CHAPTER 89: Life Sentence (Part 4)

Lavenham, Suffolk

3:30 a.m.

There was barely a crack as the two men appeared on the street, and before either of them could blink, every source of light exploded simultaneously. It should have been loud enough to wake up the neighbours, but not even the sound of the wind was audible. Not anymore. Bedivere began moving, using the darkness surrounding him as his disguise. And though Augustus' mind was screaming at him to abandon ship, he followed nonetheless.

It had been nearly forty-eight hours since Bedivere had announced Yaxley's disappearance. Forty-eight hours in which neither of the men had been allowed to eat or sleep. The situation was too dire to waste any amount of time on useless tasks. Bedivere's boy had tried following in their footsteps, but he was simply not built for it. There was a reason why the Unspeakables were so feared, even by their colleagues. They were far from the regular wizard. Their lack of need for rest or sustenance was merely the tip of the iceberg as to what their job had turned them into.

They'd apparated all around the country, searching through every safe-house of the Knights of Walpurgis that Bedivere knew of. And when that search had left them empty-handed, they had been forced to begin surveillance on all the families in the organisation, recording their comings and goings with the hope of finding a location that linked any of the families.

Most of the families in the organisation were rather public. Rich or powerful or both, it hadn't been hard to pick up their trails and begin reconnaissance. There was only one family that proved to be tricky for them, that being the Snydes. It was a name Augustus had never heard before he began his undercover work with the Death Eaters. He'd never met a Snyde at Hogwarts nor at the Ministry. There were no Snydes in the Department of Mysteries, Azkaban, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, or any other place where a wizard might commonly be found. It had gotten to the point where Augustus had thought the name was another cover that Deimos and Phobos employed to protect their identities from an overtly curious Death Eater.

But that wasn't the case, not according to Bedivere. The Snydes were a family, alright. Simply not one with any records. There was barely any information about them in the Ministry, nothing other than their birth and death certificates, as well as their tax returns. No information about their family history or current occupations. Not even a single picture of them. To most of the population, the Snydes didn't exist. And the ones that learned about their existence never found them relevant enough to remember.

Augustus had thought that Bedivere Parkinson was immune to fear. A Death Eater and the Head of the Department of Mysteries, he'd seen him face the Dark Lord while he was furious without even blinking. Heard him talk about all the monstrosities deep within the Department of Mysteries with a cool and calm tone. This was the man who talked about defeating the Dark Lord as though it were a foregone conclusion. Another petty task on his to-do list. And yet, as they'd talked about Mister Snyde over the past day, Augustus couldn't help but see a sliver of hesitancy deep within Bedivere's eyes.

But while Bedivere was worried about Mister Snyde, Augustus was worried about the senior Parkinson himself. Every moment he spent in his presence, he couldn't help but be on edge. Even if he wasn't an Unspeakable and hadn't overcome the need for sleep, Augustus would have chosen to succumb to insanity from lack of sleep rather than close his eyes with Bedivere in the same room.

He would never trust the man. Not in the slightest. But the threat of the Dark Lord was one that couldn't be ignored. Once the Dark Lord has been dealt with once and for all, his focus would shift back onto the man who left him to rot in hell for fifteen years. But until then, he was not willing to stand by and wait for the Dark Lord to conquer Britain and get his hands back on him again. He would kill himself before returning to the Dark Lord's clutches.

Unfortunately, he rather liked living. Which meant he had no other choice than to join Bedivere's suicide mission. And the odd thing was, even though he hated the man, he couldn't help but gain confidence in their mission every time Bedivere spoke. There was a certainty to it, a power in his words that made him believe killing the Dark Lord was something feasible rather than a dead man's dream.

Bedivere would come to regret giving him that confidence.

The two walked for a few minutes before finally coming across the house they had singled out. It had been one of four where various knights had met over the course of the day. And after searching through the other three, this was the likeliest option for Yaxley's location. The powerful wards radiated around the perimeter, promising a gruesome and torturous death for the wizard fool enough to trespass.

The two Unspeakables immediately got to work on the wards. It took them longer than his pride would have liked, but eventually, both men managed to get past the wards without fully taking them down or alerting the wizard who had cast them. There were a few more traps laid around the entrance, most of which Bedivere and Augustus noticed and deactivated before they could spring them. However, there were a couple that forced them into action.

When they finally entered the house, having crossed yet another set of wards, Augustus' robes were filled with holes and covered in a foreign - potentially toxic - liquid while Bedivere's right arm was covered in deep cuts and his face black after being coated with Peruvian darkness powder.

"This must be the location," Bedivere said, quickly healing his arm, though the powder on his face didn't seem to be as easy to remove.

Augustus nodded. Compared to all the other safe houses they had visited, this one was by far the best protected of them all. While the others had had a few wards to keep intruders out, they weren't lethal wards. Nor were they as complicated to dismantle as the other ones. The only reason there could be protecting this one with such ferocity was to protect a valuable treasure.

"I'll take the first floor," Augustus said. "You search the ground floor."

The house was dark and cold, and though Augustus was tempted to light his way with his wand, he feared it may only result in one of the knights' wards activating and potentially killing him. Every single step he took made the entire house shake and creak, like a giant piano where every inch was a different note. Even after silencing his shoes and placing a weightless charm on his body, the floor still somehow sensed where he was and sang accordingly.

He went over every room thoroughly, fighting the occasional cursed doll carrying a knife that should honestly be too heavy for it to carry, and avoiding the wards that would set the entire house ablaze or cause it to implode on itself. In the back of his mind, Augustus knew that there were similar traps downstairs waiting for Bedivere, something along the lines of flying knives or carnivorous sofas. But he was left with nothing to do but pray to Magic and Fate themselves that if the old man did activate a trap, it wouldn't be one that would kill them both.

It was only as he began to reach the master bedroom that Augustus stopped. There was something in the room, the power radiating from it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. Merely walking forward felt like he was underwater, trying to walk at the bottom of the ocean.

The room was empty. Not as in, there were no wards protecting it. But as in, there was no bed. No nightstand. No drawers or any sort of furniture. Nothing but a small safe, barely the size of a small toolbox, sitting at the centre of the room. There was nothing special about it. It almost looked as if it was half-opened already. And yet, a voice at the back of his mind knew that it was the most dangerous thing in the house.

Augustus called out for Bedivere, and when the old man finally reached the room and took a look at the safe, his expression looked as troubled as Augustus'.

"Can you feel it?" he asked.

"Yes," Bedivere replied. He raised his hand and touched the air in the room, his fingers moving through invisible strings in front of them. "The Horcrux. It's inside the safe."

"Do you have any idea on how to get past its protections?"

"Some, though I'm not wholly confident about any of them. It would be best if you continued searching the house without me."

Augustus raised an eyebrow at the old man. "Shouldn't we work on this together?"

"Corban could still prove a thorn in our side if we do not find him," Bedivere said. "There's a hidden basement. I was in the middle of dismantling the wards protecting the door when you called out for me. I have no doubt that you'll find Corban there."

Augustus gritted his teeth. The search for Yaxley was a ruse, a meaningful one, but one to get him away from the Horcrux nonetheless. Still, he nodded and went to continue Bedivere's work downstairs. The wards had been mostly removed, there were only a few loose ends that needed to be handled before the defences completely fell. And though his interest remained upstairs with the eerie safe, Augustus opened the door and headed down the stairs.

He smelt it immediately. It was one thing to see a basement and see how grimy and disgusting it was, and it was a whole other thing to actually smell it. While not as horrible as the dementors, it wasn't far behind. There was no light in the room, but still Augustus could see everything he needed. A small stool, a table covered with instruments, and Corban Yaxley hanging from a chain that sprung from the ceiling. His metal arm was nowhere to be found. He was naked. Surrounded by nothing but his own piss and shit.

Yaxley was shaking, his eyes rolled so far up into their sockets that only the whites were visible. He was much skinnier than he remembered, standing on the tips of his toes. He must have been in that position for a long time because they were already disfigured and covered in blood. Worst of all was the state of the rest of his body. Covered in grime, there were very few inches of his body that weren't marred by scars or perforated by open wounds.

Augustus Rookwood was not fond of Yaxley, but he couldn't help but be appalled by the scene in front of him.

"Corban," he said, only to immediately regret it.

Yaxley began flailing around, screeching inhuman sounds that felt like they came from his very soul. As he convulsed, he began tearing at the skin on his wrists, showing a glimpse of the bones and muscles beneath. His body cracked in horrific ways, contorting into shapes that Augustus hadn't thought to be physically possible.

And Augustus could do nothing but stand there in shock, feeling his very bones chill at the sight. Once he finally snapped out of it, he went to Yaxley and tried to calm him, only to receive a kick to the gut and a screech so loud it made his ears ring. With a heavy heart, Augustus stunned Yaxley. He watched as his body abruptly slumped, robbed of all life it once had.

It almost felt like killing him.

Augustus' ears were still ringing, his vision turned blurry. All the sound dropped off and everything in the room disappeared. Everything but Yaxley's hanging body. He felt numb as he walked forward and removed the chain that held Yaxley upward. The sudden fall took Augustus by surprise, and though he tried to use his magic to catch him, the body hit the ground with a deafening thud.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Augustus levitated him and began climbing the stairs back to the ground floor. He tried to come up with the words he would say to Bedivere. A way to phrase what he had seen down there. In his time with the Unspeakables and Death Eaters, he had never something that made his blood curdle as much as what he'd seen in that basement. There was no putting it into words. Too shaken by what he had seen, he barely felt the floor shake until the kitchen exploded around him.

The glass cracked and everything was suddenly launched all over the place. Augustus only just managed to shield himself and Yaxley before two men jumped through the windows and began launching curses at them. Dropping Yaxley's body, Augustus trained his wand on the closest man and forced all the blood out through his orifices. Mouth. Ears. Eyes. He floated in the air, exsanguinated and completely lifeless.

The other man managed to launch a few curses at him, a couple of them hitting his shoulder and leg respectively before he raised another shield. And once he saw his opportunity, Augustus yanked the man forward before transfiguring and animating each of his limbs into giant serpents that ate at his body. The man shrieked and cried out, but Augustus ignored him as he found Yaxley's body, placed the portkey necklace around his neck and activated it.

He disappeared with a crack, but their work was not yet finished.

"Parkinson!" Augustus called out as he reached the second floor, rushing into the master room only to immediately burst into a massive void. He wasn't falling, he was floating. And all around him were millions of lines flying at speeds beyond anything he'd felt before. Runes. Sigils. Hieroglyphs of kinds he'd never seen before. All of them scrambled randomly - eternally. And in the middle sat Bedivere. While Augustus was floating chaotically, not even managing to stay still, Bedivere looked like he was still sitting on the floor, eyes closed and fully focused. Waving his wand in ways a hundred-year-old man shouldn't be able to do.

He looked like he was trying to put the runes in the right order, only they were too fast. Even for him.

"Hold them off," Bedivere's voice rang in his ears, even as the old man kept his mouth shut.

And before Augustus could do or say anything, he was thrown out of the room and crashed into the wall right in front of the door. Not wanting to tear at his mind thinking about what he'd seen, Augustus immediately sprinted downstairs where there were already three men inside the house.

The knights must have called their entire army of thugs because no matter how many Augustus took down, five more took their place. And though the treatment Bedivere had been giving him had done wonders to his mind, body and magic, he still was a far cry from his previous potential.

The thugs were decent duellers. Their curses were strong and they knew how to move quickly. But Augustus had never been a big believer in using the common roster of offensive and defensive spells. He had never had a perfect aim to rely on them. And as someone who spent most of his years studying the more obscure and advanced ways of magic he had grown more than fond of employing those methods in his arsenal. Most people called them barbaric. Nightmarish. There was a reason why he had gained such a reputation as Hermes. Even some of the Unspeakables were unsettled with the way he twisted what was considered acceptable magic and made it look more macabre than any dark arts.

Augustus took pride in that.

He didn't know how long he held them off. It felt like a whole hour, but he doubted it was more than ten minutes. The signs of his time in Azkaban began showing, and slowly but surely every spell he cast began to take more and more of a toll on him. They were slowly pushing him back upstairs. And as he began losing his advantage, more and more men entered the house. He was pinned down. And though a part of him wanted to use his portkey to get away and leave Bedivere to fend for himself, he sprinted up the stairs before blowing up the ceiling and letting it all cave in below him.

"Parkinson!" Augustus shouted, banging on the door that was now shut and locked. "There's no more time."

A loud explosion shook the house. The rubble from the stairs crashed against the wall, easily breaking through it. Augustus turned immediately, his eyes meeting the first of the goons. He raised his wand and executed a sharp jab before pulling back. The curse hit the man, and he felt the effects immediately. He dropped to the ground, clutching at his chest as he screamed at the top of his lungs. The two men that had gone up behind him stared in fear, and Augustus took the opportunity to deal with both of them before destroying the second floor landing.

Suddenly, there was a crushing sound and Augustus saw the beating heart speed past him, crashing against the wall. It began to pound on it over and over again. And the last goon stared in shock, still alive even with the gaping hole in his chest showing where his heart used to be.

There was a loud outcry from below, and before Augustus could do anything he felt a hand grip his shoulder and turn on the spot. The trip wasn't easy-going, feeling as if they were bouncing all over a corridor, hitting every wall before crash landing on the cold floor of Parkinson Palace. And yet, somehow, Bedivere Parkinson managed to land on his two feet. He didn't look the least bit bothered by their situation.

"Did you get it?" Augustus asked as he stood up.

"Yes," Bedivere said, pulling out a locket and a map from his pocket. "And it seems Corban managed to finish tracking down the other Horcruxes. Where is he?"

"I sent him ahead," Augustus said, managing to keep his voice steady. "But the

knights were rather thorough with him. He's in no condition for anything. He won't be for a while."

"No matter," Bedivere said indifferently. "He no longer has a pivotal part to play."

The silence stretched, and Augustus could see Bedivere's mind running rampant. "So what's next?" He asked, not appreciating being left out.

"We retrieve those Horcruxes."

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

6:50 p.m.

Harry scratched at the floor below him, barely feeling the wet, sticky feeling on his fingertips as he stared at the bars keeping him confined.

After Grimmauld Place, he had promised himself he would never end up inside a cell again. And for a moment, he had almost believed he could keep it. It was easy to ignore when he was in the interrogation room. To pretend that he hadn't been caught. But after Bones visited and the guards finally took him to his cell the reality of everything had suddenly crashed on top of him.

They had paraded him around the DMLE. Letting all the Aurors watch as he crossed the bullpen, hands and feet chained. Even Dumbledore was there for some reason, giving him his usual forlorn look before he was taken away. And once the cell was closed and they'd finally given him a bit of food, he'd been left alone. With nothing to do but rot with his own thoughts.

He'd been famished. After over two days without sustenance, his stomach had begun to cannibalise itself. But after two bites, the cell began spinning. If his stomach had anything in it, Harry would have probably vomited it out. And after that, he'd left his plate untouched. A full day passed and still, he hadn't even looked at it. For as hungry as he was, his body would continue to refuse the food.

Any attempts to fall asleep had been as futile as anything else he tried. And now, after being awake for God knows how many hours he didn't even feel in control of his body. As if it was too tired to move, leaving him trapped inside his own mind. His very soul felt like it was hovering just above his body. He wanted to sleep. Needed to sleep. But his mind wouldn't let him rest. Bones wouldn't let him rest.

She would be horrified by what you've become.

He kept replaying the conversation in his head. Over and over again. Most of the time it felt like he was brought back to the memory. Watching it play out from his own body. Hearing himself say everything just right. But eventually… it stopped being Amelia who he was seeing. It wasn't Amelia who was talking to him, saying those horrible things. It was Susan. Other times it was his mother. His father. Michael. Theo. Pansy. Ginny. Mrs Weasley. And it only got worse once they stopped following her script.

You're no son of mine

Who would want to be friends with someone like you?

Hermione was right. You are a monster.

Amelia had said those things to try and force a confession out of him. They weren't real, they shouldn't have affected him. And yet, he couldn't think about anything else . It had taken everything in him not to argue back. Not to let go and risk saying something he would end up regretting. He hadn't stopped feeling this non-stop aching in his chest, a raw burning feeling that hurt worse than any curse.

What you're doing isn't making her proud… it isn't honouring her memory. She'd be less insulted if you were to stand before her grave and piss on it.

Amelia had to have been lying. Susan was murdered because of him. She wouldn't have wanted him to sit around and forget her. To move on and pretend he wasn't the reason she died. She would have wanted to be avenged. She would have wanted Montague to suffer. For all of them to suffer.

Right?

If you really wanted to honour Susan's memory, you'd confess and admit that you're guilty.

He wanted to scream. Even now that he was alone, he wanted to scream that she was wrong. That she didn't know Susan. Didn't know what they had. Who she really was… but did he even know her? He'd only started talking to her around October, not even two full months before she died. And Amelia… she was her aunt. The person who had watched Susan grew up. Who talked to her about everything. Who had actually spent enough time with her to know what she was actually thinking.

How could he say he knew Susan better than her? Who was he to say she was wrong?

But if you truly believe that you're doing the right thing for Susan here, you're already too messed up to be fixed.

Maybe he was. He couldn't help but give a bitter laugh at that thought. For fuck's sake, after everything that had happened to him, he couldn't find a better explanation. The Dursleys. Montague. Tom. The dementors. Junior. Snape. They'd all fucked him up too much to even pretend he was still a normal person. He couldn't spend five minutes with his own friends before blowing up at them. Couldn't handle someone looking at him the wrong way without feeling the urge to reach for his wand and curse them until they begged for forgiveness. Couldn't stop disappointing everyone who tried to care about him.

And that's when the ugly thought had begun appearing in his mind, the question of if Amelia was actually right. What had he actually accomplished over the past four months? Hell, his whole life? Nothing. He'd talked about honouring his parents and Susan. Making them proud. Making their sacrifice worth it. And all he'd done was go on a killing spree, running around in circles and pretending he wasn't enjoying it all. He'd become no better than Montague or Snape or anyone else.

And he had no one to blame but for himself.

Maybe the best thing for everyone was for him to stay locked up. Bring Montague down with him and have them both rot in hell. What was the point of pretending this was about anything other than that? He knew Montague was behind the attack at the Three Broomsticks. There would be no easier way to destroy his life and get his revenge than to tell the Aurors and be done with it.

He wouldn't even ask for his release. Not even a lighter sentence. Maybe just for the cell with the least dementors around it.

Harry stopped scratching at the floor. He numbly raised his hand and saw the shattered remains of his nails. His entire hand was covered in blood. He only wished he could actually feel the pain that should have come with it.

There was a sudden commotion just outside the cell block. And even in his tired state, Harry felt the warnings in his head go off. He immediately stood up, hearing the muffled groans come from the outside as some of the other prisoners around him began to get rowdy. The whole thing couldn't have lasted more than a few seconds, too short for any actual spell fight to happen, and before he knew it the door leading outside quietly opened.

No one stepped inside, at least Harry couldn't see anyone at first. But when he heard the footsteps, he immediately became agitated. Quickly turning the bed on its side, Harry knelt down behind it, not even trying to peer through the small gaps between the base and the mattress and see what was going on outside. He closed his eyes, letting his heartbeat relax until he could barely feel it, when suddenly a door opened. It was too loud. Too close. It had to have been his cell.

"Potter," a voice whispered. It didn't sound pleased. "Stop hiding, you twat."

Harry didn't know why, but he could almost place the voice. He'd heard it before, but he couldn't remember well. For all he knew, it could've been some random student from Hogwarts or the Dark Lord himself. But hiding wasn't an option. If whoever was out there really wanted to, he could force Harry out.

He stood up, glaring at the empty space in front of him where he figured the man was standing.

"Well, are you coming or not?" The voice asked.

A million thoughts ran across his mind. This could all be a trap from Montague or Voldemort or anyone else. Or it could be Bedivere rescuing him. Or Scrimgeour trying to get him to talk. Or maybe something else entirely. His mind raced through his options, trying to come up with a plan for every possible scenario. This could even be some random Auror that Junior cursed to help him out of the DMLE. But the more time he wasted, the more pressure he felt. With a ticking clock hovering above him and the very real possibility of him becoming dementor dessert, he made his choice.

"Alright," Harry said, immediately feeling the effects of a disillusionment charm over his whole body. But even though he was invisible, it wasn't enough to stop the massive uproar from the prisoners as they realised one of them was escaping. They made it all the way down the hall, reaching the door before the voice began casting a load of spells. The doors of all the cells began opening, and though the others didn't have a wand it was enough to cause a massive riot.

But before anyone could even think of rushing for the door, Harry felt a hand grab at his shirt and pull him through the door before shutting it behind him.

"This way," the voice said, and after his rescuer sent a couple of spells at the door, the two of them began making their getaway. The DMLE was a maze, one filled with Aurors coming and going from every corridor. It forced them to be really quiet, and with both being invisible Harry nearly lost his rescuer about four times before the two of them made their way to the evidence lock-up.

"We only have a few minutes," the voice informed him. "The door to the lock-up will burst soon, gaining all the attention of the Aurors. That's when you'll have your chance to escape."

"You're not coming with?" Harry asked, feeling more and more that this was a trap.

"No. Someone needs to drag Scrimgeour out of his office. Once he's left his office, you'll be able to use his floo and get out of here. And whatever you do, don't floo to a secure location. The floos are tracked. Floo to the Three Broomsticks or the Leaky Cauldron, and then apparate away."

"I know," Harry gritted out.

"I'll knock on the door once Scrimgeour is out."

Harry heard the man turn, and before he could leave, he reached out and yanked his shoulder.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked. "Who are you working for?"

"No one," the voice spat.

"Bullshit."

"I'm not lying."

"Then why are you helping me?" Harry nearly yelled, his words feeling thick around his throat. "Why the fuck would you break me out?"

"Because my brother still believes in you." He said.

Harry blinked, the words feeling like a punch to the gut. And right when he managed to connect the voice with its matching face, the door rapidly opened and shut without another word. Some other day, perhaps, the words would have helped him. Would have given him the strength to carry on. Today, though, they made him feel like a fraud.

He slid down onto the ground, trying to push all his thoughts out of his head. It didn't take long for all hell to break loose outside. An alarm blared throughout the entire floor. Aurors running and shouting, all converging towards the cell block. Had all the prisoners broken through already? What would they do without their wands? Harry didn't think the Aurors would have trouble apprehending them again, but what if they didn't? What if one of them died, and it was because he chose not to stay in his cell?

He may be escaping, but his mind wasn't letting him off so easily.

A few minutes passed before he heard it, three knocks so fast he nearly missed them. This was it. Run or stop. Do or die. Escape and continue down his path or stay and accept his punishment. Either choice felt like the wrong one, but Harry forced himself off the ground and pushed the door open.

The corridor was empty, and Harry immediately bolted away from the sound of spellfire. He'd gotten a vague glimpse of the DMLE when he had first been brought in. His memory of that night was far from perfect, but he still managed to use the few gaps the alcohol hadn't killed and made it to the corridor of Scrimgeour's office, where the secretary was hiding behind the desk.

Harry took advantage of his invisibility, slowly walking around it before quickly reaching into the girl's holster. He yanked the wand out, and right as she realised what had happened, Harry stunned her twice and caught her before she dropped the wand. After having his own wand snapped, stealing this one felt wrong. She wasn't some random thug he'd faced outside. She didn't deserve to be cut off from her magic. But if he was going to make it out and make sure he wasn't caught, he needed a wand.

After one final glance at the girl, Harry turned around and sprinted towards the door to Scrimgeour's office. He turned the knob and tried to push, but it didn't give. He hit it. One. Twice. Tried to force the knob. But it had no effect. Not even after a couple of minutes of trying to overpower the wards with the wand could he unlock it.

"Fuck," Harry hissed out, his heart racing. He couldn't stand here and wait. And even though he was invisible, he didn't know how long it would last. "Bloody fuck."

Throwing caution to the wind, he sprinted away and began making his way to the elevator. Maybe if he reached the atrium, he could manage to use one of those floos to escape the Ministry before the riot was stopped. It was a horrible idea, one he hated to his very core, but he'd run out of options. Once he saw the elevator in his sight, he picked up his pace and ran as fast as he could.

But as he saw something from the corner of his eye, he immediately forced himself to stop. Right there, only a few feet beside the elevator was Amelia Bones' office. For all he knew, her office could also be locked. Or worse, she could still be there. But facing one person seemed less insane than facing a whole other floor filled with people. He barged into the room, happy to find the door unlocked, only Amelia wasn't the one standing there.

It was Scrimgeour. And he wasn't alone. Granger was there too, with two people Harry could only assume were her parents. The four of them immediately jumped out of their seats, Granger snatching the wand from the table just as Scrimgeour summoned his own from his holster. And though Harry's arm twitched, he forced it to stay down at his side.

"Hands where I can see them, Potter," Scrimgeour said gruffly, motioning with his wand. Using his fingers, Harry pushed the wand he'd stolen into the cuffs of his shirt, hiding it right before he raised them.

"I don't have a wand, you twat."

Scrimgeour stared him oddly, as if he wanted to pat him down just to make sure. "A wand isn't the only weapon you're dangerous with. A fact Graham Montague found out too soon, I'm afraid."

"I didn't kill him," Harry lied. "I haven't done anything you've harassed me with for the past few days!"

"You can lie to them, but you can't lie to me, Potter. I know you. I've seen a thousand yous walk in here over the course of my career. The only real difference between them and you is that you've already had a whole career before they even began to think about getting into a life of crime."

"You're wrong."

"An innocent man doesn't run," Scrimgeour demanded.

"This one does," Harry said darkly.

"Step aside, Miss Granger," Scrimgeour motioned as he moved to get closer to him. "We'll have him back in custody in no time. He and whoever was foolish enough to help him escape."

"I doubt that."

The Granger parents moved around the table, but Hermione stayed still. Standing so rigidly, Harry would have thought there was an invisible giant hand squishing her entire body.

"Granger, move!" Scrimeour shouted, his hand shaking with anger.

"Hermione," her mother called out to her, trying to reach for her. "Come here. Listen to Auror Scrimgeour."

"I… Mum, I…" Harry couldn't see her face, but she sounded to be on the verge of tears. Her whole body quivered, and she could see her gripping to her wand as if it was the only thing keeping her alive.

"MOVE!" Scrimgeour jabbed his wand at Granger, causing her to flinch. But somehow, she remained between them.

"Hermione," her father told her, his voice hard and stern.

But before she could snap back into action, Harry snapped his arm downwards and the wand fell into his grasp. Scrimgeour's eyes widened, but Harry was too fast for even him. He launched a stunning charm at him. It flew right underneath Granger's ear and hit Scrimgeour as he was in the middle of casting a shield.

Scrimgeour staggered backward, drowsy and looking like he was barely standing. The spell had caused Granger to finally jump aside, giving Harry the advantage he needed to jump onto Amelia's desk and cast another stunning charm. This one finally took him out, but not willing to take any chances, Harry threw one final one at the unconscious body on the ground.

Satisfied by the lack of movement from the Head Auror, Harry turned around only to find Hermione Granger's wand only a few inches away from his nose. "S-stay back," she said, shaking harder than ever before.

"Don't hurt us, please," her mother, both parents all but cowing behind their daughter.

Harry didn't like the way the three frightened Grangers made him feel. "I'm not going to hurt you," he scoffed, pushing her wand out of her face only for a blue light to explode from out of it. Just barely missing him.

"Sorry!" She squeaks out, her eyes widening as if he was suddenly about to curse her. "I didn't mean to! So-"

"Shut up," Harry shook his head, turning his back to them as he began to rapidly scour through Amelia's desk for floo powder. He searched through the drawers and along all her papers, but it was nowhere to be seen. Only there was something much more important hidden inside the drawer closest to the floor.

Harry set down the wand in his hand and picked up the one from the drawer. It was Black's wand. He'd used it enough to identify its magic fighting against his own the moment he touched it. When he'd been captured, Harry had been sure he would never see it again. He wouldn't deny such a gift in the face. Nor would he ignore the large file of his life that had been stashed right beside the wand. Along with what looked like the rest of the evidence from his case.

Brilliant, Harry thought.

"Is he…" Granger began, but she clearly was still too scared to formulate a full sentence. "Did you…"

"What?" Harry snapped. "Kill him? What sort of animal do you take me for!" He shouted at her, causing her to take a few steps back. Once again, Harry felt like shit, but he was so used to the feeling, he pushed it down on instinct. "He's just stunned. He'll be fine once I'm gone. Look, just, help me find the floo powder, will you?"

Granger bit her lip, studying his face like he was another one of her books.

"You owe me," Harry said, and she immediately realised why. Still, she was hesitant.

"Hermione…" her mother warned, but Granger ignored her as she kept staring at Harry. There was something behind her eyes, the hesitancy she was showing having been completely clouded by a sort of sadness within them.

Suddenly, rushing footsteps began sounding in the corridor outside. Harry's eyes widened, and his heart began racing. He stood up, gripping Black's wand as his gaze landed on the door. But before he could do anything, Granger rushed to it and began casting a set of spells at the door. Realising what she was doing, Harry picked up his pace and began searching through the cabinet beside the desk.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Her father demanded, his voice somehow sounding more commanding than Scrimgeour's.

"I'm sorry, Dad," she said through her spells. "You're just going to have to trust me."

"Trust you? You're helping a murderer!"

"Alleged," Harry couldn't help but say. Mister Granger turned to glare at him, but he was a smart man. He respected magic.

"Hermione, you don't have to do this," her mother urged her.

"I can't stand by and do nothing, Mum," she said. "Not again."

The Grangers kept on arguing, with Hermione's parents urging her to stop and Mister Granger even screaming that they were inside and that he was escaping. But Harry ignored them for the most part, ransacking every drawer before he finally found it. A small purple bag filled with floo powder.

The Aurors were right outside now. The door was being pounded, trying to be forced open. But somehow, Granger's spells kept it locked even through the efforts of God knows how many Aurors.

"Diagon Alley!" Harry yelled as he threw the floo powder into the fireplace. A massive green fire burst from it, creating a wall of flames that was taller than even him. Harry rushed to grab the documents from the desk and turned back just to see Granger staring at him, her eyes wild.

"Go!" She shouted at him.

He didn't need her to tell him twice.

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

Next chapter we begin the two-part prelude arc to the GRAND FIFTH-YEAR FINALE titled Two Minutes To Midnight. Be excited!

By the time I'm posting this, I'm ELEVEN chapters ahead, and am only one chapter away from finishing 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! :)