Chapter 41

Ultimately, they decided not to destroy the evidence of their crime with magic fire. Once the radiation had been disposed of and the river of bodily fluids banished from beneath the corpses, Snape had been correct. It did look like some horrific dark spell gone awry.

There was enough lingering dark magic on the property, in the manor itself, thanks to the Dark Lord having been in residence and the Malfoy family's historic predilections, that assuming some uncontrolled new spell would be natural. They had still considered Fiendfyre just to be safe, but Snape wondered what would happen if no one could identify the bodies. If it could not be proven that the Dark Lord was dead, there was no doubt that Dumbledore would continue waging his private war.

An otter patronus met George at the edge of the property while he waited for Ambrosi to remove their additions to the wards. It didn't say anything. It didn't need to. She floated around him for a moment, coming to stop in front of his face, pressing its cool head against his forehead. George knew what she needed.

"I'm going back. Do you need me for anything else here, Ambrosi?"

Watching the otter dissipate, Ambrosi shook his head. "No."

Taking a calming breath and preparing himself, George apparated.

When he arrived, he noted James Potter, still tied and unconscious where he had left him. Good. He didn't have time to deal with that yet.

Hermione was waiting for him just outside the tent. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, eyes downcast and filled with tears.

"I'm here, Love."

She looked up, her face contracting with grief when she saw him. A tear slipped free that she quickly dashed. "George, he…" She gestured vaguely behind herself as he approached her. "He's asking for you. Fab—" Her voice broke as he took her in his arms but she managed to hold it together. "Fabian wants to talk to you."

There was a violent storm of emotion beating his chest and strangling his voice. He couldn't say anything. There was nothing that he could say. No comforting words would change what had happened. He settled for holding her close, breathing her in, taking all the comfort he could from her.

She reached up and kissed his cheek. "I love you." Then she was pulling away from him so he could go inside.

The tent somehow seemed dim in spite of the darkness outside and the air was close.

Gideon stood in the middle of the room, facing away from his brother's sick bed. His posture was rigid but what George could see of his face looked slack. When he did not acknowledge his presence, George turned away from him, taking his seat beside his dying uncle.

He didn't look any different than he had when George had seen him earlier, but for his open eyes. Those eyes, that had always seemed somehow familiar to George, were wet and unfocused. The camp chair protested his weight and the sound drew their attention. Recognition flickered across his uncle's pallid face.

"George. Did you see? The manor…"

"Yes."

Fabian wheezed a wet breath. "What did we do, George? What right did we have?"

George blinked burning eyes. "What right did Voldemort and his Death Eaters have to butcher muggles and muggleborns?"

"It doesn't make it right."

"Fewer people died in that ballroom then he would have killed in both wars had he been allowed to continue, Fab." George shook his head. "Everyone there would have cheered him on."

"I don't think…" A raspy cough cut him off, George reaching for a nearby glass of water to help him. After a moment, he tried again. "I don't think even Bellatrix deserved this."

George sniffed. "You didn't see what she did to Hermione, what she's still doing to her, what she'll carry with her for the rest of her life. Hermione was fortunate to get away from that monster alive."

The image of Bellatrix LeStrange lying burned and twisted in her own filth, begging for death flashed before his eyes. Maybe it made him a bad man, but he had stood over the Death Eater and savored her agony—for what she did to his wife, for all the nights he'd held her as she wept from nightmares of torture. "I can not bring myself to regret what we did. It was gruesome and horrific but they deserved it and we ended the war in one night." He looked up and met his uncle's conflicted gaze. "The only thing I regret is that you got caught in it, Fab."

"That's the only thing I don't regret." He turned his head slightly toward the tent flap. "Is Potter ok?"

George took his hand in both of his, ignoring the tears that slipped free. "Ya, ya he's ok. There was a…" He coughed and forced himself to be calm. "He said Kingsley asked them to back off, stop watching us. Dumbledore put a compulsion on him. That's why he was here, why he was stupid enough to go in there alone."

"Bastard." Fabian weakly squeezed his hands. "Make him pay, George. For what he did to Molly, and for me."

He looked up, meeting his angry gaze with resolve. "I will, Fabian. I promise. He won't get away with any of it."

Satisfied, Fabian closed his eyes and settled back onto his pillow. "Look after Gid for me, nephew." With a heavy sigh, he fell asleep again.

George took a moment to sit with his grief. He let the rest of the tears fall when no one could see. Personally, it had been a blessing to have had any time with Fabian at all. But that didn't make it easier. And it would take a long time for Gideon to realize it wouldn't have been better to die with his brother.

A red handkerchief appeared next to him. "Here." Gideon stood behind him, his face half hidden by hair. "Ambrosi wants to give him another dose of his pain potion and a sedative. Go deal with the brat my brother's dying for. I'll stay here."

He accepted the handkerchief and wiped his face. "Fuck. I…" He looked up at Gideon. "This was Dumbledore's fault, Gid. He couldn't get to us through Mum and Dad."

"I heard. Bastard." Gideon sniffed, his hand fisting at his side. "He won't get away with it."

"No. He won't."

GH

There was a stabbing headache beginning behind Kingsley's left eye and his stomach hurt. This day had started way too early. He hadn't had anything to eat yet.

The edge of the metal table he was leaning against dug painfully into his hip but he didn't move. It was all that was keeping him focused.

"Here. You look like shite." Moody clomped into the room, pushing a pepper-up into his hands. "What did they find?"

Kingsley sighed and downed the potion. "They confirmed it."

"We're going to have to testify against him." His voice was gruff, the idea of betraying a decades-long friendship distressing the usually unflappable Auror.

"He's brought this on himself, Moody. We can't ignore what he's done. If he is allowed to get away with this, who knows what he might try in the future." Kingsley tapped the glass between them and the interrogation room. The Auror that had been questioning the Potter heir glanced back at him and nodded. "Besides. The Weasleys and the Prewetts deserve justice."

The Auror stepped out. "What do you want me to do with him, sir?"

"Put him in holding for now. We don't want him going anywhere."

"Yes, sir."

Moody sighed. "This is going to be a bloody nightmare. He's the most powerful and respected wizard in the hemisphere." The 'and my friend' was left unsaid.

"Well," Kingsley followed him out of the interrogation rooms and down the hall. "It's a good thing Crouch, at least, isn't his biggest fan."

The head of the DMLE was in his office, notes zipping in and out between Kingsley and Moody as they entered. When he noticed his guests, he frowned and grunted. "Well?"

Moody dropped uninvited into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs across from the desk. "The compulsion charm was there, just like they said. Combined with what he did to the Weasleys, I'd say you have enough to go after Dumbledore, Crouch."

Barty Crouch Sr's mouth twitched, his fingers steepling in front of his face. "What happened at Malfoy Manor… I don't believe for one second the Prewetts had nothing to do with it. Their story is pathetic, honestly. Just observing? Bah." He traced his mustache with his index fingers. "However, I am disinclined to investigate further—whatever happened there, the so-called 'Dark Lord' and every single one of his known supporters are now dead and no longer our problem. The Wizengamot may not feel the same, however. Many of their number were just murdered, after all."

"So what, we just let him get away with it?" Kingsley couldn't believe Crouch would suggest that.

He was right. The head of their department smirked. "Of course not. I will be the one presenting the evidence and those idiots have always been too easy to sway. Besides, the Prewetts earned themselves a lot of good will with their little hat venture and those that would have been most against them are melted into the Malfoy ballroom floor."

Kingsley snorted. "Those were also the ones most likely to convict Dumbledore."

Crouch stood and leaned over his desk. "He attempted to end an entire Pureblood line. The Weasleys may not have the social standing of the Malfoys or the Blacks, but they are still an old pureblood family. One of the few with more than one heir. If we can pin Fabian Prewett's death on him too, there will be outrage. From what I understand, if he hadn't sacrificed himself the Potters would be extinct as well."

"Do you think he deserves Azkaban?" Moody looked uncomfortable at the very idea, despite having earlier told Kingsley he had thought about it.

Crouch shrugged. "At the very least, this will see him removed from Hogwarts, and," his grin was almost evil. "more importantly, block Bagnold's bid to seat him as chief Warlock. She'd planned to put it forward at the next session."

A bad feeling churned Kingsley's gut. "What if he seeks retribution against the Weasleys, the Prewetts… us? If he's allowed to carry on free, we will all be watching our backs waiting for revenge."

He tsk'd, his dark eyes shrewd. "Have some faith in me." Something devious flashed across his face. "Maybe we could petition to have him sent to Nurmengard. Reunite him with an old friend."

Kingsley nodded, catching Moody's eye. "We'll trust it to you then. But, there is one more thing."

Crouch sighed. "Of course there is. What is it?"

"The Prewetts were working with a defected Death Eater. He was spying for them and actively helping retrieve items needed for finally ending Voldemort."

"Who is the Death Eater and what are the items?"

"A young kid, just out of Hogwarts, Severus Snape. And horcruxes. Apparently he had five. All now destroyed."

Incredulity and then resignation took equal turns on Crouch's face. "Do they have any proof of this? Five? How is that even possible?"

Moody pulled a package from his robes. "Four destroyed vessels. They delivered them to us with Potter. The fifth is… fused to what is left of Voldemort's body." He shuddered. "Truly gruesome."

"Yes, it was…" Crouch inspected the wrecked artifacts carefully, frowning with recognition. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Was," Kingsley corrected. "But yes. Somehow he found the lost diadem."

With a heavy sigh, Crouch sat back into his seat. "This Snape fellow is likely counting on the Prewetts to help keep him out of Azkaban. If we try to arrest him it could unravel our entire case against Dumbledore." His face twitched and he tsk'd. "His story would shift blame for Fabian's death and make them look much less sympathetic. Albus didn't actually kill anyone after all and I'm positive the Prewetts are responsible for that ghastly scene at the Manor."

Crouch was quiet for so long, that Kingsley began to wonder if they should go. Just as he was about to ask if they were dismissed, Crouch rapped his knuckles on the desk and looked up.

"With all of his compatriots dead, there is no one that would even point to Snape as a Death Eater. And what of Lucius Malfoy? His body was not at the Manor and yet it was there that his master was killed. Was he working with the Prewetts too?"

"Yes. But of course, the Prewetts have nothing to do with what happened there."

Crouch narrowed his eyes. "It is fortunate for Lucius Malfoy that my lifelong mistrust of Albus Dumbledore and his insincerity and plotting far outweighs my dislike for him."

Understanding what his superior wanted, Kingsley nodded. "For all we know, it is Lucius Malfoy himself that arranged for Voldemort and the rest to be killed. It was in his own home after all, from which he was conspicuously missing. He may be the hero that saved Great Britain from the scourge of Voldemort."

Crouch barked a laugh. "The Wizengamot will just love that." He shook his head. "I'll send a summons for Dumbledore. He won't react well to a show of force. Tell the Prewetts to expect a request for testimony. Arthur and Molly too."

There was a chorus of "Yes, sirs" and they left his office. Whatever the outcome, the next few weeks were sure to shake up Wizarding London.

A/N I am sorry this one is short again and still kind of depressing. We are almost at the end. I promise the epilogue is going to be pure self indulgent fluff.