CHAPTER 87: Life Sentence (Part 2)

Grimmauld Place

5:45 p.m.

Albus couldn't remember the previous time he had felt this nervous, especially for a meeting of the Order. He'd been their leader for years, now. He'd been put up on a pedestal by the Wizarding World for so long, his word taken as law with no one questioning him, that he had forgotten what it was like to feel uncertain of himself. Then again, he doubted anyone within the Order would even be ambivalent to his ideas. And after everything that had happened, Albus couldn't blame them. But with Tom searching for the Deathly Hallows, and his Death Eaters getting closer and closer to their next move, they were out of options.

He had grown to believe that penitence was the better alternative to punishment. This was his time to prove it.

The kitchen was crowded, there was barely any room to breathe. The whole Order was here, not just because of the attack at Nurmengard, but because of the news that Harry had been caught by the Aurors last night. It was a piece of news that had put everyone on edge, as before he could even begin the session everyone was already arguing about it.

"He can't be allowed to talk," Elphias Doge said. "He'll reveal all our identities. We should have enforced the Order rituals on the boy from the moment he stepped foot inside our headquarters."

"I don't believe we had the time, what with Black, Lupin and Tonks immediately beating him to a pulp and locking him up," Moody barked, and both Lupin and Tonks had the grace to look away in shame.

"The boy won't talk," Mundungus said, somehow being the most centred voice of the entire room. "He has no love for the Aurors - any authority figures, really - a boy like that would be rather be sent to Azkaban out of spite than become a snitch."

"And you would know him so well," Andromeda Tonks said. "You didn't even dare get near him while he was here."

"Unlike you lot, I don't have a death wish."

"We have multiple Aurors in our ranks," Hestia Jones spoke up. "Why doesn't Tonks or Kingsley simply snatch the boy up when no one is looking?"

"Someone is always looking," Kingsley said in his deep voice. "Potter has become Scrimgeour's special case. He doesn't even allow me or the rest of the Aurors inside. I wouldn't be risking my career by trying to get near Potter's cell, I'd be blasting it into pieces."

"Albus, you're working for Scrimgeour now," Minerva said, and Albus felt as the entire Order turned towards him. He didn't miss the surprise on their faces either. "Can't you do something?"

Very few people in the room had learnt about his status as the DMLE's newest rookie. It was something he had tried to hide from them, mostly out of shame. It hadn't mattered to the other Aurors that he was Albus Dumbledore, they had started to look down on and mock him nonetheless. With Fudge and Tom doing everything they could to tarnish his name, it was something he had been expecting. Nevertheless, it didn't make it any less humiliating. He'd seen his old students laugh at him when he entered in his new robes and heard the whispers as he'd walked through the halls. And while some - very few - still treated him with kindness and respect, their efforts were drowned out by the others.

Albus sighed, trying not to fall deeper into self-loathing. "Alas, I'm afraid not." The statement made the room explode into madness once again, and his next words did nothing to help the situation. "And even if I did, retrieving Harry from the DMLE isn't our current priority."

He couldn't hear very well through the cacophony of screams, but he managed to piece together the consensus through bits and pieces from everyone. What the hell could be more important than stopping Potter from talking? Albus raised his hand, and though it took a few seconds longer than what he was comfortable with, eventually everyone settled down.

"Tom is preparing his next moves as we speak," Albus said. "Severus tells me he has something in the works - something that will come to fruition within these next few days."

"What is it?" Dedalus Diggle asked.

"From Severus' meeting, we only know that it will happen soon. And that it will be a large movement from the Death Eaters. There is no doubt in me that various members of the inner circle will be involved in this undertaking."

"Could it be the prophecy?" Arthur Weasley asked. "That he's finally making his move on the Department of Mysteries."

"That's certainly a possibility-"

"A possibility?" Aberforth interrupted brusquely. "He's been trying to get the prophecy for nearly a year now. Why would he suddenly shift gears?"

"Because I've just returned from Nurmengard… responding to an attack from Tom himself." A deadly silence spread around the room as if an army of dementors had entered the kitchen and begun to suck out any heat from inside. "He wasn't there to recruit Gellert. He wasn't there trying to find the prophecy."

"Then why was he there?" Sturgis Podmore asked.

Albus didn't answer, not immediately. He locked eyes with Aberforth, and slowly recognition dawned on his face. A look of total distaste spread across his features. And though he would never admit it, Albus saw the slight twinge of fear behind his eyes. And with the two brothers fully understanding, the next move was left to Albus.

The Deathly Hallows was a topic that he and Aberforth had put to rest decades ago. One that, in the dozens of books written about Grindelwald's war, is never brought up. Not even their own squad knew about the importance of the Deathly Hallows and the role they played in the war. It was a topic that was better left forgotten, lest someone else be tempted by their power.

Albus had known it was a futile effort. Artefacts as powerful as the Deathly Hallows would never be truly forgotten. The items themselves thrived in chaos. If Albus hadn't known any better, he would have said they engineered it. Their presence at various defining events throughout wizarding history was not a coincidence. And after Tom's brother wand picked Neville, Albus had felt a slight pull from it every time he used it. Almost as if it was trying to tear itself from his grip. He had only hoped they remained out of the picture this time. But Tom wasn't giving him that choice.

Revealing the Hallows to the Order could prove a great risk, especially since the last war proved how easy leaks within the Order were. No, this would have to be something kept between himself and Aberforth… and his guest who was currently upstairs.

"I'm afraid I'm not sure," he ended up saying, though still stressing the fact that this development was one that could not be ignored.

He continued through the Order meeting, assuaging the fears of each and every member while they made preparations for the conflict that was soon to come. Harry's arrest was a problem that, unfortunately, would have to wait. The discussion was so focused that the other topic of contention inside the Order - that of Sirius Black - wasn't even touched on the entire afternoon. It had all started during last week's Order meeting, where Severus had presented the dementor treatment that Tom had perfected over the past few months and warned that many of Azkaban's inmates were undergoing a somewhat successful treatment. The news had made Albus push Severus to replicate several doses of the potion for Sirius and anyone else who might need them in the future. And though he'd been stubborn, in the end, Severus couldn't help but comply and begin treatment for his old childhood rival. Sirius' physical health was vastly improving, however, the strength of his connection to his own magic was something that couldn't be tested since Harry had stolen his wand when he escaped.

And now with a promising vision of recovery in Sirius' future, a discussion over whether to reinstate him in the Order was merited. This idea was increasingly gathering support after the Order had learnt of Harry's actions over the past few weeks. Albus still felt hesitant about bringing him into the fold again. Even before the dementors, Sirius had never been the most reliable of people. And given his own ambitions of bringing Harry into the fold, he doubted there could be a world where those two would be able to work together. Albus had become one of the few voices left that were still hesitant about admitting Sirius back into the Order, something that didn't please the other members.

With every passing day, more and more conflicts arose within the Order. It was that excuse that Albus used to avoid mentioning his guest upstairs. Unfortunately, his brother knew him better than anyone. He cornered Albus right as everyone started leaving the kitchen - an action that had become so regular between the two brothers no one batted an eye.

"Upstairs," Albus said before Aberforth could say a word. "We'll talk upstairs."

He thought about informing Minerva or Moody of their more private meeting upstairs, but in the end he rejected the idea. It had been over fifty years since the three of them had been in the same room. Anyone else would be intruding.

Albus hesitated as he reached the door, only giving in and grabbing the knob after feeling the sheer magnitude of Aberforth's unrest behind him. He opened the door, and inside was Gellert. He was sitting on the side of the bed, his body somehow looking much frailer than it ever had during his time in Nurmengard. He looked up and gave Albus a small, tired smile. But as he saw Aberforth his face immediately shifted, his gaze lowering to the ground, not able to even look in Aberforth's general direction.

"You've gone mad," Aberforth barked after the door was closed, and the privacy wards were raised.

"Aber-"

"No, Albus," he snapped. "Going to visit him is one thing. But breaking him out and bringing him here? Are you damn well trying to prove the Daily Prophet right?"

"No-"

"Well, you're doing a bloody good job either way."

"Aberforth, if I may-" Gellert tried to say before Aberforth's head snapped to him and the room nearly began shaking from Aberforth's sheer rage.

"Not a single word."

"Tom is after the Hallows," Albus said before Aberforth could continue. "He went after Gellert because he figured out he was the one that stole the wand from Gregorovitch."

"How can you be sure?"

"He asked me," Gellert said calmly. "He asked me where it was."

"And you're taking Grindelwald's word on all of this?" Aberforth snapped. "It's not like he hasn't played you before, has he?"

"Gellert's changed-"

"According to him."

"We need him," Albus said, his words coming out harsher than he'd meant. Taking a deep breath, he calmed down and continued. "Tom's after the wand right now, but he won't stop there. He'll want the rest of the Hallows. I have the wand and I gave young Neville the cloak… but we never found the stone. If we don't find it before Tom does… the damage could be catastrophic. Gellert can help us find it."

"Forgive me for not trusting your abilities, brother. But I remember very well your inability to fight back when the two of you were running around trying to conquer the world. How would this be any different."

"Perhaps it won't. But Gellert is the other person besides myself who knows everything there is to know about the Deathly Hallows. Our best bet to find it is to work together. I appreciate your concerns-"

"You can't even begin to appreciate my concerns, brother." Aberforth spat. "It's taking supreme effort to stop me from turning Gellert into Scrimgeour myself."

"Aberforth," Gellert spoke up, and just as Aberforth was about to yell at him to be quiet, Albus placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "I don't expect you to forgive me for what I did to your family… to all those families. In truth, I know you can't. And I do not blame you. I've spent the better part of my life inside that cell, tormented by the fact that there was nothing I could do to make up for my sins. And I settled with knowing that sitting in that cell made some people happy. But now, knowing that there is something I can do… a way to atone… I want to. Let me help you, not just with finding the stone, but in your effort against Voldemort as a whole. And after it's all said and done, I'll go back to my cell. Gladly. Satisfied. But until then, let me actually be of use. Give me the chance to work for my penance."

Aberforth stared coldly at Gellert. "I don't buy it," he said.

"He doesn't have a wand," Albus reminded him.

"He could steal yours."

"I'll keep it at a safe distance."

"And if he were to get his hands on one of the Hallows."

"I won't," Gellert said.

"I'll make sure of it," Albus continued.

"How?" Aberforth said coldly. "Ever since Voldemort returned, you've been trying to juggle all your responsibilities with as much success as a first-year Gryffindor. And now you're adding Grindelwald to this mess? When is enough enough?"

"You're right," Albus said, and though the words would have stung a few months back, he didn't feel anything when saying them. "You were right all along. The Ministry, the ICW, Hogwarts… I'm leaving them all behind."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm the leader of the Order of the Phoenix. It's time I make that my sole priority. Regardless of what ends up happening… I won't be returning to Hogwarts or any of my other posts. I'll be here, at Grimmauld Place, focusing all my efforts on making sure the stage is set for young Neville to fulfil his destiny."

Aberforth looked surprised, if a little bit proud, but he still wasn't convinced. "It still isn't enough, Albus. We started with protecting the Longbottom boy, then the prophecy… then the Horcruxes, and now the Deathly Hallows. We don't have enough time to focus on all three things at once. We don't have the manpower or the resources that Voldemort has. We can't afford to spread the Order so thin that it becomes useless. If you really mean what you said, start with that. It's time to decide, Albus… what are we going to choose? Prophecy, Horcruxes or Hallows?

Albus sighed, turning away from his brother as he walked over to the window. He watched the busy streets of London, picturing what would become of them in the coming years with Voldemort taking a much more direct and violent approach to his conquest. What would be needed to bottle this moment and make sure future generations would be able to live it? Aberforth was right, moreover, he presented a good question. One that came with a difficult answer.

Gryffindor Common Room

8:10 p.m.

The Gryffindor Common Room was completely empty. Everyone had been led downstairs to the Great Hall for dinner, but Ron had abstained, himself. He couldn't have eaten even if he had tried. It had been well over a week since Hermione had been taken into custody for something related to the Harry Potter case. They hadn't known, not immediately, at least. Ron's father had sent him and Neville a letter explaining the situation a couple of days after Hermione had disappeared. Not even the teachers had been allowed to tell them anything.

He hadn't taken the news well. Ginny had seemed worried, but ultimately convinced herself that everything would be alright and that there was nothing they could do but wait, and Neville had grumbled and whined about Hermione's so-called obsession with Potter (Ron had been too worried to point out the hypocrisy in that statement). Ron however, had been left ansty about the whole situation. Maybe it was because he hadn't exactly parted with Hermione on good terms, the two of them having had one of their stupid arguments the night before, and his concern over the whole situation only grew as the days passed and Hermione remained nowhere to be seen.

He tried getting some answers. From Umbridge. His father. At times, he had even been tempted to send a letter to Scrimgeour himself and demand to be let into whatever the hell was going on over there. Ultimately, he'd restrained himself, but his worry only deepened. He'd begun to eat less. Hang about with Dean and Seamus and the other Gryffindors in the Common Room less. He'd even begun paying more attention in classes - as worthless as the classes had become over the past few months - and even taking notes, knowing Hermione would hate to come back and be forced to catch up on everything she'd missed. But as much as he wanted to ignore it all, push it down, and forget about it, he hadn't been able to.

And the lack of any reaction from either Neville or Ginny did nothing but piss him off, to the point where he'd begun to avoid them if he could. Ron was never someone who appreciated being alone, but over the past few days he'd found it more relaxing than being within a crowd where the topic of Hermione and her extended stay at the DMLE was always coming up. That was one of the main reasons why he found himself stuck in the Common Room on his own.

He tried to distract himself by doing his homework but got bored after three minutes of writing. He tried to play against the enchanted chess boards, but they all proved to be too easy and repetitive for him to actually be presented with a challenge. Ron played around with just about everything that could distract him in the Common Room before finally giving up. He wasn't sleepy, not really, but throwing himself on his bed and trying anyway seemed to be the most appealing idea so far. He began to climb up the stairs to the boy's dormitories, reaching up to the third floor before he stopped.

The door to the third-year dormitory was ajar, light and frantic sounds coming from within. As if someone was tearing the entire dormitory apart in a desperate search for something. On any other day, Ron would have simply ignored it and gone up to his dormitory. It simply wasn't any of his business. But he couldn't help but hear Hermione's voice in his head. You're a prefect, Ronald. This is your responsibility. A slight twinge of hatred for Hermione rose from his soul, somehow still condescendingly commanding him even while she was on the other side of the country. Nevertheless, that didn't stop Ron from peering into the dormitory.

The room looked like an army of hippogriffs had stampeded through it. Everything was thrown on the floor, drawers opened and emptied - the student's luggage too. It was a minefield. . And in the middle of the room, looking like a coked-out niffler as he rummaged through the mess he'd created, was Neville Longbottom.

"What in the bloody hell are you doing?" Ron snapped at his friend, though it barely phased him.

"Ron. You've got to help me. Dinner's about to be over, and I still haven't reached the first and second-year dormitories. Get down there and start searching."

"Searching for what?"

That got his attention as he looked up to scowl at Ron. "My cloak. What else would I be searching for?"

"Your cloak?" Ron echoed, the words somehow coming out of his mouth as his anger began constricting his lungs. "That's what's got you all mad. Your bloody cloak?"

"What else would it bloody be?" Neville snarled, pushing away the luggage and standing up to face him.

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe you could just spare a tiny piece of your mania for your supposed best friend who's rotting in the DMLE as we speak?"

"I warned Hermione to stay away from Potter. I told her to stop her stupid search, and she didn't listen. What else did she think was going to happen?"

"I can't believe you right now. You don't even care that she's being held there, do you?"

"I'm not saying- I do. But how is that my fault? My cloak was stolen weeks ago, and neither of you tried to help-"

"We did everything we could-"

"Well, then it wasn't enough!" Neville snarled, and for a moment, Ron could have sworn his eyes glinted red. And maybe he hadn't imagined it, seeing how Neville seemed startled as well, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.

The fear Ron felt quickly got replaced by rage. "Hermione has been there for you since the start. She's the reason why you made it out of the Triwizard Tournament alive. Without her and her time turner, the dementors would have killed you in the lake. We would have never known it was a basilisk down in the chamber if it wasn't for her! And then she goes and makes a mistake, now that she finally needs our help, and you turn your back on her?"

"Y-you don't understand," Neville's voice trembled.

"Oh, I understand plenty. I've held my tongue - Hermione too - but ever since the school year started, you've been nothing but a shit friend to the both of us. We get it, alright. We understand. With You-Know-Who back, and what happened at the graveyard… but we tried everything. We tried talking to you. We tried giving you your space. We've played nice as you've done nothing but insult us and neglect us, while you've gone around with your new best pal Montague and your obsession with Potter."

"It's not like that," Neville snapped. "You don't understand what it's like… what it feels like to…"

"What? You think You-Know-Who is only coming after you? You don't think I'm scared? For me? For mum and dad, and my family? Just because you're the Boy Who Lived doesn't mean the rest of us are just spectators in this war. And it's no excuse to treat us all like shit."

Neville opened his mouth. He looked like he wanted to say something. Scream something. But nothing came out, and instead of saying anything, he merely closed his fists and stared at him with barely restrained rage.

"The way you're going… you're going to end up alone regardless of if You-Know-Who wins or loses." Ron turned around, barely able to look at his old friend without feeling bile rise up his throat. "Even Potter has his friends. Think about that before you keep pushing us away."

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

11:30 p.m.

To say that Harry was having a shit day would be like saying that Graham Montague had a shit Halloween. He'd been stuck inside the interrogation room since before dawn. Granger had been in there with him for a while, but one of the Aurors had long since taken her back to her own cell, and that had hardly improved the situation. As the alcohol began to fade from his system, the hangover started settling in. And though he wanted to go to sleep, the sheer amount of nausea he felt any time he tried lying down made that impossible.

He slept once, maybe twice, and though there wasn't a clock in the room Harry doubted each nap could have lasted more than twenty minutes each. After that, he settled on accepting his fate. Scrimgeour wouldn't be long, the Aurors would be interviewing him soon enough. Harry was set on not saying a word to Scrimgeour, except maybe telling him to piss off. But they never came. Not Scrimgeour or some other Aurors. Not even someone to give him a blanket, food or maybe some water.

Time passed, and every second became its own hour. Harry wasn't allowed to be bored, though, as the hangover continued to worsen. There was nothing he could do, no position he could place himself in where he wasn't wishing he had kept his word and never let another drop of alcohol touch him. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, the lack of any reaction from the Aurors was starting to get to him. He began pacing, yelling and even throwing the chairs and table around out of desperation.

It was more irritating than anything else. He just wanted to get this over with, but Scrimgeour seemed just a little bit too happy with letting it go on. He was celebrating, no doubt, having a large party just outside while he was left to rot inside with nothing to do but wait as the walls closed in on him.

Eventually, he managed to tire himself out. The hangover was over, and his severe lack of sleep had just hit him like a truck going at a hundred and fifty miles per hour. He threw himself on the ground, his body ignoring how hard and cold it was, and closed his eyes. So, of course, that was the fucking moment when Scrimgeour decided to step inside the room. With a wave of his wand, the Head Auror fixed the mess Harry had made, not even glancing twice at it before doing so.

"Pick yourself up, Mister Potter," Scrimgeour said as he took his own seat, using his wand to push Harry's chair back just enough. "We don't have all night." Harry wanted to scoff, to turn on his side and pretend he wasn't here. But that was just too childish, even for him. And if this was how he was going to face Scrimgeour, he'd do it on his terms. So he took the offered seat, forcing himself to keep steady, calming breaths - though something told him that wouldn't be enough.

"It took us a while to find you, I'll admit, but here we are at last." Scrimgeour continued. "This whole thing is more of a formality than anything. We caught you red-handed at the scene of a crime. And even without that, Miss Granger has seemingly done all our work for us."

"Then why are you here?" Harry couldn't stop himself. "You don't seem like the type of man to waste his time. Especially with stuff like this."

Scrimgeour smiled. The expression didn't suit the man, it looked more predatory than amused - or even gloaty. "A formality, as I said." He reached into his robe and pulled out a large brown folder with the words The Book of Harry written over it, bolded. "I've seen a lot of crooks and killers in my life, but never one like you. I mean, this…" Scrimgeour leafed through the parchments, revealing bits and snippets of Harry's life to his very eyes. "Orphaned son of two war heroes. Lived with his abusive muggle family. Tortured and possessed before you even reached thirteen. Even the dementors couldn't seem to resist you."

Harry's blood began to boil, all of his instincts were screaming at him to do something - anything. But instead, he clawed at his knees and swallowed all his urges.

"Reading through all of this wasn't easy. I had to stop myself several times, in fact. What happened to you… it shouldn't have happened to anyone. And I'm going to ensure it doesn't happen to anyone else. But don't think for a second that excuses what you've done." Scrimgeour skipped to the last few parchments in the folder. "Killing Graham Montague. Framing the Davis girl. Then there are the murders. The torture. And everything else we still haven't found out yet."

"I don't know what you mean," Harry said.

"Yes, Mister Potter, you do. You've spent the past three months on your one-man vigilante crusade. You've hunted down Elijah Montague and killed anyone who got in the way. Dismembering people - good, upstanding citizens of this country - until they were near death." Harry bit his tongue, he bit it so hard he could have sworn he felt a little bit of blood trickle down from it. Scrimgeour was pleading with him to talk. To have an outburst. And he wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "Don't deny this."

"I didn't do anything."

"Just tell me why," Scrimgeour pressed on. "We have all the evidence. There are dozens of pictures, and now with this, we have motive and means. Why were you hunting down Montague?"

"I wasn't doing anything."

"You didn't get enough by killing his brother? You wanted to go for the whole family? You stalked him in his home. The family manor. What did Elijah Montague do to you that made you so angry as to kill all those people just for a face-to-face with him."

The words were meant to affect him, Harry knew. But as Scrimgeour got more and more pushy, the less impact they actually had on him. All that time he'd been left waiting had just been a ploy to tire him out. To make him act more rashly. To give into what Scrimgeour wanted him to do. He wouldn't do that, Harry determined. No more. He'd given in to what people wanted of him for too long now. If Scrimgeour wanted to condemn him, he'd have to do the leg work himself. The case clearly wasn't as cut and dry as Scrimgeour wanted to make it seem. Harry only needed to hold on.

He smiled, and the twitch in Scrimgeour's face at Harry's change was so satisfying, he wanted to try the Patronus charm again.

"I didn't do it."

"Yes, you did."

"No, I didn't."

"Then who did?" Scrimgeour stood from his chair and loomed over him. "Very few people have your skill, Mister Potter. What you did at the Three Broomsticks shows just how capable you are in a confrontation. Not only do you have the ability, but the crime scenes at the other pubs match your MO. The same spells. The same strategies."

"That's not possible," Harry said simply.

"How come?"

"Because I don't have a wand. It was snapped a long time ago."

Scrimgeour narrowed his eyes at him, seemingly trying to grasp the reason for what he must consider to be a lie. "You're lying."

"Am I?" Harry gave a small grin as he looked up at Scrimgeour. "Why would I lie?"

"We took your wand when we brought you in."

"No. You took a wand when you brought me in. One I found a couple of months back and decided to keep as a souvenir. But it's not mine."

"Impossible."

"Have you actually checked it? Really checked it? Call Mister Ollivander, if you doubt me. I hear he has an uncanny memory, enough to match each of his wands with their owner."

"I saw you use it."

"You certainly couldn't have. That's not mine. And we both know how wands work. Once they're snapped, there's no going back. No fixing it. No using another wand. So tell me, how is it that I committed all these murders without even having a wand?"

Harry could tell Scrimgeour wanted to grind his teeth, but instead, he sat back down and leaned back against his chair. "We still have this," he said, patting the large folder on the desk. "It's all the evidence we need for the recent murders. Besides, it documents the Montague incident, which was back when you actually had a wand."

"It's the ramblings of a dim-witted reporter who focuses on writing sensationalist pieces for a tabloid. According to this, I still had a wand and did magic long after it was snapped. If such a big part of your little folder is built on a lie, how can anyone trust what's written before? Especially since most of the sources are just terrified kids who have been continuously told I was a murderer by the Daily Prophet."

"The Wizengamot wouldn't see it that way."

"Maybe not, I'm not one to say how they would react. But what would they trust more? The evidence collected by the Aurors that proved Tracey Davis was the one who attacked Graham Montague, or a sloppily written biography with so many holes, not even Skeeter's old bosses would accept it? Is this enough evidence to convince them that they made a mistake when sentencing Tracey Davis to Azkaban? Please, don't make empty threats to me, Head Auror."

Scrimgeour's face darkened, and for once Harry saw the genuine hatred the man seemed to have for him. "You're lying. Try and coat it with fancy words as much as you like, we both know that. And as long as I know that, I won't stop trying to prove it. You're going to make a mistake. Some day soon, you're going to trip up, and I'm going to be there when you do."

I'm not sure, Harry thought. You look too old to last that long. But instead of saying that, he said: "I'm not lying, here. You're wasting your time."

"We'll see," Scrimgeour said.

Harry lost track of how much time Scrimgeour spent inside the room with him, not even daring to take a small break. But by the time he had left, Harry was sure of two things. The sun was already rising, and he'd just bought himself a little bit of time.

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

Next chapter Amelia and Rufus talk after Harry's interrogation and Theo and Pansy work on Bedivere's mission. Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and I have just started writing the second arc of the THREE-ARC FINALE titled Children of Fate! 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! :)