CHAPTER 73: Irreconcilable Differences (Part 5)

"Give it to me, Gregorovitch."

The corridor was short and narrow, covered fully in bookcases. Small wooden boxes were crammed within each slot, with no recognisable order as some lay horizontally and others vertically, each a different colour and labelled with their own identify scribble. He walked along it, his wand in hand as a snake hissed behind him, following him as they both slithered down the crooked path.

"I have it not!" The old wizard cried out. His face was covered in wrinkles, with long dirty white hair falling over his face as he slowly walked backwards, making sure not to take his eyes off his pursuer. And before the wandmaker could say another word, the ceiling exploded above him. Dozens of the boxes hit him over the head as an entire shelf collapsed on the old man, pinning him down. The wandmaker struggled, using all his strength to free himself. And as he continued to walk forward, every step only agitated the man more.

"Please!" Gregorovitch screamed. "Please. I have it not! It was taken. Stolen. Please!" The wandmaker managed to heave the bookcase off of himself and scramble out from beneath it. It shook the ground when it fully dropped, and just as Gregorovitch managed to get up, a large, thick snake launched itself at him. Its force pushed him back to the ground, and before Gregorovitch could even attempt to pick himself back up, it curled itself around his neck and squeezed.

"Mercy," he croaked out with the last breath of his lungs. "Mercy please."

"A wizard of your standing shouldn't beg, Gregorovitch," the cold high voice said. "It makes for a pitiful death."

Gryffindor Fifth-Year Dormitory

February 24th, 1996

7:45 a.m.

Neville awoke to panting and screaming, and it wasn't until he felt his bed shake that he realised it was coming from him. That he was the one screaming. The one flailing his arms and legs about like a mad junkie overdosing. Even with the curtains closed he could feel the eyes of the whole dormitory on him. The concerned looks from Dean and Ron as Seamus scoffed and took off.

When Ron gently opened the curtain he was sure Trelawney had been right all the times she'd told him he had the Gift.

"You okay, mate?" He asked, his voice groggy in just the right tone to convince Neville he had woken his friend up with his screams

"'M'fine," Neville bit out, noticing Dean trying to listen in on their conversation as he held a book up to his face. He pushed Ron to the side as he climbed out of bed and headed towards the bathroom. "Just a nightmare."

"That wasn't just a nightmare," Ron said, forcing the issue as the two of them left the dormitory and shut the door behind them. "It was one of them again, wasn't it? Is… is my dad…?"

"It wasn't your dad," Neville said curtly, hating himself for how coldly he was treating Ron. "It was… I don't even know. Doesn't matter. It was no one."

"I never thought I'd say this… but you should go to Dumbledore. Tell him about it."

Neville scoffed. "You're kidding?"

"I'm not," Ron said, his voice more serious than he'd ever heard it.

"The guy's been ignoring me all year, and now you want me to go to him?" He spat. "No way. If he wants to talk to me, he's going to have to come to see me himself."

"It's not about him. It's about you. You're spiralling, mate. You've been having these nightmares more and more often. For fuck's sake, I've even caught you talking to yourself-"

"Ron, enough!" Neville snapped. "I'm not going to Dumbledore. And you better not tell Hermione about this."

"She deserves to know."

"What? That Voldemort is trying to drive me mad from sleep deprivation? Or that you and everyone else in the dorm think I'm gonna snap and pull a Potter? Contrary to what the Daily Prophet believes, Ron, my life isn't for everyone to gossip about."

"I get that-"

"How could you?" Neville yelled. "You don't have article after article shitting on you while they sing nothing but praises about Harry fucking Potter - the saviour of Hogsmeade or whatever his bloody nickname is nowadays."

"Alright, I don't," Ron said calmly. "I really don't. But Hermione isn't everyone. She's our friend. Your friend. Best friend. Would you really not tell me about this if I slept in some other dormitory?"

"No," Neville said coolly. "I wouldn't. I'm not saying anything as it is. So stop asking."

"You can be such an arsehole sometimes, you know that," Ron told him as Neville closed the door to his shower.

Neville grabbed the handle and hesitated before he turned it. His fist went white with the force of it as he suppressed the sob that was trying to tear itself out of his throat. It came out as a ragged breath, and Neville closed his eyes and lowered his head as he spoke. "No one's asking you to stay, Ron. If you don't like it then fucking go."

"And give you the satisfaction of finally pushing me and Hermione away? Not bloody likely."

The door opened and shut almost immediately after, leaving Neville alone in the cold, hard room. He gave out a staggering sigh, but before he could turn the handle, he heard a familiar voice behind him.

"Not bloody likely," it said mockingly. "Merlin, that was pathetic."

"Go away," Neville said, and his voice almost didn't shake.

"Now why would I do that? Let's be real here, Nevs, soon enough I'll be your only friend. Ron's big game, but he always leaves in the end. Don't you remember last year? And Hermione, fuck, she's the worst of them all, isn't she? Tell me, which hunky Quidditch player do you think she fucked after she turned you down for Valentine's Day?"

"SHUT UP!" Neville roared, turning on his heel and launching a punch at his twin. But Neville's fist went right through its head and hit the marble wall behind it. He screamed out in pain and clutched his hand as blood started dripping from his fist.

"I don't think you understand the concept of imaginary friends very well, Nevs." The other Neville said, his voice dry and unamused.

"What do you want from me?"

"You know what I want. I've never been shy about it."

"You're wrong about me?" Neville said fiercely. "I'm not-"

"A killer?" He laughed. "Face it, Neville. Everyone around you dies. Your parents died because of you. You killed Quirrell, no matter how much you want to say it didn't count, or just ignore it outright. Then there was Viktor - tall, strong, he died protecting you while you writhed on the ground because of a small headache. And we both know what happened to poor dead Cedric, don't we?"

"That wasn't!" He screamed, but his voice

"Yeah," the other Neville chuckled. "It was. Hell, even the kids at The Three Broomsticks. Potter did a better job at protecting them than you ever could, and you still have the gall to call him the killer. The monster. Fuck, you're pathetic."

"I won't do it." A tear dropped down his cheek, but Neville still held his gaze on his twin. "I'm not killing Umbridge. I'm not killing my grandmother. I'm not killing anyone."

"Oh, you will. Maybe not with the killing curse or any other spell, but you will. Eventually. Personally, I'm betting on Hermione. Or Ron. Or Ginny. It doesn't really matter. You'll kill them all in the end."

You'll kill them all in the end. It was those words that haunted him even as the other Neville faded, and he was left on his own to finish his morning ablutions. He bathed and changed, and even by the time he reached the common room, those words floated around his head. He ignored the worried look Ron gave him from the other side of the room, still deep into his chess game with the seventh-year who was set on beating him, and headed outside before anyone could catch up to him.

He crossed the corridor and began going down the stairs still believing that lie before he heard her voice.

"Neville, wait up!" Hermione called out to him, but he didn't wait or slow down. Unfortunately, Hermione never stopped being herself, so it didn't take long for her to catch up with him. "Okay, last I checked your name was still Neville," she said good-naturedly, panting from exertion. "How come you didn't wait?"

"What do you want?" He said harshly.

"I… well, I just wanted to talk." She said, her voice suddenly small.

"Not in the mood."

"I can see that. We can go to the lake. You, me, and Ron. You always like it when the three of us hang out there-

"I already have plans," Neville cut her off.

"Oh, well, can I come?"

"No."

Hermione's disappointment was visible, but Neville didn't care. Now she wanted to hang out. Now she wasn't busy. Well, fuck that. This time, he was the one who already had plans. Nevertheless, she stuck with him as he trekked his way down to the Great Hall. Occasionally, she would try to start a conversation but he either didn't answer or answered crisply, hoping it would drive her away.

He must have forgotten it was Hermione with who he was dealing.

It was right as they were about to reach the Great Hall that he saw them. Potter's cronies. The five of them. Walking straight towards them. It was a daily occurrence at this point, Neville had no idea how they always managed to find him given how big Hogwarts was. But ever since their return earlier in the month, he'd been a Slytherin magnet.

Hermione tensed up behind him, and the five Slytherins immediately shut up the moment they saw them. But Neville didn't care. He didn't stop. Held high, he felt his chest blaze as he kept walking. Faster. Angrier. Hermione had to slightly jog just to keep with his pace, and though she seemed to want to tell him to slow down she didn't.

Neville's heart was beating faster, and all the sound from the room suddenly dissipated when he bumped into Malfoy and Zabini's shoulders, tearing through the group of Slytherins with Hermione in tow.

"Excuse you, FatArse." Malfoy drawled and Neville stopped in his tracks.

"Neville don't-"

Her voice was like a whisper lost in the wind. The only thing he could hear was his heart beating and beating. He felt it all. All the anger he felt every time one of these arseholes came up to him to interrogate them about Potter. Every time they whispered about him across the halls and read the slander from the Daily Prophet. And just like he had many times in the past couple of weeks, he didn't even care to think of the consequences as his body took over and turned him around.

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy." He snarled.

"Merlin, could you be more boring?" Malfoy rolled his eyes, and a couple of the Slytherins behind him sniggered. "At least try to be creative every once in a while. Though I can see how that would be hard for a small-brained muppet like you."

"At least I'm not the son of a filthy Death Eater," Neville spat.

"A shame, truly. My life would be so much better if only I was the son of two stupid dead cunts."

There was a moment where both parties were silent before Neville jumped on Malfoy and began sending a barrage of punches at him. Malfoy covered his face with his arms, but that didn't stop Neville. Hit after hit, he kept at it. Even as he felt Hermione trying to tear him away, as he heard the Slytherins cry for a teacher. It didn't matter to him. Everything and everyone suddenly vanished, consumed by a cloud of darkness as Neville made it his sole goal to drive his fists through Malfoy's face.

"IMPEDIMENTA!" Neville heard a shrill voice bellow just before he was launched six feet from Malfoy and crashed against the ground. Too angry to feel the pain, he immediately stood up, and as his hand went for his wand he saw who had cast the spell at him. It had been Umbridge.

Immediately, Hermione had gone towards him and grabbed hold of his hand before it could reach his wand.

"Take Mister Malfoy to the infirmary," the High Inquisitor commanded Theo and the other Slytherins. And though Neville managed to see a couple of bruises on Malfoy's face and arms, there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," Greengrass said agreeably before the five of them walked away.

It was then that Umbridge turned towards him.

"Never have I seen such a barbaric display of unhinged violence, Mister Longbottom," her voice shook with anger, and Neville could feel Hermione's grip on her arm tighten. "Explain yourself."

"Well, you don't let us use our wands, Professor." Neville bit out. "I had to find another way to shut Malfoy up."

"Detention for the rest of the term," she snapped. "Four hours every night with me, Mister Longbottom. And no more Hogsmeade weekends for you. Perhaps that will be the only way you learn what it's like to be a civilized member of society. Another incident like this, and I'll be forced to expel you."

"But professor, Malfoy provoked him." Hermione pleaded. "He said horrible things about Neville's parents."

Umbridge turned towards Hermione, her face unreadable for a moment. "That is no excuse for Mister Longbottom's actions, Miss Granger. Something I'm hoping you'd at least agree on given how you're somewhat sensible."

"I… well… yes," she finally conceded. And though it was reluctant, Neville couldn't help but feel yet another spark of anger blaze within him.

"Regardless, I'll look into the Malfoy matter. If what you say is true, then he'll also be punished. But do not misjudge. I have had enough of whatever squabble you have with Mister Nott and the other Slytherins. This will be the last of it… or you will not like the consequences."

The Purple Chamber

February 25th, 1996

3:30 p.m.

The Purple Chamber had become more like his home than the actual house where he slept at ever since he left Hogwarts. Joining the Knights had been something he had been looking forward to since he found out about them. And the Chamber was a big reason why. You could almost smell the wealth inside it. The status. The power. It was addicting, and more than that, it gave him a goal. Every time he stepped inside the Purple Chamber, he was reminded of his misfortune. Reminded that he was the poorest, the lowliest of the lot. That his family had been the one disgraced to the public while they all kept their reputation and status intact.

Elijah Montague had been an ambitious boy since before he got to Hogwarts. But bigger than his ambition had been his determination. He was not one to settle. To take the easy road and avoid the hard decisions. Elijah took risks, he liked taking them. For he would not accept the life his parents had left him with. There were only two choices for him. He would either climb the ranks and reach the top once more, or he would perish in the process.

It was something no one within the Knights understood. The hunger. The need. These people, they had never felt that in their lives. Older and wiser they might be, they would never reach his level in just how far he was willing to go to win it all. These people rarely visited the Headquarters unless there was a meeting. The only time they stepped foot inside the Purple Chamber was when they were absolutely needed. But Elijah came here all the time. It was a reminder. A promise.

It was the very reason he had been as successful as he was.

He conducted all his work from the very seat where he was talked down to by Snyde or Rosier or worst of all Yaxley. Parchments and folders were scattered all across the long table, separated into two separate piles. Those he had already read, and those he hadn't. And today he had started early. Had gone over the financial reports from his businesses, and the vast pile of letters - including a whining sob story about not being able to meet up at Hogsmeade anymore due to Umbridge banning him from the trips.

Elijah didn't know whether to kiss or kill the woman for that. Dealing with Longbottom was an annoying necessity, and he needed the boy to know him. Trust him. He couldn't very well do that through letters. It had been easy to poison his mind over the past couple of weeks, feeding his anger towards Potter, and Nott, and Dumbledore, and his grandmother. The list went on and on. Really, it was astonishing how many people an idiotic teen could build such bitter grudges towards. It was pretty much a self-sufficient enterprise, so he wasn't as worried about that.

But the trust was essential. The inherent trust in him. To tell him anything and everything that might cross his mind. Not only would it be valuable information for the Dark Lord, and the perfect position to be in, but it would also give him an advantage in his most recent situation.

When Longbottom had told him about Potter's snapped wand, he couldn't have been happier about it. For a moment, he had even considered gifting the moronic Black with his whole fortune. So when the boy didn't show up for Hogwarts, he hadn't been concerned, and when two of the lowlifes he used to smuggle in his product were brutally murdered at a shit pub, he hadn't thought anything of it.

And then the bodies began to pile up. Bodies that were in no way connected to each other except for the fact that they all worked for him. Contacts from the Knights, lowlifes he hired, and even some employees from his own businesses. Someone was hunting him down. Brutally. Violently. It had taken a couple of days before he found out it was Potter. And though Longbottom had been insistent that his wand had been snapped, that didn't seem to be the case. Or at least he thought so at first.

Nevertheless, it was Potter who was hunting him down. The realisation had brought a bout of anger towards him. There was no reason why he should be targeting him, he hadn't even done anything to the boy yet. It had been Potter who had killed his brother, after all. It was he who should be hunting the brat down. But that wasn't the case, and Elijah was not one to cry about the hand he was dealt.

"So you do know," a cold voice said from behind him, and Elijah had to stop himself from sighing. "Perhaps you're not as daft as I thought."

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Robert?" Elijah asked, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it with his wand.

"To talk about this precisely," he said calmly, taking the spot beside him before he turned towards him with stern hazel eyes. "It's bad for business."

"I understand."

"You may think you do." Robert interrupted him. "But you don't."

"The Dark Lord won't be pleased by this. He wants Britain as quiet as possible, even after news of his return has done nothing but rile the bums of the country."

"Potter's murdering our operatives," the older man said forcefully. "The Dark Lord should be the last thing on your mind. Your petty spat with him has cost the Knights very valuable resources."

"How valuable could they have been if they were killed by a kid."

"The boy isn't a mere kid. Ares is interested in him. And from what my brother's son tells me, he isn't the only one. Dumbledore. Parkinson. Those are three very powerful people, each more than you ever will be, who want a piece of the boy."

"And that saves him from facing justice?" Elijah asked coolly.

"No," Robert answered. "It only postpones his suffering. We work in the shadows. We avoid being found. That's how we survive. You've broken that cardinal rule and allowed Potter to attack us as he pleases. He knows about the Knights, about our associates."

"I'm aware."

"Then fix this," Robert said firmly. "Before Mister Snyde decides he will."

The Witness Stand

February 27th, 1996

5:50 a.m.

"No, no, NO!" Dolohov moaned, kicking a chair over. "Again!?"

Ever since they had found out that Harry hadn't returned to Hogwarts they'd been tracking him. It hadn't taken more than a couple of days for Antonin to find his trail. Barty wished he could say he found it as obvious as Antonin did, but he wouldn't have thought Harry was behind these attacks. Not that he didn't think the boy was capable of it, but going from pub to pub, butchering whatever arsehole he could find was not what he was expecting Harry to do in his extended holiday.

Once they had figured out what he was doing, they began attempting to figure out which location he'd target next. But given how there were thousands of small, shitty pubs like this one across Britain, it was easier said than done. And adding on the Montague connection didn't help as it had only served to add more possible locations to their list. They had taken to going from pub to pub all over the country every night. And The Witness Stand had been the second one in a row which they had arrived at just a few minutes too late.

The place was a mess, with a lot of glass broken and tables smashed. But this scene wasn't like the others. The past three for that matter. While Harry's first attacks had been bloody and gruesome, leaving the victims unrecognisable and very much dead. This one had been different. There were no more gruesome scenes that were capable of making even him feel a bit sick. No horrific torture. And most clearly, there were no corpses.

Everyone was alive, though he wouldn't go as far as to say they were healthy.

It wasn't as if stunners and disarming charms were used. The curses used were still the most effective ones. The fastest to conjure and most likely to do incapacitating damage on the opponent. There were broken bones and bruises, large cuts, and blood staining the whole floor. But no more gouged-out eyes or severed cocks. Harry had suddenly held back and Barty couldn't figure out a reason for the sudden change. More than that, there was something wrong with all these scenes, even the gruesome ones. Though his line of thinking was the complete opposite of Antonin's.

Barty could still remember duelling the boy. Remember just how strongly his spells hit, nearly tearing apart his shields in a single blow. There was no doubt in his mind Harry was very powerful, even maybe holding back within their battles. But the scenes he'd been seeing didn't match the power he knew the boy held. The damage from the curses was noticeably lower than what he had been expecting of him. Most of the injuries came from knives or fists - muggle methods.

Given the curses used in the battle and the connection to Montague, there was no doubt in Barty's mind that it was in fact Harry who had done this. Especially because only a person with his duelling skills would have managed to win an encounter where he was so heavily outnumbered and with such little power behind his attacks.

And that was the worrying part. Harry's power being cut so drastically could mean nothing good for the boy or his future.

Antonin was breathing heavily as he approached the fat man still tied to a chair. Antonin slapped him across the face hard, but even after the man and the chair fell over onto the ground, he didn't wake up. "Huh," Antonin groaned, before rolling his eyes and pulling out his wand. "CRUCIO!"

That seemed to do the trick. The man immediately woke up screaming. He writhed all over the floor, begging for release, but Antonin just laughed. Barty sighed and went on to examine the other bodies. All of them showed what he feared. There were barely any notable wounds from the curses they received, and if Barty were a betting man he'd say that the curses that had done sufficient damage did not come from Harry at all.

It was only after he was finished checking all the bodies that he finally turned to Antonin. "Alright, that's enough."

Antonin pouted but released the curse nonetheless. The fat man was left on the ground, still shaking from the after-effects of the cruciatus curse before he received a strong kick to the face from the redhead.

"The boy?" He asked intensely. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," he cried, begging. "Please, I don't know. I swear. No more. No more."

Antonin kicked him in the face again before Barty grabbed his arm tightly. "He doesn't know anything."

"I know," he shrugged. "I still wanted to do that though. Anyway, we're done here. AVADA KEDAVRA!" A flash of green flew from his wand and immediately ended the man's life, the light vanishing from his eyes. "He isn't killing them anymore," Antonin said bitterly.

"They probably didn't see his face. Or they didn't piss him off."

"Nah," he shook his head. "You saw the others, didn't you? The beauty of them. That level of violence isn't done by someone just trying to get information. There are much simpler ways to do that. No. He was enjoying it. He didn't stop with them until there was nothing left to torture so why the hell would he stop from even killing them?"

"I don't know, and frankly, I don't care," Barty said coldly. "You help me find him, and you can ask him yourself."

"That's what we all want, don't we, gentleman?" A smooth voice said from behind him, causing both men to turn. Elijah Montague stood there, leaning against a pillar in the centre of the room, with a lit cigarette between his lips and dead gray eyes. "To find Mister Potter."

"Another one?" Antonin laughed. "You didn't tell me just how popular Harry really was. A couple more of us and we can set up a fan club."

"What are you doing here, Nemesis?"

"My due diligence," he said emotionlessly. "I must confess myself surprised to find you here."

"Potter is mine and you know it. The Dark Lord has said so himself."

"Indeed, but that was before he started killing my associates. Torturing my employees, it's just bad for business. I can't very well have that."

"As soon as I find him, it'll stop."

"I'm afraid you've had your time, Ares," Nemesis said coldly. "I'm not so willing to stand by anymore, regardless of what you might think of the boy. I'd dare say the Dark Lord would side with me if I pressed the issue, regardless of what special privileges you may have due to your… devotion."

Antonin sniggered beside him, but he was silenced by a single look from Barty.

"You want me to stop looking for him?" Barty said with barely restrained anger.

"Not at all," he said professionally, turning from one to another. "I have a proposition for you gentleman. One I very well hope you'll accept."

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

Next chapter we see Dumbledore for the first time in a while, and Harry finally gets a good lead into Montague's whereabouts . Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and I am in the middle of 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! :)