"Text" – Thoughts

"Text" – Spellcast

"Text" – Non-English Words

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, JK Rowling does

Chapter 3 – Anger Point

Date: Friday, July 21st 1995

Location: Headmaster's Office

A thunderous crack accompanied the roar of green flames that jettisoned harmlessly from the large fireplace as Albus Dumbledore appeared in his office once more. His face was that of uncharacteristically extreme irritation, apparent through his movement and the dangerous amount of magic he was leaking. Frustration upon frustration had brought the usually calm and gentle-seeming supercentenarian to an angered state.

It had only been a week since the Ministry had announced that Harry Potter had been killed by the dementors, courtesy of a certain Arabella Figg, who Albus was beginning to grievously regret putting in charge of watching over Harry. Perhaps a more strategically minded or covert person should have taken up the mantle? Regardless, the damage was done.

"What's more irritating," Albus thought as he sat down as his desk, "is how untouchable she is."

Luckily for them both, Arabella had not in any way hint at any confidential information during her little session with the WWN, not even mentioning Mundungus's name. Of course, Albus took care of that source of ire as quickly as he could. Dung didn't even put up much of a fight when Albus pronounced him guilty for numerous charges of fraud, theft (of almost every variety), extortion… the list went on quite a while. Perhaps it was his guilt over letting one of the most famous people in the world die for a few galleons worth of products?

Albus shook his head, hoping to clear his head a little. Mundungus had been a very useful person to have within his sphere of influence, but that blow had been too great for Albus to look over. It, however, gave him the annoying task of having to once again find good contacts in the underworld.

With a small sigh, Albus looked at all the papers on his desk. With a lazy wave of his hand, Albus organized the sheets generally and unceremoniously incinerating the rather large stack of hate-mail that had arrived between the last few hours he had been away from the school. Though the mail's magical contents were thoroughly neutralized, the castle's mail organization system would keep the letter mostly intact, provided that the enchantments on the letter were not too dangerous. For an almost millennium-old system, Hogwarts's system was still served incredibly well.

With a fraction of a frown, Albus looked at the other stacks of paper on his desk. As much as he wanted to, Albus knew that he couldn't simply vaporise the paperwork that remained. He activated the magical-mechanism that he had designed to assist with his bureaucratic duties as he began to get to work. Oh how he wished he could simply clone himself and get the work done at an exponentially high speed! But, alas, life was one of the exceptions to Gamp's Laws of Transfiguration.

It was a small marvel that so much work could accumulate so quickly, Albus thought irritatedly. He felt like he was experiencing the muggle-perceived phenomenon of 'déjà-vu' as this had been the second time in the last few months where he had to virtually live in his office due to the amount of matters he had to attend to, not to mention the amount of hate-mail that he had been receiving as of late. What did the senders think he was supposed to do? Put an reverse-portkey or similar device on Harry?

Albus shook his head as he looked at the first sheet, immediately frowning as he looked at what it was. Dolores Jane Umbridge's toad-like face leer back at Albus as he studied the document. It was a warrant for the woman's arrest.

Albus wanted to simultaneously frown and cheer as he read on. It had been quite strange that Madame Umbridge was so easily found to have been the culprit of sending the dementors to attack Harry. It was almost suspicious too, if Madame Umbridge's extreme beliefs were not so well known. Truly though, it was rather odd that a person who was as cunning as Madame Umbridge would make such a careless error of allowing herself to be seen exiting Azkaban, which had then lead to the ardent investigation that had led to the document sitting on his desk. It was almost as if she had been set up to fail…

Albus shook his head. No, that was not the most peculiar thing. Dolores Umbridge had gone missing only a day or two before the announcement of Harry's death by the ministry. It wasn't until only a few days ago when the aurors knocked on her door did they find her missing. It took a few more days, after the hit-wizards were called in, before they found her ravaged corpse in an abandoned shack near London. As far as Albus knew, the autopsy was still ongoing, though it was still unclear as to why the woman had died.

Albus vanished the outdated document as he continued to ponder. He had no lost love for the questionable woman, especially after he had done a small investigation on her background when she had first rose in the ranks of the Ministry, a very unflattering picture that in many ways complimented her political attitude. It was no small wonder that the woman gained so many enemies. Perhaps it was one of the many she had trampled on her way to her position who had engineered her fall? Albus's frown marginally grew. He had no time for political speculation, that was a job best left to sensationalists like Rita Skeeter (he chuckled, for he finally looked forward to reading one of Skeeter's articles).

A knocked sounded on the office door, causing Albus to look up. He lazily waved the door open to allow his visitor in.

"Come in," he said, slipping easily back into his grandfatherly state. Minerva walked into the office with more documents in hand.

"Pardon me for the intrusion, Headmaster," she said with a curtsey. Albus's frown increased by a fraction as he witnessed the unusually formal display.

"Yes, Minerva?" he asked. The young (from Albus's standpoint) woman gazed back at him stoically. Despite how little emotion was conveyed by her eyes, Albus could easily read the entirety of the fervid anger that she held. He could hardly blame her of course; it had been all the same when her students fell in battle during the war two decades prior.

"Here are the revised curricula for the upcoming year for both Transfiguration and Potions. The school board has already expressed its approval of it."

Albus resisted the urge to grit his teeth as he heard those words. The memory of a certain Wizengamot meeting repeated in his head as he remembered that he had even more sources of frustration than usual this early in the year.

Pius Thicknesse was not a particularly bad person in terms of qualifications or political stance. In fact, given his record at the ministry and grades and proficiencies that he had attained, Pius could be in some ways considered perfect. Perfect, as far as the school board, Wizengamot or Ministry were concerned but Albus had a bone to pick with that man.

"Thank you, Minerva," Albus replied with the barest measure of formality as he accepted the papers. He frowned as he looked down at the scrawly signature of Severus Snape on the first sheet.

"Has Severus spoken to you since that night?" Minerva asked quietly. Albus was silent, giving the Head of Gryffindor all the information she needed.

"He has been busy restocking the Hospital Wing," Albus said somewhat truthfully. Minerva raised her eyebrow a fraction but disregarded it.

"Well then, Headmaster, I shall be off." Albus looked up to see Minerva walking briskly away as she passed the Gubraithian braziers that lined the front of his office. After a few moments, Albus let out an audible sigh, the first in a very long time.

He wasn't used to having so many of his closest confidantes and friends either coldly speaking to him or even outright ignoring him. Even Elphias seemed rather miffed, only writing a painfully short response to Albus's request for advice. And then there was Sirius, who had the temerity of blocking him from entering 12 Grimmauld Place!

Albus summoned a bottle of Ogden's Finest from the far reaches of his office and quickly poured himself a glass. He took a long sip from the glass as he began to plot. The board was so much more different than he had originally anticipated it. Nevertheless, Albus knew he had to stay strong.

"The light must never have no leader," he thought, "At least my contingencies are beginning to take fruition."

With luck, the Longbottom lad would be able to take Harry's intended post, then all would be well. Albus finished his glass before he banished both glass and firewhisky back to their storing locations.

He drew his wand. The ancient rod hung loosely from his hand, the old wand that he had won from his duel against Gellert all those years ago. With a circular wave, Albus quietly cast a spell.

"Luna Nox."

And all went dark.

Date: Sunday, July 23rd 1995

Location: The Burrow

Meals were a tense affair at the Burrow. Actually scratch that. It had been very tense in the Burrow since that night, simply that meals were more tense. Not a single word of conversation passed between anyone other than Arthur and Bill, both of whom were discussing classified information in hushed tones. Everyone else was not there, either physically or mentally. Case-in-point, only Ron, Bill and Arthur were at the table, the former deep in his thoughts while the latter two were conversing.

The kitchen was unusually quiet as Molly could no longer be found bustling around like a muggle housewife or maid, simply allowing the magical appliances to do all the work as she remained in her room, only willing to come out for meals. Occasionally, one could hear the angered wails of frustration that would arise from that room, no-one dared to enter for fear of the infamous 'Prewitt Wrath' and so she stayed, cold and despondent to the world.

Even the house in general was much quieter than usual. Fred and George's room on the second floor had not produced any noises ever since that day a week ago, save for a round of twenty-one small blasts on the following day. Since then, everything was quiet, eerily so, even if were to be expected. The twins themselves seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth sometimes, only occasionally showing up for meals as it suited their fancy. Even then, the two usually mischievously jovial pair were painfully sullen, as though they had been grieving a lost brother.

Ron let out a small sound as he looked around the table. "What a reversal of events," he thought bitterly. Ron felt as though someone had carved deep into him and cut out a large portion, leaving a very hollow stomach and heart, neither of which could be filled by anything. He had received a letter from both Hermione and Tracey, the former of which who couldn't actually finish her letter if the large teardrops on the sheet were any indication. Tracey's letter was more complete, though Ron could tell that she too had been sobbing as she wrote it out.

Tears sprang to Ron's eyes as a burning feeling began to envelop him. The visage of the smiling, grandfatherly Albus Dumbledore rose amongst the burning coals that was Ron's rage. Why couldn't he help Harry? Surely he would have some way of saving him, just like what he did with the phoenix and hat in their second year, or that time turner in their third! Dumbledore had always shown himself to be so powerful, especially that one time when he had effortlessly defeated Barty Crouch Junior a few months back. If he were so powerful, how could he not have been able to protect Harry from two measly dementors?

Not for the first time, Ron slammed the table hard, causing the plates on the table to shake. He knew he was being somewhat irrational but Ron needed someone to blame for the loss of his best friend. Looking around, Ron could even begin to even feel some rage welling up inside him directed at Harry. Why did he have to die, taking most of Ron's family's spirit with him. The thought horrified him the moment he thought of it.

Ron's father stood up abruptly, clearly displeased at whatever conclusion his conversation with Bill had reached.

"I have to get back to work now, Arnica is expecting me."

A sullen nod from Bill answered him and Arthur walked rather briskly towards the fireplace. Before his father existed the kitchen, Ron saw his stone-cold face glancing back at him. It was clear that Arthur Weasley was doing his best to mask his ire from the family, though anyone could tell his true feelings. Ron downturned his eyes. Before last week, he hadn't ever seen his father like this.

A hoot from an owl came through the attic and Bill quickly disapparated to receive the mail. Ron found himself alone on the dining table, watching the magical pots and pans cook up a lower-quality meal than he was used to. Not that he could blame his mother though…

Ginny was not in her usual seat at the table but Ron knew exactly what she was up to. Even at times late at night, Ron would hear loud wails of sadness all the way from his fifth floor room. Even at that distance, he could tell that it was the cries of his despondent sister, whom he hadn't seen in almost a week by now.

A rather loud pop came from the air near Ron as Bill had apparated back to the table. His expression mimicked their father's, looking stone cold as he held out the message.

"Look." Bill's statement left Ron no room to argue as he gingerly took the sheet of paper.

Ron easily identified the eloquent handwriting of his brother Percy and began to read the letter before his blood began to run cold. With shock and anger in his eyes, Ron unconsciously dropped the letter.

Bill looked pensively at Ron, who was now looking outright furious. The air around Ron's hand began to stir slightly but the effect faded almost as quickly as it had begun.

"Can we kill him?" Ron asked quietly. Bill closed his eyes. He could understand how angry Ron must feel right now. Bill hadn't even met Harry for long but had almost instantly taken a liking to the messy haired-bespectacled lad who had so intricately woven his way into his family. Harry's passing truly felt like a death in the family.

"No, we may not," Bill answered resolutely. He could see the immense rage that was seething through Ron's eyes, wanting to lash out at something, anything. It was remarkable that Ron had even kept it under control over the past few days, a type of self-control that Bill would not in a million years have expected from Ron, even only a short year ago. Perhaps something had changed in him this year?

Bill looked back at his youngest brother. As much as Percy's answer had dismayed him, he couldn't completely fault Percy for making such a decision, not that he would expect Ron to understand in a similar way. It also wouldn't do to allow Ron to lash out, property damage aside. Both their mother and sister were barely able to communicate as it were and Merlin knows what the twins themselves were up to. An idea popped into Bill's head.

"Look Ron, how about I teach you a few things I've learned in my time in Egypt?"

Ron took a moment before he stopped glaring at the piece of paper in his hand. His expression slowly changed from ire to curiosity as Bill smiled gently at his younger brother. It had been too long since the two of them had ever done anything together, the decade long age-gap between them making it quite hard for them both to find much common ground.

"What 're we doing?" croaked out Ron, clearly still angered by the letter. Bill kept his face neutral as he answered.

"You know how most Noble House estates had large open rooms where the inhabitants would use to clear their heads by releasing their anger through spellwork?" Ron nodded but still had a slightly confused expression on his face.

"But wh–" A flash of enlightenment dawned on Ron as he saw Bill pointing out of the window, where their rather untamed 'garden' lay.

"Welcome to our 'Danger Room'," Bill joked, hoping to lighten the situation slightly. Ron's fully confused look caused Bill to slap his forehead. "Just come out."

Ron followed Bill out of the house, much shakier than he expected. Bill looked back at his brother with a sad smile. Ron was faring much better than both Ginny and their mother, that much he was certain. On the other hand, Bill knew that there was more to Ron than he had ever realized. Hopefully, this little session would clear up a few things.

Location: Greengrass Manor

On the other side of the country, a certain blonde girl had her wand out facing a multitude of illusionary targets conjured up by a small stone that her father had procured for her. Said father was watching his daughter from a few paces away with a cold expression on his face masking his true emotions.

"REDUCTO!"

The white projectile that projected from the tip of her wand left with the speed of a bullet, emitting an almost shrill, piercing sound before it collided with its target – a slab of rock disguised as a masked Death Eater. The extremely overpowered spell completely obliterated the rock, sending nothing but a fine powder cascading across the floor of the room.

Cyril's eyes widened a fraction and stared shocked at his daughter's sheer power. He of all people knew how the simplest curses could sometimes be the most potent but for Daphne, this was a whole new level of power that she had pushed into the Reductor Curse, or as far as he had seen. It almost made it plausible that… no, that was still impossible. No person her age, not even a prodigy should be able to cast that…

Meanwhile, Daphne looked at the results of her work with an irritated expression marring her face. She had only recently been released from the hospital, earlier than the healers had recommended but Daphne's insistence had gotten the better of them. A strong feeling of restlessness had taken ahold of her and Daphne knew she had to do something or lose her mind.

"I missed by a few centimetres," she commented. Behind her, Daphne could hear her father grunt in response. With a small sight, Daphne allowed her shoulders to fall as she sheathed her wand.

"Very well, father, I will acknowledge my need of wearing those 'spectacles'," she said with distaste. Daphne turned around to see her father's stony gaze upon her.

"The glasses I have commissioned for you are specially designed to fit you in combat and any other situation. Many a powerful wizard and witch have worn such apparel, fitted with their own charms and counter-curses of course. Of course, you may customize your pair as you see fit."

Daphne knew it was pointless to argue with the man, particularly because of how right he was. While it wasn't by much, Daphne could easily tell just how bad her vision seemed to have deteriorated since that fateful night. She still could only remember chunks of what happened but all she knew was that it had been horrific. Much like her having to wear glasses.

"Pardon me, father, but would it not be easier to commission a pair of those 'contact lens' muggles use?" Her father gave her a look.

"I assure you, the glasses that have been commissioned are more than sufficient for your use. If you so desire, you may do as you wish in that respect. I however, do not find any reason why you may have to."

Daphne smiled slightly as her father went on about other famous wizards and witches who wore spectacles in the past. She however knew (or at least thought) that it was simply another case of wizardkind being unwilling to leave their traditions, especially not choosing something that was completely developed by muggles. Now if healers were only more willing to research how to fix people's eyesight, maybe this situation could be avoided altogether.

"… as much as I disliked the man, even James Potter…"

Daphne froze at the mention of the name 'Potter'. A traumatic memory flowed through her, causing Daphne to shudder. Without warning, a certain amount of anger poured through her as she listened to her father continue to talk.

This was not the first time where she had felt these sudden impulses of rage but knew exactly what to do.

"Excuse me, father, but I must cast a spell," Daphne interjected. Her father frowned but stopped speaking, allowing Daphne to once again draw her wand against another slab of rock that sat in the middle of the room.

"Glacius Eructo!"

A large shard of ice rocketed towards the illusion of the Death Eater. A loud crack could be heard as bits of ice and rock came flying out of the massive impact. Daphne glared with quiet rage at the debris she had created.

"Well done."

Daphne tried to suppress the majority of her irritation as she turned around to look at her father who had his signature stoic expression on at full force. Daphne resisted the temptation to curse under her breath, knowing that it would only serve to anger her father. Instead, she curtseyed.

"Thank you for your compliment, father," she said with gritted teeth.

In her mind, she felt a burning desire to hunt down the ones responsible for her current feelings. As always, her mind quickly jumped to a certain messy haired boy, who's goofy smile she had long since become accustomed to. What was once a thought which merely induced slight irritation in her now filled her with rage. But that quickly faded away.

Daphne did not know what to think and her thoughts would quickly turn to the toad-like face of Dolores Umbridge, which filled her with even more anger. It felt like a constant, vicious cycle which she would fall into whenever she was alone. Even the ice-hardened façade that Daphne was so proud of cracked under so much pressure. No wonder the only person willing to deal with her now was her unflappable father.

"Back to your training, Daphne," her father reminded.

Daphne pursed her lips but turned back to the rock slabs in front of her. She had specifically requested her father allow her to practise her spellwork in this room, mostly so that she had a space to vent her anger. Unfortunately, the man had apparently not understood what she meant when she asked for a 'private' usage of the room as she soon found herself blasting the rock with her father watching, judging her from behind…

That last thought lingered in her mind.

A thought of Harry's face re-entered her mind, it always did when she was trying to focus. Why that was certainly was beyond her but at the very least she knew how irritated she got from it. His goofy face morphed into Umbridge's, as it usually did, filling Daphne with evermore anger. A few tears welled in her eyes.

And so she incanted.

"ARUSPICES AUFERO!"

Daphne fired the dark spell at the rock seemingly without a care in the world. In the back of her head, she could hear her father's shout but she paid it no attention. With a resounding blast, the spell collided with the rock. A few moments later, the rock seemingly imploded, jettisoning fractions of its center out as though it was being turned inside out.

"DAPHNE QUEENIE GREENGRASS!"

The blonde froze and looked back at her father before almost gasping in shock. The usually stoic Lord Greengrass was absolutely livid as he glared down at his daughter. For a moment, Daphne felt as though she had been reduced to her five-year-old self, being scolded by her terrifying father.

"What in Merlin's name possessed you to learn such a dangerous spell!" he screamed. Daphne flinched. Naturally, the real reason was for her to have an ace-in-the-hole for the upcoming year. It was no secret to her that Pansy would be undergoing equal, if not more dangerous practise of dark spells and magicks just to get an edge on Daphne. To level the playing field, Daphne had decided to visit their family library and 'learn' the most debilitating spells that she was certain that she could cast.

"What do you have to say for yourself!" her father roared.

It was a clichéd line, Daphne knew, but the combination of her father's aura, his enraged expression and drawn wand made it all the more frightening. She felt her focus elapse for a single moment. And it was then, did the man strike.

Daphne felt her mind being forced open as a rush of air hit her face. She almost fell down in shock as she realized what was happening, not that she could do anything to stop her father from reading her mind. The legilimentic attack lasted a few more moments before Daphne felt her mind loosen considerably. She let out a breath, her anger and fright both depleted. However, it seemed that her father was only all the more displeased.

"Get out." Lord Greengrass's words were as cold as ice and Daphne knew not to challenge him.

Her punishment would come later. For now, there was no telling what Lord Cyril Greengrass would do with the information that his strongest business partner's daughter had all but declared war on his own. With her tail between her legs, Daphne quickly left.

Location: The Burrow

Bill looked around the garden with a mixture of shock and awe as he saw the remains of the garden. A chill ran down his spine as he looked around the area. Fortunately, their little session had not extended beyond the reach of the house's security wards as no muggles had come to investigate the matter. With a sigh of relief, Bill looked back at the devastation.

While the garden could not be considered neat since Mrs. Weasley had stopped maintaining the area, the current state of the area was by far the worst that Bill had seen since his mother had prohibited the twins from experimenting in the garden. Holes of vary sizes covered the landscape dotted with chunks of dirt, uprooted when Ron had used the tunnelling charm with varying degrees of power (or accuracy).

The smell of cut grass permeated the air, courtesy of Ron hacking away at the surrounding foliage, now reduced to nothing but ribbons thanks to the sword-forming charm. Lying in the middle of all this was an exhausted Ron, who had fallen back to sleep from exhaustion.

Bill walked up to his younger brother with a measure of pride. He had been pleasantly surprised at how far Ron had come since the last time they had really spent time together as brothers. However, the harrowing reason for their gathering quickly reminded him of the nature of their situation.

"…bledore…"

Bill snapped his gaze to his younger brother and quickly examined him. Contrary to his usually peaceful sleeping expression, Ron seemed extremely uncomfortable, showing signs of still repressed anger. It wasn't difficult to see why it was as such. Ron must have overheard parts of his conversations with their father about Dumbledore's suspected involvement in the incident and had put the pieces together.

It had been a great surprise for Bill to learn just how overinvolved Albus Dumbledore had been in wizarding affairs, having to juggle so many important positions at once while caring for so many was virtually impossible, something which seemingly not many actually knew. Like many, Bill had doubted his father when he was told this information, mostly because of how hotly his mother countered his points. It wasn't really until now when Bill really understood the true gravity of the situation.

Albus Dumbledore was without a doubt one of the greatest wizards of all time. He was also either over-capable to the point of under-capability, or simply was insane. It was a moment of enlightenment for the twenty-four-year-old wizard, one that he sorely wished he learnt of sooner. Perhaps he could have done something to protect Harry, knowing that Dumbledore simply couldn't afford to watch over so many things at the same time… Bill knew that it was simply hindsight speaking as he looked back at Ron's pain stricken face. After all, who could predict that dementors would attack him…

Bill was so lost in thought that he didn't notice the owl until it had begun pecking him in the head. With a yelp of pain, Bill quickly jumped back and placed his arm out. The owl landed and began grooming itself as Bill untied the letter that was fastened on the owl's leg. From the messy scrawl, he deduced that the letter was from Charlie, the only brother than had not yet responded to the letter. Hoping for good news, Bill quickly paid the owl and began reading the letter.

A few moments later, Bill frowned and stuffed the letter into his back pocket. As troublesome as that was, Bill now had a family meeting to plan, one that would most probably be the most important meeting they had ever had.

And he was not looking forward to it.

With a resolute sigh, Bill Weasley made his way back to the house, casting one last look at Ron before he entered the house. Ron would be fine in their backyard, having a few minutes to recuperate on his own. What the older redhead didn't notice however were the owls that landed a few feet away from his younger brother, just a few seconds after he had re-entered the house, one carrying a letter with a sigil of three ravens and a drawn sword and the other with a package baring the crest of Gringotts Bank.

Location: Ship sailing to Ionian Islands, Greece

A familiar scene of a rather large mouse scampering through a crowded area played out in front of us. Its fur seemed to change color every time the mouse changed from one terrain from another. Using this charm derived from a chameleon's ability, coupled with darting between areas of shade and alleyways made the mouse virtually impossible to detect, let alone catch even by the most eagle-eyed sailors that watched the deck.

Voldemort knew that it was critically important for him to keep on the move, both to maintain anonymity as well as to give people the feeling that he was omnipresent. It was a very effective tactic that he had used in the previous war, where he used a version of the apparition technique where he would teleport to one of his follower's Dark Marks rather than a given location. It was a much more precise form of travel and the seeming omnipresence that came with it had really been effective for his campaign…

The mouse broke from his reminiscence as he quickly found a small hole in his vicinity. With the enhanced nose that this particular form gifted him, Voldemort was able to determine that the area was safe. And so he quickly dove in.

The possessed mouse took a moment to catch its breath. It was incredibly apparent to him that this body severely needed exercise, a fact abundantly clear after this particularly exhausting run through the ship. It was a pity that they had not been able to find more than one functioning invisibility cloak but…

Nagini slid up behind her master, gently caressing her master's head. Even if he were in the body of a mouse, the snake could easily recognize her master's unique magical scent, such was the bond between man and horcrux.

"Ah, good Nagini," Voldemort squeaked in Parseltongue. Nagini looked extremely pleased, hissing softly at her master's praise. The snake quickly slid around so that her full length fitted neatly into this small crevice before revealing her underbelly to her master. The mouse-sized Voldemort drew a tiny wand that had been hidden in his fur.

He waved it at Nagini's underbelly.

A moment later, a rectangular crack could be seen on the snake skin. Nagini rubbed that area on the wooden flooring of the ship, making the rectangle more and more visible. A few moments later, the rectangle popped straight off her body.

"Good work, dear. Now run along and find a mouse to eat," Voldemort said, inwardly cackling at the jittery sensation that he could feel from the deep recessed of his mind. For a spineless coward, Wormtail's mind was surprisingly resilient… but still nothing to the master legilimens that Voldemort was.

Voldemort scurried over to the rectangle and flipped it over. It had been a remarkable idea, even for his own genius, to hide the inopportune letter sent to him by an Imperiused Corban Yaxley who had been 'tasked' with updating his master on the goings-on in the British Ministry ever since that night about a month ago. Voldemort had been waiting on news about the 'investigation' that his trusted agent was performing. If you needed to find any secret within the Ministry, Corban Yaxley was one of the best starting points to go from.

Though it had taken an extra week over what the ex-dark lord had been expecting, results were results and Voldemort knew that his patience had not been wasted. Without another thought, he cast the Magic Resumption Charm on the paper to allow the text to surface.

A moment later, a small blast could be heard coming from the crevice. Nagini let out a moderately loud hiss as she felt smoke touch her recently moulted skin. None of the muggle sailors noticed any of this of course, given their general imperceptibleness when it came to magical matters. It was one of the two reasons why Voldemort had opted to travel using muggle means.

The smoke quickly vanished before anyone else could take notice as the fuming Lord Voldemort glared at the space that once was the message that Yaxley had sent.

Failure.

It was a word that did not deserve a place in Voldemort's dictionary, just as Yaxley was undeserving of his praise and effort used. The dark lord might as well have Imperiused a janitor to do the work, for it would have netted the same result.

The angry mouse spat on the slightly charred ground before looking back at his pet snake, who had coiled herself slightly looser around him. Voldemort frowned slightly. Nagini should not have had such an adverse reaction to the smoke, that called for some adjustments.

The mouse slipped out of the crevice, blending into the wooden boards with its brown fur as it made its way to the deck. A fervent ocean breeze fettered around, though it was no inconvenience to the magically fortified mouse. It gazed into the distance, trying to spot the islands he was travelling to.

Rumor said that this is where a sample of Herpo the Foul's original scripture lay.

And Voldemort knew that all rumors had its roots in fact.

The possessed mouse grinned evilly, it eyes briefly turning from its usual brown shade to a sickly yellow one. The pupils elongated vertically, making the eyes look as though they had become two small slits on the mouse's face. Voldemort felt his rage leave him as he looked further into the horizon.

"It will soon come," Voldemort mused. If his tome was correct, this would be his best option of regaining his body, ever since his last attempt had failed.

Spells Used:

Luna Nox – Absolute Darkness Charm

Reducto – Reductor Curse

Glacius Eructo – Ice Spout Charm

Aruspices Aufero – Entrails-Expelling Curse

Virgaium – Tunnelling Charm

Ensiformus – Sword-Forming Charm

Magicae Sileo – Magic Resumption Charm

Next Time: Remembrance