.

Voldemort howls in anger as the earth beneath him explodes, both from the vines Fleur has conjured up and a large, rotting hand that grabs him by the ankle and slams him into the ground.

The fingers explode, showering the grounds with maggots and ragged meat, tinged at the edges with black and pus.

We take that opportunity to dash past Voldemort, sprinting headlong towards escape.

"Cowards!" I can hear him scream, turning to catch a glance of his broken body as it twists back together, his wand pressed against his chest. The bone moves in a stuttered, jerky mess, and I can hear the grinding of it from here.

Once more, he pulls into the air and flies towards us, a trail of black smoke in his wake just as the rotting giant pries itself from the earth, swiping at nothing.

Fudge breathes heavily in my ear, muttering over and over "I'm going to die."

"Soon," I find myself answering. "Fleur! Let's go!"

She casts hurried spells behind us as I stamp my feet, one hand raised. A tunnel forms overhead, funneling us down, deep into the earth and away from Voldemort.

With each step I push away the dirt and stone that bars our path, twisting and turning to avoid the salvo of spellfire that blasts holes in the grass above us and revealing a pale blue sky.

"He can sense us," Fleur gasps, reinforcing the path ahead with brambles, shimmering with the dull white glow of Life.

"We don't have to fight him, we just have to escape."

Another jet of light shoots down from above, blasting through Fleur's midsection.

She shrieks, hand pressed against her belly as she staggers forward, tears in her eyes. "Let's go!" she waves me on, face pale. "I'll be fine!"

I can smell her ruptured intestines from here, how the stench fills the earthen corridor.

That was too close.

I hold my wand against her back as we run, muttering an ancient Aramaic healing charm all the while when I suddenly feel us pass through the magical curtain.

Without hesitation Fleur grips my arm, taking us back to Slytherin's chambers.

We collapse in a heap within the drawing room, Fudge lying on the carpet in a nearly catatonic state.

I crawl over to Fleur, intent on properly healing her wound.

It was much too close.

Blood pours freely from her belly and her back, already pooling in her clothes and running onto the floor. The wound stretches from close to her shoulder blades and out through her pelvis, having shorn through her lungs, stomach, liver, and intestines in its path.

"You're going to be okay," I whisper, pressing my hands against the wound and chanting.

I let my magic suffuse her body, threading loose flesh back together and pulling the shards of broken bone back into place. Her breathing starts to even as the pain subsides, eyes scrunched shut as she lets out deep, shuddering gasps.

I flick my wrist, summoning a blood replenishing potion from the wall, placing the bottle against Fleur's lips.

"Drink. I can mend the body, but I can't fix blood loss."

She nods hurriedly, a grimace flickering across her face as she swallows the potion in a few, smooth gulps.

"Fuck," I breathe, checking over her one last time. "That was… you almost got hit in the heart."

She laughs drily. "That close?"

I press one finger against the tender flesh near her spine, another a few inches below her ribs. "Yes."

Fleur grumbles quietly, eyelids heavy. "I may need a nap after that."

I smile. "Fudge?"

"Almost forgot." She blinks, rubbing her face with both hands. "Give me a minute. Severe blood loss and all."

I help her to her feet, leading Fleur over to the couch. "Take as much time as you need, I'll make sure Fudge is ready."

That seems to catch the man's attention, his head swiveling. "Ready?"

I scuff my boots on the floor as I walk over to him, squatting down. "We're going to make an example of you, Fudge. What happens to those who side with Voldemort." I lean closer, grinning. "What happens to those who kill our friends."

"I never- "

Unable to take his grovelling, I stun him, his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

I can feel a dull thrum at the back of my skull, a steady beat like a wardrum - bones and ash.

Eyes shut tight, I push away the pain.

-::-

Diagon Alley, miraculously, is un-warded.

Most likely too large, too chaotic a place to be held down by such strict wards.

The Alley itself is… a wondrous piece of magic.

Over the years its original ward, one to keep it hidden, has mutated so much as to make it a living breathing space on-par with Hogwarts herself.

It's rudimentary, an infant in comparison to the castle, but it's still a wonder of magic.

But, then again, one can't readily apparate within the Alley just the same as Hogwarts, so I may just be out of mind.

People scatter out of our way as we walk towards the hub, looking out upon Gringotts bank.

Just a few months ago we slew Death Eaters here. I can still see signs of the battle. Fresh stonework, missing plants, a chip above a doorway that someone missed in the repairs.

Battles still leave signs, even when mended by magic.

Fudge floats ahead of us, bound tightly in rope. He snivels and whines as Fleur draws a barren tree from the earth - cobblestone upending and splitting open like a popped sore.

She lines it with kindling. A pyre, built for one man and one alone.

People watch from their windows as we tie Fudge to the pyre, his eyes wide with fright.

"You don't have to do this!" he whimpers, struggling uselessly against the ropes. "Please! We can stop this all now, I can tell the aurors to stop! Please!"

I ignore him, tightening the rope around his legs and grinning as I hear the broken bone creak.

He howls.

"It's too late for that, Fudge." I step away, watching as a crowd forms in the distance.

Curiosity beats fear, I guess.

"This country is at war. We are at war. You're the one who was sleeping with the enemy." Fleur and I turn to face the faraway crowd, and I press my wand against my throat.

"We have not come to fight you." My voice rings out across the alley, calm yet weighty. "We have come to show you the man who sold this country to Voldemort, to a monster long thought dead."

Some in the crowd gasp, edging forward and out of the shadows. I can see Aurors trying to corral them, to pull them away, but it's all for naught.

They want to know why we're here. What we have to say.

"Voldemort has risen. As of three months ago, in a little graveyard out in the countryside, he stole his way back to life. He brought his old friends, some of whom are no longer with us today." I smile. "We did that. We fought his men, we killed his men, and we will continue to do so until Voldemort well and truly lies dead."

Fleur begins to speak, her glare hard as it cuts across the Alley. "Your Minister, Fudge, chose to sell this country to him in an effort to kill the two of us - pandering to the words of his handler - Lucius Malfoy."

She draws a vial from her breast pocket. Veritaserum, gifted to us by Severus.

"With this." Fleur shakes the bottle. "You will know the truth."

Fudge squirms in his bindings as Fleur presses her fingers against his jaw, forcing it open. He moans as she lets three drops fall neatly onto his tongue, patting his cheek as she tucks the vial away.

I press my wand against Fudge's throat, nodding at Fleur to continue.

"Cornelius Fudge, have you just been administered veritaserum?"

"I b- believe I have," he answers plaintively. "Yes."

"When were you born? Just so we can be sure of its effects?"

"March twelfth, nineteen forty-two."

"Excellent," Fleur hums, tapping her chin. "What is the worst thing you've ever done whilst in office?"

"Disappeared a muggle-born girl for my secretary after she'd gotten carried away." His eyes bug out, jaw trembling as he tries to fight the potion. "She'd tortured her, had too much fun. We had to clean up the mess, make sure no one heard about it."

"And how did you react when you were told that your secretary had tortured and murdered someone?"

"Shocked, annoyed. She almost ruined my chances of being re-elected."

"No sympathy for the woman? Her family?"

"A muggle-born?" he chokes on his words. "N- no one of consequence. We w- wiped her family's minds. She never existed."

I keep my eyes on the crowd, their shocked, disgusted expressions.

"Fudge," I interrupt. "For the last week, have you been staying in the home of Lucius Malfoy?"

"Y- yes," he stammered, drenched in sweat. "Please, please don't- "

"Was Voldemort staying in Lucius Malfoy's home as well?"

"Yes."

A gasp like I've never heard - not outside of the cinema - sweeps through the crowd.

Some people shout in fright. Others are quiet, contemplative. "You killed our Aurors!" one man shouts, pushing his way to the front of the teeming throng.

"We did."

He spits, face red. "Why should we trust you?"

"You shouldn't." I point at Fudge. "But neither should you trust him. Know why those Aurors died? Because they wouldn't let us get him. Know why they died? Because they tried to kill us first." I clench my fist, knuckles popping. "Unless you wish to end up like them, I suggest you keep your mouth shut. Otherwise you might find yourself without a jaw."

"Voldemort is back," Fleur shouts, calling out over the rising panic and fearful muttering. "We are going to kill him. If you stay out of our way, we will stay out of yours." She pauses, letting her words hang in the air like a guillotine. "If you get in our way, we will kill you."

With that she sets the kindling alight, flashes from a nearby rooftop capturing the moment, a wizard leaning next to a chimney with a camera in hand.

The world will know.

Fudge screams as the flames lick at his heels, wet sobs racking his body. An ember lands in his hair as the fire dances, rising up around him like an ocean swell.

His voice is raw like gravel as his agony echoes off the walls, trapped in single paned glass and old thatch.

He dies like that, agonized, choking on a plume of smoke that comes from his own burning body.

"Let this be an example to you, to Voldemort, of what will happen if you wrong us."

Fleur takes my hand and we leave the blackened corpse behind.

So, I seem to have a lot of people wondering where the story is going and why Helene and Fleur are acting this way.

This is all planned.

The next few chapters are going to be a hell of a thing.

Trust me. It's going to be awesome.