CHAPTER 71: Irreconcilable Differences (Part 3)

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

February 14th, 1996

9:00 a.m.

People called the office lively early in the morning. With everyone coming in, assignments being handed out, teapots flying all over the place. Chaos and madness and disorder to no end. This wasn't lively, it was only one flying owl away from being unbearable. Nevertheless, it was his duty, and he'd be dammed if he skipped or did it poorly.

"Dawlish!" Rufus' shout was barely heard above the cacophony of madness in the room. "Triple murder in East Lothian."

"Murder?"

"Massacre. The whole family." He spat. "Found them earlier in the night, an hour before dawn. And take Runcorn with you, will you? I need someone there who won't be throwing up half the time."

"Yes, sir." He grabbed the file and scurried off.

"Kingsley," Rufus called out. "Couple attempted B and Es in Lancashire."

"Ormskirk?

"Damn right."

"The Lurkers?"

"Most likely. Take statements and try to find any forensics. If you come up with nothing you get back here. We've got more pressing concerns than wasting our time looking for those weasels."

"Yes, sir."

"Robards-"

"We've got another one." The short, plump man popped up behind him. His hair was greying and his face wrinkling, but he was still a damn fine Auror. One he trusted well enough for this.

"Another one?" Rufus bit out.

"Yeah, last night. The one with the mask this time."

"Which pub?"

"No pub. Seems we were right about the Montague connection." Robards handed him the file, and Rufus flicked through it.

"Montague's Mixtures?"

"No, a warehouse owned by the family. Houses products for all four of Montague's companies."

"Any witnesses?"

"Two unharmed, one… less so."

"Murders?"

"None."

"Well either we're getting lucky or they're getting softer." Rufus groused, turning over a page.

"These don't fit in the same victim pool as the others," Robards said bemusedly. "All graduated, all with at least half a brain."

"So our killers spare the smart ones?"

"They're largely ordinary citizens for all intents and purposes. No criminal record or any dodgy behaviour. One of them even graduated top of his class at Norfolk Ministry School for Magic."

"And the one who was tortured?"

"Petty larceny and public intoxication, but those date pretty far back. He's the manager, the shadiest of the bunch, but then again he's twice their age. Also, this wasn't torture, really."

"Pardon?" Rufus said quietly, tearing his eyes away from the folder.

"Well. There are no gouged eyes or severed limbs here like there were with the others. Not even a stab wound. A couple of broken fingers and a bloody nose, but that's it."

"Doesn't take away from the fact this was assault at best. Or erase the murders they've committed at two other pubs. Just because they didn't turn feral this time doesn't mean they don't deserve to rot in Azkaban for the rest of their lives."

"I'm not saying they don't, even if we can't really send people to Azkaban anymore. I'm just saying, these guys don't seem to be the type of folk who get off on murder and torture and such. If you were asking me, I'd say they're more a vigilante group than anything else."

"The Order?"

"No," Robards shook his head. "There are no apparel similarities according to witness reports."

"It's been fifteen years, Robards, they could have just got new uniforms for Merlin's sake!"

"It's not just that. They've always gone after bigger targets, and the first few murders are too gruesome for them. They torture, sometimes, but it's never as… macabre as this. Not even close. This is not them, Rufus. We have new players in the country.

Rufus sighed, closing the folder before rubbing his eyes. "Call Montague, I want to interview him, see what he knows about it or how he's connected to the lowlifes at the Runaway Owl."

"Already did," Robards nodded. "Should be at your office in half an hour."

Rufus thanked him before he continued handing out the rest of the assignments for the day and checking in with the others for updates on previous cases. And after he was done, he walked back to his office.

Things had gone to shit ever since the incident with Longbottom and the Triwizard Tournament back at Hogwarts. Crime had steadily increased across the country since that day. A maniacal mass murderer at Hogsmeade, a murder at Hogwarts, and the siege of Azkaban. And those were only the incidents Fudge couldn't contain. Murders, assaults, rapes. They had all gone up over the past seven and a half months. And with werewolves sightings in the country once again, what he had thought as the ramblings of a traumatised boy had started seeming more believable with every passing day.

He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned.

He couldn't ignore that now. The siege of Azkaban had been the last nail in the coffin for Fudge's reckless insistence against Longbottom's claim. With everything going on, he could almost see the world around him turning murkier and grayer. A familiar storm forming right before their very eyes, one they had barely managed to get through not even two decades ago. And he wasn't the only one. He could see it. The doubt in the eyes of his peers as they began waking up to the truth as well.

Rufus just hoped enough people woke up sooner rather than later.

He would never forget those last six months of the first war. The chaos that had run rampant as the entire country had nearly succumbed to the sheer power of You-Know-Who. Blood running down the street. People being ambushed within their own homes, tortured, and murdered in the most gruesome manners. He would never forget the desperation and the horrors that came from it all. The feeling of looking into the eyes of people he considered friends, of those he was sure he knew, and not recognizing them.

People were quick to turn even before the war had truly begun. Looting and abandoning each other as they strove to survive no matter the cost. They stopped asking questions and immediately attacked when they felt threatened. And the Aurors weren't any good either. The moment the Wizengamot gave them the opportunity to use Dark Magic, to use the Unforgivable Curses, a lot of them jumped at the opportunity. Their bodies were tarnished by the use of it, their minds slowly but surely decaying. War had destroyed their country and turned good men into monsters, and The Order was a major reason why.

A vigilante group that had appeared soon after the Death Eaters themselves. Highly secretive and dangerous. No members were ever identified, and not even the name of the group was known until a witness heard one of them refer to their base as Order Headquarters. They ignored the DMLE and Ministry and acted as if they were the last line of defence for the country. Taking the law into their own hands as they engaged in battles with the Death Eaters all over Britain. It had been their lack of regard for the law, and their willingness to torture and kill Death Eaters that had planted the seed of unrest within the Ministry. The first domino that led to all the war laws that sent the country spiralling into an anarchistic blaze that nearly consumed it.

And through it all, a lot of his fellow Aurors had defended their actions. Stood by them and even called them heroes. But they weren't. They were vigilantes. A group of unruly cowards who had endangered people's lives and wreaked havoc in the streets instead of joining the DMLE and helping out the right way. They took no accountability. Destroyed businesses and homes and didn't even bother to stay and help the wounded after their clashes with the Death Eaters.

The Order was more than enough. The last thing they needed was another faction of vigilantes vying for who could burn down Diagon Alley the fastest.

Rufus pulled open the door to his office and slammed it shut behind him, only to notice the puff of smoke that was floating upwards from the visitor's chair on the other side of his desk. "Head Auror Scrimgeour," the dry voice of Elijah Montague spoke as he remained in his seat, eyes front. "I heard you were looking to meet with me."

"Mister Montague," Rufus said curtly, making his way around the desk as he took a seat in his own chair. "I was told to not expect you for another half hour."

"Something came up," he said, pulling out a silver case from his pocket and opening it up, revealing the packet of cigarettes inside. "Would you care for one?"

"Smoking isn't allowed within Ministry offices, Mister Montague," Rufus said coolly.

Elijah Montague raised his eyebrow slightly before slowly removing the cigarette from his mouth, putting it out against the silver casing, and flipping it into the dustbin in the corner of the room. "What can I do for you?"

"Are you aware of the break-in at your warehouse in Cornwall?"

"I got news of it right before one of your Aurors floo called me," he said monotonely.

"Between the hours of one and three in the morning a masked man entered the warehouse," Rufus explained. "He didn't steal anything and thankfully, no one was harmed beyond what can be considered light injuries."

"Then what did he want?"

"Information, we believe. Witnesses state that the manager was tortured and questioned by the intruder. Questioned about you, Mister Montague."

"Is that so?" Elijah asked, uninterested.

"This person was trying to find you. Asking about where you sleep. Where you eat. He asked about your home and what businesses of yours you visit more regularly than others. Anything he could use to track you down, in essence."

"And what did he say?"

"Who?"

"Ethan. The manger. What did he tell this man?"

"Nothing concrete, fortunately," Rufus said. "It seems he didn't know much information in the first place. Besides useless trivia about you, there was nothing of value. Thankfully, the assailant seemed to take him at his word. Nevertheless, having someone pursuing you in that manner is worrying. Do you have any enemies? Any reason why someone would go a long way to hunt you down?"

"Someone like me, Head Auror?" Elijah said with a calm casualness to his voice. "The son of two convicted Death Eaters. A man rebuilding his family's reputation and wealth with as much success as I am. Yes, I can think of many reasons why certain people would want me to rot in hell with my parents."

"Mister Montague, we don't believe this is his first attack. Not two nights ago he targeted another man in a pub. Isaiah Fiddlewood."

"Who?"

"I'm not surprised you don't recognise the name. He used to work with your parents before they were arrested - an unsavoury fellow, one the likes of you wouldn't have crossed paths with." Rufus said, almost idly. "He was murdered by another man - an older man with gray hair and a hooked nose. One we believe is working with the masked man who broke into your warehouse last night. And these are just two of four incidents within the past seven days and which all share similarities. It's possible you're in more danger than you realize."

"I appreciate the concern for my well-being, Head Auror Scrimgeour, but I'm sure it's nothing," Elijah said calmly, pushing himself off the chair. "The attack at the warehouse was likely merely a scare tactic from a business rival of mine or someone who my parent's actions affected dearly. And while I feel for Mister Fiddlewood's fate, I can't see how it's connected to me. I don't remember the man, don't think I ever spoke to him even back then. His passing is nothing more than an ill-fated coincidence."

"This is not a matter that should be taken lightly, Mister Montague," Rufus said sternly, standing up as the young man reached the door. "These attacks have been far from tame, and if we're right and these people are aiming to find you, it would be best if you had the DMLE to protect you."

Elijah gave him what Rufus could only assume was meant to be a calming smile, but it only served to make the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. "Don't worry yourself over this, Head Auror. As I said, I'm sure it's nothing. You should get out there. Have fun. Find yourself a date." Elijah opened the door and turned back one last time. "No one should be alone on Valentine's Day."

The Three Broomsticks

12:20 p.m.

The Three Broomsticks had become a place many Hogwarts students avoided ever since the attack back in November. Some did it out of fear that another psychopathic murderer would come in the middle of the afternoon. Others were uncomfortable with being in the same place where their friends were brutally killed not even a few months ago. It was a trend Hermione didn't think would last long, the Hog's Head was filthy and served cheap food and Madam Puddifoot's would eventually wear down the boys who were forced there by their girlfriends. People would eventually return to the Three Broomsticks. But given it was mostly vacant of Hogwarts students nowadays, she had no other choice but to enter the pub on her own and take a booth near the back where no one would see her.

If she had been asked at the beginning of the year how she wanted to spend her Valentine's Day, she wouldn't have known what to say. But she was sure having a clandestine meeting in the pub where she was nearly killed wasn't ideal, even for her standards. The truth was, with everything going on in the past couple of months, and tensions running high at Hogwarts, Hermione hadn't had time to think about romance or anything of the sort. Not that she did before everything went downhill, but with every Valentine's Day the subject came to mind.

Neville had asked her out, just like he'd done for the past two years. She was grateful she actually had an excuse already in place rather than having to come up with one in the spot. It wasn't that she didn't care about Neville. Quite the contrary, she loved him very much. Even now with how much sulkier and more snappish he'd become with her and Ron, she loved him. But not like that. Definitely not. She just didn't see him that way. She felt like a bad person for feeling that way. There was nothing wrong with Neville. He was perfectly fine. But he was just… fine. No spark. No nothing. But knowing that they would never work, that she wasn't doing anything wrong… it never helped when she saw Neville dejectedly mumble something before walking away.

Hermione only wished he had reacted this way yesterday as well. She had hated herself when he had glared at her, eyes red - almost crying - before he rushed away in a fury. Thankfully he seemed back to normal today, though Neville's normal nowadays meant sourly muttering his answers in the most curt way possible.

And besides Neville, there was just no one else, really. She'd had a couple of moments with Ron where she'd thought something might happen. Her heart fluttering slightly in a late-night study session when she caught him staring. Their hands grazing, sending an electric shock through her whole system. But they were best friends, and Neville was their friend too. It would just mess everything up for no good reason. Then there was Seamus, who had more disgusting hygiene than a pig who showered in wet mud daily, and Dean, whose entire personality was to be Seamus' mate. There were nice-looking Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, but she barely talked to them, and now she definitely didn't have the time to waste doing that.

What was she doing? Thinking about dating today of all days. It was all just stupid. She had much bigger things to worry about even without Theo Nott and the other Slytherins cornering Ron, Neville, and herself every other day to ask about Harry.

Things had only got worse since that day on the train. With Neville and the twins getting more frenzied about the Slytherins and Nott refusing to let the topic of Harry go, things were escalating faster than she had anticipated. What had started out with verbal jibes had quickly turned into actual fist-fights that Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, and Daphne had to stop. Nott was out for blood, and he'd somehow managed to convince Malfoy and his two goons, as well as Zabini to join in on it. It had left them all with detentions for the next month and a half with Umbridge, and if things kept ramping up Hermione was sure the detentions would be scheduled through the rest of her years at Hogwarts.

The worst thing was that Hermione didn't know how to feel about this. She could understand Nott, God knows how she would act if Neville or Ron went to a Death Eater house and didn't come back. And a part of her wanted to tell him, to at least let him know Harry was alright by the end. That he was okay. But that wasn't true, was it? Not with the large open wound on his back carved out exactly like Graham's face had been shown in the Daily Prophet. Not with how she stood by and let Sirius beat up Harry, throw him in a cell and snap his wand. And she knew Harry was supposed to return to school with them, Dumbledore and Mrs Weasley had told them so. So what had happened that had changed that?

She didn't know. Didn't know what to think of Harry anymore. Didn't know how to fix the situation with the Slytherins given she was under oath not to say anything about the Order or Grimmauld Place. Didn't even know what to think of herself. Her mother had told her she needed to find answers. Needed to find herself, her centre, before she should start wondering what she thought and felt about anyone or anything else. And she was going to do just that. Because if Hermione was good at something, it was getting answers.

So she waited. Sitting alone in the booth, Hermione went through two glasses of butterbeer before she saw the door to the pub open as a tall, blond woman with acid green robes and a large, beaming smile on her face enter and head straight towards her.

"Hermione!" She greeted her as she sat in front of her. "How wonderful it is to see you!"

It was a lie. Rita hated her and they both knew it. But ever since she threatened to give the Daily Prophet and the Ministry her secret, she'd been trying to be a little nicer to her. It wasn't working, and it honestly annoyed Hermione, but she wasn't in the mood to argue about trivialities like that.

"I need a favour," she said curtly. "And you're doing it for me."

"Of course," Rita smiled, reaching across the table to grab her hand. "That's what friends are for."

"Uh huh," Hermione muttered before she pulled out a picture from her robes and placed it on the table.

"Who is this handsome devil?" Rita waggled her eyebrows, picking up the photo and staring hungrily at it before she gasped. "Is that who I think it is?"

Hermione opened her mouth before her hesitancy grew. It was stupid. She had Rita in the bag, well and truly blackmailed. They had come to an agreement, and she actually had leverage on her this time. But memories of her futile attempts to blackmail Rufus made her cringe. Still, Hermione took a deep breath and carried on. "Harry Potter. You may recognise him, but you don't know who he is."

"Ooooh, spicy," she smirked. "Want me to run an exposé on him? I have missed doing that."

"No," Hermione said firmly. "Not an exposé. Not one that will be published, anyway. I want a full background of him. I want you… I want you to learn everything there is to know about him. His life before, during… and after Hogwarts."

"After Hogwarts?"

"He's missing," Hermione said. "I don't know where he is, no one does. Umbridge keeps insisting he's with the Longbottoms, but I highly doubt that. I want you to find him, find everything about him and bring it to me."

"And I can't publish it?" She pouted.

"No."

"Where's the fun in that?" Rita grumbled.

"Rita," Hermione said coldly. "You're going to bring me that information. And only to me. If I find out you've published it in some alternate newspaper. If you sell the story to anyone. If anyone even starts asking too many questions about Harry, I won't care about our agreement. I'll put you back in your jar and mail you to Azkaban myself. So you'd better make sure everything you uncover stays as hidden as it used to be."

"Alright, alright." Rita rolled her eyes. "Why do you even care about this Potter guy, anyhow? Are you trying to stalk your new crush?"

"God, no," Hermione scrunched her face up in disgust, nearly spitting out her butterbeer. "Not at all."

"Then why do you care?"

Hermione blinked and then she saw it again. The scar. The beatdown. The two pieces of the wand falling to the ground. "It's not about him."

Hogsmeade Village

8:00 p.m.

It had been just over two decades since he left behind the cold stone walls of Hogwarts Castle and headed out into the wild. Finally free of his father's iron grip. Of the expectations of his mother as she paraded him around the Ministry, the Prophet and any other so-called esteemed establishment and planned out his life for him. It had hurt to distance himself from them - even, surprisingly, from his father at first. There had been a lot of righteous anger on his part, a rebellious need to be rid of their hold on him and make a man out of himself. But it wasn't a choice he made to hurt them. To tear their family apart. He had left them and joined the Dark Lord because it had been the right thing to do. Because he would have rather fought for what he believed in than sat by, uncaring to take a side as he focused on how he could get richer off of the war like his father had.

His father had hated him for it once he learnt the truth. Abhorred him. He never looked at him again, at least not intentionally. And when he did, it was not with the eyes of a father. But he didn't turn him into the DMLE. Not out of any love his father still held for him deep within his heart, but out of fear that such a scandal would shatter his career. His reputation. Everything he held dear more than his own family.

And Bartemius Crouch was never one to be wrong.

Barty had thought he would hate him for the rest of his life. Felt enough anger that he was sure he would end up killing him sooner or later. But as the years went by, his anger diminished. It turned into sadness, morphing into regret until it finally reached pity. To the point where he intellectually knew he'd had many chances to kill his father during his mission at Hogwarts, but his heart had never felt anger strong enough to care for it. The disgrace and seclusion after he had allowed himself to be caught and imprisoned was more than enough punishment for disowning him in such a manner.

And now, as he was nearing his forties Barty realized just how petty the whole thing had been. The inconsequentiality and pointlessness of all their family squabbles. While he once felt his father was harsh and his mother smothering, now he understood them. Understood what it was like to worry to the point of ire. To feel the need to pry into your boy's affairs just to know he's doing well. To force your will onto them because you know it's what's best for them. Everything he hated about his parents he couldn't stop himself from doing now.

Barty could still remember the first time he saw him. Sitting at the back of the classroom, head snapping up at every sound, he looked more like a wounded animal than an actual person. Alone. Separated from the rest of the students, his only interaction with them being the occasional glare whenever someone did or said something stupid. It had taken nearly a full minute to realize that he was James Potter's son rather than some random no-name.

While his father had had an air of confidence about him, a sort of loud and arrogant swagger even as he coolly murdered Death Eaters, he quickly found Harry Potter to be an introverted recluse. Avoiding talking to anyone unless completely necessary, the boy was resourceful and knew how to survive on his own. But most of all, he was alone. It wasn't something people missed, they just simply didn't focus on it. But he did. Because even after nearly twenty years he remembered how much he hated his time at Hogwarts. Walking down those cold halls alone, no friends and hating the only two people who cared about him, he never did understand how something so simple could be so dispiriting.

At first, he had avoided the boy and focused solely on the mission. It was why he was there, after all, risking his life to make sure the Dark Lord returned. It wasn't easy sleeping with Dumbledore under the same roof, living with the constant stress of wondering if someone would ever catch on to the fact that he wasn't the real Mad-Eye Moody. But then he'd stopped. He didn't do so consciously and didn't even realize he was doing so at first. Calling him up to answer questions in class, and having him as his volunteer. And with each passing day, he grew more in awe at the boy's capabilities. His magical talents and most of all, his highly advanced knowledge of duelling and Defence Against the Dark Arts. He had excused his actions this way, saying it was only natural to pick the best in his class to answer the questions and participate in his demonstration.. But once he had started asking him to stay behind, discussing duelling techniques with him and handing him books to study from, it stopped being accidental. It stopped being something he was doing because it was convenient and became something he did because it was the right thing to do. Because he saw the broken boy in front of him, one so much like who he was at that age, and realized he was that way because of him.

Barty didn't remember much of James and Lily Potter from his days at Hogwarts. They were much too young to warrant any attention from him at the time. But over the course of the First Wizarding War, as he was forced to face the Aurors and the Order, he fought them. Years of an endless battle. They were skilled and ruthless, and though they were on the opposite side of the conflict he couldn't help but respect them. They were fierce combatants. And though they tortured and killed various Death Eaters, some of whom he considered friends, he never grew to hate them. Not even Lily Potter, the Mudblood who represented everything he hated about their kind. It was never personal. It was just the way things were. The way war was.

So when he entered their home with the Lestranges and Pettigrew with the intent to question them about the Dark Lord's disappearance, it wasn't out of anger or loathing. He didn't take pleasure in watching the Lestranges torture them for days on end. They were there for information. Not revenge. And he made sure the Lestranges knew that. And when the time came for Pettigrew to collect on his payment, he made sure the rat made it as quick and uncomplicated as possible.

He didn't regret it. It was war. And the Potters had done as much to his brothers and sisters as they did to them. The two of them knew what they signed up for. Chose to stay even once the Dark Lord began pursuing them personally. But Harry hadn't. And as Barty quickly found out once he looked into the boy's background, he'd ended up paying for his parent's sins. Severus had ditched him, abandoned him with Muggles and stood by as the boy turned into an outcast. There were nights when he wondered, as he hung out with the boy and the two of them bonded over duelling injuries and curses shared, how his life would have turned out if he hadn't let Pettigrew kill his parents. If he'd been allowed the life he deserved.

But wondering served no one. And before Christmas, he knew the truth. Accepted his responsibility. He had killed the boy's father, even if he hadn't been the one to deliver the killing curse. Harry was his responsibility now. It was the reason why he had taught him to be strong and forged him into as good of a dueller as he used to be in his prime. Taught him to keep his head high and use his brain more than the anger in his gut. Why he had sent Montague with the offer back on Halloween and why he was now camping outside of an old, crooked shack on the borders of Hogsmeade village.

He'd been grateful when the Dark Lord agreed to his request. Now more than ever, Barty was sure the Dark Lord needed him. There were still many things that needed to be set in motion before his return could be fully announced to the wizarding world. But he'd done his part. He'd found the Seal of Solomon and aided in taking the tower of Azkaban. His priorities now lay with Harry.

It was just unfortunate that the Dark Lord had charged him with taking Antonin as well.

He barged into the cabin, the door crashing against the wall as he entered. His face and clothes were covered in blood, some of it already dried but more dripping down onto the floorboards. He was cackling madly, running his hands over his face and through his hair, mixing it all up in a macabre mess.

"Phew," he giggled. "Quite a workout that was. I didn't remember home invasion and torture being this wearing."

"Is that where you were?" Barty asked coldly. "Torturing a poor family while you left me here to do all the work?"

"Not a family," he scowled. "Five. All over the country, I might add. There were even a couple of five-year-olds that just kept running and screaming. As if breaking in wasn't risky enough. It's harder than it seems."

"It stops. Now."

"Stops?" Antonin grinned. "I'm just getting started, mate. I've got the Dark Lord's seal of approval on this, remember? I can kill whoever, torture whenever, and you can't say shit about it. Or do I have to tell our Lord that you're ruining my fun?"

Barty bit the inside of his cheek, glowering at the redhead. He was right, it was one of the methods the Dark Lord used to convince lunatic bastards like him to join their cause. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He'd tried once before. "You get your fun when you're done. We're here to find Potter. Remember?"

"And?" Antonin smiled, taking off his blood-covered robes and dropping them to the ground, making a disgusting sticky sound as they hit the floor. "Where is our golden boy?"

"He's not here." He replied curtly.

"In the house?"

"At Hogwarts." Barty snapped. "I followed two of his friends, Parkinson and Nott, as they went about the village earlier today. They were talking about him. He's not here."

"Oooooh," Antonin smirked, taking off his shirt and pants as they too were dropped to the floor. "A hunt it is, then. He's making this so much more fun for us."

"We're not going to hunt him. No violence or any type of force will be used in our pursuit. Much less any of those Unforgivables you're so obsessed with."

"But they're so much fun!" He whined.

"We're finding him, and talking to him. That's it." Barty quickly looked down at Antonin's chest and saw a layer of skin peeling off - as if it had been partly sliced off - with blood dripping from it and pus creeping into the edges. There was a small hole open where Barty saw blood and mucus and infection that was forming inside Antonin's body. "And fix yourself up. You're disgusting."

"Ugh," Antonin rolled his eyes, walking over to the kitchen. "I keep using magic to fix it, but it's not working. Worthless shit. Muggle methods are so much better." He grabbed a stapler from his bag on the counter and used it a few times to staple his skin back to his body. Covering the revolting red and green insides. "You know… you pure-blood wizards, you sanctimonious sort, you forget where you came from. Before all that magic shit, before you could heal blasted-off legs in a couple of days and a week of rehabilitation, you had to get your hands dirty. Had to fix things up the rough way and pray it worked rather than knowing your magic would keep you safe and sound. It's the problem with all of you. Even the Muggle-borns who fully adopt magic, they forget. They… what's it called when you evolve to be more stupid?"

"What's your point with this?"

"My point, my stone-faced friend, is that Harry Potter isn't one of those people. He hasn't turned into one of your uppity sort. He's been forged by fire. Like me. He knows the truth, learnt it young, and he will never forget it. Harry Potter knows better than any other wizard I've ever met the type of monster you need to be to survive. To climb! He doesn't need to be forced to kill or maim. Hell, he wanted the excuse. Wanted me to kill his pretty little girlfriend to finally set him free. Someone like Potter, someone with such power, such ability, such… such a free, unconditioned mind is not someone we kill."

Antonin walked over to him, cleaning the last of the blood from his face before he scrubbed it off on Barty's shirt. Smiling as he did. "I want for him exactly what you want. To get him to accept the truth. Accept himself. Don't you worry, Junior. Harry's coming home."

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

Next chapter Harry continues with his mission before being summoned back to Parkinson Palace. 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! :)