CHAPTER 70: Irreconcilable Differences (Part 2)

Parkinson Palace

February 2nd, 1996

12:15 a.m.

The bottle of Firewhisky made the table shake as Yaxley summoned three glasses from the top-left cupboard of the kitchen and poured out each. He served one for Bedivere and one for himself, and when he was done with Harry's and slid it across the table to him, the boy raised an eyebrow at him. "The bloody hell is this? Top it off, arsehole." He said. Yaxley merely shrugged and caught Harry's glass before it fell to the floor, doing as asked. The three of them took a sip in silence, none of them even flinching at the after-burn.

"What exactly happened?" Bedivere asked as Harry went in for a second sip.

Harry couldn't help but laugh, almost gagging on his drink as he shook his head. "What happened?" He didn't answer with words. Instead, he reached inside his pocket and threw the two snapped pieces of his wand on the table. The two landed on each side of the locket, and if he had thought Bedivere couldn't seem more lost for words, he had been wrong.

"Bloody fucking hell," Yaxley breathed out.

Bedivere didn't speak. His eyes were fixed on the pieces of his wand as the glass shook in his hand.

"You're fixing this," Harry said coldly. "It was your idea to send me to the Longbottoms and I got everything you wanted me to get. Hell, I got way more. Now it's your turn. You're fixing my bloody wand."

"It's impossible," Bedivere finally said. "The wand… once its core has been snapped there's no-"

"I don't give a single shit about what is and is not possible. You're the director of the Department of Mysteries, aren't you? The boss of the smart and resourceful and feared Unspeakables. You'll come up with something. And if it means reassigning all the Unspeakables' jobs to mastering wandlore then so be it."

"Even then, it wouldn't change anything," Bedivere said, finally getting over the shock as he began taking control of the room again. "The Unspeakables have tried to solve this conundrum since the inception of the Department of Mysteries. And even before then. Every great family had their own theories within their grimoires and before then, the covens experimented with rituals. In over two thousand years, there was no solution found. Every magical core, even before bonding with a wizard, is unique and invaluable. Once broken, it can't be fixed, and given the nature of the relationship between the wand's core and the wizard's core, it means there's no solution. At least for most people."

"There has to be," Harry insisted.

"I'm afraid there isn't," Bedivere responded calmly. "Luckily for us, you're not most people. Whose wand did you steal?"

Harry glared at Bedivere from across the table for a moment, before he unholstered Sirius' wand and placed it on the table. Though he made sure it was never out of hand's reach. "Black's wand."

"Sirius Black?"

"He was the one who snapped my own. Beat the living shit out of me and locked me in a cell in the process."

"Did you kill him?" Bedivere asked, though he didn't seem very concerned about the prospect.

"No," Harry said brusquely. "Merely returned the favour. Beat the shit out of him before throwing him down the stairs and locking him in the same cell he locked me in. Oh, and stole his house-elf because I bloody felt like it."

"Bloody fuck, kid," Yaxley laughed, taking another sip of his Firewhisky. "I was wrong about you, I'll give you that."

"Thanks," he gave him a sardonic smile.

"How did you escape the cell in the first place?" Bedivere asked.

"It doesn't matter," Harry snapped, not wanting to waste any more time. "But if you find Snape in one of your Death Eater meetings, curse him in the back for me, will you?"

"Gladly," Yaxley smiled.

"You're focusing on the wrong things here," Harry continued. "The Horcruxes. You told me if you found one, then Yaxley would be able to track the others."

"Yes, I can." He said. "Theoretically speaking, at least."

"Theoretically speaking?" Harry repeated.

"The theory's solid, don't get me wrong. I'm certain it will be possible, but I have to work out a few kinks."

"How long will that take?"

"Well, given the fact that I've never even held a Horcrux, much less studied one, I don't know. Three months at the very least. Even though they've been split, the theory is pretty clear that all the soul pieces are connected, which means that I can track them."

"But it also means it could alert the Dark Lord once you begin the process."

"Precisely," Yaxley said lightly. It was slightly unnerving to Harry just how blasé the man was about anything even remotely dangerous. His tone would have led him to believe Yaxley was discussing duelling strategies or Quidditch formations, rather than the possibility of letting Voldemort know they were out to murder him. "I'm going to need time to gently prod, see how much I can push and pull before the Dark Lord becomes aware of my tampering. There's no use in finding the locations of the other Horcruxes if the Dark Lord can sense it as well."

"We can wait three months," Bedivere said softly. "Test the waters, take your time, we can reconvene about this later."

"Once we find them and snatch them, how exactly are we planning on destroying them?" Harry asked.

"That's a concern I have as well," Bedivere said. "Basilisk venom is all but gone nowadays. Besides the one Longbottom killed, there hasn't been a sighting of one in the past three hundred years."

"There's no more basilisk venom?" Yaxley asked.

"If there was, it would still prove too expensive even if I were to use the entire Parkinson fortune to buy it."

"Can't we just get more from the Chamber of Secrets?"

"Not unless you know a parselmouth," Harry said.

"Someone like Longbottom," Bedivere said.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged. "Though I'd pay to see how you'd go about convincing him in the first place."

"Oh, we have our ways," Yaxley smiled.

"Your big plan is to use the imperius curse on Dumbledore's prized student, the Boy Who Lived himself? I didn't take you to be this daft."

"You could access the Chamber when Tom Riddle was possessing you, couldn't you?" Bedivere asked. "It didn't leave any residual effects after it was destroyed?"

"What like making me a parselmouth? Fuck no. The Diary wasn't a fucking teach-yourself guide. Voldemort was the one speaking it, I was only the vessel."

"Ah, well," Yaxley gave an overt sigh. "The easy solution always makes things less fun. I'll research more into how to destroy Horcruxes. Maybe the locket will give us some insight into that."

"You have your work cut out for you, Corban," Bedivere said.

"Indeed. Still, it's not really working when you're having fun, is it?" He winked at the two of them before downing the rest of his glass, snatching the locket off the table, and standing up. "I best be off then. I'll see how much work I can put in before I call it a night."

Banishing the empty glass to the sink, it began to wash itself as Yaxley gave a small bow of the head towards them before he exploded in a mass of smoke that flew out of the kitchen through the open doors.

"I always tell him to avoid doing that inside the manor," Bedivere said ruefully. "I don't understand his fascination with it."

"Are you planning on teaching me that?" Harry asked.

"I don't see why not. It's actually a variation of apparating, so it doesn't require a wand. If nothing else, it will help distract you while you stay at the manor."

"Distract me?"

"We both know you're not going back to Hogwarts. There's a reason why you came here, after all."

"I came here to do something. To actually contribute. Not to just waste my time roaming around the manor and share a fag with Kieran while he blabbers about how unrefined I am."

"You've made our search for the Horcruxes much easier by bringing us that locket," Bedivere said gently. "There's not much we can do. Not right now."

"I'm not doing this for free," Harry said harshly. "We made a vow when I joined. Montague's out there picking daisies, I'm not planning on sitting around until you finally decide to make him a priority."

"I'm very aware of the vow we made-"

"Montague's not the only one, is he?" Harry cut him off. "Azkaban. You've been there. What happened with Dolohov?"

"He has joined the Dark Lord," Bedivere said simply. "In what capacity, I'm not fully aware. But he's still focused on you, from what I hear."

"Montague… Dolohov… I'll be bloody dead before I let them breathe for a day longer than I need to. You say that there's not much we can do now, we can do this. You can keep your end of the bargain."

"I can't help you," Bedivere said, though he quickly amended it. "Not in the way you may want me to. In between working on the dementor treatment directly with the Dark Lord, my responsibilities within the Department of Mysteries, as well as everything that comes with leading this group, I simply do not have the time for it."

"Bullshit."

"I'm being honest, and you know it. Our vow wouldn't allow for me to refuse to help you unless I was telling the truth."

"What about Carrow? She isn't doing anything, is she? She can help."

"Alecto's dead." Harry didn't even pretend to be sorry about the news. "I can offer you Kieran if it pleases you."

"Fuck that. I'd rather be on my own than have to babysit him."

"As you wish," Bedivere said calmly. "However, just because I can't help you with my physical presence does not mean that there are no other ways I could be useful. All my resources are available to you, anything you want - money, potions, any type of resource you may need - you need only ask. I'll also carry out my own investigation into Dolohov while I'm at Azkaban."

"Fair enough."

"What is your plan, if I may ask?"

"I'm going to kill them," Harry said curtly. "There's not much to it."

"Then I can help you with that as well," Bedivere said. "Elijah Montague isn't someone you can find easily. Though he's only been out of Hogwarts for a few years, he's worked quickly to build back his family's resources and reputation. He has various businesses and even more people working for him - though not all of them as genuine and harmless as he's trying to make himself out to be. If you want to find him or get any information about him, they can help."

"Who are these people?"

"Old friends of his. Hired wands. Old contacts bound to the Knights of Walpurgis. Luckily for you, Corban knows all about it. I'll have him send you something to work with first thing tomorrow morning. Until then, take your shower, have your dinner, and rest. You've earnt it, as you said."

"That's it?" Harry asked. "You're letting me go that easily?"

"You're not my captive, Harry. We're partners in this, we agreed so when I first asked you to join me. If this is what you want to do, then I won't stop you. I only ask you to come back when summoned. Though I respect your need to see this through, our priority remains the Dark Lord and his Horcruxes."

"Yeah, I can do that."

"I'll have Corban brand you in the morning when he comes around, it should make communication much easier. You're also welcome to use Parkinson Palace as your base of operations for the time being-"

"No," Harry interrupted him. "I'll need my own space. I'm also taking the elf and the portrait."

"I'll talk to Regulus tonight then," Bedivere said. "There's an old Parkinson property located in muggle Birmingham. It's empty, so you can use it for now. Though if you already have another place in mind, then you can use that instead." Harry nodded and Bedivere continued. "Have you contacted my granddaughter or Mister Nott yet?"

"No. I was planning on doing so tonight."

"I'd advise against it. People ought to be looking for you as we speak. The Order. The best thing you can do to remain hidden would be to be a ghost. Don't contact anyone. Don't hang about in any location where a witch or wizard is likely to notice you. Changing your appearance whenever you go outside wouldn't hurt you either. Nevertheless, talking to them, even without letting them know your location is the wrong decision. Even the smallest change of behaviour on their part could give away their lack of cluelessness."

"Alright," Harry said. "I won't contact them."

He pushed back his chair, dragging it across the floor before he stood up. Harry grabbed his broken wand from the table and walk away, only to turn around before he fully left the room.

"You're not doing this out of the goodness of your heart are you?" He asked suspiciously. "All this help, the encouragement. You want me to go after them, don't you?"

"Yes," Bedivere said simply.

"Why?"

"Fate is a fascinating thing. It gives us a glimpse into the future, into what's meant to happen, yet it still allows for free will. A prophecy could have hundreds of interpretations that, regardless of what everyone does with or without knowing about the wording of what is foretold, will still end up being true after the fact. You are the one the prophecy speaks of, there's no doubt to me about that. You're the one fated to vanquish the Dark Lord, but that will only happen if you're successful. The prophecy leaves room for failure. If you can't handle yourself with the likes of Elijah Montague and Antonin Dolohov, then what chance will you have against Lord Voldemort himself?"

"So this is a test?" Harry asked coldly.

"Yes," Bedivere answered calmly. "It is. Does that bother you?"

"No," Harry said after thinking about it for a moment. "Not at all."

Hogwarts Grounds

February 5th, 1996

3:30 p.m.

News of Potter's abrupt withdrawal from Hogwarts had spread around the castle before the weekend had even finished. It had gotten to the point where Umbridge had had to make a public announcement about it, confirming he wasn't dead or missing, that he hadn't turned into a flobberworm in the middle of the night or been kidnapped by time travellers from a parallel reality. "Madam Longbottom has simply decided that, given Harry's new status as a ward of House Longbottom, it was best for him to spend some time getting to know her as she home-schools him."

It had appeased most of the students, it was a coherent excuse to those who either didn't know him or didn't care enough to think too much about the situation. Daphne wasn't one of them. And by the looks of it, neither were most of her year-mates in Slytherin. Blaise, though not entirely relieved, didn't seem affected much by the news. There was no love lost between Blaise and Potter, it was known across their little cover-up group, but the development was one Blaise wasn't exactly happy about. Draco's reaction was one so tangled in something so… Malfoy-ish, that it was amusing to watch. Like a cat surrounded by bear traps. Daphne didn't know if Draco was happier that the leadership vacuum had opened up once more or more worried that Potter might return and forget his deal with Draco. He was trying so hard to balance his idiotic need to take control and knowing his place in the group that he was stuck, dumbfounded, making Crabbe and Goyle look like the intelligent ones in their thuggish gang.

It was Theo and Pansy that worried her. Potter's disappearance had rattled the both of them more than she had expected. In a surprising move, Theo had been gradually showing signs of his old self, becoming more assertive and stony in his pursuit of answers as he targeted Longbottom, Weasley, and Granger. Doing whatever he could think of to get any information out of them. Pansy had been forced to reign him in. Or at least she tried. Either way, it had got the five of them, plus the Weasley girl, into detention with Umbridge every night since they'd been back at the castle.

The feud between the two factions had been something all the professors had quickly caught onto and had done everything in their power to make sure they were as separated from each other as possible. However, this was Care Of Magical Creatures, and the filthy oaf was about as blind to social queues as he was to his toes.

"Tha's it," he herded them all together at the foot of his cabin. "Come closer. Gather 'round. I have a fun lesson fer yeh lot. Real magical."

"Hem hem," a sweet clearing of the throat from behind them stopped Hagrid before he could continue.

"Ah, come close," Hagrid beamed. "New student, eh? That ain't appropriate uniform, missy. But 's alright," he waved her off. "If you don' tell, I won'."

Umbridge made a disgusted face as she got to the front of the group, pulling out a small vial of perfume, she sprayed over herself before she sprayed Hagrid as well. Hagrid staggered backward as if repulsed by the smell before his eyes widened as he got a good look at Umbridge.

"Ah, much better." She said swiftly. "And no, I'm afraid I'm not a new student. Though I shall take your callousness about students not following the rules as a… joke to be more welcoming. Am I right in that assumption?"

"Err… yeh, yeh."

"Wonderful," Umbridge smiled. "Now, what is this magical lesson you promised us?"

For all his lacking areas - and there were many, in Daphne's opinion - it was clear the oaf knew the subject he was teaching and that he was more than comfortable teaching it. None of that translated well whenever he was being supervised. He stuttered and mumbled all the way across the grounds and into the forest, barely making sense and talking about a million things at the same time. And Daphne couldn't deny it was more than a bit amusing, something Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle seemed to think as well given their occasional chortles.

Theo didn't join in, he was too busy glaring at the back of Longbottom's head.

"Mister Hagrid," Umbridge said after about twenty minutes of aimlessly walking. "How much longer is it until we get there?"

"Get there?"

"The lesson? Where's this… beast you're going to show us?"

"Oh, oh! Sorry 'bout that." He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. "I was lost in me head."

"Lost in… what?"

"Er… today we'll err… we'll be learning 'bout a magical creature. Majestic creature, it is. Err…"

"Well, where is it?" Umbridge demanded, looking around the forest as if a dragon was lurking around the corner, preparing to launch itself onto her.

"Err… I… err… I think… err… Fawkes?" He mumbled meekly before the sky exploded in a flash of light and fire. A large red and gold phoenix flew above Hagrid, completely lighting the dark forest around them. They all marvelled at the beautiful creature, flying proudly, almost commanding them to witness it before the fire on his wings extinguished itself, and he settled on Hagrid's shoulder.

"That's Dumbledore's phoenix?" Weasley said in wonder.

"Yeh right, Ron," Hagrid said proudly, seemingly more confident with the bird's presence. "This is Fawkes. Can any of yeh tell me anything 'bout phoenixes?"

Granger immediately raised her hand. "Phoenixes are magical creatures unlike any other," she said excitedly, tripping over her words. "They are connected to the Theurgical Forces of Fate and Magic. They are seen as conduits of Fate, a way for it to force its will onto our plane of existence. Because of it they are very rare, with only one or at most two being born every century. Some of the most important historical figures have had their own phoenixes, those who impacted the world as we know it in a way almost none have. Godric Gryffindor, AntiochPeverell. Professor Dumbledore. There have even been some dark witches and wizards who have been granted phoenixes by Fate; Emeric the Evil and Morgan Le Fay being the biggest examples of this."

"Couldn'ave said it better meself. Ten points ter Gryffindor! Yes, phoenixes are a magical phenomenon more than an actual creature that can be born and bread - often revealing themselves in a moment of great need. They've a one year lifespan before their burning day and are directly linked ter the magic of their owner, and they can't be commanded by someone-"

Daphne tuned out the rest of the explanation, leaning into Theo's ear and whispering, "Draco has been obsessed with Longbottom since before first year started. Potter about two years after that. Are you really following in their footsteps like this?"

"They know where Harry is," Theo said coolly. "Or what happened to him."

"Yes," Daphne said airily. "They do. But they're not going to tell you, especially if you just keep trying to do this the brutish Potter way."

"I know. But given Hermione and Ginny's mixed feelings towards this, I thought if I pushed hard enough they'd break."

"So what's the point of glaring at him from the other side of the classroom every day?" Daphne asked. "They know what happened, but they won't tell you. There's no changing that. And you're not Potter, you're not going to torture them until they tell you. So why even feel the need to be petulantly angry about it?"

"They get to know I'm angry," he said coldly. "I'm not hiding that. And you're wrong, as well. Just because they're not telling me doesn't mean I won't find out. We've got information from them before, remember?"

"So what if I do?"

"You're going to help me. Whatever ritual you did, you're going to do it again. And this time, we're making sure they don't know we're spying on them."

"And why would I help?"

"Because there's a reason why you've been following Potter around, why you took him upstairs that night at the Quidditch party to shag him. You don't care about Harry, not really, but you want something from him. Protection, information, I don't care, you're not getting any unless we find him. That's why you're helping."

"Hem hem," Umbridge's sweet cough made them separate and turn to face her. "It's rude not to pay attention when the professor is speaking."

"We're sorry, Professor Umbridge," Theo said softly. "It won't happen again."

She smiled up at him. "Of course, it won't."

Umbridge walked away and once she was out of eyesight, Theo raised an eyebrow at Daphne. He was right, she had her own selfish reasons for wanting Harry back, or at least to know where he was. They all did. After Halloween, Harry had just shown he was too important to ignore or forget. And if helping Theo and Pansy get him back would elevate her spot in his good graces, then she was going to do that. Besides, she had waited too long already. Her father was waiting for an answer.

The Silver Werewolf

February 7th, 1996

12:15 a.m.

The door was nearly torn off its last remaining hinge when he closed it, not that the barkeep seemed to care. The Silver Werewolf was nothing compared to the Leaky Cauldron or The Three Broomsticks. Quite the opposite, it made the Hog's Head look like an upstanding pub. The place was so small it could be an unusually large shack, with its wooden floor covered in mould and holes across the four walls.

The Silver Werewolf wasn't a pub you'd take your dying grandmother for a final drink. It wasn't the kind of place where alcoholic beggars wasted the few knuts they made on booze before being tossed out back onto the street, or where junkies would crash, grind up a flask-full of bouncing doxies and snort their powdered remains as they chased a high. This was a pub for the worst scum in the country. Magical Britain was a smelly, overweight man, with Hogwarts as its brain, Magical London as its heart, and the Silver Werewolf the sweaty, rash-filled spot hidden behind the excess fat and his saggy left nut.

Murderers. Rapists. Opportunistic maggots who'd do anything for an extra drink.

Maybe that was the reason no one turned and stared as he entered the place.

His footsteps were the only sound in the mostly empty room, every step causing the floor to creak loudly. Not that he cared. He didn't walk hesitantly or nervously, but rather strolled with a cool air of confidence. He passed the only two customers in the establishment and settled himself at the bar.

"Good evening," he called out and smiled. "Or is it morning?"

"What do you want?" the barkeep droned.

"Glass of Firewhisky. Straight. Topped off, if you will."

The barkeep looked him up and down, his face entirely lifeless as he did. "Aren't you too young to drink?"

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a sack full of galleons. "I'm sure this should cover it."

The barkeep shrugged and grabbed a glass before he turned around and fetched the Firewhisky. He topped off the glass, doing it almost robotically, and handed it to Harry before he sat down on his stool and pulled out a copy of the Daily Prophet. Harry took a large sip of his glass and relished in the burning after-taste of the drink.

"I didn't know kids were being taught how to handle their alcohol at Hogwarts," one of the men behind him called out.

"They don't," Harry smiled, turning to face the two men. "That's why I got sent down."

The two men cackled, one of them even hitting the table. "Ah, explains why you're in this shithole to begin with."

"What about you two?" Harry asked, taking a seat at the table with the other two men. "You get sacked from Hogwarts too?"

"Nah," the man to the left said. "Lancaster Ministry Academy."

"St Alban's Ministry School for Magic meself."

"Ain't that a bitch," Harry laughed.

"Eh, it don't matter. School is for wankers either way. It's outside that you learn the real magic."

"And you don't end up cleaning some old snob's shitstains from his gold-lined sheets every other morning."

"I'll drink to that." The two men clinked their glasses before they took another sip of their beer.

"What about you, kid? What will you do now that you're one of us lowly fuckers?"

"Aye, the view ain't so fine from down 'ere, is it?"

"I don't know," Harry shrugged, taking another sip from his glass. "I guess I'm job hunting, if you will. By the way, how could you tell I was from Hogwarts?"

"The way you dress." The one to the right shrugged.

"How you carry yourself like an absolute ponce, for me." The other one barked out.

"Ah, well. Old habits, as they say."

"Say, if you're looking for a job we can hook you up." The one to the right grinned toothily, his yellow, crooked teeth almost shining in the dark. "We know a todger who's looking for people."

"To do what?"

"Anything you can think of, really." The one to the right continued, giggling like a fool. "Importing. Exporting. Eh… debt collecting. You know, the type of shit uppity twats like him wouldn't want to be seen doing. Can't nobody catch you with your hands dirty nowadays."

"You don't have an issue with that, don't you?" The other one asked.

"With what?"

"Getting your hands dirty. Using a bit of… restricted magic every now and then. You know… surviving?"

"Oh, no," Harry laughed, laying down his glass on the table. "No problem at all."

"Yeah," the one to the right smiled. "We could tell. How they ever let in an arsehole like you at Hogwarts, I have no idea."

"No bloody clue either, mate." He said, and the other two laughed. "So when do I start?"

"You're gonna have to meet the boss first," the one to the left said. "Routine checks and all, nothing to concern yourself about. Mister Montague likes to be thorough, is all."

"Mister Montague?" Harry exclaimed, taking a final sip of his glass. "You can't possibly mean Elijah Montague?"

"That's exactly right."

"You went to Hogwarts with the bastard?" The other one asked.

"Yeah, but I never met him," Harry said, a smile still on his face. "I was friends with his brother though, Graham. Graham Montague."

The two sobered up rather quickly. They looked at each other, torn between trying to remain amused and calm as the worry began to creep into the corners of their face.

"Yeah…" Harry picked his glass up once again, chuckling. "I really enjoyed carving that cunt's face wide open."

The two men's eyes immediately widened, but before either could do anything Harry slammed his empty glass into the left man's hand. He screamed in pain, doubling over onto the table as he gripped his wrist. His hand was bleeding, several large pieces of glass piercing it. Immediately, Harry unholstered his wand and turned to the one on the right, who had stood up and was fumbling with his wand.

"DIFFINDO!" Harry exclaimed, putting all his power into the spell. It struck the man's throat and blood poured. The man held his throat together with one hand as he tried to aim his wand to seal the wound. But before he could, Harry launched a blasting curse and the wand was thrown all across the room. The man's fingers snapped back against his palm, tethered to the rest of his hand only by ragged tendons.

Harry turned towards the man on the left, pulling out the large knife he'd gotten from Yaxley as a happy hunting present before he saw movement from the corner of his eye.

"A-AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Harry managed to duck in time, feeling the heat of the curse pass only a few centimetres above him before he vaulted over the bench and trained his wand on the barkeep. "CONFRINGO!" The curse hit him in the head, and though the man swayed on the spot and his wand fell to the floor, it wasn't enough. He launched another curse. Two. Three. Finally, the man's skull caved in, blood spattering all over the counter. The body dropped to the ground as if a puppet with its strings cut.

The remaining man grunted behind him. Harry could feel him move, but before he could do anything more Harry threw the knife up in the air and used his wand to banish it into the man's hand. It pinned him to the table, the knife burying itself to the hilt. Taking a moment to breathe, Harry let his face drop before he walked towards the terrified man.

Pushing the gasping and bleeding man off of the bench, Harry took his spot before grabbing one of the beers on the table and downing it. When he was done, he dropped the glass on the floor and turned towards the man, jamming the knife deeper into his hand to cries of pain.

"Let's talk about the uppity twat, shall we?"

That's it for this chapter, thank you all for reading!

Next chapter we'll see more of Scrimgeour, Hermione and the duo of Barty and Dolohov. Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and I have started the arc titled Checkmate, which is one of the final arcs before we reach the climax of fifth-year! If you are interested in learning how to get early access to them, join my discord server using the following link: discord . gg / jyPfbGqhJT

As always, thank you for reading, favouriting, and commenting! I appreciate all of you! :)